#ah remember when i said college was a weird time like fifty years ago | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gukyi · 5 years ago

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the coffee shop contract | jjk

summary: apparently, having an instagram profile with a different girl in every picture is reason enough for your friends to strike up a deal where they’ll pay you to have a relationship. well, jeon jungkook’s no good at relationships, but a fake relationship isn’t a real relationship. is it?

{fake dating!au, college!au}

pairing: jungkook x female reader genre: just fluff because i have a one-genre mindset word count: 18k warnings: alcohol consumption but no main character is overly drunk, dumb college antics, i know this is a fic but please don’t do these things in college actually a/n: yes, this story is actually based on a real instagram account my friend showed me in college. oh yeah, college? that’s a thing. i’m sorry for taking so long with this fic, i’m trying my best but college is hard. please wait patiently for me and enjoy this plotless piece of garbage!

Jeon Jungkook thinks that his college experience is overwhelmingly standard. He goes to his classes (most of the time), goes to parties on the weekends (sometimes), goofs off with his friends when he’s supposed to be studying (all of the time), and eats like shit.

(The plus side to his eating-like-shit habits is that he’s a gym junkie, which means that in theory, every time he exercises he burns off all of the shit and just leaves the energy behind. In theory.)

He operates under the assumption that he leads a very normal college life. He is but a typical student with a very small budget who detests the fact that he has to buy brand new versions of his textbooks just so he can get the online access code. He thinks he’s nothing but average.

His friends think differently.

“It’s not that weird, guys,” Jungkook insists in a group study room one day, where neither he nor his friends happen to be studying. In fact, Jungkook’s laptop is dead. He forgot his charger in his bedroom. He has no idea what he thought he would be doing when Taehyung texted and asked if he wanted to come and study with them.

They are doing anything but studying.

Taehyung has been on his phone the entire time, and the same topic of conversation that circles their friend group every now and then is at hand. “Yes it is, Jungkook,” he insists. He holds his phone up to both Jungkook and Jimin to prove a point. “Think about it. Okay, I’m scrolling back and forth on Tinder—”

“You just swiped right on some random dude,” Jungkook points out monotonously, a single eyebrow raised. Next to him, Jimin bursts into the laughter he was doing a poor job of holding in. “Why do you even have Tinder? You’re dating someone, and he’s sitting right next to you.”

“Fuck,” Taehyung mutters in exclamation, quickly pulling his phone back to try and rectify his carelessness. “Wait, never mind, he’s cute.” Jungkook shakes his head to himself. “Stop trying to distract me! I’m trying to explain something to you!”

Taehyung resumes.

“Anyway, think about it. I’m scrolling back and forth on Tinder and I see this cute guy who goes to my school named Jungkook. His pictures feature some pretty decent selfies, no workout or shirtless pics, and an awful shot of him with two hot dogs shoved into his mouth at once, courtesy of his best friend,” Taehyung explains, beaming. He even makes a point to pull up the aforementioned hot dog picture. It’s not pretty, but it’s a good conversation starter. “His bio is pretty standard, likes adventuring, hates doing required readings for class, lives off of coffee. I like the look of him.”

“Get to the point, Tae,” Jungkook says with a sigh, tossing his head back in exasperation. It’s not as if he’s in any sort of rush to move on from the conversation because he has something better to do, because he doesn’t. He just doesn’t need to be grilled like this.

“I go to look him up on Instagram, because maybe he’s the kind of guy to have his profile public for the viewing of others.” Taehyung pulls up Jungkook’s Instagram. He had forgotten about how good his aesthetic was. “Lo and behold, his profile is public! Hurrah! I can stalk him happily just to see if he really is my type. But, wait, what’s this?”

Jungkook facepalms.

Taehyung keeps going, scrolling further and further down Jungkook’s page. “It looks like every single Instagram post is with a different girl. Wait! Maybe they’re the same one—nope, they just did their hair similarly. Huh. That’s strange. Every picture features a different girl, no repeats. Now I really don’t think I want to swipe right anymore. So I go back to Tinder, and I avoid the guy by the name of Jungkook at all costs.”

Jungkook thinks that maybe he shouldn’t have come to the group study room at all. Maybe, if he leaves now under the excuse that he forgot his laptop charger, he just won’t have to come back. Ever. For the rest of his educational career.

Taehyung puts his phone down on the table with a smack, staring at Jungkook with an extremely unimpressed look on his face.

“Are you going to do this every time I tell you I went on a date and I don’t think I want to go on another one?” Jungkook frowns. Maybe he needs new friends. Maybe that would be a better solution.

“Yes, because you’re a stand-up guy who’s funny and smart and got a hot ‘bod and you can’t seem to tie down anybody for more than a couple of months, max,” Taehyung tells him pointedly. He’s always been extremely good at backhanded compliments. “Aside from us, your best friends.”

“I’m rethinking the ‘best friends’ part,” Jungkook says. He can’t believe it, but he thinks he would rather be studying.

“You wouldn’t do that to the man who paid for new Airpods for you!” Taehyung cries out, loud enough for someone in the main study room to turn around and glare at the three of them.

“You’re the one who broke them! You dropped them on the street and let some biker ride right over them!” Jungkook reminds him, eyes wide. He remembers the image vividly, Taehyung snatching his earphones out of his hands as they walked towards their favorite Korean place, watching them tumble right out of his slippery fingers and onto the pavement, and a bicyclist with those flashing red lights attached their handles coming speeding down, right over the case. It was the most tragic thing that Jungkook has ever witnessed.

“And I bought you brand new ones that were engraved with your name like a good, rich best friend would.” He may be an eclectic international student majoring in economics like half of the campus, but at least Taehyung’s self aware.

“Well, it’s not like Jungkook’s going to redo his entire Instagram feed or anything,” Jimin adds callously. Someone gets it. “He’s got this whole muted, neutral-toned aesthetic going on. He also doesn’t seem to mind the lack of commitment.”

Taehyung tuts, shaking his head. He’s still on page one of his fifty-page reading on Economic Disparities in the Post-Cold War Global Stage. He has not even picked up his highlighter. “That’s where you’re wrong, sweet Jiminie.”

“I know you guys are dating, but please never say the phrase ‘Sweet Jiminie’ in front of me ever again,” Jungkook pleads.

“I’m willing to wager that with the right incentive, Jungkook will actually make an attempt at maintaining a real, long-term, committed relationship with someone he’s genuinely interested in,” Taehyung says, a devilish glint lacing his dark brown eyes.

Jungkook hates that look. It’s the same look he had when he suggested they roll their office chairs down the hall of the dorm at three in the morning freshman year. Same look he had when he had Jungkook take sensual nudes of him to send to Jimin pre-relationship because Jungkook apparently had the photography skills of Photous, the photography god (that Taehyung is convinced exists in Greek mythology). Same look he had right before he downed five Monster drinks consecutively, which had the opposite of the intended effect and caused him to pass out in the group study room.

“No favor you could do for me would make me even consider accepting this wager,” Jungkook tells him immediately. He loves his best friend, but multiple times Taehyung has said he’d do Jungkook’s laundry and ended up turning all of his white belongings pink—his bedsheets, towels, and a couple of his favorite shirts are now all cotton candy-tinged.

Taehyung shakes his head. “I’m not talking about favors, young padawan. I am talking cash, the cold, hard kind that you can feel clenched between your closed fist.”

Taehyung comes from a family with money to burn but never does he spend it so recklessly. Except maybe when he bought five Monster drinks with the intention to drink them all like vodka shots. He shuffles around his backpack (work still forgotten) before pulling out his wallet, slapping two hundred dollars onto the table in front of them.

Jungkook, the money-starved college student he is, immediately reaches out for the stack of bills, but Taehyung nabs it from him before he can regain any semblance of personal dignity.

“Ah ah ah,” he tuts condescendingly. Jungkook shrinks back into his wheely chair as he reminds himself that while taking Taehyung’s money may have short-term benefits, he will feel long-term guilt. “Not yet, Jungkookie. First, you need to accept and complete the wager.”

Jungkook huffs. This feels like a drug deal. “Specifications,” he coughs out.

“If you actually find yourself in a committed, loving, uplifting, and completely real relationship with someone that you are mutually attracted to for longer than three months, with at least three Instagram posts of them on your page, I will give you money,” Taehyung says. This immediately crosses out Jungkook’s plan to coerce his favorite music production major (and other best friend), Min Yoongi, into helping him.

Jungkook narrows his eyes. “How much money?”

Taehyung ponders the question for a moment, checking his wallet one more time just to make sure the same amount that was in there two minutes ago is still there now. “I’ll be generous,” he says with a shrug. “Four hundred.”

Jungkook’s eyes nearly pop out of his head. Sure, he’s well aware that his best friend is one-hundred percent loaded, but four hundred dollars could finance his textbooks for the next two semesters, probably. It could buy him a new computer program and matching equipment for his average mixtape-making skills. He could send it home to his parents and they could go on a wholesale store shopping spree. They could buy him all the granola bars and multigrain crackers he could ever dream of.

“Are you serious?” Jungkook asks, gobsmacked.

Taehyung nods nonchalantly. “Yeah, why not? If you didn’t use the money, then I’d just buy some dumbass shit like more energy drinks. I’d say it’s a pretty good use of my cash.”

Jimin’s looking at Jungkook like he’d be a fool not to accept the deal. Jungkook wonders what the harm is. He succeeds, and not only does he get four hundred dollars, he also gets to be in a genuinely enjoyable relationship with someone he actually cares about. He’s in college, too, which means that it’s the perfect time to make some possibly-regrettable and extremely stupid decisions. And maybe, for once in his life, Taehyung’s right. Maybe having an Instagram feed with a different girl in each picture gives off fuckboy-let’s hook up and then I’ll never speak to you ever again vibes. Maybe he should really rethink his Instagram aesthetic.

“Choose quickly, Jungkookie, or I might come to my senses and go buy one hundred Chicken McNuggets with the money instead,” Taehyung advises.

Taehyung’s hand makes to put the two hundred dollars clenched between his fingers back in his wallet, and that’s when Jungkook impulsively shouts, “Yes! I’ll do it. Fine. Whatever.”

Taehyung cackles like the Wicked Witch of the West. Jungkook wonders if there’s a downside to this.

But to his clouded, 1AM mind, surrounded by friends that make him lose even more brain cells, it seems like the perfect decision.

“You do realize that Taehyung is basically paying you to court someone, right?” Yoongi asks over coffee the next day. It’s four in the afternoon, Jungkook’s finished with classes, Yoongi hasn’t started his homework, the both of them have ordered the most caffeinated drinks possible.

“So?” Jungkook asks as he takes another sip, shivers as he feels it run through his blood.

“So, any person you actually try and date for the next three months will find out about the deal one way or another and then feel used, and you’ll feel shitty. If you do somehow manage to date someone for the next three months successfully, they’ll find out about the money and dump your dumb ass,” Yoongi explains callously. He downs half of his coffee in a single go.

Jungkook grins. “I’m really loving the confidence that all of my friends have in me when it comes to maintaining long-term relationships. It makes me feel so great.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “You know that I’m right, Jungkook. You can’t just accept this deal and expect the person you end up dating, if you even end up dating someone, not to find out. That’s unrealistic and basically grounds for a terrible breakup rom-com.”

“I already told him that I’d do it. I want the money because I am a broke college student. It seemed like a no-brainer at the time,” Jungkook says, exasperated. He sighs into his coffee and the foam wobbles. “What am I supposed to do? Tell Taehyung that the deal’s off and let him make fun of me for the rest of recorded human history?” Jungkook whines.

“I don’t think he’ll do that.”

He definitely will. Taehyung’s gravestone will say Don’t Forget to Find Jeon Jungkook’s Grave and Laugh At Him For Me. Jungkook will spend the rest of eternity buried six feet under with random strangers laughing at him until the sun absorbs the Earth and wipes out life on the planet entirely.

“Yes he will,” says Jungkook, pouting. “What other option do I have?”

A chair screeches on the wooden floor next to him and Yoongi and suddenly, someone speaks.

“Sorry, I wasn’t eavesdropping even though I definitely was, and I couldn’t help but notice that you seem to be in some sort of monetary predicament,” you say, looking at Jungkook with wide eyes. You look familiar, but Jungkook can’t place where from. Maybe one of his classes?

“Can I help you?” Jungkook asks, taken aback by your sudden brazenness. The last time Jungkook came face to face with someone so shameless was the first time he met Seokjin while at a house party in Namjoon’s apartment. Seokjin walked through the front doors blasting Who Let the Dogs Out from his iPhone and immediately declared himself king of the household before Namjoon could even say hello.

You shrug, shoulders nonchalant and unbothered. “I think I’m the one who should be asking you that question.”

Jungkook’s flabbergasted. He turns to Yoongi, who, like he does with most things that don’t directly involve him, seems to have already assumed a hands-off position. Like it’s not his problem that his best friend has just been approached by a random stranger in a coffeeshop who looks to be promising a solution to his problems. Like the Shadow Man from Disney’s Princess and the Frog. Like a mafia boss.

With a non-comforting pat on Jungkook’s back, Yoongi stands up, finishes the rest of his coffee in a single gulp, and says, “Looks like this one’s on you, ‘Kook.” He doesn’t say anything else and, five seconds later, he’s gone.

“Jungkook, right?” You ask the moment Yoongi’s out the door. You’ve fully shifted your chair to face Jungkook, and Jungkook doesn’t know where to look when your eyes are staring right at him.

“How do you know my na—”

“I’m Y/N. I hope you don’t mind me barging in on your conversation like this,” you say, not at all deterred by Jungkook’s very obvious bewilderment.

“Um—”

“See, I was just drinking my hot chocolate even though it’s still warm outside, and I overheard that you were in quite the dilemma,” you say. Even though you technically aren’t invading any of his actual personal space—you’re not touching the table, accidentally brushing your foot against his leg, leaning in aggressively close—Jungkook feels like you couldn’t be any nearer to him. Like all this overwhelming forwardness and confidence is rendering him speechless and keenly cognizant of his personal bubble. “And I’m here to propose a solution.”

“Do you go here?” Jungkook somehow manages to get out.

“Me? Yeah, I’m majoring in communications,” you tell him casually. Jungkook wonders why he’s not surprised to hear that.

“Okay…” Jungkook still doesn’t know what to say.

“In any case, in the past five minutes I’ve spent listening to you talk about how your friends said they’d pay you if you managed to date someone for more than three months, I’ve devised a foolproof solution that benefits all parties involved,” you tell him like you’re trying to get him to sign onto a business deal. Jungkook swears that there must be fine print somewhere. He just can’t tell where.

Jungkook raises his eyebrows. He’s interested. “Which is…?”

“Date me.”

If Jungkook’s eyes nearly popped out of his head when Taehyung pulled out that fat stack of cash in the group study room, they must jump right out and roll onto the wooden floor at this.

“I’m sorry, w-what?” Jungkook sputters, like he hadn’t heard you correctly even though he definitely had. He was expecting something maybe more in the realm of counselor, like tell your friends you don’t want to do the deal, if they’re really your friends they’ll honor your wishes, or maybe even on the opposite side of the spectrum, like if you run away to Norway now and change your identity they’ll never be able to find you, here I know a guy. Not date me.

Certainly not Date Me.

“Date me,” you repeat. It’s the simplest phrase. And yet, it befuddles Jungkook more than his theoretical computer science class does. “Maybe I should rephrase it. Fake date me. How’s that sound?”

Jungkook lets out something between a cough, a chuckle, and the noise a dying Canadian goose would make.

“Basically, what I’m thinking, what my vision is, is that you and I agree to fake date for two weeks past the designated period—in your case, three months. This prevents your friends from thinking that the whole relationship was all for show and so you can preserve your dignity. I, as your honorable and true girlfriend, will do any and all things necessary to make your friends believe that you are genuinely committed to our relationship. Then, your friends pay you after the three months is up, and because it takes two to tango, I get half. Sound good?” You propose. You seem to have thought of everything.

The first problem is that Jungkook doesn’t know how he’s going to maintain the facade of a real relationship with someone he 1) barely knows and 2) barely knows. The reason he doesn’t commit to anything isn’t because he’s afraid of commitment (okay, maybe he is) but because all of the dates he ever goes on are Tinder dates or hookups-post-one-night-stand. He doesn’t date people he’s already familiar with, and then it never goes further. Even if he didn’t meet you on Tinder or sleep with you after a shitty frat party, he doesn’t see how this scenario is much different.

The second problem is that, true to his college student nature, Jungkook is starved for cash. When Taehyung promised him four hundred dollars, he immediately began thinking of ways to spend each and every cent. But the prospect of him losing half of that money to someone he barely knows has him more than hesitant. How will his parents go on their wholesale store shopping spree without four hundred in cash to blow? If Jungkook wants those four hundred dollars so badly, why not put in the effort?

The third problem is that Jungkook is a phenomenally terrible actor. When he was in grade school and everybody had to participate in the class play on why smoking is bad for you, Jungkook’s role was Kid In The Background Sitting On A Chair Reading A Book. He was on stage for a total of two minutes as the main character was peer pressured into smoking, and he never set foot on it again.

So, if Jungkook were to arrange this into a five-paragraph essay with Times New Roman size twelve font, he’d have a pretty good argument for why your proposal is probably not a good idea.

But then, Jungkook is reminded of a few key things that keep him from declining right off the bat.

First, he’s already said yes. Which means that, if he wants those four hundred dollars, he’s going to have to go through with Taehyung’s deal.

Second, going through with Taehyung’s deal and keeping the four hundred dollars all to himself will require lots of effort on his part. He will have to keep going on dates until he finds someone he clicks with, and then he will have to keep going on dates with that specific person for the next three months and develop a meaningful relationship.

Third, Yoongi’s right, as he usually is. Even if Jungkook establishes a relationship, the deal will always be in the back of his mind, and the truth will eventually come out. This may lead to Jungkook’s first genuine heartbreak—if he’s committed to the relationship—and Jungkook isn’t mentally prepared for that either.

And somehow, as Jungkook makes it through the labyrinth that is his mind, he comes to the overarching conclusion that maybe accepting your proposal isn’t such a bad idea after all. If you already know about the money, you’re willing to help him dupe his friends, and you don’t really care about splitting up in three and a half months, then the only thing that Jungkook is losing is two hundred dollars. And while that may be a lot, he’ll still have two hundred of his own to console him.

Despite the lack of communication between the two of you, surrounded by the white noise of the ambient coffee shop, you don’t appear at all deterred by Jungkook’s radio silence. You’ve put the deal down on the table and are waiting for Jungkook to either pick it up or push it off.

“You get half?” He asks, just for clarification. It’s difficult to miss the fact that you are, essentially, halving the benefits he’s reaping from accepting Taehyung’s deal.

You nod. “Yup. But in return, any dates we go on I will pay for my share, so you don’t have to worry about that. I will also be a loving and doting girlfriend you gets you coffee, croissants, and Dunkin’ whenever you ask, and even sometimes when you don’t. So I think that it evens out.”

“You’re sure about this?” Jungkook asks.

You laugh, cracking a smile that shows off your teeth and fills out your cheeks. Jungkook looks right at you, and maybe he doesn’t feel anything right now, but he thinks he might be able to find a friend in this along the way. “I’m the one who suggested it, aren’t I?”

Jungkook sits resolutely. He just prays that neither Taehyung nor Jimin ever find out about this. If they do, he really will have to escape to Norway and change his identity.

“Okay,” Jungkook says, his eyes staring firmly into yours. “I’m in.”

Seeing as the both of you are college students with the most updated technology at your fingertips, you pull out your laptop and situate it between the both of you. You’ve shifted tables so now that you can face your future fake-boyfriend, and Jungkook feels more and more like he’s signing up for some shady website in the hope that it’ll give him the answers to his problem set. Immediately, you share a Google Doc with him.

“What should we call it?” You ask, cursor hovering over the Untitled document.

“The contract?” Jungkook suggests weakly. He was never good at titles.

“The Coffee Shop Contract,” you add on, typing it dutifully into the bar. “Sounds official.”

“It’s official because there’s money involved,” Jungkook points out. You wouldn’t be writing up this formal contract if you weren’t reaping any financial benefits so long as you both honor it.

“Maybe it’s just because we don’t know each other yet, but you seem like the type of guy to swindle me out of promised cash,” you observe, albeit somewhat inaccurately.

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean? I’m untrustworthy?” Jungkook asks, only a little offended.

You purse your lips into a thin smile. “My friends make fun of you because you’ve got a different girl in every single one of your Instagram posts. Can you blame me?”

Jungkook tosses his head back, exasperated. “It’s not that weird!” He exclaims.

“It’s kinda weird.”

You type up a brief outline of the requirements. It looks like this:

The Coffee Shop Contract

Signatories Jungkook and Y/N.

This contract entails a fake relationship between the signatories of Jungkook and Y/N.

This fake relationship shall last no less than three months and one week and no longer than three months and two weeks.

Both parties involved shall do any and all things possible to ensure that this fake relationship appears as realistic as possible.

Both parties will pay for their share of any and all outings made together.

Three Instagram posts on Jungkook’s account must be made throughout the duration of the relationship.

Should this fake relationship be successful, Jungkook shall give half of his payment to Y/N as compensation for her efforts.

No falling in love with each other.

No one can know.

Signatures: _______________________ and __________________________

“What was the reason you needed to type up a whole contract? I thought we had already discussed all of this,” Jungkook asks when you’re finished, eyeing the document on the screen. It looks much too official for his liking. Jungkook, if he could, would probably write his essays on a series of Post-It Notes—specifically the accordion-style ones, because those bring more joy into Jungkook’s life than he cares to admit.

“This solidifies it,” you inform him sternly, fingertips moving quickly across your keyboard. “So that way if either of us breaks the rules, the deal’s off.”

Jungkook frowns slightly, tilting his head. “What if we both break the rules?”

“Well then,” you tell him firmly, resolutely, putting your hand on top of his. Jungkook jumps slightly at the touch, but your palm is warm and it wraps around his with determination. “I suppose that we go down together, or we don’t go down at all.”

When Jungkook’s alarm goes off at ten o’clock that Sunday, the first person to say anything is Taehyung. He comes stumbling out of his bedroom in their two-bed one-bath off-campus apartment, hair disheveled and still wrapped up in the hoodie he’s been wearing for the past forty-eight hours.

“Jungkook?” He asks hazily, voice muffled and thick from sleep and the retainers still in his mouth. “What are you doing up?”

Jungkook looks up from where he was mid-washing his mouth out post-teeth brush, and stares at Taehyung’s reflection in the mirror. The fluorescent light of their bathroom illuminates his undereye bags and the hickey he seems to have acquired in the past 12 hours extremely well.

“Huh?” He asks, mouth only slightly full.

“What are you doing up? Didn’t you get back at like, four last night?” Taehyung asks. He must faintly recall the door slamming shut as Jungkook stumbled back, the alcohol from whatever parties he ended up slowly making its way out of his system. Jungkook does not over-drink… but he also doesn’t under-drink. He was with Jimin the whole time, though, who was flat out hammered, and when Jungkook wrapped an arm around his waist and insisted he drop him back off at his apartment across the street from his and Taehyung’s, Jimin told Jungkook that he was very nice and attractive but that he had a boyfriend.

Jungkook wonders if Jimin’s going to wake up before three this afternoon.

“Yeah,” Jungkook says. He splashes his face for good measure before slapping on some of the lotion they have on the edge of the sink that he always mistakes for soap. His mother told him that furiously smacking skincare into your face wakes you up and depuffs your eyes. So he does it. “I’m meeting someone for brunch.”

Taehyung slaps himself in the face.

“Don’t tell me Jeon Jungkook is awake at ten in the morning to meet someone for brunch,” Taehyung says, even though that’s exactly what Jungkook is telling him.

“I am,” says Jungkook.

“Who?” Taehyung demands to know, leaning against the doorframe. While his body may be falling asleep, his mind sure still runs a mile a minute.

“Uh, some girl,” Jungkook says, trying to make it sound as nonchalant as possible. Jungkook accepted Taehyung’s deal a week ago, and you had told him to only start mentioning ‘a girl’ after time had passed to keep Taehyung less suspicious. So you had texted him last night while he was four vodka shots into the night, saying that you should meet up for brunch the next day, and Jungkook, the dumbass he is, said yes without realizing the time you had suggested.

And now he is paying the price in bags.

Eye bags.

“A girl?” Taehyung asks, immediately more awake. “Did you meet her last night?”

“Uh, yeah,” Jungkook lies.

Taehyung scoffs. “Did she give you that?” He points to Jungkook’s neck.

“Yeah,” Jungkook lies again.

“Wow, what a ladies’ man, huh?” Taehyung asks, giving Jungkook a good punch in the shoulder before he pulls his hoodie right over his head, tugs on the drawstrings for the South Park effect, and trots back to bed.

Jungkook runs a hand through his hair before his eyes focus back on the hickey on his neck. He can’t remember a damn thing about who gave it to him. For all he knows, it could have been Jimin. Jimin has, for the record, mistaken Jungkook for Taehyung quite a few times when drunk, though clearly he was able to distinguish between the two of them last night. He grabs Taehyung’s concealer (which is two shades darker than his skin tone) from the cabinet behind the mirror, tries his best to hide it, and prays that you won’t make fun of him when you meet up.

“The fuck is on your neck?” is the first thing that comes out of your mouth when Jungkook appears at the corner table of the brunch place. He was late, as per usual, but only because Jimin came knocking on the door and Jungkook had to direct him to Taehyung’s room before he collapsed face-first on their couch and stayed there for the next two days.

“Uh,” Jungkook says.

“Is that a hickey? Are you attempting to conceal a hickey with concealer that is literally two shades darker than you?” You ask, squinting as you lean in.

“Uh,” Jungkook says again. He sits down, because he doesn’t know what else to do.

“I ordered us orange juice already,” you tell him. “But it seems like you had a lot of fun last night. Care to tell me anything about it?”

Jungkook picks up the menu to keep his hands busy and give himself an excuse not to meet your eyes. The french toast looks good, and is less expensive than the avocado toast for some strange reason. Classic brunch problems. “I mean, it’s not really that important—”

“Hey,” you say, leaning over and snapping your fingers in front of his face to get his attention. “I’m your fake girlfriend now. I’m obligated to be interested in what activities you get up to when I’m not with you. So, what did you do last night?”

Jungkook figures that since he walked in here five minutes late with mismatched concealer poorly hiding a hickey, you have a right to know what the hell happened last night. If he even remembers what happened last night.

“I went out around ten with my roommate’s boyfriend,” Jungkook begins, because that part he knows happened.

“Wait, your roommate’s boyfriend? Why not your roommate, too?” You interrupt, though it’s a valid question.

“Well, Taehyung’s not really a partier. I mean, he met his boyfriend, Jimin, at a party, but he doesn’t really like going out and getting drunk that much, and he’s also a damn lightweight so you really can’t take him anywhere unless you want hin clinging to your side the whole night,” Jungkook explains.

“How did they meet?” You ask, not out of obligation but because you’re genuinely interested. Which is nice, Jungkook realizes, that you actually want to keep listening to him talk instead of disregarding him in favor of the menu. Jungkook can’t really think of many dates where both he and the person he was with weren’t asking questions just for the sake of asking questions. But you seem to have a different approach. “If he’s not a partier.”

“That’s actually a funny story,” Jungkook begins, already laughing. “Taehyung hates parties but that night he was determined to go to one because this cute boy he saw on Tinder was going to be there. And so he dragged me out to this party at eleven at night to try and find this boy, but then gets roped into a game of beer pong with said boy, so, mission accomplished. Except, because Taehyung’s a lightweight and a terrible shot, he misses entirely and bonks the shorter kid next to the cute boy on the head.”

“Let me guess,” you finish. “That was Jimin?”

Jungkook nods. “Only Taehyung would end up falling in love with the best friend of the boy he thirsted over on Tinder.”

“Can I ask who the cute boy is?” You raise your eyebrows.

“Oh, that’s Hoseok. We’re actually all really good friends now,” Jungkook says, because that’s just how the cookie crumbles. “His boyfriend is a really close friend of mine.”

“Wait, are you talking about Jung Hoseok?” You ask, eyes wide. Jungkook nods. “My friend’s in the dance group he leads. He’s dating this guy named Yoongi, right? She says they’re super cute together, and that he drops into practice all the time to say hello, and Hoseok makes him dance with them.”

Jungkook nearly bursts into laughter in the middle of this crowded restaurant at the image of Yoongi trying to hip-hop choreography that Hoseok creates. He loves Yoongi, but he’s got the coordination of a baby giraffe and two left feet. Which is exactly why he sticks to music production, the less physical of two musical evils. “Yeah, he was with me in the coffee place when we first started talking.”

“That was him? No way,” you say, shocked.

Jungkook has to say that he’s equally as surprised. You seemed familiar, but Jungkook assumed that it was because you had the same class or something. What he wasn’t expecting was this labyrinth of mutual acquaintanceships that draws a path between you and him.

“I guess we’re closer than you think,” Jungkook says with a shrug. The waiter comes over to ask for their orders, and Jungkook, because he’s reckless and you’re grinning at him with a smile wider than the sun, orders the avocado toast.

You nod, handing your menu to the waiter before he whizzes off. “Isn’t it funny how that works?”

After the second time you go out to a restaurant—this one a relatively nice but not upscale pizza place—Taehyung wants to meet you.

It’s not so much wants.

It’s more like demands.

“Two dates, Jungkook!” Taehyung screeches at the same time the first kernel in their microwave popcorn bag pops, making Jungkook wince. “You’ve been on two entirely separate dates with the same person, and I haven’t met them yet!”

“It’s not that big of a deal,” Jungkook says awkwardly, avoiding Taehyung’s gaze so as not to watch him go bug-eyed right in front of Jungkook’s nonexistent salad as he slowly waits for their microwave to implode and burn their entire apartment complex down. “it’s just two dates.”

“Which is two more than you normally go on,” Taehyung insists, holding up two fingers just in case Jungkook was unsure as to what number he’s been saying repeatedly as the popcorn pops. “Perspective, Jungkook! This is a big deal for you!”

“You act like I’ve never been on a date before when I, in fact, have,” Jungkook deadpans with a frown. He tries not to flinch when the popcorn surprises him with the last few kernels.

“Yeah,” Taehyung says like a white girl in a Netflix original movie, opening up their shoddy microwave to a steaming (and slightly overcooked) bag of dollar store popcorn. “But when was the last time you went on two dates with the same person?”

Jungkook opens his mouth to respond when he realizes he can’t give an answer without incriminating himself. It’s definitely been a while.

Taehyung picks up on the nanosecond of silence and Jungkook’s fish gape immediately, cackling as he tears open the popcorn and a quarter of the pieces go flying across their tiny counter island, still sticky in some places where Taehyung forgot to wipe up the juice from the watermelon he was cutting (sans cutting board) last night at two in the morning.

“Perspective! Matters!” Taehyung says, interjecting each word with a piece of popcorn in his mouth. Jungkook reaches over to take some for himself, just happy knowing that the microwave hasn’t caused his tragic demise and he can put off death-by-microwave for another day.

“You’re an Economics and Fine Arts double major, perspective is all you care about,” Jungkook says, cheeks puffed up like a chipmunk preparing for winter. “I think you’re being dramatic.”

“I think that two dates is a record,” Taehyung tells him pointedly.

“How noncommittal do you think I am?” Jungkook asks, shocked. He’s been in committed, long-term relationships. In high school. And nowadays in college, the definition of long-term has become so distant from what it used to be that three weeks is pretty much long-term at this point.

“Very,” Taehyung says. He tilts the popcorn bag into his mouth and finishes it, and Jungkook is both horrified and impressed, because the bag was still a quarter-full when Taehyung decided it would be a good time to chug carbohydrates covered in butter. “I gotta meet them, Jungkook. I’m your best friend. I have to!”

Jungkook narrows his eyes. “You do not have to meet her. In fact, you shouldn’t even be involved in my existent or nonexistent dating life at all. You have a boyfriend.”

“Excuse me, I am still your best friend despite already having met the man I’m going to marry and adopt three dogs and a giant iguana with, and therefore I’m allowed to want to meet her. We should do something fun,” Taehyung says, before his eyes light up in the same way they did before Taehyung once suggested they take an extremely pricey Uber out into the suburbs just so they could go to the biggest wholesale store in the area and buy as many sixty-brownie packs as possible.

The same way they did before Taehyung thought it was a good idea to pay Jungkook money to get himself into a committed relationship, and the same way they did when Jungkook agreed.

“Oh my God, we should go play laser tag! That’s so much fun!” Taehyung begins to jump up and down in the middle of their apartment like an eight-year-old boy at an amusement park for his birthday, and Jungkook has reason to be worried he’ll fall right through the floorboards and into the apartment below.

Jungkook couldn’t think of a worse group outing for you to meet his friends. While Taehyung definitely sucks at laser tag (Jungkook always wins), a furiously competitive, glow-in-the-dark, shriek-inducing, friendship-ending activity may very well be the last thing Jungkook wants to do with you while you meet his friends. He wants you to like them. He wants them to like you. Laser tag doesn’t promise either of those things. Laser tag, in fact, actively promotes immediate dislike.

“Absolutely not. There’s no way I’m introducing you to her in a laser tag setting,” Jungkook immediately rejects Taehyung’s suggestion. Taehyung frowns, probably trying to think of some other equally as infuriating activity for the four of you to do together. Jungkook racks his brain, trying to think of something else that appeases Taehyung’s desire for physical competition while also minimizing the potential for disaster (which is very high whenever Taehyung is involved). “How about… mini golf?”

Taehyung breaks out into a devilish grin, and Jungkook wonders if mini-golf was an even worse suggestion.

“Mini-golf?” You ask as you arrive at the mini-golf place, a little outside location far away from the hubbub of the city but close enough to not require an overpriced Uber.

“It was this or laser tag,” Jungkook says, whipping his head around to see if Taehyung and Jimin have arrived yet. He can’t seem to see Taehyung’s faded teal hair nor Jimin’s pink, which would otherwise be easy to spot because whenever they walk anywhere, Gen Z’ers stop them on the street to remind them that they look like Cosmo and Wanda from The Fairly OddParents.

“Laser tag!” You exclaim, punching Jungkook in the shoulder for emphasis. “That would have been such a good idea! Mini-golf is so overdone, I would have loved to go to laser tag.”

Jungkook pouts. He can’t believe he already royally fucked up the first meeting between his fake girlfriend and his best friend (and his best friend’s equally-as-chaotic just not-as-loud boyfriend) because you and Taehyung wanted to play laser tag and Jungkook was the dumbass who thought that mini-golf would be a better idea. Maybe Jungkook should just try to get knocked in the head with a mini-golf ball going at one hundred miles an hour like it did in Avril Lavigne’s VMA-deserving music video Girlfriend, fall on the ground and roll into a Porta Potty, and then wake up with no recollection of any of the day’s events.

You notice Jungkook’s pout immediately as you hand over eight dollars so he isn’t paying for the both of you, and pat him on the back. “But I still like mini-golf. It could be worse. We could be at a Kidz Bop concert right now.”

Jungkook supposes that there’s always a silver lining.

The silver lining vanishes the moment he hears a preteen boy who’s on hole eight shout, “Oh my God, it’s Cosmo and Wanda!”

“That would be the other half of our party,” Jungkook says with a grimace, staring distantly into the void as Taehyung and Jimin clamber onto the course. Taehyung carelessly gives the poor teenager in the booth a twenty, does not take his change, and picks up a golf club that is nowhere near the right size for his nearly-six-feet-tall figure. Maybe if Jungkook makes eye contact with the supermassive black hole that Taehyung is convinced actually exists at the center of the Milky Way galaxy, he’ll just get sucked right in and lose all the matter in his body so he doesn’t have to deal with this shit for the next two hours.

“I’m Taehyung,” Taehyung introduces himself aggressively, holding out an enormous hand for you to shake. You do so hesitantly but firmly, trying not to break eye contact with Taehyung, a task you will soon find to be quite difficult, as Taehyung can keep his eyes open for over five minutes straight. “And unfortunately, my charming personality and extreme good looks have already attracted a mate. This is my soon-to-be husband, Jimin.”

Jimin waves respectfully, pink hair bouncing.

“They’re not engaged,” Jungkook says, feeling the need to elaborate because Jungkook’s known Taehyung since before freshman year of college, and sometimes even he can’t tell when he’s kidding.

“Real shame, but I actually have my eye on the only natural-hair-colored college-aged super buff guy in the group,” you say, nudging Jungkook’s side with a wink. Jungkook thinks he might vomit at your description of him.

“Kook’s a real looker, but he flakes on us all the time. I’m impressed you even managed to get him to come with us,” Taehyung jokes, but the comment nonetheless makes Jungkook’s mouth open in indignation.

“I’m the only mutuality between all of us,” he re-emphasizes, “I’m the one who organized the whole thing!”

Taehyung leans in to whisper into your ear, but Taehyung’s whisper is normal people’s regular outside voice, so Jungkook can hear every word. “Truthfully, I wanted to go play laser tag.”

You nod enthusiastically. “So did I! Jungkook just mentioned it and I wish we had gone there instead. We’ll have to go sometime. Just a warning: I’ll crush you.”

“I accept your challenge,” Taehyung says with a firm nod.

Jungkook coughs loud enough to interrupt the both of you and even attract the attention of the next family who’s come up to pay. He feels bad for them—they’re going to be stuck behind the four of you for the rest of this hellhole of a mini-golf game.

“Are we here to play some mini-golf, or what?” Jungkook asks, tiny golf pencil and paper stuffed into his back pocket to record scores, because Jungkook came here to win, and winning is what he will do.

Jungkook does not win.

He actually loses by one point. A singular value. A sole divisor.

He’s pissed, but also impressed.

Taehyung comes in dead last, as he normally does even when he’s playing mini-golf with a club that’s actually the right size, but the gap between him and Jimin’s third place is significantly larger considering his club is meant for someone who’s about a foot shorter than he is. Even so, he seems to give no shits whatsoever about his abysmal performance, and is instead spending most of his time post-mini-golf game high-fiving the shit out of you.

“You beat him! I can’t believe it! I don’t think Jungkook’s ever lost a game of anything in his entire life!” Taehyung exclaims, making Jungkook wince. It was down to the wire the entire game with you and Jungkook neck-and-neck, Jimin a fair few points behind the both of you, and Taehyung hardly in the same ballpark. And on the last hole, Jungkook overshot the curve and his ball jumped the hole while yours sailed in, leaving him to wallow in his second-place pity.

“Just doing my job,” you say with a flip of the nonexistent hair next to your left shoulder. Your hair is nowhere near your hand whatsoever. “He was the one who suggested mini-golf before he knew what a pro I was.”

“It was one point,” Jungkook reminds you, fuming. “If my golf ball hadn’t skipped the hole we’d be tied,” he says, consoling himself more than anyone else.

“But it did, and now you owe me dinner because you lost and I won,” you tease as you walk out of the mini-golf place, sipping on overpriced sodas from the generic mini-golf diner.

“That was not part of the deal whatsoever,” Jungkook says with a frown. “I never agreed to that. We never said anything about dinner. What the fuck.”

You laugh, tilting your head back as you chuckle, Sprite fizzing in your hand. Taehyung insisted nobody get straws, and now you all have disposable open (and full) cups of soda in your hands as you make the treacherous journey back to your campus. “Fine. How about we go out to get some bubble tea after this?”

Jungkook likes the sound of that. He’s been craving some taro tea recently.

“Deal,” he says with a nod, and the two of you shake hands to seal it.

Jungkook finds that he’s actually really looking forward to getting bubble tea with you post-mini-golf game. He’s spent so much time with you and the rest of his friends (however many there are) that you haven’t gone out alone, just the two of you, in a while. Jungkook misses that.

You get along so well together.

Jimin grabs your attention with a question about Hoseok, since the two of you happen to be connected through his dance group, giving Taehyung just enough time to swoop in and wrap an arm around Jungkook’s shoulder, Dr. Pepper spilling onto the asphalt beneath them.

“Damn, she really knows how to keep up with you,” Taehyung says, quieter than he’s ever spoken before.

“Are you implying that I’m difficult to keep up with?” Jungkook immediately retorts.

Taehyung rolls his eyes. “No, you dumbass. I’m saying that you’ve never been on a date with someone who meshes so well with your own personality. No wonder you guys have been on two dates.”

“I can’t believe you think I’m this one-date-wonder kind of guy.”

“You guys go really well with each other,” Taehyung says, and that sort of out-of-the-blue, genuinely complimentary statement makes Jungkook narrow his eyes in suspicion. “Seriously, I’m not just saying that. I think you guys make a cute couple.”

Jimin says something funny and you laugh again, giggles breaking out into the air as you slowly make your way towards campus. You’re not looking at Jungkook, but Jungkook is looking at you, and he thinks that maybe even if this is all just one big ploy, he might still get a really, really wonderful friend out of this.

Taehyung pinches Jungkook’s cheek before turning his chin to face you. “I think that she’s someone you might want to hold onto.”

For once in his life, Jungkook has to agree.

Jungkook is running late.

This is no rare occurrence by any means, as Jungkook frequently shows up five minutes late to class with nothing but his half-charged laptop and an eraser-less mechanical pencil, which leaves fantastic impressions on both his classmates and his professors.

But Jungkook hit snooze on his phone four times, and now he’s got ten minutes to get his shit together and get to his Metropolitan Nature class before he gets chewed out by his professor for being late three times already this month.

He makes a few quick sacrifices. First, he’s not getting changed out of his pajamas, so this is what his Metropolitan Nature professor is getting, whether she likes it or not. Second, he doesn’t have time to use the bathroom so he’s just going to wipe his face with one of Taehyung’s makeup-removing wipes and pee after class. Third, there is no way in hell he’s making himself any sort of breakfast, not even grabbing a granola bar or anything, so he’ll just suffer until later, when he isn’t a debilitating mess of a human being and has time to stuff an apple into his mouth.

And then, as he’s scrambling to get his backpack and make it to class on time (five minutes to go!), there’s a knock on his door.

Jungkook almost doesn’t answer. Instead, he grabs the nearest object to him—which happens to be their television remote—and holds it out in front of him like a weapon, waiting for the burglar on the other side to bust the door down, realize that Jungkook and Taehyung’s shared apartment has absolutely nothing valuable inside of it, and turn around to rob someone else.

There’s another knock on his door. Jungkook decides that it’s probably not a burglar, but he keeps the remote in his hand just in case and opens the door.

On the other side is, much to his surprise, you, with a steaming cup of what he assumes is coffee and a little paper bag in your hand.

“Oh, geez, what’s up?” Jungkook says, quickly trying to fix the mop on his head known as hair, to little avail.

“Why are you holding the TV remote?” You ask instead of greeting him back like a normal person.

“Oh, uh, just making sure you aren’t a robber or murderer or anything,” Jungkook says. There’s too long of an awkward silence that falls between the two of you, and in that time frame, Jungkook tosses the TV remote behind him and listens as it lands with a thud on the rug by the couch.

“O…kay…,” you say nervously. “I got you breakfast.”

Jungkook’s mouth drops open and he’s too sleep-deprived to shut it again. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I told you that I would,” you remind him. “It’s a croissant and hot chocolate, because I wasn’t sure what your coffee order was. Here.” You don’t give him the chance to respond, instead shoving the cup and paper bag into his hands very ungracefully.

“Oh, wow, I��I don’t know what to say,” Jungkook says, very obviously floored at your random generosity. He knows that this was what you discussed but he didn’t realize that it would actually be put into practice.

“A simple ‘thank you’ would probably suffice!” Taehyung calls from his bedroom, clearly having overheard your entire conversation thus far.

“Fuck off!” Jungkook shouts back, and he hears Taehyung cackle.

You raise your eyebrows, leaning forward slightly.

“Oh, yeah, thank you,” Jungkook says, still flabbergasted. “Seriously, I—I really can’t thank you enough. This was super nice of you.” God, who still uses the word super? Jungkook has to go before he embarrasses himself further.

“No problem,” you tell him with a shrug. “Just doing the girlfriend thing.” It’s a good thing Taehyung’s in the other room, because he can’t see you wink.

“I really appreciate it, Y/N. This was so thoughtful of you.” Jungkook doesn’t know how else to express his immense gratitude for this simple act, mostly because no one’s ever spontaneously brought him food at such an opportune time before. He missed you, is what it is. He didn’t realize it until you showed up at his door, and now he’s speechless and looks like an absolute fool, all because he missed you.

Weird.

“It was no big deal, really,” you tell him. “You headed to class? Let’s walk together.”

Jungkook’s already late but he decides that he would much rather walk than sprint, because that means he gets to savor the taste of blazing hot chocolate and a warm croissant, all while spending more time with you.

When Jungkook was thirteen, a brand new go-kart arena opened up in their town. It had flashing neon lights and a giant sign and an arcade with actual prizes to be won in exchange for tickets. There was no sight more glorious to Jungkook’s freshly-teenaged self.

His best friend at the time invited him out the day after it opened, and Jungkook was so excited that he said yes before thinking about anything else. He had never been go-karting. He couldn’t remember the last time he went to an arcade. He wanted to win ten thousand tickets to get a remote-control car.

But he had no money because he realized that he was only getting paid for mowing his neighbor’s lawns at the end of the week, which meant that he wouldn’t be able to pay for anything.

In desperation, Jungkook begged his older brother for some cash, promising that he would pay him back as soon as possible. Jeonghyun agreed (albeit begrudgingly) and Jungkook went on his merry way, having a grand old time at the brand new go-kart place with an arcade and winning one thousand tickets, which was enough to get him five of his favorite candy bars.

Jungkook fully intended on giving some of them to his older brother as a thank you, but he ended up eating all of them on the way home, and then Jeonghyun doubled the amount that Jungkook owed him, and it took Jungkook a month to repay him.

Jungkook discovered then that owing people is the worst feeling in the entire world, a sentiment he’s maintained ever since. It makes him an extremely reliable person whenever he borrows anything, which is already rare to begin with.

Jungkook owes you more than just some hot chocolate and a croissant. You’ve saved his ass on numerous occasions, getting along well with Taehyung and Jimin and suggesting that you’re interested in him, striking up a deal that will save him from the wrath of Taehyung, giving him breakfast (free of charge!) on a day where he definitely wasn’t planning on eating anything. He feels like hot chocolate and a croissant just doesn’t cut it.

In the end, Jungkook knocks on your door at seven in the evening with a paper bag filled with various Chinese takeout dishes. He never knows what to get whenever he gets Chinese food, so he gets a little bit of everything and, inevitably, eats all of it. He’s hoping that this is sufficient enough repayment, because you certainly deserve it.

You open the door drowsily, mumbling something that sounds like “Who is it?” under your breath, when you see Jungkook and your eyes light up.

“I brought Chinese food,” Jungkook supplies helpfully, holding up the bag as if the scent that’s wafting through the air isn’t proof enough.

Your mouth drops open, just like his did. “Oh my God, you’re my hero. I was just about to make myself some shitty instant ramen for dinner, but this is so much better.”

“Just returning the favor, I guess,” Jungkook says with a shrug. “It was really nice of you to drop by this morning.”

“It was really nice of you to bring Chinese food tonight,” you respond as Jungkook hands over the paper bag. You let it sit on your palms, too heavy to be held by the top of it. “You just saved me from my fourth instant ramen dinner of the week.”

Jungkook laughs. He and Taehyung were like that during their freshman year, boiling water in their kettle at four in the morning to burn the insides of their mouths out with the fire noodles. Fond memories. You grin at him, Chinese takeout resting securely in your palms, and gaze at each other for a few more seconds before Jungkook coughs to end the silence.

“Aren’t you coming inside?” You ask, stepping away from the door to usher him in.

“Oh, no, the takeout was just a thank you for this morning,” Jungkook says, shaking his head and his hand as he takes a step away from the door. His stomach grumbles.

Exposed.

“Don’t think I can’t hear the whale coming from your belly,” you say, eyes narrowing as you point at his torso. “Come on, you paid for this thing, you might as well get your fair share. There’s no way I’ll be able to eat all of this myself.”

“No, it’s alright, seriously—” His stomach growls at him, like it’s personally offended that Jungkook’s rejecting the Chinese food.

You frown at him, raising a single, unimpressed eyebrow. “Come on, you dumbass. It’s getting cold.”

Jungkook relents, though it probably wouldn’t have taken much more to wear him down anyway, and walks inside your apartment. He slips off his sneakers and joins you as you set the food down on the coffee table in front of your couch, fabric worn and pillows sunken in. It looks delightfully comfortable.

“Sorry it’s kind of a mess in here,” you say as you grab plates from your kitchenette. “You caught me off guard—I just got out of the shower, too.”

Your apartment is cleaner than his and Taehyung’s looks on days where they actually try to tidy up. Jungkook wishes he had those capabilities, but when he’s presented with the options of cleaning up or taking a nap, he will invariably choose the latter. And the clothes you’re wearing, even if you insist that they’re your nasty lounge clothes from high school, Jungkook couldn’t care less about. You look nice.

You always look nice.

Once you’re all settled, you tear open the stapled paper bag to reveal the glory hidden inside. Jungkook gets one whiff of the scent and nearly passes out, huffing it in like an Expo marker. He was a little worried that he hadn’t gotten enough, but as you begin to take each box of rice and biodegradable container of noodles and vegetables and soup and everything in between, he realizes he had nothing to stress over.

“Oh my God, we’re gonna have so many leftovers,” you say excitedly, eyeing all of the dishes as you break apart your wooden chopsticks. Every smell imaginable fills your apartment, and it makes Jungkook’s mouth water and his stomach rumble. “This cost way more than the hot chocolate and croissant, definitely. Let me Venmo you back half.”

Jungkook shakes his head defiantly, taking the rice out of your reach as punishment. “Absolutely not. I won’t let you pay me back a single cent.”

“What? That’s not in the contract,” you say with a frown, making to pull it up on your phone just as proof.

“Who cares about the contract?” Jungkook says, snatching your phone right from your slippery fingers and placing it on the end table next to him. “I’m just doing the boyfriend thing.”

You attack the mountain of food in front of you like an all-you-can-eat buffet, taking a handful of noodles here and a couple pieces of broccoli there, a few dumplings and a bit of soy sauce, a spoonful of rice, some of the wonton soup. Your plates are filled to the brim with helpings from every single container, too excited to save any one dish for another day.

“God, this is just what I needed,” you say with a pleased sigh, tossing your head back.

“Long day?” Jungkook asks before he puts a chopstick-ful of rice in his mouth.

“The longest. I don’t know if I told you this, but my Communications 316 professor is absolutely incompetent. He has no idea what he’s talking about, confuses himself half the time, and doesn’t listen to the TA. It’s ridiculous. I might as well teach the damn class,” you say, clearly exasperated.

“Sounds awful,” Jungkook comments with a wince. If he ever had a professor like that he would just drop the class and change majors, but you don’t seem to be taking as dramatic an approach. Maybe Jungkook’s just a chronic over-reactor.

“It is. Never take Comm 316, you’ll actually want to jump into a black hole. What are you majoring in, again?”

“Physics,” Jungkook tells you over a mouthful of food.

“Wow, that’s amazing,” you say, and for once in his lifetime, Jungkook knows that there’s someone out there genuinely impressed by his choice of study. Normally he gets much more sarcastic comments, or the person he’s chatting with will just say “Flex” before changing the topic. “Do you wanna do engineering, astrophysics, or theoretical stuff?”

“Not sure yet,” he tells you, “but I’m thinking more astrophysics. I think space is really cool.”

“Astrophysics, holy shit! That’s like, the coolest thing you could probably ever major in. Meanwhile, I��m probably gonna end up being the personal assistant to some Instagram-famous fifteen-year-old.”

Jungkook refuses to let you put down your major. He’s a shitty conversationalist and an even worse public speaker. Jungkook thinks anybody who pursues an avenue like Communication could probably debate his ass into next month. “Hey, those fifteen-year-olds make bank, so I see no issue with that.”

You laugh, nodding. Jungkook leans over the table to help himself to another couple of dumplings, looking back at you as you smile at him, a single grain of rice stuck on the corner of your lips. In the warm evening light of your apartment, the soothing noises of ambulances and honking cars below you, Jungkook decides to remember this moment. Save it forever.

“Let’s take a photo,” Jungkook suggests, even though he’s already taking his phone out of his back pocket. “This is too good not to remember.”

“Right now?” You ask, caught off-guard. “I just stuffed my face with Chinese food, I’m wearing a t-shirt I got when I was in tenth grade, and we’re in my grody apartment. Are you sure?”

Jungkook’s already setting up the phone stand, stacking empty biodegradable Chinese takeout boxes to create the optimal angle. “I gotta get three Instagram posts in, remember?” He says. Because that’s obviously the only reason he wants to take a photo of the two of you, right here, right now.

Obviously.

You’re still hesitant, but Jungkook sets up the self-timer on his phone and leans back into the couch, pulling you in next to him. “Just relax,” he tells you. “You look wonderful.”

The first few pictures are classics—back straight, head up, chin down, hair fixed. Jungkook lets his phone click like a photobooth, making sure the camera gets every one of his angles. Then, the two of you start to get a bit more playful, coming up with creative (or uncreative) poses—peace signs, finger guns, winking faces. You drape your body over his legs and get a few of you looking like perpendicular line segments, a couple of you cuddling, one of you squishing his cheeks.

“Okay, last one,” Jungkook says, setting his phone up. He expects it to just be a relatively normal one, your bodies close to each other but not aggressively so, but a second before the camera shutter clicks you plant your lips on his cheek, making him smile as he gasps. His phone snaps the last photo, and it takes everything in Jungkook’s power not to immediately look at the final shot.

“What was that for?” Jungkook asks, fingers tracing over where your lips pressed against his cheek.

“Just ‘cause,” you say nonchalantly, beginning to gather up your leftovers. “I didn’t know you had a scar on your cheek.”

“I got it when I was little,” Jungkook says, finger lingering on top of it.

“It’s cute,” you tell him, standing up to pack away the leftovers in your fridge and toss out anything you completely devoured. “You’re cute sometimes, you know that, Jungkook?”

Jungkook’s speechless. He stands in the middle of your apartment like a fish out of water, eyes wide as they watch you flitter around your kitchenette. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know if there is anything to say.

“This was a lot of fun,” you tell him when you bid your goodbyes, leaning against the doorframe of your apartment. “Thanks for bringing me Chinese.”

“Thanks for inviting me in to eat it with you,” Jungkook says back. “We should do this again sometime.”

“You mean like a date?” You ask, eyebrows raised. “What do you think we are, boyfriend and girlfriend?”

Jungkook laughs. “My mistake. We can have a friend dinner, if you want.”

You grin. “Hmm, I think I like boyfriend and girlfriend better, don’t you think?” You ask.

Jungkook pretends to ponder the question, like he doesn’t already know the answer. “Me too.”

The entire way home, Jungkook’s cheek tingles.

Jungkook (10:18AM): hey what r u doing rn??

You (10:18AM): i’m about to go to this volunteering thing at the animal shelter !!!

Jungkook (10:18AM): wow really?? that sounds like fun

You (10:18AM): yeah i’m really excited !! You (10:19AM): are you an animal person jungkook

Jungkook stares at his phone distantly. He was secretly hoping you’d be free, because it’s a Saturday and he’s got nothing planned the entire day. He could do work, sure, but that’s a Sunday problem. And he just wanted to do something with you. Sue him.

Jungkook (10:19AM): yeah i love animals Jungkook (10:19AM): except iguanas fuck those guys

You: (10:20AM): do i wanna know????

Jungkook (10:20AM): in high school my brother got an iguana and it ate my school id so i couldn’t buy lunch for the whole year

You (10:20AM): i’ll ask later You (10:20AM): but my volunteering thing isn’t until 10:30 do you wanna come?

It’s not that Jungkook’s heart skips a beat, but it skips half of one.

Jungkook (10:21AM): are you sure?? i don’t want to be a bother

You (10:21AM): no come !!! it’ll be so much fun !!! we’re just holding an outdoor adoption fair for the day so we get to spend time with animals and encourage people to adopt them it’ll be lots of fun!! You (10:22AM): please come i’ll be so lonely without you :(

You don’t need to say another word. In fact, you pretty much had Jungkook sold the moment you told him what you were doing. He’s already halfway out the door of his apartment by the time he texts you back.

Jungkook (10:23AM): i’m on my way!!

He gets to your apartment in record time, too excited to spend time with you to be ashamed of the desperation that’s radiating off of him. Jungkook’s not socially starved, nor does he not have other friends he could pass the time with. But he’s been friends with Taehyung, Jimin, and Yoongi ever since he set foot on campus for the first time, which means that he’s spent more time with them the past few years than he has in the past couple of months with you, because that is how math works. And Jungkook hates math, but he knows that he would much rather spend the day with you than anybody else.

He knocks on your door, only slightly out of breath, to find that you haven’t even put on your shoes yet.

“You got here quick,” you comment. “Did you run?”

“I didn’t work out this morning,” Jungkook lies like a liar. It’s by no means a good excuse, he just didn’t want you to think he ran all the way just to be with you. He wants to retain some shred of dignity, especially after losing most of it when he agreed to a deal where he would date someone for three months in exchange for money.

“Sure thing, Batman,” you say. “I’m almost ready, just give me a second.”

Jungkook waits patiently in your doorway, catching his breath and trying to wipe away the sweat that’s slowly beginning to collect on his forehead in a futile attempt to make him seem as cool and natural and not-at-all-excited as possible. It doesn’t seem to be working very well.

Whatever. Jungkook supposes that there are much worse things than having you think he just wants to spend time with you this afternoon. After all, he really does.

On the way there, you tell Jungkook all about the cat that your family had when you were growing up. His name was Pickle and he frequently brought your family stolen flowers from neighbors’ gardens, which was both extremely endearing and also rage-inducing. He also exclusively ate cat food that was the combination of meat and vegetables, which made you believe for a solid three years that all mammals were omnivores. They were, in fact, not.

“I haven’t had a cat since he died when I was thirteen, holy shit I want one so bad,” you say as you arrive at the park right by the shelter, where the adoption fair is being held. “Thanks for coming, by the way. You didn’t have to. You probably have lots of Physics work to do.”

“I wanted to,” Jungkook says instantly, refusing to let you believe otherwise. “I did. That’s why I texted you.”

“To come to the adoption fair?” You ask, waving hello to another one of the volunteers. You must be here often.

“No,” Jungkook says, faltering slightly. “To, uh, well—to hang out with you, actually.” God, he sounds like he’s twelve. Hang out? To hang out with you? The same way that preteens do because they’re too old for the word playdate? For God’s sake. You’re college students, friends (hopefully, because if not then Jungkook has completely misread this situation), and fake lovers. And Jungkook chooses the phrase hang out to describe time spent with you.

“Oh,” you say, more to yourself than to him. Your brows furrow slightly, like you’re pondering something too insignificant to say aloud. Jungkook knows that feeling. “Well, I’m glad you texted me, then.”

Jungkook’s glad, too.

The animal shelter staff, despite his unannounced arrival, are absolutely thrilled that Jungkook’s volunteered to help alongside you. They tell him that he’s got an extremely friendly and marketable face, and will be good for talking to prospective adopters because he’s, by default, extremely charming.

“I can vouch for that,” you mutter into his ear before another worker asks you to help out with some of the dogs. Jungkook stands there, your words ringing in his ears, as the instructions the shelter coordinator tells him fly right over his ear. Charming, huh?

Realistically, there are plenty of ways that Jungkook could be spending his free Saturday that would be appealing to most, if not all, college students. He could be lazing around in bed, sleeping in until two in the afternoon, and never getting out from under the covers. He could be marathoning his favorite TV show or a new K-drama that Taehyung’s obsessed with, finishing the whole series in a single day. He could go out for brunch like any good college student would, go to an overpriced café and take aesthetically pleasing photos to post online, spend the whole day online shopping.

But instead, he’s standing in the sun surrounded by prospective owners and a whole bunch of pets, watching as you play with a few of the puppies in the pen as people ask you questions, and Jungkook decides that there’s really nothing else that he would rather be doing than this.

Here’s the thing: animals are cute, but you with animals is cuter.

Jungkook comes to this conclusion relatively early in the day, after staring at you unabashedly as you play with the puppies, pick up cats for people to hold, and encourage prospective owners to consider older animals in the shelter because they give just as much love and joy as the babies. He is, admittedly, not doing the thing he came here to do (volunteer), but hardly anyone is paying attention to him and he is, in turn, paying attention to you. And you’re doing your work, so does it really matter if he’s not doing his?

In the end, Jungkook actually does begin to contribute something of substance to the event, but only because the coordinator assigned him to the animal registration table for people adopting pets, which means he doesn’t get a free pass to watch you play with puppies for the rest of the day.

Jungkook volunteers, he swears, but he doesn’t do it that often, which makes participating in this even feel that much better. He can’t help but smile and congratulate the brand new owners on their new best friend(s), happily filling in the official papers and watching as each animal goes to their forever home. It’s humbling, and it makes him happy, and Jungkook doesn’t think he could get that sort of feeling if he just stayed at home watching Netflix.

The day ends up being a success. At least, that’s what the coordinator tells him, because over half of the pets available got adopted in that single afternoon, which seems to be quite the accomplishment. The good news is that even though Jungkook was objectively less than helpful, the coordinator isn’t shouting at him because everything turned out well anyway. So that’s always a plus.

“We’re gonna start packing up, folks,” the coordinator says into her megaphone as the day winds down. “Animals first, equipment second!”

“Jungkook, come over here! Quick!”

For a second, Jungkook thinks you’re in pain, but it’s enough of a second for him to turn to the sound of your voice and dash over, responsibilities (as per usual) forgotten.

And then it turns out that you’re nowhere near injured, or hurt, or anything even resembling endangerment of your wellbeing.

Instead, what he sees is this:

You, waiting in the middle of the park, grass tickling your ankles. You, grinning as you meet his eyes from where he stands a few feet away from you. You, with your t-shirt from the rescue center and plain jeans on.

You, with a kitten in your arms, mewling softly as you stroke its back.

“Are we allowed to adopt now that the fair is over?” Jungkook jokes as he comes over to you. It’s when he’s right by your side that he notices something different about the cat, at the exact same time you point it out—

“She’s only got three-legs!” You say, overwhelmed with affection and completely endeared. “Look at her! She’s only got three legs,” you say, motioning for Jungkook to come closer.

“Do you know what happened?” Jungkook asks, leaning down to hold his fingers out for the kitten to sniff. She does so dutifully, pressing her little pink nose up against Jungkook’s fingertips before deeming him a satisfactory human being. Instinctively, Jungkook begins to rub at her cheek.

“No, only that they found her with something on her leg and it had to be amputated when they brought her to the shelter,” you say, bottom lip coming out in a pout as you look down at her.

Jungkook grins. “What’s her name?”

“Miracle,” you tell him.

Fitting name.

“Isn’t she adorable?” You ask, holding Miracle close to you as she clings to your chest. It’s clear that the both of you have already latched on to each other.

Jungkook nods, because how could he ever disagree? You’re standing in the middle of the local park as the afternoon draws to a close and the evening light sets in. It’s a little chillier now that the sun is going down, but it casts a hazy glow over your surroundings. And you’re just waiting there, a kitten in your hands and a smile on your face, and Jungkook can’t resist.

He can’t resist the way you look, how you could possibly look like this. He can’t resist as he pulls out his phone, not-so-subtly pulling up the camera so he can snap a few quick shots. Because pictures like this deserve to be remembered forever.

You don’t notice until the fifth picture in, when Miracle begins to meow, drawing your attention away from her and up to Jungkook.

“Oh my God, hey!” You shout softly, trying not to frighten Miracle or attract the attention of any of the other volunteers who are very obviously doing more work than you two at the current moment. “How could you snipe me like that? I’ve got cat fur and dog slobber all over me, I probably look like trash.”

“You don’t,” Jungkook insists, but he pulls his phone out of your reach anyway. Just in case. “You look fine.”

“Fine does not equate to picture-worthy,” you hiss, but you’re laughing.

“I’m a photographer, Y/N,” Jungkook says, patting himself on the back. “If I need a work a little magic, then I will.”

You scoff. “Sorry that my sweaty ass isn’t up to par with your Instagram standards,” you joke, making Jungkook chuckle. You put Miracle back into the pen she was waiting in throughout the fair, beginning to wrap up. “But at least you finally have two pictures of the same girl on your Instagram page.”

Jungkook chuckles again, but this one isn’t as real.

He had forgotten about Instagram entirely.

“Jungkook, your fucking phone alarm keeps going off!”

Jungkook’s in the bathroom, halfway through the latest John Mulaney Netflix comedy special, doing his goddamn business.

“It’s for my laundry!” He shouts back. He needs to go and pick it up at the laundromat around the corner before someone steals one sock from every pair and leaves him, hypothetically, sock-less. “Can you just turn it off?”

“Fine!”

Jungkook thinks that’s the end of the conversation, so he unpauses the comedy special and laughs as John Mulaney tells anecdotes about his youth. And then, two seconds later, there’s banging on the bathroom door.

“Jeon Jungkook!” Taehyung shrieks, accompanying every syllable with an equally as impactful thump on the door. “Open this door!”

“I’m on the goddamn toilet!” Jungkook shouts back. What does a locked bathroom door mean to Taehyung? Doesn’t he know what the hell Jungkook’s doing in here? “Give me a second!”

“We have to talk, right now!” Taehyung yells. Their neighbors are probably calling down noise complaints at this very moment.

“What the fuck,” Jungkook mutters, closing out of the Netflix app on his phone and hurrying himself up. He finishes up his goddamn business, laments the cutting short of the comedy special, washes his hands, and opens the door.

The moment it cracks open even a sliver, Taehyung is crashing into the bathroom, holding up Jungkook’s phone like it just murdered his entire nuclear and extended family. Jungkook nearly stumbles back into the shower at the force of everything, before Taehyung dangles his own goddamn phone right in front of his face.

“What the fuck is this?”

“Uh…” Jungkook says, a little frightened and a lot confused, “the time?”

“Not that, you dumbass!” Taehyung says. “Your lockscreen!”

“What about it?” Jungkook asks, desperately trying to scramble for his phone back. And while Taehyung may have the upper hand and the element of surprise, Jungkook is swole and swift, and he manages to rip it out of Taehyung’s grasp before long.

“It’s of Y/N! Are you serious!” In hindsight, maybe Jungkook shouldn’t have taken his phone out of Taehyung’s hands, because now both of them are smacking Jungkook’s shoulders repeatedly like the worst cuckoo clock ever.

Jungkook pushes Taehyung off of him and gains his bearings. “So? We’re dating.”

Fake dating. Minor detail.

“Yeah,” Taehyung says like a popular white girl in a teenage movie. “But you’ve never set a photo of someone as your lockscreen before! Or ever!”

“She’s cute, what do you mean?” Jungkook says defensively. Taehyung is reading way too into this.

Taehyung frowns. “I’ve known you since before we started college, and in that time not once have I ever seen your phone background be of a picture of a girl, or anybody, you were romantically interested in. Ever. I’m pretty sure you’d set your lockscreen as Hyuna before you’d set it to a picture of a girl you like. Let alone one with a three-legged kitten!”

“First of all, I love Hyuna, so fuck you,” Jungkook says pointedly. He’d die for her, full stop. If Hyuna told Jungkook to abandon his twenty-first century life and live as a hermit for the rest of his life, he’d do it without question. “Second of all, is it really that big of a deal? We’re just dating. It seemed like a natural segue.”

“Wow,” Taehyung says, taking another step back from Jungkook. He looks him up and down like a doctor inspecting the body for wounds, hands on his hips. Then he says, “I can’t believe you’re actually starting to fall for somebody.”

Jungkook opens his mouth to tell Taehyung he’s being overdramatic and ridiculous (as he usually is), but something stops him. There’s no way he could be falling for you. Absolutely not. You’re just friends, and after these three months are over you’re just going to go back to being friends. Friends who are, collectively, four hundred dollars wealthier. It seems like a good deal. It’s also fake in every sense of the word.

There’s no way that the feeling are real.

How could they be?

Min Yoongi does not want to make a big deal out of his and Hoseok’s first anniversary. Jung Hoseok wants to hire a plane to write JHS ♡ MYG in the sky.

Naturally, they have a house party.

It’s half an excuse to celebrate the first of what Jungkook is probably correct to assume is many, many more anniversaries, and half an excuse to throw a party that involves alcohol but does not involve frat boys. Which are two criteria that Jungkook heavily considers when figuring out plans for the night.

Because it goes without saying, Jungkook invites you as his plus one. If he didn’t, Taehyung would probably accuse Jungkook of trying to fake date for money (which he obviously isn’t already doing), and then steal his manga collection and sell it on the streets, in that order. These are things that Jungkook definitely does not want. Also, you know Hoseok, which means that by the transitive property in Jungkook’s eighth grade geometry class, you know Yoongi. And that basically rounds out Jungkook’s friend group.

By the time you and Jungkook arrive at Hoseok’s apartment just a couple of blocks off of campus, he can already hear the bass thumping through the floorboards outside. Hoseok and Yoongi have good music taste, for sure, but there is no way either of them would willingly set the volume that high. Which means that—

“Jungkook!” Taehyung shouts, already buzzed, as the two of you step inside Hoseok’s apartment. He wraps an arm around Jungkook’s shoulder, nursing a nearly-empty glass of red wine. Jungkook is right to assume this is definitely not his first glass. Taehyung waves hello to you as well, doing his rounds as per usual, before fluttering off to cling onto someone else.

Hoseok’s house party looks less like a party and more like a house. The lights are dim (courtesy of Yoongi), hors d'oeuvres are set out on the counter island (courtesy of Seokjin), and only their closest friends (plus guests) are here (courtesy of Hoseok). The only thing that might elicit any sort of party vibe is the booming bass that rings throughout the room as music plays from their television (courtesy of, you guessed it, Taehyung).

“Hey, Jungkook!” Hoseok shouts from where he’s lingering around the kitchen island, popping an olive into his mouth. He waves the both of you over to where he and Yoongi are standing, drinking their tasteful wine and eating their tasteful tapas. “You’re the girlfriend, right?” Hoseok asks, pointing to you with a smile.

“That’s me,” you say, nodding. “Hoseok and Yoongi, right? I recognize you from—”

“From the pictures,” Jungkook interjects. You look to Jungkook with a puzzled expression, and he raises his eyebrows and widens his eyes unhelpfully. “I showed some to you, remember?” He says, trying to be natural.

“Oh, yeah,” you say, catching on. Changing the topic, you turn to Hoseok and say, “You direct a dance group, right Hoseok?”

“Yeah! You’ve heard of it?” Hoseok says, eyes lighting up. He’s always happy to talk about the things he loves (dance, chemistry, and Yoongi).

“My friend is in it,” you tell him. “Do you know Chungha?”

“Oh my God, yes!” Hoseok exclaims excitedly. “I think that when I graduate, I’m gonna make her the leader. She’s so talented.”

“Learned from the best,” Yoongi adds in softly, blushing. Hoseok responds by pressing a kiss to Yoongi’s cheek, grabbing another olive to go as he heads off to greet other guests.

With Hoseok out of the picture, Yoongi’s disposition morphs almost instantly. In the blink of an eye, he goes from humbled, in-love boyfriend, to jaded, suspicious college student.

Jungkook opens his mouth to explain to Yoongi before his friend reads him like a board book, but Yoongi beats him to it.

“Let me guess,” Yoongi says, eyes narrowed as he stares the both of you down. Unlike Jungkook, who’s already caving into himself under the weight of Yoongi’s gaze, you’re holding onto his arm firmly, looking at Yoongi with a stern glare. “You asked her to pose as your girlfriend so you can get the cash?”

“Well,” Jungkook says, because technically Yoongi’s wrong. He didn’t ask. You did. And you’re splitting the cash, so that solves that issue. “Not really,” he says, like a kid trying to get out of punishment for something he very clearly did.

Yoongi frowns. He turns to you. “Please tell me that you’re getting compensated for hanging out with my dumbass friend.”

“Hey!” Jungkook cries indignantly.

“Yes,” you assure Yoongi. “I am. But thanks for the concern.” Just then, Hoseok calls you over to introduce you to a couple of his friends from his dance group, and you wave goodbye to Jungkook and Yoongi before scurrying off.

Yoongi looks at Jungkook, and Jungkook feels fucking transparent under his sharp gaze. He grimaces. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?

“Yes,” Jungkook insists, taking some offense to what Yoongi’s insinuating. He’s got everything under control, thank you very much. The guidelines to your arrangement were laid out very clearly in a Google Doc, electronically signed by the both of you. You’re getting along well. Jungkook hopes that you’ll be still friends after all of this is over, because he likes spending time with you. Go figure. “I’m fine, Yoongi. You don’t need to worry.”

Yoongi looks skeptical, but he drops the subject anyway. “If you say so,” he says. “I just don’t want you to expect something you aren’t getting.”

“What do you mean?”

Jimin finds Jungkook, in that instant, and drags him to participate in karaoke with you, him, and Taehyung. As he’s getting pulled away from the conversation. Jungkook looks at Yoongi desperately for a response. Yoongi doesn’t answer.

Two rounds of early 2000’s karaoke and several voice cracks later, you end up next to Jungkook’s side as the party rages around you. Well, not necessarily rages. More like continues.

“What did Yoongi say to you?” You ask, leaning in to whisper into Jungkook’s ear.

“Oh, he was just making sure that I knew what I was doing,” Jungkook says. It’s not not the truth.

“And do you?” You ask, eyebrows raised as you look up at him.

Jungkook falters.

He thinks he does.

“Taehyung, did you drink this whole bottle—god damnit,” Seokjin’s voice echoes throughout the apartment as Taehyung happily bounces out of the kitchen, even more tipsy than he was when he slung his arm around Jungkook as he and you walked into Hoseok’s apartment. He’s not flat out intoxicated yet, but he’s certainly getting there. Hopefully, Jimin has the sense to keep more alcohol out of his hands.

“Jungkook,” Taehyung coos happily as he peppers platonic kisses all over Jungkook’s cheek. This is natural. “Don’t forget about the deal, alright? I still have the four hundred dollars if you manage to date for that long.” He singsongs his words. In Taehyung’s stupor, he seems to have forgotten that you are still standing right next to Jungkook, watching as his best friend plops wet smooches on the side of Jungkook’s face 1) like it’s nobody’s business and 2) like he doesn’t already have a boyfriend he does this regularly with anyway.

Jungkook turns to you, eyes wide, but you pat his shoulder and calm him down.

It’s fine, you mouth to him. I already know.

Obviously, Jungkook’s mind supplies unhelpfully. That’s why you’re here. Because you already know about the deal. And the money. Obviously.

“You know what,” Taehyung says, finger pointed. “I’ve never seen you kiss Y/N,” he continues, and Jungkook already doesn’t like the direction Taehyung’s headed in. “You guys should do it.”

“Should we, though?” Jungkook say, looking hesitant.

“I know you, Jungkook,” Taehyung says accusingly, “I know that you would start fake dating something just so you could get the cash. Prove that you aren’t.”

Jungkook frowns. “You know you actually have no power or right to make us kiss, so—”

Before Jungkook can continue, you flip him around to face you and pull him in close, hands on his neck as you plant your lips on his. Jungkook nearly stumbles back from the shock of it all, but you keep your grip tight and slowly, his hands find his way to to your waist. Distantly, he can register Taehyung (and probably everyone else in the room) shouting, but all he feels is your lips on his and his heart on fire. It’s by no means a super majestic, romantic, movie-worthy kiss, but Jungkook’s breath catches in his throat and he instantly relaxes at your touch, and that’s never happened to him before.

When you part, it feels like Jungkook’s heart is about to beat right out of his chest.

Taehyung seems perfectly satisfied, and has already moved on to pressing up against Jimin in an effort to upstage the both of you. He will definitely succeed in his endeavors, mostly because Taehyung and Jimin are a thing, and Jungkook and you, well.

You turn to Jungkook, cheeks warm from both the rush and the embarrassment, and you grin. Jungkook takes one look at you, and his heart starts to race. He maybe wants to do that again. Actually, he knows that he wants to do that again.

Fuck.

You (3:23PM): hey are you busy rn?

Jungkook (3:23PM): no Jungkook (3:23PM): what’s up?

You (3:23PM): do you wanna go out and get acai bowls? You (3:23PM): i feel like we gotta talk about some stuff

Jungkook (3:24PM): yeah Jungkook (3:24PM): right now?

You (3:24PM): sure You (3:24PM): meet in 15?

Jungkook (3:25PM): okay!

Jungkook is nervous.

Granted, Jungkook gets nervous when he’s spontaneously offered a baby to be held and he doesn’t know what to do because he doesn’t frequently hold babies, but still. He’s nervous.

He’s sitting in the acai bowl place with his hands in his pockets, palms sweating. Logically, he should take his hands out of his pockets to remedy this, but if he does that then he’s just going to rub his sweaty hands through his obnoxiously long hair until you get there, and he doesn’t want to pour his heart out to you with sweaty hair.

So he sits on the high stools by the counters against the windows with sweaty hands and a nervous blink, watching to see when you’ll walk in.

It occurs to him then that if all goes well, you might actually end up holding hands after all of this is over, and for God’s sake he cannot have sweaty hands, so he gets up and grabs about fifteen napkins from the dispenser to the suspicious glare of the underpaid teenage worker behind the cash register, rubbing his palms profusely on them.

It is then, as Jungkook stands looking simultaneously like a fish in water and like he just walked out of middle school PE, that the bell above the door rings and you walk in, hands in the pockets of your hoodie and your backpack resting on your shoulders.

“Hey,” you say softly, standing next to him as you stare up at the menu board. Jungkook’s come here before with you, and he’s already memorized your order.

“Hey,” Jungkook replies, weirdly out of breath.

“What are you getting?” You ask. Jungkook hates how neither of you know how to start the conversation.

“Oh, just, uh, my usual, I guess,” Jungkook says with a shrug. He has been here a total of one other time (with you), and he didn’t really like what he got last time, but now it’s been established as his ‘usual’ and he’s in too deep to change it now.

You end up back where Jungkook was sitting before, next to the giant glass window that overlooks the busy street. Jungkook sets his acai bowl down on the counter, turns to face you, and takes a deep breath. It’s now or never.

“I—”

“I think I like you,” you blurt out first, words tumbling out of your mouth like an avalanche. You’re staring at Jungkook, biting down on your lip nervously, and Jungkook sputters. “I’m just gonna tell you up front. I think I have a crush on you. No, I know that I do.”

“I—” Jungkook says again, floundering. “I don’t—”

“I’m really sorry,” you say, turning back to look at the strawberries in your bowl. “I think it’s been building up slowly for a while, but ever since that night at Hoseok’s house I just… I realized, you know?”

Jungkook’s silent.

“And I knew that I had to tell you because we’ve been really clear about all of the terms of this… agreement and I wasn’t going to hide this from you either,” you’re rambling now, words practically bouncing on top of each other. “I’m really sorry, Jungkook. It’s okay if you’re angry or something, I know that this wasn’t part of the contract because you kind of have to find a new partner since we both made it clear that this relationship wasn’t inherently romantic even though I made it into one anyway. Just say the word and we can call this thing off. I’m sorry.”

You stare down into your acai bowl like it just set the curve for your least favorite class. Jungkook sits there, acai bowl untouched, words processing.

“Do you… want to say anything?” You ask, nervous again.

“Don’t apologize,” Jungkook says. His hands are all sweaty again, but he barely pays them any attention. “I don’t care. Fuck the contract, honestly. It’s a Google Docs.” You’re gazing at him with wide-eyes, shocked that he’s even opened his mouth. “I’m really glad that you and I are doing this together. I probably would have never even met you if it weren’t for you interrupting me and Yoongi at the coffee place.”

You grin.

Jungkook realizes, then, that he’s been waiting too long to do this.

“Honestly, I—” He says before chuckling, sweaty hand scratching at the nape of his neck, “I was gonna tell you something too. But you beat me to it.”

“Hmm?” You ask, looking at him.

“I think I like you, too,” Jungkook says, and his heart seems to finally settle. “No, I know I do. You’re right—it’s been a long time coming, but the party at Hoseok’s just… I realized. I needed you to know that, too. You deserved to know that this is reciprocated.” Jungkook gets a burst of confidence (probably from the cool air that rushes through the room whenever someone opens the door), and takes your hands in his own. They’re sweaty, and Jungkook feels like he just ran a marathon, but it feels almost like they belong. Like this moment was meant to be.

“We may have started this thing because of my dumbass friends, but I want to continue it with you,” Jungkook says. He’s six lectures behind in his differential equations class, he hasn’t done the readings for his Korean-American history course since the beginning of the semester, his diet has mostly consisted of midnight ramen and chocolate chip granola bars, but he has never felt lighter. “I like you a lot, Y/N.”

“Oh, thank God,” you say dramatically, heaving a sigh. “Because I like you a lot, too.”

Naturally, it’s smooth sailing from there. At least one aspect of Jungkook’s life is working out for him. His differential equations lectures, history readings, and diet are still works in progress.

“So, can I delete the Google Drive document?” You ask, pulling out your phone. “I don’t think we need it anymore, do we?”

“Unless you still want to reference it for instructions on how to be a good significant other,” Jungkook jokes. He still hasn’t touched his acai bowl. He definitely needs to come clean and order something else next time. “My standards are pretty high.”

“Hey! I exceed all of those standards on a regular basis, don’t I? I bought you hot chocolate and a croissant that one day. And I’m good with your friends. Isn’t that, like, what all guys want in a relationship?”

Jungkook pouts. It kind of is, but truth be told you exceed his standards just by existing. “No,” he insists. “Sometimes they just want to be little spoon but everybody makes fun of them.”

“Aw, do you want to be little spoon?” You ask, totally endeared. You press a kiss to his cheek and it makes his skin turn cherry red. “You can be little spoon. I think that I’m a great cuddler.”

“We’ll have to test that theory,” Jungkook says with an eyebrow raise.

“Hmm, I like the sound of that,” you say, leaning into him. Jungkook lets his body be enveloped by your warmth, basking in it, before you jump up, something else popping into your head. “Oh! We should probably tell your friends to call off the deal, don’t you think?” You say. “This isn’t really about the money anymore, is it. I’d feel bad.”

Jungkook has half a mind to tell you that Taehyung would probably bathe in one hundred dollar bills if their apartment had a bath, so four hundred dollars is practically pocket change in his eyes, but you’re right. As usual, you’re right. Curse you and your good-hearted nature.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Jungkook concedes easily. You could probably tell him to change his major to English and he would listen to you. “I’ll tell them tomorrow.”

“Oh God, they’re gonna roast us so hard for making a deal,” you say, face-palming. This is true, but Jungkook’s friends will get over it. Jimin’s a hopeless romantic and Taehyung will just be overwhelmingly thrilled that Jungkook actually managed to hold down a relationship.

“They’ll get over it,” Jungkook says. He presses a kiss to your forehead and lets his heart flutter.

“You think anything’s gonna change?” You ask, resting your head on his shoulder.

Jungkook pauses for a second. Wonders if there’s something to fear. And he decides that he couldn’t care less about that. “Even if it does, I don’t care. As long as we’re together.”

“We’ve been summoned,” Taehyung says as he and Jimin arrive at the group study room Jungkook booked specifically for this occasion.

“By who?” Jungkook asks, scrunching up his nose in disgust. “Because it wasn’t me.”

“No, you’re right,” Taehyung says, collapsing on the chair across from Jungkook. “It was this angry gremlin with hair that looks like a wet mop. Let’s see… what what his name again?”

If there wasn’t a massive table separating them, Jungkook would throw hands at this very instant.

“The fact that you called both of us here frightens me greatly,” Jimin says as he takes a seat next to Taehyung, their hands interlacing almost instantly. “Either you’re about to tell us you’re dropping out or that Taehyung’s cheating on me with you.”

Jungkook frowns. “Why the fuck would I ever date Taehyung?”

Taehyung gasps. “What do you mean? I’m a catch. Admit it, Jungkookie, you’d date me in a heartbeat.”

“I would literally rather have Jimin vomit into my own mouth,” Jungkook deadpans. Jimin nearly actually pukes at the mention of such an action, and Jungkook decides that even the pure thought of that makes him want to cannonball into a volcano. “But I’m not cheating on either one of you with the other one, and I’m not about to drop out.”

“Oh, thank God,” Taehyung says dramatically, like he says everything else. “I thought that we would lose our resident Buff Boy who eats all of my leftovers at meals. I was worried there for a second.”

“I hate you,” Jungkook tells Taehyung genuinely.

“If you’re not dropping out, then why did you call us here?” Jimin asks curiously. “To study? Taehyung doesn’t even know where his backpack is.”

“You lost your backpack?” Jungkook says, in awe. He knew Taehyung was careless, but he didn’t think he was that careless. Maybe he really has lost all fucks. Which does not bode well for him, considering he has to write a thesis in order to graduate.

“I just don’t know where it is right now, alright?” Taehyung says, ashamed. He very well should be. What kind of college student loses their backpack? “Why did you ask us here?” He changes the topic so as not to be subject to any more shaming.

“Uh, to talk about the whole deal thing,” Jungkook says awkwardly. He has no idea how he’s going to go about this. He walked into this group study room about as prepared as Taehyung is when he walks into his first round of midterms.

“Ah, yes,” Taehyung nods sneakily. “Honestly, Jungkook, I’m impressed that you and Y/N have even been going on for this long. Does she know about it?”

Jimin smacks Taehyung in the side. “Obviously not, otherwise they wouldn’t still be dating. Have some faith in our Jungkookie for not betraying this deal to her.”

“Actually—”

“Oh, yeah,” Taehyung says with a laugh. “If she knew about this, she’d absolutely break up with you.”

“I’m. Aware.” Jungkook says stiffly.

“You’ve exceeded all expectations, Jungkook,” Taehyung says happily. “You got a girlfriend and you managed to maintain a relationship for nearly three months all without mentioning the deal to her.”

“Your faith in me is overwhelming.” Jungkook frowns.

“We’re very impressed with you, you know? She seems really nice, too. I thought you’d, like, resort to Tinder dates just so you could get the money,” Jimin adds on.

“Oh, speaking of money, since Jungkook’s doing such a good job, how about we…” Taehyung pauses for dramatic effect, which is something he does so frequently that it just makes every one of his sentences overdramatic, “raise the stakes?” Taehyung wiggles his eyebrows just as an add-on to the proposition.

“Seriously, Tae? Don’t waste your money on something like this—”

“But you’re doing so well! Why wouldn’t you want more money?”

The nagging college student part of his brain tells him to just cave and accept the money, because a higher payment means more money for the both of you, which is… tempting. Jungkook is, still at heart, a desperate and money-starved college student.

But he knows he can’t. Not because it would be a waste of Taehyung’s resources, but because neither of you need the money anymore. What for? You’re already dating.

“Because—”

“Even I would accept it, and I’m an international student,” Taehyung says with a laugh. “Y/N doesn’t even need to know!”

Something in Jungkook snaps.

“You know what, you guys?” Jungkook says, standing up from his seat angrily, hands slamming onto the table. “No. I don’t want your money, and I don’t want you guys to raise the stakes or whatever. This isn’t right. I shouldn’t be paid to date someone.”

“But what does it matter if she doesn’t know?” Taehyung asks, a single eyebrow raised in confusion.

“It matters because I care about her! For fuck’s sake, that’s why it matters,” Jungkook says, running a hand through his hair out of exasperation. “It matters because it’s about the principle. I care about her, and I don’t need any sort of incentive to date her. I just want to.”

“But—” Taehyung says again.

“She knows, you dumbass!” Jungkook shouts. “She’s well aware that there was money on the line. We started dating because we came up with this—this agreement to split the money once the three months were over. But then we both realized we actually wanted to date each other for, you know, an actual relationship, and we decided to get rid of the deal. Which is why I called you guys over here. To tell you that I don’t wanna do it anymore. I’m out.”

“Seriously, Jungkook?” Jimin says. “You started fake-dating someone for money and then you fell for her?”

“She is really nice,” Jungkook insists. “You said it yourself, Jimin. I care about her.”

“Wow,” Taehyung says, speechless, for once in his life. “I never knew you actually went through with all of this. I didn’t even think you’d manage to do it at all. You had me fooled.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook says with a sigh. “Me too. The fact that you guys even thought this deal was a good idea at the time is just… it’s ridiculous. I was dumb, too, for accepting it. But I don’t wanna do it anymore.”

“Okay,” Taehyung says with a simple nod. He’s holding Jimin’s hand, which means all this talk about romance and dating is making him sappy. “We don’t have to do it anymore. I’m sorry for being so obnoxious about it. We’ll call it off.”

Jimin raises his hand, almost like he’s scared to say something. “I know we’re calling this off, but since Y/N knows about this whole deal in the first place, I feel like we should do something to make it up to her. You know, because she got roped into this thing.”

“I think that’ll be nice. Something meaningful, too. Not just money,” Taehyung adds.

Jungkook grins. He knows exactly what to get.

When Jungkook knocks on your door the next afternoon, he can barely hold his grin in.

“Jungkook?” You say when you open the door to see him, holding a nicely-wrapped but suspicious-looking box in both of his hands.

“Hi, Y/N,” Jungkook says happily.

“I don’t like that look on your face,” you immediately say as you usher him inside. “You’re scaring me. You text me are you at your place rn? and when I say yes, I receive no further information.”

Jungkook just smiles. “I have a present for you.”

“I can see that. Can I ask why?”

“Because you’re my girlfriend.”

You squint your eyes. “Is that a good enough reason?”

“I think so. It’s also from Taehyung and Jimin, but don’t give them most of the credit. It’s mine. I got this for you. Because you are my girlfriend and I am your boyfriend.”

“O...kay,” you say hesitantly, hands held out as Jungkook places the box in your palms. You sink under its weight, clearly surprised at how heavy it is for a simple box. “If this is a prank, I’m breaking up with you.”

“Please don’t break up with me. I think I might love you,” Jungkook says, smile so wide it’s beginning to hurt his cheeks.

You pause, hand on the top of the box about to open it, and look up at him. Your face is impossibly soft, and Jungkook wishes that you could stay like that for longer, just so he can etch it into his memory. Remember it when he’s sad. “You think you might love me?”

“I think so,” Jungkook says honestly, because it’s true. He’s not sure yet, but he knows he’s on his way. “I think I do.”

“I—” You say, soft grin lacing your features. “I think so, too.”

“Open it!” Jungkook insists, giving your wrist a squeeze as encouragement. “I promise it’s not a prank. But even if it was, please don’t break up with me.”

“You are never this happy, which makes me exceedingly stressed,” you say, hands tentatively beginning to take the lid off of the box. “Why are there holes in the side of this thing? Is something about to squirt out at me?”

“No,” Jungkook says. “It’s nice, I swear.”

You narrow your eyes at him.

“You’re my girlfriend,” Jungkook says. “You deserve it. You wanted it, too. I got exactly what you wanted.”

Before you even have the lid off of the box, you hear a sound.

Meow.

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

#jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts fluff #bts angst #bts scenario #jungkook scenario #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #bts au #jungkook au #bts fake dating au #w: the coffee shop contract

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heartofsnark · 3 years ago

Text

Can You Feel The Sun? (Chapter Seven): Flying Towards An Early Grave

Notes: Still posting my little backlog, I will warn in advanced, the next chapter is the heist (finally) AND IT IS A CHONKER, but for now have a little appetizer with some fun times, smut, and foreshadowing!~

Word Count: 10860

Chapter Warnings: heavy foreshadowing, food, blowjobs, groping, protected vaginal sex, car sex

If you haven’t yet, you can read the previous chapter here!~

V’s body is heavy as she gets to her apartment door, ready to curl up into bed and call it a day. She’s exhausted with adrenaline gone. She presses her thumb to the panel. The little intercom doorbell is also the lock, scanning and searching for SID validation. It takes a moment to scan, it seems to be lagging more lately.

Calling.

The intercom says it’s calling, why is it calling? She can hear the automated ringing and her lights inside are probably flashing. It only does this if the SID doesn’t match the apartment owner’s, assuming them a guest. V presses again.

Calling.

She presses harder.

Calling.

She tries her entire hand.

Calling.

She kicks her door, a heavy sound as her boot collides with it. That doesn’t help with the lock, but it makes her feel a little better. Just what she needs; bloody, sore, and locked out of her apartment for who fucking knows why? Her stomach growls as she pulls up the number for building maintenance.

“Megabuilding Maintenance, how can I help?”

“I’m locked out of my apartment,” V signs, her choker translator on.

“What do you mean?”

“The lock isn’t recognizing my SID.”

“Can I get your name and apartment number?”

V gives them the details and they say they’re sending a maintenance guy. All of the services floor is nearly shut down at the late hour, her stomach growling. No doubt the maintenance guy will take his sweet fucking time, so much for getting some decent sleep. She gets a burrito, a Nicola, and a little thing of ketchup from the machines. Sitting on the ground near her door, dumping ketchup on her burrito as she eats it.

By the time the guy arrives she’s finished eating, drinking, and is a little unsure what’s dried blood versus dried ketchup on her shirt. She hops to her feet when she sees the guy walking up, a massive case of resting bitch face. V doubts he wanted to be dragged out at three am to help unlock a door, but it’s not her fault the tech fucked up.

“You V?” he asks, voice gruff and annoyed.

“Yep.”

“Hard day?” His eyebrow raises, gaze focused on her blood stained flesh and chrome.

“Work.”

“Ah… I see,” he nods, “so, what's the issue with your door?”

Night City is one of the few places where one can just admit to being a mercenary for a living, even if it did earn her an odd look. V presses her hand to the lock button again and it once again initiates a call.

“Doesn’t recognize my SID.”

“Hmm, you are V, right?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Who the fuck else would I be? The building has a picture of me on file for fucks sake.”

“Hey, hey, nowadays with enough eddies anybody can look like anybody.”

“If I had an identity worth stealing, you really think I’d be living here?”

“Fair enough, let’s check something,” he pulls out a holo tablet, jacking it into the bottom of the intercom lock, “this will show what the lock is reading it as, try again.”

V keeps an eye on his tablet as she presses her hand back to the lock and the projected information starts to show. And for a moment she sees herself; her face, her name, her information, and all the shit Vik had to set up for her to have SID. Then in a blink of an eye it glitches out and the information shifts. She watches her nearly mugshot like photo shift into that of a man, with short dark hair and dark eyes. V [REDACTED] becomes Robert John Linder. Birthdate shifting from November 12th, 2056 to November 16, 1988. Birthplace shifting from Seven Devils, North Carolina to College Station, Texas.

Who the hell is this old man?

“Looks like it’s reading your SID chip as someone else's, strange, any chance you’ve been spiked by a ‘runner?”

“No, even if I was, not sure why they’d want to make my SID register to some senior citizen.”

“Weird, can’t think of how else this would happen? Seems like it starts to read your chip and then changes to this guy’s. Do you know him?”

“Don’t hang around old folks homes too much, actually. Just some random dude to me.”

“Hmmm.”

“I can promise you, I’m not a ninety year old cowboy man.”

“Somehow I noticed that, actually… looks like the guy is dead.”

“What?”

“Mmhmm, scroll down a bit and there’s the date his death certificate was issued,” the guy shows her, “you’ll probably need to have your SID looked at, see what’s wrong with it. For now, I can unlock it for you and have them add whoever this guy is to registered owners, so, you won’t be locked out until you fix it.”

“Fine, I guess.”

“But that does mean if this guy’s ghost decides to pop in for a visit, lock won’t stop him,” the man jokes, offering the first smile since he’s been here.

“Somehow I’ll handle it, thanks for the help, and if it’s not too much trouble can you forward me the details of that SID info?”

“Sure, no problem,” the maintenance man’s eyes glow and she can feel the very soft warmth and whirr of her neuroplant as it accepts the file.

She gives one final thanks as he unlocks her apartment and she’s finally able to step foot inside. Thankfully her door locks behind her and she makes a beeline for her shower, scrubbing blood and sweat from her skin; finding bruises, cuts, and flesh wounds she hadn’t noticed in the midst of fighting.

It takes her a little longer than expected to wind down for the night, the merc putting in her optic contacts and playing with the bot. Looking through its eyes, she has it twist and climb all throughout her apartment, making herself dizzy until she falls out of bed and bangs her head against the floor. Finally, putting the cute spider looking tech away when she feels the knot starting to form on her head. Then, setting her alarm and sleeping for the night.

V is still tired when her alarm vibrates beneath her pillow, waking her up as the sunlight streams in from her large window, warming her skin. She checks her phone, double checks the time and that Dex hasn’t sent the car for her yet. The young merc rushes through her morning routine; showering, brushing her teeth, dressing, and taking her medication with some Chromanticore in hopes of getting some energy back.

She’s out the door and has her mask on in a matter of minutes, phone buzzing with the message that Dex’s car is waiting for her. As she comes down the steps of her building she sees the same limousine and bodyguard waiting outside of it. But this time when he opens the door for her, there is no Dex, nobody. Chills creep their way up her spine, but she gets in nonetheless, sinking into the leather backseat as Dex’s guard starts to drive them away.

The guard is quiet, doesn’t explain where they’re going or why, V has a feeling he wouldn’t tell even if she asked. So, she doesn’t. Only the radio drones on, a mixture of news and occasional pop music from bands and singers she doesn’t know or care to know; an anouncer coming over the radio to speak somberly.

“Today marks the fifty-fourth anniversary of the attack on Arasaka Tower. Fifty-four years ago a group of terrorists stormed Arasaka Tower and detonated a bomb, which forever changed the history of our dear city. Devastating the lives of millions; thousands dying in the initial attack and more perishing in the aftermath as well. Today we ask for a moment of silence to remember those who lost their lives in this senseless act of violence so many years ago….:”

A beat of silence, barely a moment, then the high energy voice returns.

“Now, after this short music break, we return with the heartwarming story of Stumpy, the three legged puppy who’s gone viral after the use of veterinary cyberware has given the pup a new lease on life!~”

V rolls her eyes, sounds about right, barely a moment for something so somber. No real grief or empathy, time to move on to a cute puppy because that keeps people happy and listening. She watches the city around her change, spotting the Valentino graffiti starting to cover the buildings and that they’re entering Heywood. She sends a heads up text to Jackie, letting him know they’re not far from his house.

A short moment after, the driver is parking outside Jackie’s garage and she watches the older merc walking out. The guard opens the limousine back door and Jackie relaxes when he sees V, climbing into the seat next to her.

“Hey, V, you figure out what’s going on?”

“Was sort of hoping you had…”

“Asked T-Bug, said it’s a surprise.”

“Not sure I like Bug’s idea of surprises.”

“Hey, hombre,” Jackie calls out to the guard as he starts to drive them away, “mind telling us where we’re headed?”

They’re met with silence, because of they are. V nervously wrings her hands as she watches for signs of where they’re going based on the passing scenery.

“Has to be something to do with prepping for the job, just wish I knew what.”

“Speaking of which, you got the bot on you?”

“Yeah, brought it just in case and if Bug’s there she’ll want to take a look. Wonder if there’s any chance of keeping the Flathead after this?”

She knows Dex said it’s a single use toy, but...who knows, maybe she could somehow keep it afterwards.

“Why’s that?”

“Its cute.”

“You think a military grade combat bot is cute?”

“It's a little spider.”

“You find the weirdest shit cute, I swear.”

“It is cute!”

“It’s-” Jackie looks out the window, “shit are we in Corpo Plaza?”

“Maybe we’re just passing through?”

As if only to prove her wrong, the limousine parks outside a store on Senate Avenue, the bright sign says Jinguji. Even looking through the window, it looks entirely like a place that her and Jackie do not belong. Brightly lit, immaculately clean with fancy designer clothes on display.

“We’re here,” the guard tells them and the doors open with the press of a button.

V and Jackie share a look before getting out of the limousine, standing before the Jinguji store like deers stuck in headlights.

“Dex can’t be serious, Jinguji?” Jackie says, scratching at the shaved underneath of his hair.

“Looks…. Fancy.”

“Corp store, designer; a sock in there will cost you a few thousand eddies.”

“I know he says we need to play corpo, but… I don’t know, it feels weird.”

“I’m sure Dex knows what he’s doing. But, uh, you gotta take off the mask, chica.”

“What, why?”

“‘Cause its fucking Jinguji, they’re not gonna let you through the door looking like that.”

“You’re one to talk, you got a ketchup stain on your shirt.”

“Firstly, that’s blood. Secondly, you’re a wearing a jacket you stole off a dead guy last week.”

“Not like he needs it!”

“Jackie, V!” A voice yells out, drawing the merc’s attention into the doorway of the store, T-Bug in realspace, wearing a black netrunning suit, “would you gonks stop bickering and get in here?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the mercs speak and sign in unison, falling the netrunner into the corp store.

There’s a large lit up advertisement at the back of the store. Gold decor dripping down from the ceiling, plush white couches, and an ice bucket with champagne. To her surprise, there’s no other shoppers within the store. A man in a tailored designer suit sits at the desk, greeting the two mercs as they walk in.

“Welcome to Jinguji, an oasis of elegance!~”

V gives an awkward nod and wave. She’s not sure what else to do. She doesn’t belong here; she knows that much. A dirty black leather jacket under the bright lights and old raggedy boots on shiny polished floors. The merc wants nothing more than to run out of the store, some of the clothes she sees displayed are nice, if she’s being honest. A few bit tacky for her taste, but others are cute or sexy with dramatic flair, but nothing she would ever really have a reason to wear.

“Mind telling us why the fuck we’re here, Bug?” Jackie asks and the netrunner chuckles.

“To get into Konpeki, you two will have to look the part. Rather than blindly guessing what will fit, Dex is flitting the bill and getting you both some corpo threads,” T-Bug explains, taking a seat on on of the couches.

“Where is everyone?”

“Store is rented out for the next couple hours, discretion. V, did you bring the bot?”

“Got it in my bag.”

“Lemme see, got to make sure it’s in working shape.” V puts the bot down on the table, T-Bug opening the case and looking over the bot, running diagnostics that the merc can’t begin to understand,

“Right this way, you two, I’m sure we’ll find something perfect for both of you,” the man who greeted them, grabs their attention again, “but it would be easier, if I have a full idea of your features, miss.”

“Told you,” Jackie taunts and V elbows him in the side, slowly taking off her mask and she feels bare. And she knows people have seen her face before, but this is work and it just feels… wrong.

“Wonderful, so we’ll begin with the gentlemen, I think you’ll find we have a wonderful array of fine suits in our men’s department.”

The man, who’s fancy name tag says Zane, shows them a vast collection of suits. They range from slick classic black ones, deep navy blues, florals, brights, embroidered, and every color she can imagine. Its hard to imagine the big merc in any of them. She’s always seen him in muscle shirts or his favorite red and black jacket. His eyes seem to land on a red suit with gold detailing.

“Well-”

“Point is to blend in, not stand out, Jack,” T-Bug calls out, scolding him without having to even look at him or his choice in suit.

“Just black then.”

“Wise choice, sir, our tailors will get your measurements and get the perfect fit for you.”

Another employee guides Jackie to a fitting room and V feels the sudden urge to sink into the ground, Zane’s attention now solely on her. She scratches at her cheek and flips on her choker translator.

“Now, what about you? We have plenty of formal options in women’s fashion as well. A more androgynous business suit or perhaps a dress?”

She’s shown mannequins dressed in tight body con dresses with various necklines, materials, colors, and a few well fitted pants suits. Her eyes are drawn to the dresses, if she’s being honest. She has a rather small collection of skirts and dresses, for off days, but she never has a chance to wear anything more formal than a sundress or mini skirt over leggings. These dresses are dramatic, gorgeous; some with mesh inlays or cut outs.

But, like Bug said; they’re there to blend in, not stand out. This isn’t an outfit for fun but for work and if something goes wrong, the last thing she needs is this going to shit and having to battle in a tight constricting dress or too high of heels.

“I think a pants suit in black would be best; keep it simple.”

“Understood.”

V taken to a fitting room, given the chance to put on the ready to buy pantsuits in privacy. A stark white button up blouse, black blazer, and black slacks. And she knows immediately it will need to be tailored to suit her; the pants longer than her legs and the shirt loose around her chest. The tailor comes in after a moment and begins measuring, marking where things need to be taken in and raised. V left trying not to get embarrassed each time the measuring tape is wrapped around a part of her.

“Is there a way to make the blazer sleeves easier to roll up?” She signs once her arms are done being measured. The material is stiffer and harder to get tight around her elbows when trying; she wants her Mantis Blades easily used.

“Hmm, lets see, maybe it’d be best to use it more like an accessory rather than wearing it properly?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you could just wear it over your shoulders like a cape,” the woman drapes it that way across V’s shoulders.

“Not my thing.”

“Then you can carry it, like this,” the woman shows holding the jacket back over her shoulder with her fingers hooked in it’s collar. It looks alright, casual enough, though having a jacket and not wearing it still reads as strange to the merc.

“I’ll consider that.”

“It can also help keep you cool. Now, lets talk about makeup, hair, and shoes.”

V listens and nods as the woman gives recommendations; getting V a pair of low heeled black synthetic leather shoes. Then going into advice on hair; recommending french twist, a bun, or a low ponytail depending on how formal V wants to go. The woman recommends simple classic makeup styles and a few other tips for the merc to meet her full corpo potential. Finally, with measurements, adjustments, and everything marked; V is allowed to change back into her street clothes. She leaves the room, seeing Jackie already in his regular clothes again and sitting next to T-Bug.

“We have all the measurements down and will begin altering the clothes immediately.”

“Good,” T-Bug confirms with Zane, “remember we need them finished and delivered to The Afterlife by five.”

“I assure you, our tailors are already on it.”

“V,” T-Bug calls out when she sees the short merc, “got something for you.”

V sits down on the couch, watching as T-Bug sets out a pair of white hearing aids. They’re designed like her normal ones, just more boring.

“Hearing aids? I already have those.”

“These are special, optic camo. No corpo worth their salt has anything less than top of the line phonic implants, with press of a button or a thought, these will go invisible.. They’ll work just like your regular ones, but look like you’re wearing nothing. Try them out.”

She switches her blue hearing aids with the new ones, they fit well and she pushes the thought of turning the camo on. V catches her reflection in a mirror in the store, she can feel them, but see nothing.

“Perfect, no one will be any the wiser. This also means no signing or translator.”

“Oh, I see.”

“I know its not ideal, but it’s just the reality of it. Corpo types like this; lose your hearing, new implants. Vocal chords fried, get a new set in gold. Get paralyzed, new legs or entire nervous system. Go blind, new optics. They see you signing or using hearing aids, you’ll stand out like a sore thumb.”

“I get it.”

“No sweat, I’ll do the talking, V,” Jackie comforts her and then turns his attention to Bug, “So, what now?”

“We’ll go over the full plan this evening at The Afterlife, you two need to be there by five. We’ll talk with Dex and you’ll be in Konpeki by eight tonight, relic in hand before midnight strikes.”

“So we get to kick back and relax until five?”

“As long as you’re there by five and ready to go, I couldn’t care less what you do, Jack.”

“Said this place was rented out, right?” V asks, noticing a dramatic purple dress that reminds her of a certain tarot card reader’s favorite color.

“Yeah, why?”

“How much longer is this place reserved?”

“Another hour, maybe two and again, I ask why?”

“Ow, hell that for, chica?” Jackie looks up when V kicks him in the shin.

“Call Misty, dumbass. Buy her something nice, make a date out of it before we go on the job.” V tells him, remembering Misty’s concerns from the other night. It might ease her mind a bit to have a nice afternoon with Jackie, dress shopping and a fancy lunch in City Center. Just a chance to enjoy themselves.

“Dex is nice V, but sincerely doubt he wants to pay for Misty a new dress.”

“Oh no, if only one of us had scammed ten grand off of Militech, oh wait,” V says, pulling the Militech credchip from her bag and sees the twinkle in Jackie’s eyes.

“You serious, V?”

“Should get her a hell of a nice dress, maybe you a suit, and a nice fancy lunch; play corpo for an afternoon.”

“Shit, V,” he takes the credchip from her fingers, “what’d I do without you?”

“You two are going to make me puke,” T-Bug says, rolling her eyes while Jackie is already calling up Misty.

“Just wait until Misty gets here and the constant pet names start, you’ll really lose your lunch.”

“Ugh, more reason to get out of here, I’ll be taking the Flathead with me to keep in working shape.”

“Can I ask you something before you go?”

“Got more code you need me to check?”

“Not quite, had an issue with my SID chip last night, was wondering if there was a chance I was hacked?”

“You get spiked, jaina?” Jackie asks when he finishes chatting with Misty.

“Don’t know, couldn’t unlock my door last night, reader thought I was some old dude.”

“Hmm, SID hacks are tricky, we’re going to be using one for your covers in Konpeki. But they usually only alter your ID a bit and die after so many hours. Thing is, that wouldn’t really benefit anyone.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking, I don’t think anyone would get much out of pretending I’m some ninety year old dead fuck.”

“I can jack in, see if I find anything in your soft.”

“Sure, if you don’t mind.”

V shifts her back to T-Bug, sweeping her hair off the nape of her neck and showing her neuroports. The netrunner pushes some loose strands out of the way and slots her personal jack into V’s biomon. A few moments pass and V can feel her cheeks flushing a bit, a weird feeling to having T-Bug directly touch her and jack in to her tech. This is the first time they’ve met in person, may even be the first time Bug has seen her face.

“Everything looks clear to me, SID is registering as yours, no signs of a hack,” Bug explains, jacking out.

“Weird, maintenance guy showed last night it was showing as some dead guy.”

“Strange, must be some sort of glitch.”

“Or you’re being haunted.”

“Haha, very funny, Jackie.”

“Hello… “

A soft voice calls out and V lights up seeing Misty poking her head into the fancy luxury store, looking every bit as nervous as V had been. Jackie is up and rushing towards Misty in a heart beat, pulling her into a hug and twirling her around, kissing her head.

“You’re here, mi carina.”

“Babe,” Misty says, giggiling as she’s put back down on her feet, then steps up on her tip toes to kiss Jackie’s lips.

“Gonna puke,” T-Bug comments low under her breath and V tries not to laugh.

“V, Bug,” Misty smiles at the two, “glad I got here before you two left out.”

“What’s up?”

Jackie walks Misty over closer to them, large hand on her hip as she rummage through her purse. After a moment, she pulls out three beaded bracelets. A mixture of beads in black, gold, and blue mottled with gold. T-Bug is already raising her eyebrow and V’s not sure how well Misty’s spiritualism will go over with the runner.

“These are protection bracelets. Lapis lazuli, black tourmaline, and gold sheen obsidian. They’re all meant to help with creating a protective spiritual barrier, it should keep you all safe from negative energies and frequencies.”

“Ay, you still in knots over this, mi alma?”

“It would just make me feel better knowing you have a little more protection, babe.”

Misty slides the biggest of the bracelets onto Jackie’s wrist and he gives her a soft smile, kissing her temple before starts to give the others to V and Bug. The young merc slides it on with a smile and T-Bug takes it in hand, with a less enthusiasm.

“Thanks, Misty, I appreciate it,” V tells her and elbows T-Bug in the side, earning her a glare, but the netrunner plays nice.

“Thanks…”

“I know it’s not much, but a little protection is better than none and should keep energies bright.”

“Right….”

“Well,” V cuts in before Bug can say anything else, “we’ll be getting out of your hair, have fun you two!~”

“Thanks again, V, see you two at The Afterlife.”

Jackie waves them off, Bug packing up and V putting her usual hearing aids in their case, away in her pocket. The runner and young merc leave the store, Dex’s guard already left a while ago, so V will have to either call her car or use the public transit. Come to think of it, she’s not sure how she’s going to kill time until its game time.

“V,” Bug stops her outside Jinguji before they go their separate ways for now, “gotta ask, you really believe in that spiritual crap?”

“No, but she does and it makes her happy, so, why not?”

“I guess, if she really thinks a bracelet is going to save us from Arasaka.”

“Won’t kill you to accessorize a little, Bug.”

“Whatever you say.”

They say their goodbyes and V is left thinking again about what she wants to do to pass the time. She could do a few short gigs, but her mind is preoccupied with the heist. Ultimately, V finds herself taking the NCART to El Coyote Cojo. Mostly just because she’s bored and maybe something or someone there will occupy her time. The bar isn’t too active at the early hour and she doesn’t see Mama Welles around.

“V!” Pepe greets her when she walks through.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Same old, same old. Jaquito is still out, Senora Welles is out shopping, but Jake is taking out the trash in the back if you want to say hi.”

“I think I might go and do just that.”

Playing grab ass with one of her go to lays seems like a solid way to waste her time. V walks through the bar and out one of the backdoors that open to the alley with the dumpster. Sure enough, Jake is there tossing away a trash bag. He’s around 6’5 about as tall as Jackie, muscular, with a head of ginger hair shaved down on the shades and a thick beard.

She throws her arms around his waist, feeling the muscle underneath his shirt. He teases his fingers over her forearms, the chrome of his Gorilla Fingers cyberware sending a soft chill through her skin.

“Hey, V, new chrome?” He runs over the chrome patterns in her arms.

She hums against his back in response, not wanting to move. But, he twists in her arms. He cups her face in chromed fingers, for a moment, his browns furrow in confusion.

“No hearing aids?”

She pulls away, enough space for her to sign.

“Camouflage ones, it and the blades are necessary for the gig.”

“Oh yeah, Jackie’s been talking everyone to death about this heist you two got planned. He better be damn glad no one here’s got loose lips.” His hands drop from her face and loosely wrap around her waist, fingers starting to graze over her ass.

“Can’t blame him for being excited.”

“Hmmm and you?”

“Nervous.”

“Figured as much,” he squeezes her ass, “you looking for a distraction?”

“If I wasn’t I wouldn’t be letting you grope my ass in broad daylight, now would I?”

A low dry chuckle echoes in his chest and he dives in for a kiss. It’s quick and rough, his beard scratching over her skin before he pulls away. She can’t help but giggle as he pulls her back into the bar, hand still shamelessly on her ass.

“Pepe! I’m going on lunch break!”

“Yeah yeah, go on.”

“C’mon,” Jake guides her out of the bar, “lemme at least buy you lunch first.”

“You actually trying to be nice today?”

“Something like that.”

V settles into his passenger side seat as Jake climbs behind the wheel. They pull away from El Coyote Cojo, driving around Heywood and finding a drive in to go through, Burgers, fries, and pop bought; Jake finds a relatively empty place to park meanwhile V has already begun taking the pickles off her burgers.

“So, you wanna actually talk about it?” Jake asks, taking a bite of his burger.

“Not much to talk about,” she signs with salt covered fingers and a mouthful of fries, “biggest job of our career. Nerves are natural.”

Not to mention the shady client, the fact they’re robbing Arasaka, the fact they’re robbing Yorinobu specifically, the fact they have to play corpo, that V will have to force herself not to sign, and that every fiber of her being is screaming that something is going to go wrong. Then she has the weirdness of her SID chip fucking up on her mind as well.

“Yeah, but you overthink, so I know that little brain of yours is spinning in a billion directions.”

V shrugs, “No more than usual, so, what’s been going on with you?”

“Not much, been thinking of quitting the bar.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, get to work the day shift so I can pick the twins up from school and spend some time with them. But, day shift in a bar basically means staring at a wall and waiting for Senora Welles to cut me a paycheck.”

“You don’t like getting paid to sit around and look pretty?”

“Not gonna lie, it’d be hard to find a boss as forgiving as Senora Welles.”

“Not every boss would let you take an hour or longer lunch just to play grab ass with me?”

“Eh, pretty sure if she knew what I was doing with her precious adopted daughter, she’d already have me fired.”

“Oh please, she’s known you longer than me.”

“Yeah, but she likes you more, you’re basically her kid and I’m her employee,” he pauses watching V roll her eyes, “you know, she’s been worrying a lot about you and Jackie, lately. She knows things are getting riskier with the merc work and-”

V quiets him with a kiss, not wanting to hear another word of this. She comes to him for a distraction. The kiss is messy and he tastes like greasy fast food, but she’s sure she’s not any better, pushing her tongue into his mouth. She cups his jaw with one hand, scratching over his beard and as he deepens the kiss, she drops her other hand into his lap. He’s already half hard in his jeans, pressing into her touch as she gropes him through the denim. Jake curses against her lips, breaking their kiss.

“You talk too much, honey,” she chastises him, a soft smile on her lips as she undoes his belt buckle, he lifts his hips, allowing space to pull his pants and boxer down just enough to get his cock out.

She pulls her legs up into her seat, on her knees so she can fully lean over the center console into his lap. V pushes hair back behind her ear and takes his dick into her mouth; not bothering to tease, swallowing around him. The taste of him on her tongue causes a heat in her center to stir, getting slick between her thighs as she bobs her head up and down. He groans as she strokes and sucks him, teasing her tongue ring along the head of his cock. The bitterness of his precum and the salt of his skin making her dizzy with need.

His chrome fingers slide across the expanse of her back, reaching out to grab her ass. He gropes and fondles her through her pants, the rough feeling of her jeans and panties being pressed against her sensitive wet folds. Jake curses as V alternates between sucking, licking, and taking him as deep into her throat as she can.

He tugs on her hair, bleached strands wrapped around chrome, pulling her mouth off him. Drool covering his cock and her lips. She pouts at him for stopping her, cheeks flushed and breathing heavy. He gives her a swat on the ass, barely hard enough to sting.

“Want inside of you.”

That’s all the explanation he gives and she pulls away, thankful that the windows of his car have steamed from body heat, she begins to quickly strip off her clothes. Its clumsy as she tries to strip down in a car seat, throwing her jacket off into the back, kicking off her boots, before yanking her pants and panties down in one fluid movement. She curses herself for not wearing a skirt or something with easier access. A part of her mind recognizes how stupid she must look, still in her shirt, bra, and her socks staying on after tugging off her pants. But lust has killed her ability to think, just wanting him inside of her. Jake has rolled a condom on, but otherwise has simply watched the flustered merc strip down.

V’s easily able to jump into his lap, straddling him and having her back to the steering wheel. She steadies herself with one hand on his shoulder, the other lining his cock up with her entrance, sinking herself down onto his dick. She’s slick enough that she takes him all in one movement, both cursing out at the feeling. The stretch of his cock inside of her and the tightness of her cunt around him. Jake digs his nails into her hips and bounces her on his cock, fucking up into her. He takes complete control, setting a brutal pace that leaves V reeling with every thrust. All she can do is wrap her arms around his neck and moan against his sweaty skin, accepting each harsh movement of him inside of her.

The tension inside of her grows tighter with every thrust, every smack of skin against skin like a strike of a match trying to grow a larger flame. She can’t think, can’t focus, every thought consumed with pleasure and a desire to be pushed over the edge. Bruises form on her hips where he hold her, where he uses her for pleasure. The chair of his cheap car creaks with each bounce and a few thrusts slams her lower back into the steering wheel, but she doesn’t care, couldn’t if she tried. She whines and whimpers against his skin, feeling her end nearing.

And then the tension snaps, orgasm hitting her fast and hard, she digs her nails into his skin, squirming and writhing as she moans out her pleasure. Mind a haze as she’s overwhelmed with her pleasure. He thrusts a few more times and she nearly chokes at the continued stimulation, the feeling of him fucking into her already sensitive cunt. Then he curses, bringing her hips down fully to meet his own one last time before he cums, spilling his seed inside the condom.

V rolls off of him and back into the passenger seat, hating the empty feeling Her skin is sweaty and flushed, as much she hates it, she needs to get her clothes back on. Fumbling to get her pants and panties out of the passenger side floorboard. Pulling them on and shoving her feet in her boots. V waits as Jake ties off the condom and adjusts his jeans, opening the car door and tossing the condom away into a nearby dumpster.

The Night City air feels cool compared to the heat of the car after fucking, she watches him light up a cigarette outside of the car and grimaces. He climbs back into the driver's seat, keeping the window rolled down and she makes a gagging sound as the smoke hits her nose.

“You coming back to the bar with me?” He asks, blowing smoke out of the window.

“No,” she signs, thankful the choker translator can survive sweat, “I’ll catch the train back to Watson.”

“Let strangers see you sweaty and fuck-dazed?”

“Well, it’s a good look for me.”

“Can’t really deny that, now can I.”

She rolls her eyes and grabs her jacket getting out of the car, walking away on still slightly wobbly legs. V takes the train back to Watson, fiddling with her holophone the entire way. The merc gets off at the stop closest to her megabuilding and makes her way to her apartment; lock recognizing her on the first try.

V checks the time and decides to get ready to go to The Afterlife. Those nerves she had managed to fuck away for a moment creep up on her all over again. She shakes her head not wanting to focus on her anxieties, she strips down and grabs a shower, cleaning off the sweat from her liaison.

The merc pulls her hair back in a small low-set ponytail and does her makeup to the recommendations of the stylist. She gets dressed and uses the new camouflaged hearing aids, she takes her mask with her too. Though she knows she can’t wear it into Konpeki, she’ll still be walking into The Afterlife. That thought alone twists her guts into nervous knots.

The Afterlife is the go to bar for the top of their game, Major Leagues mercs and fixers. It’s where the biggest deals are made, the easiest place to catch a drink and a job, but only mercs or fixers of a certain standard are allowed through its doors. Jackie brags about the place like it’s heaven for mercenaries. If they’re going to become regular fixtures of the bar after this, then she’d prefer to maintain her usual level of anonymity for fixers moving forward. She’ll drop the mask when they’re finally in corpo threads.

V slides on Misty’s bracelet as well, fiddling with the beads meant to provide some form of protection. Her mind goes back to Misty’s tarot card reading, while she doesn’t put much weight on it, her friend’s fortune telling often sticks with her. The Wheel of Fortune is sticking out to her; she could care less if the cards thinks she’s stupid or if she’s about to fall in love, the latter of which so ridiculous she can’t help but dismiss it. But the idea of conflict sticks out, fear of the heist going wrong has been heavy on her mind. Something always goes slightly wrong, no job is perfect. But this has the highest stakes she’s ever encountered.

V has new cyberware, the best possible tech and upgrades from Vik. She has Jackie, her best choom and partner in crime who’s never let her down. There’s T-Bug, her friend and brilliant netrunner who could bring half of Night City down if she wished. Their fixer is Dex, one of the best in regards to his job, he has everything to gain by having their backs covered. They have military grade tech and an inside look into Konpeki. They are going in under the best possible circumstances.

She has to remind herself, review this again and again, that if something goes wrong someone there should be able to take care of it. But, those nerves don’t fade even as she leaves her apartment.

The Afterlife isn’t far from V’s apartment, practically a hop and skip downtown. Barely five minutes pass before she’s under the roofed alley, nearing the club. Vivid cyan and purple graffiti across the wall, trash along the way.

“Porque ya tengo planes para esta noche!"

The voice is familiar, Jackie’s and V pressed her back to the side of the vending machine, he’s telling someone he already has plans for tonight. He sounds frustrated, like he’s on the verge of pulling his hair out.

“Virgen Santsima, ma! Te vas a enterar mañana,” a beat of silence, “también te quiero, ma."

The conversation ways on her, he’s talking to Senora Welles. Remembering Jake talking about her feelings, that the matriarch has been worrying herself half to death. And it sounds like Jackie has been on the receiving end of that worry for a while. V pulls her mask on and rounds the corner past the vending machine, stepping in front of the main entrance of The Afterlife. Her friend standing in the doorway under the harsh green light.

“Heh, about time, chica,” he greets, tucking his phone into his pocket, she catches the blue of Misty’s bracelet mingled with his usual gold ones.

“What’s going on?”

“Ehhh, y'know. She's worried about me - whatever. Can't help herself, y'know - checkin’ to see if I'm not rottin' in some dumpster… like most of the Welles boys. Been worse lately.”

“Why’s that?”

“Started climbin' our way up. Got more an' more knives out there, waitin' to stab us in the back. Higher stakes, higher risk. She can see that.”

“Look like you’re about to keel over.” V reaches out, touching the red blotches on his skin, stress and sweat inflaming his skin.

“Years of merc work, and yet, still sweat like a roasted pig when I talk to my ma. It's really startin' to wear on me. More tell her everythin's OK, more I feel like I'm straight-up lyin’.”

“Well, hopefully you had a nice date with Misty at least.”

“Went about as well as talking to my ma right now,” he scratches at the back of his neck, “for two women who don’t get along, they sure agree when it comes to worrying about me.”

“They worry because they love you, worse things in life than people giving a damn about you.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t matter none. Not anymore, Afterlife, here we come, baby!”

Jackie changes the topic and she can’t really blame him for it, rubbing his hands together and practically cheering in excitement. This is everything they’ve talked about, everything they’ve said they want. So, why does she still have a lump in her throat?

“Afterlife… we’re really here.”

“Does not get any higher, choom. And you know somethin' else? We fuckin' earned it, chica!”

“No point in standing around then, is there?’

“Ready to get your cherry popped?” he laughs leading her into the club, “Yeeeah! Come on!”

“Little late for that one, Jack,” she teases as they make their way down the stairs, a pair of double doors opening up for them. A short step down into a small hallway with mercs and fixers alike talking under the green glow of a sign bearing the club’s name.

“Place used to be a morgue - you believe that?”

“Really?”

“I know, right? Way before our time, that. When proper burials were still a thing.”

They come to another set of doors, through the small window V can see the true club main room beyond them. But a man stands guarding them, around Jackie’s height and a similar bulky build. Cyberware indented along his jawline and nose. His face is stony, eyes sharp when Jackie and V stop before him, then he puts a large hand out in front of him.

“And who might you clowns be?”

“Jackie and V,” the taller of the mercs says with a grin, “Dexter Deshawn is waitin’ on us.”

The bouncer gives them a look and V is glad for her mask helping hide her emotions. His expression is dismissive, looking down on them, making her feel all at once that she has not earned her place in this club. A baby merc, new to the city, barely six months under her belt and she’s standing at the Afterlife. How the fuck did she get here?

“Yo, Dex. Got two live ones sayin' they're here to see ya,” his optics glow as he calls Dex, “Yeah? All right, then. Says he needs a second or two. Go get yourselves drinks or somethin'.”

The doors open to a green and cyan lit club. Music louder as the barrier breaks away, people fill the room. Some sipping on alcohol and other’s puffing away on cigarettes; the smell of nicotine and booze wafting from the bar.

“Way ahead o' you, viejo,” Jackie laughs and leads the way in.

V follows him around the corner; the large bar coming into full view. It’s lit green, the same neon sign reading Afterlife at the top of it. A bartender in a blue button up slings drinks to the patrons. Floor to ceiling columns, like tubes, are places around the club each filled with water with a dancer twirling around inside with strategically place chrome clothing covering the most private parts of them. Everything is basked in that green neon light, despite being surrounded by mercs like her, she feels so completely out of place.

Jackie marches proudly across the bar floor, stride confident and unwavering.

“This is it… The heart o' Night City! That's it right there - beating. Hear it?” he proclaims as they pass by rows of half closed off booths, “Can you imagine? Susan Forrest, Boa Boa, maybe even Morgan Blackhand… All sat on those stools, fell asleep on that same bar.”

Jackie sits in one of the barstools, beaming and brimming with excitement. His eyes wide as he takes it all in, the place he’s dreamed of for all his years. V climbs into the seat next to him, placing an elbow on the bar, leaning her head onto her hand, as she shifts to face him.

“Doubt that puts us in the same league as them,” V teases, Morgan Blackhand brought down Arasaka Tower. They’re stealing a biochip, hardly the same thing.

“Oh, but we are. They just don't know it yet,” Jackie tells her with a wink and she can’t help but roll her eyes.

“We-”

V drops her hand when she realizes Jackie’s attention has gone elsewhere, an older woman walking past the two. She’s nothing unusual, older looking than most of the crowd here, sure but nothing immediately stands out to V. An older woman with long gray hair shaved on one side and a bright yellow cropped sweater, She marches her way across the bar and into a blue lit booth, moving past a guard.

“'Ey. See that old lady there?”

“Yeah, didn’t know grannies were your type,” V taunts him again, he’s always given her shit for her taste in older people, yet he’s ogling some grandma?

“Fuck off,” he playfully smacks her, but nearly knocks her from her chair, “that’s fuckin’ Rogue, best fixer in all o' Night City.”

“Thought Dex was the best?”

“Pff… Rogue was linin' up jobs when Dex was still shittin' in diapers, heh. Place belongs to her.”

“What can I getcha?” The bartender cuts in, hands down on the bar in front of them. She’s a woman with long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail and a soft round face.

V doesn’t drink on the job, something she’s always stuck to. But, this is Jackie’s dream and she knows how he likes to celebrate. If nothing else, their banter has failed to undo her nerves, maybe booze will do the trick.

“You order,” she signs to Jackie and he grins.

“You drinkin’?”

“Special night, pick me something nice.”

“Two Tequila Old Fashioneds with a splash of cerveza and a chili garnish.”

“A duo of Johnny Silverhands, comin' up,” the bartender starts to put the drinks together, “somebody did their homework.”

“Guessing the dog ate mine,” V signs, confused because what the fuck is a silver hand?

“Age-old tradition. Drinks're named after our regulars,” she explains, putting the drinks down in front of the mercs.

“What’d I have to do to get a drink named after me?”

“Snuff it,” she grins, “ In mind-blowingly spectacular fashion, Mid-op'd be best.”

“Aah, what a beaut of a tradition!”

“Steep price for a drink, not going to lie,” V signs, letting her nerves speak for her, if only for a moment. Her guts are in knots, she can only hope the alcohol will untangle. All of the merc’s usual stress relieving tactics other than a weed brownie, have failed to do much of anything.

“Hey, everyone's gotta go sometime, right? Why not in style? Death’s nothing but the final flourish!”

“To hitting the major leagues,” she signs, holding her shot in the other hand.

“To becoming legends.”

She pushes her mask just up above her mouth, careful not to smudge her lipstick and they throw back their shots. Smooth but strong booze with a kick of spice from the garnish, a burn in her throat. Not her style, but she’s had worse. She pushes her mask back down, regarding the bartender, her nametag says Claire.

“So, who else can I drink here?” She still has no idea who Silverhand is, but maybe there’s a name she does recognize, reading the posted drink menu.

“All on the menu…”

“'Cept there's a spot missing. Morgan Blackhand, right?”

“Heh, true. Morgan's yet to make up his mind he's dead or still kickin',” Claire tells Jackie and V rolls her eyes.

“Think he’s still alive? It’s been years,” Jackie asks Claire.

“No way he’s still alive,.” The radio was just talking about the devastation of the tower going down, if that many folks were killed who were just near it, then there’s no way someone who was in the tower survived.

“Why not? Look at Rogue. Peeps from that era - a species unto themselves.”

“And one day we’re gonna be there too,” Jackie probably proclaims, “speaking of which, name’s Jackie Welles if you want to write down my recipe.”

“Sure.” There’s a playfulness in her tone, just going along with Jackie’s whims.

“Shot of vodka on the rocks, lime juice, ginger beer… oh, and most importantly - a splash of love.”

“Haha, I'll remember that.”

“Gag,” V signs just to see the glare Jackie levels her way, the playful smack of her arm.

“Okay, what’s your drink then?”

“Literally, the only thing I drink is like cherry cola with a splash of bourbon.”

“You know those are usually supposed to be reversed, the bourbon and coke.”

“Maybe so, but, and hear me out… cherry cola tastes better.”

“Heard you were Dex’s latest finds,” Claire tells them.

“Just biz, no big deal.”

“How'd you know?” V raises an eyebrow behind her mask.

“My job to know. Look around - how do you think meres earn their reps? Through gossip rivaling that of schoolgirls, that's how.”

“Mr. DeShawn see you now,” a booming voice rings out behind the mercs, turning around she sees Dex’s bodyguard. The first time she’s heard his voice.

“Love to hang, imbibe the vibe, but we got an important meeting,” Jackie tells Claire, getting up from his seat and V following suit, throwing some cash down on the bar.

“Break a leg.”

“This way,” the bodyguard tells them and the mercs falls in line behind him. He leads them around the bar, past the crowd and through a door towards the back of the club. The lighting shifting, more blue than green as they walk past another vending machine.

“Damn, holmes, you're huge... Work out?” Jackie asks, unable to stand the silence.

“Hmm.” A vague grunt as they pass through another door, the music fading as they get further from the main bar. But V can just hear the starting beat of some old dad rock, something about losing another day to pointless drudgery.

“Same here, y'know, in the ring. You do some kinda exotic shit? Kempo? Ninjitsu?”

Nothing as they turn another corner.

“Think you could take me, drop me?”

“Jackie…” Why must he sound like he’s picking a fight with the guy?

“In here,” the guard says, stopping and standing in front of another door.

"Este pinche tipo..."

The door opens and they’re greeted to the first room with warm lighting, though it just seems to be a storage corner. With a cabinet and vending machine. But to the left are barely see through walls of a booth that takes up half the room, through them V can just see T-Bug’s outline and leather couches.

They walk around, the front of the booth opened. A wrap around black leather couch goes around the back wall and left side of the booth. Dex sat on the back portion, talking into a holo about Excelsior and cold hard eddies. T-Bug sat to side, a table in the center of the room with the Flathead, Jinguji boxes, and shards placed on neat little index cards. There’s a small disconnect leather seat in the right corner, next to the door.

“Gotta bounce,” Dex hangs up, “well, if it ain’t Miss V.”

“Whole family in one place! Hah! Finally!”

“That’s one way to put it,” T-Bug teases and a shine of blue catches V’s eye, the netrunner wearing Misty’s bracelet. She can’t help but smile.

“A’ight, then… Set your butts down comfy,” Dex tells them. Jackie plops himself onto the larger couch next to T-Bug, comfortably spreading his arms over the back of it while V takes the smaller seat, putting her at an angle to see everyone. She stifles a laugh, seeing Jackie’s leg excitedly bounce up and down.

“Sweet booth, is it soundproof?”

“Jackie…” T-Bug scolds and V stifles a laugh.

“Now, now, Mr. Welles is right. We gon' be goin' over some sensitive material. But if it's all right with y'all, I'd like to start with a question for Miss V… Evelyn Parker - how'd you fare?”

All eyes on her, stomach still twisted in a vise, this is her chance. She’s got to tell him, but she doesn’t want Evelyn hurt. Some fixers will go to any length to get revenge on a client or merc who does them dirty. But, he’s got a right to know the shit she pulled.

“Intel was good, brain dance was exactly what we needed….”

“So, she just wanna see wha'ss good, or was there somethin' else?”

“Honestly?”

“Wouldn’t ask for anything else, Miss V.”

“She’s high risk as far as clients go. Shady as fuck, naïve as all hell, and genuinely thought she could make me another offer.”

“Another offer?” Dex’s brow raises about his sunglasses.

“Wanted me to cut you out for more cash, told her no, of course. But, wouldn’t do business with her again, if I were you.”

“Cut me out… shiiiit, now that’s rich,” Dex laughs, Jackie nervously laughing along, “Clients... never learn, do they?”

“You’re not pissed?”

“Lived in NC too long to blow my top every time some amateur thinks they can take me for a ride. Parker ain't the first and sure as hell won't be the last.”

“Fair enough,” V lets out a sigh, thankful if nothing else that Dex doesn’t seem prone to getting too mad at Evelyn. Maybe she’s being too kind, but she can’t help but think Evelyn is more naive than malicious when it comes to the offer. A stranger to the merc world.

“I do appreciate you sharin' this info, though, Miss V. You see, trust… …is essential in any partnership that's to be long-lasting and fruitful.”

“Figured you had a right to know, so, what’s the plan?”

“This.”

Dex gestures towards the shards on the table, V takes the one in front of her and slides it into her shard slot. UI and graphics lighting up her mask, a map pulling up on the tech.

“Me and Dex've already covered the fine detes. Ops wise, should be a stroll on the beach.”

“Elaborate, I wanna hear it.”

“A Delamain'll drop your asses at the front door of Konpeki Plaza,” a picture of the hotel shows, then two names, “You'll stroll right in thanks to your false identities. Then, with Bug's help, you'll breach the hotel's subnet…”

“Mine and the Flathead's help.” Images of the hotel’s interior and the bot flash by.

“Last but not least, you slip into Yorinobu's penthouse and klep the Relic,” his words bring up images of the heir and his suite.

“Goes without sayin' we do this on the hush - ideally no bodies, not a one.” The shard shows them The Relic and then blips out.

“You'll have T-Bug on comms for the duration. Time for your burnin' questions.”

“What’s our cover?” V asks, they’ve been told a thousand times they’ll be acting like corpos, but that’d be hard to do if they have no idea what their story is suppose to be.

“Hello, Ramón Victorino,” T-Bug looks at Jackie and then to V, “and you’re Hannah Conwell.”

“Ramón - yeah, OK. What do we say we're there for?”

“Biz as usual. Corpo arms deal. Case anyone asks, you there for a bogus meetin' with Arasaka's defense rep - Hajime Taki. Anything else?”

“How do we get in the penthouse?”

“Yorinobu's got barely any muscle. Hardest part'll be penthouse security. If we wanna disable, we'll need to neutralize Konpeki's dweller - elite ‘runner monitoring the hotel's subnet twenty-four seven. Only catch is there's no way to get in the dweller's den from the outside.”

“Hold on, how you want us to get inside a room you can't get into?”

“Trust me when I say whatever hitch you think up. T-Bug's solved it already”

“This is where the Flathead comes in. You'll have to get him in the ventilation shafts, guide him to the dweller and force the dweller to… take a break. Flathead'll stay there, jacked into the dweller, but thanks to that I’ll be able to roll out your red carpet into the penthouse.”

“Anything else?”

“Transports a Delamain?” She has no idea if the company has an ASL sign like most other corporations and doesn’t have time to think of one on the fly.

“Preemest cab company in all Night City… Nada mal,” hackie tells her.

“DeShawn don't ever work with anyone but the best. I consider Delamain just that.”

“Yeah, who needs creepy, nosy cab drivers when you've got a clean AI to get you from point A to point B in style?”

“And how he bags a permit to operate every year's still a mystery.”

“If everythin' goes as planned, Delamain'll drop you back here. If things get sticky, he'll head for the safe house.”

“Which is?”

“The No-Tell Motel. Quiet, no questions asked. Make our next move from there. But I'm flat certain that won't be necessary. Though, there is one more consideration for if it does.”

“What’s that?”

“Hate to put you on the spot, Miss V,” Dex explains, “but if shit goes sour, I’m gonna need to know who I’m letting into the hotel. Mask can’t go with to Konpeki, so I’d sure feel a hell of a lot better if I knew what was hiding behind that thing.”

“Oh… yeah, that makes sense.”

Even if she’d have Jackie with her when shit goes down, Dex is trusting her with this heist. The least she can do is trust him to see her face and not write her off or sell her out to The Herd if the chance arised. Not that she can see that happening anyway…

“Don’t even know why you wore the thing in, V,” Jackie teases.

“Well, there are other fixers here, didn’t want to give away my face…”

V carefully pulls off her mask, feeling exposed all over again, a new set of eyes on her face. The merc knows how she looks; five feet with a head of bleach blonde hair and big gray eyes. Not the picture one conjures in their mind when they think of a capable, strong, badass merc. Sprinkle in her disability and the reactions to her deafness; most people think she’s not a threat, weak.

“That what you’ve been hiding behind that mask? All that fuss, for what?” Dex laughs.

“Hard to take,” she stumbles over her English trying to sign at the same time, “be taken- seriously sometimes when you’re five foot nothing, deaf, and look like…”

“Gutterpunk Barbie,” Jackie cuts in to tease, earning him a sharp kick to the shin.

“Fuck off.”

“Trust me, Miss V, you pull off this job; ain’t nobody in their right mind gonna underestimate you”

“That’s the hope...”

“Any other questions?”

“I got a question. When do we get to the real reason we're all here?” Jackie asks, shooting a wink V’s way.

“Now's a good a time as any. Fresh talent gets thirty percent always, but I'm willin' to make an exception in your case. I'ma cut you a nice, juicy forty as a bonus for your honesty, V.”

“Much appreciated.”

“Ka-ching baby!~”

“Last thing, Konpeki's got a strict no-iron policy. Security gates, the works. So you dawgs'll leave your lead-spitters in the ride, take the Flathead inside in its case.”

“Got your suits from Jinguji on the table.”

“¡Chido!”

“Thanks, Bug.”

“So, not to count chickens, but when'll we see our eddies?”

“All depends how Ms. Parker unrolls herself or her role, but a week, two tops is my guess.”

“And what do we do in the mean time?”

“You sit tight, heads down, 'cause ol' uncle Arasaka be watching. Now, as that ol’ Greek dawg says, life's a banquet - so don't go thirsty, but don't get drunk, either,” he tells them as he leaves the booth, “Your chariot awaits outside.”

“My cue to delta, too. Gotta prep to jack in, be there when you come on comms. Any other issues, now's your chance,” T-Bug tells them, shifting her feet and something catches V’s eye. Delta V emblazoned on the netrunner’s boots, was that there before?

“Plan - your take?” V shakes the thought from her head, must be a brand or a runner thing V doesn’t know.

“Enough, I hope, to put me in a luxury Creton Villa from which I'll never set foot in cyberspace again.”

“Send me a postcard?”

“No offense, but I'm gonna burn any and all bridges - need a clean break.”

“Gonna take Misty’s bracelet with you?” Jackie teases, grinning because he caught it too.

“Shut up,” she tells him, rolling her eyes.

“Uh, just realized something, what’s gonna happen to our clothes? I don’t want to lose my mask…”

“No worries, put them in the boxes, we’ll have ‘em sent back to your places.”

“Alright then, lets get this show on the road.”

“Let's get to work, go ahead and get changed, Delamain is parked out front, uh, okay-”Bug starts to trip over her words when the two mercs start taking off their jackets, “you can use the bathrooms.”

“Eh,”

Jackie and V shrug their shoulders, the outfits are right there. Not much point in dragging them out to the bathroom. The pair shared a bedroom for the better half of six months, a room with one bed. They’ve seen each other naked plenty, boundaries destroyed a long while back.

“Why do I bother,” T-Bug rolls her eyes and leaves the booth, letting the pair change.

V kicks off her boots and takes off her socks, Jackie tugging off his jewelry first.

“So, you’re nerves still going crazy?” Jackie asks her as she tugs off her shirt, his own tossed off.

“What do you mean?” She tugs off her pants, both mercs soon standing around in their underwear.

“Can’t hide that shit from me, chica, been giving me twice as much hell as usual. You’re freaking out.”

“High stakes, Jack, of course I’m a nervous mess. Means I give a shit.”

She pulls the slack on and tugs on the white blouse, buttoning it up. The two of them putting on the corpo clothes, similar in look. Black slacks, white button up tops, black suit jackets, and Misty’s beaded bracelets for protection. Each perfectly tailored for their body types.

“Don’t sweat it so much, V, we got this.” He sticks his fist out.

“Sure fuckin’ hope so.” She bumps her fist to his.

Their street clothes are packed away in the boxes, V puts in her optic contacts and slide on her heels, then they start to make their way out of the booth. But, Jackie stops her with a hand on her shoulder and he taps his throat. She catches on taking off her choker translator, neck feeling bare and odd without the tech. With that they leave out through the club, Jackie carrying the Flathead case and the smaller merc keeps her head down as best she can. Her stomach still in knots as they spot the Delamain in the parking lot.

Her life is about to change forever; hopefully for the best. She’s on the cusp of having everything she’s wanted since she’s come to the city. The verge of earning the respect of everyone in this city and finally feeling like she’s someone, like she’s done something.

So, why does she feel like she’s about to puke?

#cyberpunk 2077 #cp2077 #johnny silverhand #silverv #jackie welles #t-bug #dexter deshawn #female v #aidan v becker #aidan becker #original female v

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writinginthesparetime · 5 years ago

Text

A place far away pt7

pairing: actor!Park Haejin x student!reader

Warnings: famous!au ; college!au ; litte bit of swearing?

genre: fluff ;

chapters: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6

(If needed I will add more warnings and upload the genre tags in next chapters)

Summary:

So that’s how all started.

It was a rainy day in Seoul and I was the new girl in town. Precisely the new girl in college, just moved from europe to study abroad.

Little did I knew Seoul was not the only korean thing I’d fell in love with.

————————————————

21st November

“Lillian! Your caffelatte!”

I looked up from my books just a moment, only to see a girl holding two cups in her hands desperately trying to get her friend’s attention.

This cafeteria in the campus often looked like this: loud and busy. I didn’t enjoy spending my time there to study, but that morning only the idea of staying home made me sick.

I spent the last two weeks studying for three exams, now focusing on the last one of those. Class? Chemical behind the skincare.

I went back to my notes, looking at graphics and formulas well written, trying to revise some useful acids for peeling and the benefits of vitamin c for our skin.

I sipped my coffee and looked at the time. Almost 11 o’clock.

It was so weird to think that the whole campus had the free morning. Someone definitely decided to spend it in bed sleeping, someone just enjoyed their free time and someone, like me, chose to keep on studying.

I never wanted to be the best student, but indeed I wanted to prove myself I could. I just needed to tell myself so, and actually work hard. Luckily, lessons were interesting and I found myself being capable of getting on the top of class.

Even cooking class was satisfying.

In the table next to me, a group of girls were chatting loudly, all smiling and well dressed. They were talking about the real reason why morning classes were cancelled and most of the girls went on campus anyways. The reason they all wore their best dresses and used tons of makeup.

An idol.

Or someone famous.

Again.

Yes, if months ago there were some weird visit by an entertainment company, that morning was the confirmation of a collaboration with the college.

So, an idol in that exact moment was in one of my college’s class filming some stupid advertisement about some stupid product, probably to attract teenagers who are still influenced by whoever is in the commercial.

And it worked just fine.

I sighed lightly reading again the same phrase on my notes. “What’s uva and uvb rays? And how uv sun rays damage our skin?”

Let’s say in the morning, especially on these cold ones, the last thing I think of is putting sunscreen on.

Just waken up then, after embracing a sky full of clouds, that’s definitely not my first thought.

And suddenly I thought about Nana who was surely still sleeping in her warm bed.

I lost every kind of concentration, desolated I closed my books and stopped looking outside the window.

I still had some time before the first lesson started, but it was so obvious that I wasn’t able to keep on revising.

This exam looked infinitely long to study and I still had one to go before the end of the year.

And then I suddenly started thinking about that lesson, one month and a half ago. About that speech the teacher made, about working in a company.

I sank into the chair, trying to make myself as little as possible.

I didn’t know what to do with this information. All my classmates saw the list and picked their favourite company. Some girls, after reading important company names, even started to study more.

And I was the only one in the class who hasn’t choose yet. Well, I didn’t even decided about doing this work or not.

I was one of the best students, suitable for the opportunity, but I was afraid about the whole working and going to classes and studying for exams at the same time. I could have just failed.

Plus, I really couldn’t understand why we had to choose a company, I could really work everywhere they wanted.

I snorted.

I knew my time was almost over, I couldn’t keep on procrastinating. A teacher already stopped me in the hallways to know if I made up my mind. I simply run away.

And then I suddenly thought about the no-boys rule, that has been recently broken by Nana a week ago at a really late halloween party. She kept on saying that she didn’t really broke our promise since she make out with a girl, but we both knew the truth.

On the other hand, I didn’t date anyone, girl or boy. I kinda made friends with other classmates, even ended up in a project group with Jackson, who kept being an acquaintance.

That’s it.

That’s it, like any other Hae-jin story then.

I looked up.

Y/n, stop thinking about him.

Yet, sometimes his kind smile came back to mind.

And even how we never met in the last month and a half, after bumping into each other almost every week.

Slowly the voices in the cafe became quieter and many people left, dispersing in the campus.

I sipped my coffee and I saw myself reflected in the window.

My eyes were tired from the lack of sleep and my cheeks bright pink because of the cold November.

I wrapped myself in my blue hoodie, judging again my morning decision to choose comfort over style. Countless times Nana tried to find any item in my wardrobe to save my outfits, that are so basic to her.

Anyways I did find a trick: just wear an elegant coat over every outfit and suddenly I didn’t look like a mess. Not completely.

I noted mentally to go shopping as soon as my mother sent me some money.

I got up picking my things up and throwing them inside the backpack and, against my will, I exited the cafeteria heading to class to revise the next coming exam. I wasn’t prepared for it, neither for the day ahead.

While i was quickly walking i kept hearing people chat about what was going on in college, and i even saw some people randomly run through the campus, going wherever they heard the idol’s last location was.

And it was just one of those crowds that crushed me. I stumbled, getting hit by thousands hands and shoulders that tried to get me out of the way.

I was almost falling when I ended up crushing a girl, she quickly grabbed me by my shoulders, holding me.

“Everything’s okay?’ She asked worried.

This girl definitely looked older than me, well I could guess she wasn’t going to college anymore. Her neat appearance made me feel ashamed. Everything about her made me think she was one of those girls who really treated herself good.

“I’m fine, thank you.” I said softly and bowed at her. She took a step back, feeling the embarrassment between the two of us.

With her right hand, closed into holding two different phones, she moved a lock of hair with her pinkie.

Only then I noticed she was holding, with her other hand, a big brown leather briefcase. She kinda looked like a business woman, only her windbreaker didn’t suit her style: an huge stuffed one, long ‘till under her knees, with an embroidered word on her chest, probably the name of the company she was working for.

She quickly excused herself and left, not giving me enough time to read that word. I only saw the logo, made by three little triangles that reminded me of the three Giza’s pyramids.

“Y/n!” I heard my name being called while trying to walk in the hallway. “Wait, y/n!”

I turned around to where I thought this voice came, only to see Nana, of course, running to me. In a couple of seconds she joined me and, well, actually she bumped into me, with the biggest hug.

“Y/n-ah, you have no idea how it’s so good to wake up late, i feel so fresh!” Saying so she slapped her cheeks lightly.

“Lucky you.” I looked up.

“Oh my god, what are those? Eye-bags?”.

“I haven’t been sleeping well lately.” I said shrugging my shoulders.

We walked side by side, in silence. Nana knew my weird sleeping habits, she knew it’s been weeks since I had a proper full night of sleep and, luckily, she knew when was the time to not say a word.

And I didn’t have to tell her more.

In the hallways people kept walking and talking, even louder than any other day, it was becoming annoying.

Everyone was frenetically moving, girls stopping mid walking looking at their phones, little half runs and continuously checking their hair.

I was getting curious to know who was the reason of this whole mess.

“Hold this: I have a concealer that matches your skin color.” Nana suddenly gave me her make-up trousse. We have so differently skin color, even different undertones, but I wasn’t shocked at all: we often tried make-up products together, even sharing them for fun. “If it’s not your color, you’re good enough to make it work it out. I know lately you’re not into this, but your eye-bags could literally scare the teacher.”

I smiled at her, knowing that she was trying to make me feel better and she definitely didn’t want me to look like a zombie.

We left in front of the class door, she headed inside to take seats while I just tried to remember where the closest toilet was.

Needless to say that I didn’t know at all: campus and buildings were huge, every lesson was taken in a different classroom and I still couldn’t orient myself. I only followed the signs.

I found myself walking for the whole hallway and after turning twice, fifty metres ahead, I ended up in a blind alley, with some doors on the sides.

Above one of them, a sign with a drawing of a lady. And behind that same door a group of girl exited the toilet. Coming across, we bowed slightly.

All of the sudden, behind myself I heard a soft sound, getting slowly louder until the rustle clearly turned into quick steps in the hallways.

I turned around confused, but I could only see me and the other four girls.

I was so focused on that sound which was gettin louder and kinda deafening because of the echo on the walls, that I didn’t notice I was slowly going backwards.

And when I turned, I didn’t have the time to clearly see the person I bumped into.

Raising my gaze, I saw some details.

A black button down shirt. A strong arm. Fine jawline.

And then the shoulder I literally crush into.

The man was taller than me so his shoulder was at the same height as my face, and because of my abrupt movement I ended up hitting him.

I got hurt on the side of my face, a strong smack at my right ear.

Suddenly my head started spinning, there was a loud strong whistle that kept shutting my thoughts. I stumbled untill I lied to the closest wall.

Every sound was padded. I brought my hands to my head, I could literally heard my blood angrily pulsing.

I didn’t know what was around me anymore. My vision was blurred, it was hard for me to focus on anything.

I ended up squeeze my eyes multiple times.

The man stopped, and I only knew because I couldn’t hear any close steps.

My legs were shaking and the whistle still there, not letting me think straight.

“Oh.” A manly voice that sounded so far away. “I am sorry.” His cold and formal words made me shiver.

The only thing I was thinking about was to find a quite place to sit, any place.

And then, like someone opened a door with air stream, steps and voices got louder.

The whistle left, letting me finally hear but every little sound now was painful as a stab. I looked up trying to recall the place, feeling the rough wall behind me.

I was so shocked to see a crowd of people coming towards me, and a man I could clearly see because he was taller than anyone. That man. He just run out to another hallway.

I didn’t see more because once I recognised the toilet door I only thought about laying on the little couch each bathroom in campus had.

I moved quickly.

I closed my eyes while sinking on it. Slowly I started feeling better, no more dizziness. My heartbeat was regular now.

Outside, finally the silence.

It still took me a couple of minutes before getting up. I decided to splash my face with some cold water and suddenly I felt a little better, more awake.

I could still clearly see how sick I looked.

Maybe it was time for that concealer to save me.

I quickly applied some makeup, trying to hide my dark eye-bags. I fixed my hair tying them up into a ponytail to look more clean.

“You look awful.” I whispered.

I exited the toilet and redo the same way backwards. Empty hallways and silences.

Only my steps echoing between the yellowish walls.

Three times I bumped into someone that morning. Three differs ways, three different people, three different pair of arms touched me.

Hold.

Loved.

Hurt.

Slightly bent over, I got closer to Nana who took a seat in the middle raw.

I tried to be as quiet as possible and to be the more invisible I could. The teacher already started the lesson and he was writing fast on the blackboard.

“Y/n, what happened?”

Nana asked after looking at the clock on the wall, and then at me. I let myself fall onto the chair, giving back her trousse.

“I don’t think I am feeling good, after class I am going home.”

I was slowly walking through the campus, heading to the exit while thinking about taking a long nap before getting back to study.

I needed to rest.

And i needed a painkiller for my headache.

“Miss. Y/l/n! Miss!” I heard a door slamming and quick steps. Beside me, my history of makeup’s teacher was closing our distance.

“Yes?” I asked. Behind him, inside the hallway people were talking and looking at us.

“I am truly sorry to disturb you, but I needed to know if you decided about the job. As I have already told you, this is the last week to sign up.”

“I am really thankful for your interest, but I haven’t had the time to look at the list, so I think I’ll have t-“ I couldn’t end the phrase because the teacher, after looking up for a folder and finding it inside his briefcase, interrupted me.

“Here it is.” He gave me the folder smiling.

“Honestly, I still won’t have the time to choose, I’m too busy studying for exams.”

“Miss y/l/n, that’s not the first time we talked about this.”

“I am truly sorry, I don’t think I’ll be able to study and work and attend classes, all together.”

“Miss, I never thought of you as a lazy person, but you know better than me that classes are ending soon and there are just a few exams to be taken. Do you really want to risk to lose this opportunity?”

“What if I can’t do it?”

“Miss, you’re on the top five of the class, we are positive you’ll be able to make it just fine. And if you won’t, we do not expect you to pass every exam this semester.”

“But it will be humiliat-“

“It will be more embarrassing to lose such an opportunity to work with professionals. I don’t want to force you, but I think you’ll regret this in the future.”

He kept smiling the whole time, trying maybe to reassure me, while his words were sharp.

I really just wanted to go home, forget about everything and sleep. Thinking too much made my headache stronger.

I raised my gaze, ignoring his face. Behind him, I could see some people staring.

“All I ask you is to think about it.”

I grabbed the folder and hold it tight.

I just needed to resist one more week, and wait for the deadline.

But the idea of meeting persistent teachers made me feel sick. More than I already was.

“Are you feeling good?” He asked worried, taking on step closer.

“Not really. Teacher, I don’t really have time to choose between the companies right now.”

“I have a proposal. Actually, you can even meet them now if yo-“ He stopped talking mid sentence. “A-are you feeling good? You look pale, do you need some water?”

“Thank you teacher, I just need to go home and rest.” I quickly smiled.

“Please, think about my proposal. I actually highlighted the company in the list and at the end of the folder I gave you some informations.”

He sounded so noisy.

“Okay okay. I surrender, I accept. Please send me via mail al the papers I need to fill and I’ll gave it back to you as soon as possible. But now, I really need to go.”

I quickly bowed and left, heading to the closest bus stop.

The headache was painful as ever. I found myself crying on my way home.

————————————————

A/n:

I am truly sorry, it took me ages to write this chapter. I keep on revising it because I think it’s kinda dark and sad: it resembles what happened in the last weeks.

AnywaysI hope you still like it, and please dm me if you want to be tagged in next chapters!

Look forwards to the next ones, they’re gonna be gooooooood!!

#park haejin #park hae jin #korean actor #story #park hae jin x y/n #park har jin x reader #park #k actor #kdrama #writing in the spare time #writing #a place far away #original #forest

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youngster-monster · 5 years ago

Text

put a ring on it

There is something to be said about surprise visits from Tyrande and Malfurion — something incredibly rude, that is. They always drop in uninvited at the worst time possible, sure of their welcome and of their own importance. Contrary to popular beliefs, Illidan does have better things to do than humor his brother: his job as a researcher in Fel magic is nothing to scoff at.

Actually, it’s a damn prestigious job. His brother is just being a dick.

But no matter how little Illidan wants to drop everything to deal with his twin and childhood friend, there’s still a small, annoying part of him (the one that feels obligated to give old people his seat in the bus and reminds him not to insult possible benefactors, even though they’re dumb as a pile of bricks) that won’t let him close the door in their face.

It is tempting, though. Especially today: the setting sun is drowning his living room in warmth and he’d been halfway to a nap already. He was so comfortable that the idea of ruining his peaceful afternoon with a discussion with his brother is about the last thing he could ever want.

Illidan puts his hand on the doorknob, opening his mouth to tell Malfurion to quit it with the knocking, when he realizes: he’s not quite alone, is he? It’s Saturday, so Kael’thas showed up in the morning with pastries and a pile of research magazines, as per usual, and they’ve been laying around for the better part of the day. His friend has been pretending he’s not napping on his couch for maybe an hour, too sleep deprived to pay attention to whatever magical theory caught his attention. Illidan is so used to having him in his home he completely forgot about him.

Well, they’ve known each others for years. It’s about time he got the full Malfurion experience. Misery loves company and all’s that.

Illidan opens the door and ushers the two inside with barely a roll of his eyes at their stilted hellos. Why they even bother coming by as often as they do it a mystery to him.

He can’t stop them: that doesn’t mean he can’t complain about it.

He leads them to the living room: his flat is too small for them to sit comfortably far away from each others in any other room. He’s faintly relieved to see Kael’thas mostly awake, flipping through the same Arcanic Arts & Studies issues he’s been staring at for an hour. He’s taking as much space as physically possible on the couch, his head propped against the armrest and his bare feet crossed over the other — he’s small but he’s like a cat, stretching as far as possible to get comfortable. It’s hard to tell when you don’t know him but to Illidan, who’s been working with him for years, it’s obvious he only just woke up. His hair is slightly less than perfect, a few strands sticking out of place and falling over his face; he’s not paying any attention to what he’s reading; also, he was sprawled face-down in a pile of cushion barely five minutes ago, which is a pretty big indicator.

Kael’thas looks up at their arrival and quirks an elegant eyebrow at the newcomers, conveying in that simple gesture how little he’s impressed by them. His gaze shifts to Illidan and softens into familiar amusement, and a small quirk of his lips tells Illidan he’d be rolling his eyes if it wasn’t unbecoming. It’s reassuring to know Kael’thas will always be in his corner, even when he’s just waking up and has no idea what’s going on.

Still, because Illidan might be a good friend somewhere deep inside, he decides not to push as far as letting Malfurion and his wife sit next to Kael’thas. It’d be awkward for everyone involved: Kael’thas is extremely territorial and this is his couch, and sometimes Illidan’s as well: he might just claw Malfurion’s eyes out if the man tried to sit on it. Would it be amusing to watch? Yes. But also messy and difficult to explain to a judge. So Illidan makes a beeline toward him, lightly taps Kael’thas’s shoulder to tell him to scoot over, and flops down on the couch. Kael’thas immediately goes back to his initial position, legs thrown over Illidan’s, and he shakes his head with a small sigh but doesn’t complain.

Tyrande sends them a dubious look as she sits primly on Illidan’s armchair. He wonders if he’ll have to clean it from her almost-tangible disgust afterward. Malfurion is left without a seat — he takes one look at the floor, covered in a soft, bright red carpet and half an inch thick of loose paper and choose to stand instead. Smart man.

Those are Kael’thas’s papers. He brings them every Saturday and, each time, fails to grade them like he intended to. The future of almost fifty students depends on the grade he’ll give them and he’s been putting it off for long enough that Illidan is close to giving in and helping, which has of course been Kael’thas’s goal since the start. Illidan is a magical genius and a very busy researcher, and his best friend uses him like a TA or, at best, a personal assistant. Asshole.

Malfurion clears his throat.

“So,” He says awkwardly, and looks around. “You’ve been, huh— fine?”

“Yes.”

“Ah.” More awkwardness, and then, gesturing toward Kael’thas and suddenly looking like the Moon herself sent him a miracle in the form of a convenient topic of discussion, “I don’t think we’re acquainted. Do you mind introducing us?”

It’s not, in essence, an actual question. It’s more of a demand, really. Illidan does mind, thank you very much, but he still nods tiredly. “Malfurion, Tyrande, this is Kael’thas— Kael, those are Malfurion and Tyrande. I talked about them before, I think.”

He did, at great length, mainly to complain about them and this exact kind of situation. Kael’thas nods and smiles like Illidan has never said anything remotely mean about the two.

“Yes, you did! And I’ve heard about you, Malfurion. You’re a druid, if I remember correctly? Fascinating field of study.”

“You’re studying druidism?” He sounds genuinely excited at the idea, the poor thing. He has no idea what mess he’s getting into.

By the Moon, Illidan thinks, Not that again. Malfurion is worst than an evangelist when it comes to druidism.

“Oh, no, absolutely not, far from it in fact,” Kael’thas chuckles. He waves off the very concept of him studying druidism (a rather weird idea, if Illidan thinks about it) like it’s not worth considering. “I’m very much a mage and I fear any other kind of magic will have to stay in the realm of theory for me.”

“Ah.” Malfurion snorts derisively. “I should have guessed.”

That was not a smart thing to say. Kael’thas is very proud of what he does.“Why, pray tell?”

“Well, you’re kind of the stereotypical mage, right? Frail, Obviously dabbling in Fel magic,” And he makes a sweeping gesture toward the mess of the living room,”Clearly more into the theory than the hands-on experience…”

Kael’thas rolls his eyes so hard Illidan is afraid they might stick like that. They’re very pretty eyes, despite — maybe because — their odd coloring. In this Malfurion is right: it is a sign of Fel magic. Illidan himself is beginning to show some effect from his handling of demonic artefacts, and Kael’thas has been helping him in his research — his eyes are even brighter nowadays than they were when they started working together. They’ve yet to go back to the poison-green hue they had in college, when Kael’thas first tried Fel energy.

(Those were bad days.)

“And you are clearly a druid, if I may say so.” Kael’thas tilts his head and starts counting on his fingers. “Tactless, with a superiority complex and no understanding of the basis of other schools of magic.”

Malfurion sputters in indignation. “What would you know about druidism?”

“Please,” Kael’thas sighs. “I’m an Academy teacher. I probably know more than you do about the theory of it, although I was never interested enough to try it myself.”

“Blood elves don’t have the magic for it, anyway,” Malfurion dismisses with what might just be a sneer. Illidan does it better.

“Excuse me? Those theories have been proved wrong decades ago—”

“Boys,” Tyrande cuts in, a patient smile on her lips that Illidan recognizes as her ‘Malfurion is obviously right but I must pretend to be impartial For Elune’ smile. He’s been on the receiving end of it countless times before.

But Kael’thas is on a roll, and not about to be stopped by anyone and especially not her of all people. “I’m sorry, Tyrande was it?” He looks contrite, but Illidan can hear the start of a game in the lightness of his voice. He almost smiles in anticipation. “I’m not sure who you are. I mean, Illidan mentioned your name, but—”

Kael’thas, being Illidan’s best friend and drinking buddy, knows exactly who Tyrande is. He laughed a great deal about Illidan’s past crush and present aggravation, by the way.

She looks annoyed, but like she’s being kind about it. “Oh, I guess he wouldn’t have told you— Illidan can be quite secretive with acquaintances, right?” She smiles. “I’m his childhood friend— and crush.” She chuckles like it’s the best joke she ever told. “I know, right?

The lack of subtlety is a hundred times more painful than the jab itself. Kael’thas shrugs it off without the smallest hint of effort. “Oh, I wouldn’t really call us acquaintances.”

Malfurion takes the opportunity to jump back in the discussion. “How would you describe your relationship, then?”

What is this, the Inquisition?

“I’m sorry?” Kael’thas looks— physically hurt by Malfurion’s bluntness. It would be funny if Illidan hadn’t just cringed so hard he pulled a muscle.

“I mean, what kind of relationship do you have with my brother?”

And Illidan— Illidan is tired. Annoyed, because they have no right to barge into his life like that, but mostly tired of it. So he glances at Kael’thas, the gold ring he wears on a chain around his neck (it’s full to the brim with magic, barrier spells just a word away, a little wonder of enchantment) and the one around Illidan’s (a similar object but geared more toward healing spells: it’s used almost daily, because his job requires him to deal with a lot of dangerous, volatile magic) and he speaks before he can think.

“The married kind, Mal.”

Silence falls. Kael’thas looks at him without any outright emotion, calmly assessing the situation, and doesn’t say anything. Tyrande stares. Malfurion— says the first thing that comes through his mind, probably.

“You didn’t invite us to the wedding.”

Illidan gestures at the gold band around his ring finger. “Neither did you.”

“We didn’t think you’d come, considering your feelings for Tyrande—”

“Malfurion, please.” Illidan shakes his head. “You’ve been dating for years and I haven’t felt anything but irritation for you two since I left for college. I would have liked the opportunity to laugh in your face when I said no, at least.”

“And we eloped, anyway” Kael’thas adds with a big smile.

“Yup. Got drunk, drove across the continent, got married by a gnome dressed as a blood elf in Dalaran, ate cake and made out all night long.”

Kael’thas sighs wistfully. “Good times.”

The visit is cut short after that. The two unwanted guests leave with cold ‘goodbyes’ and Illidan slams the door shuts as soon as they’re off the welcome mat. He puts on the three locks and, when he’s sure they’re not coming back without a fight, shuffles back to the living room and falls in his armchair. He wrinkles his nose: it smells like Tyrande perfume. Ugh.

At least they’re gone, now, and shouldn’t be back for— hm, with luck, a month, maybe.

“Your brother is a bit of a dick,” Kael’thas says conversationally.

“You don’t say.” Illidan looks up and meet his eyes. Kael’thas has that look, the one he gets when he’s put in front of an interesting magical problem and is dissecting it in his head. “Thank you for the help, by the way. I’m sorry for making my brother believe we got married in Dalaran by a Sig Nicious impersonator.”

“It’s alright,” Kael’thas says, and reaches out to pat his knee. “It’s not like I care what your brother thinks of me.”

Illidan chuckles. “I saw that, yeah.”

A moment passes, Kael’thas having finally settled on an article and Illidan gone back to the one he was reading Malfurion and Tyrande came.

“Although, if you want to make it up to me—” Illidan makes a derisive noise. Kael’thas ignores him. “You can always buy me dinner.”

“Will take-out from the Dragon’s Den suffice?”

“As long as you’re paying.”

They always eat together on Saturdays (it’s a good excuse to give their colleagues when they’re not feeling like going out and getting drunk, which is basically all the time) and Illidan ends up paying almost as often. He has a minor in Politics and arguing with the heir of the Sunstrider family is still too much of a challenge.

“Yeah, alright.”

When Illidan was younger, the idea of routine disgusted him. It seemed boring and predictable, everything he didn’t want his life to be. Now he’s just happy to have regularly-scheduled breaks, considering they are the only things standing between him and first-degree murder charges.

So Illidan’s life is full of little rituals. On Mondays he buy coffee for all his subordinates (good minions are hard to find and he’s learned supplying them with caffeine is the quickest way to get their absolute loyalty), Tuesday is Bribe Day in the institute and Cookie Day in his department (and if those who bring him the good ones, the ones with caramel chunks, gets a slightly better treatment this week, well, no one can prove the connection), and so on and so forth. It’s reassuring to know some things will always happen, even when it’s things like the explosion of unstable Fel enchantments and the mysterious disappearance of every sharp object on Thursdays because it’s when he has to go and talk to whoever is handling their budget and it’s stressful, alright. It would make anyone consider homicide.

Wednesdays are slightly different. It’s the only day in the week when he gets out of the Fel Researches building and let his subordinates slack off for a few hours while he drives to the Kirin Tor Academy. It’s also the only day in the week when Kael’thas gets out of his classroom for more than the ten-minutes trip to the coffee machine and back, because Illidan comes to drag him out for lunch and a well-deserved break for both of them.

Their fields of study are close enough that they often have to work together, but there’s nothing like eating something terribly greasy and trash-talking students and council members together.

“I swear I spend more time arguing with Rommath than teaching nowadays.” Kael’thas stabs his chopsticks at Illidan for emphasis, “Can you believe he dropped off all his work on my desk because he had a date night?”

Illidan carefully doesn’t mention that Kael’thas has been pretending to forget his papers at Illidan’s house in the hope they’d be graded when he got them back for years, mostly because he doesn’t want to admit out loud that he has been doing Kael’thas’ work for him all this time. It’s one thing to do it and another to say out loud what they both already know. He lets Kael’thas vent, rests his head on his hand and watches him wave his hands around.

If asked, he could probably make an educated guess at what Kael’thas is saying, but the truth is that he’s stopped listening a while ago. His mind is somewhere else, distracted by thoughts of Malfurion and Tyrande’s visit the previous week-end. He can’t stop thinking about the way they reacted when he told them he got married without them knowing it. It was hilarious, and yet something in it nags at him. Something about the look he exchanged with Kael’thas behind their back, the way his eyes kept drifting to the ring around his friend’s neck, thoughts what if circling in his head.

And even as he thinks about all this, his eyes can’t quite get off Kael’thas, his eyes that glint like jewel in his excitation and his golden hair and every little detail Illidan somehow keeps rediscovering after years of friendship. The sight is so familiar yet it stirs up unknown feeling in him, a kind of warm anticipation, like butterflies in his stomach.

Kael’thas excuses himself to go to the toilet and Illidan takes advantage of his absence to hit his head on the table with a groan.

Of course he had to choose now to develop a crush on his best friend. When has his life ever been easy, after all?

#writing #World of Warcraft #kael'thas sunstrider #illidan stormrage #Malfurion Stormrage #Tyrande Whisperwind

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luvknow · 6 years ago

Text

press play | bang chan

genre: radio dj!chan x reader feat. minho | college au ; fluff ; humor ; light angst ; dialogue-heavy summary: bang chan, founder and one of the hosts of the campus’s most popular radio show, raises money for charity where students can purchase tickets to be put in a lottery. the winner gets to go on a one-on-one date with none other than CB97 himself, all expenses paid. when you hear chan say your name over the radio, you’re stuck wondering how your name even got there in the first place. wc: 7.1k (jsbdjsbd)

warning - mentions of drinking/college party

CHAN’S PLAYLIST

“What’s up, friends!? You’re listening to 3RACHA Radio. It’s CB on the mic, with J.ONE and SPEARB right beside me and if you’re just tuning in, we just got off with caller number seven about his frequent unfortunate event with his roommate exiling him with the good ol’ ‘sock on the door handle’. We hope all goes well with you, number seven! And remember: don’t be a snitch and tattle on the RA.”

“Oh good, you’re listening.”

Without any warning or even a simple knock on your door, Minho walked into your apartment unsolicited and took a seat next to you at the kitchen table that doubled as another desk as you spread all of your study materials on top. Then, he had the audacity to go into your fridge and take a drink.

“Hello to you, too. Sure, you can have a drink! Just take whatever’s in the fridge,” you say sarcastically as an unbothered Minho chugs his drink of choice.

“’Sup. Anyways, you’re listening to 3RACHA, right?”

“Against my will, but yes. Why am I listening to it again?”

“I put in a shout out for you!”

“That’s it!?”

“What do you mean, ‘that’s it’!? Isn’t it so cool to hear your name over the radio and everyone knows that it’s you?”

“Our campus is huge, I doubt people will know it’s me.”

“Well, you’ll know it’s you, and that’s all that matters. You’re already listening anyways, so just wait for it.”

You rolled your eyes as Minho takes his seat next to you, though not before he grabs a snack to munch on while you both listen to the radio that played in the background. Somehow throughout most days of the week, Minho ended up at your place after class either hanging out or eating your food. He even slept on your couch on some days because he was too lazy to take walk for ten minutes. After eating all of your food and spending more time at your apartment than yourself, you really considered asking him to pay rent since he might as well be living there.

You yank the bag of chips away from the hungry boy. “Stop eating my food! You still owe me like, two more bags!”

He pouted cutely, knowing too well that it was your weakness. “But I’m hungry ~ Just add it to my tab!”

“You’re never going to pay me back,” you scoffed, reluctantly handing him back your chips.

“How big is my tab, anyways?”

“Three bags of potato chips now, two four-packs of ramen, at least a carton of eggs because of the ramen, a pint of ice cream and -” you paused to mentally calculate how many drinks he owed you. “Twelve cans of cola.”

“Yikes.”

“Yeah, yikes. Now pay me back.”

“Soon, soon ~”

“How can you even eat that much and still have a six pack?”

“It’s called going to the gym. Maybe use your free membership once in a while and you’ll have one, too,” he teased.

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“The time has come, everyone! The moment we’ve all been waiting for,” you both heard J.ONE say on the radio.

“Oh, I think this is it!” Minho squealed, hitting your arm repeatedly. “Listen, listen!”

“That’s right, J.ONE. We’re about to find out the lucky sucker who gets to go on a date with our one and only hyung, CB97.”

“It’s unfortunate for them, really.”

“Agreed.”

“Hey! I’m right here!” CB whined.

“Ugh, a date with Chan? That poor soul...” you tisked.

Minho didn’t respond and just sipped his cola silently.

“We’ll now pull from the lottery, where all of your tickets are mixed up in this big jar. Then, we’ll call the number on the ticket and set up your date on-air, right now!” J.ONE cheered.

“Ah, why am I so nervous?” Chan said.

“It’s because we tried selling you to all these people in the lottery. But hey, we raised over $500 for school supplies for children!”

“That’s incredible. I can’t wait to meet one of you guys who contributed to this crazy amount. SPEARB, pick a name!”

You were only half paying attention to the show as you tried to finish your homework, thinking it wasn’t time for any shout outs to be said. The only time you ever listened to 3RACHA RADIO was with Minho and even then, you never really paid attention. It’s not that you weren’t a fan of the show - you thought their concept was super cool.

But the Djs? Well...

“And the lucky winner is... _____!”

“What’s up?” you asked Minho, not looking up from your homework.

“What?”

“You said my name?”

“That wasn’t me who said your name.”

“Who else would have said it -? Wait...”

As if on cue, your cellphone rang, with the caller ID coming from campus. At this point, Minho struggled to hold in his laugh when you looked at him with wide, terrified eyes.

“What did you do!?” you hissed.

“Just answer the phone!”

“No!”

“Hello, _____ ~ Please pick up ~!” SPEARB sang.

Minho was unfazed when you shot him the iciest glare while you answered your phone. “H-Hello...?” you stuttered.

“_____?”

“Yes...?”

“Congratulations! You were picked from the lottery drawing and won an all-expenses paid date with our one and only CB97!”

You silently mouthed at least a dozen curse words at Minho, who could only decipher a total of four.

“Ah, wow, that’s crazy...! I can’t believe the chances that this really happened!” You really couldn’t believe it, especially since you never bought a ticket. “It’s like I won the real lottery!” you said in your fakest cheerful voice.

“That’s great to hear! CB, would you do the honors of arranging your date?”

“I would love to. So _____, what kind of food do you like to eat?”

“All kinds.”

“Did you want to do anything romantic? Like the movies, or the amusement park? Museum, maybe?”

“You know, all of that sounds so expensive. I don’t want to waste your time and go through all of that!” You were practically begging him not to make the date any longer than it should be. You don’t even think you could last through dinner with him.

“Nonsense! It’s never a waste of time if I’m spending it with listeners like you.”

You exaggerated the way you rolled your eyes and Minho chucked a pillow at you.

‘Be nice!’ he mouthed silently.

“Um, I’m ok with anything, really,” you told him.

“Ok, so I’ll just surprise you the night of! We’ll play the night by ear. Does this weekend at seven sound good with you?”

“Actually, that’s really bad timing, because -” Before you knew it, Minho took your phone and ran around your apartment before you could reject Chan’s suggestion. “Hey!”

“Yes, this weekend at seven is perfect!” he said in a shrill voice that impersonated you.

“Great! I can’t wait until then. I’ll see you soon.”

“Goodbye, Channie ~” Minho sang. He then quickly hung up your phone and ran away as far as possible from you before you could stab him with your pen.

“I’m going to kill you,” you threatened after shutting off the radio.

“Wait, don’t hurt me! I can explain!” He giggled before you tackled him on the couch.

“Why is my name in the lottery!? I never even bought a ticket from them!”

“‘You’ actually bought fifty of them.”

“You bought fifty tickets just so you could see me be miserable on a date with Bang Chan!? Must be nice to have that kind of money just lying around!”

“I didn’t want to put my name down and I thought it’d be funny to put yours down instead! I didn’t think they’d actual pick it, I’m sorry ~!!” he groaned under your weight. “Can you get off of me, please!? I have a weak back!”

Reluctantly, you did as he begged. Then you ran your hands through your hair, stressed from the events that happened in a mere three-minute call. You still couldn’t believe you were set to go on a date with Bang Chan.

“You’re the worst friend ever and I hate you,” you pouted.

“I don’t get it, why are you so upset? He’s a cool guy. Handsome, too. And funny. Why would anyone not want to go on a date with him?”

“Are you sure you don’t want to go on this date instead?”

“Yes, dumbass. I’m just confused - I’ve never met anyone who hated 3RACHA before.”

“Ok, I don’t hate 3RACHA. The show’s actually decently written and I don’t even know the other djs. It’s just Chan that rubs me the wrong way.”

“What happened?”

You sigh deeply, falling into your couch as you recalled events from your very first college party with Chan.

“So BamBam threw this party the night he moved into his apartment our first year of college, right? It was huge, like anyone who was anyone was there and it was a great time. I came with Seokmin, Minghao, and Mingyu and we were just hanging out waiting to play some game, and suddenly Chan stumbled in between us and spilled his drink all. over. me.”

“So he was drunk and spilled a little bit, that’s normal at parties!”

“Oh, but there’s more, my dear Minho,” you chimed. “He puked all over my shoes two seconds later.”

“Ew...”

“Yeah, imagine that - covered in sticky jungle juice on the top half and Chan’s vomit on the bottom half. And the worst part about everything was that Chan never apologized! He just kept on walking!! Can you believe that?”

“I don’t know, that seems like some petty stuff to be angry over. Maybe he’ll redeem himself and apologize next week when you go on a date?”

“I doubt it. It was so long ago, I don’t even think he remembers it was me, let alone knows who I am.”

“Oh, trust me, he knows who you are.”

“How do you know?”

“Well, you and I are together pretty often, so the guys see me with you a lot. And they know I take you to the parties. They all pretty much know who you are by now.”

“Great...”

“C’mon, it’ll be fun! He’s not that rude when he’s sober, I promise,” Minho said as he nudged your side. It was weird for Minho to be pushing you to go on a date like this. It felt like he was hiding something. But he always teased you about not going on enough dates, so maybe that’s why.

“Even then, I’ve just heard so many things about him, you know?”

“What do you mean?”

The whole thing about Chan spilling the contents of his cup and his gut all over you was surprisingly not what you were worried about the most. What you were worried about was Chan’s overwhelming popularity, so to say. You’ve heard tons of rumors on what it was like to go on a date with him and most of them consisted of him gumming up the works so he could get what he wanted at the end of the night. Even if this date was fake and all for the purpose of fulfilling the lottery, who’s to say that he wouldn’t try something, anyways? All you knew was that you had to be extra careful around him.

“Isn’t Chan kind of like a playboy? He gets around all the time because of 3RACHA Radio. What if he tries something?”

“He’s wouldn’t do that to you. You’re not some person he wanted to hook up with at some sleazy party. You’re someone he wants to take out on a date.”

“Yeah, a forced date... But ok, I trust you,” you caved in. “If it starts to get really bad though, I’m gonna call you to get me out of there.”

“Fine. It’s the least I could do, I guess.”

“Literally the bare minimum.”

“Hey, you look pretty good!”

Tonight was the big night that everyone was waiting for - your lottery date with Bang Chan. You had no idea where he was taking you, so you dressed as semi-casual as possible, hoping you’d fit whatever environment that was thrown at you. When you walked out of your room, Minho gave you his thumbs up of approval.

“Like you actually look put-together for once,” he teased.

“I’m still mad at you.”

“Oh, come on! I said I was sorry! And like you said, if it’s really that bad, you can call me and I’ll come pick you up asap.”

“What’s your excuse if he asks?”

“I don’t know, that your dog’s in the emergency room, or something.”

“I don’t have a dog...”

“Ok, but he doesn’t know that.”

A knock came at your door and now was not the best time to start getting nervous. What was there to be nervous about, anyways? You’ve been on plenty of dates before, and with boys you actually liked, so this should be a piece of cake, right?

“_____? It’s me, Chan.”

“Can you tell him I went to the emergency room instead?” you begged Minho.

“Shut up and just enjoy your free date with free food. But be home by midnight ~!”

With a huge sigh, you bucked up the courage to take the first steps in getting this date over with.

On the other side of your door stood a dashing and handsome Chan patiently waiting. He had his hands behind his back as if he was hiding something. You were so curious about what he was hiding that you failed to notice the slight drop in his jaw.

“Hey,” he breathed out. “You look great.”

“Not so bad yourself,” you admitted. “What are you hiding...?”

“Hm? Oh!” Chan hands you a bouquet of your favorite flowers wrapped neatly in brown paper - an arrangement that must not have been cheap. “I asked Minho what your favorite flower was so I could get them.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said, though you couldn’t help but admire the beautiful bouquet in your arms. A smile broke on your lips and Chan thinks to himself that he must be making the right moves so far. “I love them. Thank you.”

“Shall we?” Like a true gentleman, he extends an elbow for you to take and without hesitation, you accepted.

“Wow, I didn’t take you as the gentleman type.”

“Is it because I spilled my drink and threw up on you our first year?”

“Ah, so you do remember,” you scolded. “Good. I was afraid I had to remind you.”

“Of course I do! How could I not remember the most embarrassing night of my college life?”

“What even happened?”

“You really want to know what happened?” You nodded eagerly. A blushing Chan turned his head and avoided eye contact. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“To me? Why?”

“I thought you were really cute, so I drank a couple drinks to buck up the courage to talk to you and thought ‘hey, Chan, you’re definitely not sober right now, go talk to her’.”

“And so you spilled everything on me instead and walked away.”

“Yup, that’s exactly it,” with his free hand, he scratched the back of his head sheepishly, pink still evident on his cheeks. “I’m so sorry for that night. I’ve been too embarrassed to talk to you ever since. Do you forgive me?”

Chan’s flattery was on a whole other level than you had expected and now you weren’t sure what words were real and what words were just for show. He really just admitted that he thought you were cute five minutes into the date and you swore to yourself that you wouldn’t fall for anything like that. Yet here you were, taking in his every word, and so ready to forgive him just because he asked.

I mean, all he did was apologize for spilling on you... It’s not like he was trying anything yet, right? No harm done yet.

“All is forgiven, I guess,” you teasingly sighed. “Only if you tell me what’s planned for tonight.”

“Dinner and a movie. Does that deserve forgiveness now?”

“It does.”

“Thank god.”

Sitting down at a candlelit setting was quite awkward at first. You felt so adult - like you two were both real adults going on a real date together. But Chan made things much easier because he was an easy-going guy. He made it feel more like you two were just friends hanging out and pretending to be fancy and forgetting all about the other paying customers who gave you dirty looks whenever you burst out laughing.

Time never seemed to pass your mind the entire evening.

“Oh, shit,” Chan cursed. “We’re late for the movie.”

“Aren’t there previews?”

“Yeah, but we're really late for the movie - like we missed the entire thing.”

“Oh, yikes.”

“Yeah,” Chan chuckled. “Guess we were having too much fun.”

“That’s a shame... Wanna get dessert?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Ice cream always tasted better when it was free and after 10:00pm. It was a popular place to be, so a ton of sweet-deprived students always crowded the place at this time. When the both of you walked in, it felt like all eyes were on you.

Oh yeah, you almost forgot how well-known the founder and host of the campus’ most popular radio show was.

You knew Chan must have sensed your anxiousness by the way he grabbed your hand and guided you through the line. Even if this was one of his moves, how could you be mad at his sweet gesture? A gentle squeeze in return earned you a soft smile from him.

After lacing his fingers with yours, he helped you keep your attention on him and the ice cream only. You opted for your favorite flavor as you always did, but Chan went for a more adventurous one - one that was all black and looked like it could stain your clothes if he got too close.

“What is that?” you asked after exiting the shoppe.

“Black sesame. It’s actually very good! Wanna try some?”

As Chan tried to shove his cone in your direction, you let go of his hand and backed away immediately.

“Gross, no thank you.”

“C’mon, when would you ever try this again!?”

“Never.”

“Exactly. Just one lick!”

“No!” you giggled, trying to avoid the dangerously dark ice cream. “Hey, be careful throwing your ice cream around like that!”

“Why, are you afraid I might spill it on you - Oh, shit.”

What you feared most had really just happened - a single drop of melted black sesame ice cream landed on your really cute shirt and now you were mad. You were going to make Chan pay. This would be for all the clothing he’s ever ruined and for future ones to come.

“You know, Chan, I was having a really good time on our fake date until now,” you tisked, approaching him slowly with your ice cream locked and loaded on a spoon. The cautious boy backed away slowly. “But now it’s ruined.”

“W-Wait, I didn’t mean to!” he shrieked in between laughs. “I’m sorry!”

“Sorry’s not enough this time. This is one of my favorite shirts, and now I gotta avenge it.”

“Ok, but do you really have to -”

“Yes.”

A deep sigh escaped his lips when he realized you were not going to back down from this. So reluctantly, he held his arms wide open to widen your target.

“Hit me with your best shot, _____ -” and before he could finish his sentence, you already aimed and catapulted right at his chest. “Jeez, at least let me finish!”

“We’re even now ~” you sang happily as you walked passed.

It was probably around midnight by the time you arrived home, but you still felt like the night was young and there was so much left for the two of you to do. But the rules of the lottery stated that Chan had to have you home by Midnight or else it violated the school’s rules and now you arrived at the front of your apartment feelings a bit unfulfilled.

“Something on your mind?” Chan asked.

“I don’t know. I kind of wanted the night to keep going,” you shrugged.

“Really?” he beamed cutely.

“Are you surprised?”

“I am. I thought you hated me.”

“I’m not going to lie, I kind of did. I actually really didn’t want to go until Minho stole my phone and said yes.”

“Why didn’t you want to go?”

“I-I don’t know...” you quickly became the shy one. How do you tell him that he has a reputation of being a playboy in a nice way? “I know this was fake and for the lottery and show and everything, but you’re so... experienced in all of this, aren’t you? I’ve never really been on a date before.”

“Ah, so that’s what scared you?” he chuckled. “I suppose I am experienced, as you said, but I wouldn’t pull any moves like that on you. I like you too much to be so boyish like that.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“I like you, too - even after all of my clothes you’ve stained. And I’m glad Minho took my phone and told you yes to this date.”

“I’m glad he did, too.” Chan’s gentle smile really knew how to pull at your heart strings. “H-Hey, so I wanted to ask... would you like to maybe hang out some time? For real?”

Almost immediately, you said, “Yeah. I’d like that.”

And with a gentle kiss on the back of your hand, he bid you farewell.

“Good night, my love ~” he teased.

After your lottery date, you and Chan stayed true to your word that you two would hang out some time and it happened a lot more often than you expected. Nearly every chance you two had some free time in between or after classes, your time would be split up between spending it with Minho or spending it with Chan.

“I can’t believe he’s replacing me,” Minho tisked. “After disliking him for so long, you go on one date and suddenly you’re head over heels for him.”

“Ok one, it was not a real date, and two, I’m not falling for him like that!”

“Either way, I made this happen, so you’re welcome.”

You also found yourself listening to the show every time they were on air, and every now and then, Chan would throw in a shout out or dedicate a song to you without explicitly saying it on the radio.

chan [9:43 PM]: hey, are you listening right now? i played this song for you ~

you [9:45 PM]: i practically have a playlist by now after all the songs you’ve played for me lol.

chan [9:45 PM]: i guess you do huh? do you like it so far?

you [9:46 PM]: i like it a lot! i’ve never had one before. have you made playlists for others before?

chan [9:47 PM]: nope. only for you.

you [9:49 PM]: wow, i feel special lol.

chan [9:49 PM]: you are to me.

Small gestures like that and other things like buying more of your favorite flowers, or treating you to late night ice cream, and especially daring to hold your hand when you two were together was making your situation way more difficult than you could ever imagine. He was so sweet and kind and unlike any boy you’ve ever met. You could understand why he was so experienced with dating because how could anyone resist him when he made you feel so special?

You suddenly felt small just thinking about all the rumors you’ve heard.

How could you have found yourself stuck in between so quickly? And what were you to do? Now you were confused and stuck wondering if Chan could ever share the same feelings because people who were just friends wouldn’t be like this with one another, right?

Another Friday night in was spent listening to 3RACHA Radio in your quiet apartment as you attempted to finish small assignments that were due on Monday, but you were so caught up in the show whenever Chan talked that you couldn’t even focus. So instead of bothering with them, you pushed them aside and put your whole attention to the radio.

God, you were whipped.

“Thank you, caller number eight, for that very, um, graphic story,” J.ONE cleared his throat. “And that’s our last caller for tonight, guys.”

“Jeez, already? These days, time seems to get shorter and shorter on the show,” Chan said. “Before we end the night, we’d like to give a happy birthday shout out to our very good friend, Hyunjin! Happy birthday, bro! Can’t wait to celebrate with you tonight at your party.”

Oh, you had no idea it was Hyunjin’s birthday today. Minho had failed to invite you to the party as he always had with the other guys’ birthdays.

After turning off the radio, you called Minho with a sour expression on your face.

“Yo,” he greeted.

“Are you mad at me or something? Or does Hyunjin hate me?”

“What? No, why?”

“Why didn’t you invite me to his party?”

“Oh, that... I didn’t think you wanted to go...?”

“Why would I not want to go out on a Friday night?”

“Ok, you’re more than welcome to come with me, it’s just... Don’t get mad, ok?”

“Spill, Minho!”

“I didn’t want to bring you because Chan said he was taking someone else.”

Oh... Well, did you feel like an idiot, or what?

“So he told you not to invite me?” you asked, voice just above a whisper.

“No, I was the one who didn’t invite you because I didn’t want you to see that.”

“Thanks for trying to protect me, but I think I can handle it,” you said sincerely. It was moments like these that you thanked Minho for being such a good friend. “Can you pick me up on your way there?”

“Yeah. I’ll be over in thirty minutes.”

Now you were angry. At Chan, at yourself, at this entire situation! How could you be foolish enough to fall for Chan’s gestures when he was probably doing the same thing to that other poor soul he was taking to the party?

Or maybe you were just reading too much into this...

Maybe Chan thought of you as just a friend - a friend he bought flowers for, a friend he held hands with, a friend he’d pepper kisses on the top of you head - you know, just friend things, right? He probably saw all of that just another form of platonic affection, and you were just stupid enough to think it meant something more.

Who knew who else he was playing this game with? Either way, maybe two could play at this game. You were going to have fun without him tonight.

When Minho walked in and saw what you were wearing, his eyes went wide and his cheeks tinted pink.

“Whoa, you look... u-uh, good,” he stuttered. “You trying to rile someone up tonight?”

“Maybe. Hey, can I ask you a favor tonight?”

“Sure. I kind of owe you one after not inviting you, anyways.”

“Can I use you to get back at him?”

“What!?” he shrieked. “You’re going to drag me into this!?”

“Please ~? I won’t do anything gross like kiss you or anything, just like, dance with you or stick by you most of the time.”

“... Fine, just... yeah, don’t kiss me. You can get really kissy when you drink.”

Minho could tell simply by the way you walked to the party that you were here to play a serious game. But all of your unwavering confidence flew out the door when you walked in. The place was packed like sardines with drunk friends and strangers who were either dancing, making out, or anything in between.

And even in such a crowded place like this, you immediately spotted Chan talking and smiling with some girl who was holding his hand.

Before you could feel any more miserable, Minho boyishly wrapped his arm around you and dragged you to the kitchen where all the alcohol was.

“I need a shot or four,” you told your best friend.

“Pace yourself tonight, ok? Knowing you, you’ll do something stupid if you don’t.”

It was bottoms up for the next several minutes for you, to which you definitely did not heed Minho’s advice. You can’t remember how many you’ve taken, but by the looks on your friend’s face, it can’t be a low number.

The alcohol helps you forget why you even wanted to go to Hyunjin’s birthday in the first place. You spend a good hour mingling with yours and Minho’s mutual friends and you were finally given the pleasure to meet all of the boys whom you’ve heard so much about.

“Oh, they’re all so handsome ~!” you gushed, cheeks glowing pinker by the minute.

“I like them. You should bring them around more often,” a flirty Jisung said as he side-hugged you.

“Alright alright, shoo!” Minho said, slapping his arms off of you. He pulled you in close to whisper in your ear. “Hey, he’s looking at you.”

“Hm?”

You looked across the room to where Minho was gesturing at and had a hard time focusing on Chan’s shocked expression that soon melted into something you could have mistook for hurt. You were much too intoxicated to read into it nor did you care that he was completely ignoring the girl he came with just to look at you. Regardless, you didn’t like the attention you were feeding him, as he didn’t need it from you, anyways.

You needed to get out of there.

“Let’s dance,” you said, dragging Minho to the dance floor.

“Oh, good call.”

Dancing with Minho the way everyone else in the room was dancing was too raunchy for your immature souls, so you opted for a more innocent position. You had your hands wrapped around his neck and he rested his on your hips and enjoyed the music that deafened your ears.

“He followed us,” Minho yelled over the music. “He’s behind you. I guess this is a good sign?”

“Eh, who gives a fuck anymore,” you pouted sourly. “He can go take her home for all I care.”

“Don’t say that, I know you care.”

“Of course I do... But what can I do? He asked her to come tonight, not me. Besides, why does it matter when I have you, anyways ~”

“You’re gross, don’t say that, either!”

As you danced with Minho in the middle of the dance floor, you both were too drunk and too into each other to notice Chan’s piercing gaze. If you had danced on Minho just like every other person in this room was doing to their partner, maybe Chan wouldn’t have felt so... angry. But no, he saw you throwing your head back while laughing, playing with his hair, and hold him closely in a tight hug.

And for Chan, that was the worst part about seeing you with Minho - it was knowing that Minho was someone so special to you and you shared this intimate moment with him right in front of Chan who couldn’t even dream of being in Minho’s position.

But he couldn’t blame you. How could he when he brought the girl he was dancing with instead? He brought this upon himself, all because he feared that he was committing to you too quickly. But it’s not like you two were even official or exclusive or anything, right? So it’s not like he was wrong for bringing someone else...

But now seeing that Minho was the one who got to laugh with you and hold you close and not Chan, he couldn’t help but feel angry, as he saw the tables turn before him.

Towards the end of the night, neither you nor Minho were seen still at the party, and Chan can only assume from there where you two had gone off. Probably back to your place, since he’s heard so many stories of Minho practically living there, anyways...

But maybe you didn’t take him home, as your mutual friend came running up to Chan and his girl out of breath and a little frantic.

“Hey, have you seen _____?”

“No, why? Are they ok?” he asked, though wishing he didn’t sound like he cared so much.

“They wanted to get some fresh air a couple of minutes ago and now I can’t find them and they’re not answering their phone. They can get a little wander-y when they drinks, so they could have gone or ended up literally anywhere...”

“I’ll help you,” he said immediately. Chan left his date behind and now he was out the door running in all directions to look for you.

Thirty minutes were spent running around the neighborhood and campus calling your name while calling your phone. It was still ringing on Chan’s end, so you hadn’t turned it off or ran out of battery yet, but you still wouldn’t answer. After nearly an hour of searching, and almost giving up, Chan could hear the faint ring of your phone off in the distance.

“_____?” he called out, but no one answer.

As he ran towards the sound of your phone ringing, he could feel his nervousness rising just thinking about seeing you face-to-face again after tonight’s events. How was he supposed to face you? Would you even want to see him again after tonight?

On an empty sidewalk on one of the campus’s main streets, there you were walking back towards the party. You must have been so tired by the way you dragged your feet on the floor. For a minute, Chan just followed you and watched you, noticing just from your body language that you were upset and he wondered if it was all because of him.

Chan called your phone one more time. He watched you look at the caller idea, sigh deeply, and shove the phone back in your pocket.

“My love, please pick up your phone ~,” Chan said loud enough for you to hear.

Your feet froze to the concrete and you didn’t even bother turning around to look at him. Not when your face was all red and a bit puffy.

Before you could walk away again, Chan ran up in front of you.

“Hey,” he said softly. By the look he was giving you, you about thought how you must have looked so pathetic after crying. “What’s wrong...?”

“Nothing,” you replied curtly. “What are you doing here?”

“I was looking for you. Minho said you ran off, so I got worried and -”

“Well, I’m fine. You can go back now.” When you tried to walk around Chan, he grabbed your hand and pulled you back to him. “What?”

“Why are you running away from me? Is it because of that girl I brought?”

“I don’t care what you do or who you do on your free time. It’s none of my business.”

“_____, please, it’s not what you think.”

“I really liked you,” you admitted. God, how many drinks did you have for you to admit that so easily? You saw Chan’s face twist in surprise. “I didn’t want to because I knew something like this was going to happen. Why did you do all those things for me if you didn’t like me, too?”

“But I do. I like you so, so much.”

You searched for any sign of insincerity as he confessed to you, but you couldn’t find any, so what were you supposed to believe?

“Then who was she?” you asked, although you’re not sure if you want to hear the answer.

“She’s just someone I brought to the party.”

“Do you like her, too?”

“No, I don’t!”

“So all the touching and dancing with her meant nothing to you?”

“Yes, it meant nothing to me. What about you and Minho?” he accused.

“Whoa, Minho’s my best friend!”

“Best friends don’t look at each other like that.”

All of this arguing was just running in circles and if you weren’t the one blaming him for your hurt feelings, then he’d blame his own on you and Minho. It was going nowhere, and it was already 3:00am, so maybe you should save all this fighting for another time.

“Just leave me alone,” you muttered, walking away from Chan once more.

“_____, wait.”

But he didn’t chase after you. He was tired, too.

“Fuck.”

“Good evening, friends,” Chan greeted in his mic. “It’s ya boy CB alone on the mic tonight as J.ONE and SPEARB have finals to study for. Tonight I will not be answering any phone calls as I am not so much in the mood to do so. I mean this in the nicest way possible. It’s not because of you guys, it’s never because of you guys, it’s just one of those days, you know?”

A couple of weeks after the party, you had successfully avoided Chan and his many phone calls. Every time, you were closer and closer to just caving in and picking up the phone, but you never did. Lately, the calls had lessened by the day, and you’d think the pain in your chest would subside with it, but it only strengthened and you didn’t know how much longer you could keep up the facade. You also thought a good way to cope with your feelings was to listen to Chan on the radio, but boy, were you completely wrong.

You felt like you could fall for him all over again.

“Today has been one of those days where there’s only one thing I could think about. Well, in my case, it was one person I could only think about...” Your heart leaped in your chest at his words. “You know those kinds of days, right? Where you think about them all day and you get really happy inside just thinking about their smile, or their laugh, or even remembering something as stupid as staining their shirt with black sesame ice cream one time?”

Was he describing your first date?

“Yeah, tonight is one of those nights. Actually, it’s been every night for me lately. That’s right, guys, your boy CB has been bit by some stupid love bug. And what sucks the most is that I miss them dearly...”

And you missed him dearly, too.

“I miss them so much that I made them a playlist. Throughout the past couple of months, I’ve played and dedicated one song every show to this person, and now I put them and some more songs all together into one stupid playlist, which I will play tonight. This is for you, _____. I hope you’re listening, and know that I miss you.”

You remembered every song except the last couple on the playlist before he even pressed play. You wrote each of them down every time he texted you that he dedicated it to you in hopes that one day you’d actually make the playlist for yourself, but now he did it for you and you couldn’t stop your heart from bursting.

“Ah, after I said I wouldn’t take any calls, you guys still light up the lines, huh? I’m in a good mood after my confession, so I guess I can answer one ~ Caller number nine, what’s up?”

“Oh, my God, this is so cute!” A voice gushed over the phone. “How is _____? Are you two a thing?”

Chan sighed deeply. “That’s a tough question to answer, my love. I’m not too sure how they’re doing. But I hope they’re doing better than I am.”

For the rest of the evening, you listened to Chan’s solo show that consisted of only your playlist songs and long talks to callers about relationship advice. He got so caught up with his callers and the show that it went on for an extra hour longer, though you wished it went on even longer. You could never get tired of hearing his voice.

“Alright guys, no more calls this time, I mean it. I can’t believe I extended a whole hour with you all. It felt like ten minutes! Thank you all for the kind words and I hope mine help you, too, even just a little. I have some matters to attend to tonight, so this is CB telling you all good night and to stay safe always. This is 3RACHA Radio, signing off.”

After turning off your radio, you contemplated and paced around your room with your phone on the table for almost an hour on whether you should call Chan or not. Well, to be honest, it was more like you had already decided you wanted to call him, but what would you say? You felt so stupid being so mad at him from the party when you didn’t even let him explain, and who knows if he’d even want to see you anymore -

A knock came at your door and interrupted your thoughts. It was probably Minho wanting to eat after studying.

But when you opened your door, you didn’t expect to see a bashful Chan hiding the same bouquet of flowers behind his back.

“Hey,” he greeted shyly.

“Hi,” you said back, unable to hide your growing smile. You couldn’t be more happy to see him. “Come in.”

“Thanks."

It was an awkward couple of minutes because you two haven’t spoken or seen each other since that night. After handing you the flowers, Chan watched you eagerly put them in a vase with water and thought how you must have been happy to see him if you were smiling this much.

“Did you listen to the show tonight?” he asked.

“I did. You made me a playlist?”

“I finished your playlist,” he corrected. “Do you like it?”

“I love it. Can I have it?”

“Y-Yeah, here,” he handed you a usb drive and you immediately plugged it into your laptop and pressed play, wanting to listen to the whole thing all over again.

“_____, I really like you,” Chan said, not wasting any time. “I like you so much.”

Immediately, you replied, “I like you, too.”

“Really? Do you forgive me?”

“Of course I do, I just... I was scared, you know? How was I supposed to compete with someone like her? Or anyone else?”

“There’s no competition if you already won,” he chuckled, wrapping his arms around you. He planted a kiss on your forehead, a feeling that you’ve missed so dearly.

“Mm, I missed you.”

“I missed you more. Always more.”

“Are you staying?” you asked.

“If you’ll have me.”

“Of course I will. Let me make fun of you for the song choices.”

“Ok, but don’t get too mean, I’m sensitive.”

#straykidznet #sk-writersnet #chan #bang chan #skz #stray kids #skz chan #stray kids chan #skz imagines #skz scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #radio au #college au #ugh finally skndakjdnja i finished it asbjabd #don't judge the fic on the playlist LMAO PLS #IT'S EVERYWHERE I KNOW LOL

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dp-pastandpresent · 6 years ago

Text

Past and Present: Chapter 12

Sarah quickly removed her rather thick glasses, rubbed her eyes, and then replaced them. Still, he was there.

"Uhhhh…." was all she could say.

'I had guessed, but never thought it could really be true. It CAN'T be true! How?'

he had tried to become invisible when Sarah did the glasses thing, but his body seemed to be thinking otherwise, as he his attempt to do so failed. After all, he had come here with a mission. No, this wasn't how he had planned to go about it, but he knew what had to be done.

"Sarah?" he rather squeaked out. Indeed, he was shocked too.

To his surprise, it was Sam who answered first.

"Wait? What is going on here? Grandma?"

But she still couldn't answer. Somehow she had just gone stiff.

'This is impossible! Danny—sort of—here? Now? And at THAT AGE?'

Before either of them could say anything more, Sarah fell backwards in her chair, completely passed out.

When Sarah came to, she found herself lying on Sam's bed, out of her chair, Danny's green eyes gazing down at her.

"Ah!"

"Grandma?! Are you okay?" It was Sam's voice that finally got Sarah out of her trance.

"Sam…? Is that you, honey? I must still be dreaming. You're here, and that's normal, but how can—?"

"Grandma, what is—"

Before she could finish, Danny cut her off.

"Sarah. You're not dreaming. It's me. Danny."

He had finally managed to let it all out. Everything that had been building up since he realized the relationship had all come down to this moment.

"Danny? But… how?"

She had finally sat up, which meant that Danny was now sitting across from her, still looking straight into her eyes. Next to her, Sam was seated on the edge of the bed, utter confusion on her face.

'I wish he'd stop that. It's really intimidating. Those aren't even the eyes I remember.'

"It's a very long story, believe me." Now that she knew it was him, he let out a small smile.

'I knew she'd never truly forget. I didn't.'

"I do, I think," Sarah replied firmly.

"Wait! Hold on. What is going on here?" Sam had finally absorbed their conversation enough to get the idea that somewhere along the line, someone had forgotten to mention something to her.

"Sam, I wanted to tell you. And I was actually going to before Sarah showed up today…" Danny began.

"Wait? Sarah? You know her name? You've never even met until today…"

"No, Sam. We've met before…" Danny continued, turning back to Sarah for support; sadly, she wasn't much help. Apparently this all still seemed suspicious to her too.

Things in Sam's mind began to click. The looks her Grandma had been giving her during those news stories. The similar tastes in music. The scattered reaction Danny had had when she told him her name.

"When? How? What?" were the only words that came out of Sam's mouth, and Danny knew he had to start at the beginning.

"We dated. Fifty years ago. When I was still alive," he said bluntly and without any enthusiasm.

"Well that didn't go very well."

Danny was now sitting on the edge of the bed, Sarah was in her chair. After learning the truth, Sam had gotten up and stormed out, not wanting to hear another word.

After a few short minutes of silence, Danny finally broke.

"Sarah, talk to me.

She turned to him and squinted. Finally she opened her mouth only to say, "I don't know. This can't be real."

"Believe me, I know. When I was first resurrected, I had no memory of anything except where I was from."

"Resurrected?" So then… you're alive?"

'I saw that coming. Hmmmm, what do I say? Yes, I am alive, but I'm really not. I'm a ghost. Sort of The ghosts people see in movies are nothing like what I am. I am more than that. Or part of me is, otherwise these memories wouldn't exist. Right? And then there's apparently a prophecy about me being of both realms?'

These were all very good questions Danny found himself asking, but had never found an answer to.

"No Sarah, I'm not alive. Not really. I'm a ghost." He sighed, admitting the reality of his existence.

"So you did die that night?" she asked.

"Yes."

"How?"

He'd been expecting that one too, but once again he was unsure how to answer. He remembered how he had died, the one thing all ghosts remember, but until recently he hadn't remembered the details. But all the rescues he'd been doing had finally allowed the memories to come back. However, saying it out loud would only make it real, and he wasn't sure he was ready for that.

But he had to be. For her sake.

"That night, the night before graduation."

"Yeah, I remember. You were at my place and my parents made you leave early, and you made fun of me and my curfew."

Sarah was old, but memories like this never left.

Danny stayed silent; he didn't remember the details the way she had.

"You never called."

"What?"

"You were supposed to call me later when you got home."

She really did remember those small details.

"Sorry, I didn't call, but I had a good reason. I stopped that night, to get you flowers. We were together, more than friends, but we had never really reached that level of a real couple and I was going away soon, and you were staying behind. I just wanted you to know before I left…"

To Danny's surprise, things were coming back very clearly now. When he first remembered that night, his death, and her, he only remembered bits and pieces. Now, however, he was remembering everything exactly as it happened. Funny how things worked out that way.

"Danny…"

"Shh, I'm on a roll; let me finish. I walked by a local shop on my way home, advertising discount flowers, and it made me realize how I felt."

'How did you feel?' But before she could say that out loud, he continued.

"I was at the register when the robber showed up. He demanded the money and the clerk refused. Any other robber would have pulled out a gun, but this guy had a bomb."

He heard a faint gasp come from Sarah.

"He threw it. And in no time flat the whole store was on fire. It was late enough that it was a pretty empty store, but still the shock and flames hit me and I passed out before I could even begin running. I never made it out and by the time the firemen came, it was too late. I was gone. "

Sarah sat and listened. Thinking back, she did remember reports on a fire of unknown causes at the grocery store, but the reporter said all victims were unidentifiable. Danny, her Danny, had been one of them. How had she, let alone his family, never put the pieces together?

They both just sat in silence for a few moments, absorbing what had just been said. Finally, it was Sarah who broke the silence this time.

"Why flowers? Why were you coming back to my place after we had seen each other so recently?"

"I realized something that night when I left. Knowing we wouldn't have a lot of time left to make things happen."

'Oh, I hope this isn't what I think it is! After all these years, I may finally know…'

At that moment, Sam had decided to give them the benefit of the doubt. Standing outside the door, she was about to knock when she heard it.

"Sarah, I was in love with you."

They sat in silence for a little while, unaware of the fact that Sam was outside.

'Love? Danny? MY Danny was in LOVE with my GRANDMA? So does that make all of this, our relationship, a lie?'

Sarah was the one to break the silence this time.

"Danny, that night, after you didn't call, I was really worried about you. And then you didn't show up at school. I was heartbroken. I have been ever since."

"I know. And I'm sorry. I knew that it could have waited. There would have been plenty of opportunities for what I had planned. "

"You had no way of knowing what would happen, though. It was unexpected."

"But still, I left you, defenseless, way too early."

If there was anything that Danny had begun to feel lately, it was remorse for leaving Sarah all those years ago.

"I moved on... I met another man, and had amazing children, and Samantha too!" Sarah perked up. If there was one good thing that had come from all this mess, it was Sam.

"You did, and I'm glad. I never would have wanted you unhappy."

This was becoming very weird for Danny. The warmth he had felt during his recent conversation with Sam was coming back as he told his story. And his story? Danny hadn't been able to remember this much since he came back, so why did he suddenly know what had happened, and how to feel about it? It was as if someone else was feeding the memories to him.

Sam, on the other hand, was still dead silent, simply from shock. She had known that Danny wasn't from her time — he was a ghost, after all — but she had never expected THIS.

"I still was, though. I did move on, and I still went to community college like I had decided, but I barely had the energy to care. After losing you, there wasn't any real reason to. I guess maybe I was in love too."

Her glasses had begun to fog up, which only meant tears. For the first time in a long time, she was crying. She had wished for this day, the chance to see Danny again, several times after his death, but had never expected it to happen. Now, though, after having moved on and raised a family, she wasn't sure she wanted it. Tom had always tried to help her forget the horrors of her past, and she had finally done so, only to have them return.

"Tom always tried his best to help me through this. Since the day we met, he knew I was troubled, and knew he'd have a lot of work on his hands, but he never complained. He was my rock when I had hit the bottom, and for awhile we prospered. But I never forgot you, Danny, never!"

"I wish I could say the same," Danny commented quietly.

"Hmm?"

"When Clockwork, the time ghost, resurrected me, I couldn't remember anything. I didn't even know my own name."

"Then how did you just remember all that?"

"I don't know. I mean, I was resurrected for the sole purpose of fixing Jack and Maddie's portal. They had everything right, but Clockwork knew it wouldn't work unless they sent a ghost through. So that's why I'm here. They wanted someone who knew the town, and there were no ghosts in the Ghost Zone who were qualified."

"So they found you?"

"Apparently, every human who dies is sent to a sort of ghost-graveyard. Their souls still exist, just not their bodies. It took some work, but Clockwork finally cracked the code to resurrection. Every other ghost until now has either been formed in the zone from loose ectoplasm, or appeared right after their death. But not me. You're looking at the first ghost to ever be brought back from the dead."

"And all so they'd have someone who knew the town be the one to fix the portal? That sounds like a lot of work."

"Well, from what I was told, it would be rather difficult to make it back, so they wanted someone who wouldn't cause trouble, in case there was no way of getting back to the ghost zone. You would not believe how devious most ghosts are. Obviously, once I was brought back, I had a lot to learn."

"If you didn't remember, how would it matter whether or not you came back? You wouldn't have remembered anyway."

Sarah was growing very confused, very fast.

"I was getting there. Clockwork, the Master of Time as he's called, was able to pull up memories from my life and show them all to me. Just the simple ones: mostly of my family, the town. How I died. Only really a few of you…"

Danny actually felt ashamed of that.

"All that work, to make a portal work?"

"I've been getting this feeling lately there was more to it."

"So if he had to show you your own memories, how did you remember all this stuff you just told me?"

The feeling that someone else was feeding him information hit again as he tried to find an answer to Sarah's questions.

'Does Clockwork know more than he let on? Is it possible that my human memories return the longer I'm here?'

Danny finally decided to settle on a rather pathetic answer.

"You know, I can't answer all your questions. I know you expect answers, but sometimes I just can't supply them, okay?"

He was beginning to get a bit annoyed. He had expected questions, but never really thought about how to answer them.

Sarah just looked away, a little put out, before finally saying, "Sorry, it's just been SO long and I just… hoped."

"It's ok. But you do realize that I'm a GHOST right? I'm here, but I'm also not. What we once had, that can never be. We both moved on…"

It was silent for awhile, both of them lost in their thoughts of each other and the past.

Finally, Sarah broke the silence. "Well, maybe we should see if Sam is ok."

At the sound of this, Sam quickly ran back down the stairs and out of the house.

'Danny and my grandma. Fifty years ago. Ghost zone, Clockwork. Memories. Love.'

It was the last thought that got to Sam the most. Love. They had loved each other once, something she thought she had found. But now, after all she heard, Sam began to wonder if it was all just false emotions.

"It's about time you found her."

Staring at his domed screen, staff in hand, the ghost smirked.

"I should have told you about all the memories I stole, but I didn't want you rushing into things. I've been trying to save them for the perfect moment, but you've made it so hard with the girl."

He quickly became older before adding, "The girl. What to do about the girl? She's becoming a nuisance, but ever so essential to the prophecy."

Turning to float away, he took one last peek at the ghost child and elderly woman sitting on the bed.

"I guess time will tell"

#danny phantom #danny phantom fanfiction #phanfiction #danny phantom au #danny phantom fanfic #dpau #sam manson

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violetbeachpod · 6 years ago

Text

1x01 / twelve oh one

TERESA:

Okay, so–it’s recording. Cool .

Um. It’s Wednesday. It’s been nine days since–eight days, maybe? –well, if you’re listening, at this point, you know what it was–Benji says we’re gonna publish this, but, like, no. That’s–that’s ridiculous. This is for science.

Or our memoirs. Whatever.

We’ve–the seven of us have decided to keep a log. Of what’s been going on.

Um. So. Cool. Name and deets, just in case some more weird memory shit goes down–My name’s Teresa. I’m eighteen. I’m an Aries, I like bowling and shitty pop music, and only mostly ironically. That enough fluff? I’m a freshman at, ah, Lands College, here in town, and. Studying journalism, with a minor in women’s studies, uh–anything else–I feel like this would be a better story if I start showing, rather than telling.

Or, like. Telling stories rather than just reading out my dating profile. Because that’s lame.

My dating profile’s actually–it’s a lot more detailed than that. I’m on, like, seven different sites, and every profile is. Very Different.

(text notification sound)

Anj, stop–stop listening in! You–you–dude, take a nap.

So. Anyway. Here’s what we know.

(long beat)

That was good, right? A good joke? That’s something. Um. Cuz we don’t know very much at all. There’s something there, I swear, like, I rehearsed that bit in the bathroom mirror this morning, and I was thinking, no, I won’t pull that, but–

But. Back to the point.

Y’know how, in movies, people are always like, “Nobody knows except for us?”

That’s so exclusive. So presumptuous. We don’t know if people are lying. We haven’t spoken to every person on the planet–we haven’t even spoken to anyone outside of Maryland. Outside of town. Like. We’ve watched news, but God knows, some of those conspiracies about hypnosis through CNN are real, or whatever. Y’know? Like–those conspiracies are almost exclusively believed in by, like, flat-earthing racists, so, like, they’re probably, definitely super wrong, but–I was making a joke and I’m overthinking it now. Cool.

Anyway. We don’t know who knows. Maybe someone in, like, Caracas, knows? Maybe someone in–you get my point–knows.

Or maybe we’re being Truman Showed. Wouldn’t be the worst theory to have come out of this.

I would–well, I’d hate it, but one time, back in middle school, the public library did these–these movie nights for teenagers, right? And, so, uh, a bunch of us were there, and I was sitting with Angie, cuz she was–she was the only person I knew there, of course, and she was sitting with these kids, like–uh, from the hippie school she had taken in, and–one of them was AJ, I know, and one was Charlotte. but the others, I don’t see anymore.

But anyway, she was, like, starry-eyed at the idea of her life being a TV show without her knowing. At the idea of unintentional stardoms. So maybe she’ll get a kick out of that theory.

Here’s something: I was working on my campaign notes earlier, cuz the group’s meeting tomorrow, should meet tomorrow and I didn’t really–I didn’t like a few of the potentials, so, whatever. Irrelevant.

I checked the time, and–well. It was twelve oh one. And two minutes later, it was still twelve oh one. And now, it’s still twelve oh one.

I thought maybe my laptop was being bad again? But it said the same on my phone, and on the wall clock.

The app says time is passing. It’s been longer than fifty-nine seconds.

It’s still twelve oh one, though, is the thing. Which isn’t great, all things considered.

But, we’ll catch up on that later.

Here’s the big thing. I went back to the beach last night to see if I could recreate what happened alone, and, uh–at least. I think I did. I don’t remember going, but, uh, Angie says I did, and AJ said that when he was closing at work, he saw me walking towards it. But I didn’t–I didn’t go.

There are sixty-nine–which, yeah, nice, that’s the sex number, whatever–sticky notes on the bathroom mirror, and, like–I can make out letters on some of them them? Individual letters? But not words. And I know that they’re making words, and I know that it’s my handwriting, but my brain just–it goes somewhere else.

And other ones, that I can read, they have dumb stuff. One of them’s just a doodle of David Hyde Pierce with a caption that just says “HELL YEAH. LOOK AT THE MOON WEDNESDAY.”

It’s, like–in fairness to me, or the person I assume to be me, it’s a fairly good David Hyde Pierce. And there’s–there’s a new moon tonight, so–well.

Whatever.

It’s still twelve oh–oop. Nevermind. Twelve oh two now. Nice.

Benji wants me to take off work until this whole thing’s sorted out. Says he’ll still pay me, but, like–being yelled at by awful dudes about trivia that nobody knows is kind of the only constant in my life right now? So I said no. Obviously. Like. It sucks, but it makes me feel normal. Like the beach out by Angie’s place did, before–

Well. Maybe some recollection would be nice, I guess. Just so, like, Danny and company–like, if we end up showing them. Cuz I’m better at sticking to the facts than, say, Robin or Charlotte. So. Yeah.

So. Uh.

Most folks know that she transferred in after a semester at–well, I’m not allowed to say the name of the school in front of her, anymore, and she’s, like, giving me death-eyes out of the bedroom door. But. A certain Ivy League school. This is relevant–

Okay, maybe not, but it’s a nice set up to our establishing shot, which is, of course, her New Year’s party, nine days ago. At her parents’ place. Or, eight days ago, at her parents’ place, I guess. She told us on New Year’s Eve that she was starting at Lands on the fourth, and I offered her a stay in my dorm, cuz I had a single, and, uh, it sucked? But. Whatever.

So I said, “You know, I have a single.” And she said–wait, lemme find my journal–yes, I do write down conversations, Angie.

Alright. She said, “Oh, really, is it on–Bandcamp, Soundcloud, iTunes, MySpace? I didn’t know you–” And I said, “I meant dorm room, dude, you mentioned–MySpace?”

She said, “I still use it.” I laughed, “Of course you do.”

But, anyway. We agreed to live together, but. It was one AM. Robin Cabell dropped by with her new fiancee, said hi, and–well, like, our babysitter’s getting married, to, like, this gorgeous girl from DC, and the high school kids from the hippie school were there, and Benji was there, cuz he’s everywhere, and–

As folks left–Angie started playing Wonderwall around 3AM, so, uh, a little bit before then–it ended up just being the seven of us. Her parents are out of town–as always. Well, not always. But frequently.

They’re mad about–Blarvardgate.

I–I didn’t say it! I said something mildly close alluding to it. Stop texting me!

But. It was just the seven of us there, Angie still playing some terrible 90s song, and–Benji says, “I brought fireworks. Forgot about that til now.” Elaine, uh, Robin’s new fiancee, asked, “They legal?”

Benji said, “It’s New Year’s Day and I’m a–a bit of a town celebrity,” he said, because his podcast gets, like, seventeen downloads per episode.

“You are?” asked Elaine.

He got really proud, real fast, and he said, “Yes, absolutely, and also, I’m at some rich people’s house and it’s New Year’s Day, so, like. We’ll be fine.”

Which, fair.

And that’s about when things blew up?

Ironically, not literally, cuz he went to his truck, and brought out the fireworks, and he was–well. It was New Year’s, he wasn’t sober, so, he tripped, and those things went flying, landing in the water. It was a bad fall, he hit his head on a rock. And Charlotte was laughing, and she was wading right where the waves were breaking, and she fell backwards, so–AJ panicked, and he jumped in after her, cuz she wasn’t coming up.

And AJ came up, holding Char so she could stand, and she was coughing up water, looked like she was about to pass out. I was checking out Benji’s wound, even though, I’m, like,–blood? Not my thing, ever, at all, it’s–it’s weird and red, and Angie was getting up to check on me, and Rob and her fiancee were trying to help out the kids, and–

And the sky went bright purple.

Not, like, when it’s a sunset, and the sky’s kinda magenta? And that’s blending into the night-sky color, but–

Like, highest saturation on photoshop, highest brightness, makes-you-almost vomit cuz your eyes are burning, that bright purple.

And my skin, it felt like it was burning. I smelled salt, felt a breeze, and I tried to close my eyes, to breathe out, but I couldn’t.

And then there was nothing.

And then I woke up on the beach. I could smell salt, I was totally clear-headed–and Benji’s cut? It was gone.

My watch said it was around 4AM. My phone was dead, but–it was the first, still. The sun was rising, in–in normal sky colors.

And I woke up second. Elaine was already up.

She asked me if I saw it too.

I said I that did.

Neither of us needed to clarify what. But we did. Obviously. Because “it” could be, like, anything, like–could be that new reality show that everyone’s super into where eliminations are decided by arm wrestles–it’s, like–it’s got compelling storylines, I swear.

My phone died, Angie, so if you’re trying to communicate, I can’t help you.

Oh! Time’s passing normally now. That’s nice. That’s good.

The plan was to recount the past week’s events, as well as their psychological effect on us. That’s what we agreed on.

So. Time stopped for a little while today. That was weird. That’s important.

I guess–I’m first, so I should talk about my other big experience too.

I was the fourth of us to see something, after it all? It was the third. After work, I was walkin’ to Ramon’s? And as I passed the custard stand, I saw this woman.

She was shorter than me, uh, long sundress on that was way too summery for this weather, but she didn’t seem cold. I offered her my hoodie, cuz I at least had long sleeves, but she didn’t answer. Dark hair, big sunglasses. I’d wager maybe thirty.

She took off her sunglasses, yeah? And the sky flashed purple–the same purple, the same burning feeling all over me–

And then the same nothingness, same smell of salt, same breeze, but–

I was still standing. And we were in this space, this–this purple nothingness, no ground, no sky, no nothing, that’s a double negative, you get what I mean, and–I was still standing–more floating, which was–not as pleasant as you’d expect? But not unpleasant, either. And this woman, she looked at me, dead in the eyes, and–

And she said–

(beat, uncomfortable)

What did she say?

(laughs)

It’s–it’s in my head, like. Tip of my tongue. I wrote it down, but it’s–it’s another individual letters making out a word I know but can’t–type situation.

But whatever.

What I’m most concerned about is my going to the beach. About the sticky notes. Like, that’s some sci-fi bullshit. Or some horror bullshit. Either or. Probably both.

Again, Truman Showed. Viable theory, here.

Or it has something to do with the Groundhog Day thing. Maybe.

I think what bothers me about this is how easy I’m accepting all this–that, like, I’m fairly sure all this is real. I know it’s–it’s weird. I know that this is sci-fi-esque, but, like–I never saw myself as a protagonist, or–any kind of tagonist, I guess, in those stories. But this–now, I think that I am.

So. Cool.

But why do I think that’s cool? I’m the–I’m the socially-stilted nerdy girl who either dies second or gets really good at guns, and I’m very afraid of guns.

So, therefore? I’m dying second.

Or, or or or, I’m Lois Lane. Charming and tough young journalist, swept off her feet by a charming stranger. Hopefully not a Superman, though, cuz–he’s not my thing. But. Yeah. I can deal with Lois.

I feel like I should know what happens next. Me or Benji, we gotta, we’re the ones who know genre like the backs of our hands. That’s why we’re friends, but–

This isn’t supposed to happen here. Like, I grew up here, and I’m–I wasn’t planning to stay here forever, obviously, but–This town, VB, it’s–it’s comforting in its boringness. Sure, it’s not– the people here are always cycling in-and-out, cuz tourism and school, and all that, but–Violet Beach is a normal-ass town. We don’t have ghost stories, we don’t have cryptids, we–we don’t have lore, or whatever. I don’t think there’s ever been a murder here, for God’s sake.

Okay, well–the hippie school’s headmaster, uh, the rebrander guy, Andrew Corielli, or–his son’s the mayor, right?–Shot that grocer, like, in the sixties. But everyone was a serial killer back then, if I can trust every true crime show ever.

But–my point is. What’s going on is not what happens in this town. What’s going on is what goes on in, like, Roswell, or–or Twin Peaks, or something.

I’m–I don’t have much else to say. That’s a conclusion if there ever was one. So. Uh.

Okay. I’m signing off. Thanks, guys. Hope to see you soon.

#script #season one #teresa

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pixelsandpins · 7 years ago

Text

I did more Dream Daddy fanfiction because I have to write ALL THE DADS, now.

A Year Later: Craig

Dadsona/Craig

Mature Teen?, Mostly Fluff

Words: 4468

I close my eyes and step on the scale. I open them and look down.

"Hot damn!"

"What's up, pops?" Amanda asks from her room. She's only been back from school a few days, and it already feels like old times.

"Somehow, through some small miracle, I'm back to my college weight."

"Ugh, can we not talk about college weight? I have one working pair of pants."

"I told you what that cafeteria food would do to you, panda. A couple visits to the gym with us will probably get rid of that freshman fifteen." I step down off the scale and try to catch Amanda's eye in the bathroom mirror through the slightly open door. She's too busy FaceSpacing or Twitjournaling or some other portmanteau of two social media sites that make me sound like the old man I am.

"I'm perfectly happy with my nacho and pop-tart diet for the time-being, but don't let me stop you, my dude." She throws a peace sign up at me as I pass by her door, and I stick my tongue out at her. She'll learn soon enough. Youth is wasted on the young.

Craig greets me warmly when I find him near the ellipticals. River's gotten too big for the chest carrier, so she's started going to daycare. That means there's nothing between us when his arms come around me in a lingering hug. There's a lightning quick squeeze on the tush thrown in for good measure. The first month or so, I had thought it was just the change from platonic to romantic that had made Craig's shows of affection so weird and squirrely. Turns out with him it's all about the space. Right place, right time, he can't keep his hands to himself. The gym is the one in-between place. Fortunate considering how little time we get just the two of us during the week.

"Good morning, babe," he says quietly into my ear before pulling away. "Leg day, bro. You ready?"

"I love leg day!"

I actually hate leg day, but my god my butt looks amazing afterward.

Craig takes the nearest machine, and cranks the resistance up a couple of notches. I take the one next to him, and don't touch the knob. After a year, I'm still not at Craig level cardio capabilities.

"So I was reminded of something the other day that I had kinda forgotten, and now I feel a little guilty about it," he says after a moment or two.

"What's that?" I pant in response.

"Do you remember Christina Schroeder?"

I search through my internal rolodex. It's not ringing a bell, and I say as much. "She was friends with Ashley? Really short? Poly-sci major? Insanely good at flip cup?"

"OH!" I remember. "Tipsy Tina?"

"Yeah, that's the one."

"Our nicknames weren't very inspired back in the day, were they?"

"I think we managed to do pretty well considering our theme."

He smiles that half smile that turns my insides to pudding.

"Anyway," he continues, "I don't know if you ever knew this, but she had a humongous crush on you. Like she was majorly in love with you."

"O-oh?" I don't remember her well enough to feel one way or the other about this information.

"Well, Ashley told me I should try to hook you up, so she said we should all go on a double date. But, you know, I didn't want you to feel on the spot, so I had the idea that I would just invite you to go to something with us, but not tell you Tina was gonna be there, too."

"Okay?" I know my brow is crinkling trying to figure out where this is going.

"Yeah. Um. Do you remember that movie thing we were going to go to, but we ended up not because I got food poisoning from something at the make-your-own-pizza place?"

"Oh my god yes. You were throwing up for, like, 2 days. Shit, was that supposed to be the double date?"

"Yeah. Yeah it was. And I remembered, and I felt bad about it, and...I don't know."

"Dude, you shouldn't feel bad about cancelling a double date because you were sick."

"There's more." He starts to slow a little bit on the machine, looking down at the timer with an unsure frown. "I told the girls that you were the one who was sick, and I was taking care of you, and that's why we couldn't go. But that they should go ahead and go without us."

"Why?"

"I don't know. It just felt...weird...at the time, and it was fun making you take care of me."

"Considering it's been twenty years, I'm inclined to forgive you...just this once."

He smiles again and punches me in the arm. Then he looks around to make sure no one's looking directly at us, and leans across the machine to peck me on the cheek.

"This is why I love you, bro. You understand me."

It's not the first time he's said it. Not by a long shot. He's always said it. Even when we were just friends back in college. It's not that I don't think he means it, but it's hard to know how he means it, still.

The pizza place is a madhouse. There's at least three birthday parties going on, and the entirety of Briar and Hazel's softball team high off their championship win is making things even rowdier.

"Makes you wish we didn't promise them pizza after every win, doesn't it?" I lean in and say to him in a low voice as we survey the crowd, trying to keep an eye on each of the twins. He throws his arm around my shoulder. In front of the team is not one of the PDA-approved places, but an arm around the shoulder doesn't count.

"Ah come on, bro. It's your first winning season as assistant coach. Get excited."

I give a little sarcastic "whooo," and he grins at me widely. When the title of "assistant coach" had become available, he'd really only offered it to me because I had the extra time now that Amanda was off and semi-on her own. I'd only accepted it because it was the only way I could find to spend time with him. I really didn't know the first thing about coaching softball, but no one questioned it. Thus the elaborate ruse had been allowed to perpetuate long enough for me to actually learn the ropes and start to pull my weight.

"Hey boys." Oh god. It was one of the new moms this year, Elizabeth. She and her daughter had just relocated from the midwest, fresh off a nasty divorce.

"Some of the girls and I were talking," she starts.

You mean you were talking and everyone was just nodding in agreement hoping you'd go away.

"And it might not be a bad idea to start talking about fundraising for next season early. What if we have a little meeting?"

Alone, in your house, probably.

This is one thing that hasn't changed, and I can't stand it. Us being together is not a secret. Not in the least. They even poke fun at us and called us "the lovebirds." And yet it's like they don't think it counts because I'm a man. That I'm not going to feel equally perturbed by someone hanging all over my significant other and flirting with him right in front of my face. They wouldn't do this to a guy if his wife was standing right there.

But then again some of these ladies might.

Craig, at least, knows how to shake 'em off.

"I like the initiative Elizabeth, but let's let everyone celebrate the win before hitting it hard again." He half-smiles at her, one of the fake ones.

"Oh, well, I took loads of pictures today. Next weekend would be the perfect time to go through them."

"I'm pretty much booked up all next weekend."

"Mr. Assistant Coach isn't, though. What do you say?" and her arm comes around mine, and I panic. This is new. Craig's perfect eyebrows knit together in thinly veiled surprise.

"I-uh-" I sputter. Then Craig's hand comes around mine.

"He'll be with me that weekend. The girls are with their mom, so we're having some time together. Alone." Daggers come shooting from Craig's eyes, and Elizabeth is completely unable to comprehend what's just been said to her. She stands there, wide-eyed, not moving. "And we're gonna be having, just, tons of sex the entire time. So you know. No time to look through pictures." Elizabeth goes white as a sheet, and walks off without another word. I'm fairly certain I have a similar expression when I look up at Craig.

"What the shit was that, Craig?"

His face's lost a little color, too, though, and his hand comes up to cover his mouth.

"I don't know. I just...I don't like her. And I wanted her to go away as fast as possible." He's still holding my hand, squeezing tighter now. Elizabeth has fallen back to a gaggle of moms, and now they're darting glances at us. They're trying to hide it and not doing a very good job. He finally lets go.

"God they're gonna talk about that for a week," Craig sighs. "But whatever, bro, right?"

"Right," I respond unsure.

I wake up Monday morning with a start. Something's off. I check my phone. I should have been at the gym an hour ago. There's about a fifty percent chance on any given day that I'll sleep through my alarm. I've come to terms with that and so has Craig. That's why he always texts me before he's about to leave the house. He knows I won't actually go unless he does. What's going on?

I send a quick text.

"Where are you? Are we not going to the gym, today?" I type. It's a solid five minutes before he responds, practically an eternity.

"Sorry, bro. I'm feeling a little sick, so I decided not to go. :("

The frowny face is a nice touch. Oh well.

"Want me to bring you something? Need help with the girls?" I text back immediately. I only have to wait half a second this time.

"No. It's cool. Twins are at camp and I managed to get River to day care. So I'm just gonna sleep."

There he goes trying to do everything himself. I've told him again and again that I'm here. That I can help. He's slowly getting it, but he's more stubborn than he realizes. In any case, I decide that, despite his protests, I will be taking care of him. If only a little.

"Amanda, I'm going to the store for a few things, then over to Craig's. Do you need anything?" I tap on her door and only get a groan in response.

Guess not.

It's only a five minute drive to the small grocery store down the road. It's across the street from the gym and a new hyper-organic, gluten free, paleo, vegan-ultra-plus juice bar that's making everyone nervous. It only takes another fifteen minutes or so to pick up the whole "sick boyfriend" bundle then I briefly entertain the thought of getting him a mango smoothie. It's his favorite.

I only just pull into the parking lot, though, before slamming on my brakes so hard I almost ram into the car ahead of me.

Craig is coming out of the gym looking as fine as ever. Which, for Craig, is extremely fine. Behind him is a gaggle of the softball moms.

What in the hell is this shit?!

I want to yell out the car window at him, but I don't. I can't. I'm too utterly perplexed. I take a few breaths to keep myself from getting mad. There's an explanation. Craig has given me no reason not to trust him in all the time I've known him.

Right?

I'm back in my living room without being totally sure how I got there. Amanda's sitting on the couch staring at me.

"What's up, Pops?I thought you were going to see your booooyyyfriiiieeend." She flashes a quick smile as she draws out the last word, but it fades quickly. "Seriously. What's going on? You look like you've seen a ghost."

I flop down on the couch and sink back into it.

"What do you do if you find out your boyfriend lied to you?"

"Um. Okay? How big a lie we talkin'? Because it's just self-preservation to not tell you if a pair of jeans make you fat."

"He said he was sick, and he's not. I just saw him coming out of the gym with some of the softball moms."

"Oh. Well. Um. Hm." She makes a few more noncommittal sounds. "Sounds like you should have one of those 'communications' you're always telling me is so important to a proper, mature relationship."

"Yeah...yeah, you're right."

"Of course I am." She pats me on the head.

I don't call or text him right away like I would have recommended to my own daughter. Instead I convince myself that this is a conversation better to have in person.

Tuesday we're supposed to go for a run, but there's something he has to deal with at River's daycare. It ends up being an unexpected no-go.

Wednesday is a gym day. It starts with a text in the morning that his car's acting weird, so he's taking it into the shop. No need to worry about it, though. He has it covered. I understand car issues, but the insistence that he doesn't need my help bothers me immensely. I don't know how to react to it.

"Oh, and tomorrow is daddy/daughter day at camp, so I'll be doing that." He texts next.

That's classic Craig and I can't fault him for it. I love that about him, actually. I feel myself relaxing a little.

"And let's do 9:00 instead this Friday."

No.

That's too far. I've been waking up at 6:00 (sorta) to get to the gym by 7:00 regularly for months. We've never EVER shifted times. His daily schedule is too tight. No. Something's wrong. I give him an out.

"Everything okay, bro? Anything I can help with?" I stare at the screen, waiting, watching. A whole year passes, it feels like.

"No. It's cool."

Then just ":)" about ten seconds later.

Craaaiiiig. I am gonna wring your neck. Your hot, muscular neck.

I feel like the ultimate stalker watching from my window for Craig's car Friday morning. He's off in his gym clothes (which, admittedly, are often his regular clothes, too) about 6:45.

What the hell is he up to?

I give myself a buffer of three minutes, then head out to my own car. Four or five times while driving I tell myself I should just go back home. That I'm being literally the worst. Each time, though, I remind myself that it's Craig's fault I'm like this, right now.

Oh my god. I've become the crazy they say not to stick your dick in. When did this happen? Craig doesn't deserve this.

Still, I pull into the parking lot where the gym is. I see Craig's car and park next to it to make a point to myself. I don't find him right away in any of our usual areas, so I wander toward the back of the gym where they hold classes in large, tiled rooms. There's a small group of people huddled around one of the large windows that peek into the classrooms, and I have a sneaking suspicion they'll lead me to Craig.

I'm not wrong.

This, however, is not what I expected to find.

So he's not shirtless. That would cause a riot. He might as well be, though. Instead of his sweats, he's in a tank top loose and thin enough that you can pretty much just see everything, anyway. And those are short shorts. Real, honest-to-God booty shorts. The kind that have "Juicy" written across the butt of them. These, specifically, don't. They're just black. It would be an appropriate label, though.

Once I've taken in the whole...ensemble...I'm able to break my attention away long enough to appreciate the context of the outfit.

"Is this a pole dancing class?" I say quietly to no one in particular.

"Yeah!" a woman responds next to me. "They used to be only at night, but she just started a new morning class. You should try it. I bet you'd be really good." I glance at her, and she's wiggling her eyebrows at me just a little. I give a little breathy, half-hearted laugh, then focus my attention back on the class.

I can't hear it, but I feel the music start through the vibration of the glass. A handful of women take places at the poles lined up in staggered rows. I'm slightly horrified to note that some of them are softball moms. They're clothes aren't as revealing as Craig's by a long shot (yoga pants and baggy t-shirts), but it takes me a moment to shift my frame of reference.

They start with stretches. The usual. Nothing particularly interesting. The group around the window starts to scatter.

Then they actually take to the poles.

Oh. Oh my god.

I don't know pole dancing beyond the one time that I was dragged to a strip club against my will (by Craig come to think of it), but even I can figure out that he's just terrible at this. When the girls spin, even if they're just sort of falling around the pole, it at least looks graceful. Craig is clunky and awkward, and when he throws his weight against the pole he just sort of flops like a fish in midair. As the class progresses, it becomes clear that he has the proper upper and core body strength, but lacks the coordination to actually pull off any of the minor feats of acrobatics.

I'm riveted for the entirety of the hour long class, long after the rest of the onlookers have left. Despite his inexpert flailing, a single thought keeps going through my head: how much I'd love to be that pole.

I knock on his door that evening. I don't tell him I'm coming. I don't give him a chance to give me an excuse. He doesn't seemed confused that I didn't show up to our later gym date. I was out of there before he could catch me at the end of class, so as far as I know, he still doesn't know that I know.

The girls are with their mother this weekend, though, and this is getting figured out before I lose my mind.

Craig shows a flash of surprise when he opens the door, and I step in before he can say anything. I don't get to come over often, so his house still feels strange to me. That doesn't stop me from crossing my arms in his living room and staring him down like I own the place. I don't know where any of this bravado is coming from, but I need to ride the high until Craig answers.

"I'm sorry, bro. I guess I've been blowing you off a little this week," he says, folding his arms together and looking down at his toes. I deflate pretty much instantly.

Damn.

"It just seems like you've been really busy, and you don't want to take my help," I prod just a little. Then I prod him quite literally in the calf with my toe. "Were you gonna tell me about the pole dancing class?" I decide to end this. To deal the killing blow. Craig goes white as a sheet.

"Uh-h-how did you-?"

"I came during our normal gym time this morning." No need to mention the part about following him. That's a secret I'll just go ahead and tuck away forever.

"Oh…you...watched?"

"Yeah."

He rubs his hand across his mouth, thinking.

"I'm so bad at it, bro."

"I saw. In the outfit and everything."

"It's too much, isn't it?"

"I mean...I'm not gonna complain if you were to slip into it right now."

Craig raises an eyebrow at me.

"I can do that, you know." He steps toward me deliberately, bringing his hands down to my hips. I puff out my cheeks at him a little. I very much would like to go ahead and follow through with the look that's in his eyes, but I need to stay focused. Communication. Adulting.

"Why didn't you just tell me? I've been going crazy all week thinking that I did something or that something was wrong or...I don't know. I probably went through a thousand different possibilities."

He brings his hands from my hips to my shoulders. Then from shoulders to cupping my cheeks with his hands.

"Babe. I'm so, so sorry. Things just got really weird all of a sudden, and I got a little blindsided, I guess." He lets out a quick breath of air then looks down and away, collecting his thoughts. "You know Colleen? Becca's mom?"

"Yeah. Of course. I love Colleen. She's the best."

"Right? Well, her sister runs that class, and normally it's only at night but she's trying to do morning classes, too. So she offered free lessons to all the moms or something? I don't know. Anyway. Monday. I legitimately just forgot to send you your wakeup text. I'd been talking to Ashley about arranging the girls' pick-up this weekend, and it really just slipped my mind. When I got to the gym, though, I saw all these moms we know and they told me about this class they're taking and they sort of...bullied me into taking the class with them."

"They...bullied you?" I ask, trying not to smile as I imagine this manliest of men being pressured into anything by these suburban moms. He moves his hands from my jaw to rest them on the top of his head. He shifts on his feet and looks down at the ground again.

"'Oh come on, Coach, I bet you're really good at it. Mr. Assistant Coach should join us, too.' And I thought… I'll just do it once. Then it'll be so weird that they'll never bring it up again."

"And?"

"I liked it?" He bites his bottom lip. "But to be totally clear on something. There was an actual problem at River's daycare and it really was daddy/daughter day at camp. So I only technically lied twice. That sounds awful when I say that outloud."

"No...it's fine." I punch him in the chest, then wiggle my fingers when it hurts. "You could have said something, though. Anything. Hell. I might have even considered joining you. It might-"

"No!"

He says it so loudly and forcefully that I catch my breath in my throat.

"Sorry. Um. If you want to take a pole dancing class, I'm not gonna stop you. Like...you know I'm not gonna get in the way of your physical fitness goals, bro. But...um...can you not with the moms from softball? I'm gonna stop after the free classes this week." He rubs the back of his neck, nervously.

"I was joking, but now I'm a little worried again."

He sighs and pops his lips a few times.

"No offense intended but-"

"You're about to almost offend me, anyway?"

"I-hrrmm." He purses his lips at me. "I was hotter than you back in college. I didn't quite realize it, at the time, but I—and this is gonna sound terrible—kinda liked it? That I got all the attention when we were out together. Because you were smarter and funnier and nicer. So I had this one thing, but because people were always looking at me, they weren't looking at you and seeing how amazing you were and I got you all to myself. It's really stupid, now, obviously, but at the time it was important."

I don't know what to say. This is the deepest Craig's ever gotten with me. I feel like I'm seeing a new part of him.

"But, now you're hot, bro. Like...objectively. And the moms talk about you all the time. 'The new assistant coach really fills out that shirt.' 'Too bad he's taken.' 'Man knows how to use a bat.' It's been driving me nuts all season,"

This was news to me. I had maybe caught a few catcher/pitcher jokes at my expense, but I still only ever heard swooning over Craig.

"And I don't know why it bugs me," he continues. "And I just don't want you around them if I can help it. I never said any of this because it makes me sound like a creep."

"Craig...are you jealous?" I ask, very unsure of all of this nonsense and remembering how much of a creeper I am, too. He looks at me like he's confused by the very word itself.

"Oh my god, I might be."

"You might be?"

"I don't know, bro! I...shit." He's laughing, pressing his palm to his forehead. "Is that what it is?"

"You're a mess, dude." I'm smiling, too. We're both a disaster, really. A couple of idiots still stuck in that weird spot between friends and boyfriends.

While I'm still taking deep breathes and settling into the absurdity of it all, Craig steps up to me again, chest to chest. One arms wraps around my waist and the other finds a place behind my neck. Then he kisses me hard and deep, really getting into those back teeth. I suddenly remember I haven't seen him in a week, and now that we're squared away I really need to see him. As much as him as possible. He pulls away for a moment.

"I love you," he says.

'I love you, too, dude." It's an easy thing to say. It always has been.

"No." He looks me straight in the face, locking eyes with me. "I love you. I really do. I think I might always have at least a little, and now you're just...my world….after the girls."

"Obviously. Kids always get the top spot." My face hurts from being angry and smiling and getting kissed out of my mind, unexpectedly. But Craig is looking at me with that look, and I realize he's expecting an answer. "I love you, too. Really."

He pulls me in again, his mouth next to my ear.

"I was gonna ask if you wanted to see some of my new moves in person, but...you know."

"Yeah, your old moves will do just fine."

And yeah. They certainly do.

#dream daddy #ddadds #craig cahn #craig x dadsona #pole dancing #fan fiction #ashe writes ff #someone's gonna need to help me with content warnings #weight loss cw #is that one?#ashe writes #ashe writes ddadds

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