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ace-in-a-shopping-cart · 4 years ago

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The Second-Hand Bookstore

Credit for idea goes to @starry-knight-skies. I also got a bit carried away with it, oops.

Summary: Logan owns a bookstore in a small town. Virgil is a vampire. Nuff said.

Word Count: 2,219

Main Taglist: (Send an ask to be added or removed!) @starlocked01 @spoopy-turtle @lizluvscupcakes @more-fandon-than-friends, @i-cant-find-a-good-username, @vindicatedvirgil, @star-crossed-shipper, @justaqueercactus

Logan walked down the stairs and did a once over of the store. He checked the shelves for dust, made sure any misplaced books were put back, and that everything was generally where it should be. He did this routine every time he closed up as well but never knew if his exhaustion clouded his judgement or if he missed anything. Being ready for business, he went and unlocked the front door.

The shop was a little out of the way second-hand bookstore so he didn’t expect many visitors so early in the morning. Only, there was a customer that came in almost as soon as Logan sat down behind the cash register.

The man was dressed in black jeans, a black hoodie with purple patches and white stitching, and a ripped purple shirt. His hood was up when he walked in and he didn’t even seem to pause to adjust his eyes, he just went straight to browsing. Having nothing better to do, Logan watched the customer.

The man ran his hand along the spines in a way that both suggested he was looking for something but also that he was greeting old friends. Logan wondered if the man had read any of them before. The man walked deeper, a smile flitting across his face as he saw some of the titles. He chuckled at one point, pulling a book off the shelf with a muttered, “I didn’t know this still existed.”

Logan smiled, loathe to break the silence. The book was put back on the shelf as the man continued wandering down the aisle. He got to the back section where Logan kept the older books and his posture changed. He seemed to gain more energy and Logan could imagine his eyes lighting up. His fingers ran along the spines in a gentle and loving way that made Logan think of greeting long lost friends or family unseen for a while.

The door rang and Logan turned, ready to help the next customer. Thoughts of the other customer were pushed to the back of his mind as he was told of a specific book this one was looking for. Logan had to order it but told them it would be there soon.

When his attention returned to the back aisles, the stranger wasn’t there. Logan’s eyes scanned the tiny store for him, sure he hadn’t gone out the door. He found him curled up in the corner chair, a content smile on his face as he read the book in his hands. Logan wasn’t close enough to read the title.

The day went on and Logan kept up with the now steady trickle of customers coming in. He paid no mind to the customer at the back who was steadily working his way through Logan’s whole astronomy section. That is, until he went on his lunch break and approached the man.

Logan smiled. “Hi, I couldn’t help but see that you’re going through the whole section on stars.”

The man looked up, a sheepish expression on his pale face. He had dark bags under his eyes that suggested he got little sleep the night before. “Sorry, is that not allowed?”

Logan shook his head. “No, it’s perfectly fine. I was just wondering if you wanted to come talk about constellations while I grab lunch.”

His eyes widened as he put the book down, not even bothering to mark his place. “Really?”

Logan nodded. “Only if you want to.”

He nodded, standing to dwarf Logan by a few inches. Logan led the way out the door, turning the sign to lunch break and locking the door on the way out. “Do you have a preference for a place to eat?”

The man paused, a brief expression of panic crossing his face before it smoothed out. “No, I don’t.”

Logan nodded, humming thoughtfully as they walked down the street. “How about Subway?”

Thus, they sat in a booth and talked about the stars, bonding over the stories they knew of them and laughing when they came up with ones for the constellations they forgot.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Virgil had entered that bookstore that day to get out of the morning sun that stung his eyes. He hadn’t expected to find a spectacled man sitting at a counter, following him with his eyes. He hadn’t expected to run across books written by friends, written by him under a different name. Books that felt like friends simply because of the part of his life he was going through when he’d read it. His mind wandered back to his father’s words, spoken so long ago now: “If you keep your memories in books, you will never forget.”

Out of all the books, he hadn’t expected to run into ones he’d owned at one point in his life, hadn’t expected to be able to pull it off the shelf and read the notes he’d scribbled into the margins, to see the tear stains on some of the pages, hadn’t expected to be hit with the smell of books that never changes, no matter what century he was in.

He hadn’t expected to take the trip down memory lane right into his old profession, to be met with almost a wall of books written about stars. He smiled, eyes lighting with a life he hadn’t felt in a long time, and browsed. He saw books written by long dead colleagues, himself, teachers, mentors, students of his, students of his students, and so on.

He hadn’t expected to be coming face to face with the charming man at the counter, who had been watching him the whole time, asking if he wanted to go eat lunch with him. He didn’t have the heart to tell him he couldn’t eat anymore, just went along with it for the sake of seeing him smile again the way he saw out of the corner of his eye.

When asked for his preference for a place to eat his eyes grew wide at the thought of ‘the park’ that sprang to his mind.

He surely didn’t expect to come back, this time in a leather jacket covering a shirt of a band that had long since broken up, purple fishnet gloves and sunglasses perched on his head, all paired with the same jeans as before. He didn’t expect to be spending most of the day talking with Logan, didn’t expect to be purchasing a bunch of the astronomy books he’d written a hundred years ago.

When he had walked down those stairs and through the door into that store that day to get out of the heat, he had expected very few things. In return, he managed to gain so much more. He had shut himself off from people after the last person he’d thought was his friend had tried to sell him for his fangs.

He found himself growing closer to Logan, smiling in his presence, almost showing his fangs multiple times. He enjoyed talking with him to the point that he almost let his guard down. He didn’t notice how close they’d gotten until he found himself sitting on a couch, an old show running in the background as Logan was curled up against his side, fast asleep. There were times when Virgil missed the need for sleep, the slipping into oblivion for a few precious hours, but right now he wouldn’t give up his vampiric nature for the world.

He felt Logan shift against him, settling deeper against his side. Virgil stretched his arm out, being careful to not move the rest of his body. He picked up the remote to turn the television off, grabbing the book sitting beside it before settling back into his seat. One arm was slung over Logan’s back and he unconsciously started rubbing his back, fingers threading through Logan’s hair as he read by the dim light of the lamp next to him.

A few more weeks passed and Virgil knew he should start to get moving again. He normally didn’t like staying in the same place for long, the centuries he’d lived having instilled a wanderlust in him. His only regret at this point was having to leave Logan. He’d grown fond of the human in their time together, to the point that his heart stuttered sometimes when he saw him.

He was all packed and ready to go, his motorcycle waiting on the curb. Yet, here he was, standing in front of the door to Logan’s second-hand bookstore. He took a deep breath and pushed it open, listening to the jingle of the bell for maybe the last time. “Logan?” He called when he didn’t see him at the front desk.

“Back here!” His voice answered from the back room.

Virgil followed and found himself in the back room. He walked over and took the box Logan was struggling to lift. “Where do you need it?”

Logan huffed, hands resting on the small of his back. “In the front, I need to reload some of the shelves.” Virgil just nodded and did as he was told.

He put it off, spending more and more time with Logan until the sun had set, the perfect time to be on the open road, and Logan was inviting him up for a dinner he couldn’t eat. He sat at the table, hands reaching to twist the tablecloth between his fingers, trying to get out the anxious energy he could feel building up in his gut. Finally, he took a steadying breath and spoke. “I’m leaving tonight.”

Logan turned to look at him, playfulness dancing in his eyes behind his glasses. “I didn’t intend for you to stay the night.”

Virgil shook his head, feeling bravery mix with the anxiety. “I mean, I’m leaving town tonight.”

Logan paused, turning the burner off before coming to stand beside Virgil. “Why?”

Virgil shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Logan nodded, resting a hand on the table. “Is it something I did?”

Virgil was quick to shake his head, even as he felt his walls try to rebuild to brace against the heartbreak he knew was coming. “No, of course not. It’s nothing either of us did. It’s just something that happens every once in a while.”

Logan hesitated. He swallowed and Virgil tried not to show that his eyes were drawn to the vein in his neck. After a long pause, Logan spoke. “If this is about you being a vampire, I already know.”

Virgil startled, his head jerking back just a bit. “How?”

Logan chuckled, eyes rising to lock with Virgil’s own. “How many spoons do I have?”

Virgil didn’t even have to think about it. “Twenty five.”

Logan nodded. “The compulsion to count arbitrary things, the lack of actual eating, you always being awake no matter when I wake up if you stay over.” He sighed, exasperated. “Virgil, you came in with blood still on your chin one time, for goodness sake!”

Virgil swiped at his chin, checking for blood there. Eventually, he nodded, moving to stand. “Alright. I guess I should be going then.”

Logan put a hand on his shoulder, gently pushing him down into the chair. “Why are you trying to leave me? I just told you I don’t care that you’re a vampire.”

Virgil huffed, leaning forward to put his forearms on the table. “I don’t age as fast as you do, Logan. By the time you’re old, I’ll only look a few years older than I do now. Besides, people will be suspicious that I don’t age.” He held up a hand, pausing whatever thought Logan was going to share. “Before you say it, I can’t just turn you. You’d be able to be with me, yes, but you’d also have to move every few decades as well. You’d never see this bookstore again. Is that what you really want? To move like you’re on the run, having to watch your every step?” Virgil shook his head, letting his bangs fall into his face. “I don’t want that for you.”

Logan put a hand over Virgil’s. “What if I could give you a reason to stay?”

Virgil looked up at him, hope bubbling below the surface, desperate to breach. “What do you mean?”

Logan smiled. “You do realize that half this town is full of vampires, right?”

Virgil leaned toward him, hand gripping his gentle but forceful at once. “Explain.”

“Half of the town is vampires, the other half is humans that know of them. Heck, my own great uncle is still here and he doesn’t look older than I do. Why do you think my store has such old books? People still read them, still enjoy them. None of them treasure them the way you do, nor do they greet them like old friends like you do, but they still remember the books from their times as humans. I want to be with you, Virgil. You don’t have to leave, you don’t have to run anymore.”

Virgil felt tears gather at the corners of his eyes as the realization that this could be home set in. Logan's arms came around his shoulders, offering comfort. Virgil smiled through his tears. “You’d really have me?”

A kiss was pressed to his temple. “Fangs and all.”

Virgil chuckled. “Fangs and all.” He echoed softly.

#fluff #angst #happy ending #vamp!Virgil #virgil sanders #logan sanders #analogical #ace writes

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andromachesimp · 4 years ago

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Son of a bitch, Booker wasn’t lying.

have some (5) varying booker-centric scene drabbles from my new york, ‘2X series on ao3–all of these are from what i’m starting to post on tuesday: death, deliverance, and diatribes.

booker is an interesting character to write, and one that i’ve found i enjoy writing quite a bit. and he’s also my favorite morose motherfucker in a j crew button-down. perhaps it’s why he gets a bit more of the spotlight this go around. also i talk a lot in the tags. my apologies.

“I’m sorry about that,” he says, gently setting the things down on the table, though he doesn’t look at her. “It gets heated sometimes.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

Booker sighs audibly, looking down to the street, watching what Nile’s been watching. “I’ll teach you French myself at some point, if you like,” he offers. “I used to teach, briefly, at a college.”

Nile looks up, clearly surprised.

“Very briefly. I took it up when we had some time off,” he says, shrugging. “You don’t have to say yes, I just thought I’d offer.”

“I appreciate it.”

Booker taps the railing on the balcony, making eye contact with Nile now. “I brought the liquor out because I thought you might want to share a drink, but I understand if you don’t.”

At this point? “I’ll take some, sure,” she says, nodding. “I think it might help with the headache I have now.”

“Sorry about that,” he says, chuckling quietly but pouring her a regular amount of the whiskey, giving himself easily double the pour. The bottle is readable now–Maker’s Mark. “I take partial responsibility for it.”

“I don’t blame any of you,” Nile explains quickly. “I’m just thinking how hard it is for me to think about him being gone. I can only imagine what it’s like for the others...”

Booker shakes his head, taking a hearty drink. “I don’t know their exact feelings right now, but...I’ve lost people I loved. There’s some level of grief involved, thinking that it’ll be forever but praying it’s not. At least, that’s how I feel. It’s...it’s like...”

“It’s hell on earth,” Nile finishes quietly.

“Yeah. Something like that.”

The whiskey is warm, like an internal hug, with a nice spice to it. It doesn’t burn going down, and the faint sweetness to it is actually relaxing to Nile. Booker is good when it comes to picking out alcohol, she isn’t sure why she ever doubted him on that front.

“What happened with you and Quynh? Remind me,” Nile finally says, eyeing Booker. She isn’t asking this time, and she isn’t going to let him get away with not answering either.

Booker huffs, shaking his head. “It’s a long story, and it’s not pretty.”

“We have time.”

–

Booker is clicking rapidly, his shoulders up to his ears when he occasionally breaks to type. Nile sips from Booker’s glass once her beer is gone, deciding she’d rather just share than ask for another glass.

It’s the first time that his eyes split from the screen, and he seems to watch her while she takes the drink, but his eyes are gone before she puts the glass back down on the table. She pours more whiskey into it before turning her attention back to the tablet.

By the time they’re told the bar is closing, Nile’s eyes might as well be bleeding, and she is just slightly leaning against Booker on the walk back. While she’d been able to get work done, even if it didn’t seem to be much, she’d definitely been keeping up with him when it came to the bottle, and she was paying for it now.

Booker is smoking a cigarette while they walk, exhaling the smoke into the New York City night. Nile has never been a smoker, nor has she particularly enjoyed lingering around people who smoke as much as Booker does, but she doesn’t mind it right now. Maybe it’s the liquor talking, but the way he exhales the smoke is artful as it twists and curls up into the dark sky, and the smell is comforting.

“Are you alright, Nile?” he asks, what she figures is three or four blocks from home. He’s wrapped an arm gently around her shoulders to keep her against him, which she’s ultimately thankful for.

“I was not expecting…not expecting the whiskey to be so…strong.”

Booker chuckles, shaking his head. “It’s cheap, but it’s comforting.”

She tears her eyes away from him and the smoke, her eyes focusing on the pavement ahead of them instead.

“I’m sorry,” she says quickly. “I think I’m definitely drunk.”

“I gathered, but it’s alright.”

She shakes her head. Though the night is warm, she still finds herself leaning more into the side of Booker’s chest. She can hear him inhale with the cigarette, feel him holding onto the nicotine in his lungs and exhaling it.

–

“I see he’s taking French leave,” Nile muses, watching him leave the garage. “They’re going to kill us before he gets back.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.”

Booker comes back, very much out of breath, but holding a crowbar and a large pair of…what looks like garden shears.

It clicks then for Nile, and she asks Andy to hold her SMG so she can help Booker pry the elevator door open. As anticipated, there’s no car there, and when they look down, they can see it sitting stationary.

“Et c'est comme ça,” Booker says with a grin, checking the cutters before he holds them out. They’re long, Nile notices, longer than most garden shears should be. It’s a stretch, but Nile gets a firm grip on Booker while she keeps the door open, and he reaches out to cut the cables. There’s four cables, Booker is able to cut two before Nile pulls him back. “Magnifique.”

“Why the fuck do you have cable cutters, but giant?” Nile asks as Booker tosses them back into the garage with the crowbar. Though, the elevator door still hasn’t closed itself yet.

“I’ll get those later,” Booker says simply, taking his gun back. “Thanks, and don’t worry about it.”

–

Booker is slipping off the seat, shoving a deviled egg in his mouth before he’s on his way. It’s empty enough that it’s hard for his movement to go unnoticed, but everything’s hidden behind a corner, which greatly helps him. Voices carry back here, he shortly realizes, and he can hear a brief explanation for his absence (probably louder than necessary). Magnifique. Booker pretty easily finds the stairs, hidden behind a door that he picks open and enters without much work. He’s slinking up the stairs, his hand on his pocketknife while he ascends as quietly as possible.

He’s trying to hurry, admittedly, but he can’t totally run up the stairs without alerting anyone up there of his presence. Once he’s at the top, there’s no door, and the office is clearly wide open. He palms the knife, though closed, as he wanders in, taking it in. It’s a clean space, but still dark enough that it feels like a home instead of a rough second story office in a nice part of town. The first thing he does is go to the computer, swearing almost instantly upon the sight of it being locked. He’s rifling through the drawers before he can consider another option, looking for the one sticky note he knows everyone keeps…

There. Underneath a thick pad of paper with scribbled notes, a username, password, and…is that a social security number? Oh well. Booker enters in the username and password, crossing his fingers until it opens. His fingers fly as soon as it’s open; he knows his way around computers, not fantastically, but he’s more used to them than the others are for some reason. He’ll take it, though, and he’s been forced to teach himself a lot of things. As he’s working, he’s humming quietly to himself, as if it could help. One Night in Bangkok actually is comfortable on Booker’s vocal chords, but he hardly thinks twice until he’s weaseling his way into the dusty bank files. He rips a page from the pad (the last page, in fact) and starts scribbling down anything that could fit the bill of the time Gérard described. Name, date, time, and bank information. At least, what he can get from the records he definitely should not be looking at.

–

Booker’s voice is quiet as he guides Nile in the steps on the balcony, yet he sings along to La Vie en rose when he’s not gently telling her how to move. The cigarette hanging off of his fingers is stubbed out shortly so he can take her hand and give her a delicate spin, smiling a bit when she stops in front of him once more.

“Très bien,” he muses. “Très bien.”

The music, the motions, the quiet words Booker mumbles to her just make Nile want to visit France. It’s somewhat of a sin that the only time she’s gotten to go was within her first week of being immortal, but now she wants nothing more than to see it. Yet, Nile doesn’t vocalize it. Instead she listens to Booker quietly sing along to the music, memorizing the steps he’s teaching her.

He stops after two more songs, both seemingly also Édith Piaf, and pulls away from Nile. He picks up his drink and sighs, glancing out to the city.

“I should get back to work,” he says quietly, avoiding eye contact as he disappears back into the apartment.

Nile is left standing on the balcony, looking out at the city and biting on her tongue. Work. Yeah, maybe she should get back to that too.

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minimoni713 · 4 years ago

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This is part 2 of the original story which is on wattpad under the username "agustD_1013". Part two contains chapter 6-10

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Part 2

Y/N woke up as usual the next day and went to school. But today was strange, all the students were giggling as they watched her, and unlike the other days, Bambam, Jackson and Mark did not wait for her at the school gate. She decided to confront the three at lunchtime as she was getting late for her class.

As she entered the classroom she walked over to her desk, seeing all sorts of things scribbled on it. She just shook these things off her mind as she was more concerned about the other three. Half of the day passed by and everybody rushed to the cafeteria. She was not ready for it, she was not ready to confront them. All sorts of questions were wandering her mind;

What if the video was real? What if they did say those things about me?

No one was in the corridor, she assumed that they probably went out to eat, half the school doesn't even eat in the cafeteria. As she was walking in the corridor she saw pictures of her everywhere with rude things about her. Her doubts were turning into reality. It couldn't be a coincidence that the three didn't wait for her at the gate as they usually did, her desk scribbled with rubbish about her, and all these pictures with all sorts of blunt comments about her.

But when she opened the door to the cafeteria, she saw that the whole school was there. But that was not the problem now. She wandered her eyes until she let it land on Mark, Bambam and Jackson's table, but they were with her brother and their friends. Since when did they become friends with them. She was walking past all the tables to reach Mark, Bambam, and Jackson's table. Everybody was giggling at her, and shooting death glares. It made her feel uncomfortable talking to the three in front of them but she had built up all the courage in herself to go up to them. She brought out her mobile showing them the video blackpink had shown her before.

"This is not true, you never said those things about me, did you?" She asked, emotionally broken.

The entire cafeteria was quiet now, watching the drama they have been waiting for all along.

BTS & GOT7 let out small chuckles till Mark spoke up

"Well to me it doesn't look edited, so what do you think?"

"Why? Why would you do this to me? I trusted you guys, I thought you would never leave me" she asked emotionlessly.

"It's so sad that a worthless piece of shit like you fell for guys like us. Just saying but no one will ever love you, you're just a waste of space" Mark continued.

This was it, the moment everybody was waiting for. Everybody started laughing, including her brothers and the three.

Jackson stood up looking straight into her eyes opening his mouth to speak up

"It's your fault for trusting us. Just a little advice: don't trust anybody with that past of yours. You should research about somebody before trusting them, should've done that with us just like we did to you. Oh yeah you asked why right? Well I have two reasons; one because of what you have done to your family and how much you made them suffer, and two this is what we do; make girls fall for us and then break their hearts".

" Jackson, what are you telling her about pettiness. After what she has done to them do you think she can walk around proudly like she matters. Of course not but yet she does, that means she doesn't even have the slightest regret for making them suffer" Bambam said.

" Well we have a surprise for you" they said.

Y/N who now had her head hung low in misery, lifted her head up slowly with sorrow in her eyes. You could see the betrayal in them.

All the lights of the cafeteria went off and the projector started playing.

It was a video of Y/N, all her secrets which she shared with three that she trusted. Those secrets that were worth her life for her. It was not just that, but it was a hate video towards her. All rude comments, all those pictures that were taken of her when she was beaten up or spilled food on. They were all there. Y/N had never felt this humiliated in her life.

When the video ended she was just standing there shocked and ashamed. But this was not the end Suga came up to her and continued talking

"You should thank all of us for giving you a little break, and be ready now because it's ended".

Suddenly Bambam added to that "And this time it's not just them but also us"

She felt herself getting beaten up, but couldn't feel anything due to the numbness already in her body. Y/N just let it happen.

(Y/N p.o.v)

I felt myself getting severely beaten up. I let it happen. What was I thinking about those three, actually liking me. I should have known from the beginning that they're all liars. But they are right, why would anybody like someone like me?

(Narrator)

But after some while instead of warm stings of the beatings she felt herself being drenched in cold liquid; milk. All the students surrounding her threw all of their lunch at her. She could see IU from the corner of her eyes just staring at her emotionally. IU wasn't the one to beat her that often yet she hated her. Y/N believed this was the end of her.

(IU p.o.v)

I was just staring at how the school kids, BTS, and GOT7 were beating and throwing stuff at Y/N. Even though I'm her sister I never felt sorry for her. After all she has done, she deserves this. I was looking at how she was treated and I started crying. It's her fault she's being treated like this.

She couldn't take it anymore; all this humiliation was killing her. Her meaning came into her life in ten seconds but left in one.

She pushed past all the students to go home. Instead of doing what she usually would; to cry, she took a shower first and settled all her thoughts down. But she couldn't let her past keep on effecting her, she was pictured for something she didn't do.

(Y/N p.o.v)

The abuse and lies were killing me. I am framed for something I didn't do. I never did any of those things. Only if somebody understood me. Only if someone would listen to me. But I guess no one was sent down to help me.

(Narrator)

It all started 6 years ago. That time Y/N was 11 years old. She used to go to dance, and so one day when her mom picked her up from her dance class they were walking home happily; in fact, the happiest they had ever been. But suddenly a group of men came up to them and started beating her mom.

Y/N tried with all her will to stop them; she was crying for help but her cries were too low to be heard. Not only that but one guy was holding her down and he was too strong for her. One of the guys suddenly took out a knife and stabbed her mom three times.

All those men just left her and her dead mom there. She was a crying mess. Then she was just an eleven-year-old, she didn't know what to do.

She crawled to where her mom was lying and picked up the knife, and that's when people started appearing with the police and interviewers. It was like time had stopped to wait for the moment to capture the innocent.

Her mom's body was taken to the hospital and the next day she made the headlines;

"11-year-old the murderer of her mom".

It was all false accusations against her, and that time she had no evidence that it was not her. Even her own family believed it but when she was arrested she was released out of jail by her family, to save their pride.

Directly after that her family wanted to disown her but she was too young so they sent her to a mental hospital. After spending good two abusing years there, she was met with more abuse from her family and the students at school.

(Y/N p.o.v)

Till today I remember that day. It was never me who killed mom, it was those three men. Nobody believes me. But why? Why do they think I would ever kill her? Because of that incident till today I suffer 6 years of suffering and abuse

When can this stop? It was like time had stopped to frame the innocent, but why me? The only thing I remember from that time is one man talking on the phone; they were contract killers and the name Ailee. But I have no evidence to prove the truth. I think this is the end of me.

"Mom why couldn't you take me with you?"

"There is no use of being alive anymore"

"There's nothing to live for"

"I wish I was the one who died,that night"

Y/N recalled from her past, maybe it was her fault that her mother died. It was tomorrow that her life started; tomorrow was her birthday. She decided that tomorrow she was going to fix all the problems.

Instead of going to bed early today, she stayed up researching her mom's case. She wanted to bring justice to her mom and herself, knowing that there wouldn't be many articles about the truth. Half an hour had passed when she remembered something; hearing the name Ailee. She remembers her dad having a friend named Ailee from when she was young.

(Y/N P.O.V)

After searching for half an hour on the internet I never found anything, that's when something lit up in my mind. I remember hearing the name Ailee. After I think about it I also remember dad having a friend named Ailee. And Rosé's mom, isn't she also called Ailee. Could this name just be a coincidence or is she the same Ailee.

(Narrator)

That's when she found one article concerning the truth.

It listed only one witness that had heard the conversation between the men and the women on the other line when they were talking on the phone. The witness had stated that they were contract killers that they had killed the little girl's mom and not the little girl herself. She remembers hearing that the woman the guys were talking to was called Ailee. She overheard that the lady on the other line loved the victims husband a lot.

After reading that Y/N got all her conclusions correct. She opened a document and typed all her thoughts and conclusions that came matching. She printed it out and also the article from earlier.

(Y/N P.O.V)

I had finally found an article concerning the truth, so I clicked on it. I was just reading the article when tears started flowing down my face. I couldn't believe this, so all of it was true, it was not just me. But why didn't this witness stand up for the truth. She could've bought justice to mom. At least she said something to the media. Now I will bring justice to my mom.

(Narrator)

Y/N's dad has a secret hidden camera in every room to keep a track of what she does, but Y/N being the smart girl she is, she knows where all the cameras are hidden. Earlier she had already snuck into her dads' room and took the footage of her stepmom with another man. She put all her evaluations in an envelope with a note.

Now she could finally sleep in peace, knowing that tomorrow she was going to end all this hate.

She woke up by the loud shouting of her family & the ambulance sirens when she rushed down she saw Rosé being carried into the ambulance, followed by the rest of her family, leaving her alone there. Y/N was very worried about her sister and today was the day anyways. So, she followed them to the hospital Instead of going to her sister she went to the doctor who was in charge of Rosé. She discussed some things with him, and he nodded sadly.

After her discussion she rushed to the bathroom with her pocketknife and did it one last time; cut herself again but this time she kept on sliding the blade over her arm till she lost consciousness, until everything went black for her. The doctors found her barely 15 minutes later and rushed her to the emergency.

Meanwhile Rosé was rushed to the emergency, she started getting a severe chest pain and they needed to find the donor within the day. GOT7 were also there including; Bambam, Jackson & Mark. They thought of Rosé as their own sister.

The doctors tried with all their will to save Y/N but were unfortunate. She had decided it that she was going to commit suicide on her birthday. She put an end to the problem the same date it started. Now she could join her mother in heaven, but she didn't die sinfully.

Rosé's doctor came rushing giving the grateful news;

"We've found a healthy donor, she will be saved & there's no need to stress out". After around five hours the operation was done and Rosé was saved.

Rosé woke up some hours after the operation. Her dad had asked the doctor for permission to know who the donor is.

"According to the donors will she did not want me to tell you. However, I believe you have the full right to know the person that saved your daughter's life, so follow me" he said. and with that the entire family and friends followed him to the morgue room.

When the doctor slipped the white cloth of her face they were shocked and hurt, it was: Y/N. She committed suicide not just to end the pain but save her sister from dying, that too on the day she was born. Everybody was speechless, they were suddenly feeling guilty for their actions, but it was too late. The silence was broken by the cries of Rosé. Bambam, Mark & Jackson all felt guilty for how they humiliated her thinking this was all their fault. Her dad, BTS, IU, and the rest of GOT7 were in the same situation as them. Nobody had anything to say, so they left the room to not feel more hurt.

As Rosé was very healthy she was discharged in two days. Her family was there with her the entire time. When they reached home everybody was silent, except for Ailee. For her it was like nothing even happened. They decided to all help clean Y/N's bedroom. But when they entered it they saw how old it was, how dusty it was, and how it had stains everywhere. But Rosé's eyes fell on the envelope, which they all opened together. After they saw all the evaluation and whatever she wrote they were broken into pieces. Ailee was Y/N's stepmom who used to love Y/N's dad way too much, but her dad didn't think of her in the same way. They were just friends back then. So, she assigned contract killers to murder her mom so that her dad will start falling for her. Which she accomplished in. After years of trying she gained the love she wanted but soon noticed that this love was not for her dad but the company. Her second plan was to murder her dad too so that the company will be on her name. And get remarried to the dude that Y/N saw with the other day. They picked out the USB and watched through it; seeing Ailee making out with another man. The evidence was in that too. Suga finally took out the note and read it aloud

"Start of new and please bring justice to us"

They were all heartbroken. This was so deceiving, having blamed an own family member. The relation between them all which was supposed to be built on trust was broken. Because of the media and their hurtful words, they crushed the once cheerful girl. Was their relation so faint that they couldn't believe her even once? That they chose the media's lies over her truth?

Instead of going to Ailee to ask her what this is, they immediately called the police and showed them proof which led Ailee to be arrested. Rosé felt very hurt that her mother could do such a thing.

The news spread quickly over the whole country. Everybody at school felt ashamed, nearly everybody in town felt ashamed and guilty. The girl they've been portraying as a murderer since she was little, was innocent all along. It was all their fault that she's ended up like this. And now when all is gone, when it's too late they feel guilty. The only thing they could do for her was be available for her funeral which was held after 3 days.

Everybody was there, everybody cried, they were all ashamed, and everybody was guilty. They stared at her gravestone;

"In memorial of Y/N, born 13 November 2002, died 13 November 2019"

They lived the rest of their lives in regret.

#kpop #blackpink #bts #got7

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ticklybtswriter · 5 years ago

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observant

summary: you thought that you were good at hiding your secret from them, but it seems that min yoongi is more observant than you knew.

request: Oof thank you for that soul wrecking fic I'm now bright red XD! If it's okay maybe I could request a oneshot with Yoongi slowly piecing together the reader is a Lee(maybe from first spotting her reading a fic on her phone or something) and then finding out about the community, doing some research in the process and than wrecking the reader with it all. ...I like to make myself suffer can you tell lmao. If you feel particularly inspired nsfw could be cool but only if you want to!! Love you bby!!

author’s note: (this gif mixed with this prompt put me in a lee mood) also, sheridan, i can’t thank you enough for this request!! i was so fun to write but i also despise it because now i just want yoongi to wreck me!!

the request isn’t enitrely nsfw, but it does have some nsfw elements so be aware of that if you decide to read!! but anyways, i hope you like it!! -rosalie

If there’s one thing Min Yoongi prides himself on, it’s that he’s very observant. Being quiet provides some insight into the world around him, and God is he good at viewing the world around him. It was why he was the first of the seven to see right through your little facade.

The first clue was on one of the nights he collapsed with fatigue on the couch and decided to curl up to you. You were relatively calm; you were nose-deep in a book, which Yoongi didn’t mind because he knew that you were enjoying his silent presence just as much as he was enjoying yours.

It wasn’t until Jimin came running into the living room with Jungkook hot on his trail. Apparently, Jimin had taken something from him and Jungkook wasn’t too pleased. When Jungkook inevitably found him, you both witnessed Jungkook pin Jimin to the ground before he scribbled at Jimin’s sides, giggles pouring from the elder’s mouth while Jungkook told him it was what he deserved.

Yoongi, of course, told the maknae to go and do this in their bedrooms because he was trying to have some peace and quiet with you.

They listened to him, and Yoongi was ready to return to your alone time. However, shortly after, he noticed how stiff you’d gone. He peered up at you only to find your face oddly... embarrassed. Your eyes were wide, your lips were pursed, and your cheeks dusted with pink.=

“Are you okay?” Yoongi asked. “You look a little red.”

“Yeah!” You shook your head. “I’m just a little hot is all. I’m gonna go get some water!” You shrugged him off and scurried into the kitchen where he couldn’t see you.

Yoongi stared you your retreating form, taking note of your small fidgeting and blush. He figured you must have been embarrassed by the sudden PDA from them, but he wasn’t entirely sure. Yet.

The second clue was when he was laying down with you. He had another long day at the studio and wanted nothing more than to snuggle in bed with you. You obliged but told him you weren’t tired yet. You both came to the agreement that he could hold you but you’d still tap away on your phone.

That was fine and all for about thirty minutes. Yoongi wanted you to turn around so he could really cuddle you, yet you were still enthralled with your phone. He slowly lifted his head and tiredly squinted at what had you so captured.

You were reading something long, and... descriptive. It wasn’t a dirty novella, but it was describing the way someone’s hands were moving across skin and the elicit reaction of laughter ignoring from the reader. He scrunched his eyebrows in confusion, wondering what you were reading. Especially after seeing your red cheeks from the light of your phone.

“Y/N?” He asked. “What’re you reading?”

After having thought he had fallen asleep ages ago, you squeaked at the sudden noise and quickly turned off your phone. “A-Aaah, nothing! Let’s just go to bed!”

He didn’t fight you on that, but the wheels in his head started to turn ever so slightly.

The last clue, which in truth wasn’t even a clue, but rather a confirmation to his sneaking suspicions, was when he found your Tumblr account.

It was by accident, really. You had gone to the bathroom real quick while on the app and left your phone open on the bed, your profile page visible to anyone who happened upon it. Yoongi just so happened to be that anyone.

He was looking for his ring which he was sure he left in your room when he saw your phone on. He picked it up, examining the app it was opened to. When he noticed your username revolved around tickles, he felt this sudden burst of self-pride for being on the right track. But when he saw your post about “really just wanting to be fucking wrecked with tickles and teases” he knew something had to be done.

Later that night, having taken a mental note of your Tumblr account name, he went through all of your posts about just how you wanted to be destroyed with tickles. He went through extensive research on the subject of tickling and the community you were secretly apart of. He found out a lot of useful information from that. (Especially that you were called a lee, because, not that he would ever admit to it, but he found that to be incredibly adorable.) Using it, though, was about to become one of his new favorite things.

You were getting ready to go to bed when Yoongi trudged in. Neither of you said much outside of a gentle greeting, but other than that, he just slipped into the bed with you. He wrapped an arm around your waist before snuggling close to you behind you.

Of course, you had thought nothing was out of the ordinary. Even when Yoongi started to slightly lift up your shirt, you were oblivious to your boyfriend’s true intentions that night. It wasn’t under you felt him start to slightly-ever so slightly- drum his fingers against the bare stomach of your skin.

You let out a small giggle. “W-What are you doing?”

“Hmm, nothing.”

He now moved from drumming to letting his fingers drag across your tummy. You let out a small intake a breath, and Yoongi took this as a sign to pick up the pace. Not enough to have you break out into full-blown laughter, but enough to get you to squirm. And squirm you did.

You felt him start to smirk against your neck, a feeling you knew all too well when his fingers were occupied elsewhere on your body. It dawned on you what was happening right then.

“Y-Y-Yoongi...?”

“Yes?” He drawled.

“H-How?”

"You’re so easy to read, kitten. You think you're subtle with your little kink, but I can see it all,” He, of course, was leaving out the part where he saw your blog but seeing you so flustered from him telling you this was satisfying enough. “I’d prepare yourself. This is going to be a long night for you, baby girl.”

Yoongi suddenly turned you so you were lying on your back and he was sitting on top of you. He was straddling your hips and the position alone was enough to make your face red. It got even redder, though, when Yoongi crackled his knuckles in front of you as a way to silently tell you that they would be working wonders/horrors against your skin.

“I want you to keep your arms up.”

“What? But I-I can’t-”

“You’d better,” Yoongi got close to your face. “Otherwise, I’ll make sure they won’t be able to move at all.”

Something you knew all too well about Yoongi was that he kept true to his word. You were fairly sure that the moment your arms went down, he was going to tie them up and your chance at escaping would forever be gone. Not that you were really looking for an escape, though...

Against your better judgment, you raised your arms above your head so your wrists hit the headboard. Yoongi, having given you one of his heart-stopping smirks, wasted no time in starting his torture.

He used his index fingers to lightly draw circles in your underarms. It shocked you as to how light he was. His barely-there touches were far from the rough tickles you had envisioned with him. And, yes, you’d be lying if you said that you didn’t imagine him absolutely destroying you with tickles. You just never saw it becoming a reality.

You bit your lip to keep the giggles at bay. Yoongi spotted this right away. Needless to say, he wasn’t appreciative of this, “Are you really trying to hold in your laughs? How long do you think you can keep that up? I’d say... two seconds at most.”

He moved from tickling your underarms to pinching at your sides. You couldn’t help but let out a squeal at that, your arms instinctively reaching out to Yoongi’s hands to halt the movements. You realized your mistake too late.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Yoongi tsked. “What did I say about the arms?”

“No,” You whined, even though you were aware he would take your complaints as an excuse to wreck you further. “Yoongi, please!”

“Don’t be bratty,” Yoongi threatened. “I wouldn’t want to bring out the feather I brought.”

You felt your body go limp with desire. The mere threat of it made you compliant with Yoongi as he took the soft rope you both had used in other scenarios. You made a mental hell for yourself, though, when you watched him tie your hands together with such precision. It made you think about how skilled he was with his fingers. Fingers that would have full access to every inch of ticklish skin on your body in a minute or so.

“There,” Yoongi finished off the knot. “Now you’re completely at my mercy.”

You hated how casually he could say these things. You pouted.

“Don’t make that face; you’re just asking for this now.”

Yoongi started spidering his fingers against your stomach. Helpless bubbles of laughter escaped your throat. He saw this as a good sign and continued in his assault. He started running his fingers up and down both of your sides, alternating between the quick flutters and sudden jabs meant to keep you on your toes.

“Y-Yohohohongiii!” You whined. “Plehehease!”

“I’m barely even touching you, baby girl.” He lied straight through his teeth.

“Stohohop!” You laughed in response to his teasing.

“But why? We both know that you love this. No use in denying it.”

You were trying so hard to squirm away from his touches, but he followed every way that your torso moved. You had your eyes squeezed shut from the ticklish sensations, but in the off chance you opened your eyes, you could see that devilish smirk before he started to move down from your hips to your legs.

He positioned his fingers over your thighs, making sure to give you an evil look in the eyes before he did so.

“Don’t you dare!” You warned.

He looked as though he was thinking for a moment. But after a few seconds of “consideration,” he dug into the skin of your hips.

“NOHOHO! YOHOHOHONGI!” You were glad that the boys’ rooms were so far apart from one another, or your screams would’ve been heard clear as day.

You were bucking as best you could to get Yoongi off your legs. But with Yoongi being stronger than you and your arms tied away, there wasn’t even any use of escape. After one particular squeeze to your hips, you felt your resolve to flee dwindle. You couldn’t help but start to sit there and take the torture.

“Getting tired? Don’t worry, I have one last thing to really get your energy up.”

Your face got instantly hotter when he pulled out the feather he had threatened you with earlier. You gulped when he got ready to use it in his attacks.

“Y-Yoongi,” It was meant to sound intimidating, but the stammer in your voice didn’t do much to help you.

While you were having a tickle-induced mental breakdown, Yoongi was relishing in seeing you so conflicted over these sensations. You were loving every moment of this while at the same time doing anything you could to prove you were strong enough to handle it. But Yoongi knew all too well that you weren’t, and that this was breaking you in all the ways you’d described on your blog.

To emphasize his thoughts, he started flicking the feather across your tummy. Each individual tendril had hit your skin with an electric shock. You didn’t think a feather would feel as ticklish as everyone had made it out to be online. But shit... It was worse.

“NOHOHO! I CAHAHAHAN’T!”

“Can’t what? Can’t wait for me to put this little feather inside your precious belly button? Me neither. So why wait?”

“W-WAHAHAIT! NO!”

It was too late, though. The stiff feather started to sink into your belly button. You might as well have died on that spot. Because Yoongi then started to spin the feather so it reached every bit of skin inside while keeping one hand attached to your thigh.

Your resolution finally slipped away completely. You didn’t have it in you anymore to try to fight back, even with words. Your eyes were starting to fill with tears and your laughter was soon beginning to go silent. And while he loved seeing you in this state, Yoongi knew that this night of fun should end soon or else you’d pass out.

His twirling feather finally slowed, yet you were still releasing little excess giggles as he pulled it out of your belly button. Yoongi pulled the rope from your wrists which allowed you to instantly rip them from the headboard and rub the ghost tickles from your skin. You curled in on yourself, a bright smile still gracing your face, while Yoongi laid down beside you.

“Well, that was fun, don’t you think?” He asked. When he got no response, he fluttered his fingers against your stomach again.

“Yehehes! I-It wahas!”

“Glad you think so,” Yoongi nodded against your neck. “Because we’ll be doing this more often.”

Now it was your time to smirk. Finally... you were getting exactly what you wanted. You no longer had to spend your time groaning about your lack of tickles through Tumblr. Which, now that you thought about it...

“You found my Tumblr, didn’t you?”

#bts tickle fic #tickle fic #bts x reader #ler!min yoongi x lee!reader #ler!yoongi #lee!reader #min yoongi x reader #i was attacked by this fic #and i wrote it

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toothpastecanyon · 5 years ago

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We Walk Like Humans Do, Chapter 2

The Transcendence has been, on the whole, a good thing for magical creatures... for the ones that walked on two legs and fit in doorways, at least. Lacie has other problems to overcome before she can live in the big city.

Thanks to @feferipeixes for help editing this chapter! Go check out their awesome stuff!

See most updated version on Archive of Our Own.

________________________________________________________________

Oh, my stars. Alcor hasn’t laughed this hard in lifetimes.

Chapter 2 of Wizard Animago’s Not-So-Secret Spellbook - Everything You Already Knew About Transfiguration and Literally Nothing Else

Hi, I’m 18Lacie5 and I wrote another chapter for you humans. Everyone was really confused on my last post and seemed to think it was a joke, so I’ll start out by answering the five most common questions you had.

1 - Yes, I am a basilisk.

2 - No, I am not the basilisk from Harry Potter.

3 - No, I do not live in the Chamber of Secrets from Harry Potter.

4 - No, I am not the horcrux snake from Harry Potter.

5 - No, I am not in any way related to Harry Potter.

Are we all on the same page now? Good, because holy shit some of you really missed the point here. I got a visit from one of you with a replica of Gryffindor’s sword, and that was so annoying I didn’t even feel bad killing him - like dude, all that tells me is I KNOW you read my post about not coming down here, and then decided to come down here anyway ‘cause fuck me, right?

(The sword wasn’t even that good. It was made of cheap plastic, snapped like a spine.)

Anyway, despite all this the last post was fun to write, so I’m doing it again. Also it seems like the number of visits from treasure hunters has gone down since I posted, though it’s hard to tell. There’s not really a consistent number from year to year, and the day I start keeping a deathcount is the day I give up on life and buy a mirror to see if I can kill myself with my own reflection.

For science, you know?

Alcor’s read the entire blog by now and it’s just perfect. The snark, the sarcasm, the casual disregard towards human lives that could only have been written by an ancient and powerful being - it’s hilarious! And the spell entries… man, he could listen to Lacie tear apart someone’s Latin any day of the decade. If only she could come to some of his summons; she’d have so much material to work with there.

With a chuckle, Alcor looks up and glances around the darkness of the Mindscape. He needs to show this to someone. But who? Mizar? She’s only a year into the current reincarnation… hmm, she might be a little too young to understand it. Lucy Ann’s somewhere around; he probes for her, and finds her - dammit - during naptime at some kindergarten in Portland.

Anyone else?

…

No one else.

There’s absolutely no one else in his life right now. That’s… that’s a fun reminder.

He sighs, and sits back on the fabric of reality. Maybe some cultists’ll summon him; he could read them a blog post, see if they laugh. That’d be fun, right?

Al narrows his eyes at the great nothingness before him. It’d be something, at least.

...You know, he can feel a little tug now.

A weak one, just one summoner, and no circle. That confuses him at first - even the real amateurs usually manage to scribble out some sort of rounded shape - and when he looks closer, he sees it’s holding one of his summoning cards, holding it in its… hand?

No, not quite a hand, and Alcor jolts right up as he realises shit that’s Lacie trying to call him, shit he didn’t think she’d call him back so soon! How long did he keep her waiting? It’s been a couple hours - shit!

Alcor tessers over to her in an instant, his mouth already open and spilling apologies: “Oh my stars Lacie, I am so sorry for the delay! I got distracted and I didn’t think you’d call back so soon so I wasn’t watching as closely as I-”

A deep, rumbling growl cuts him off. It’s a deafening sound, coming from a creature lounging on a pile of bones and gold with teeth the size of Alcor’s entire body; he can’t help but cringe at that. He takes a deep breath, remind himself that he’s an all-powerful demon who definitely doesn’t need to be scared of some mere mortal… even if she is pretty scary for a mortal.

You know, relatively speaking. He isn’t scared, he just thinks she’s scarier than, like, a human. Like a human from that pile of human skeletons she’s smashed into the wall. Yeah, that’s not scary at all. That wouldn’t kill him… looks like it would hurt, though.

He double checked he isn’t standing near that spellbook she’s bound to, right?

Just as he’s thinking this, Lacie lets out another even louder growl, and he jumps back with an undignified yelp.

“Hey, whoa, Lacie!” Alcor watches her head shift to the side. “Lacie? Hello?”

She doesn’t reply, and he looks to her face for an answer. He sees one of her eyes now: it’s closed?

Closed.

The realisation washes over him as she lets out another slow, rumbling snore.

“Oh. You’re… you’re just sleeping, aren’t you. Duh.” He straightens, and casts a glance around the room as he fixes his tie and straightens his hat. “Glad no one noticed that… Lacie?”

She doesn’t stir, and Alcor makes a face. He’s never turned up to a summons and had the summoner fall asleep; would she want him to wake her up? Her dreams feel pretty peaceful to him, and even though that thing - is that a giant laptop? - she’s using as a pillow doesn’t look particularly comfy, it doesn’t seem to bother her in the slightest.

Yeah, it looks like he should just let her call him back… but there is something. Embedded in her sluggish thoughts, he can feel a sort of drive, a sort of desperation, and that makes him hesitate. He looks for her tail, and spots it still wrapped around his summoning card, still squeezing it in a death grip.

Alcor frowns. He watches her snore one more time, then makes up his mind. With a deep breath, he reaches out and prods at her thoughts; they immediately begin to stir. He prods again, and Lacie lets out a grunt. Her eyelid cracks open, and she drags a sleepy glare across the room.

Her gaze meets his, and he feels pain, pain in his soul, his soul feels like it’s being pushed out through his ears ow ow OW- and he recoils, unable to bear it for a second longer.

Wow, he thinks, that really is potent. What on earth makes it so powerful?

Before he can wonder about that, there’s a noise. Gold coins clink against each other as Lacie jerks up, blinking hard, panic flashing in her aura. Alcor holds up his hands.

“Hey, hey, it’s just me!” He looks down as she fixes her eyes on him. “Sorry if you, uh, didn’t want to be woken up, I just thought… you know, you called me, and… what are you doing?”

She’s cast the summoning card aside and is now wiggling the touchpad on her laptop. He cocks his head.

“Whoa, I’ve never seen a laptop that big. Where on Earth did you buy that?”

Lacie doesn’t acknowledge his question. She starts typing something, and he floats closer to see her login screen.

“18Lacie5. Heh, I like your username.” He watches her click on the password box and slowly, painstakingly jab each key with her tail. “E… Y… E… What? Why are you looking at me like- oh. Oh, I’m so sorry!”

There’s a faint snort from Lacie as he turns away. His cheeks redden.

“Sorry, I forget hu- uh, mortals? Mortals tend to like their privacy on stuff… it’s kind of useless since Al-V can hack into pretty much any computer on earth - um, the Alcor Virus, that’s Alvie.” He hears the typing stop, and suddenly wishes he’d chosen literally any other topic in the world. “Um, not that I would make him hack into your computer! I’m just saying he could, and he probably has already… um, I just made him to get rid of Twin Souls though, you’re fine! O-or you should be fine - you don’t, by any chance, happen to like Twin Souls, do you? It’s, um, this book - well it’s a movie now but it was a book - and Mizar - who is my sister by the way - well, that’s why I hate it, because it has my sister and I, umm…ugh, sorry, it’s gross, my sister and I, we’re- huh?”

A low hiss makes him look back, and he sees Lacie - ow - staring right at him. She gestures to the screen, which has a word document open on it with big, bold letters.

“Oh, you want me to read that?” He floats closer, and frowns as he reads the first line:

Im pretending 2 type rite now 2 see how long u wil ramble 4 wtf youre still going and now twin souls no nono why r u explaning i actually cant take the awkwardnes i got 2 stop u

Alcor blinks, then shoots her a dirty look. The noise coming out of her now sounds an awful lot like snickering.

“Wha- I was just-! I just wanted to clarify the hacking thing I said, I-!” The snickering gets louder, and he rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I guess I’m a little rusty at small talk, very funny. I’d like to see how awkward you’d be if the only practice you could get is on a bunch of cultists in basements. They’re not exactly social butterflies either, you know!”

Lacie just keeps laughing, and Alcor… well, he puts on a show of crossing his arms and heaving a long-suffering sigh, but he’s fighting a smile.

It’s strangely nice, being here. Lacie’s strangely nice to be around; she already feels - and he has to remind himself he’s only met her twice - almost like a friend? Maybe he just has a low bar these days, but he hears her laughter, and… it’s just very, very nice. Nice in a way that’s hard to describe.

Nice in a way he hasn’t felt for a while.

The feeling lingers even after Lacie’s chuckling dies off, and he’s still smiling as he watches her reach for the laptop again. She jabs the down arrow a couple times, and some more, better punctuated text comes into view.

I have revised the terms of our deal, it starts, and Alcor clears his throat, squares his shoulders, tries to get himself back into business mode. He reads on: and I would like to exchange the human bones that are currently in my room for a human disguise I am capable of putting on and taking off at will.

He raises an eyebrow as he reaches the end. This is not the deal he was expecting to make. A human disguise… he can tell she’s no demonologist, that’s for sure; there’s so many interpretations of that, so many wonderful ways to tw͏is͡t her̡ ̵w̢or̵d̸s ͏a͟g̢ai͘n̸st͠ ̢h͝er-

No. He shakes his head to clear it of his worst instincts, but they won’t leave, not in the presence of such an enticing deal. Suddenly, he’s glad he doesn’t have to look her in the eyes right now; he trains them on the ground instead, and starts to speak.

“So, um… when you’re saying a ‘human disguise’, what do you mean by that?” He can’t see her face, but he can see a bolt of frustration flash across her aura. “Huh? What’s- oh right, can’t talk, uh… well, do you want me to make an actual, convincing disguise? You know, instead of, like, a wig and some sunglasses?”

Lacie nods vigourously. He watches her tap the caps key and add ‘CONVINCING’ before the human disguise bit. A part of him screams at all the opportunities he’s giving up - willingly! - but he forces a smile and nods.

“Cool, I can do that. I’ve made a few humans before- human bodies, that is, not… um.” Alcor coughs. “Anyway, I can give you a convincing human form for those bones of yours. How does that sound?”

She taps the screen.

“What…? Oh, yes, I’ll make it so you can switch back and forth at will. Good catch. Now, do we have a d̕e͇̪͍̜̻̪͘a̙̻̬̦͔ͅl̲̝͓͔?”

He doesn’t extend a hand to shake, but blue sparks spurt from his fingertips as he watches Lacie mull it over. Her aura fizzles with nervous energy, but it only takes a couple seconds for her to tamp it down and give him a firm nod. The rush of a newly made deal makes his grin go wide; he tries not to let it go too wide as he claps his hands together.

“Alrighty, then,” he says, rubbing them until those sparks turn into a full-blown fire. “One meatsuit coming right up!”

He extends a hand to the pile of bones in the corner of the room, and with a flick of the wrist he rips the energy from them all and absorbs it. The sacrifice warms him like a good meal, and he turns back to Lacie, ready to put that newly-gained power to use.

He steps back and sizes her up with his hands, a gesture that makes her aura simmer with uncertainty. She makes a low, nervous sound, and he waves her away.

“It’s alright, I just… need to remember how big a human is, how much I need to squish you down... Got it!!” Alcor readies his fingers to snap. “Okay, I’ve only done this on myself before, so there might be some kinks I haven’t thought of! Don’t worry, though, I’ll probably be able to fix them!”

Before Lacie could respond, he snaps his fingers, and his magic rushes around her like a cloud. Skin forms over scales, hair grows over horns, and the figure that remains when it disperses is unmistakably human.

It’s also falling to the ground from the height of Lacie’s head, and oh shit catch her catch her catch her - he freezes her momentum a couple inches from the ground then lets her plop, safely but definitely not gracefully, into a puddle.

“Oh, my stars! Are you okay?” Heart pounding in his chest, he dashes over. “I am so sorry about that fall, how are you- ow, okay , I’m gonna need to get you some sunglasses or something - how are you feeling? Here, let me help you up!”

He extends a hand, and Lacie… just stares at it.

Just stares at him, not moving, and he can feel panic flaring up in her aura as she can’t move, oh stars she’s so tiny right now and she can’t move oh fuck-

Alcor blinks. “Oh, right. Um, don’t panic-”

Don’t panic??? DON’T PANIC??? FUCK THIS SHE’S LIKE FIVE INCHES TALL RIGHT NOW AND SHE CAN’T FUCKING MOVE OH MY STARS WHY DID SHE DO THIS TO HERSELF THIS IS THE STUPIDEST FUCKING IDEA SHE’S EVER HAD IN HER LIFE-

“Lacie? Take a deep breath… Lacie? Lacie!” He cringes when Lacie’s eyes fix on him again. “Okay, um, I can see this is… a little stressful for you?”

She nods vigourously.

“Alright, um… don’t worry, I made it easy for you to change back! You just, y’know, gotta think of yourself being a basilisk again - or is it pronounced ‘battle-isk’? ‘Bas-til-isk’? Heh, that’s a weird word, I’ve only ever seen it written down-”

Lacie ditches her human disguise as fast as she could, shooting back out to her original form and cutting Alcor off mid-tangent. He jumps back, watching relief flood through her aura as she could move again, thank the stars she could actually move and everything’s normal sized again… fuck, everything’s normal sized again. She wasted her deal!

The relief’s spiking up into another panic, and Alcor clears his throat. “Alright, so that deal didn’t go to plan. No worries! I can’t exactly do refunds, but you’ve still got plenty of good stuff to sacrifice in here! Doesn’t bother me if this takes a few tries, heh.”

But that doesn’t calm Lacie in the slightest, because now she has to think of another deal, her mind’s blank, she’s got nothing! But she’ll fall asleep if she makes Alcor leave again… maybe she will have to go for that deal.

It’s hard to read her thoughts when they go quiet, but Alcor definitely picks up something about that deal as they’re retreating into a murky bubble of disappointment. He sees how she hangs her head at the idea, then lugs her laptop over to her, begins to peck away at the keys.

He sees that, and frowns. “Hey, uh,” he starts, and right away her eyes dart over to him. “If you don’t want to make a new deal, I’m sure we could make this one work?”

Lacie cocks her head.

“I mean, I’ve been… I know a thing or two about being in a human body. It’s been a while, but maybe I could… y’know, show you the ropes?”

She doesn’t say a word. The silence stretches, and Alcor laughs nervously.

“I-if you want. I mean, it’s been a while, but maybe I could show you enough to get around? I did technically promise your disguise would be ‘convincing’, so a couple human lessons should be easy enough to fit in, without… without another deal... um, I don’t know if you like this idea or you want me to stop talking? If you do that’s fine, I can do another deal, just give me a-”

There’s a sort of fwoomp sound, and the coils and coils of Lacie’s body seem to twist out of existence. At the same time, a human takes shape where her head was, and falls right into Alcor’s arms before he has time to blink.

“-a sign?” He finishes, and stares down at her. She stares right back, and he’d admire the steely resolve, the carefully-controlled fear in her gaze a whole lot longer if it didn’t make his soul want to push itself out through his ears.

“Oh, Okay. Wow, you’re, um… diving right in, huh?”

Lacie gives her closest approximation to a human smile, and Alcor’s caught off guard by how quickly he finds himself grinning back. An actual, genuine grin stretches across his face for the first time in too long, and he chuckles.

“Alright, Lacie, I like your gumption!” He summons a pair of sunglasses, and sticks them over her eyes. “Let’s get humaning!”

________________________________________________________________

Humaning. Lacie had taught herself many human things over the years; she’d taught herself to read, to type, to write - heck, she’d even managed to summon a demon (and in proper human tradition, had made a poorly thought-out deal with it.) She was no novice in learning how to human.

Maybe that’s why she thought the whole human form was a good idea. She was great at humaning! She’d taught herself so many of their skills, educated herself on so many of their customs, she was able to pass as one of them online… sometimes, it really didn’t feel like she was all that different from them.

After all, if she could read like a human and write like a human and think like a human, how hard could it be to walk around like one, too?

…

As it turns out, hard.

Very, very hard.

Duh.

Everything, everything is different in a human body. Sure, she thought having arms and legs would take some getting used to, but how about all this hair? How about her cramped little mouth and her stubby tongue? How about her skin? Her skin is stupidly sensitive without scales; when she was lying on the stone, she could feel every little bump in it, could feel water soaking her, making her shiver - and shivering, ugh! What an awful sensation! Even though Alcor’s got her propped her up in a chair now, her skin won’t stop whining to her that, gasp, the fabric’s a little itchy!

Whoop de fucking do, skin. Hopefully she grows a thicker one soon enough, because this is driving her crazy. She’s laughing at the Lacie of a couple hours ago who thought she’d just be able to stand up and walk out of the sewers, and oh, speaking of walking ?

Hah! Try moving them at all!

Lacie’s been without these strange appendages all her life, and moving them would be like a human trying to nod with a second head they’ve just sprouted - sometimes she’ll get lucky and hit upon whatever bundle of nerves is controlling each of these limbs, and after two hours of Alcor’s patient coaching she can make them twitch on a somewhat consistent basis, but she’s not getting anywhere fast with them any time soon.

She can only lie here, with her blunt teeth, with her papery skin, with her useless limbs…

Helpless.

Absolutely helpless.

Alcor looms over her whenever he stands up… and that scares her more than she thought it would. Everything looms over her in this form; the - she called it little - pile of treasure she sleeps on now seems like a great mountain, the ceiling she often bangs her head on is higher still, impossibly high. She sees her spellbook resting on its lecturn, and it’s about the same size as her now; she remembers how tiny it once seemed, and- OH FUCK WHAT’S GOING- oh, she’s shivering again.

Lacie frowns at that, and she lets out a noise that’s weirdly squeaky in this throat, and Alcor taps her shoulder.

(And she feels that, holy shit skin it’s literally just a hand)

“...need to take a break?” He’s asking. Frowning. “Lacie?”

She nods, quickly, and he takes the sunglasses off her face before scooting back. Closing her eyes, she thinks of being a basilisk again, and all these alien sensations fall away with a flood of relief. Lacie is herself again; she takes a long moment to savour it, to lounge across her sleeping pile, to listen to her scales scratch against the stone floor, to open an eye and see Alcor as a tiny figure in her field of vision.

“That looks comfy.” He says. He’s grinning, but she can barely make that out. “Darn, I should’ve moved the chair, too.”

The chair? She lifts her body, and finds the chair she’d been sitting on, crushed beneath the weight of her coils. With a little chuckle, she sweeps it out from under her, marvelling at how tiny it is - how tiny she was.

Alcor laughs, too. “Sheesh, you flattened it. I think it’ll be easier to make a new chair.”

Laying her head on the ground, she lets out a lazy snort.

“…um, when you’re ready, I mean.” He adds. “Or we can stop, if you’re tired? I can-”

She heaves herself up. Ugh, she is tired - it creeps up on her. She can’t sleep though, not when she’s so close, so fucking close to getting out of here.

“Oh, okay… are you sure? We’ve been at this a while, I really don’t mind taking a break…”

Lacie tugs at that mental link in the back of her mind, and feels herself switch back into human form again. Unlike switching the other way, this form greets her not with a flood of relief, but with a host of silly little complaints: her back hurts, the stone’s not comfy on her face, it’s cold, she’s wet, on and on and on and she just wants it all to shut up… but, she will admit, there is one thing she likes.

Alcor hoists her up on one of those tiny little chairs she’d been laughing at just a second ago, and she stares at him, and she feels awake.

Completely awake.

She can’t remember the last time her head’s felt this clear, and it’s a pity she has to spend half her human time fidgeting in a seat because otherwise it’d be amazing. Is this really how bad the energy situation had gotten down here? Wow, she really needed to get out of here, and fast.

“Hey, Lacie?” Alcor’s saying something, and she looks over at him. “So I know you said - or, uh, indicated, anyway - that you didn’t want a break…”

He pauses expectantly, and then, seeming to realise she isn’t going to follow it up with a ‘Yes?’ clears his throat.

“Right. Well, I kind of would. Like a break. If that’s okay with you.”

Lacie blinks.

“You know, we’ve been doing this for a while, and I’m thinking maybe we could do something else? You know, it could be something fun! It could be something like, um, like… oh, do you play Scrabble?”

She shakes her head.

“No? Oh, I guess that was a longshot… how bout chess? I know there’s like, online chess… no?” He frowns at her continued head-shaking. “Alright, well… What do you do for fun down here?”

Lacie thinks on that for a moment, then turns her head towards the laptop.

“Oh, your laptop? Nice, nice.” He grins at her. “I love your blog.”

Wait, her blog? He’s read that? He likes that? The surprise must be showing on her face, because Alcor starts laughing.

“Yeah, it’s hilarious! I was actually so caught up reading it, I didn’t realise you were summoning me! I love just how sarcastic it is! It’s amazing!”

Lacie blinks. Is he… gushing? Is Alcor the Dreambender gushing about her blog?

Is this her life?

“Man,” he rambles on. “that joke about a killcount, that was great. I just don’t get why it’s not more popular! Humans, they just don’t have any taste… they’re, heh, they’re too busy reading Harry Potter, amirite?”

He nudges her like he’s made some kind of clever reference, and she snorts at him. Okay, wow, demon or not, this guy really is an absolute plonker. She loves it.

“Haha, yeah! They’ve been, uh, playing Quidditch too much to read your stuff! Yeah! Or they’ve been, um… making swords? Making- I should stop now, shouldn’t I.”

With a big dumb grin on her face, she nods.

“Yep, that was getting out of hand.” Alcor rubs his neck. “I just wanted to say I really liked it a lot. It was funny.”

Lacie’s grin got even bigger.

“So, uh, you really have been down here all your life, huh? Dealing with treasure hunters-” He chuckles when she rolls her eyes. “Hah, I can imagine that’s not fun! Yeah... so, uh, have you ever been outside?”

She shakes her head. Maybe before she was old enough to remember, but that was a long, long time ago. Alcor makes a face at that.

“Yeah, yeesh. No wonder you want to get out of here, no wonder…”

He trails off, and Lacie watches his eyes go distant for a second before a thought seems to strike him; he blinks, frowns, then, slowly, he starts to grin. He turns to her again, and she raises an eyebrow at the shine in his eyes.

“Hey, Lacie,” He says. “Want me to take you on a little tour?”

#transcendence au #Lacie #fanfiction

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kamino-ink · 6 years ago

Text

Human Canvas | Bang Chan

✧ Genre: Soulmate!au, fluff, wee angst

✧ Summary: You were six years old when you got an inkling of what kind of person your soulmate is; they would draw little doodles on their arms all day, and you would draw back. But as an adult, its as if you two are at war with each other, with them covering your right arm with tattoos and you occasionally painting on your left arm for the fun of it.

✧ Word Count: 2.9k

✧ Want to read other parts of this series? Check out my masterlist!

✧

Growing up as a child in the era of booming technological advances and rising platforms of social media, it was hard not to become a member of at least one standing media presence. In your case, you were a well-known star on Instagram, showing off your strange yet classical renditions of paintings on the canvases covered with colors - or, on other occasions, your left arm.

As a child you loved to experiment with colors and silly doodles, even if you didn't have the creative capacity to paint your own designs. Your mother would frequently have to force you to take baths so she could scrub the childish splashes of color off of your arm - however on one occasion, you had noticed a little sketch of what looked to be a sad excuse of a shark on your right arm. Here’s the thing, your right hand was the only one that could paint or draw, so you had zero clue as to how or why the shark got on there.

When you’d asked your mother about it, her lips had suddenly parted as wide as the sea. “Honey, quick - write something on your arm!” She had told you, her shaking fingers handing you a blue-ink pen she had been writing with just moments ago. You didn't question her, since you were still just a kid that listened dutifully to everything your parents told you to do, and wrote out the word ‘hello.’ on your left arm.

Within seconds you felt a strange sensation on your opposite arm; when you glanced over at it in confusion, you saw red ink being scribbled onto your bare skin to spell out ‘who are you?’

That same day, your mother had the “the talk” with you - in which she explained that every single person on Earth had someone they were essentially destined to be with; no one knew why or how it came to be, but the evidence was there.

Your mother recounted on how she found her soulmate, your father, in high school. Apparently her bond was one where she could write something down, anything, on any sort of material and it would appear on the closest object (albeit reasonable) within minutes by your father. It was somewhat similar to your bond with this other kid, except if you drew something on your skin, it would appear on the same part of his body in seconds.

The boy you were bonded with, Chan, was apparently ambidextrous but preferred writing with his left hand, which was why he never doodled on the same arm as you. Within months you two had made interesting splashes of colors, silly sketches, and much more on each other’s skin.

However, as you got older, this came to be a rather pressing issue; in one of your college classes, you had been in the midst of a serious presentation when the professor cleared his throat awkwardly to signal you to stop. You’d looked over to him in confusion, as well as your giggling classmates, only to glance down at your right arm now covered in some rather... inappropriate designs. Why did you have to wear short sleeves that day?

In retaliation, you casually asked Chan what classes he took at school and when he had them; clearly he mistook your questions as just plain old curiosity, because the next day during his history class you had decided to paint a mural of bright yellows and pinks onto his skin. He was stuck with the neon colors all day, as none of his friends would lend him a jacket or coat in favor of laughing their asses off at him.

From then on it was like an all out war - he would doodle obscurities on your arm and you would stain his some ugly combination of colors. Then, one day, you’d woken up to a fucking tattoo on your right arm.

You were tempted to rant about it in a caption on a post, but decided you were better than that. Instead you took out all of your frustrations on painting your left arm with a plethora of delightful blues and yellows, creating a sort of rendition to the piece Starry Night by Van Gogh.

You snapped a picture of your artwork, feeling quite proud of yourself, and posted it on your Instagram page, it being only one of the many other art pieces you had on your page. In minutes the comments had been flooded with mostly positive remarks and a few mindful critiques, not that you minded; feedback was feedback, and all of it would hopefully further your progress as an aspiring artist.

Still, you knew that you needed to find Chan before he put even more tattoos on your body; you were a person who kind of needed to be presented as classy, and that meant no tattoos on your skin - sure you found it ridiculous, but you also didn't mind the pay you got from your job at the hospital.

“Y/N - is that, is that a tattoo?”

“For the love of - zip it, Minho!” You hiss at your amused yet stunned coworker, a fellow nurse by the name of Lee Minho. Both of you had gone through the basic stages of medical school together, and now you both happened to be some of the best nurses the hospital had seen in ages; so naturally, the two of you were rather close. “I didn't choose to have it, okay? That stupid soulmate of mine got it a few weeks ago.” You explain softly under your breath so passing doctors and nurses couldn't hear you.

Minho lets out a small noise of understanding, though his lips are still pulled into an amused smirk. “I see, I see. But why don't you just let it be seen, it's actually really cool.”

You sigh at his question, knowing he was just curious as to why you didn't want to show it off or anything. It wasn't like tattoos weren't allowed, per say, but you knew that it came off as more professional if the ink wasn't visible, no matter how cool it looked on your arm. “It’s just more professional this way, Minho. Don't get me wrong, I think the design is really interesting and beautiful, but now I have to wear long sleeves even though its hot as hell in here.”

“Fair point. So, you don't know where this Chan guys lives, or what his full name is?” The nurse asks, waving to a senior doctor that passes by you with a clipboard in hand.

“Nope.” You reply simply.

“Then why not ask him? All you need to do is write it somewhere on your arm, right?” He presses on, the curiosity eating him alive as to why you hadn't just asked your soulmate who exactly he was and where he lived so you two could actually meet each other.

You blink at him, once, twice, and then once more. “You... have a point,” you admit to the man, who is now smirking all too victoriously at you, “but - whenever I asked for his name all those years ago, he said that his nickname was Chan. I’m guessing he doesn’t like his real name or isn’t ready to find me yet.”

Minho whines at your explanation, his fingers going to the that had ridden up to expose the ink, tugging it down for you. “It wouldn’t hurt to ask now, right? I mean, you’re both adults now. There’s no way that he doesn’t want to meet you yet.”

You shrug softly to yourself, subconsciously tracing over the part of the sleeve that was covering the tattoo. While you had been ready to finally meet your soulmate, you had an odd hunch that Chan just wasn't ready, and you were afraid to accidently pressure him into it so soon.

“I’ll think about it.”

About a week later you finally decided that you really needed to find Chan, because he had gotten yet another tattoo on his arm - now along with the stunning rose covered in dark thorns just under your shoulder, there was a shorter cluster of thorny stems; it seemed like he was working towards getting a full sleeve.

It's not like you disliked the tattoos - in fact, you were amazed that you didn’t have to go through the pain or process of spending the money on the beautiful designs. You just wanted to lay out a few ground rules - like, nothing on the face... what, tons of people got face tattoos these days, you had a right to be worried about what else the guy wanted on his - and your - skin.

You’d been in the middle of scrolling through your feed, a french fry lazily resting between your lips as you nibbled on the salty snack, your eyes trained on the bright screen of your phone. Suddenly you stopped mid chew, eyes widening at what had caught your attention.

It was the same exact tattoo inked onto your right arm, except the stems had been extended towards the wrist where they wrapped around the skin to look like roots, and there were falling, wilting rose petals drifting down the sketch. Within seconds you had clicked on the suggested account’s username, waiting anxiously as it redirected you to an account run by what appeared to be a tattoo parlor. If you were right about the sleeve being an original design, then that meant there was a big possibility Chan had gotten his ink done at this particular parlor.

Furthering your investigation and completely abandoning the fries next to you, you click on the linked website in the parlor’s description, praying it wasn’t too far away.

Oh my god, you thought to yourself in a mixture of pure shock and growing excitement, staring at the directions from the map that had popped up when you allowed it to use your location, its only three miles away!

Not caring that you were still wearing loose sweatpants covered in cat hair along with a baggy, very wrinkled shirt, you literally jumped out of bed to run and slip a pair of shoes on, swinging your door open and shutting it quickly. You stared down at your phone as you hopped into your car, activating the GPS as you began your drive to the tattoo parlor.

The entire drive you felt like you were either going to puke or cry - maybe both. After all this time, after all those years of communicating through scribbles of messily written words on your skin, along with the silly drawings, you might actually be able to meet Chan... your soulmate.

When you arrived it was just another hour before it closed for the night, so you could only hope that someone working there would recognize the tattoo on your arm and be able to tell you who else got it recently. You quickly locked your car, nearly dropping your keys you were so jittery, and walked into the parlor. At the front desk there was a man with dyed blonde hair and darker brown roots, and the second you walked in he had glanced up at you with a warm, welcoming smile.

“H-hi,” you breathe out after a second of silence, still trying to catch your breath from rushing out of your house so fast, “um, weird question, but has anyone else gotten a tattoo like this recently?” You ask the receptionist, turning and lifting your sleeve so the entire piece was visible.

The man lets out a small hum, looking up at you from the desk curiously. “Our main tattoo artist designed that himself a while ago, he’s been working up to a full sleeve since about... four weeks ago, maybe?”

“Is - is his name Chan, by chance?”

“That’s his sort of nickname around here, yeah. His actual name is Chris. Are you... a friend of his?” He asks you, chuckling softly at your disheveled head of hair and red cheeks. Clearly you had been in a rush.

You shake your head at first, but remember that you are the guy’s soulmate, and technically you have known each other since you were kids - in a sense. “Is he here, right now?”

The receptionist nods again, jerking his head to a door behind the desk. “Yeah, he’s alone cleaning up right now. Go ahead.”

You send him a thankful smile, nearly stumbling into the corner of his desk as you walk slowly towards the door that is acting as the only barrier between yourself and your soulmate. Your mind is screaming at you to walk away out of sheer fear, but your heart is pounding so hard in your chest that you ignore any other thoughts racking your brain - and you walk inside.

Holy shit he’s gorgeous. Is the first thing that pops inside your head when your eyes land on the man, his right arm dotting the same tattoo on yours, his hair a pretty sort of silver color. The man raised an eyebrow at you, then glanced down at your arm as you quite literally held it out towards him.

“Um... what am I looking at?” Chan hesitates on his words, glancing back up at you in confusion. Your eyebrows furrow in wonder; was he seriously choosing now of all times to play around?

“We have the same tattoo, Chan - it’s me, Y/N!” You insist after an awkward pause, only to recoil in shock as his eyes narrow into a glare.

“Alright sweetheart, you’ve gotta be high as shit right now because I don’t see one dot of ink on that damn arm.” The artist retorts lowly, as if he was offended by your rash outburst. “I don’t believe you - Y/N would have to have my design on her arm, and you don’t.”

Your lips part in hurt, and a bit of... pride? Here Chan was, standing right before you with his arms crossed over his chest, glaring down at you because he thought you were some random chick claiming to be his soulmate.

Then it hit you.

“Um - you know what - never mind, I guess I got confused.” You apologize to the man. “Actually I came in to get a - a tattoo. I completely forgot to make an appointment, so I can come back tomorrow or-”

“Just lay down and tell me what you want, I could care less about an appointment right now. No one else is scheduled to come in.” Chan instructs and you listen, going to lie down on the leather chair. You were nuts - here you were, getting your first real tattoo just to try and prove that you were his soulmate. Were there easier ways to do so? Obviously, but the adrenaline pumping through your veins mixed with the loss of any rational thought had skewed any other possible plans to convince Chan of your identity.

“Can I get... three birds on the back of my shoulder?” You blurt out suddenly, knowing that it was a simple tattoo. Chan hums at your choice, telling you to lift your shirt off so he can prep your skin. He tells you that he has a design like that and shows it to you for approval, and you of course nod in agreement and wait for him to get everything ready.

The next thirty minutes go by as a blur, with Chan inking your left shoulder with tiny black birds and tiny details of wind and feathers. Once he’s done patching it up, you tap his arm to catch his attention.

“Can you um... look at your shoulder?” You ask him, your cheeks heating up when he snorts at you in disbelief. You’re not sure if he’s just trying to flatter you, since to him you were some weirdo who’d popped into his tattoo parlor out of nowhere for no real rhyme or reason; but he does as you suggest, walking over to a mirror hung onto the wall. He dips the hem of his shirt downward and tilts his head to see - nothing.

There wasn’t a trio of black birds on his skin.

“Holy shit - you really are Y/N, aren't you?”

You glance up at the baffled man in bewilderment, wondering how he had figured it own even though your tattoo hadn’t showed up on his shoulder.

“Didn't you... didn't you see the birds?” He questions you quickly, only to furrow his eyebrows when you shake your head slowly. “Wait - maybe, maybe we can’t see what we’ve done to the other person’s body - I’ve heard of it before, in cases like this-” The silver haired man starts to speak a mile a minute, taking short steps towards you with each rushed word that escaped his lips.

“Sometimes, when soulmates are close to each other in terms of distance, the bond acts on its own and can make a sort of - barrier, I guess? Here, look at your wrist.” He says after he’s grabbed a stray pen from his cluttered counter, doing a quick doodle on his own wrist. You flatter him, looking down to see a cute little smiley face staring back up at you - then you glance to his wrist, seeing the same exact doodle in black ink.

“You can see it, right?” You nod, too shocked to speak. You had finally found him, your actual soulmate.

Chan lets the pen drop to the floor and wraps his arms around your body tightly, pulling you into his chest.

“You found me, Y/N.”

✧

A/N - thanks, I hate it! :)

#skzwriters #stray kids au #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids drabbles #stray kids #stray kids soulmate au #bang chan #chan soulmate au #chan scenario #chan imagine #stray kids angst #stray kids fluff

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theepitomeofamess · 6 years ago

Text

this isn’t a vent fic this isn’t a vent fic this isn’t-

this might be a vent fic. one that i did on impulse and that turned out way longer than i expected.

Analogical (can be read as platonic or romantic) w/ implied Royality

Trigger warnings: talk of depression, suicidal thoughts, anxiety, some cursing

Word count: 4358

ao3 link

“Hi, do you guys have any walk-ins available?”

“Yeah, but I’ll warn you,” the receptionist turned to a drawer full of clipboards, pulling one out, “there are three people waiting ahead of you.”

“That’s fine. Thank you.” Logan smiled as he took the clipboard, finding a seat in the small waiting room. A barrier stood between the main waiting area and a strip of computers against the wall meant for student sign-ins, but he didn’t know that yet. He’d never done this before. Seeing two chairs situated adjacent to the computers, nestled between the partial wall and an end table with a lamp and pamphlets adorning it, Logan decided it was best to keep himself away from prying eyes. Of course, sitting with the majority of other patients would probably draw less of a gaze, the barrier made him feel safer nonetheless.

He’d wandered in at maybe twelve thirty, just after his second class of the day. He’d been on his way to his dorm to work on the homework for his next class, but he must have taken a wrong turn somewhere. He found himself asking directions to the counseling center from the receptionist downstairs instead of hoping to avoid an interaction with one of his more conversational suitemates. He’d always known where the health center was - he’d made a point of memorizing where it was in relation to his dorm and each of his classes every semester, just in case he got unreasonably sick - but he never thought that he’d go there. Or if he did, he would stay on the first floor.

He thought about leaving more than once. How hard would that be? Just walk out and pretend like nothing had happened. His dorm wasn’t far. Why couldn’t he just leave?

He would have left if there wasn’t a twenty-five dollar no-show fee. He just couldn’t afford that. Not right then.

It was one ten when a soft voice called his name from the space leading back into the hallway of offices. Quicker than he’d expected. There had been plenty of time for his hands to stop shaking, his stomach to stop churning, his shoulders to unwind. Somehow, though, they kept going.

The man was young, probably one of the graduate students that the center had working in order to prepare them practically. He wore a pastel pink button-down under a light brown cardigan, had round-framed glasses, and carried himself with a posture that on anybody else would have come off as cocky, but on him only radiated welcome.

“We’re gonna come right in here,” he gestured to a room, and Logan entered. “If you would take a seat.” Logan did. “My name’s Emile. I want you to know that I am a graduate trainee. These sessions are recorded, and if you would please sign this consent form so that we know that you’re okay with working with a graduate trainee. If you’re not, then you will be transferred to another professional for your following appointments.” Emile held another clipboard with forms to Logan.

At any other moment, Logan would have laughed at the thought of another appointment. He couldn’t bring himself to laugh. He just nodded and signed the form, consenting to working with Emile despite his lack of experience.

“Thank you,” Emile took back the clipboard. “So, why don’t you tell me what brought you in today?”

“I-” Logan cleared his throat, forcing his vocal chords to work. “I need to get screened for depression.” The words still came out as a croak. Emile scribbled something on his clipboard.

“Can you tell me why that is?” Logan looked at the foot of the chair Emile was sitting on. He could feel his throat protesting the thought of speech. He hoped that the brim of his hat he’d worn to keep the rain off his glasses was also working to hide the reddening in his face.

“Do you know the site 7 Cups?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I talked to two listeners on there, and they both said the same thing. It was effectively, ‘yes, you have depression, seek help.’” He could still remember the exact words of one of the listeners, username GreenTeaInsomniac533: “Honey, that’s depression, please talk to someone.”

“And why do you think they said that? I mean, what did you tell them that made them think that?”

“I…” Logan cleared his throat again, determined not to let himself go. Emile didn’t deserve that. Emile was a stranger, just trying to help. Emile didn’t deserve to see him fall apart. “It’s just this… lack… of anything? I’m sorry, I’m not good at explaining things.” Logan lowered his head further, his elbows on his knees and his back hunched. “And I’m always tired - like, in my head, I know that I’m not tired, but then my head and body are so heavy and just screaming ‘Sleeeeeep.’ And… and I’ve started skipping classes in order to just get five more minutes in bed, and my grades are going down because I can’t get up the energy to do work outside of class and…” Logan should have stopped himself there. “And there is a history of mental illness in my family. It’s mainly anxiety, but that and depression tend to go hand-in-hand.”

“Did you come here on their recommendation,” Emile asked after waiting for further explanation, his light scribbling turning frenzied before calming again.

“God, no,” Logan scoffed, finally picking his head up. The look that it got from Emile begged for an explanation that would satisfy him. “Here’s the thing.” Another clear of the throat, another internal plea to not break down. “For so long, I have seemed to be the only somewhat mentally stable person in my family. Like I said, they all have issues of their own, and they’re pretty major. My friends have those kinds of issues, too. Panic attacks, family issues, depression, you name it I probably know somebody who’s got it. I’ve been the only one that nobody’s had to worry about, the only one-” Logan cursed to himself as his voice shattered and a tear fell behind his glasses. “I’m the only one that’s been consistently stable and- and if I’m not… if I’m not stable, then…”

“You feel like if you’re not there to be stable, then everyone will fall apart.” Logan could only nod, taking off his glasses and pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes, praying that that would stop the crying. “There are tissues next to you if you need them.” Chancing a glance up, Logan took a Kleenex from the box. “That’s a lot to carry on your own.”

“And it’s so hypocritical,” Logan laughed, putting his glasses back on even though he was still actively crying. “I’m the rant receiver for all of my friends and family, and every time they start to apologize for venting to me, I tell them ‘It’s fine. You shouldn’t have to carry all that on your own.’” Logan hated the way his voice kept breaking, refusing to sound normal, but he couldn’t just sit there and cry until it was over, because then he would have to start talking again and it would start over. “I’m- I’m sorry, I don’t… I never do this, I don’t…”

“Never do what?”

“Just,” Logan gestured out with his arms, his hands focusing near his face, “this. It’s just… the fact that I’m admitting this, admitting that I can’t… that I need help, it’s just…”

“Yeah, it’s very overwhelming.” Emile’s voice was hypnotic to say the least, comforting and warm enough to the point that it could be called a sleeping draught. “ And it’s a lot easier to be nice to other people than to be nice to ourselves.”

“Hell of a lot easier,” Logan muttered, leaning back on the couch and crossing his legs so his ankle rested on his knee.

“Can I ask, just to get more of a gauge, about your past thoughts of suicide?” Logan took a deep, trembling breath.

“Define suicidal thoughts.” Emile nodded, writing something down. “Because I don’t actively contemplate killing myself, it just sort of happens. It’s like, those intrusive thoughts where your brain is like ‘You should walk out into traffic and get hit by a car’ and you just think ‘no, why the fuck would I’- I’m sorry, I don’t know how cursing works with the recording, I’m sorry.”

“No, no, you’re fine.” Emile waved his hand, assuring Logan that he was fine.

Logan calmed down eventually. A few more questions and he found himself with a steady voice and relatively dry eyes. He kept his hat low over his eyes, but he knew that Emile could see him, even if he was shadowed. He answered all of Emile’s questions as well as he could given that he couldn’t feel himself thinking. Questions about substance abuse, self-harm, how he’d been dealing with these feelings up to this point (he hadn’t) and who his support system was. For that last question, he wanted to list off his closest friends, the ones that he knew wanted the best for him because they wouldn’t let him forget it, but since none of them knew he couldn’t list any of them. So he said no one.

“I just want you to know,” Emile brought up as the session came to a close, “that you should really be proud of yourself for coming in. It takes a lot of strength to admit to needing help, especially when you’ve gotten so used to carrying yourself and others for so long. I know that this was overwhelming, but I am so proud of you for coming in, and I really hope that you’re proud of yourself.”

Logan was too exhausted to do anything but smile, and the session was coming to a close so he couldn’t bring up how he wasn’t proud and how the positivity didn’t help, however gentle it was. He got positivity in massive doses every day from staying on the right end of Tumblr, and that never helped either. If anything, it made it worse.

“Here’s some information on the events we have going on here. My personal favorite is Thursdays when we have a session of using art as an outlet - a different kind of art pretty much every week, if we can manage it. And,” he took a business card off the end table, writing something on the back of it, “if you’ll take this to the front desk we’ll get you set up for your next appointment.”

Logan felt his brain protesting against the thought of a ‘next appointment.’ He didn’t need a next appointment. He’d hardly needed this walk-in. He was wasting this poor guy’s time, probably not doing anything to help his graduate work. This poor guy with the reassuring smile, voice gentler than any he’d ever heard, and lively eyes that glowed with a wish to make at least one person’s day a little better. This poor guy that didn’t think Logan was wasting his time.

“Okay, your next appointment is in two weeks,” the receptionist wrote a date on the card, “and either nine-thirty or eleven-thirty.”

“Nine thirty,” Logan agreed. The receptionist finished putting in the appointment and handed Logan back the card through the window. Logan thought that he heard someone say his name behind him, but he ignored it. “Thank you. Have a good day.” Just as he was turning away to leave, Logan felt a hand on his shoulder.

“L?”

Logan turned around on instinct, but wished he hadn’t. Now Virgil could see his puffy eyes, his reddened cheeks. That would have been bad enough, but the unadulterated worry pouring from Virgil was enough to make Logan want to break down again. He wouldn’t - he didn’t have it in him to do that again - but he couldn’t stand the concern, the stress for him. Logan bowed his head, the brim of his hat preventing him from seeing Virgil, Virgil from seeing him.

“Please don’t tell anyone.” The words were just barely loud enough for Virgil to catch.

“Virgil?” An older counselor - probably one of the actual professionals - stepped out with a file in hand.

“Just a second, Joan,” Virgil smiled over his shoulder before turning back to Logan, leaning down just enough to see Logan’s face under the brim of his hat. “I promise I won’t tell anyone. If you go back to my place and I meet you there after this, will you tell me anything about it?” Virgil knew Logan already had a key to his apartment - he’d given one to each of his friends just in case they needed a safe space or he needed them and wouldn’t let them in.

“I can’t make any promises,” Logan finally muttered.

“That’s okay. Will you at least go back to my place?” Logan nodded. “Great. I’ll meet you there.” Before turning to his counselor, Virgil wrapped his arms around Logan, squeezing him around the shoulders.

Logan was bigger than Virgil - both taller and broader - but in that moment he felt so small, he was curled so far in on himself that he couldn’t tell that he was the bigger one. He felt even smaller by the face that Virgil still rarely hugged anyone. The only one Logan had ever seen him hug was Patton, and that was because Patton always initiated. Logan allowed himself a deep breath, deflating into Virgil for a moment before they separated.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can, okay?” Virgil smiled gently at Logan, reassurance radiating from his features.

Logan nodded in response to Virgil’s promise. Turning over his shoulder, Logan assumed that Virgil had done the same. He didn’t know that Virgil had watched him out the door before going back with Joan. He was too tired to think, had too much of a headache to wonder. He just wandered to the elevator, keeping his shoulders back as best he could so that if he ran into somebody else on the way to Virgil’s apartment, they wouldn’t be suspicious. At least, not as long as they didn’t look at his face.

Virgil asked Joan if they could cut their session shorter than usual. Joan accepted, however reluctantly, letting Virgil go a quarter of an hour earlier than they would have otherwise liked. Virgil got back to his apartment as quickly as he could. He hadn’t been able to get the image of Logan’s face out of his head. Puffy, red-rimmed eyes, flushed cheeks, crumpled in on himself, horrified and desperate. He could still hear Logan practically begging - something that had impossible to imagine Logan doing up until this moment - for him to not tell anyone.

He wasn’t sure what he expected when he got back to his apartment. Maybe he’d expected an immediate explanation, for Logan to have been pacing the entire time he was there just waiting to give Virgil a reason he was there that would ease his nerves. Maybe he’d expected Logan to be sitting at the table with his laptop open, distracting himself with homework or projects or something. Maybe he’d expected a note on the coffee table, telling Virgil that he needed coffee and he went out to get some and would be right back.

Whatever he’d been expecting, it hadn’t been Logan completely unconscious, crashed on his couch.

Of course, that shouldn’t have been surprising. From the looks of it, Logan had been through an emotional ordeal, something that Logan - to say the least - wasn’t used to.

Sighing to himself, Virgil pulled a blanket from the lounger on the other side of the room and tucked it over Logan. He took the skewed glasses from Logan’s face so they wouldn’t bend, folding them and setting them on the coffee table. He noticed how messy Logan’s hair was when he took his glasses off. Messy and filthy, like he hadn’t taken the chance to wash it in days, maybe a week. Virgil swallowed against the thought - Logan, who always preached self-care and basic hygiene, not washing his hair for days. Virgil pulled the blanket further up to Logan’s shoulders. Logan was so out that he didn’t react to the changes. Virgil wasn’t about to change that. He wasn’t about to wake Logan up.

Going to his table where he has his drawing pad was still set up from last night - this morning? - Virgil sat down and set to work. Drawing always helped time go by faster for him, and hopefully he could be productive in some capacity while Logan recovered.

He didn’t know what he was drawing until he’d drawn it. A robot - gears and screws and metal and all - with its head bowed. A shadow fell over its face, but that didn’t hide the human eyes welled with tears, bloodshot, the streaks down its face revealing skin underneath the metal. Its mouth was contorted in a shape it wasn’t meant to take, cracking the metal around it to reveal more skin, its human teeth gritted. He was hugging himself, hands holding the metal plating on his arms in place while they tried to peel away, to reveal the trembling self underneath. Virgil labelled the file “Please don’t tell anyone” and he almost hated himself for it.

Virgil had just finished making himself a pot of coffee when he saw Logan sit up on the couch. He looked around, confused by the blanket that he hadn’t put over himself and the glasses that he hadn’t taken off. It was only after he put on his glasses that he recognized Virgil in the kitchen.

“You want some,” Virgil offered, pouring sugar into his coffee as he watched Logan stand and stretch from the couch.

“No, thank you.” Picking up the blanket, Logan folded it how he knew Virgil liked it. “I should get going. Thank you for letting me crash for a bit, but-”

“L,” Virgil stopped him. “I’m not going to make you tell me what happened. I’m not going to make you stay here. But I don’t want you do be alone right now. And I don’t think that you want to be alone.” Logan bit the inside of his cheek, lowering his eyes to avoid feeling Virgil’s - concern? Caring? Whatever it was - full force.

“In that case,” Logan muttered, setting the folded blanket on the couch and strolling to the kitchen, “I guess a cup wouldn’t hurt.” Virgil offered a smile, getting down a mug for Logan. It was his favorite, the one that he always used, the one that said “I have the vocabulary of a well-educated sailor” on the side.

Logan did end up telling Virgil some of why he’d gone to the counseling center, but not before he made him swear not to tell anyone, especially not Patton or Roman. They would never look at him the same way. Patton would end up thinking that he had to tread lightly until Logan proved to him otherwise, and Roman… well, as far as Logan could tell, Roman would never let him live it down. It would come up in every argument, every pointless spat. He was sure of it.

He didn’t cry again. Maybe because he didn’t go nearly as deep, or maybe because he’d already cried himself into a stupor, or maybe it was because Virgil was probably his best friend and as much as a stranger like Emile didn’t deserve to deal with a sobbing mess, Virgil deserved it even less. Maybe it was the coffee and the familiarity of the space. Maybe it was the calming effect that Virgil managed to have on him - as much as Emile’s was comforting and opening, Virgil’s energy made it where Logan didn’t shake with every thought.

“I’m sorry,” he finally concluded. “I don’t want you to have to carry this with you. Just forget I-”

“Logan,” Virgil set a hand on Logan’s shoulder. “Do you remember what you did when you figured out about my anxiety and tried to tell you to not worry about it? You kept being the stubborn jackass you are and learned everything you could about what sets me off, what to do if I have an attack, everything. You sat with me through I don’t know how many attacks, and you full on screamed at that teacher junior year for trying to make me present while I was having a panic attack.” Logan chuckled at the memory, coaxing a matching smile from Virgil. “You got suspended for that, and you didn’t care because, y’know what? You care about me. And y’know what? I care about you. So if I have to scream someone down for you, I will. I’m here for you no matter what, bud. Whether you like it or not. And I know that that doesn’t feel right right now, I know that it probably doesn’t help. I know that you’re probably thinking that you don’t want to be a burden. You’re not. I can promise you that. You’ve been here for me for years. If you think I haven’t been ready to do the same for you since we met, you’re dumber than I thought.” Virgil heard the huff of a smile before he felt Logan lean to the side, laying his head against Virgil’s.

“Thanks.” The word came out with more breath than voice. There was so much relief that Virgil wanted to apologize for ever making Logan think that he would be anything but supportive of him.

They didn’t move for a while. Virgil heard his phone binging and knew that it would be Patton or Roman or both. They were probably on their way over. After all, it was Friday night. Netflix and pizza night. Logan was in the bathroom washing his face when they arrived.

“Woah, Virge,” Roman gasped. Virgil looked up from the Domino’s app to find Roman gawking at his laptop. Shit. “This is beautiful. When’d you do that?”

“Last night,” Virgil lied. Patton stepped behind Roman, his jaw dropping at the sight of the drawing.

“Kiddo, that’s amazing!”

“Thanks, guys.” Virgil saved the file again before closing it and his laptop.

“Is it an original character, or something?”

“Yeah.” Leave it to Patton to come up with an explanation Virgil could latch on to. “Haven’t fleshed him out completely, though. That’s my first one of him.”

“Well, let me know as soon as you have more,” Roman requested. “I might need to use that for some writing inspiration.”

“Will do. That is, assuming I don’t abandon him like every other one.” Roman chuckled and the conversation dissipated into Logan asking what they wanted to watch this time. Roman reminded them that the new season of Queer Eye was up, so it was a pretty easy choice.

The night went on as easily as ever. Logan had pulled a complete one-eighty from his state earlier that afternoon. He was bickering with Roman, smiling reluctantly at Patton’s jokes, excusing his still puffy eyes as pulling another late night, putting on a perfect act as though he hadn’t completely fallen apart mere hours earlier. Virgil could relate, but he couldn’t quite understand it. Everything was normal, from the way he took the pepperonis off his pizza to give Patton to the way he only replied with “I’m gay” when Roman asked him why he was sitting on the floor, back pressed to the front of the lounger where Virgil was curled up, when there was plenty of space for him on the couch where Roman and Patton were.

Virgil kept an extra close eye on Logan, though not in any way obvious enough for anybody to really take notice. He watched his patterns, trying to piece together his everyday mannerisms with the collapse earlier. He told himself that Logan probably felt like he was just going through the motions. He watched how Roman teased him, only for him to tease back in a way that suddenly sounded half-hearted. He didn’t envy Patton and Roman’s ignorance. Even though it might’ve been easier to be in their shoes, still completely clueless to what was happening with Logan, it wouldn’t have been better for him. He was so glad he knew. So glad that he could understand a bit more why Logan fell asleep again, the side of his face pressed against the leg Virgil let dangle from the lounger, his nose just against Virgil’s knee.

“Must’ve been more than one all-nighter,” Patton theorized through a marble cookie brownie. Virgil nodded in agreement, not taking his eyes off Logan. For the second time that afternoon, Virgil took Logan’s glasses from his face so they wouldn’t bend. Absentmindedly, Virgil tucked his fingers into Logan’s hair, running the strands between his fingers. He was the only one that heard the soft sound of contentment in Logan’s throat, the only one that felt Logan press his face closer into Virgil’s leg. Virgil couldn’t decide whether his heart was breaking or living, but it was doing something.

None of them moved. None of them ever moved. They all fell asleep in their spots, Patton and Roman tangled together on the couch, Virgil a perfect ball in the lounger except for the leg Logan was using as a pillow. Nobody got up until around eight-thirty, when Roman and Patton both stirred. They got up to get Starbucks for all four of them, but not before Roman got a picture of Virgil and Logan, adding the picture in an album called “Proof that these two idiots are in love.”

By the time they got back, Logan was up and moving. They found him cleaning the coffee pot of yesterday’s contents, having already put the leftover pizza and cookie brownies in Ziplocks and in the fridge. Virgil was still curled up in the chair. Patton smiled at the sight.

“You’re real determined to take care of him, huh,” he asked Logan in a whisper. Logan only smiled, grabbing a cloth to dry the coffee pot. He had no intention of telling Patton that compared to how Virgil had taken care of him yesterday, a clean coffee pot was nothing. Not yet, anyway.

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winterisakiller · 6 years ago

Text

Love & Great Buildings - Chapter Sixteen

Chapter: 16/19

Character/Relationship: Tom Hiddleston/Rosemary Mathews (OFC)

Genre: Romance/Angst

Summary: Three years have passed and a chance encounter brings Tom and Rosie together again. Can time make any difference or are they doomed to repeat their mistakes.

Rating: T

Author’s Notes/Warnings: This is part nine of Last Minutes and Lost Evenings. Many thanks to @redfoxwritesstuff for listening to me ramble incessantly about this story and being a sounding board when I needed it. You are a lifesaver, even if your stories break my heart.

This story and its preceding one-shots can be also be found on AO3 under the username winterisakiller (sparkinside)

Tag List: @tinchentitri @noplacelikehome77 @theheartofpenelope

Previous Chapter

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

It wasn’t that Rosemary purposely chose to not speak with Tom over the past week; she’d had every intention of reaching out to him even if just to hear his voice and make sure he was really alright. She knew his schedule would be demanding and that he would most likely run himself very near ragged. That was just how he was with work, or at least how he had been in years past. She didn’t think much would have changed in that respect…It was just that time and circumstance seemed to get away with her. Between the shops, planning her mother’s birthday with a busy aunt and a loving but admittedly scattered father, and now Adam’s reappearance in her life, she’d been struggling to keep everything in balance. She had told herself, time and time again, that once things settled she would make herself sit and call him. She had promised and Tom deserved at least that much of her.

She had done a fair bit of thinking since he’d left; hadn’t stopped since he’d walked out the door early that Friday morning if she was being completely honest with herself. She hadn’t been able to sleep that night, her mind replaying all that had happened, screaming at her to do something, say something, anything at all. She cursed herself for the way she had panicked, her clumsy refusal, and for the way she had pled for more time. She felt like the worst sort of person; playing with his emotions, leading him on. She hadn’t meant to, had been trying everything she could not to do so. She knew how that felt, knew the pain and anguish it caused and regardless of their past, she couldn’t do that to him; to anyone.

And by Sunday morning a cool, certain sense of resolve had settled upon her. She would call him, talk with him, let him know what was going on in her head. He deserved that much. The only hitch, as far as she could see other than the sheer nerve it would take but that was thought for a different time, was figuring out when to call. She hadn’t a clue where in the world Tom was, not specifically; he hadn’t gone into great detail and she hadn’t bothered to ask. The last thing she wanted to do was call him during the middle of his night and mess up what little sleep he would manage to scrounge together. But it was a risk she would have to take. She knew she couldn’t put this off. Not any longer. It wouldn’t be fair to either of them.

Rosemary had been utterly distracted the entirety of the day, torn between worry of just what she was going to say and dredging up the nerve to actually pick up the phone and dial. As each hour passed she told herself she would try during the next one; on and on and on until the day was all but spent and she had nothing to show for it. She hated how she was hesitating; even knowing what she needed to do couldn’t seem to force her hand. She was a coward of the worst sort.

Her uncertainty bled heavily into the next morning and she felt as though she had been all but useless to Jules and to the shop. Rosemary couldn’t seem to focus on anything at all and it was driving her out of her mind with frustration. She needed to talk to Tom but making herself do so was another matter entirely. But it wasn’t something she could put off, not if she wanted to have any chance of keeping him in her life. And she knew with a certainty that she needed him in her life.

But when the door opened and Adam’s voice called her name everything else had fled from her mind. He was there. After nearly a year of nothing he was suddenly there. Why was he there? Why now? She couldn’t make sense of it, could barely think. She’d stood, frozen in shock and confusion as Adam slowly made his way towards the counter and towards her. His smile was soft, hesitant, and unsure. And when she studied his face she could see the same emotions swirling in his eyes. Neither spoke for what felt like an age and Rosemary could feel Jules’ eyes on them both.

Adam was the first to break. “I…I’m glad I caught you here…It’s been…God, forever. How are you?”

She had to fight the urge to laugh aloud. That was a loaded question if she’d ever heard one. Rosemary, instead, smiled at him. She really was, in truth, glad to see him. Despite the pain she’d felt at losing him, losing them, she had missed simply being able to talk with him about stupid, silly things. He’d been such an important part of her life…And then he had just been gone. It had been their decision, his and hers, a clean break for all intents and purposes. And it had made sense. Both were hurting and both knew that with the way things stood, they wouldn’t have worked. Keeping in contact would have only prolonged their pain. She knew that but that didn’t mean it hadn’t hurt. Or that she hadn’t grieved the loss of what they were and what they could have been.

Rosemary shot a quick look at Jules, who nodded seeming to understand her silent question, and turned, motioning Adam to follow behind her. They walked in silence from the main floor into the backroom and what used to be her office. Once they were inside, Rosemary closed the door and turned to face him. He sat, half leaning on the side of the desk. His hair was a touch shorter than she remembered but still the dark, familiar shade she could so easily remember running her fingers through whenever the mood had taken her. His eyes were still piercing though now she could see uncertainty and discomfort shining in them. It mirrored her own in a way she found disconcerting. He was dressed well; dark linen slacks and a light grey button up, the first two buttons left undone. If he’d worn a jacket that day, it was nowhere to be found. He looked…Wonderful.

“Sorry,” she started, turning her gaze from him briefly. “I didn’t think this was a conversation either of us particularly wanted an audience for.”

Adam chuckled nervously and shook his head. “Most definitely,” he agreed.

Rosemary took a deep breath and raised her eyes to his once again. “I…Adam, what are you doing here?” The question had been slamming around her brain since she turned to find him standing in the doorway, staring at her.

He laughed softly. “A conference, actually. I arrived mid last week and have been running round ever since. We have a free day today and I just…I wanted to see you.” The honesty in his voice struck something in her. She found herself smiling softly at him in return. “I didn’t mean to surprise you like that….I just, well you’ve been on my mind lately and when I heard I was coming back…I just…I knew I had to at least stop in. I know things ended between us but I still consider you an important part of my life.”

“I…” Rosemary started, not quite sure what to say in response. What could she say? She’d missed him too. He’d been a very large part of her life and it had taken her months to get over the loss of their relationship and their friendship. It had been an uphill battle but one she thought she just may have conquered and now... “It’s been over a year, Adam…Why...” she paused to clear her throat. “Why now?”

She watched as the cascade of emotions played across his face. Confusion. Remorse. Regret. Longing. Cautious hope. He swallowed thickly before opening his mouth to respond. “Because I didn’t know how…After all of the time that passed, I wasn’t sure how to pick up the phone and say that I missed you. And when I got the email about this conference I jumped at the chance to get to come home. To see my family…And to try to see you.”

“And how are your parents? And Grace?” She’d never been particularly close with Adam’s parents, or his sister for the matter, though they had always been cordial enough. She had liked them, gotten on well at family gatherings, but hadn’t grown particularly close to them. And after they had split, Rosemary hadn’t seen the sense in trying.

“They’re well as far as I know,” He answered with a small smile. “Grace got married about three months back. She and Graham are expecting their first around Christmas.”

The smile that spread across her face was genuine. She’d like both Adam’s sister and her fiancé and was tremendously pleased to see that things were going well with them. “That’s wonderful. I remember she and Graham getting engaged but I hadn’t realized that they’d married. I bet you’re excited to be an uncle.”

Adam nodded, “Very much so…I’m actually meeting up with them and my parents for a late lunch in about…” He trailed off and glanced quickly at his watch. “Damn. In half an hour. Shit, I absolutely hate to have to do this but if I don’t leave now I’ll be dreadfully late and I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Rosemary waved it off. “Don’t fret, I completely understand and I remember well enough.” They both laughed at that.

Once the laughter had died down, Adam pulled out his wallet and quickly plucked a card from it. “Here.” Rosemary took the proffered card, turning it over in her hand. She saw his name and job title embossed on the front along with two telephone numbers, US and UK. “I’d like to get lunch sometime this week, if you can. Just to catch up. Those are my numbers; please can you call me tonight so we can try to arrange something?”

She nodded silently and then, without thinking, snuck past him and grabbed a piece of scratch paper and a pen. She quickly scribbled her own number and handed it to Adam without ceremony. “Here’s mine. Just in case.” She watched the careful smile spread across his face as he stared quickly at the paper before pocketing it. “I’ll call you later.”

Adam nodded silently and then, with only a slight hesitation, gathered her into his arms for a brief embrace. He smelled the same, she noted abstractly; woodsy with just a hint of smoke. She’d always loved that scent. “Talk to you later,” he whispered into her hair before pulling back and heading out towards the main floor of the store.

With a groan, Rosemary settled herself onto the corner of the desk. Her head was spinning with confusion and a mix of emotion that she didn’t dare try to place. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh or cry at the absurdity of it all. She settled for staring at the card in her hand, turning it over and over again in her hand.

“Knock, knock.”

Rosemary’s head shot up to find Jules standing in the doorway, a knowing smile on her face. “Do you need…Is everything okay out there?”

Jules nodded, “Yeah. We’re fine…Are you alright? I saw Adam leave and when you didn’t come out…”

“I’m fine,” she insisted, offering a shaky smile. “Just trying to make sense of it all.”

She watched Jules eyes narrow slightly but she appeared to think better of whatever she’d be about to say, only nodding. “Well,” she stated after several long moments of silence. “Whenever you’re ready come on back out. I’ve got a box of magazines that need to be put away with your name on it.”

Rosemary snorted, tucking the card into the side pocket of her jeans. “You do remember that technically speaking I am your boss.”

Jules cackled in amusement. “Details. Details.”

With a roll of her eyes, Rosemary got back to her feet and followed Jules back out into the main storefront. She grumbled good-naturedly as Jules pointed at the box of magazines and started the tedious task of unboxing and placing them on their respective shelves. It was busy work but with the way her head had been spinning it was a welcome reprieve.

The rest of the day was, thankfully, calmer. Once the magazines had been stocked, Rosemary flitted back and forth around the store, completing whatever task she could get her hands on. Anything to keep her occupied. If Jules noticed, and knowing Jules, Rosemary was dead certain she had, she made no comment on it; simply watching with a knowing eye. Rosemary had felt a sense of relief leaving the shop that evening. She could go home, collapse on her bed, or more realistically the couch, and just breathe.

The commute home was pleasant enough for a Monday evening’s rush hour. True she was cramped and crowded, but then so was everyone else. The chaos of it was in itself a comfort. Somethings remained blissfully normal and she could sorely use a bit of normality. The evening air was warm as she made her way from the tube station towards her building.

Rosemary could feel the business card burning a hole in her pocket as she made quick work of the main door lock and dropped bag and keys onto the entryway table. Sighing wearily, she pulled the card out of her pocket, flipping it idly between her fingers. She promised to call Adam, and he’d looked so hopeful, but what on earth could she say to him? When he’d left, when they had ended, she had assumed that that was it. She’d grieved the loss of what she had hoped would have been her future and had worked to pull herself back up and to start to move on. Seeing him again opened wounds she had thought healed, or at least were well in the process of doing so.

She stared at the card in her hand. Adam had certainly thrown her for a loop and she found herself cycling through joy, grief, and confusion at the thought of him being so near. She’d missed him, she couldn’t deny that. But what did missing him mean? For him? For her?...For Tom? The color drained from her face.

Damn. Damn. Double damn.

A loud blaring from her purse drove Rosemary from her thoughts. Her phone, she realized with a breathless laugh, it was her phone. She ran quickly back to the table and dug it out from amongst the chaos of her bag. She glanced at the screen, seeing a number she hadn’t recognized. A brief flicker of hope bloomed in her chest. Maybe it’s Tom…

She swiped to answer, pulling the device quickly to her ear. “Hello?”

“Rose, its Adam.”

She fought to ignore the brief flash of disappointment that raced through her. “Adam,” she breathed, “Hi…I was going to call you…”

His soft laughter cut her off, “Its fine, love. I just got settled back in my hotel room and thought I’d call instead.” He paused and she heard a muffled shuffling from the other end of the line. “How have you been? You never did answer earlier.” His tone was calm, reassuringly free of judgement or insistence.

Rosemary cleared her throat. “I’ve been busy,” she answered honestly. “With the second location and trying to juggle the two. We opened it in January and it’s been a bit of a whirlwind. But it’s been good. Stressful, but good.” So much else had happened though and she wasn’t sure how to even begin to bring it up; or if he had any desire to hear it. Realizing she had been quiet a touch too long she continued on. “How about you? How have you been?”

Adam chuckled, “I’ve been well. Busy, like you. God, they’ve been running me ragged but it’s been worth it. I’ve learned so much.” He took a breath and laughed before continuing. “The food there is terrible though. Lots of deep fried mess, smothered in gravy. It’s insane what these people drown their food in.”

Rosemary chuckled in response. “So that explains how you’ve kept your figure.” The joke fell from her lips unbidden and she bit then, cursing herself. Too familiar. It was both too late for such things and far, far too soon.

But if Adam had felt uncomfortable he’d hidden it well. “That and running around like a mad man hopped on caffeine and stress. I may have stuffed myself silly at lunch though, it’s been far too long since I’ve been able to have a proper meal.”

A silence fell between them and Rosemary found herself pacing the living room, unsure what to say to break it. She finally settled herself onto the couch, curling her legs beneath her, and bit absentmindedly at her thumb nail. Why did this have to be so awkward?

“So…” Adam started.

“So…” She echoed.

He laughed. “I’m pretty much free in the afternoon on Wednesday…Would you be able to meet…For lunch, perhaps? Nothing fancy, just somewhere we can sit and talk.” He paused, an uncertainty creeping into his voice. “Or we could go for a coffee…Whatever you’d be more comfortable with.”

She took a deep breath, trying to sort through her own cloud of emotions. She wanted to meet with him, wanted the chance to really catch up. Coffee would work well for that but she could hear in his voice just how much Adam had wanted it to be a meal they shared and talked over. And she didn’t want to deny him that. “Lunch sounds wonderful. Do you have a particular place in mind or do you just want to swing by the shop and we can pick from there?”

Adam paused for a long moment, clearly thinking it over. “I’ll meet you there and we can figure it out.”

“Sounds like a plan.” She heard him yawn alarmingly. “Adam, you sound completely knackered. Why don’t I let you go and you try and get some sleep.”

He stumbled through a garbled protest before seeming to give up the ghost. “Fine, you win.” Another yawn broke through and she fought to echo one in sympathy. “I’ll call you Wednesday before I head over, alright?”

“Alright. Speak soon.” She dropped the phone on the couch beside after hanging up and shifted to pull her knees to her chest. For good or ill, it was done. Now all she had to do was wait and see what would come of it. Rosemary let out a sigh and glanced once more at her phone. Tom. God, she needed to call Tom. She could feel the chaotic emotions storming through her at the thought and knew that at that time there was no way she could get through the kind of phone call she needed to have with him. Not now. Tomorrow, she told herself. She would call him tomorrow, once she was more in balance, and try to sort out whatever there was between them for good or ill. Please for good, she found herself thinking. Please, please for good.

But the next day came and went in a blur of activity and confusion. Hanna had called in the morning, the shippers had messed up again and no matter how she had ranted and complained, they wouldn’t listen to her. So she had called Rosemary, hoping that her authority could fix the mess. It had been a stressful day of constant phone tag and very near screaming matches. By the time she had gotten everything sorted, it was very near nightfall and she still hadn’t called Tom; but there was little she could do of it now. She cursed herself and stared determinedly at her phone. She could text him, just to say hello but that seemed…wrong somehow; like cheating. So she hadn’t and she fell into bed that night trying to stamp down the guilt she felt at her cowardly behavior.

Wednesday morning dawned rainy but warm. She’d dressed quickly and puttered around her flat, nursing a cup of strong coffee. She was a ball of barely contained nervous energy; she could feel it vibrating through her skin. She’d called Hanna to see if her sorting from the day before had helped but hadn’t received a response yet. Probably wouldn’t for another hour or so, once the morning affairs had been straightened out. Fair enough. She’d also sent Jules a quick text, saying she’d be swinging by mid-morning and if there were any concerns to let her know then.

How she had managed to hold herself together for those hours between waking and when she deemed it a safe enough time to venture out to Stories she’d never know. The commute was pleasant enough, the train hadn’t been as crowded as she’d come to expect and she’d made good time walking from the station to the shop. She’d been greeted by Max as she entered the shop. He offered her a smile and waved towards the door of the storeroom. “Jules is back in the office,” he pointed out before turning back to the stack of magazines he was sorting through.

Rosemary offered me a quick thank you before hurrying back towards the storeroom. She found Jules, head bent over the desk and red hair falling into her eyes. She knocked politely on the door frame before entering. Jules head shot up at the sound. “Well hey there stranger.”

“Hey yourself.” She settled into the available chair and folded her hands in her lap, her foot bouncing nervously against the floor. “So what do you have for me?”

Jules laughed and shook her head. “If you’re that anxious for paper work, god help you if you are, you can get to work helping sort through these.” She shoved a stack of papers at Rosemary who took him greedily. “You gonna tell me what’s got you all out of sorts? Or do I get to play twenty questions and drag it out of you?”

Rosemary sighed, but didn’t tear her eyes away from the papers before her. “Lunch with Adam,” she answered simply. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Jules sit up straighter.

“Oh ho now.”

She shook her head. “It’s not what you are thinking, Jules. So stop it. We’re just meeting to catch up. Don’t read too much into it.” She’d been trying not to do the same, to not question both Adam’s motives and her own.

Jules looked at her pointedly but she chose to ignore it, burying herself into the work before her. She paused, every fifteen minutes or so, to check the time on her phone. She passed the rest of the late morning into afternoon this way, with many a look from Jules; all of which she steadfast ignored. But noon came and passed without a word. Fifteen after and nothing. By half past she was beginning to truly worry.

It wasn’t until her phone began to ring at quarter of that she felt herself relax. She swiped the screen quickly to answer. “You on your way?” she asked, hope and relief coloring her tone.

There was a pause on his end and she felt herself deflate. “I’m so sorry. I’ve been swamped here and I honestly don’t think there is any chance I can break away. I feel wretched and I will make it up to you? How about dinner? I’m not free tonight but I should have an evening free early next week, Tuesday most like. I can book a table and pick you up at yours.”

Rosemary hesitated. Lunch was one thing…But dinner. There were connotations there that she wasn’t sure she was ready for. Not with Adam; and certainly not now. Dinner meant something. But she desperately wanted to see him. To catch up and he very obviously wanted the same. And there seemed to be little other option open. Rosemary let out a soft sigh. “Dinner works. I’ll see you Tuesday then?”

Adam chuckled, relief evident in his voice. “Yes, love. Tuesday it is. See you then.”

“See you.” She echoed.

Next Chapter

#tom hiddleston #Tom and Rosie #tom hiddleston x ofc #Love & Great Buildings

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imnotinclinedtomaturity · 6 years ago

Text

Love Yourself (Chapter 27)

title: Love Yourself summary: A lot of things about Dan’s life are pretty great. He gets to make the music he wants, he’s got a great fanbase, and his manager is his best friend. A few things about his life suck a bit more. He’s currently lacking inspiration, he’s rather lonely, and he’s stuck in a rut. Dan’s been going to the same coffee shop for years. It’s quiet, it’s quaint, it’s near his home. Most importantly: none of the employees give a shit that’s he a world-famous singer. Things change when he meets the new barista. chapter words: 8.8k story words: 219.6k (so far) chapter: 27/? rating: m warnings: language, alcohol, sex mentions, some bi/homophobia, eventual explicit smut, some depression genre: singer!dan, coffee shop au, barista!phil, slow burn [[ao3]] [[first chapter]] [[previous chapter]]

a/n: thank you to everyone for being the best audience i could hope for. i appreciate how patient y'all have been, how understanding you've been that i needed time time off because of Adulthood and Mental Health. i'm not feeling particularly articulate right now, but know that i love and appreciate you all. back to our regularly scheduled programming now! updates should come every 1.5 weeks-ish again :) also, a massive thanks to @auroraphilealis as always, not just for editing, but also for being a great best friend and a wonderful cheerleader. ily xx

Loud, persistent buzzing pulled Phil sharply from his sleep. It took a few sleepy seconds before he registered that the buzzing was his phone on his bedside table — and it was apparently ringing. Still half asleep, Phil waited until it stopped vibrating before reaching for it. It was too damn early to actually talk to anyone, but curiosity was still getting the best of him.

He pried an eye open and looked at the screen, instinctively flinching away from the bright light. Without his glasses, he was too blind to see who had called, but he could just barely make out the time — half past seven.

Nearly an hour before his alarm was due to go off.

That was nearly an hour of sleep that someone was trying to take from Phil. And after the whirlwind of last night’s date, Phil wanted nothing more than to sleep in. It wasn’t like Dan was here to give him a reason to get up.

With a stubborn, tired sigh, Phil rolled back into his pillow. Whoever had called could wait — at least until he was ready to get out of bed.

Just as he was drifting off again, though, his phone rang again. Grumbling, Phil pushed himself onto his elbows and held his phone close enough to his face that he could just barely make out PJ’s name.

PJ? Why was PJ calling him? PJ rarely called Phil. They skyped, sure, but those calls were usually scheduled and were always in the evening.

No, if PJ was caling at this hour, he must need something. And, unfortunately, Phil prided himself on being the Reliable Friend who always answered when his friends needed him.

Reluctantly, Phil swiped on PJ’s name, immediately putting the call on speaker so that he could fall back into his pillow.

“What the hell do you want, Peej?” Phil grumbled as soon as the phone call connected.

“Did I wake you up?”

“It’s not even eight in the morning,” Phil complained. “Of course you woke me up.”

“Mmm,” PJ hummed dismissively. “Are you with Dan?”

“No, I dropped him off after our date last night.” Phil stretched slightly, his hands reaching up under the pillow and hugging it closer to his face.

“Oh… have you, er, talked to him since?” PJ didn’t sound curious, and didn’t sound like he was trying to get information out of Phil about his date. PJ sounded… worried.

Growing concerned by PJ’s tone, Phil pushed himself back onto his elbows. “No, why? What happened?”

“I take it you haven’t been on the internet yet?”

“No. Get to the point, Peej,” Phil huffed impatiently.

“Dan — well, I thought maybe he’d’ve talked it over with you. I mean, twitter’s — fuck, how —“

“What the fuck happened?” Phil demanded, cutting off PJ’s rambling.

Even through the phone, and on speaker, Phil could hear PJ’s deep sigh, could feel his hesitation, before he finally spoke. “You need to look at Dan’s instagram. He sort of… made a big announcement in the dead of night.”

Phil felt a wave of dread wash over him. He certainly wasn’t sleepy anymore. A jumble of incoherent, panicked thoughts were battering at Phil’s brain, but he did his best to push them aside. Worrying wouldn’t do any good right now.

“Hang on, I’m pulling it up.”

Phil hit the home button on his phone with a bit more force than necessary, and was finally confronted with a frankly obscene amount of notifications given that he hadn’t done anything online since the day before yesterday, really. With a concerned huff, Phil swiped his glasses off his night table and shoved them onto his nose, the red dots on his iphone icons coming into focus.

Four hundred and twelve notifications from instagram.

One thousand, two hundred, and ninety from twitter.

Six emails in his work-only account.

And seven text messages.

Despite PJ’s urging to look at Dan’s instagram, Phil opened his messages first. There were three from PJ, which Phil ignored since Peej had clearly gotten ahold of him. Below PJ’s thread, there was a message from his mother and brother each. And finally below them were two messages from Dan.

The preview of their conversation showed that Dan’s most recent text — and we should probably talk — had come in at 3:34AM. That message alone made Phil’s heart pound against his chest.

“You there, mate?” PJ asked.

“Yeah,” Phil confirmed with a strangled gulp. “He texted me.”

“Oh?” PJ sounded interested.

Phil didn’t respond. He didn’t open the text. He didn’t breath. He didn’t do much of anything, really. He was frozen, trying to process what we should talk might mean, trying to convince himself it didn’t mean something horrible.

“Well?” PJ prompted when the silence drew on for too long. “What’d he say?”

“Right,” Phil mumbled as he forced himself to click on Dan’s message, to see what his previous message said. To see if it could make sense of whatever the fuck seemed to be happening this morning.

Phil’s eyes skimmed over his own four messages — he’d somehow blocked out the fact that he’d quadruple-texted Dan last night — before reading what Dan had said.

Dan [3:31 AM]: before you look at your twitter and instagram and whatever notifications, you should probably look at my instagram

Dan [3:34AM]: and we should probably talk

Together, the two messages did absolutely nothing to quell Phil’s anxiety. In fact, Phil’s heart was just thumping louder and more aggressively.

“He just said to look at his instagram.” Phil swallowed roughly. “And that we should talk.”

A quiet hum was PJ’s only response — another thing that didn’t help to calm the panic in Phil’s veins. Phil didn’t like the thoughts racing around his head, didn’t like that the first place his mind had gone was Isabella — and Dan getting back together with her.

Not that Phil really thought that was a risk, but still. The insecure part of his brain liked to remind him that Dan’s last partner had been a model, even if she was a bitch.

With a steeling breath, Phil tapped on the instagram icon.

It seemed to take a million and one years for the app to load, and when it finally did, it opened to a picture his brother had posted of his girlfriend.

Not helpful.

Not wanting to waste time scrolling through his feed, Phil tapped the magnifying glass. Dan’s name was at the top of his recent searches, a small “one new post” written below his username.

Quickly, but shaking with apprehension, Phil clicked on Dan’s profile.

It seemed to take forever for the page to load, but when it did, the first thing Phil saw was a picture of Dan’s scribbly handwriting, made all the more difficult to read by messy highlighting.

For a second, Phil was annoyed at the highlights, frustrated that Dan had obscured his writing even further than his nearly-illegible handwriting. But then the colors of the highlights sunk in — pink, purple, blue.

They were the bi-pride colors.

Phil knew, obviously, and he was certain Dan’s audience would know that, too.

By this point, Phil knew Dan well enough to know that Dan didn’t do anything unintentionally. Not in his music, not on social media, and not in real life. If he’d gone out of his way to highlight whatever he’d written and posted — well, the colors of the highlights were deliberate.

Phil bypassed the words in the picture and flickered down to the caption, hoping for a quick and easy explanation.

the majority of this album is being written thanks to one person. this is the song that started the whole concept of this album and i think it deserves a bit of an update after he took me out on the best first date of my life tonight. he might not have agreed with the timing of when i decided to rewrite it, though ;) xx

“Oh shit,” Phil muttered, dumbfounded, when the gravity of Dan’s caption finally sunk in.

“Yeah…” PJ murmured, his voice carefully neutral.

Phil glanced back up to the picture and scanned over Dan’s messy handwriting as fast as he could. From what Phil could tell, it looked like it was, well, about him. If the caption didn’t convince him, the let’s stop running from love and the fact that Dan confessed to rewriting something because of Phil last night…

“He came out,” Phil mumbled, unnecessarily pointing out the obvious.

“And took you with him, mate,” PJ grumbled.

Phil cocked his head to the side, his brows furrowing as he read and reread Dan’s post, trying to pinpoint what PJ was referencing. Nowhere did it mention his name or even anything identifying. The most telling piece of information was the he — but that pronoun could apply to a large portion of the world.

“How do’ya figure?” Phil asked.

“Mate, you and Dan haven’t been very subtle. Look at twitter.”

Even without opening twitter, Phil knew what PJ meant. Him and Dan had been, well, flirting for weeks now. There really wasn’t any other way to describe their online banter.

But upon skimming through his twitter notifications, Phil realized just how confident their audience was as they jumped to the albeit somewhat obvious conclusion.

Tweet after tweet had responded to Dan’s instagram post, all tagging Phil, all speculating on exactly who the he in Dan’s post could be.

And every tweet Phil saw guessed it was him.

And every tweet Phil saw was right.

“They all know anyway,” Phil mumbled flatly. He was supposed to be feeling something right now — surely he was. His boyfriend had just come out, his entire audience was — correctly — guessing that he was in a relationship with a famous singer, his own mum had probably texted him about it. And yet, Phil couldn’t wrap his mind around what he was feeling.

He just felt… surprised.

“Yeah. Are you okay with that?” PJ asked gently.

“I…” Phil tried to process all of the new new new as fast as he could. “I guess it was never that secret that I liked guys. I mean, how many times have I mentioned finding male celebrities attractive?”

“That’s true,” PJ agreed. “But I also know that hinting and confirming are two different things.”

“I mean… yeah,” Phil finally relented.

“But you didn’t know Dan was going to do this?”

“No…” Phil chewed on the inside of his cheek as he thought through all of the conversations him and Dan had had about their public image. “He made it sound like he didn’t want to come out at all.”

“What changed?”

“I don’t know,” Phil responded tersely.

He should know.

“Do you think he wants people to know that you’re the guy?” PJ pushed.

“I don’t know!” Phil snapped

He really should know.

There was a beat of silence on the other end of the line.“Sorry,” PJ muttered, clearing his voice before he spoke again. “What do you want?”

“I… don’t know,” Phil finished lamely.

Turns out he didn’t know much of anything.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” PJ offered softly.

“I…” Phil tried to think about it, he really did, but his mind kept coming back to why why why. At the end of their date, Dan had pulled Phil into the bloody loo to kiss goodnight, presumably because Dan hadn’t wanted the waitstaff to see, and then just a few hours later, Dan had gone and done that. “I need to talk to Dan. To know what the fuck happened.”

“That’s fair,” PJ agreed. “Can I do anything to help?”

“No, I’m just… gonna call him.” Phil pushed his glasses onto his head and roughly rubbed his face — an attempt to both wake up and alleviate some stress. “Thanks for letting me know.”

“Ring if you need me, okay? And let me know how it goes.”

“I will. I’ll text you later,” Phil promised. “Bye Peej.”

Needing to cancel his ten o’clock meeting with his manager, Phil opened his work email to send off some excuse, only to find that Marianne had already emailed him. Along with three people from the BBC. And every single subject line contained the name Daniel Howell.

How the hell had all of these people been up and about and reacting to social media already?

Phil ignored the multiple emails from the BBC, but opened the one from Marianne. He skimmed through the message, where she basically just pointed out what he already knew — that his audience had drawn some pretty big conclusions based on something Dan had posted. At the end of her email, she suggested they “review possible responses” during their meeting that morning.

Not fucking likely, Phil scoffed.

Quickly, Phil typed out the most adult version of sorry for the late notice, but I need to cancel our meeting because my brand-new boyfriend went off the walls in the middle of the night and I have no idea what’s happening. He didn’t bother to read it over again — now wasn’t the moment for proofreading — and immediately dialed Dan as soon as the email was sent.

The phone didn’t ring though, and instead went straight to voicemail. “Dammit Dan,” Phil mumbled in aggravation, hanging up before Dan’s voicemail could start recording.

Chewing on his lower lip, Phil thought through his options. If Dan’s phone was off, then no amount of texting or calling or facetiming would do any good. It was frustrating to have no way to contact Dan after he’d dropped such a massive bomb.

Except, well, that wasn’t quite true, was it?

Dan had put Phil on his permanent visitors list, so theoretically Phil could just… show up. Which might be a bit of a rash move but…

But nothing.

Phil was confused and caught off guard and felt like he deserved an explanation. Despite the early hour, Phil threw off his blue and green check comforter and pushed himself out of bed with steadfast resolution.

He wanted an explanation and, goddammit he’d get an explanation.

On shaky, tired feet, Phil riffled through his drawers for suitable trousers while kicking off his emoji pajamas. No human being — especially not his fashiony, hot new boyfriend — needed to see him in those. The first somewhat acceptable option Phil’s hand landed on were a pair of rather tight joggers, but he couldn’t be arsed to care at that moment. They’d have to do.

He kicked all the way out of his embarrassing, yellow pajamas and pulled on the tight sweatpants in their place. His loose Friends shirt would have to do, because he didn’t feel like wasting the time to find a suitable replacement, and it wasn’t that awful of a shirt.

Phil’s hair was probably a right mess too, but he couldn’t be bothered to deal with that either at the moment. All in all, this was definitely the least effort he’d ever put into his appearance when he knew he was going to see Dan, but he was growing impatient. Doing anything other than pulling on a jacket and shoes felt like it would waste too much time.

Even the three minute wait for the uber felt like too much time, and Phil had to refrain from just starting to walk over when he got downstairs and the car wasn’t there yet. But the car arrived before Phil could do anything rash, and Phil climbed in with only the briefest of smiles to the driver. His five star rating might take a hit, but he didn’t particularly care at that moment.

On the drive to Dan’s flat, the impatience in Phil’s stomach grew into something… more desperate. The more time he spent longing for an answer, the more he felt like he should already have one — like he should have known about what Dan was doing before he’d done it. And of course, of course, it was Dan’s decision if he wanted to come out — and hell, Phil was downright ecstatic for him — but Phil couldn’t help feeling like…

Feeling like he should have been part of the decision if Dan was going to so nearly pull Phil out of the closet, too.

Not that Phil was hiding in the closet, persay. But as PJ had pointed out, there was a big difference between hinting and confirming, and what Dan had just done was suddenly pushing Phil to confirm. And that Phil couldn’t quite wrap his head around.

He wasn’t against it. Not quite. But — fuck. He really would have liked to have been a part of the decision.

The process of getting into Dan’s building was the easiest yet, this time. All Phil had to do was tell the doorman his name and that he was there to see Dan before he was getting ushered into the lift, the seven button already pressed for him.

The ride up to Dan’s apartment felt shorter than normal — so short that Phil didn’t have time to collect his courage and figure out exactly what he wanted to say. When the doors opened to Dan’s flat, Phil hovered uncertainly in the lift, suddenly worried that it was incredibly rude to just invite himself over to Dan’s flat. Maybe Dan’s phone had gone straight to voicemail because he’d turned it off so he could sleep. Maybe Dan wasn’t ready to tell Phil about what he’d done.

But no, that wasn’t quite right. Dan had texted Phil, had told Phil to look at his instagram and had even said that they needed to talk. So it wasn’t absurd that he was here, now.

The lift doors started closing, the sudden movement pulling Phil harshly out of his spiral of anxious thoughts. Phil’s body, for once, was a step ahead of his mind, because his arm flew out to catch the door before he processed what was happening. He hurried out of the lift and into the foyer before the door could start to close again.

Dan had put Phil on his permanent visitors list. This was fine. It wasn’t insane that Phil was here right now.

Determined, Phil pushed his way further into the flat, walking quietly towards Dan’s room. He only made it as far as the lounge, though, before he ran smack into someone.

Someone much shorter than him or Dan.

“Phil?”

Surprised, Phil’s eyes scanned down and he took in the young woman standing in front of him — he certainly hadn’t been expecting anyone else to be here, and now he really was feeling like just coming over might have been a dick move.

“Louise?” he asked tentatively, nearly positive that he recognized her from Dan’s instagram and pictures he’d shown him of Darcy and her mum.

“Yes!” Louise greeted, her voice hushed. “I’m glad it’s you, when I heard the lift ding I thought —” She cut herself off, glancing back over her shoulder into the lounge. “Well, nevermind. Tea?”

“Oh, er…” Phil glanced over her head, his eyes drifting back towards Dan’s room. As much as he knew that Louise was definitely someone that he should be trying to make a good impression on, Phil really didn’t want to sit down for a cuppa right now. His mind was still reeling from the whirlwind of this morning, and he could barely think straight, much less talk coherently to a stranger.

But regardless, he knew how important Louise was to Dan — and how much Louise’s opinion mattered to him — so Phil pushed back the swirling confusion muddling his head and forced himself to smile pleasantly. “I might just look for Dan if you don’t mind.” Anxiously, Phil rubbed the back of his neck and hoped that his smile wasn’t coming out too much like a grimace.

Louise’s eyes flicked behind her. Her tense shoulders and skeptical eyes gave Phil the feeling that she wasn’t sure if him seeking Dan out was a good idea. “He’s asleep at the moment,” she said, pursing her lips and staring at Phil thoughtfully, like she was trying to figure him out. “You sure I can’t interest you in tea? He’ll probably be asleep a while.”

“I…” Phil’s eyes darted around as he searched for an excuse out of socializing. Much to his dismay, he couldn’t easily find one. He opened and closed his mouth as he desperately tried to find a polite way out of making small talk with Louise — this certainly wasn’t the first impression he wanted to make on Dan’s best friend.

“I’m not really up for tea, right now,” Phil blurted out abruptly, settling on the truth and cringing at his bluntness. Phil shifted his gaze down to his feet, unable to continue meeting her eye. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “This morning’s just been a lot already, and…”

Louise sighed, and shot Phil an unsure look. Phil watched as her arms came up, and she crossed them over her chest. “Dan had a late night last night.”

“I know,” Phil admitted, anxiously shifting back and forth on his feet. “But I need to talk to him.”

“And you can wait until he wakes up,” Louise said with an air of finality, her arms still crossed in front of her.

Phil sighed and tugged on his sloppy quiff, aggravated — not quite at Louise, just more at… the situation in general. His phone felt heavy in his pocket, and he was hyper aware of all of the emails and texts that he needed to respond to.

Emails and texts that he didn’t know how to respond to because Dan hadn’t fucking talked to him.

“Look,” Phil said, keeping his voice as steady and calm as he could. “I kind of woke up to a PR nightmare this morning and —”

“Oh god, are you not out?” Louise interrupted, her eyes growing wide in panic.

“I — mostly,” Phil hesitated, unsure how to phrase it. The being out thing wasn’t exactly his main problem here. “Never in crystal clear words, but it was out there.” Phil shrugged that particular concern off. “But, like, I hadn’t told my manager — or even my mum — that I was dating Dan yet, and now they definitely both know because they aren’t idiots.” Phil gestured around wildly, his arms trying to convey how absolutely insane the situation was so that he didn’t end up shouting, despite his frustration. “I’m not sure who’s going to be more upset about not knowing. And I can’t even respond to them, because I have no idea what to say because I have no idea what the fuck happened. We haven’t even discussed if we want our relationship to be public or how to handle the media or anything!”

Phil’s arms fell to his sides, limp and useless, as his rant came to a sudden, frustrated end.

His little tantrum must have done some good, though, because Louise looked a bit more empathetic now.

“I get it,” she sighed, sounding resigned. “I’m a manager. And a mum.”

“Thanks,” Phil smiled tersely. “So then you won’t mind if I…?” he gestured vaguely over Louise’s shoulder.

Her eyes traced over him slowly, carefully appraising him. “Fine,” she relented after a minute. “Just… try not to be too hard on him, okay? I’m sure he’ll be in a touchy mood when he wakes up.” Despite her understanding words, Louise still looked wary.

Phil wondered how many stories of hot-tempered, passionate fights Louise had heard over the last year.

“I promise I won’t be a — I won’t be like Isabella,” Phil offered, hoping that the heavy, sincere weight of his voice would convince Louise that he was different.

Louise’s eyes grew wide, her jaw falling open just a hair — she looked surprised, but maybe also a bit… pleased? The tenseness in her shoulders melted — at least some — and she looked less wary. The assurance that not only he knew about Isabella, but was also determined to be different seemed to matter to Louise.

“Good. Because you’ll have me to report to if you hurt him,” Louise threatened, but there was a humorous glint in her eye and a hint of a smile ghosting her lips.

“I won’t hurt him, but that’s a deal.” Phil smiled weakly with an emphatic nod. “So is it okay if I…?” Phil pointed vaguely over Louise’s shoulder, trying to ask her to let him by as gently as possible.

Louise nodded, stepping around Phil towards the foyer. “Yeah, I’m going to nip out then. Tell Dan to text me at some point today, and be nice.”

Phil was tempted to make a sarcastic comment, but didn’t want to risk Louise’s trust. He couldn’t help feeling like he was on a very short leash as it was right now. “I promise I won’t even scream or anything, okay?”

“Good,” Louise said with a smile before heading for the lift. Just before she got to the foyer, she spun around to face Phil again. “Good luck with your mum. And manager.”

“Thanks,” Phil laughed with a genuine smile. “I think I’ll need it.”

Phil waited for the ding of the lift, wanting to make sure Louise was well gone before he sought out Dan, before gathering his courage and carrying on down the hallway. For a split second, he hesitated outside of the closed bedroom door, not completely certain that it was acceptable for him to just burst into Dan’s room and wake him up.

But the memory of the literal thousands of notifications was fresh in Phil’s head, so he pushed open the bedroom door anyway.

The bed, however, was neatly made, and there was no Dan in sight.

Weird. Louise had definitely said that Dan was still asleep. Maybe the guest bedroom?

Confused, Phil stepped backwards and turned back down the hallway, peeking his head into the next room. No Dan in that bed, either.

Phil couldn’t imagine that Dan would be in the music room, and he wasn’t sure where else to look other than the lounge. Phil made his way back, tentatively looking around the lounge entrance before entering.

Curled up on the sofa, still in his tight studded sweater from the night before, was Dan. Despite Phil’s confusion and anxiety, his heart melted. Dan’s hair — and the entire lounge, now that Phil was really looking — was a complete wreck.

There was glass on the floor, both large chunks and shattered shards, that Phil had to navigate around on his way to the sofa. The table — which Phil was accustomed to seeing in a pristine state — was covered in papers and — oh god was that the lube? — on one end. Dan’s notebook was open on the floor, surrounded by a hodge podge of markers. Phil had to bite back the urge to flip through it, to see what else Dan was working on, to pry just a little.

That wasn’t what was important right now, though. Phil turned his back on the mess and properly took in Dan’s lanky body curled up tight on the sofa.

Looking more carefully, Phil’s eyes lingered on where Dan’s trousers were riding down, a soft pale patch of stomach poking out. Dan’s hands were cradled near his face, and his phone was dangling from his fingertips. Phil hovered above Dan, rocking back and forth between his feet as he tried to decide if he really should wake Dan up.

Phil knew Dan had been up late — close to four, at least, and that was assuming he’d gone to sleep straight after texting Phil. Letting Dan sleep a little longer was definitely the nice, selfless thing to do.

But Phil was too anxious and desperate for answers to be selfless right now.

Before Phil could lose his nerve, he reached out and poked Dan’s shoulder.

The poke, however, didn’t seem to be enough to rouse Dan from his sleep. “Dan?” Phil tried, his fingers rubbing into Dan’s bicep a bit harder. “Babe? Wake up?”

“Mmmh,” Dan grumbled. Even in his sleep, Dan seemed reluctant to be roused.

“Please babe? I really need to talk to you,” Phil pleaded. He switched tactics and grabbed ahold of Dan’s shoulder, gently shaking until Dan started stirring.

“Louise?” Dan mumbled, nearly incoherent, without opening his eyes. “Wha’ d’ya want?”

“No, it’s Phil,” Phil corrected.

“Oh.” Dan’s eyes fluttered open, slowly drifting upwards to meet Phil’s.

They were red. Much redder than they normally were when Dan woke up.

The rawness of Dan’s eyes, and the way he rubbed at them, made Phil wonder just how late of a night Dan and Louise had had.

Blearily, Dan’s gaze fell from Phil’s, scanning the room before landing on his phone. Without saying anything else to Phil, he tapped the home button, only to sigh when it wouldn’t come on. “What time s’it?” Dan asked blearily.

“About eight thirty,” Phil guessed without actually checking a clock.

Dan nodded, his eyes drifting back to his phone. “Hang on,” he said, “Lemme plug this s’in ‘nd get some coffee.” Dan pushed up off the sofa, stretching slightly and making his sweater ride up even further. “Want some?” he asked, eyes bleary as he glanced at Phil before turning to leave.

Phil’s brows furrowed, bewildered that Dan was so casually offering him coffee.

As if nothing major had happened since they’d last seen each other.

“Wait—” Phil said as he reached out and caught Dan by the wrist, preventing him from going anywhere. “Are you not even going to acknowledge it?” he asked, annoyance starting to creep into his voice.

Dan raised his eyebrows, but didn’t say anything.

Phil blinked back rapidly, baffled by Dan’s lack of… well, anything.

“Oh come on, don’t play dumb,” Phil groaned, irritated. Dan’s eyes grew wide and he held Phil’s gaze for a fleeting moment before flickering off to the side. In the brief seconds that Dan had looked at him, Phil could see entire pools of emotions — emotions that he wasn’t quite sure what to make of. There was sleepiness, but there was also worry and… something else.

Something that Phil really wished Dan would just share with him.

“Your texts? Instagram? The internet?” Phil prompted, his voice growing more and more pointed with each suggestion when Dan didn’t say anything.

Dan ran his free hand through his hair, grabbing at the ends of his curls and tugging. His eyes drifted back to Phil’s, and he stepped minutely backwards, his hand nearly coming out of Phil’s grip. “I know, I know,” Dan finally sighed, sounding defeated “I just really need some fucking coffee first. I had a long night.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve had a long morning,” Phil countered; his fingers wrapped more tightly around Dan’s arm, his nails insistently digging into the soft underside of Dan’s wrist.

Dan flinched back, his hand yanking backwards out of Phil’s grip and curling protectively against his chest. “I suppose that’s my doing, then?” he asked meekly as he stared down at the space between them.

Phil shot Dan an unamused look, not that Dan was looking up to see it. A part of him was itching to reach out and force Dan to look up at him, but Dan didn’t look like he’d be okay with Phil touching him just now. “No, I normally wake up to thousands of notifications after a nice quiet day away from social media,” Phil quipped, unable to keep a sarcastic edge out of his voice.

Dan’s eyes clamped shut, and he drew in a sharp breath. His arms shifted to cross in front of his chest, his entire body crumpling in on itself. “Just… hang on,” Dan begged softly without looking at Phil. He sounded so small, so young. Guilt washed over Phil — he was responsible for making Dan look so vulnerable. “Let me get a cup of coffee. Please.”

Phil drew his hands back to his side, shoving them in the front pockets of his joggers as a silent promise that he wasn’t going to try to stop Dan. “Of course,” he nodded, trying his best to keep his voice soft and even. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

With a small shake of his head, Dan teetered away from Phil cautiously and backed out of the room without ever turning fully away. At the last second, Dan spun around, narrowly avoiding running into the doorframe as he exited the lounge.

It was an odd reaction, one that gave Phil the sense that Dan was afraid to turn his back on Phil. Self-defensive reactions like that weren’t usually natural — they were learned.

Phil swallowed thickly, suddenly wondering how deep Louise’s fears ran. Dan’s movements were shaky, guarded, and he seemed to be fighting the urge to not look over his shoulder. Not wanting to make Dan more uncomfortable, Phil trailed behind at a distance as Dan led the way.

In the kitchen, Dan went straight to start the coffee and Phil came to a rest at the opposite counter. Dan still wasn’t meeting Phil’s eyes — hell, he wasn’t even looking up — but Phil could tell that Dan knew exactly where Phil was by the wide berth he gave Phil’s spot along the counter.

The entire kettle shook when Dan filled it with water; his hands were trembling, but his jaw was set, rigid. “Coffee?” Dan murmured without glancing over.

“Sure,” Phil accepted quietly. He made an effort to keep his voice as soft and gentle as he could. “Milk —”

“And two sugars, same as your tea. I know,” Dan interrupted quietly. If something weren’t so clearly wrong with Dan’s behavior right now, Phil would have been touched that Dan knew how he took his coffee. Instead, Phil was hyper-focused on Dan’s shaky movements and watched carefully as Dan rummaged through the cupboards, finally pulling out a ceramic soup bowl that was nearly mug-like and — oh. Phil had forgotten that Dan only had one functioning mug.

Because Isabella smashed the rest. In a fight. A fight unlike any fight Phil that had ever had.

Regardless, Dan poured milk and sugar into the proper mug, adding only the smallest spoonful of sugar to the makeshift mug. That was so typical Dan — putting others first, always striving to make others happy. Phil’s lips twitched for a second, nearly quirking up into a smile at Dan’s persistent thoughtfulness.

Phil waited in silence for the kettle to boil, knowing that he wasn’t likely to get anything useful out of a sleepy Dan. Plus, he hoped that a bit of quiet — and space — would help calm whatever Dan’s fears were.

It felt like it took the coffee maker ages to brew their coffee. Phil was growing well anxious, and Dan didn’t seem to be in much of a better state. Eventually, though, Dan was pouring two cups of coffee, passing the polka dotted mug to Phil, and hugging the soup bowl close to himself.

Dan took a large gulp of his coffee, only lowering it a few centimeters when he was done. The mug was held up high, nearly obscuring his face, and his gaze was focused on the black liquid inside. Dan’s arms were tucked into his chest, and his shoulders hunched up. Again, Phil was struck by how small Dan looked.

“Well? Let’s hear it then,” Dan whispered without looking up.

“Hear what?” Phil asked, head cocked, confused.

“You’re mad at me, so let’s just… get the part where you yell at me or whatever over with.” Dan’s eyes flicked up, just barely landing on Phil, and looked back at his coffee so quickly that Phil would certainly have missed it if he wasn’t watching Dan so closely.

Phil’s heart plummeted into his stomach as Dan confirmed his dreaded speculations — all of this, all of Dan’s current behavior, had something to do with how fights had gone in the past. Phil opened and closed his mouth, sputtering stupidly like a fish as he tried to figure out what to say.

“I didn’t come over here to yell at you,” Phil tried his best to placate his boyfriend, even though he didn’t really know how. Not right now, not with this new, scared Dan.They’d only had one tiff since meeting, and then it’d blown over because Phil had dropped it. But it wasn’t a lie — no matter how desperate and confused and frustrated Phil was, yelling at Dan was never his intention.

“But you are mad,” Dan said simply, still addressing his coffee more than Phil.

“I’m not mad, I’m… in shock, I guess.” Phil blew on his coffee, stalling for time as he grappled for a way he could express his frustrations without unnecessarily startling Dan.

“Call it whatever you want, but I can tell you’re not happy with me,” Dan mumbled.

“Okay, fine,” Phil relented, swallowing his trepediations and deciding to speak his mind. “I was shocked when I woke up to thousands of messages on my social media talking about you coming out and speculating about us.” Dan nodded — a microscopic, subtle movement — but didn’t say anything, so Phil continued. “And I’ll admit that I was a bit miffed when I realized that Louise was here but you didn’t even try to contact me last night.”

“Louise is my best friend,” Dan pushed back, a hint of anger in his voice.

“And I’m your boyfriend now!” Phil insisted. “In order for a relationship to work, we have to communicate, Dan.”

“You’re not my fucking boss,” Dan barked. “I can talk to whoever the fuck I want to. And if you’ve got a problem with Louise, you can just leave now.” There was a harsh edge to Dan’s voice, but beneath it, Phil could just barely tell that it was shaking — shaking with what, he wasn’t sure. Anger, maybe. Or fear.

“I don’t have a problem with Louise,” Phil argued. “It’s just — I texted you four bloody times last night. You could have talked to me if you needed… I don’t know, help, or whatever.” Phil waved his hand in frustration as his words failed him.

Dan sat his mug down on the counter, a loud clack filling the kitchen as the ceramic made contact with the granite countertop. “Look I just spent a fucking year with someone who didn’t like Louise and hated that I went to her for stuff, and if you’re gonna be that way too, then just fuck off already,” Dan spat out harshly.

If Phil wasn’t already leaning against the opposite counter, he would have jumped back at that. As it was, his lower back dug into the counter as he recoiled from Dan’s words.

“Don’t fucking compare me to Isabella!” Phil snapped, disgust and horror holding tight in his stomach. “I don’t give a rat’s ass that you go to your best friend instead of me sometimes, but when you end up doing something that all but confirms that you and I are dating, yeah, I’d like to be a part of the decision!”

“You can’t control me Phil.” Dan’s shoulders drew up impossibly closer to his ears, his voice growing high pitched. “I can’t take the time to get written permission from you every time I want to say something about my album.”

“And I’m not asking you to!” Phil retaliated. “But couldn’t you have waited, like, a day so that I wasn’t completely blindsided by you basically outing me when I woke up this morning?”

“No,” Dan huffed, an edge of stubbornness cutting into his defiance.

“No?” Phil asked incredulously.

“No,” Dan repeated, his voice even more forceful this time. “You couldn’t have talked me out of it.”

“I wouldn’t have tried to!” Phil exclaimed before he could process what Dan had said — before he could process that Dan seemed to think that Phil would try to control him. In some ways, at least. “I get that given… your album…” Phil trailed off as he grappled for the right words, words that would capture how Dan’s album affected Phil’s life without him sounding ungrateful or overly important.

He took a deep breath before continuing. “I get that your album is going to take away some of the privacy and control over my image that I’m used to having online, and that’s fine. But couldn’t this have waited, like, a day so that we could talk about it first? And I could… I don’t know, tell my family we were properly dating first?”

Dan shook his head forcefully, his curls flopping down into his face. “You don’t understand Phil. There wasn’t time. It had to be now.”

“What is that even supposed to mean?” Phil huffed, his free hand lacing through his hair and pushing it further back.

“You wouldn’t understand,” Dan snapped, his arms crossing hotly in front of his chest.

“I’m sure I would if you would stop being defensive for five seconds and actually explained yourself!” The words flew out of Phil’s mouth before he realized what he was saying. They were harsh, yes, but they were true. It felt like all Dan was doing this morning was be overly contrary for no discernible reason, and he wasn’t fucking listening. Phil didn’t want to be angry right now, he really didn’t. It was just hard when Dan was acting like this.

Dan appeared to have heard that, though, if the way he flinched backwards was anything to go by.

“Excuse me?” Dan challenged. He sounded positively outraged, his tone just this side of livid. His shoulders were shaking, and Phil could see anger flaring in his eyes.

And something else, too. Something like… hurt.

Phil put his own mug down on the counter, dragging his hands down his face in exasperation. This wasn’t the conversation — well, fight, at this rate — that he’d come over here to have this morning. Phil hadn’t been wanting to argue, he’d just wanted to understand.

“I’m just trying to talk to you, Dan,” Phil pleaded, his voice coming out whiny and needy “I just want to know what the hell happened last night.”

“Right,” Dan laughed bitterly. “You want to know all about the part where I almost outed you, but you don’t seem at all concerned about the part where I actually came out.”

“That was your choice!” Phil insisted, voice raised.

“No it wasn’t!” Dan bellowed back.

Phil froze, his eyes snapping up to meet Dan’s again. Dan had pushed off the counter, and crossed almost half of the kitchen. He was standing rigid, his body leaning forward, his hands in tight fists by his sides. Dan’s eyes were blown wide — he looked shocked by his own words.

Phil certainly was.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Phil asked slowly, warily. Something happened last night — something big — that much was clear. What wasn’t clear, though, was why Dan hadn’t called Phil last night.

They could have talked about it. Phil could have helped.

“It means — it means —” Dan stuttered, before abruptly giving up. The tension melted out of Dan’s shoulders as he crumpled in on himself, retreating back to lean against his countertop. “It doesn’t mean anything. Can we just move on?”

“No we can’t bloody move on,” Phil huffed, his frustration growing. He’d passed impatient, passed needing answers; now, he was downright desperate. “Can you just tell me what the fuck you mean, already? What happened last night?”

Phil stared at Dan with pleading eyes, silently begging him to explain what he’d meant. For a moment, Dan just stared back at Phil. A loud silence overtook the room, neither of them saying anything else.

Finally, the tense silence was interrupted by a sharp sigh from Dan. Dan’s gaze fell from Phil’s, turning down to his own feet. An agitated hand ran through Dan’s hair, tugging on his curls.

A brief wave of relief shot through Phil, certain that he was about to get an explanation for Dan’s weird behavior. Phil pushed away from the counter, debating whether he should go to Dan, maybe tip his head up and kiss his forehead. Something small to make Dan feel more comfortable talking.

But then, Dan was crossing the kitchen in three big strides, coming to a halt right in front of Phil. Bewildered, Phil searched Dan’s face, trying to figure out what the hell Dan was doing. Dan’s eyes were wild, frantic, a panicked gleam shimmering in them. His cheeks were flushed red, his mouth drawn in a tight line. He was so, so close, so afraid.

And then he was gone.

Phil blinked rapidly, confused and unsure where Dan had disappeared to. One second he was there, and then poof he was gone.

Unsure, that was, until a sudden waft of cool air washed over his upper thighs.

Phil’s attention snapped down, finding Dan again. Dan’s hands were on Phil’s joggers — joggers that he’d managed to tug down to Phil’s knees before Phil had even realized where Dan had gone. He was still tugging, trying to wrestle them over Phil’s knees now.

“Dan, Dan, Dan, Dan, Dan,” Phil gasped, his voice coming out rushed and urgent. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Dan didn’t look up at Phil. Instead, his hands abandoned Phil’s joggers, leaving them wrapped around Phil’s bony knees, and latched onto Phil’s boxers. His hands pulled insistently, frantically — too frantic to be particularly effective, mercifully.

“Dan!” Phil implored. The shock of the situation finally wore off, and Phil finally launched into motion, his hands flying out to catch Dan’s and prying them away from his hips. His boxers were awkwardly a bit low now, but Phil didn’t risk letting go of Dan’s hands — Phil was worried that Dan would just reach back to pull them all the way over his arse. “Look at me!” Phil ordered forcefully.

Slowly, painfully, Dan’s eyes drifted up and came to rest somewhere around Phil’s neck.

Phil took a deep breath, calming himself down, before he hooked his fingers under Dan’s chin and coaxed his head the rest of the way up. “Dan, sweetheart, what are you doing?” Phil asked, careful to keep a gentle tone to his voice now that he had Dan’s attention.

“Making the fight go away,” Dan responded. His voice was small — so, so small — and he still wasn’t quite meeting Phil’s gaze.

Phil stared blankly, his eyes trailing over Dan’s scared face, as he tried to figure out what was happening.

Suddenly, Phil was assaulted with the image of Dan covered in hickeys and scratches, embarrassed and ashamed as he admitted to Phil that they were from angry sex — angry sex that came from a fight.

Phil’s jaw dropped.

It didn’t shock Phil to know that Dan and Isabella dealt with their problems through sex, but he was a bit astonished to find the effects so lasting, to realize that Dan still seemed to think that angry sex was the proper solution to an argument, even with Phil.

Phil shook his head forcefully — both in attempt to tell Dan no, and also to shake himself out of his head and into action.

“Babe,” Phil whispered. Looking down at Dan’s vulnerable, submissive stance, Phil felt his heart breaking. Desperate to make them feel like equals again, Phil sunk down to his knees, too. He let go of Dan’s wrists, reaching up to brush back his unruly curls from his face. “Blowing me isn’t going to make the fight go away,” he whispered softly..

“Oh,” Dan muttered, voice small. His eyes trailed down between them. Phil couldn’t see his expression, but his body language spoke volumes. “It’s well and truly fucked then, huh?”

Dan sounded so scared, so distraught, that Phil wasn’t sure what to say for a moment. Dan sounded like he genuinely believed that it — they — must be fucked if a blowjob wasn’t going to fix their fight.

Phil’s shock turned to horror when he saw tears leak down Dan’s face.

“Oh, baby. No, no,” Phil cooed. His hands flew from Dan’s hair to cup his cheeks, his thumbs swiping under Dan’s eyes and smearing the tears away. “No, nothing’s fucked baby.”

Slowly, Dan tilted his head up to look at Phil. “It’s — it’s not?” he hiccupped, his voice coming out higher and more crackly than normal.

“Of course not,” Phil promised, rushed and confident. His eyes were wide in horror at the very idea of them, this, their relationship, being over so soon. His brows were furrowed in confusion at the idea of Dan being concerned that this was over — that they were over. “But the way to make the fight go away is to tell me what’s going on, tell me what you’re thinking.”

Dan sniffled loudly, his eyes fluttering closed again. He was quiet for a moment, with the exception of a few residual hiccups, but then he nodded slowly, his eyes still closed.

“Yeah? You’ll talk to me this time?” Phil asked hopefully.

Dan nodded again.

“Without getting defensive?” Phil prompted, half teasing, half trying to encourage Dan to act more rationally this time.

“Yeah,” Dan agreed meekly. He fell forward, Phil’s arms wrapping around and catching him on instinct. The second Phil’s arms were around Dan, Dan burrowed into him, melting against his chest. Dan’s hands were smushed between them, crooked at an awkward angle, but Phil didn’t mind.

Silence settled between them as Dan calmed down. Slowly, gently, Phil started tracing his fingers up and down Dan’s spine, his fingers catching on the studs of Dan’s sweater.

After a moment, Dan mumbled, “Can we sit down?”

Phil pulled back and pressed a lingering kiss to Dan’s forehead. “Lead the way, sweetheart.”

Dan minutely leaned into Phil’s lips, pushing his head into the kiss for a moment before pulling back. He pushed up to his feet, and immediately offered Phil a hand up. Dan’s gaze trailed over Phil as he climbed off the floor; Phil felt his cheeks heat up in embarrassment as he remembered the state of his clothing.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Dan muttered, his eyes meaningfully flicking down to Phil’s half drawn joggers.

“It’s okay,” Phil murmured back softly as he stood up with Dan’s help. Phil’s spare hand flew to his joggers, pulling them back up his hips as he stood. He tried his best to swallow down his embarrassment, to make his cheeks go back to a pale white; he didn’t want to call any more attention to Dan’s rash advances than necessary. Not right now.

For the first time that morning, Phil was thankful that he’d only been able to find the tight joggers that morning — anything looser would likely have slipped straight down Phil’s thin legs and likely made the whole situation more awkward.

Dan dropped Phil’s hand to turn and collect their coffees from their respective countertops while Phil fixed his pants and joggers,. “Come on,” Dan muttered, cocking his head out of the room.

Phil obediently followed Dan out the kitchen and towards the lounge, nearly smashing into him when Dan came to a sudden halt in the middle of the hallway.

“What?” Phil asked, alarmed.

Dan spun around to face Phil. “I don’t wanna be in the lounge.” His words came out rushed, his voice high. “It’s a mess.”

“I don’t mind,” Phil assured him, “But we can go wherever you want.” Phil stepped backwards, moving closer to the wall so that Dan could navigate around him and lead them somewhere else.

“I need something from in there, though,” Dan insisted; his words were vague, but his tone was determined. He thrusted their coffees at Phil without much more of an explanation. Phil grabbed the coffees in silent shock, his fingers barely wrapping around the mugs and steadying them before Dan let go.

“I’ll meet you in the bed,” Dan said with a note of finality.

Dan only made it a few paces down the hallway before he stopped and spun back around to face Phil. “If that’s okay, I mean,” he said quickly, his voice high and rushed. “It’ll be more comfortable than the music room and I swear I won’t, like, try anything again. Like, I promise I’ll talk, I’m just really tired and I —”

“Dan,” Phil interrupted gently. “The bed’s fine. Get whatever you need. I’ll be there waiting for you.”

#phanfic #phanfiction #phan #phan au #au #coffee shop au #barista!phil #singer!dan #iminclinedtowriting #ly #love yourself

109 notes · View notes

cosmicdaya · 7 years ago

Text

look-alike, love again | part 3

{summary} : someone learns more about someone

{warning} : swearing ( spoiler-free )

{word count} : 1749 words

{pairing} : smol bean!peter parker x reader, fuckboy!tom holland x reader

{requested} : no one

{type of story} : series

{continuation} : (part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5)

{author’s note} : thank you so much to those who loved this series!! Thank you so much for your support and love! Plus I will only continue this series if it reaches more than 150 notes I WATCHED IW AND I CRIEED (no spoilers tho) pssst #lalaps

{taglist} : @maddieolivialove // @mrsmouthymerc // @sophie2003003 // @shookspudey@leni-lion-luke-larb-logic // @saltywerewolfcrusade // @writtenbypics // @slytherinshadowhuntersuperhero // @unadulteratedgalaxyprogramming // @yetitty // @heyyyyitsanie // @random-fandom-lady // @nextkaratekid // @shookspudey // @definespidey // @alimaawilliams // @aquariusiel // @twoplayergaymers // @maybetheylikedmyokdays // @amagicalpieceofshit // @impossiblepizzapainterbagel // @bitchhstopp // @blueavocadosocks //

(tumblr didn’t let me to tag those username which are striked)

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You dragged your pillow and your blanket all the way to Room 305, where Ned, Peter, Michelle and Rowan were awaiting your arrival. You knocked on their door a few times, before deciding to call one of them. As you unlocked your phone, the door swung open to reveal Rowan in a baggy t-shirt and a pair of shorts.

You plopped yourself down on the couch as you hugged your pillow tightly. You stared at the television, not paying attention to the movie playing.

“Hey Y/N, you okay, man? What did you mean by you were fucked in the groupchat?” Ned asked you, bringing a bowl of ice-cream to eat.

You snatched the ice cream from him and started eating it as he looked at you in shock.

“Okayyyyy, that means our girl is in big trouble now. Ok, honey spill the tea,” Michelle announced.

You told them everything about how to tried to kill Mr Harrington and how you are stuck with an annoying dumbass as a roommate.

“Oh shit, bro. That’s so bad. I would probably go crazy if I was in your shoes,” Rowan slung an arm around you as you kept eating Ned’s ice-cream.

“Where’s Pete?” you asked, realizing the absence of your friend.

“Oh, he’s at the library to do some revision. He did text me saying that he is on his way,” Ned replied.

You nodded your head, setting down your bowl of ice-cream on the table. You heard a knock on the door and went to open it. You saw Tom standing there.

“Tom, what are you doing here?” you asked, confused.

“What do you mean, Y/N? I am Peter,” Peter clarified, knocking you into your senses.

“Oh, sorry. It’s just that my mind is pretty messed up these days,” you scratched the back of your neck, trying to cover up the fact that you mistook him for Tom Fucking Holland.

He gave you a boyish smile which made your knees weak. It’s not that you didn’t like him, maybe you did. It’s just that you were too afraid to tell him that you like him and no one knows about your not-so-little crush on him.

“Why are you here? Wait, I didn’t mean it like that! uhm, uhm,” he started to stutter, making a mess out of himself.

“Ah, it’s just that my roommate has some important stuff today, so I will be crashing here today,” you explained to the cute boy in front of you.

“Where are you sleeping tonight? ‘Cause Rowan’s room is under ‘construction’,” he said using air quotes.

“Oh, Y/N, I can crash with MJ and Rowan, you can stay with Peter,” Ned said to you.

You felt the heat rising to your cheeks and you gulped and saw Peter who was as pale as a ghost.

“Is it ok with you, Pete?” Ned asked Peter, sending a wink at his way that you were unsure why.

“Yeah, yeah, no problem. I am going to my room to freshen up first. Y/N, you can just come in,” Peter proceeded to walk to his room.

You cleared your throat and picked up your stuff, heading to his room.

Oh boy, it’s going to be a long night.

You sat down on Peter’s bed as you took in your surroundings. You noticed that his room was a light shade of blue filled with everything related to Star Wars and Tony Stark. You smiled widely as you saw the Star Wars poster you gave to him on his 15th birthday hanging on the wall.

You reached for the nearest magazine and started reading it as you waited for Peter. As the bathroom door opened, you smelled the manly smell of his body gel. Peter walked in with a towel loosely hanging on his hips, his rock hard abs on show for you.

Your cheeks turned so red and you tried to calm yourself down but unfortunately for you he took no notice of you. When he was going to remove his towel, you cleared your throat loudly to inform him of your presence.;

“Oh shit, Y/N. I-I am s-s-sorry, I didn’t-um- notice that you w-were here,” Peter stuttered as he scrambled around for his pants. You turned around as he wore his boxers and slung a tank top over him.

“It’‘s okay, Peter. Anyways, I should say thank you to you as I am crashing at your place,” you said.

He gave you a soft smile as he sat down next to you. You could feel the body heat emanating from him and it gave you comfort as you were shivering.

“So, movie night or...drama series night?,” he raised his eyebrows.

Fuck, that was cute.

“We have class tomorrow but it starts late. I don’t know,” you reasoned.

“So, drama series night it is,” he said as he turned on Gossip Girl for you to watch.

You snuggled up close to him as he lay an arm over your shoulder. The comfort of you against him slowly lulled you to sleep.

The only thing you remember before going to sleep is Peter setting down on the bed.

You woke up to the sound of an alarm blaring loudly, threatening to rip off your eardrums. You tried to reach it to press the Snooze button but something was holding you down, not allowing to move.

Wait, this doesn’t even sound like my alarm...

You opened your eyelids to see a creamy pale neck and chest. You looked up a little and saw Peter’s arms around you in a hugging manner with a bare chest. You felt content and happy looking at the view in front of you. You could stay like this forever.

What the fuck, man? Come back to your senses!

You tried to move from your spot without waking up Peter, but you were futile at your attempt.

“Hey Y/N, good morning, love,” he said as rose, rubbing his eyes to make his vision clearer.

You gave him a soft smile before you looked at the clock near the bedside. The LED screen showed that the time was 8.00 am in the morning. Your class starts at 8.45 am.

“Oh shoot, Pete. I have to go now as my class starts soon. See ya soon!” you exclaimed as you grabbed your stuff and made a beeline for your room.

Peter just sat there smiling like a goof, reveling in the fact that you just slept with him, not in that way, but in a good way.

As you were heading to the cafeteria after the class, you stopped by the receptionist to take a pamphlet concerning an extra course that you were planning to take.

You stopped in your tracks when you spotted a notice in your peripheral vision. The notice said “ SUMMER PLAY : The Prince and The Pauper” and to also include the name of those who are interested. You grabbed a pen and scribbled down your name as fast as you could.

MJ, Ned and Rowan were waiting for you at the cafeteria, because Rowan wanted to meet up and tell you guys something about Tom.

“Ok, as we all know, Tom is a playboy who is rude to everyone and I found out the cause of it,” Rowan crossed her fingers in a sassy way.

“Wait, I thought that was a disorder he was born with?”

“Ned, that’s just plain rude, man,” Michelle frowned.

“Okay, okay, I was just joking. Come on, Rowan, spill the beans,” Ned raised his hand in a surrendering motion.

“So, Tom used to date a popular girl called Laura in high school. Their relationship looked good on the outside but actually it was wrecked as hell. There were also rumors that Tom went through depression,”

“Just one day before their two year dating anniversary, Laura broke up with Tom because she was cheating on him all this while. Tom then changed school and no one from his old high school heard from him ever again,”

“How sure are you of this?” Ned raised his eyebrows.

“My sources, I have. Very trusty, they are,” she replied with a smirk.

“A very good reference, that was,” Ned let out a hearty laugh.

Tom laid against the couch of the common room, the soft glow from the television illuminating his face. He slowly played with the curls of his hair absentmindedly.

His thoughts were filled with you. Thank God, he didn’t have any classes today or he wouldn’t have paid attention. It wasn’t like he ever paid attention anyways.

Why didn’t she sleep here?

Does she hate me that much?

A soft rustling sound from the other side of the room woke him up from his thoughts. He first shook it of as the sound of leaves rustling, but he got alerted when he heard a loud thud.

He took the baseball bat that you used and held it in a ready-to-strike position and tried to find the source of the sound. He let out a breathy gasp as he realized it was coming from your room.

Is she sneaking in?

Tom’s hand was on the door knob as he tried to steady his breathing before opening the door. When he opened the door, he got the shock of his life.

It was Spider-man on the floor clutching his side.

“Holy shit, you are Spider-man! My childhood idol!,” Tom practically shouted on the top of his lungs.

“Dude, chill. Where’s Y/N?” the masked hero asked without looking at Tom.

“Oh, she’s not here yet. Wait, how do you know her?” he asked her.

Spider-man just responded to him with a grunt as tried to stop the blood flow from his side. Tom noticed the blood seeping through his suit and his mask and ran to the common room to take the first-aid kit.

“Wait, you can’t take off my mask!,” Spider-man protested as Tom tried to pull off his mask.

“Then how you expect me to treat you?!” Tom shouted in his face.

The masked superhero reluctantly took off his mask to come face to face with his doppelgänger.

“What in the world?” Peter muttered under his breath as both of the young teenagers stared in disbelieve.

“Do you know you look like Tom Holland?” Tom asked Peter.

“Who the hell is that?”

“Me, Bitch,”

( pls stop me from quoting vines )

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amazignphil · 7 years ago

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Coffe Shops and Cute Baristas.

A/N: I was sad today, extremely so and decided I needed to finish the draft of what I started a while back and now its over. i had really felt like a coffee shop au would be fluff enough for my sould and it was. I enjoyed wiriting this so much. <3

Also, thanks to @optimistphan and @manilovedan for going over this fic for me!! They are both amazingg check them out(if you haven’t already.) I love you both soo muchh. Brook and Sky, you deserve all the love in the world. THANK YOU!!

Summary: Phil goes to starbucks to buy his favorite drink and finds his new favorite thing ever to have existed in the crammed coffee shop.

Pairing: PHAN (duh)

(Read bellow the cut!)

Phil wasn’t a coffee addict, but sometimes, he needed a cup of coffee to help him get through the day. Most of the times, he would make it at home but sometimes, he just needed a walk through London and craved some Starbucks at times.

This was one of the times when he just needed a walk through London and craving some Pumpkin Spice Latte, half because it was sort of a habit of his to have Pumpkin Spice Latte when autumn rolled around and when he saw that leaves had dried up and were falling down from the trees, he realized it was time to get his coffee and take his traditional walk through London and kick his way through the dried, fallen leaves from the trees.

He walked in to Starbucks and immediately felt a lot warmer than before and the strong smell of coffee clouded his senses for a moment. He quickly but quietly made his way to the counter and got in the queue of people waiting to order their drinks and he pulled out his phone to scroll through Twitter for his mentions, and liked some of the fanarts he was tagged in.

The queue wasn’t big, so it didn’t take long before he reached the counter was asked to order his drink by a guy. He looked up from his phone, quickly shoving it into his pocket and stared at the slightly smaller barista in front of him. His eyes were a shade of hazel brown Phil had never seen before, maybe he did to be honest, but the way his eyes were on his face, it just seems so much more unique to Phil. And with his brown hair? He looked like a goddamn--- he couldn’t put him into categories.

The barista called out to him again, and that is when he noticed that the barista has pretty soft and pink-ish lips too. He shook himself of the thoughts and quietly mumbled his order.

"One pumpkin spice latte, please?” Phil saw the barista—Dan, he read on the tag—smile at him timidly before scribbling something down.

“What name would you like me to write on the cup?” Dan asked when he had looked up from his notepad where he was scribbling down Phil’s order.

“Write Dan---I mean, uh, Phil. Um, my name is Phil. So, yeah, write um Phil. That would be good.” Phil had no idea where on earth he suddenly said Dan’s name from and he could feel the heat rushing up through his neck to his face and he tried his best to cover it as he can. Dan just raised an eye-brow at him, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Fancy.” Dan chuckled, scribbling down something again and Phil turned even redder, if it was possible. He saw Dan had a smile tugging on his lips and he tried not to think too much about it. “Take a seat?” an asked and Phil had no idea why, but he said, “Sure. I would like that” anyway.

Dan was smiling…and blushing?...when Phil took a seat a bit to the left from the counter Dan was at. Phil doesn’t know what came over him when he agreed to stay back, especially because he had to go home and film a video for later in the week, but another look at the cute barista, and he knew why. Maybe because the said barista was laughing with his head tilted back, and that he was staring at Phil from the corner of his eyes. That laugh sounded like a melody Phil could forever listen to without once ever stopping.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

“Phil?” Phil heard Dan call and he got up to take his order, quickly pressing back home from the current meme page he was scrolling through. He reached the counter and Dan handed the coffee cup to him.

“I knew I had seen you somewhere.” Dan blushed, and fuck, that was hot, Phil thought. Phil took the coffee, their hands mildly brushing against each other and Phil turned red again, muttering a ‘thank you’ which Dan returned with a nod and going back over to his seat and setting the coffee down.

He turned the coffee around to grip it and he noticed what Dan scribbled down on his cup and he couldn’t help but smile widely at the cute barista causing him to blush very evidently. The message on the cup was,

“AmazingPhil? Or AmazingPhan? <3”

He laughed, of course he combined their names together to make a pun on the cup. He didn’t even know Dan that well, but it just looked and felt like such a Dan thing to do. He pulled out his phone again and quickly typed out a tweet saying,

“Met this cute barista at the store with brown hair and brown eyes and he knew who I was. I think I found my soulmate. #phan :]”

Phil chuckled a bit at the tweet, thinking how his fans would freak out, but they all knew Phil was more into guys than girls anyway, so a shit-storm wasn’t really upcoming, even though it was since the fans might have a heart attack, judging how emotionally invested in his life they were.

He immediately received a notification saying he got a reply from an account called @danisnotonfire and…He clicked on it to check if it was who he thought it was and surprisingly enough it was Dan’s. Apparently, Dan was also a Youtuber just like Phil. He briefly wondered how he never met or heard him before.

“@AmazingPhil You haven’t even sipped your coffee yet, (soul)mate. XD”

Phil typed out a super fast reply, almost making a typo but catching himself in time and correcting it before sending his reply. He blushed at it, obviously, but it was worth it to see the look on Dan’s face.

“@danisnotonfire Someone’s distracting me :[ “

With that reply, he turned to look at Dan and saw that he was staring at him and a smile was tugging on his lips. Phil couldn’t help but get up, with his coffee in one hand and phone in the other, and walk up to Dan again. Thankfully, the queue was clear was now and they hopefully wouldn’t be interrupted in a while.

“So.. collab?” Phil asked, nearly choking on the laughter he tried to hold back and Dan laughed out loud, shoulders shaking and everything. After a few minutes, he seemed to come down a bit.

“Yeah, yeah, I would love that. We can even call it Phil is not on fire or AmazingDan.. ya’know combining our usernames?” Dan chuckled and Phil broke out into a grin remembering that Dan had combined their names and made a pun on his coffee cup. He didn’t mind sharing anything with Dan, it seemed. Right now, it was his username. 5 years in to the future, he didn’t mind sharing his life or anything with Dan, even his surname. But he did mind sharing Dan with anything or anyone. Nope, not one bit.

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The End.

#phan #phanfiction #coffeshop au #au #coffee shop #coffee #i love coffee okay?#:))#phan fiction #phandom #dnp #fanfiction #my fics #writings #youtber fics

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rhgdvx · 6 years ago

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otwtm [i]

toc

Yoongi sat down on his favorite place in the same café he's been going to for years. It was four in the morning, but sleep doesn't seem like a good idea so he chose to go to this place anyway, wondering about the same night... thinking about the same person...

He took a long, satisfying sip from his Americano and sighed a little as he flipped the made-shift book given to him by the only person to love him like that. He started to read, again, the pages she made out of his request, wondering if he could get another chance to rewrite those words.

'Min Yoongi could not love' The story began with such cruel start but he didn't mind it and just went on.

I have been thinking about that thought every now and then. Of course, I knew it right from the start: That he could never see me more than a fan. That he could always say 'I love you, ARMY!' but never he could say an 'I love you' addressed to me. What am I really thinking and hoping for? It's impossible, of course. I knew it right from the start.

Still though, I thought of him as a reachable star.

Efforts were given. I attended their fan signs, I cheered for them in concerts, I pulled all-nighters for every fangirl duty and I loved Bangtan with every bit of me. Funny, because I don't really put so much effort on things that won't give something back. I think stanning them really brought out the weird side of me;

And loving Yoongi made me hope for something that is beyond unreachable.

'I cannot love him any deeper. I shall not love him any deeper.', I repeatedly told myself at times when he's just so... extra? He's a good person, and he's great with his things. Who wouldn't get attracted to such a wonderful man?

I'll just get hurt. Yes, I know. I'm always seeing him and my heart doesn't seem to understand the wall separating fans from idols. Yes, I hope there's a chance but I know there is none. I'm just another stupid dot in a sea of million. Okay, maybe not stupid, just a little bit crazy but still a dot.

So, I settled down. Keeping my schedule tight just to refrain from spending it with them. Cruel? Yes. There are several fans who might call me fake, those who feel so useful that they put their fingers on anything; But do they know how much I desire? Do they know me? Do they know that every single time I look at him, I could only sigh because no matter how hard I yearn for him, we just cannot be? It is the kind of thing that a 'Nothing is impossible' is possible.

He's close to me but I cannot have him for my own good. Yes, I am not satisfied. I am not that kind of woman. So I settled down. I became fine.

Whenever he sees me, he waves at me like we're old friends. He shows his gummy smiles, he talks to me in a lighter way than how he does with others, or maybe that's what I have observed because of this wonderful mind of mine. Call me crazy in love, but I could feel that he's happy whenever he sees me in sight. I know it's bonkers but I'm not that stupid so I tried not to expect anything. I was fine, but then the day came when he talked to me weirder than the usual.

"Miracle," My heart fluttered as he said my name, what's new. As he mindlessly doodled at the album I bought, I just stared at him. "How do you find yourself when you're so lost?"

I furrowed my eyebrows at him. "I don't... uh... understand?"

"I mean; how could we fix ourselves from being broken?" He said, still doodling at my album.

Yoongi looked like he's not in his usual self. It seems like his mind is drifting so I answered him with the best sentence I could come up with at the moment. "A wound takes time to heal but time isn't enough. We should take care and protect the wound, too, so that it won't get any worse."

"How about seeking help from others?" He lifted his head and I was taken aback by the emotion in his eyes. "Isn't that what people do? Let others fix them because they can't?"

I looked away for a moment. "Depends on the situation, Yoongi."

He smiled, and so did I.

I thanked him and moved to the next member as normally as I could. After years of doing this, I could see it. I could confirm it; He's hurt. Something is hurting him emotionally. I could clearly see it in his eyes.

He's hurt, and so I am.

Perks of loving.

That night, I did not update my followers on Twitter with what happened on the fan sign. I am still winded by what happened. That's a first of that situation and I am worried about him.

I saw some friends talk about how weird Yoongi is and I wonder if they felt the same way I did when Yoongi looked at me. Of course, we love Bangtan and with them hurting, we are hurt too. And since Yoongi is more special to me, the ache was stingier. I love him, I love him though I don't think everything he shows is the real him. Drastically, though I settled my feelings down, there is definitely a part in my heart that still wishes for him.

Before I went to bed, I took the album from my messy bag and opened it. I should at least review what they wrote on my sticky notes, just for my sanity's sake. I browsed it as fast as I could since I have to sleep and work tomorrow morning and I don't really want to do it. Namjoon, the brain monster, of course said something wise as if implying that I should take a break because I asked them what should I do nowadays because I'm bored. The others said something goofy and fun... Hoseok even said that I should just go to sleep and eat a lot. Maybe that's what he does. Jungkook said 'Noona should love us more' and I don't know what he means. My mood was eventually getting lighter when I came to the page where Yoongi doodled and my emotion sank back. I purposely left this page out but I can't seem to control myself when it comes to him.

I swallowed hard because I could feel him aching by just seeing the random things he wrote and drew on the page. His bad handwriting became worse and these lines doesn't look like they mean something. I traced the heart he drew on my sticky note. It looks like it's broken, though it isn't. The face he drew on the left corner looks so tired. The whole page shouts something painful. It shouts what he feels. I sighed at the scribbles and tried figure some words out.

'Bye, bye, bye'

'Miracle, talk to MYGSyub'

'Please'

I raised an eyebrow to his answer. A random thought is telling me to see if that is a username or something. Or maybe I'm just hallucinating? Geez. I've developed several senses just by stanning Bangtan.

I hesitantly reached for my phone and opened apps that could possibly help me. I'm not sure; I can't be sure. On Twitter, I found one with that username but it looks like she's a fangirl from the other side of the world. I kind of read her tweets but they're mostly on her language so I doubt it. Next one is Kakao where I also found an account with that username. I added it, of course, hoping it was Yoongi. I messaged the account a simple 'Hello' and then looked through other apps.

Moments later, my phone notified me that someone messaged me... on Kakao.

MYGSyub: Miracle?

My heart went wild. Is this really Min Yoongi?

'Is this Yoongi?' I hastily typed.

MYGSyub: Unfortunately, it is.

'Uh. I won't talk about this.'

MYGSyub: I know.

WAIT. IS THIS REAL!? I wanted to cry and celebrate because I just got my bias' Kakao ID! And it seems like he really wanted me to know it. My fangirl heart is celebrating and I can't control it! Wait up. Does he know about my feelings? I held my chest and tried to calm myself but I can't. He messaged me again, asking how I am. Of course I replied right away. We chatted. We talked but it wasn't that warm, unlike the other fan signs.

Then after a while he asked if he could see me.

'Ha. Are you really Min Yoongi?'

MYGSyub: (photo) I said unfortunately, I really am Min Yoongi

OH MY... FU-Did he just take a picture and-My heart stopped. Min Yoongi why are you doing this!

'When?'

MYGSyub: 4 am?

'Where?'

MYGSyub: Send me your address... I'll drop by.

My eyes widened. 'Wait. Are you really Yoongi?'

MYGSyub: I already said I am Yoongi. Look, I am wearing the beanie you gave. (photo)

I almost shouted by the sight of his photo. He really is wearing the beanie I gave! Oh my goodness. How could this... possibly happen? Am I dreaming?

Geez.

Setting aside all frustrations and doubts, I chatted with him again like we're platonic friends and we agreed to meet tomorrow morning, at 4 am. Too early, but who cares?

Since the idea of him being here at 4 am did not seem like a nice one, we agreed to meet in a coffee shop near my place. And since I was eager to feed my expectations and assumptions, I went here 15 minutes early. He picked such a weird and perfect time because the ambiance is very, very serene due to small amount of customers. I sighed. If I am dreaming, I just want to wake up. This is not healthy.

I saw him outside a few minutes later, walking slowly as if feeling every step. He looked so fluffy with the knitted gray scarf around his neck and the cute expression plastered on his face. He was wearing a plain black sweater and jeans (like what I saw in his picture) together with black rubber shoes. And yes, he's wearing the white beanie I gave. The moment he stepped in the coffee shop, my world stopped. I could feel my heart beating rapidly but I couldn't even move a little to release my unhealthy emotion. Is this a dream? Please wake me up already, I know I'll wake up, anyway. Don't prolong my agony.

"Miracle." He smiled at me as he sat down. We ordered two Americanos since he said it's up to me. Good him, he paid for it.

Silence, that is what he gave me for approximately five minutes. I was scared to talk to him, afraid he might just fade away because I very well know this is just a dream. Or not? I couldn't even feel my own body. It feels like I'm just a soul in front of the man whom I wished to be my soulmate.

"Why?" I dared to ask so the silence won't grow any more unpleasant.

"I-I... I don't know."

"You asked a fan to meet you at this time and you do not know?" I calmly said, casually teasing him but it did not seem to reach him, or maybe I'm just not fun to be with.

"I know you." He said and he earned a funny face from me, which I did not mean to do. "C'mon, I've seen you a lot of times."

"So you... like, judged me?"

He took a sip of his coffee and he answered. "It's inevitable. You can't just look at people without even thinking if they are like this or that."

"I could." I said, though I know he is kinda right.

"It doesn't work for me, I like observing." He slyly smiled.

"So are you saying you have an idea of me?"

"You've come to events to support us since 2013, right?" I was allured when he looked at me then smiled. "Yes I've judged you, as you have put it."

"Is that supposed to insult me or not because I am kind of glad that an idol is keeping an eye on a fan." I said and he sniggered. Oh, he's so cute.

"You're happy about it."

When he spoke again, that's when I realized I should've not said the latter part. "Yep." I stared at my Americano awkwardly.

"Actually," I looked at him when he spoke again, confused with his business. "The reason I tried to talk to you like this is because I think... Well I think you could..." He stared at me for a moment then he lowered his head. I don't know what's happening because it's the first time I heard him unsure. "You could probably help?" He whispered, shy of the statement but I don't really get it.

"Help you where?"

He stared at me again as if reading me, then he awkwardly laughed. "I... I have a... a... close friend,"

The time those words came out of his mouth, I knew he was lying. It's obvious. The person he is referring to isn't just a close friend. You won't speak like that if that was really just a friend.

"Hmm?" I looked away. I could feel it; He's talking about a girl.

"She..." Oh, I'm right. I urged him to continue. "She just died."

Shocked by the statement, I quickly threw my attitude aside. I thought it was something else. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah."

We both fell silent. I finished my cup without looking at him. It's not that I am hurt because he's cherishing someone, I just cannot look at him with that pain clearly shown in his eyes. They're emitting sadness and I'm absorbing it. I did not ask however; I want to hear everything from him.

"Do you want to take a walk?" I suggested and he did not bother answering. He just stood up and gently held me by my wrist. I was surprised, of course, and I could feel something travelling from his grip to my spine. My heart was thumping louder than before to the point I want to hold my chest; Afraid he could feel it. Yoongi doesn't seem to be bothered so I shook the same feeling off. I don't want to be awkward with him.

When we came out on the street, he still did not let go. I do not know if I should feel jubilant. He held my hand before and we have talked before. He knows me, I know him, but something is very different. Like something is commanding me to feel special because what's happening right now is special.

"You're weird." I said after our long moment of silence. "Don't you think this is awkward, and... wrong?"

For goodness' sake, I'm just a fan who is fortunately with her bias right now, and listening to his aches. I'm currently not a dot, right?

"I don't feel like it's wrong." He said, I think I blushed. Well, he is Min Yoongi, the man who does not give a shit. I'm trying to control my emotions for his sake but I think this will be a hell of a headache.

"Why?" I asked though I am not curious to the answer.

"I could see her in you." He said in a low voice. "Every single time."

Ah. That hurt.

"Is she pretty too?" I joked, trying to hide the pain from him.

"Both of you are." He willingly answered. I think I'm good with hiding my emotions because he doesn't seem to be bothered.

"Is she really like me?"

He appeared to be thinking really deep, then he answered with a grin. "The first time I saw you, I thought you're her."

So this man knew our resemblance since 2013. "But then?"

"But then she appeared and I thought you were twins."

"But?"

He laughed. Though it was weak, he still laughed! "She's questioning everything, too."

"Who? The woman who left?" Those words came out of my mouth so easily. Again, I regretted saying it. He slowed down his pace and then he halted. He was just laughing a moment ago, now he is back to being pained and miserable. Is it my mistake?

I wanted to apologize and explain that it's just when you're happy, words come out so easily, but I don't think that's acceptable because he said his situation yet I let my selfish feeling take control.

"She died yesterday, Miracle. She was in coma, then her body gave up." He said, pain clearly etched in his voice. He closed his eyes to prevent tears but his heart is too pained. His grip on my wrist became weaker and weaker until he let his hand drop.

I remained silent. I want to know but I do not want to get hurt. I want him to release his pain and emotion but I do not know if I could listen and be his comfort. I love him, too. And he's talking about someone he loved for long.

"After the accident last year, her family told me to move on, but I couldn't." He explained, this time with a calmer voice.

"Because I remind you of her." I said, calmly, too, though my heart is aching. Is that why I've been receiving special treatment from him?

"Yeah." He turned his head to look away.

"Is that the reason," My voice broke, so I swallowed hard before I continued. "...why I am here with you? Because..." I trailed off but I continued anyway. "Because I remind you of her?"

"I'm sorry."

"No, it's fine." I tried not to mix my statement with any sarcasm but I know he's fully aware that he just hurt me too.

"This is not fine."

I bitterly laughed. "I do not know if you are using me to forget her death, or you are using me because you do not want to forget her."

Using? No. He just used me ever since to replay the ghost of his memories. He used me for his own good. He unwarily played with my feelings because he's loving someone that is never me.

And with him meeting me like this, I very well know what he wants to happen. No, I wouldn't allow that. I badly want him, but I want him to love me, too, deep inside.

I want to yell at him and make him more miserable for making me feel like this. I don't know why I am so hurt. I want to strangle him because I was fine. I was fine but he came to me once more just to make me feel this pain that I know I shouldn't deserve. I just loved him. What kind of shit is this? A miserable prize for devoting yourself to someone you think you know. What the hell.

"Miracle..."

"Yoongi," I bit my lips. "Did you ever see me as I am?"

He did not answer so I spoke again. It was hard but I managed to speak those words. "I am sorry but I could not help. I may be like her but I am not her, Yoongi."

Am I being selfish? I just don't want to get hurt but here I am, being torn choosing between myself and helping him in the way he wanted. But I do not know why I should help him, to forget or to remind him of that girl.

"It's my bad, too. I'm sorry." He sincerely said though he can't look at me.

"Supposedly, you should be the one pouring out a lot of emotion since she died... but..." I looked away and awkwardly patted him at the back. "I... I do... I love you too." The tears that I was holding dropped on my cheeks. "But I want you to love me because I am Miracle."

We fell into silence once again, and after a few minutes. we decided to separate our ways. Sorry if I am not a martyr, Yoongi.

'Min Yoongi could not love me... because he's loving someone else.'

I completed the sentence. It's not that he can't, he just can't if it's someone else.

The man sniggered a little as he kept his tears to himself.

"Silly, I love you so much." He closed his eyes and imagined her sitting in front of him; Both of them wondering about the same night... Thinking about the same scenes, with hearts aimed for the same future.

A bitter smile came across his lips as he fought the urge to just fall into pieces.

"Ahh... my Miracle."

#bts fanfic #short story #yoongi #suga #min suga #bts #fan fiction #fanfic #bts fanfction #miracle #how do you do tags really #rhgd-otwtm

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