#also this may or may not be something that I had started back in december when I was really sick

[aparticularbandit]

mikan's birthday is may 12th, which is a sunday (and mother's day, among other things).

the oaei chapter that goes up that monday, the thirteenth, just so happens to be a remnants chapter, which means you get mikan pov.

i did not plan this, i'll have you know.

[motorsportbarbie13]

What's A Soulmate? - Part 1

In which something magical begins.

Warnings: none, just a bit of mutual pining. but this will be an angsty one i think. Pairing: Lando Norris X SainzSister!Reader Words: 2.6k

Master List

(a/n: new series alert! friends to lovers featuring lando norris. this one will be several parts spanning from 2019 to present day. I've tried my hardest to make sure the timeline/race results are accurate but I may have adjusted something to make it work a bit better for the story line. this is a total work of fiction, purely for entertainment.)

February 2019 

Woking, Surry, England

“This is not going to be a year of partying and laziness, Chiquita.” Carlos throws you a sidelong glance as he pulls his new McLaren into a parking spot early one February morning. “You are here with me to work, not spend your gap year playing.” 

“If I’m here to work, then you can’t me ‘little girl’ while we’re here, Carlos.” You bite back, hauling your tote bag from the floor of the low slung sports car. 

Carlos chuckles, throwing his arm around your shoulder as you both begin the walk into his new workplace: the McLaren Technology Center. “Fair enough, Chiquita.” 

Last spring, you had graduated from high school and had spent one miserable semester at the University of Madrid in the fall before dropping out just a few months ago. 

Carlos dodges the swat that you aim at his bicep, taking a few quick steps ahead of you as you approach the front door of the large white building. The sprawling MTC is an intimidating building and you knew that if you hadn’t been here with Carlos, there was no way you’d be able to find your way. 

After spending a few listless months bouncing from Carlos’ couch in Monaco back to your parent’s estate in Spain, they had laid down the law. You needed to figure out what you were going to do for the foreseeable future if going back to University wasn’t in the cards for you at the moment. They were fine with you not going back to uni right away, in fact, they encouraged you to take a gap year but they expected you to do something productive with your life while you figured out what you wanted to do. 

And that had been when your older brother had entered the chat. He had finished third year as a Formula 1 driver a few months ago and would be changing teams come the new season in March. In December, he had parted ways with his long time assistant, who wanted to spend more time with her new husband and less time traveling. Carlos and you had always been the closest of the four Sainz siblings despite the six year age gap (his 25 years to your 19) so it had been the most natural thing in the world to have you be his assistant and social media manager for the 2019 F1 season. 

Up until today, Carlos had been attending pre-season meetings and putting time in at McLaren’s sim setup by himself but you had arrived at his flat five minutes from the MTC yesterday, suitcases in hand, ready to get started as your brother’s assistant. It had been ages since the two of you had spent this much time together and while you were mostly excited to spend the year traveling and reconnecting with your big brother, there was a bit of trepidation and anxiety sitting in your chest as you walked through those sliding glass doors this morning. 

You were barely 19 after all, little real world experience and you knew absolutely no one in this entire country beyond your brother. All of your friends were attending university in other countries, far away from the world you now found yourself in. Yes, you were excited but you were also insanely nervous. 

Carlos leads you down a long hallway, lined with trophy cases filled with motorsport winners trophies on one side and sleek F1 cars on the other. It was an entire shrine to McLaren history, of which there was a lot, and you were in awe as you followed after your brother. “Where are we going?” You ask as he turns down another quiet hallway, convinced you’d be utterly lost if Carlos asked you to show him how to get back to the front doors. 

“I have a little office tucked away back here next to Lando’s, I wanted to get you set up with the laptop and sync my calendar so you could get yourself ready.” 

You nod, ears perking up at the mention of your brother’s new teammate, Lando Norris. You knew a little about him from a few causal Google searches. He was 19 like you and this was his rookie season in Formula 1. From everything you read, he was a karting prodigy that had been signed by McLaren for a while and had been tapped to drive opposite of Carlos this year. Just knowing that there would be someone around the offices and on the road that was your age made the tight anxiety that sat in your chest ease just a touch, even if you two didn’t end up being more than acquaintances this year. 

Carlos hadn’t been lying about his ‘little’ office. It was barely more than a broom closet if you were being honest. Just enough room for a desk, a pair of chairs, and a bookshelf, but there was a large window that faced south so at least there’d always be sun spilling into the small space making it feel a little airier. 

You pull your MacBook out of the Dior tote Carlos had gotten you for your birthday last year as Carlos chatters away about schedules, press duties, and what he expected out of you. You listened carefully, taking notes in a little spiral bound notebook as you waited for your laptop to boot up. 

“Are you in here talking to yourself again, Carlitos?” 

Your head snaps up at the sound of an unfamiliar voice and you find yourself smiling at the boy standing in the doorway. He’s a few inches taller than you, with short brown hair, and bright green eyes surrounded by thick black eyelashes. The deep tan of his skin surprises you a bit, considering its February in England and you hadn’t seen the sun since you left Spain yesterday. 

The boy’s face instantly sobers when he sees that your brother isn’t alone. “Oh, I’m sorry.” He blushes, hand coming to cup the back of his neck. “I didn’t realize you had a guest.” 

Carlos laughs, “This isn’t a guest. This is my sister, the one I was telling you about Friday. She’s going to be my assistant this year.” 

“Of course, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Lando.” 

You stand, crossing the small office in just 2 quick strides to shake Lando’s outstretched hand, “Nice to meet you too, Lando.” You say, polite smile playing on your lips. 

Lando turned around then, not wanting to intrude on the sibling time but also needing a moment to collect himself. He had known that you would be spending the season with your bother and that you two were around the same age but what he hadn’t prepared himself for was for how pretty you were. Your hair was even darker than your brother’s and it tumbled over your shoulders in layered waves that shined in a way that made Lando’s mouth go a little dry. Those dark eyes, round and doe eyed, threatened to swallow Lando whole and he’d barely spent more than a handful of seconds in your orbit.

He leaned against the door frame leading into his office, the sound of your laughter drifting through the walls. He had been used to the constant travel that was required of drivers of his caliber, having spent most of his teenage years on the road but all that time, he always had someone with him. His father, mother, manager. Someone that was ‘in charge’ of him and his schedule.

Now though? Now everything is different. He’s of age, a driver in the pinnacle league of his chosen sport, and totally alone. His friends are either jealous of his success or away at school and Lando often finds himself spending the entire weekend alone in his little flat down the road from the MTC. He was happy, of course, ecstatic that he had been given this chance by McLaren but the truth of the matter was, Lando Norris was quite lonely. 

As the image of your face flickered through his mind, Lando felt the tight grip of anxiety ease just a little bit. There was something so open about the way you had greeted him, something about how easy your laugh seemed to come, that told Lando that you were a good person, someone that would somehow be very important to him this year. 

“That is your teammates sister, mate.” Lando mutters to himself as he pushes off the door frame, making a beeline for the sim rig that was on the other side of the MTC, hoping that the time spent focused on racing would be enough to get your image out of his brain. 

April 2019 

Baku City Circuit 

“Lando, I swear to God if you’ve slept in again I’m ordering fish whenever I eat with you for the rest of my life.” 

Somewhere between Australia and China, you had morphed into not only Carlos’ personal assistant but also the assistant and babysitter of sorts to his stupid, idiotic, hilarious teammate. You adored the boy but most of the time he drove you to the brink of absolute madness. 

“I didn’t sleep in! My alarm didn’t go off!” Lando groans, breathless on the other end of the phone. 

“That is literally the same thing. I have one simple job here, Norris: get you and my brother to where they belong during race weekends and right now? You’re making me look like an amateur.” 

“I just got into the paddock, relax darling, no one is even remotely close to being fined by the FIA. I’ll be on the fan stage in five minutes, meet me there?” 

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you desperately try to will away the Landache, the term you’ve come up with when you get a headache caused by the Brit. “Fine.” You breathe. 

It’s your fourth race of the season and while Lando and your brother were seemingly hell bent on driving you to an early retirement, you had never been happier. Managing the busy schedule and life of now two Formula 1 drivers had come naturally to you. Engineers and mechanics in the garage were always a little in awe of your ability to keep the two drivers in line and where they needed to be when. The communications team at McLaren loved you because sometimes, you were the only one who would be able to get the Carlando, as the duo was coming to be known as, to behave. 

It was total chaos pretty much all of the time but you were thriving. You and Carlos were closer than ever, working tighter like a well oiled machine. But Lando and you? You two were the textbook definition of Partners In Crime. While you were the picture of professionalism on the track and during business hours, you were the other half of the chaos gremlin duo that terrorized half the grid. 

Right now though? Now the chaos gremlin was the perfect paddock princess that had to make sure her best friend and brother got to the right places on time. You round the corner of the back stage area, desperately searching for the mop of wavy brown hair covered by a papaya colored hat. 

“Lando!” You call, relieved when your dark eyes catch with a familiar pair light colored eyes. Today, they were an icy blue thanks to the bright desert sun of Baku. “I didn’t think I had to add ‘alarm’ to my list of race weekend duties.” You grouse, brushing at the dust on his team polo. 

Lando shakes his head, easy smile spreading across his face. “Am I late though?” 

You glare at him, “No.” You huff. 

“I would never make you look bad, pretty girl.” He winks and your stupid stomach does its traitorous little flip that it’s been doing lately. It’s disgusting. 

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Norris.” 

“And please welcome to the stage, McLaren drivers Carlos Sainz and Lando Norris!” The presenter calls from behind Lando’s shoulder, interrupting your sparring match. 

Lando gives you a wink before spinning around following your brother up the stairs of the stage. 

July, 2019

Germany 

“That was my fifth DNF this year.” The pain in Lando’s voice sends your stomach twisting. You follow behind him, hands wringing together, as he stalks down the hallway of the hotel in Germany. The race had finished up hours ago but Lando had just been released from media duties a bit ago. Carlos had been caught up in some post-race meetings so you had hitched a ride back to the hotel with Lando instead but now, as you followed his stiff frame stalk down the hall, you wondered if that had been a good idea. 

“Lando, it wasn’t your fault. Your car lost power, it’s not like you binned it into the wall or anything.” 

Reaching his room, Lando stops and pulls out the key before letting himself in. He leaves the door open though, indicating he wanted you to follow him. “I know that.” He groans, scrubbing his hands over his face. The hotel room is pretty normal where hotels are concerned, 2 queen sized beds dominate the space with a large flat screen tv on the opposite side. Lando flops down on the farthest bed, his eyes closed. 

“I’ve barely finished in the points yet this season. Haven’t had a sniffing chance at a podium. I feel like such a fucking fraud.” 

You had stopped just inside the door, wanting to give Lando some space as he had his tantrum but now, seeing how truly upset he is, you cross the carpeted floor and sit down next to your best friend. “Lan.” You coo, running your fingers through his hair, knowing how the scratches from your nails relaxes him. “Lan, it’s okay. You knew coming in, just like Carlos, that McLaren is in a bit of a rebuilding stage. This isn’t unexpected.” 

The problem with Lando is that he is utterly too hard on himself. You had clocked the fact quickly, by the time you had been landing in Australia for the first race of the season, you knew he needed to work on his confidence. 

“I know. I mean, I don’t know but I know that you know and I trust you enough to know that you know what you know is right.” 

Your head spins. “Pardon me?” 

Laughter spilling from your lips pops the bubble of tension in the room, Lando unable to keep the smile off his face either.

“You heard me.” He gripes, sitting up. “And I know -” He stops, glaring at you when you double over with laughter once again. “I know you understood me, you cheeky monkey.” 

“I’m sorry but I’m just so terrified by the fact that I did understand that whirlwind of a sentence and can’t decide how to process it.” You say, chest heaving from laughing so hard. “We’ve been spending too much time together.” 

Lando grabs the remote from your hand before turning on the movie you had both fallen asleep to last night before the race. “Are you going to be mean to me all night, or are we going to finish this movie?” 

You roll your eyes, but toe off your shoes before settling against the headboard of the bed, shoulder bumping with Lando’s as he joins you. “Pizza or sushi for dinner?” You ask, grinning because you already know the answer. 

“You’re an idiot.” 

“Love you too, Lan.” You counter, pulling out your phone to order some pizza. 

Tag List: @anilovessadbooks, @shelbyteller, @formulaal, @martygraciesversion381, @longhairkoo, @samantha-chicago, @stelena-klayley @dark-night-sky-99 @luckylampzonkland, @chlmtfilms , @inarabee @aykxz98 @forensicheart @cheer-bear-go-vroom @charlesgirl16

*as always, if you want to be added to the tag list, leave me a comment or send me a message*

[snoopyracing]

back to december // ln4

pairing: lando norris X reader

word count: 9k

warnings: swearing, alcohol use, and implied sex

includes: friends to lovers, pining, fluff, and angst.

summary: follows lando and the reader from the beginning of their relationship all the way until the end. based off of ‘back to december’ by taylor swift.

A/N: some of this is may not be biblically f1 accurate so please just close your eyes and pretend it is. who cares when the vibes are great. also don't forget.... i'm also just a girl...

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The days blurred together anymore, blurred into the same monotonous routine.

Wake up, get ready for work, go to work, come home, and then distract yourself from your own thoughts until it was time to go to bed. Some days were worse than others, but it was your own self destructive tendencies that got you into this state.

Today was a particularly shitty day, especially for a Friday. You couldn't wait to get home, but walking through the door to an empty apartment was something you still hadn't gotten used to. The bright warmness that always seemed to cascade through the apartment was replaced with dark coldness. The blinds were always shut now, the apartment could easily be mistaken for a vampire's liar at this point. The music that once played almost 24/7, that got you guys plenty of noise complaints, now collected dust on the shelf. The smell of dinner cooking as you walked through the door was now replaced with the Chinese takeout from two nights ago heating up in the microwave.

As you watched the plate spin your reflection in the yellow glow caught your attention. Oof. Have you really looked like this recently? The dark circles under your eyes looked like you had been taking up cage fighting as a hobby recently. You weren't sure how long you stood there, picking yourself apart, finding something new with each pass over yourself. The beeping from the microwave had been drowned out by your own thoughts.

Your phone had started to ring on the counter behind you, causing you to jump. Combine that with the now incessant beeping of the microwave and your heart was racing. You pressed answer, not bothering to glance at the caller id.

"Hello?" You asked as you opened the microwave, careful to not spill the plate as you picked it up with one hand.

The sound of your clearly already inebriated best friend filled your ears. "Heyyyyy!" You made your way to the couch, ready to stuff your face and then rot in your usual spot until you fell asleep. "I think you should get up off that couch and come over. We are having a little get together."

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at her statement. She had tried multiple times after it had happened to get you to go out. She had once famously said 'the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else'. Something that you gave a hard pass to. You thought she had finally given up on trying to get you to go out. It had been maybe almost a month, if you remembered correctly, since your last invite. Also, her get little get togethers were never little. They always escalated into bigger than her house could handle parties. Not that was always a bad thing, it's just the more people the more of a chance for you to run into him, or one his friends. The idea made your stomach turn.

"Would love to, but I'm already settled in for the night. Plus, sounds like you've already started the party without me."

"Oh come on! Please come over. It's been almost three months. Even for just a little bit." Before you could decline again she was already begging for a second time. "Please. For me?"

She was right, it had been almost three months. Maybe a party could do you some good or even just getting out of this routine you've been in for months. Then your mind wandered back to the same person it always has for months. "Is he going to be there?"

"Why would he be here?"

Your eyes darted to the picture frame on the tv stand. Inside the white wooden frame was picture of him and you and all your shared friends. It was from a trip you all had taken last summer to Greece. You both looked so happy and in love, which back then you were. You really should have put that picture up a long time ago, but you couldn't. There were a lot of things you couldn't put away.

"Maybe because we have mutual friends?" You pried.

"He's probably busy this weekend or out of the country. It will be fine. Just please come."

You sighed looking up to find that same reflection from the microwave now residing in the black screen of the TV. As you glanced back between your reflection in the tv and the picture of you from almost a year ago, you decided it was time to get back to the girl you were in Greece. Even without him.

"Fine. Let me get ready and I'll be over." The squeal that came from your friend's mouth was borderline inhumane. "I'll see you in a little bit." But as you hung up the phone that creeping what the hell did i just agree to feeling had appeared.

You tried to push those thoughts aside and hurried to get ready. Maybe this sudden spontaneous so out of character decision for you lately would be a good thing. You slapped on some makeup, making sure to cover those horrible dark circles and chose a casual, yet still party worthy outfit. Honestly the person who stood staring back at you from the mirror looked like the old you. The old you, the you that was happier, the you that was and still is in love.

The uber ride to your friend's house thankfully wasn't that long, it didn't allow for you to psych yourself out and change your mind about going. As the driver pulled up to her house it didn't seem like that crazy of a party, so maybe it was just a little get together. You thanked the driver and made your way to the front door. You took a deep breath before entering, here goes nothing. As you closed to door behind you, your eyes scanned the room. Some familiar faces filled the space of the living room. They noticed your presence and gave you a smile, but nobody came over to talk. You weren't sure if you should be offended or thankful.

Weaving your way through the house, you were on a mission to find your friend, her house wasn't that big, it shouldn't take that long to find her. As you entered the kitchen you realized it was the most crowded room in the house, granted it was were all the drinks were at. You found your friend in the center of the crowd, of course, but as she spotted you coming towards her she stopped her conversations and closed the gap between the two of you. Her arms squeezed you in so tight you could barely breathe.

"I'm so glad you came!"

You smiled back at her, but wanted to get some drinks in to loosen up some. "Yeah, yeah. What about a drink? I know you've started without me."

"Here. Your favorite." She grabbed a beer from the counter, pushing it towards you.

Not your favorite, in fact you hated beer, but you took it with a smile on your face. Some more people began filtering into the kitchen. "I'm gonna go talk to them real quick." Your friend stated. She was gone before you could say anything.

You tried to find something else to drink, but it had seemed that all that was left was beer. What was this? Some high school party? You took a swig of the beer your friend had handed you, hoping your taste buds had changed, but you were wrong. The one swig was enough for you to set it back on the counter.

The kitchen was becoming a little too stuffy and your friend didn't seem to be making her way back to you anytime soon, so you slid out the door to the patio. The fresh air already making you feel better. There were some people out there, a group of guys passing around a joint and some other people just talking, but nothing like the crowd in the kitchen. The empty lounge chair at the corner of the patio was calling your name. With nothing to drink and not really anyone here that you would like to talk to, besides your friend, this party was not turning out like you had hoped. You leaned back in the chair, looking up at the night sky. You tried to find some of the constellations, but the city lights made it far too hard to do.

You could hear footsteps coming towards you and you assumed it was your friend finally coming to hang out, but it was someone far worse than that.

"I think I might see the big dipper." You froze in the chair, goosebumps formed on your skin as your stomach turned. There was no need to turn around to see who was behind you, you knew that voice anywhere. "Hi Y/N."

Hearing him say your name made your body turn towards him, but also made your heart ache. Hearing your name roll off his tongue once brought you so much joy. Now it was like a stab in the heart. Your eyes scanned over him.

Fuck.

He looked good, so good. Clearly he was doing better than you were. His tan skin somehow still glistened in the night time and his curls slightly moved with the night breeze. Even though it was dark, the light from the patio allowed you to still see those eyes of his. The ones that still made you weak in the knees.

"Hi Lando." You gave him a small smile.

Of course he would be here you thought. You should have known he would be here. You had an inkling your friend knew and did this on purpose. You could kill her, but then again it was nice to see him, even if it did hurt like a bitch.

He stared at you for a moment before taking a seat on the end on the lounge chair where your legs resided moments ago. Being in this close of proximity to him made your heart race. Fuck you missed him and it drive you crazy the effect he still had on you.

He noticed you weren't drinking anything and let out a small chuckle. "Still don't like beer huh?"

You smiled, "Never have, never will."

He nodded and looked down at his shoes. This was clearly one of the most awkward conversations you've had in a long time.

"So how's your family doing?" You thought that might be a good thing to ask, you loved his family, so in all seriousness it was a genuine question.

He took a swig of his beer. "Yeah they're good."

You just nodded at his dry answer. Could this get anymore awkward?

You could feel Lando staring at you, he took another swig of his beer before asking. "So how's your new found freedom?"

Ouch. Sensitive topic. You didn't want to talk about how much of a fuck up you were right now, so you deflected the conversation back to him. "Saw you made podium recently. Congrats."

He laughed dryly, he knew what you were doing. "Thanks."

You had started to pick at your nails, a nervous habit the both of you unfortunately shared. You didn't want your relationship to have turned out this way. You wanted to tell him right then and there that you were sorry. That you missed him more than anyone could imagine. That he didn't deserve what you put him through. That you still love him. The memories of you two came flooding back and as you two sat there on the lounge chair, close as strangers. Your mind hit replay.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Lando had been in your life for years. You had met not to long after he had been brought onto the McLaren team. If you wanted to get specific it was at a celebratory party his friends had thrown him. You were invited through mutual friends. When you went that night you had no idea you had just met the man who three years later you would be in love with. Sure you thought he was good looking, who didn't? For awhile you just remained casual friends, really not even that close. After about a year and a half of seeing him at parties, sometimes at other friends houses, and out at clubs, something had started to fester inside of you.

Needless to say you were developing a little crush. It didn't help that when you did see each other, he always went out his way to talk to you. You could walk into the room and as soon as he noticed you, whatever conversation he was having was terminated and he was soon by your side. Some more time had passed and you had heard through the grapevine that Lando was seeing someone, it stung a little, but other than showing you some attention he had made no claim to you. So, what were you to do other than just get over it and hopefully find someone new to crush on.

Though, his new relationship didn't last long and soon enough he was back to charming you. The talking occasionally at gatherings turned into texting, that then turned into texting everyday, which turned into facetiming, and then turned into you two always hanging out when he was around hanging out.

The two of you would go out to eat, to the movies, or even just hang out at each others apartments. It was always a fun time as long as you were in each others presence. You attended some races that were closer to home, always so excited to see him do the one thing he loved. The races you didn't attend though, the two of you were always in contact. Something that you always made sure of was that he never went without his 'goodluck ♡' text from you.

It had gotten to the point where your friends for sure thought you guys were dating and the public had a hunch too. You couldn't deny that your feelings for him were way beyond crush status at this point. And to say you would have rather ate glass than ask him how he felt about you was an understatement. The idea of Lando rejecting you was something that kept you up at night, so your feelings remained bottled up. That was until a sunny race day last spring.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Spring - i miss your tan skin, your sweet smile. so good to me, so right.

Lando had asked you weeks ago to come the upcoming Grand Prix in Australia. You were hesitant, Australia would be the furthest you had ever been from home and it made you a little nervous. At least, that's what you told him. The real truth was that you would've loved to go to Australia, especially to watch him race, but you just couldn't stand to be around him. Your feelings for him were making it so hard to be in his presence, especially with his naturally flirty personality. Your friends kept telling you that you were blind and that he was totally into you, but those statements always rolled off your back. To you, there was no way he felt that the same way you felt about him. So to try and protect yourself from one sided heartbreak, you distanced yourself.

All that work failed though, because here you were a week later on a plane to Australia. It didn't take much more begging from Lando for you to finally cave. Hell, he even wanted you to come early with him, but you drew the line. He had work to do and you didn't want to be in the way, because knowing Lando recently, he would have wanted you with him 24/7. Which was really tampering with your distancing yourself from him plan.

Two connecting flights later and you were finally landing in Melbourne. As you departed from the plane and collected your bags you realized maybe you should have come earlier with him. The airport was insanely busy and trying to get a Uber was going to be a huge and expensive pain in the ass.

You pulled out your phone from your pocket to see if there was even any Ubers available when a text from Lando popped up.

Lan: I've tried to send this damn message like 10 times. Wait. I hope everything's ok with the plane.....Tbh I think I would have gotten an alert or something. Or I would hope your last dying text would go to me. Anyways... text me as soon as you land. I've got a car waiting for you to bring you to the track.

You rolled your eyes at his dramatics, but was very thankful for him always taking care of you. Hell, the cost alone of your plane ticket was enough to make your eyes bulge, but he took care of it like it was nothing.

You: I'm alive. The wifi sucked on the last plane. Actually don't think I can ever do 26 hours of traveling again... consider yourself lucky Norris.

It didn't take but a minute for him to respond.

Lan: I was starting to get worried. Just saying it would have been much better if you just flew down with me days ago...

You: Perhaps.... I'll see you soon.

The ride to the track was beautiful. The sun had just made its grand entrance to the world as you looked out the window. You tried to look at as much as you could on the drive over, wanting to experience as much as you could with what time you had in Australia.

Lando was waiting for you when you arrived, paddock pass in hand. Cheesy smiles were painted on both of your faces as he pulled you into a hug. His cologne alone made you weak in the knees, let alone the feeling of being in his arms.

"Missed ya," he mumbled.

As you pulled away from him you were able to get a good long look at him. There was something about him during race weekends that just made him come alive, made him hotter. Not to mention how sunkissed he looked. Australia had been very kind to him and it was something you could get used to.

He grabbed your hand pulling you along with him. "Come on. Some stuff we need to do before race time." He was being very touchy today and you could feel yourself starting to become putty in his hands.

You got about ten steps before remembering your luggage. "Wait Lan! My bags!" You turned around to see the car had left.

"Don't worry about it. I've got it taken care of."

He always seemed to be doing that, taking care of you.

The place was already alive as the two of you walked around. In a few short minutes you were in his private room and miraculously so was your luggage "You can relax in here for awhile, or do whatever. I've got some things to do but I'll come get you before the race ok?"

You nodded at him and he closed the door behind him. Glancing around the room your eyes landed on the couch and decided a quick power nap may do you some good. You weren't asleep but maybe a half an hour when the constant sound of text notifications woke you up. You grabbed your phone, nothing, not a single text. You thought maybe you were dreaming it and then you heard it again. You looked to your left to see Lando's phone on the side table. He must have forgotten it.

You weren't trying to be nosy, but you were curious as to who was blowing up his phone like that. Quickly grabbing it you saw multiple texts from multiple people from the McLaren team asking where he was at. Must be missing an interview or something you thought. Then you saw something that caught your eye, his lock screen. Behind all the text notifications was a picture of you two. It was after the the first race of his you had ever come to watch. He had a not so great finish to the race and you knew he was going to be hard on himself. So when he made it back to the garage, you were there with arms wide open, a gesture he gladly accepted. Someone must have snapped a picture of you two and sent it to him.

It was a cute picture, but your head was trying to comprehend why he had it as his lock screen. You kept telling yourself that friends don't make pictures like that their lock screen. Then your mind went to the idea of him feeling the same way about you and you could feel your heart starting to race. You weren't going to get your hopes up, but as you put the phone back on the side table you couldn't help but hold on to a little sliver of hope.

It was getting close to race time so you grabbed your bags to get ready. Of course you put on some McLaren attire, specifically some with the number four on it. Just as you were putting on your shoes there was a knock on the door and Lando's head peaks in.

"Ready?" But when he notices you've got on not just any regular McLaren shirt, but his branded one, a small smirk forms on his face.

"Yep. Let's go." You head towards the door, but stop and grab his phone. "Oh wait. I think you might've forgotten this earlier."

His cheeks flush as you hand it over to him, he knows you had to have looked at it, he knows you saw his lock screen. "There it is. Was looking for it all over." He tried to act cool as he shoved it in his pocket.

Lando leads you all through the McLaren area and some people say hi, remembering you from some of the previous races you had attended. He talks to some of the team, and as you stand back and watch you can't help but admire him. How much dedication he puts in is insane and you hoped he would get that well deserved win soon. It wasn't long before the two of you headed back towards his room so he could get ready for the race. You knew he liked to spend this time alone, he had his traditions, so you lingered in the doorway.

"You need anything before I go?"

A confused expression washed over his face. "Go where?"

Now you had the confused expression. "I figured you'd want to be alone."

"Why would I fly you all the way out here to not spend time with you?" He scooted over on the couch making room for you next to him. "C'mere."

As you fully stepped into the room and closed the door, you could feel the mood in the room change. It felt even more strange when you sat next to him on the couch. You tried to make small talk to make it less awkward. "Nervous for the race?" You weren't even looking at him when you asked the question, which was a dumb one at that.

His fingers gently grabbed your chin. "Would you look at me?" Your head turned to face his, his fingers still lingered near your face. His eyes never leaving yours and you could feel your cheeks getting warm.

Your heart was nearly beating out of your chest. "Lan-"

"God you drive me crazy." His hand now had made a home on your thigh. "In a good way."

"Lando what are you doing?" If he thought you were driving him crazy, he should see how he's making you feel.

He paused, like he was trying to figure out what to say. "Putting my heart and today's race on the line."

Oh god

"Here goes nothing." He took a deep breath. "As much as it sounds like a cliche. I truly think I liked you from the very first time we met. I just didn't realize it until much later. Then I got into my head and figured you didn't feel the same about me as I did you. I tried to push those feelings aside, but as we started to spend more time together, they just kept growing. Then it got to the point where you were the only thing I could think of, only person I wanted to be around. You're my favorite person and one of my biggest supporters. The idea of you not being in my life, not being mine, drives me insane. I want you to be at every race, cheering me on, with my number on you." He glanced at the LN4 on your shirt then back up at you. "Looks like I've got one of those things accomplished already."

Your cheeks felt like they were on fire and as much as you wanted to spill your guts to him too, you were too stunned to speak. Lando tried to read your body language for any sign that you felt the same and after no response from you he started to get nervous. "God. I hope I didn't just fuck everything up between us."

The idea of him being scared shitless of rejection just like you was amusing to you and a grin had plastered itself onto your face. Then before you could even realize what you were doing you were practically in his lap, with your lips on his. His hands cupped your face as he kissed you back. God, did it feel amazing. You couldn't lie you had fantasized about kissing him many a times but you were happy to say the real thing was even better than you had imagined.

As the two of you pulled away both grinning like fools, he asked the question. "Now, are you gonna be mine? So when I win this race I can kiss my girlfriend and celebrate with my girlfriend?"

You simply replied. "Yes."

Things may have escalated at that point and the two of you may have been slightly making out until it was time for him to leave. As he gave you one final kiss as he left, you stayed seated on the couch, trying to collect yourself. The high you were riding was like no other and you pinched yourself to make sure what had just happened was real.

The giddiness was still at an all time high as you tried to focus on the race and you had to admit half the time you were thinking about kissing him again. There were only a couple laps left and Lando had been holding steady at P3 for quite some time now and as he entered the final lap you could hear some yelling from his team and then you saw it. He was inching to pass Lewis and Max and then all at once it happened. Lando was in the lead with the checkered flag in sight and within a second he had won his first F1 Grand Prix. Your chair went hurling backwards as you jumped up cheering. The whole McLaren team was yelling and celebrating.

Lando hurried to find you before he took the podium and when he saw you he ran towards you, of course you got your kiss as promised. Must have been the adrenaline because it was even better than before. "My good luck charm." He said before giving you one last kiss and hurrying off to the podium.

As you watched him take the top spot your heart swelled. It was a long time coming and you were beyond proud. You realized your life would never be the same, but with him by your side it was something to look forward to.

Summer - i think about summer, all the beautiful times. i watched you laughin' from the passenger's side and realized i loved you.

The past couple months had been a whirlwind. You honestly weren't sure how Lando did this for nine months out of the year. Between somehow still balancing work and then traveling on most of the weekends you were drained. Sure, you were nothing but grateful that you even got to tag along and experience these amazing places with your boyfriend. It's just that sometimes you craved just simple quality time between the two of you.

The past weekend had been a home race and luckily there was a gap week before the next race in Hungary. Lando promised you that this weekend would be filled with things that you wanted to do. You just hoped he didn't mind doing nothing.

The first day was great, the two of you basically just rotted in bed all day. It was nice to actually relax for once and you could tell Lando was taking full advantage of it. Although, by the afternoon of the next day you were both getting slightly antsy. Boredom, believe it or not had set in. Apparently you had become more accustomed to the busy lifestyle than you thought. You tried to occupy your brain with playing some games on your phone, but it did nothing for you. Lando had plopped down next to you on the couch with a sigh. You glanced over at him, boredom was written all over him.

"I can't believe I'm saying this but we-"

"Need to get the hell out of this place?" He was already up and putting on his shoes and tossing a pair of yours towards you before you could reply back. You hurried to put yours on as he was already heading towards the door.

"Where are we going?" You asked as you got into his car.

He gave you a small shrug. "Nowhere in particular"

Lando had one hand on the steering wheel and the other was already reaching out for your hand before you guys had even left the parking garage. As you intertwined your fingers with his you used your free hand to pick out some music. Lando always let you choose the music when you guys were in the car together. He did the driving and you were the dj. You liked to tease him that you were a better dj than he ever was, which always earned you some eye rolls.

You hadn't really been paying attention to the time, but by the beautiful pinks and oranges that were painted in the sky, you realized the sun was setting. You didn't mind though, you were having a good time. It had gotten to the point in the car ride though, where your music was just put on shuffle and it was always a fun guessing game to see what would pop up next. The opening chords to Promiscuous by Nelly Furtado and Timbaland came on and Lando was convinced he could sing both parts. By the end of the song both of you were out of breath. Him from trying to do both parts and failing, he couldn't even remember half the words, and you from laughing at him.

Golden hour cascaded through the car and as he laughed along with you he looked so perfect. If you could you would have framed this moment in time, so you would have it with you always.

As you pulled up to a red light he looked over at you a small smile on his face. "You know you're lucky I love you. No one gets away with poking fun at my singing."

Your heart skipped a beat. You guys hadn't said that you loved each other yet, but if you were to pick a moment this would have been a perfect one. You had been wanting to say it to him for awhile now, but once again was too scared to make the first move.

"Well I have never been so honoured than to be loved by the Lando Norris." You teased him.

He scoffed at you. "Oh knock it off."

You rolled your eyes as you leaned over the console. You got as close as you could to his lips without kissing him.

"I love you too." You whispered.

"You better."

His lips closed the gap within seconds, and his hand cupped the side of your face. It didn't last long though as the car behind you guys blared its horn. The two of you were too busy to see that the light had turned green.

"Oops." You laughed as you got situated back in your seat.

"Yeah yeah." Lando grumbled as he sped off.

The whole ride back to your place you couldn't wipe the smile you had off your face. You really were so head over heels in love with him. Looking back you were so glad that you got on that plane to Australia back in March. Who knows what your life would have been like right now if you hadn't. All you knew was that you loved him and you couldn't imagine your life without him.

Fall - how you held me in your arms that september night. the first time you ever saw me cry.

The Japan Grand Prix was this weekend and you were excited to be going. You had always wanted to visit Japan and what a better reason than to be supporting the man you loved. You even decided to fly in early with Lando to maybe go do some sight seeing.

The two of you spent the day exploring all that Japan had to offer. Even if it was just one day the two of you made the most of it. You did all the touristy stuff and between the two of you, a photo album probably could have been filled with all the pictures you took.

You walked hand in hand back to the hotel, feet aching from all the walking you had done today. As soon as you entered your room Lando collapsed onto the bed.

"I'm gonna be so tired for practice tomorrow." He was laying on his back with his hands behind his head. Which in turn caused his shirt to ride up exposing his toned stomach. Something that he knew drove you crazy. You kicked your shoes off and walked to the edge of the bed where he laid, smirking at you. That little shit knew what he was doing. Climbing onto the bed you straddled him, making sure to grind your hips a little as you sat on him. A groan escaped past his lips and now you were the one with a smirk on your face.

"I'm gonna give you something to actually be tired about tomorrow Norris." Your fingers trailed along his exposed skin and up under his shirt. You could feel him shiver under you and knowing the power you had over him always went straight through you. Although, your fun didn't last for long. You felt his hands grip your waist and just like that you were the one on your back as he hovered over you.

"I don't know about that." His voice was smooth and low and you knew you were in for it tonight.

When you awoke the next morning he was already gone for practice and the long night the two of you shared replayed in your head as you got ready for the day. If he thought he was tired last night you could only imagine what he felt like this morning.

The next two days went by pretty fast and before you knew it, it was race day. It had started like any other race day too. Over the past couple months Lando had created some new pre race traditions that included you. They weren't anything crazy, if anything they were super sweet. The one that you always liked was that he wanted you to be the last thing he saw before he got into the car. Now in reality that really wasn't possible he was going to see lots of other people, but he always made sure you were out there when he got into the car. And of course his number one priority, I love you's and good luck kisses.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The race was almost over and it had been a good one, if Lando could hold his position he'd likely finish P2. There were four laps to go and as you watched the screen closely you saw something that made your blood run cold. You weren't even sure how it happened, but one second Lando's coming towards a left turn and the next his car is flipping.

It felt like everything was happening in slow motion. You could see the team freaking out trying to get in contact with him, but the loud ringing in your ears made the once noisy environment silent. You could feel yourself start to hyperventilate as you saw the red flag being waved on the screen.

You hadn't even realized you were crying until someone from the team came over snapping you out of your trance.

"Is he okay? Please tell me he's ok!"

"We haven't been able to get in contact with him. We think the comms got damaged in the crash. They are working on getting him out now."

The state of his car on the screen made you sick to your stomach. It was all mangled and the longer it took for them to get him out the sicker you felt. The tears just wouldn't stop falling, worst case scenario kept replaying in your mind.

After a couple more painfully long minutes you see what you would call a miracle pop up on the screen. They've gotten Lando out and he's walking. Well walking as best as he can with two people on either side of him, but he's alive. Relieved sighs and thank gods are heard from his team.

You don't even have time to try and collect yourself because within a matter a seconds you're whisked away by someone on the team that you've never met and being shoved into the backseat of a car. "Wait I want to see him! Let me see him!"

"He's already on the way to the hospital. You'll see him there." Before you could respond the door is shut in your face.

Rude.

The drive to the hospital took forever. You were positive you had gotten every red light and to top it off were stuck in standstill traffic at least twice. It seemed like the only thing going fast was your mind. Even though you saw him up, that still didn't mean he couldn't have serious injuries.

The car hadn't even come to a complete stop at the hospital and you were opening the door and hightailing it towards the entrance. Thankfully there was someone from the team waiting for you to arrive, but as you approached them you prepared yourself for the worst.

"Please tell me he's okay." You could feel the tears start to well up again.

As they guided you towards his room they explained his condition. "Overall he's fine. He's pretty banged up, no serious internal injuries or broken bones though. I'd say we all witnessed a miracle today. Thank god for the halos."

They stopped outside a door, the one you assumed Lando was on the other side of. "He's still pretty out of it, but he has been asking for you. So that's a good sign." You glanced at the door, funny how you couldn't wait to see him, but now that the time has finally arrived, you were almost scared to open the door. "Go on." The team member nodded for you to enter the room.

You took a deep breath before slowly opening the door. For some reason you thought, maybe he wouldn't be in there. That this was all just a bad dream, but there he was. He was asleep, his chest slowly rising and falling. The sight of him in the hospital bed and finally processing what happened an hour ago hit you all at once and the tears just wouldn't stop coming. You tried be quiet, the last thing you wanted to do was wake him up. You slipped back out the door as you tried to collect yourself. People walking past gave you concerned glances as you sat against the wall with your head in in your hands.

Once the tears had subsided you quietly entered the room again, but to your surprise he was awake. His eyes lit up when he saw you. "Hi baby." He had reached his hand out to you.

You smiled at the term of endearment and took his hand in yours. Your eyes scanned over him, looking for any serious injuries. He had some scrapes and obvious bruises, but nothing that looked too bad. You seriously didn't know how he got this lucky. "You scared the shit out of me Lan. I thought I had lost you."

There they were again, the tears. You had tried to quickly wipe them away, but Lando had beat you to it. His hand gently cupped your face as he thumb wiped away your tears. "Don't cry. I don't like seeing my girl cry." He whispered.

This in turn made you cry more.

Lando tried to console you. "Baby. I'm fine. I promise. Honestly you can't get rid of me that easily." He patted the slightly empty space next to him in the bed. You were unsure, you didn't want to hurt him or make him uncomfortable. "Come on. I think some love from my love is just what the doctor ordered."

You slowly climbed onto the bed next to him, but as you tried to snuggle in close to him he winced. You immediately sat up, ready to sit in the chair next to the bed. "It's fine. It's fine. I just have some bruised ribs." You gave him a questioning look, like you didn't believe him. "That's all it was. I promise. Now please come here." He tugged on your the hem of your shirt. "I want to hold you."

Somehow the two of you made it work in the small hospital bed, but you still weren't entirely convinced this was a good idea. Although you couldn't lie and say it didn't feel nice to be in his arms. It was the one place where you always felt safe and felt comfort. You traced small designs on his arm, something you knew that brought him peace.

You felt him place a kiss on the top of your head. "I love you."

Hearing him say those three words was something you swore you would never get tired of hearing. You raised your head to look at him, and leaned up to press a kiss to his lips. "I love you more."

The two of you sat in silence for some time before Lando spoke up.

"I've got to ask you something and I need you to be so honest with me."

You rolled your eyes playfully, already knowing what his question was going to be. "Don't worry pretty boy, your face doesn't have a single scratch on it."

He let out a deep sigh. "Oh thank god."

If there was one thing you had learned from being with Lando for these past six months was that there was never a dull moment with him. Even after near death experiences he still knew how to somehow lighten the mood. Although, it was something you were thankful for, because after a day like you had, you truly don't know what you would do if he wasn't in your life.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Winter - then the cold came, the dark days. when fear crept into my mind. you gave me all your love and all i gave you was goodbye

Off season had arrived around a week ago. A time that you had looked forward to for months was finally here and you were miserable. Well, perhaps you weren't miserable, but mentally you were struggling.

It had all started in October, a couple weeks after Lando's crash. An article had gotten spread around that you were cheating on him with Charles. Someone had gotten ahold of a picture of you and Charles leaving from a dinner party. You guys had decided to leave out the back after hearing about all the paparazzi out front. As you guys exited the building you gave Charles a hug goodbye. It wasn't something uncommon between you two, you guys had become close friends over the year.

What the two of you didn't know though is that there was a pap hiding in the back, just hoping for a moment like the one you guys had just given him. The pap had taken the picture at just the right angle and far away enough that it looked like you and Charles were kissing. Did the pap think to take a picture of Lando who was right behind you and Charles? Or take a picture of Charles and Lando saying goodbye? No. All they wanted was a story to sell.

That next morning when you saw the article you couldn't help but laugh and Lando did the same exact thing when you showed him. Although the laughter stopped when you scrolled through Twitter. You had always had a good relationship with the fans, and the media left you alone really up until recently. Sure there were gonna be some fans that just didn't like you. It was just something that came with the territory of dating someone like Lando. It was something that never bothered you, but as you scrolled through Twitter all you saw was hateful tweet after hateful tweet.

You couldn't believe that people actually thought you were cheating on Lando. Gold-digger was used quite frequently in the insulting comments. You just tried to shake it off, people would eventually get over it. Lando and you knew it wasn't true and that was all that mattered. Though the straw that would break the camel's back would come two months later.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Social media hadn't been that bad recently, maybe people were feeling the holiday spirit and had decided to lay off you for a while. As you scrolled through your notifications you noticed had gotten tagged in a tweet a couple times. You figured it was probably just another fake tabloid, but clicked on it anyways.

when's Y/N gonna realize her time with lando is ticking.... he can never make it past 10 months with a girl. probably already scoping out someone new on insta.

the way all his past relationships have ended the same way lmao. it's like he sees that one year anniversary and says i gotta go!

You rolled your eyes as you locked your phone, tossing it next to you on the couch. Why couldn't people just stay out of your relationship?

The more you sat on the couch the more the little gears in your head turned. You had never really asked or did any digging on Lando's past relationships. You never really had a reason to, and you didn't want to compare yourself to some undoubtedly beautiful women. But here you were getting back on your phone and going down the rabbit hole. You didn't want what people were saying to be true, but the more you dug, the more it was confirmed. What a lovely thing to have constantly in the back of your mind now.

Christmas was in almost a week and your birthday not to long after that. You had been trying to just focus on the upcoming holidays and not that little nagging in the back of your head about Lando leaving you. That was easier said than done. He had been distant recently and you just knew what was coming. It broke your heart because you had so looked forward to spending the holidays with him, but it seemed like he was always busy. You gave him the benefit of the doubt when he said he was going to do some extra training during the off season to come back even stronger after his crash, but how much training could you do.

You would text him and not get a response for hours or you would ask him if he wanted to go do something and he was busy training or with his friends already. You wouldn't consider yourself clingy, but the fact that you hadn't seen him once the week leading up to Christmas was causing you to spiral. You shouldn't have been so stupid enough to get involved with someone like Lando. Should have known before you guys even got together that he would get bored of you. Every version of self doubt entered your mind as you sat on the couch staring at the Christmas tree in the corner.

It was Friday December 22nd when you broke your own heart and Lando's.

You've had enough. You were going to break it off. Be done. Rather break it off now on your terms than be blindsided by him. You pulled your phone out to text him.

You: Hey, can you come over today?

For the first time in weeks he responded in a timely manner.

Lan: Yes, I was just about to text you asking If you were going to be home today. I need to talk to you.

There it was. He needed to talk to you.

About and hour later he had shown up. You were in your room putting away some laundry when you heard him clear his throat from behind you. You took a second to compose yourself before turning around to look at him.

"Hey." You said softly.

"Hey."

You sat down on the edge of your bed, you weren't sure how you should go about this. You felt sick to your stomach, was this the right thing to do? You were about to ruin the best thing that ever happened to you.

When Lando sat down next to you you felt like all the air in the room had disappeared.

He shifted his body to face you and took your hands in his. Here it comes you thought.

"So I-"

As soon as he began to speak you cut him off.

"We should break up."

His eyebrows furrowed and have you a confused look. "Sorry. What?"

"I'm breaking up with you." You swallowed thickly, you could feel that familiar lump forming in your throat. You couldn't read his face at all, it was almost like he was emotionless. Your looked down at your still intertwined hands. "I'm breaking up with you Lan. I know you're bored of me. So it's better to just get it over with now. I know that's why you came over today." You pulled your hands away from his.

His eyes shifted down to his now empty hands, then back up to your eyes. Shaking his head as he got up from your bed, he felt like his heart was being ripped out of his chest. "What are you talking about 'that's why I came over today?'"

"Don't play dumb Lan, I-"

He scoffed. "You don't get to call me that as you're breaking my fucking heart."

You felt the first tear slide down you cheek. "I know about all your past relationships. How you can't stay with someone for longer than ten months. You get bored and you were clearly getting bored with me."

He threw his hands up in the arm, he was getting mad. "Why would I be getting bored of you? And what does my past relationships have to do with US?"

"People on twitter-"

His face was red and he was talking (yelling) with his hands. "Oh my god! Here we go! I told you, especially after the Charles thing to just stay clear of social media. All they do is get into your head!"

Now you were up, voice rising to match his. This wasn't going to end pretty. "Well sorry I didn't have my boyfriend here to reassure me. To tell me that it wasn't true! Christmas is in three goddamn days and I've barely seen you!" You were sure to be getting a noise complaint later.

"I've been busy!"

Your arms were now crossed. "Busy finding someone new?"

Lando thought his head was going to explode. Where the hell has all this come from? "Jesus Christ! I haven't been cheating on you! All that shit on twitter is just stuff to try and get between us. Which it clearly did it's job."

The tears were falling pretty steadily by now and you could see Lando wipe away a few of his own. "If you weren't cheating or planning on leaving me than what were you doing? What was so important that you couldn't barely be bothered to see me recently?"

He threw his hands up in defeat. "It was a fucking surprise! I had came over today to tell you, I couldn't keep it a secret any longer. I planned an early birthday surprise dinner for you tomorrow and at the party I was going to give you your gift that I had been working out too. That's why I had been so distant. I didn't want to ruin something I had worked so hard on."

Lando had sat back down on you bed, his head in his hands. You just stood there, flabbergasted. How could you be so fucking stupid? You had just ruined the best thing in your life over some stupid doubts.

"What was the gift?" You asked softly.

"Two weeks in Italy. We'd leave the day after Christmas. Spend your birthday in paradise." He looked you dead in the eye. "Only the best for the love of my life."

You felt like you couldn't breathe. What the fuck did you just do? You knew there was no coming back from this.

"Why didn't you just come to me about your doubts?" Lando asked.

You shrugged. "The seed was already so deeply planted and you weren't coming around even when I asked."

"Yeah, well maybe if you would have stayed off social media this wouldn't have happened." He was back to be shitty and that meant so were you.

"Well maybe I'm glad I didn't. So now I don't have to deal with people hating me for just loving you. Or people constantly invading my private life. I want to be free to do whatever I want! Without worrying if it will tarnish your image or create drama!"

His eyes narrowed at you, you clearly struck a nerve. "You're unbelievable you know that? I loved you with all my fucking heart and I can't help that what I do for a living puts the people I love in the public eye! I tried to protect you from it, believe me I did. So I'm sorry for being a burden on your freedom." You had never seen him so mad before, so hurt. It hurt you even more knowing you were the one who caused it.

His words stung, you didn't mean for what you said to come out that way. "Lan-" He had started to walk out of your room and you tried to grab his arm, but he just yanked it away from you.

"No, please, go enjoy your new found freedom."

Seconds later your apartment door slams shut and your left standing in your room a heartbroken idiot. That night was filled with many tears, a bottle of wine, a long facetime call to your best friend, and some more tears as your scrolled through pictures of the two of you on your phone.

The next morning hit you like a freight train. Your head was pounding you weren't sure if it was from the wine or the sobbing, probably a combination of both. You shuffled to the living room and stopped in your tracks when you noticed the bouquet of roses on the coffee table. You picked up the notecard and the crying started all over again as you read it.

For my love, Happy early birthday baby! I love you more than you'll ever know. I don't know how I got so lucky to have someone like you in my life. You're my best friend, my number 1 supporter, and the best girlfriend I could ever ask for. -Love Lando

God, you had fucked up so badly. How could you ever think a man so in love with you like he was, was planning on leaving you? The part that hurt the most was that you still loved him. You loved him so much it made you sick. You only did what you did to protect yourself and look at where it got you. A broken heart that you were sure was beyond fixable. The only person who would be able to fix it, just had his broken by you. Maybe you should quit your day job and just become a professional heartbreaker, it was something you were clearly good at.

Christmas and your birthday were beyond shitty that year and the roses he gave you had died on your birthday, how fitting you had thought. After the holidays is when you fell into your self loathe spiral that had been going on for three months now. You thought back to December all the time. How you wished you could fix things, but you had never thought that was a possibility until you saw Lando at that party.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Present

You still nervously picked at your fingernails, you wanted to badly to try and make things right, or at least tell him you were sorry. Fuck it you thought. You swallowed your pride and turned towards him to speak.

"I'm sorry about that day Lando." There was no comment from him, so you just kept going and once you started you couldn't stop. "I think about it all the time. I wish I could turn back time, and somehow change my mind or at least change what happened. I would have came to you with my doubts or when you came over that day I would have let you speak and not interrupted you."

Still no response from him, he just watched you intently. "And to answer your question earlier about my freedom... it's just been filled with missing you."

You took a deep breath before continuing to speak. "I still love you, and I know you probably hate me. And this is me just wishfully thinking, but I hope you would give me a second chance in the future. I know you didn't deserve what I put you through. I'm sorry, so sorry."

Your heart was beating so fast and you felt like you could throw up. You prayed he felt the same way and he would hold you in his arms and tell you that it was ok. That things could go back to the way they were before you fucked everything up, but that only happens in fairy tales or romance movies. Two things your life is not.

Lando sighed, took one final swig of his beer, and got up off the lounge chair. And for the second time, you watched him walk out of your life.

[aboutchriss]

Bed bugs

Pairing: Idol! Chan x fem! reader

Genre: smut, fluff, maybe crack idk

Warnings: slight choking (just a hand on the neck, nothing more) (f! receiving), dry humping, oral sex (m! receiving), make-out session, cuddles, mention of Chan's room.

Author notes: when I first started writing "Physiotherapy and Coconut Oil" back at the beginning of October, I was convinced to write it as fluff, mainly because I can't write smut; after a couple of weeks, I left it in my drafts, and leave it there till the first two weeks of December, I was under heavy medication bc I had a painful surgery on my foot, and the only thing that helped to go through insomnia caused by the pain was writing that story, I wrote and wrote day and night, and it helped so so much, that's why I was shocked when @ardef38 asked for a pt 2, so here you go love, I hope you like it.

(Kinda proof read, it’s 1:40 am as I’m ’reading’ this so, be patient I’ll correct any mistakes later)

Fun fact: I do really ride motorcycles since I was 17 (and yes I may be reckless).

Word count: +4k (I got carried away I’m sorry)

Thank you so much, I really, really appreciate all the feedback, I love you all.🩷

Sincerely Glo

As always, requests are open!

-✉️

I'm so insecure about my English. As I said, it's not my first language, and I'm always scared to make mistakes or stuff like that. So, if you find mistakes, please let me know. I'll be thankful, and my English will improve!

-✉️

You can read part one here

"Stop moving. I'm trying to sleep."

he mumbles on your back

"I can't, I'm sorry."

You mumble

"Why? What is happening, baby?"

he asks, hugging you tighter

"Uhm, I'm sorry my insomnia is bothering me, I-i don't know why."

"What can I do for you? A cup of tea? cuddles?"

he asks

"I don't know either, honestly, usually I stay in bed and stare at the ceiling."

"It's a common thing?"

he whispers, almost like he doesn't want to be heard by someone

"What? That I can't sleep? Oh yeah, definitely.”

you say, turning yourself towards him

"Mh"

"You should be tired, you know that? after a full day of work and after what we did."

he says

"I know, Channie, but my brain can't shut down."

"I have an idea."

he says, hugging you tighter, your head on his chest with his hand between your hair

"What?"

you ask, looking at him

"Shhhh, just close your eyes and relax, okay?"

"Mh, okay. I doubt that whatever you're about to do, you'll make me fall asleep."

"Shshhh"

close your eyes

go to sleep

know my love is all around

dream in peace

when you wake

you will know I'm still with you

He repeats the verse over and over until you don't hear him anymore.

You know that you fall asleep because of his voice and the lullaby that he was singing, and the way he was stroking your hair gently, but mostly because he's warm; one time, someone said that he's like the feeling of walking in a warm room after spending the whole day out in the cold. It's true he really is like that domestic feeling.

"Good morning, ray of sunshine. How did you sleep?"

he asks you when you walk into your kitchen

"Oh, good morning. I thought you were already gone and good. I don't know which magic you've put in your cuddles and voice, but I haven’t slept like this in months."

you say

"Gone? No, I had to make you breakfast since I've slept over and used your bathroom to shower. I also used your body wash. Now I know why you smell so good."

he says while working on something at the stove

"That's why the bottle is half empty."

you giggle, hugging him from behind

"I'm sorry. I'll rebuy it for you."

he says

"Ya, it's okay, you don't have to. you smell like me now,"

"Yep, and trust me, I love it."

he says

"Yeah?"

"Mhmm"

"Aaah, you're warm, Channie it's freezing today even if it's mid-summer."

you say, hugging him from behind

"It has rained all night, we didn't notice because we were...umh...busy."

he says, turning towards you

"Busy...yeah...Chan, oh my god, it was...did I do these?"

you ask, touching his neck and chest

"No, no, it was a bed bug."

"Ehi -you slap his chest- I-god, I'm sorry."

"Yeah, me too. we got carried away, didn't we?"

he says, touching your neck and making you shiver

"Definitely, but I'm going to be honest I don't mind it and I don’t regret it.”

you say, smiling and kissing him on his naked chest

"Chan...-you say, sniffing around- something is burning."

"NO THE PANCAKES!"

he quickly turns towards the stove, swearing and mumbling against the burnt cakes

"Fuck, i-i wanted to make you breakfast."

he pouts, looking at the burnt pancakes

"It's okay, Channie -you giggle- thing like this happens when you're distracted."

"So you're saying that is your fault?"

he asks, looking at you, one of his dimples popping out

"Yeah, definitely."

you laugh

"Okay, put something on. I'll buy you breakfast."

"No."

you say

"Yes."

he says

"No."

"Yes."

"I said no."

"And I said yes."

"Channie, you don't have to"

"But I want to"

he says

"But-ugh, what if people see us around."

you say

"You're part of the staff, and we can go to the JYP cafeteria, the one inside the building."

"Mh, okay, but with one condition."

"Which one?"

he asks

a smirk appears on your face

"I don't like that smile."

he says

"I'll take you to the building with my motorcycle."

"You-you can ride?"

he asks

"yeah, I thought you liked it when I did it on your-"

"Shsh, don't-shut up, okay, okay."

he says, covering your mouth with one of his hands

"You're not reckless, aren't you?"

he asks with a worried tone

"Me? Reckless? absolutely not."

you smile

"That smile...I don't trust you."

"Not my business, Channie."

10 minutes later, you are in the elevator, and funny to say, but both of you choose a black hoodie (mostly because you have to cover your hickeys and not to catch a cold since the air is fresher)

"You copied my outfit."

you say, looking at him

"Do it look like I'm wearing Doc Martens and leggings?"

he asks, looking at you

"No, even if you would look good in leggings, but your outfit is total black, just like mine."

"I always dress like this."

“I aLwAyS dReSs LiKe ThIs”

You mock him

“It’s true, my whole wardrobe is black.”

"Yeah, but you still copied my outfit."

you smile, walking outside the elevator, Chan being by your side

"Jagiya.."

he says

"Mh?"

you say, not paying attention to the feeling that you felt in your stomach after that nickname

"I'm scared."

he says, looking at his feet

"About..?"

you say opening your garage door

"I've never been on a motorcycle."

he says shyly

"It's okay, Channie. There is a first time for everything. I'm going to explain everything, okay?"

"You-fuck, you can drive this thing?"

he asks

"Yeah, she's my baby."

"Baby? it's huge, how can you manage to drive this?"

you shrug your shoulders, looking at him

"I just do it, just trust me okay?"

"I do trust you."

he says

"Yeah?"

you ask, looking at him, and he simply nods

"Okay, big boy, put this on."

you say, giving him one of your motorcycle jackets

"I hope it fits; one of my friends gifted it to me, but she took three sizes bigger than mine, and I couldn't return it."

"It's a little bit tight on my shoulders."

he says, closing the zip

"It fits perfectly; you have protections, so it has to be tight."

you say, zipping your protective jacket

"It's weird. I'm not used to tight things."

he says, putting his backpack on his shoulders again

"Now, move, I have to take the motorcycle out of the garage. Can you grab the two helmets there? and when you're out, close the door, please."

you say, pointing at a wood cabinet. You press the clutch and move backward with the motorcycle; when the bike is in the correct position, you press down the stand.

"Okay, give me these."

you say, taking the helmets from his hands

"I'm going to put the helmets on you, okay, and I'll explain everything."

you say, putting the helmet on him. You do the same with yours

"Does it feel loose?"

you ask

"No, it's perfect."

you can see him smiling even if half of his face is covered

"And now -you press the inter-phone button- can you hear me?"

"Oh yeah, it's like you're inside my head."

he giggles

you turn on your bike, leaving her roar

"Damn, it's loud."

he giggles

"Okay, so -you say, straddling the motorcycle pushing the stand up with your foot- use that thing to get on and sit here."

you say, patting on the small sitting place for him

"Are you sure you can-?"

he asks

"Yes, trust me, Chan, I've been riding since I was 17."

you smile at him

he sits behind you, getting more comfortable once the bike is stable

"See? You won't fall; both of my feet are on the ground."

"Keep your feet there when we're on the road, don't put them on the ground at a red light or a stop sign. You have to put your arms around me tight or on the tank, especially when I brake; you'll feel it, so don't worry. When we take a turn, you have to follow me with your body. You're basically my shadow, or even better, my backpack, so follow every movement I make, okay?"

you say

"Yep"

"Now, arms around me."

you say, waiting for his arms

"Hold on tight."

you say before pressing the clutch with your left and putting the first gear with your left foot

"Here we goooo."

you say

"Oh my god, we're moving, ahah wow."

"Hold on tight, Channie."

you say, patting on his hands

"That's-wow, oh my god."

"You want me to go faster?"

you say once you're on the road

"Fuck yes"

he says

and you do as he said. You accelerate and shift gear; the sun has been out for hours, so the road is dry now.

"How does it feel?"

you ask him

"It's like, I don't know how to explain it."

"Freedom?"

you suggest

"Yeah, yes, that's the right word."

he says

"That's why you do it? I mean, that's why you drive?"

you hear his voice through the inter-phone, and you simply nod.

"Can you go faster? I wanna feel free."

he says

"Of course."

you giggle, and you shift once again the gear, the two of you speeding in the streets of Seoul, zig-zagging between the buses, cars, and taxis

"Oh my gooood, too fast, too fast"

he almost screams

"Ahahah, just hold onto me, and you'll be fine, Channie. Trust me."

the grip of his arms around your waist getting tighter

"You're crazy."

he says

"I know"

"And reckless, and oh my god, I want to do this every day."

he says

"I know -you laugh- should I pick you up tomorrow?"

"Oh, I—I'm not that brave. God, you have a big pair of balls to drive a thing like this. I could never."

"Oh, you could, and you would look so hot in one of these, with a compression shirt on-ush what a vision."

you say

"Are you fantasizing about me?"

he asks

"I mean, yeah, you as a biker? damn, Christopher, I would be on my knees."

you say, teasing him

"You were on your knees for me yesterday, and definitely, I'm not a biker."

he says, teasing you back

"I- you- uh- I hate you."

you say

"Yeah, yeah, it was clear with all the 'oh, ah' that you were whimpering against my ear last night."

he says, placing one of his hands on your thighs

"Oh-you-shut up"

you say, glad that he can't see the color of your cheeks

"Here we are person that I absolutely hate, and it's banned from my house."

you say braking and turning off the motorcycle once you're in the proper park

"Oh c'mon, I was joking -he says, taking off his helmet- I'll never mention cute whimpers again."

he pouts

"Shhh, are you crazy talking about this here?"

"Right, 'm sorry, where do I put this?"

he asks, lifting his helmet

"Oh, just bring it with you."

you say

"So...umh, breakfast?"

he asks, breaking the silence between the two of you

"Yeah, breakfast."

you sigh, looking at him, his hair messed up because of the helmet

"Ladies first"

he says, opening the front door of the building for you

"Oh, what a gentleman."

you say, walking toward the elevator, bowing to the person who just stepped out of the elevator

"Yeah, gentleman."

he mumbles, pressing the number three, and once the elevator doors closed, you talk

"What you're mumbling about?"

you look at him

"Nothing"

"Chan, c'mon, you can't do this after what we did."

"I'm -he sighs- I let you go first to look at your ass in those stupid leggings, so I'm not a gentleman."

he crosses his arms

"Oh, well, I'll make sure to put them more often."

you say, shrugging your shoulders

"You're not mad?"

he asks

"that you look at my ass when you can? No. You literally saw me naked, so that's nothing of this -you point at your whole body- that you haven't seen."

"Mh, good to know."

he smirks, and once the lift doors open, he goes

"Ladies first, of course."

he winks at you and you can do nothing but laugh at him.

after a couple of minutes of indecision, his indecision actually, he brings to the table two tall cups of cappuccino and a piece of cake for him

"You sure that you don't want a bite?"

he asks, offering you a piece of pie

"Hundred percent Chan"

you smile at him

"Do you have to work today?"

he asks

"Uhm... no, I don't think so, actually. I'm here just for breakfast—you giggle—why?"

"I have to meet with Han and Binnie for some fixes on a new song and do the usual Sunday live, so...would you mind coming with me?"

"I- you- you want me in your studio?"

"Yes"

"The one where no one is allowed?"

"Mhmm"

he nods, sipping on his cappuccino

"The one where the darker aura Christopher works?"

"Yes, that one."

"Mh, okay, if you... don't mind having me there."

you shrug your shoulders

"I don't mind it. You have a relaxing effect on me."

he says

"Interesting"

you say, sipping on your coffee

"The boys are already there. Should we go?"

"I follow you, mister dark aura."

"Oh, shut up."

he says, looking at you

"Hello everyone"

he says, entering in the studio

"Hi Hyung"

the bandmates say at the same time

"Oh, y/n? Hi, what are you doing here?"

"I-uh, I saw him in the middle of the street, he was like an abandoned puppy."

"Hey"

he says, sitting down in his working chair

"So I offered him a ride on my motorbike, and to pay me back, he offered me breakfast."

you laugh nervously

"You ride a motorcycle?"

changbin asks

"Yes? why does everybody find this weird."

you say

"I don't know, you don't look like someone who rides a motorcycle."

Binnie says

"But I am."

you laugh, sitting on the couch in the studio

The three men start working on the new song. You're not paying too much attention because

1. you're too distracted by the way Chan gets so severe when he's at work, so bossy but at the same time gentle with his members

2. you're working too, on your phone, but you're working, planning all the appointments with the members and the artists of JYP

"Oh, looks like someone had fun last night."

you hear Han's voice, and you're head snaps toward his direction so fast that you hear a crack in your neck

"Yeah, you weren't home last night. Where were you last night, Chan?"

Changbin says

then you notice that Chan took off his hoodie, revealing all the hickeys and bite marks on his neck

"What?"

he asks, looking at them

"Your neck Chan, what the fuck? What did you do?"

Han asks

"Uh, bed bugs."

he says, typing and clicking on his computer, not paying too much attention to them

"Yeah, a big one."

Han says

"One with human teeth"

Changbin laughs

"Oh shut up, the two of you."

Chan says, his cheeks turning pink

"Who is she?"

asks the two gossipy men

"No one, it was a bed bug."

he says once again

"Do you know anything about this?"

Changbin asks, and both of them turn toward you

"Uh, bed bugs are big these days."

you shrug your shoulders

"Mh, yeah."

they look at each other with a smirk

after a couple of minutes, they stopped asking about his marks and focused again on their work, recording some chorus, laughing when someone went out of tune, and listening over and over again at the song till it was perfect

"Aaaaand we're done."

Chan says, stretching up his arms in the air and clapping at the work of 3racha

"Aaaagh, I'm hungry."

Changbin says

"Me too."

Han says

"Hyung, y/n wanna join us for lunch?"

"Oh no, I must go now, maybe next time."

you smile at them

"I have to do the live so."

chan says

"Oh, okay."

they say

"Bye Hyung, Y/N see you on Tuesday."

Han says

"Bye guys, see you."

you smile

"Hyung, see you at the dorm and make sure to eat, or you get nervous, little bed bug…See you on Tuesday."

Binnie says, smiling at you and closing the door behind his back

"HOW THE FUCK DID HE?"

you say, covering your face with your hands

"He's not stupid."

Chan says

"But don't worry, they won't spill anything to anyone, that's for sure."

he gets up from his chair, locks the door of the studio, and walks toward you

"Ugh, are you sure?"

you ask, your voice muffled by your hands

"Yes, I trust them with my whole life. They're nosy, I know, but we have a rule: what happens or what we say in the studio stays in the studio."

He says, sitting next to you.

"Are you sure? I- I loved hat we did, and I love our bond, but I don't want to lose my job, Chan, I've worked so hard to be here, and I don't want to ruin everything because I had sex with you."

you say, looking at him

"Ouch"

he says

"No, no, I don't want you to think that I'm using you because I'm not okay? I loved our friendship way before what happened last night."

"I get what you're saying, y/n, don't worry, it's just that you're...I don't know…after what we did, I don't know what are we? friends? Best friends? friends with benefits?"

he looks at you

"Friends with..."

"Benefits, you know, two friends that have sex occasionally but remain friends."

"Yeah, Chan, I know what friends with benefits are."

"So?"

"What?"

you ask

"Friends with benefits? it will be our dirty little secret."

he says

"Mh, friends with benefits"

you nod

"Let's start this thing from now, yeah?"

he says, pulling your face towards him

"Yes, fuck yes."

you say, breaking the distance between the two of you, kissing his plumped lips again

"The door is locked, and we have about thirty minutes."

he says between the kisses

"Ugh, not enough time."

you say, pulling back from him

"We can go back to my place after the live, yeah?"

he nods, kissing your lips again, more roughly this time. You shift your position, straddling him, your legs on the side of his thighs

"It's not-that simple to- touch you with these stupid- mhpf yoga pants."

he says, kissing your lips

"You said that you loved them."

you say

"Yeah, and now I hate them; I can't touch you properly, which frustrates me."

He says, pulling you closer to him. You can feel his bulge against your clit

"It's okay, we don't need to take our pants off."

you say, smiling at him

"What- why? c'mon, I wanna see that pretty pussy of yours."

he says, frustrated, leaving his head against the headrest of the couch

"Mh, not now."

you say, starting to grind on his hard bulge

"Oh shit, what- do it again, please,"

he says, placing his hands on your hips, guiding you back and forth against him. You kiss gently his neck, trying not to bite him or suck his soft skin because his neck is already a mess.

"You- god"

he tries to say, one of his hands traveling around your body, grabbing one of your breasts under the hoodie

"Uh? you're not wearing a bra?"

he says

"Nope, free the nipples, Christopher."

You laugh while looking at him, poor guy, he looks desperate

"Fuck, full access all this time? Why didn’t you tell me? God, y/n, you're going to drive me crazy."

he says, kissing your lips. You laugh in his lips and keep grinding on his hard cock

"Please take your hoodie off, I want- at least I want to see your boobs."

"Uhm, so needy, aren't you?"

you ask, and he simply nods

you take off your hoodie, shivering, not because you're cold, no it's way too hot in the room, but because of the way that he looks at you; it looks like he wants you to eat you alive, literally. He licks his lips, looking at your boobs at then looking at your face, his eyes jumping between your two twins and your eyes

"What?"

you ask, looking at him, moving a clump of hair from his face

"I want to suck them."

he simply says

"Then do it. Don't be shy, Christopher."

"Oh, don't call me like that."

he says, looking at you, his eyes darkened

"I know that you like it, just admitted."

you whisper to his ear

"Mphf, if you don't stop grinding on me, I'll cum in my pants."

he says

"And? there's no shame in cumming in your pants, I love to see you so desp-shit"

you say, trying to find any other word to say, but your brain is short-circuiting, his tongue is moving around one of your breasts, sucking on the nipple, while with one hand, he pays attention to the other one

"I wanna live here."

he says, sucking and biting your nipple

"Mhpf, in the studio?"

you tease him even if you know what he meant

"Mh -he breaks off the contact between his mouth and your breast- between your boobs, I want to live here, they're-fuck, they're like a warm marshmallows."

you laugh

"I'm dead serious, y/n"

he looks at you so seriously that you have to cover your mouth not to laugh. You kiss his lips, making him smile

"You're going to be late, so let me do something for you, yeah?"

you say, shifting position and getting on your knees in front of him

"Oh fuck"

he says, pulling his pants down, revealing his hard dick

"You're going to drive me crazy, you know that?"

he says, caressing your face

"That's the point, Christopher."

you say, kissing one of his naked thighs

"Please, jagiya, please."

he says in a desperate tone. That nickname again, heavy like a rock on your chest, just friends with benefits, correct?

So you do what a good friend would do, you take his boner with your hands, stroking him up and down a couple of times, licking the tip, focusing on that particular sensitive part, making him whimper.

You take all of him in your mouth, breathing through your nose; you look up at him, his head on the headrest, his eyes closed, enjoying every moment, one of his hands in your hair, scratching your scalp gently.

You keep working with your mouth and tongue, adding once again your dominant hand, just because you can't take all of him in your mouth.

"Jagi...fuck."

"Uh, language, please."

you say, taking him out of your mouth without stopping working with your hand.

"How am I supposed not to say bad words when you're on your knees sucking me off?"

he asks, looking down at you

"You're dramatic."

you say, retaking him in your mouth, you know that he's about to cum because he's throbbing in your mouth

"Baby, i'm-i'm about to."

he can't even finish the sentence that a load of fluid goes into your mouth, you swallow it all the way.

You clean the corner of your mouth with your fingers and stay on your knees, looking up at him with a stupid smile on your face.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

He says, pulling his pants up

“I’m not looking at you in any particular way.”

“Yes, you are, come here.”

He says, patting the place next to him

“Thank you”

He says when you sit next to him

“You don’t have to thank me, Channie.”

“I have to, I told you that you have a relaxing effect on me. And I’m talking generally, not when we...do other stuff, you know, even when we do them, but..."

“I get what you’re saying, Channie.”

You giggle

“Aagh, come here.”

He says, placing a hand on your neck and pulling towards him

“No, wait, I’ve just…”

“I don’t care, y/n, just kiss me, please.”

You sigh, and you kiss his lips, it’s a quick kiss, almost as if you did it every day

“You’re going to be late.”

You say, touching his forehead with yours

“I know, but I have to do it, it’s a safe space for me, and stays.”

“I know”

You say, pecking his lips once again

“I’m in my studio, I wait for you there, okay?”

You say, putting your hoodie on

“Mh, okay, thank you y/n, really.”

He says, kissing your cheek

“That’s what a good friend would do.”

You smile at him

“Yeah, good friend.”

He echos you

“Bye, bed bug.”

He says when you unlock the door

“Bye, Channie -you giggle at the nickname- don’t forget to put your hoodie on.”

“I won’t, thank you.”

He says, smiling, dimples on full display

Good friends, right?

A friend that has marked you all over your body

A friend you would go to live with just to have breakfast ready every morning

A friend that makes you feel butterflies,

A friend that fucks you till your brain short-circuit

A friend who makes you fall asleep while singing and cuddling

Maybe he’s more than “A friend”

A/N: me after writing this 🏃🏻‍♀️💨

Tag list: @paboswriting (because of the mention of biker Chan, we have an obsession about him)

[trexiejan]

I have a theory that Tom Taylor copied/took a lot of inspirations from Dickkory.

I may or may not be wrong but I just can't help but notice the timing and the similarities. A lot of things in dickbabs relationship are not very original at all. Most of the time they just steal concept from other couples.

Now going back to Tom, I suspect he was in a lot of social media apps (twitter, reddit, instagram etc) and secretly lurked in nightwing fandom groups and have read their posts and conversations etc. including about dickkory.

1. The concept of visiting his parents' grave

This panel of Kory and Dick showing up in his parents graveyard was shared in the Nightwing subreddit 1 month ago. How come 1 month later Tom wrote a similar thing for Dick and Babs?

Also notice Dick told Kory "You shouldn't be here" but Tom wrote Dick telling Babs "Thanks for coming here" it seems to me Tom really saw the kory comic and wanted to make the dialougue different for dickbabs to make them look better.

2. The concept of wearing each other's superhero costumes.

This fanart of dick and kory exchanging costumes was created by Laurarts on March 4, 2024, it went viral on twitter and it was also shared on the nightwing subreddit.

How come 1 month later Tom Taylor wrote that Dick and Babs wear each other's costumes too in Nightwing #113 that was published in April 17, 2024. 💀.

3. The concept of being freaky

Now my suspicions of Tom stalking and copying Dickkory content was solidified when he literally posted this gif of Dickkory from the DCAMU, notice how Dick and Babs started acting horny and freaky in his run after he tweeted this and Babs started teasing Dick and making sexual jokes to him like Kory does to Dick in the dcamu. 💀💀💀

4. The concept of A crowd of heroes watching them.

I remember a year ago I posted this screenshot of an article discussing the original plan for dickkory in reply to a thread where Tom Taylor got tagged by the person i was talking to. The person was a dickbabs shipper who insisted NTT dickkory was bound to fail, I told OP it's not true, i showed her this screenshot of the article that discussed the original wedding plan for dick and kory and where it also says a crowd of heroes would watch Dick and Kory. How come a few months later Tom Taylor wrote this dickbabs wedding scene in his run and made a crowd of heroes watch dickbabs too??? 💀

5. Wally being a shipper

This panel of Wally in Teen Titans Academy #9 being a Dickkory shipper was published in December 14, 2021, how come a few months later, Tom Taylor wrote Wally being a dickbabs shipper in Nightwing #91 (April 19, 2022). Wally felt ooc because he never once talked about dickbabs before tom wrote him in his book💀

6. The concept of a woman teaching Dick to be more than just a hero

Seriously, Kory already taught him this 😭 She was literally the reason why he didn't become a Batman 2.0, He already learned the whole "you can be more than just a hero and be in a happy relationship" lesson from Kory.

But Tom Taylor just had to bring him back to square 1 so he can make Barbara say this to him too, making her act like Kory 💀 it's funny cuz Barbara never acted like this before, don't forget she was the one who keep rejecting him and making him feel bad for trying to be happy before 💀💀💀

So yeah sorry if i'm being annoying about this, I might be wrong but even if i'm wrong it still doesn't make dickbabs original since dickkory writers and fanartist did these concepts first.

and tom taylor is known to be an obsessed dickbabs shipper who tried to have beef with dickkory shippers on twitter so copying dickkory content as a form of secret revenge sounds like something he would do 😬

[tannieastrology]

Synastry/Composite Observations 🌠

(These are just some of my experiences and I really just wanna share what I learned with yall)💕

Synastry-

💙✨ Saturn square Venus can really just throw off the timing of a relationship. Well its less the timing and more of the fact of that the two people cant ever make their minds up and mature up for one another. And there are for sure alot of barriers that come withing this aspect one of them being that other people can set these two apart. In the couple that i saw this in the guy was Saturn and the woman was Venus. Venus was led on for almost 2 years while Saturn chased a different woman in that time. Until in may 2023 they started talking but their communication was off so Saturn broke it off. Now in december everyone finds out Saturn wants her back but Venus has moved on. So in their case it was a lack of maturity and indecisiveness.

💙✨ Venus conjunct Pluto makes the Venus person SO obsessive ESP if the Venus person has scorpio in their natal chart. Remember the Saturn guy from the first bullet point? He was the guy ive had a crush on for the past 3 years and in my scenario with him, hes the pluto in this case. Sadly it was unrequited but man this guy had me in a chokehold which was weird because I never wouldve thought id be attracted to someone like him. Its like no matter how far I go I cant ever forget about him its so frustrating. My Venus was conjunct his Pluto in Capricorn in my 3rd house so the way we talked to each other was very agressively but strangely we find comfort in it? Talking to him was easy too but lemme tell you when we argued WE ARGUED like it was HEATED. Our friend group always felt so uncomfortable whenever we went back and forth with each other. So yeah i would say really look at what house this conjunction happens in because for me it affected my house of mind, communication, and friends but if it falls in a deeper house like the 8th house the affects would be like 10x more magnified. Alot of people say its a sexual aspect but I really just think it depends on where it lands. I fell hard because im a plutonian person in general i have a Scorpio Moon and Lilith conjunct in the second house and my Venus in the 8th degree.

💙✨ Venus conjunct Moon brings alot of understanding and patience in a friendship/relationship. So ironically the Pluto guy also had his Capricorn Moon conjunct my Venus nd while we did argue alot and made me cry often I always had a soft spot for him. I felt like I understood him and we had many times where we joked around and laughed often. However Venus conjunct Moon can sometimes amplify your emotions to each other if theres other planets in contact with it. In a case like mine BOTH his Pluto and Moon conjuncted my Venus so most of the times our interactions stirred up obesessive and deeper emotions in me. Sometimes he triggered my trauma and i felt judged by him often but as me and him are getting older and are maturing more we stopped attacking each other and started being more honest with how we feel about things. I tell him about my personal struggles and he helps by giving me logical advice. Because of the fact that our aspect was in Capricorn it took us almost 4 years to have proper communication and be able to share our traumas with each other. I trust him alot even though we bicker often and even if he might not like me back hes still such a understanding friend and was there for me when i needed him and that itself is something to appreciate.

💙✨ If one persons Venus doesnt have alot of contact with your planets in your synastry but the other persons Venus has many aspects it may be unrequited. In my instance with the Pluto guy my Venus conjuncted his Moon, Pluto, and Jupiter and trined his Virgo Mars and Saturn while the only aspects his Leo Venus made to my planets was Venus opposition Sun and sextile Vertex. From the guy I really do believe he should have atleast some type of contact with your big six in order for him to feel something.

💙✨ So going back to the Venus and Saturn couple they also had Venus conjunct Lilith in Saggitarius and she was the one who got away. So like i said she was obsessed with him and everybody knew it too. I mean when she found out I also liked him she started hating me even though i never acted on my feelings and tried to supress it. He was the Lilith in this case and you can really see that hes attracted to her but theyre lowkey toxic sometimes. He blew hot and cold to her multiple times and everytime she got a boyfriend he wants her back like what?? She wouldve done anything for him but nah he sold. Theyre never gonna forget about each other and this aspect in my opinion has a very “the one that got away” type feel to it.

💙✨ Even if your planets dont make an aspect you can still feel it sometimes. I have a Gemini Mars and Pluto guy had a Virgo Mars and lemme tell you our arguements were BAD even though they didnt make an aspect. He always knew how to retaliate to whatever i said and always had a slick comment to throw in and my fucked up Gemini Mars self found that interesting which looking back at im hella concerned. I also cant forget that his Mars conjuncted my Saturn and my Mars squared his Saturn so the intensity came from all ends not just the signs.

Onto Composite!

(Just a Disclaimer all of these observations are made off of me and the Pluto guy)

💙✨ Having a Taurus Sun in composite can mean that both people are stubborn. Im just gonna use my experience to explain this but having Taurus in the position of Sun can be either bad or good. Me and Pluto are young we’re both still in highschool so i know this wont be how we are gonna act forever but our relation to each other was a very slow process. It took YEARS for us to get out of the arguing with each other/ insulting each other phase since the 6th grade but damn sometimes i really feel like he doesnt ever get what im trying to say. We move so SLOW when it comes to our friendship and also communication because our Mercury is Conjunct the Sun in Taurus too. I read on a blog named awda on here that Taurus Sun couples never expect to catch feelings and its so true. To start with I never really liked him when i saw him back in middle school but in 8th grade i caught feelings bad nd since then i havent been able to forget about it. And weirdly alot of people ship us too. Ive read online that this placement means comfort with each other and while yes i have felt it sometimes, i feel that the comfort aspect of Taurus Sun in composite only applies if the chart is filled with trines and sextiles. Our composite is just squares and oppositions everywhere so we feel the stubborness and uncompromising aspect of the Taurus energy more than anything else. Ive done everything I possibly can to try to move on but im honestly stuck with him for a while now. Thats how Taurus Sun feels in my opinion. Its long lasting and not something you can run away from. People will ship you as a couple and yall might be like nooooo i would never but then boom one day you actually catch feelings. And who knows maybe one day he will I mean thats what my our older mutual friend tells me. I have no clue how he ever feels and I know its because of his natal Capricorn Moon but ive always held a soft spot for him deep down. Ive always wanted to look after him and wanted him to put his trust into me but it was never like that i guess. Maybe one day it will progress into something more who knows?

💙✨ Venus square Mars was another aspect that we held in alot of our midpoint charts like the progressed composite, the regular composite, and the davison chart. When i tell you how potent the energy of this aspect was to us even though we had Venus trine Mars in synastry. Ive always asked him why do you like arguing with me? Why do you like bothering me? But hes never really been able to give an answer. And i think thats just how this energy is. You start to find comfort in the disagreements and in a way it kept us stimulated. It was a way for me and him to connect and become friends. Dont get me wrong there were times where we genuinely got on each other nerves but with time we got more mature and learn how to talk things out and respect each others boundries. We still bicker obviously i really feel like thats never gonna go away lmao but its wayyyy more toned down now. Im not even trying to be delusional but i sometimes feel like hes always fixated on me the most in social situations and many people have pointed it out to me. Even if it might not be romantic it can still make the two people infatuated with each other. You know the saying “theres a fine line between love and hate” this is literally that aspect in a nutshell. You just have to figure out how to express your feelings for one another in a healthy way otherwise you can start to find the other person to be annoying and irritating. This aspect had me all over the place man liking someone and hating them at the same time was crazyyy.

💙✨Make sure you check your progressed composite too. Obviously relationships change and i think the progressed version of the chart is more realistic in how things are in the present time. In our regular chart we have Venus in Libra which i was like eh that doesnt really match us that well. But when i saw the progressed chart it showed that we have Venus in Scorpio conjunct Mercury in the 10th degree and it makes muchhhh more sense. The twisted way we talk to each other and the deep conversations feel more fitting to Scorpio than Libra. We recently started to open up to each other more and this progression happened in 2023 compared to in 2019 when we first met Mercury was conjunct the Sun in Taurus. So we went from stubborn arguements to being more comprehensive but snarky nonetheless. Also it explains me not losing feelings too lmao. Im only really speaking from my side ive had no clue how he felt but I know that he was just as clueless as me. In our original composite we had Sun square Mars and Mercury opposition Venus and we were like cats and dogs back then. Now, in 2024 we have Mercury conjunct Venus and Sun sextile moon along with Moon trine Venus and Mercury. The Sun square Mars aspect went away and were on the same wavelength alot more now. Its really interesting to see how it changed you should definitely check it out if you get the chance to.

💙✨Just something that I observed but all the girls he liked they had an aspect of venus trine moon and some type of positive aspect from venus and mars. All of them were weirdly unrequited though and i still dont know how to figure out how people get stuck in the friendzone using composite but i think it depends on the house and peoples natal charts. I dont have their birth time so i couldnt figure the house things out but look to see where the big six fall and what sign the ascendant is in.

I know I dont post on here anymore but I really hope yall enjoyed this!! See yall next time💕

[shurisneakers]

saturn

summary: close to a year after you die, bucky's desperation finally finds an answer. but it may not be the one he's hoping for. (OR) you die. bucky tries to bring you back.

warnings: angst. death. body horror (being revived from death and the processes that follow). sickness. war or something. swearing. there is also fluf here and there

a/n: im drunk as fuck <3 i haven't really looked at this since December. the title is taken from saturn by sleeping at last because i couldn't think of anything better. enjoy <3333333333333

He occasionally catches a glimpse of his face in the lake.

His skin is worn from months of sun damage, splotchy and incorrectly healed. His beard has grown well past the point of respectability, with strands of grey he didn’t realise could sprout from him. Eyes sunken and half-lidded always.

Bucky waits everyday for the reaper to pull him underwater. Every day is another spent on dry, barren land.

_____________

It was closing in on a year and a half. Time moves like aged honey when you're punished, slow and grasping.

He steps off the bed and into the resolute silence of the cabin. There was a hole by his bedroom door after a regrettable night of alcohol. Mead. Something that had his head spinning and bile stuck to the walls of his throat, and of which he doesn't even remember the name of the next morning.

It's all fleeting, anyway. Names, labels, lives.

He cooks himself breakfast on an old pan.  The room is bone-cold, and the floorboards creak when he drags the decades old chair from the dining room to the porch.

Paint peels under his feet, and his toe curls. A dull, faded orchestra of evergreens as far as he can see. He's had a target on his back since he was a kid, always under the gaze of something beyond his understanding. Always making sure he doesn't take a step out of line, or let too much life into his heart.

It's been a while since he's felt that. Like it had finally decided he learnt his lesson, that he wouldn't dare to take a new breath without considering if he deserved it. And so he doesn't wonder if there are irises staring back at him with the same lifelessness with which he watches them, day after day, hour after hour.

The outside cools his blood to a standstill, and he is almost entirely certain he is alone. The vast expanse of an empty sky, bearing no clouds, no birds. Some days, he almost thinks he can feel you when the winds move.

He thinks he's past the point of insane.

__________

His friends are kinder than he is. To a fault, almost. God knows he hasn't given them a reason to be.

After a couple of months of shifting to the middle of nowhere, there are fifteen fucking knocks to the door.

Bucky flings it open, ready to chew someone’s head off. Raging, still in the ratty old t-shirt and sweatpants and socks with holes in them that you swore you would burn. He is armed with a battalion of curses and threats, only for words to die a quick death at the tip of his tongue.

“Hey.”

Bucky's muscles tense to the point where they might crack, but he forces his arm to lower. 

“Been a while,” Sam says, arms crossed over his chest.

He doesn't know how he's hunted him down, given the nature of his disappearance, but Sam was nothing if not determined in his humanity.

With nowhere else to turn, Bucky silently pushes the door open.

________

“I like what you’ve done with the place.”

Bucky glances around the house. There are cobwebs hanging from each corner he sees. Bulbs coated with dust. Fine china starting to fade with unuse, and utensils slowly beginning to gather rust.

He doesn’t reply. He’s offered him water, but Sam declines.

“You get cell coverage out here?”

“Don’t make a lotta calls,” Bucky’s vocal chords sound like they’re lined with gravel.

“We noticed.” Sam leans forward, elbows on his knees. "Talked to Dr. Canmore?"

"Yep." Not since the psychiatrist was forced to clear him after Bucky showed no signs of violence, or returning back to him. To him, that concluded the purpose of their relationship.

"And?"

"There's nothing to say, Sam," he rebukes, gruff. "'M fine."

Sam looks like wants to raise an eyebrow, but the patience he's grown over the years from dealing with those worse than the mess setting in front of him disallows him. "Get enough food?"

Bucky flashes him a thumbs-up, and feels the onset of a migraine.

"Sunlight? Water?"

"'M not a fuckin' plan--" he begins harshly, but clears his throat. "You?"

"Doin' alright." Sam shrugs. "Been training a buncha new recruits, getting in touch with new ones. Superheroes are poppin' up all over the place. Got a girl saying she can control squirrels."

Bucky nods absent-mindedly, picking at the hem of his shirt. He thinks you would have found that amusing, considering that you thought Scott Lang's schtick was a bit on-the-nose too.

“Do you want to?”

Bucky sharply shifts back into focus. “What?”

“Help out,” Sam clarifies. “Recruit, train.”

Bucky’s jaw inadvertently tightens. “No,” he says sharply.

"Could be good for you."

""M done with that life." 

Sam's eyes reflect a reality that's different, but he still relents, "Okay. Whatever works for you."

Bucky can’t say he retired, exactly. He’d unceremoniously quit and had gone AWOL, but it had never been on paper. SHIELD was gracious enough to accept in whatever form they had, sending him funds every month as an unofficial pension.

“You should drop by sometime. Compound's all re-done."

Bucky shifts in his seat like the chair is too small for him. “‘M not exactly a joy to be around.”

“You’re actin’ like that’s somethin’ new,” he riffs, mouth curling into a smile. “Still.”

Sam's a good man who often lets his instincts lead the way, and if he's insisting on Bucky to return then something must be worth listening to. But his only company's been the thoughts in his head for a while now, and they're no good. What's impure about him surely wraps its tendrils around the world around him, poisoning them.

It's difficult, impossible, even to shake the suspicion growing on him, crawling up his back.

“Alright, well–” Sam pushes himself off the couch “-- just give us a call if there’s anything you need help with.”

Bucky may not have as many words as he used to, but he hasn’t forgotten his manners. He walks Sam to the front, where his truck lay parked, all polished from the last time he saw it.

"You got everything you need?” Sam asks again, and something inside him ignites a spark.

“Yes.”

Sam nods, hand on the hood of the truck, giving him a final look up and down. The few seconds of a leeway fans the spark into a red-hot anger, one that has Bucky's muscles painfully tight.

"Right. See you aro-"

"Why'd you come here?" Bucky interrupts. "To check if I'm losin’ it again? SHIELD couldn't get Dr. Canmore on the line so they send their next bet to tranquilise me?

Sam's eyebrows raise this time, and Bucky thinks he's finally managed to piss off the last person who cares if he's dead or alive, but everything in him is too hot, too scathing to bother.

He wants someone to get it, what it's like to claw at concrete walls with raw fingertips and broken nails. He wants someone to see what it's like, living like they've been injected over and over with needles.

"I know it’s hard, man," Sam replies, gentle like cool water on a burn.

Bucky's hands freeze, because he realises very quickly he wanted someone to hurt.

"Just thought you could use knowin' you had someone there," he continues. "Got flowers too, but I wasn't sure if you'd..."

Something in Bucky deflates, and he wants to cower into a ball. Bury himself so deep underground that he doesn't have to deal with how his ribs feel like they're cracking into splinters all over again.

Sam's already moved towards the passenger side door, and pulled from it a beautiful arrangement of evening primroses and jasmines. Of course Sam remembered.

You would have loved it.

"I don't have anywhere to keep it," Bucky croaks. He's turned the home he bought into a tomb, and he's closed the door to any remainder of life waiting to be lived.

Sam simply hands it to him, and Bucky takes it cautiously like it'll wither in a second. His touch is venomous and his want is a death-sentence, but the flowers stay alive.

"If you ever find a place," Sam says, squeezing his shoulder, "leave something there, too. Might help."

________

He'd add 'liar' to the list of words he's chosen to describe himself, if he said he didn't think about it every second since you died.

The idea initially comes to him like a snake, slithering and winding its way up his shoulder to hiss into his ear. He shudders the first time, jaws clenching, and dismisses it immediately.

But 'sinner' is a word he would use, and so on nights when he's awake too long and when your laugh sounds like a draft in his ear, he entertains the thought.

Indulges in it, grotesquely allows himself to think of an alternate ending, where his presence had not corrupted your fate, and you would have been alive and vibrant and trying out new flavours of gelato from the corner store. Stealing kisses from him, half awake, and dragging him to watch sunrises from the roof.

He thinks of things he'd do differently. Retire a lot faster. Took you to the National Parks like he said he would. Make sure your scent seared itself like a tattoo on all his clothes, because there's nothing on earth that replicated it and he's turned it inside out trying.

When the air is icy and the skin aches where his metal arm meets flesh, he thinks of how you always flicked his shoulder when he passed an off-hand comment under his breath, but muffled a laugh when his insults got more creative.

But soon, it will be closing in on two years since Bucky's last heard you groan at his stupid comments and the lake is just as pristine as the day he bought the cabin. The water glimmers like shards of diamond and there are days he thinks it's too still for even his liking.

"Have you ever been to Asgard?" you ask one night, legs splayed over his thighs.

He looks up from the book he's reading, pencil tucked into his ear. "I have not."

"Not even once?" you ask, distracted from whatever show you had gotten hooked on on TLC. Ever since you'd discovered the channel, you were convinced it was the best way to learn about "his culture". Sometimes he tuned in to learn about updates to "his culture" in the years he was gone.

"Strictly earthbound," he replies.

You nod, eyes drifting back to the TV. He watches you for a few seconds, hand gently squeezing the arm closest to his.

As it always was, your posture was pin-straight. Always ready. Like sitting still wasn't even an option. He used to think it was because you were never truly comfortable around him, until he realises that that was simply a part of you.

Bucky re-adjusts his glasses. He was getting old. His back pained and creaked like an old door hinge more each time.

He didn't think he'd get here. He's growing to love it. Mission reminders and target locations get replaced more and more with reminders that he still has to put the leftovers in the fridge from the date earlier that night, and that your shampoo needed a re-stock.

"Would you want to come with me one day?" you ask suddenly.

He puts the book down, and you turn away from the TV again. 

He can always tell when you're thinking. The world buzzes a bit. When you're older than a few galaxies, the universe and you become not so distinct.

"Might be a bit too grand for a fella like me."

"I think you'd like it," you counter, "and you're in a relationship with me. You'd fit in as well as anyone could."

He's still not sure how he's managed to accomplish the second part but you must have liked something about his ragtag sarcasm and social isolating tendencies.

Bucky's growing older each day. You're the closest thing he's seen to eternity. He doesn't think he would fit in, not with his thrift shop t-shirts and unbridled insecurities.

"Do you want me to?" he asks, hesitant.

He's met Thor, and he's heard mostly about Loki through childhood tales and news reports. Thor didn't seem to mind him, but then again, Thor saw the best in everyone.

"I'd like to show you the place I grew up," you reply, playing with his metal fingers. "You showed me yours."

"That's a couple'a streets from here, sweetheart," he reminds playfully. "Not exactly another realm."

The corners of your mouth lift slightly. "But you feel connected to it, don't you? That it is a part of you?"

Bucky intertwines your grins and keeps it there. He's always felt something towards Brooklyn. Something that kept him going when Siberian frost nipped at his skin. Tethered.

But when he'd shown you the place he grew up in, it wasn't the same. Brickwall had been overlaid with plaster and paint. Doors ripped off their hinges, wallpaper a ghastly white instead of the stained floral print his sister and he drew on. It was unease, trepidation.

It didn't feel like his anymore. Probably because Bucky didn't feel like him anymore.

"Yeah," he replies after some thought, even though it's not entirely right.

"I feel that way about Asgard," you continue the thought. "Being here is lovely, and I love learning of all the things your people do, but--"

"It's not the same," he interjects gently. "I get you."

You look at him and smile, and Bucky feels the same gnawing feeling that this is something that's too good, too pure for him.

God of the Night Sky and the Mortal of Blood Stained Hands.

It shouldn't work, but you've already got a drawer in his shelf for your belongings. You've talked about moving to a cabin by the woods if you ever wanted to settle down. You kissed him that morning, and once more on his shoulder, and the last time he's laughed this much in one dinner was the one he had the night before with you.

"Whichever day you're ready," you promise. "I've got a feeling you'll be convinced."

Bucky presses a kiss to your fingers, and you turn back to the TV with a smile.

He watches you for a while. Your fingers continue to play with his. Bucky thinks getting older may just be worth it.

You made a dozen or so trips back to Asgard since the conversation, and he pushed his involvement on each one with the unfailing and ultimately misplaced  certainty that he'd have time.

__________

You wouldn't approve of the way he'd kept the cabin. You wouldn't approve of the way he lived. He knows that, but he also knows if you were around then he'd have a reason to actually sow more than vegetables in the land he keeps digging up. He'd make sure of the table cloth that he found stashed away, leave the blinds open more to allow light to reach his room.

He looks at the bouquet of flowers by his feet and thinks that laying it by a boulder would be insignificant.

So for the first time in a long while, he prays the act of creation will bring him some respite and builds. 

A little hut, with sticks he finds around the place, and makes it big enough to house Sam's bouquet from the wind and sun. He carves out your name onto the boulder, painstakingly with his pocket knife until each letter was guaranteed to last a century. He adds the year of your birth, and can't find it in himself to add the year you died.

He steps back and exhales. It's a memorial. It's a start.

__________

Bucky spends most of the day digging up dirt, sitting out on the porch and looking for firewood. He’s learnt how to grow his own vegetables, and how to go into town unnoticed for other essentials.

And now he has something to tend to.

It starts with fickle sticks and grows into something sturdier. He brings the memorial stronger wood, and bands to hold it together. He looks for wildflowers and pretty leaves, bunches them together and leaves them under the protection of the small roof.

It's the most he's done in over a year.

Months go from crawling to a standstill when it nears October. Bucky leaves the house less often.Truth is, the sky has never entirely recovered since you were gone. It's never truly dark-- a faint navy blue or even azure in the days leading up to the anniversary.

He's seen people puzzle over it-- call it the newest effects of light pollution or climate change. There is no reasonable answer, but the one that exists is that you left and you took the constellations with you.

Still, evening always comes faster and he can't quite stand being out at that time, when there is a void where he used to feel you the most. Instead he stays asleep for as long as he can. He makes use of the brief time he has to fix himself some food, and bare minimum upkeep.

He gathers the last of the flowers he can see around, some leaves that hadn't entirely been lost and makes his way to the lake.

"Forgive me, sweetheart. Season's changin' and I don't got a lot of options," he says lowly and to the hut that's managed to stay up.

Bucky looks at the sparse flowers in his hands and thinks that he'll make the godforsaken trip into civilisation to get you better ones. Ones you really liked, colourful and dynamic.

For now, he tries tying them together with a blade of grass to make it look less pathetic. It breaks every single time-- he's never been very good at being delicate.

Something around his wrist catches his attention. Some days he forgets it isn't a part of him.

His hair whips rather majestically around his head. He’s used to the sting when it strikes his skin, only reflexively reaching up to tuck it behind his ear.

“Hair tie?”

His eyes snap to yours in surprise. You've never really talked to him before, just brief nods and smiles along the way. Bucky wasn't exactly the patron saint for socialising either. He's always thought something about you was otherworldly. He didn't consider himself significant enough to be going out of your way to talk to either.

“Would you like a hair tie?” you repeat. “It’s rather bad out there.”

“Uh, yeah,” he replies, though he’s never considered that as a solution. “Sure, if you’ve got one.”

“We’ve learnt to carry them around when you fight alongside the likes of Thor and Volstagg.” You smile, reaching into the compartment of your belt. “Long hair looks good. Doesn’t always work that way.”

Bucky gives you a tight smile, feeling slightly embarrassed but a voice in him compels him to accept the kindness you’re offering.

He quickly secures his hair into a lower bun, giving more show to cheeks dusted pink.

“I’ll give it back after the mission,” he promises.

“Don’t.” You pause, giving him a once-over. “It suits you.”

Most days he remembers it's one of the only things he's still got of you. Still, he ties the flowers together with your hair tie-- and they stay this time.

"See you next week," he says, and a wind blows past him. Pathetically, he dares to hope it's a sign from you.

___________

Two sharp knocks on the door, but his eyes are open before the second one. It wasn’t like he was getting much sleep anyway.

When his arm doesn’t keep him up, it’s the ache in the rest of his body to be near you. Trailing kisses up your arm and watching wildfire heat spread through his neck when fingers tip up his chin. Lips trying to catch each other until panting breaths matched.

He flips over to the other side. Both sides of the pillow are drenched with his sweat. Christ, if this was how it was going to be in the days leading up to the anniversary, he can't imagine what would happen the day of. 

Someone rapps intently at the door, only picking up pace when Bucky chooses to ignore it. By all means, he’s retired. That alone should entitle him to some fucking peace, but no. 

He curses as he drags himself out of bed and pulls on a shirt, shuffling to the door. When he pulls it open, his eyes are probably murderous, but there is no one to catch the daggers. There is a simple brown cardboard box, labelled with his name.

Bucky, with a narrowed gaze, takes a step away from the box and instead heads into the open air. But there is not a soul, even as he stalks around the cabin and really stops to listen.

He comes back to the threshold and eyes the box. Using his foot, he swiftly kicks the lid off it and braces for an impact that doesn’t come.

There are shirts. And a mug. He frowns, kneeling down to shuffle through the contents, only to find bits and pieces of things he just…left behind when he left the compound.

Pictures he never really got framed. Socks with torn toes. Sweatpants. Laptop.

And there’s a tiny box. His chest twists the second he lays eyes on it so much that he thinks he’s been injured.

There’s a ring in there. Not really even an engagement ring, since you were gone before he had a chance.

Just a ring. But it’s enough to make him suddenly feel the weight of the air around him and he’s forced to take a seat right there on the steps. There’s nothing else in there of you, just old mission reports that mention your active involvement. Maybe if the smell of cardboard hadn’t permeated through the fabric of his shirts, he’d have traces of your scent.

Fragmented parts of his life, like snapshots of his history, running through his mind like an old film. It makes him question, for a second, if death was finally catching up to him.

Well, it was late. He’d been kept waiting for years.

_____________

The day itself is grey and sullen. In crackles of electricity, he can almost feel Thor’s state of mind. He tries not to think that in a few years, you’d be gone for longer than he knew you.

He rounds up leaves as orange as mandarins and ties them together with the hairtie. He clears up the last bunch he’d left and takes a seat on the shore of the lake. Cloudless and barren. Chill.

He can sense the end of the battle is near– he sees Sam a lot less overhead, even his gun didn’t require as many re-stocks. His pace slows to match the few that are left around him, and he’s already wondering how he can finish this quicker to get to help with search and rescue.

But Bucky didn’t even have to be told. Mid-punch, something in the air shifts and a deep shiver runs up the curve of his spine.

Before he even straightens up the sky explodes from the early azure of dawn to a blinding white to a blood-curdling crimson. His body reacts faster than he does, because the speed at which his stomach drops is only rivalled by how fast he was sprinting to your last known location.

He yells names through open comms-- yours, Thor's, Sam's-- turning the corner and immediately feeling the full force of a blast shove him onto his back.

With a groan and the force of his left hand, he presses into his ears to stop the excruciating ringing. He feels someone pull him up– blue, red and white kevlar against bruised skin and he’s already pushing away.

“Sam, where–” he blinks furiously, trying to read what word’s Sam’s got on his mouth because his head is still spinning. “She–”

He hears something about Thor and building and searching and forces himself to look at the force of a multistory highrise that’s collapsed into rubble on the street.

Something about impaled and sacrificed and he feels like vomiting violently, shoving Sam aside to stumble through the dust and smoke, teeth clamping down on his heart in his mouth.

Thoughts of you waiting under rocks, choking while fly ash turned your lungs to rock, suffocating.  Every second of his incompetence is a second you spend wasting away where he couldn't find you.

It takes hours for Thor to give up searching through the rubble. It takes Bucky days.

It took a few seconds for the sky to turn red. It took weeks to turn from crimson to the ghost of blue it still remains.

God of the Night Sky and A Man Too Slow.

Your body is never found, and Bucky never forgives himself. It takes a whole month to be able to look at the night. Some days he hides his face from the moon, afraid of wrath.

____________

When Bucky gets the call, he isn’t exactly sure how to respond. One, because he didn’t even know you had his number memorised and two, he’s not sure how you’ve allowed yourself to get arrested. But it’s 2am and he’s on his motorcycle, on the way to the police station, still entirely confused about what exactly was going on.

“That’s him.” You point, jumping up from behind the bars.

You look lovely– someone’s gotten you out of the battle armour he usually sees you in, and into something that passes as authentically Earth-like.

He makes a mental comment to tell you, but to still be discreet about it. He's not really sure where the both of you stand these days. You've got him agreeing to braids in his hair like a viking, and sitting next to him during team nights. He's got you reading the entirety of Lord of the Rings and going to museums with him to steal back his belongings. But he's not really sure.

Bucky’s eyebrow twitches at the fact that they’ve got you locked up, but you look entirely unfazed like it’s a new restaurant or escape room you’re checking out. Excited, even.

"Hey,” he says calmly to whoever wants to listen, “what the fuck?”

The grin you give him is sheepish and he already kinda wants to laugh, but he fights back a smile.

“Broke two tables at the bar two blocks down,” the officer replies. “Looks like she was going for a third.”

“I promise, I did not mean to,” you swear to him. “I did not realise your furniture would be so weak.”

Bucky looks at the officer wearily. “Had t’lock her up for that?”

Whatever the officer was expecting, it was not Bucky's lack of respect for the law or private property.

“Well– superpowers– we’re not really sure–” he stammers.

You watch the man curiously, while Bucky's eyes flicker over to you. He knows you could bend the bars of the jail cell and walk right out, so indulging them was clearly a choice.

“I’m an Avenger, I’ll take it from here,” he interrupts, making his way over to you.

“I’m gonna need to see some ID–”

“Google it,” he bites back, before turning to you. “Y’okay?” 

“I’m great,” you reply, full of life as if it wasn’t the middle of the fucking night. “It was a lot of fun.”

“How’d you know my number?” He mentions for the guard to unlock the gate, ignoring the swelling in his stupid chest.

“We are friends, are we not?” you ask, a bit confused.  

Bucky can't figure out if he's surprised or disappointed- a good mix of both, perhaps. He's glad you consider him a friend, but something in him aches dully. He positively despises it and how often it's been creeping up on him whenever he sees you around the compound. He was a 100 years old, not some lovesick fuckin' teenager.

“Yeah. We are,” he agrees, turning to glare at the officer who was holding up his phone, eyes darting between it and Bucky’s face. “Could y’move faster? It’s late.”

The guy hurriedly unlocks it and you step out, stretching your arms over your head before waving goodbye to the guy and sauntering off. He watches you go for a second before pressing back a small smile.

“The bar-”

“Tell them to get stronger tables,” Bucky calls from over his shoulder, not even waiting for a reaction. “Send the paperwork to the Avengers office, and put the bail on the tab.”

He finds you outside, arms crossed over your chest while you wait for him.

“Thank you.” You give him a smile. “I forgot that it would be late for you.”

“Don’t mention it,” he waves off. “Wild night, huh?”

He had heard that some of the agents who had shifted here recently were checking out the hubs around town, but he had no idea that you’d be with them. It made sense in hindsight. More often than not, you were seeking recommendations and guides on how to learn what it was like here.

“I’ve seen worse.” Your eyes shine, and for a second he thinks that they even glimmer like starlight. “I did not realise breaking tables would be such an issue.”

“Yeah, we tend to be possessive over stuff,” he scratches his neck, almost embarrassed for his kind. “Coulda kept the cops out of it, don’t know why they had to go through all this.”

“I will have them replaced. Ours will not break, they’re made for Asgardian parties after victories in battle.”

He nods slowly and wonders if a crane would be enough to lift the table into the joint. It was nearly 3am, and he was out here with you in front of a police station, and he can't stop his stomach from fluttering. He wants to punch himself.

“Are you hungry?” you ask suddenly.

Bucky’s head tilts. He definitely had dinner….maybe. Half a leftover burrito and an apple.

“I’m starving,” you add. “I saw this place along the way here–”

Not to rub it in, but Bucky Barnes, smooth player and charmer extraordinaire, blanks. He's about sixty years off his game, and sure, he thinks you’re real pretty and that maybe he’s always wanted to know what it’d be like to buy you dinner and maybe hold your hand? If you were good with that? Maybe even–

“Like a date?” he blurts out and immediately wrings his fingers.

You falter and he wishes he was never born. “A date?”

“Like– getting dinner together,” he tries to remedy. “Breakfast. What time is it?”

“Yes, that is what I asked.” Your head cocks to the side to match his in confusion.

“No, like– like different. Not just dinner– yeah, dinner, but more–” Christ alive, he wishes he could run into traffic, but the road was deserted.

You wait for him to explain a little better where he was trying to get at. He can feel his ears burning bright.

He just shuts up instead.

“Dinner-breakfast, but more,” you test slowly.

“...more romantic?” he tries finally, defeated. “A date. Romantic date– I’m tryin' to ask you out here.”

"Oh.”

The world is very still. He thinks he will hand in his resignation tomorrow and disappear.

He had done his part, embarrassed his mother and every internet poll that deemed him the most suave and mysterious Avenger, and could now die in peace.

“A date it is, then. Breakfast-dinner, but more,” you reply.

Oh. He thinks he’s probably going to combust but you lean over to press a small kiss to his cheek, and now he’s sure he’s going to combust.

“Humans think too much,” you say simply.

"Think I'm more of an exception than the norm,” he mumbles.

"Aren't I lucky," you tease, and tap on the helmet. “Don’t suppose you’ve got an extra?”

Bucky’s eyes fly open, and the blankets get kicked off in a frenzy. His chest heaves as he sits up, rubbing furiously at his eyes.

He knew it was going to be bad, but he didn’t think it would be this fucking insidious. 

He moves to wipe the sweat from his brow but comes back dry. The air is still cold even though he keeps the window shut, and he turns to it to see a thunderstorm taking place outside.

He watches the drops pelt against the window and trees shake violently for a moment, forcing himself to breathe as he rakes his hand through his hair.

Before it clicks, and his stomach drops.

“Fuck,” he hisses, not even bothering to throw on a jacket before bolting outside.

The path that he’s trodden a thousand times before looks entirely unknown, and had he not been reliant on his muscle memory he would have had no clue where he was heading. Inky blue trees, harsh and sharp, and he's sure he's gotten a few scratches on his face already as he sprints through the forest to the lake.

The boulder is there, the carving of your name remains but the hut of sticks and leaves-- it lays strewn across the land.

And the hair tie. The fucking hair tie.

He crawls miserably on his arms and knees, relying on the light from a clouded moon to guide him through every inch of grass. Eyes burning red, he continues to scour until morning breaks with twilight.

6 years he’s kept it with him. 6 years, and it’s gone with the rain.

He lets out a cry, fist driving into the earth, barely met with any resistance.

God of the Night, and Devil of Misery.

_______

The flowers had dried up and left him to rot with them. The lake was troubled on more days than not. He had a ring that was neither entirely yours, neither entirely his and no more than the traces of your skin in his memory.

So this time when the idea appears to him like a snake, crawling and inching up his back to tell him that he deserves it, you deserve it. It would solve everything.

He is no stronger than Eve. He had fallen from grace a long time ago. He shudders just as he did the first time, but now it felt like more reprieve.

_____________

“James,” it greets, hollow like a windchime.

His voice comes out more gruffer than he expects from months of unuse, “Got a minute?”

The light retreats further into the house, away from him. He watches it fade as it travels, unsure of what to do until it pauses, hovering in one spot.

It waits for him, he realises. He slips the beanie off his head and into his pocket, before hesitantly taking a step into the cabin. The floorboards creak under the weight of him the way his own used to months ago. Now they were well-worn and all the corners that made the most noise were identified and memorised. The house and its resident both stayed silent.

Bucky finds Wanda with her eyes closed, palms pressed into her knees as she sits midair, body levitating like she was held up by a marionette.

The room is lit dimly, the only light enough to see Wanda and he understands that the woman he met years ago and the one in front of him now were not the same. Even without his serum, he has a feeling the hair on his body would be standing up, adrenaline replacing desperation and fingers bound tightly into a fist. But even with his senses on high alert, Bucky finds it hard to find a reason to care.

“You found me.”

They gave him back his laptop. He knew the Avengers had eyes on her– but only because she was allowing them.

“What brings you here?” she asks, eyes still closed.

“I need a favour,” Bucky replies, voice unnaturally strong.

“Most do,” she hums, bones cracking when her head creaks to the side. “What is it that you want, James?”

“Got a feeling you already know,” he replies.

“Humour me.”

Bucky’s eyes burn the more he continues to stare. He feels sweat trickle down his back in a clean line. The room felt like it was closing in on him with every pulse of light, crawling into his skin and scraping up and down his bones until–

“I want to bring her back from the dead.”

Wanda’s eyes stay shut but a sick, twisted sort of smile works at the corner of her mouth. “Who?”

“You know who,” he swallows thickly.

Wanda straightens her head till she is sitting pin straight again, eerily firm as if her spine had been replaced with a rod.

“It has been months. Nature would not have been kind to her.”

“But it’s possible,” he says– asks, really.

“Anything is,” Wanda tuts. “But all that time would have eroded away at her.”

“We never found the body." He hates how his voice quivers for a second. “And she’s not from this Earth. That’s gotta count for something.”

“Depends.”

“Can you do it?”

“I can.”

Bucky feels relief flood into his system, an ecstatic sort of euphoria that has his heart lead–

“But I won't.”

And it goes back to how it was. Cold. Bitter. Was this some sick fucking joke?

“Why?” His voice drops an octave.

“Time will heal you. Getting in the way of that is only harmful to you.”

Real fuckin’ rich coming from you, he wants to scream.

“I tell you this because I know from experience.” It’s almost as if she reads his mind. Probably does. “Bringing someone back from the dead is not what you think it is.”

“I’ll handle it. Whatever it is.”

“Can you?”

Bucky wavers, brows furrowing. “Yes.”

Wanda hums, the same smile from before returning to her face. “Your spirit is admirable. But I’m afraid I can’t grant you this wish.”

Bucky feels white hot inside, and like his world crumbles into a dark heaving mess. “Wanda–”

“It’s for your own good, James.” If he wasn’t so full of rage he’d maybe hear the fondness that hid behind a few of her words.

“How would you know?” he snaps. “Vision wasn’t human–”

Wanda’s eyes snap open. Bucky is forcefully shoved a step back, arm jumping up in front of him in a second. For the first time he notices that the light wasn’t shining on Wanda– it was coming from her. Crimson red and pulsating as fast as the blood raced through her veins.

“You think Vision was the first time I’ve lost someone?” Her voice is cold. “You met him, James. You knew his name.”

Bucky’s grown to carry guilt on his back like Atlas. A little bit more is hardly a burden. “This– it’s going to be different,” he says. “She’s not a mutant, she’s a God, Wanda–”

“So you think you can match up to that by playing one?” Wanda’s voice raises. “You don’t get to pick who stays dead. You don’t get to choose. I didn’t. None of us did.”

“I wasn’t there when she died. If I was, then maybe–”

“That doesn’t mean anything. I cannot give you this favour.”

“Then consider it repayment. Of a debt,” he finally exclaims. “You said it. You owed me one. I’m cashin’ it in.”

Days of starvation just so that the kids could eat. If his handlers knew, they’d make him kill them with his bare hands. He gladly accepts fifteen more broken bones just so that the twins are kept together, and even when he goes back under, the sight of their big eyes, too big for their faces, staring at him haunts him in his nightmare.

“I just want another chance.” Bucky’s stare is strong, voice steady. “I’m tired of praying. I’m sick of it. I’ve been begging my whole life for a second chance at everything. You think I want to be here? That I get to be the one that’s still alive?”

The glow around Wanda looks like it should burn her. All consuming and vicious, like blood splattered on a wall.

“Please,” his voice reduces to the strength of a child. “Just try. That’s all I’m askin’.”

Bucky watches as the light slowly dims to a silhouette, leaving him blinking back the burn on his iris. He loosens his fist, knowing later that his fingernails probably broke through the skin of his palm.

Wanda’s chest rises and falls.

She closes her eyes. “Leave.”

He wordlessly turns on his heel. It was stupid of him to hope, he supposes.

______________

Autumn dies for December to grow, and he starts staying inside more than he already does. Snowfall covers the roof and the treetops. He swaps eggs for soup and makes batches large enough to last the whole day. The ground freezes over, and he looks for ways to keep his self-sustaining system going, but trips to town become more frequent.

Sam visits once more, and brings some more things with him this time. Books, a journal, some old box sets of shows. Bucky nods along to the conversation, asks after his family and when the time comes, rejects another offer to come to spend Christmas at the compound.

He accepts Sam’s flowers with more grace than the last time. The door closes, and he leaves it by the couch.

__________

He attempts to rebuild it. Pulls together some stronger branches and heavier stones. A new memorial lays together half-heartedly. Dejected. A little miserable looking.

He stares at it a little too long before one swoop of his arm cracks it in half and leaves it strewn across the grass.

Bucky doesn't try again.

__________

“Did you come up with the constellations?”

It's a stupid question, but he's always curious about you.  

“Hm,” you reply at first. “Not in the sense that you’d think.”

Bucky turns away from looking into the abyss and towards you. His flesh hand continues to trace shapes into your skin as your neck rests on his bicep.

“I didn’t place them in a way that was meant to be drawn,” you reply. “My mother used to tell me when I was a child that the spirits of those I cherished would live on through parts of our creations. For others, it would be through groves of orchards, or rain that corrode caves into mountains.”

Bucky watches the fingers of your free hand dance nimbly, while the other stays tucked between the both of you.

“I was young when I realised that certain lights were brighter when I felt too much for someone. Pain, joy, rage,” you continue, fingertips pointing upwards, “Those stars, satellites– whatever you wanted to call them– they were the ties I had to those I loved. So sometimes, I would move them with me so that every time I looked up, I would see that I had company.”

He tears his eyes away from you and towards where you were gesturing. It’s subtle at first, but then he sees– stars moving faster than they should, darting all around the canvas of the night like runaway splotches.

“Over time, those on earth noticed patterns and called them constellations. I’ve always seen it as my family,” you say, gently dragging a barely lit star from the corner of his eye towards the centre.

“That’s for Thor. Sif.” You take turns to point. “Loki. Fandrall. Hogun. My parents.”

Each seems to glow a little brighter as you call out their name. “There’s one for you, as well.” Your finger drops, finding its way back to comfort on his chest.

Bucky’s eyebrows raise.  

“You’ll have to see for yourself which one it is.” You leave a kiss on his jawline, and he instinctively tugs you a bit closer. “It won’t be any fun if I tell you.”

He doesn’t need to ask. There’s one slightly to your left, that’s glowing a little brighter tonight than the rest. His chest swells, and there's a profound sort of speechlessness that engulfs him. He never really knows what to say around you anyway.

“Really fuckin’ love you, you know that?” he mumbles into your the skin of your temples.

“I’ve got a clue or two.” You laugh and along with you, so does the sky.

___________

Bucky eyes fly open, fingers digging deep into the pillow. Not because of the way his brain was choosing to torture him again.

But the fact that the fucking person from before was back at his door, even though it was the middle of the fucking night.

He lets the first three knocks go unanswered but by the fifth one, he’s ready to unleash the force of the shitty month he’s had into whoever was here to drop off the next box of fucking whatever.

He doesn’t even bother pulling on shoes or straightening out his clothes. Hair wild and untamed and fury in his eyes, he marches down the steps of the cabin with a select choice of words for SHIELD and their stupid protocols.

With enough force to pull the door from its hinges, he yanks the door open, eyes ablaze and mouth set in a scowl.

And the earth stops spinning. 

The absolute wind gets knocked out of him and he’s scared to even blink because this has happened to him before. It’s happened, and his eyes have closed and it’s left and he can’t afford that again–

He freezes when a hand reaches out to touch his bicep. Because that has never happened before. He’s always woken up before this.

At the threshold of the cabin, he falls to his knees. His joints ache the same way they did in church all that time ago when his fury was masked with tears.

“Oh,” he whispers, kneeling before the essence of a God he thought abandoned him.

“Bucky?” you ask, confused and soft, hand reaching out to cup his cheek before lowering yourself to his height.

Bucky makes somewhere between a strangled noise and a strange laugh, head reeling.

“You’re back.” His hands fall at your waist lightly like he’s afraid to disrupt still water.

“What’s–” your sentence is interrupted when your eyes roll back into your head.

Moments later it goes limp, and his reflexes move faster than he can comprehend as he grabs you, body springing into action when his mind gives up on him.

He lets out a sigh of relief loud enough to be a sob, fervently holding up the dead weight and a rhythm returns to the stillness of the night, one he’d forgotten the sound of. If he was even the slightest bit aware, more than grateful, he would see the signs from then. His vibranium doesn’t warm when it meets the sliver of skin as he bunches up your shirt in his grip. It feels like he’s breathing in Antarctic air, not spring drafts.

“Thank you,” he whispers against your shoulder to whoever is listening. “Fuck– God, thank you.”

_______

"It's been a month."

"A week, and that's pushing it."

"You're pushing it," you mumble, tightening the straps of your armour, "I do not know how you live like this. Do you always just stare at the ceiling when you're bored?"

"Sometimes I like to switch it up. Look at the floor," Bucky adds gruffly, to a roll of your eyes. "Maybe the door on the days I'm feelin' real fancy."

"You will just let your TV lay that way? With half the screen missing?"

He shrugs half-heartedly. "Sports season's done. Got nothin' to watch."

"Hmm," you pause a second. "'No' to your offer then. You may take that as my formal reply."

"'No' to Thai takeout later?" Bucky squints out into the twilight through the window of the ammunition room. "Lebanese then?"

You raise your eyebrows, tightening the leather around your wrists. "Goodbye, Barnes."

"Bye," he replies, checking to see if his knives sat securely in his old tactical pants.

You send him a nod before you start striding towards the door.  The jet had landed a while ago, still onloading agents and recruits from the compound. 

Bucky's arm jets out to grab your elbow, pulling you back into him. He's well aware it's only because you let him.

"I'm kiddin'," Bucky laughs at the matching smile on your face. "I'll get it fixed. I'll fix it myself. Just marry me, please. I'm growin' old here, sweetheart. All this questioning's not good for my heart."

"You're already old. And we will talk about it when we get back," your fingers press gently into his chest, and he can feel your touch even through the bulletproof vest. "Your laws-"

"There's no law out there that says ex-enemies of the state and Gods can't marry. Even if there is, it'll be just another one I have to break."

Your eyes twinkle when you laugh. Bucky sees remnants of old cosmos in there, as he always has.

"We'll talk about it when we get back," you promise. "Be safe."

"Can't guarantee that."

"Try not to die, then."

"Always."

He can't remember a time when he wasn't the last one on the jet, owing to goodbyes like this. You never opted to join them, reaching the same way Thor does.

The night was uncharacteristically calm, especially since he knew that miles away you were about to step into another battle. But it's good. The night means you will be at your strongest, and that is what he hopes for.

Bucky allows a few seconds of silence to take you in, skin glowing even against harsh fluorescent lighting and a cool air of confidence around you. You raise an eyebrow at him, because this is far from the first time he has done this. He would never divulge why.

He takes a chance to press a quick kiss to your lips, humming. "I'll get the TV fixed when we're back."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Barnes." You smile, thumb swiping across the dent in his nose, an imperfection in a sea of many. "Thai for dinner?"

"Lemme check my calendar." Bucky takes a step back, feeling his heart constrict in a way that he's gotten used to craving. "I may have an opening."

"Please, don't try too hard."

"I'll have my secretary get back to you."

You roll your eyes, fighting a smile. "I love you."

"So, that's a yes then?"

"Get on the plane, Bucky." You sigh. "You already know the answer."

"Love you more." He grins at you, bright and like he's never known sadness. "Catch you later."

____________

In the days that pass, he doesn’t know how to be.

His body leaves him no choice–  staying up all night, waiting for Wanda to show up at the door, fingers burning to take it all back. He keeps the doors locked and windows shut, as if ageing wood would provide any sort of a barrier when it came to her will.

Bucky walks around in a trance, eyes glossy and body stiff like he isn’t sure how much of what he’s seeing is real.

Your body, housed in his old clothes, looks three seconds away from death. He keeps a bucket by the bed from when you cough up dust, the last remainder of old organs. He massages leg spasms, and muscle cramps from your neck.

He keeps a towel close by for the nausea and anything in between as your body fights off the shock of a rebirth. Allopathy is useless when you're a God either way, so he resorts to herbs and roots to alleviate as much as he can.

Your lungs struggle for air at night. He’s already awake, propping you up to make sure you’re breathing better. He rubs at your back in circles the same way he used to do for Steve and finally takes a breath when the wheezing subsidies.

He fervently tells you he loves you every time you slip back under, and wipes at your forehead with a wet cloth to ease the warmth. He’s met with coughing fits and clenched eyes.

Exactly one week from your return, a trip downstairs to gather more firewood for the room and Bucky falters to a stop near the kitchen.

There's a note pinned to the dining table with no indication as to how it got there.

The debt is repaid. This was by your will. Whatever happens next will be by hers.

Every hour, he watches rotting flesh, dissolved muscles and clotted blood crawl out of your mouth. He forces himself to watch. It was his choice after all.

Bringing you back from the dead was never going to be easy.

_________

A week later, the remains of your old body stop exhuming itself. Perspiration beads line your forehead, and he thinks the salt of sweat is your first act of creation. 

Your breath steadies. Nights go smoother. He learns he can live off of two hours of sleep. 

He toys with the idea of telling someone. Sam. Thor, even.  But your lips are bluer than he’s ever seen, even more than when he’d introduced you to blueberry juice pops when the heat beat down on you both in July, and you’d kissed his red-stained ones. 

The longer he stares at you, he dismisses the idea. Something in him says that beyond being something they could accept, they could actively bring a stop to what he was doing right now. 

He couldn’t afford that. Not now, not ever; not when he’s let you down once before already. It’s a secret for now, then. For as long as it needs to be. 

__________

In the days later your nervous system seems to be rewiring itself. The first time he sees you with your eyes open, the plates he’s holding clatter to the floor. 

“Hey,” he whispers, fingers clutching the side of the bed, “Hey, honey. Can you hear me?”

But your eyes never meet his. He slowly follows your gaze to the closed window, eyes glassy and surrounded by strings of red. 

He sees you mouth something, and desperate as he is, he never truly understands what it is before you’re gone again.  

His exhale leaves staggering, head dipping to your arm as he clenches his eyes tight till he sees spots. 

_____________

Bucky starts leaving the windows open. The ones in your room, at least, and only when he's there to keep watch.

It becomes a mission then. The next time you opened your eyes couldn’t be to the desolation he lived in for months. He looks for flowers. Vines. Anything to make the place look less dreary and miserable. He cleans the blinds, and dusts the paintings in the room.

The cells in your body seem to be working overtime– every day there is a little bit less that reminds him of where you came from. Scabs fall away faster than they grow, leaving unbroken skin.

He notices it late. There is only one wound that remains-- a red, jagged scar along your stomach. It looks angry. Heals slower than the rest of them. It is the only place Bucky sees specks of gold instead of bronze when you exert yourself too much.

__________

It takes a good amount of time. He should have anticipated it— the next time you awake, and the next few times after that are only when the sun chases beyond the horizon. 

He drops to your side with questions of “can you hear me?” or “does something hurt?” but each time, something outside the widow holds your attention dear to its chest and unwilling to share.

The moon rays become an elixir more powerful than anything from this Earth. Light almost surrounds you like a cloak, sinking into your skin and drowning in your bones. 

He stays up at night, massaging your arms and your temples, but you are still so cold to the touch he isn’t sure the blood is circulating at all. So he gets more firewood. Makes sure the house is warm all the fucking time.  

Stagnant. Still. Some nights he thinks he can see you looking at him from the corner of your eye.

The second he turns, you lay unmoving as before.

________

He stands labouring over the stove. There's a batch of rich tomato soup, with bread toasting in a skillet nearby. He alternates between wiping down the bowl to serve you in, though you still haven’t eaten, and stirring the soup to stop it from sticking to the bottom of the pan. 

He makes note that he still has to get more gauze from the town, and proper tools to sand down the chairs before he can even think of--

But something interrupts his to-do list. It's so soft, he thinks for a second he's imagining it. But the ladle he's holding clangs against the pot, and he abandons the bowls with such hurry that he wouldn't be surprised if it's in shards.

He races up the stairs, three at a time, his heart is thumping louder than the floorboards creaking.

It’s silent. He can hear his own arm whirring quietly.

He lets out a breath when he sees you haven’t changed positions since he last saw you, and wordlessly turns to head back downstairs to an over-bubbling cauldron of soup. 

"Bucky?"

It’s almost like eternity whooshes past his ears when he realises that he wasn't imagining it.

“Hey.” He drops without a second thought to your bedside, knees scraping against the wood. “Hey. Hi sweetheart. What do you need?”

“Water,” your voice is hoarse and just above a whisper, but you’re looking at him.

You’re fucking looking at him, and your eyes are a share darker than he remembers them being.

He makes a grab for the jug by your bed and holds a full glass to your lips carefully, watching as water treacles in through chapped lips. 

"How are you feelin’?" He hates how shaky his voice sounds, as if he wasn't prepared. As if he hadn’t been waiting.

It takes a second for you to form the word. "Tired."

His fingers brush against your cheek. "What can I do for you?"

You don’t respond, and he watches your chest rise and fall heavily again. You were asleep again.

He bites into his lower lip so hard he can taste the rust of his blood. Moonlight filters in through your curtain and he runs his thumb over the corner of your eye, placing a kiss on your forehead.

It was a start.

___________

Bucky grew up with siblings he outlasted and an absolute wildfire of a friend. It was safe to say the man had more patience than most.

The same conversation repeats three more times over the next few days, and he answers each time with as much tender refrain as the first, begging to know where he can help and what he can do.

“Tired” turns to “I’m tired” turns to “I’m just tired”, and with each he is as proud and hopeful as he was when you talked the first time. 

You begin to eat finally, and he hopes his skills aren’t bad enough to send you to the other side again. Spoonfuls of soup. Bites of bread. A glass of water, and then two. 

“Buck,” you rasp.

And he’s as ready as he was the previous day, with a gentle, “Tell me, sweetheart.”

You’ve already gotten a slice of bread into you today, and you’ve slept through the night. He’s considering this one of the best days you’ve had so far, and that alone is triumph enough to ease the anxiety that pervades him. 

“I was dead.” But this was new. 

Bucky blinks, not sure if he heard you right. Your eyebrows knitted together tells him he did. 

“You were,” he confirms, not daring to breathe. 

“But now…” you trail off, as if you were expecting to wake up that minute. 

His Adam’s apple shifts up and down. “Things changed.”

“How?” you ask, eyebrows pulling together even tighter, and he worries it takes energy that could be used elsewhere.

The muscles in his jaw tighten anxiously. The floorboards press into his knees. 

"You did something?" your voice comes back quietly. 

His silence is enough of an answer.

"How long was I gone?"

"It’s been a while, honey," he replies, eyes never leaving yours. 

Your head turns to face the ceiling, a deep exhale working its way through you. Bucky's eyes drift to the scar on your stomach, hidden under the fabric. Thorny and broken.

"Who knows?"

His gaze shifts back to your face, but you aren't looking at him.

"Only me," he says, voice unwittingly dropping before adding, "and Wanda."

"Wanda," you repeat quietly. "It was magic."

Something familiar sets into Bucky's chest. Heavy, pressing down on his throat and making the bile rise.

"I'll get you more water," he says, pausing briefly to look at you, but you continue to stare at the roof. "I'll be right back."

You don’t have a response for him. As he makes his way to the door, it follows like a shadow. He pauses by the frame to look at you once again, but your eyes have closed.

Bucky watches for a second, swallowing thickly. It feels all too similar to guilt.

__________

Bucky dedicates himself even more vigorously to the house. He finally takes out the cutlery, cleans it up the best he can and wipes down the table every single day.  He spends the day collecting fruits for juices and vegetables for broth. Firewood. Making sure everything is sharp enough to use, and the traps he set up in his initial time here were still functional.

He checks to see if the trees can take the weight of the swing he’s hoping to fashion out of bark. How fast it would take to polish the porch chairs and flooring, and what exactly it would take to do that.

No matter how much he cleans, it isn’t enough to wipe the look on your face from where it was seared into his brain like hot iron.  

A week later he's in the garden, digging up the ground to plant seeds. It's January, and it's still fucking freezing, but he's gonna fucking try anyway.

He's got a hold of seeds of poppy, marigold, daisies and who knows what else, and plenty of fucking time.

"You garden now?"

He looks up in surprise. You lean against the backdoor, no winter coat on even though it's freezing. It flashes in his mind that you look paler than you used to, and he wonders if that will go in time. 

“I’ve always gardened,” Bucky defends weakly, and tries to keep his tone normal. “Just– not well.”

Arms crossed over your chest, you ask, “Has that changed?"

“Can’t say it has, sweetheart." He looks at the mess he's created on the ground. "'M tryin', though.”

The corner of your lip upturns into a faint smile. His stomach twists painfully.

"You're up," he says, a little too late. It came faster than he thought it would. Then again, you weren’t human. You didn’t always listen to the laws of nature. 

"Y'feeling cold?" he adds quickly. 

You shrug, pushing off from the door to slowly take a seat. Your legs dangle off the ledge of the porch, barefoot. Bucky waits for you to swing your legs like you always have but you stay still.

He dusts his hands on his jeans and stands, tugging his jacket off his shoulders and holding it out to you. "Can I?" 

"Go on," you allow, and he drapes it around your shoulders, making sure it isn't likely to slip off before stepping back.

A draft blows past you both without either of you saying a word. Discarding the little shovel on the ground, Bucky chooses to take a seat beside you instead.

"You will feel cold, won't you?" 

"I'll be fine, don't worry 'bout me," he reassures. 

"Seems like you have it covered already," you say, making a motion to imitate the shape of his beard. "Mighty fine mane you've got there, James. You could give Odin a run for his money."

He gives a short chuckle, threading his hands through his hair that reaches down to his shoulders.

He’s finding it hard to formulate words. He couldn’t even tell if his mind was racing or entirely blank.

"You've got grey in your beard now," you observe. It sounds wistful. Sad even, and all of a sudden he’s left realising that he doesn't know how long it has been for you.

"Been a while since I got a haircut." 

Christ, he was drier than a brick. His conversational skills and charm had deserted him along with the rest of his luck. 

You lift your eyes from his beard to his face, scanning from his hairline down to his chin. "You look as handsome as you always have," you say and his heart jumps. "Just a bit..."

Sadder. Tired. Mistrusting.

"Older," you settle on.

He'd grown more wrinkles than he could count, and his skin didn't bounce back as much as it used to.

Beyond that, he smiled a lot less. He spent more time thinking than verbalising.

“You need help?” He hears you ask faintly, head gesturing to the patch of dug-up mud.

“You need to get rest,” Bucky shakes himself out of it. “I’ll get you some–”

“I’ve rested long enough, Buck,” you say assertively. 

He wonders if you did. Bucky remembers what you told him of Asgardian funerals. How your body is set floating along a river, and your soul lifts towards the sky to rest. You never got to have that. He doesn’t even know if they sent an empty log along a cold river.

"Tomorrow?" he delays.  

You look at him briefly before nodding.The ground stays untouched and the sky still greys. Bucky sees you take a few deep breaths, shuddering when a draft of wind blows by. He silently shrugs off his scarf too, and wraps it around your neck loosely.

You simply let him. Minutes pass in silence, and neither of you make any motion to move. 

You bump your shoulder into his. "I see you haven't fixed the TV yet."

A swift exhale leaves him in the form of a laugh. He turns away so that you don't see how his eyes begin to burn.   

"Sorry, honey," he croaks out, "I've been distracted."

The smile you give him is melancholic, and that's enough to dissolve his red eyes from a warning into tears.

_________

Bucky buys every single streaming platform available, and every channel available on cable.

That night he takes apart every single component of the television, wipes it down and puts it back together better than before. He only rests when it's 2am and the sound of late night commercials softly flood the living room.

__________

Bucky takes the guest bedroom, initially, a floor away from you to give you the space you need. 

He then realises it's too far, it's too risky. Sheepishly, he shifts to the same room as you, but makes himself a place to sleep on the floor with blankets and a pillow.

You voice your protest, and even though he’s spent three years curled up beside your sleeping frame, he says his back could use the hard surface now. 

He gets you clothes from town. Sweaters and socks, scarves. Things he knew you used to like and things he always promised he'd get if he had another chance. You take them with a small smile and a thanks. He sees you wear them around the house, and while they're exactly the size they should be, and the colours he knows you love.

There's a nagging feeling in him that they don't sit right. They don't look right. Still, you wear them on the days you can leave the bed. He shows you around the house. The good parts, at least, and pretends like that’s how he’s always lived even though he can tell you see right through his facade. 

He’s there when you thrash around at night. Bucky's up before the minute is even over, at your side and gently calling your name till you jolt awake. He hands you glass after glass of chilled water, rubbing your back in circles till the wave passes. It’s entirely too reminiscent of what you used to do for him, and he hopes the familiarity would do you good. 

Sometimes you tell him what you saw. Darkness enveloping you for hours, holding you close and sliding its vines over you, binding your limbs like rope before you're shoved into blinding light.

“Last I remember was the fight," you say one night, as he wipes the sweat from your forehead. "I cannot tell how much of it was real, it's--"

And you pause and struggle, and he's at a loss for words because you never have been. You've always known what to say. You've always had a thought you wanted to share. 

"Thor told me a little bit," he offers quietly. "If you'd want, I'd tell ya."

You look at him, conflict raging behind drained irises. "I was fighting. I heard them say something about-- there was a building with civilians hiding."

"Yeah, there was," he confirms, voice tight.

"They wanted to-- do something to it." You close your eyes, brows furrowing in concentration. "I told Thor I would get them out before anything happens. We had done it so many times before."

"He said there was an explosion."

The sky explodes from the early azure of dawn to a blinding white to a blood-curdling crimson.

And Bucky was too slow to get you out.

"I don't remember that," you say and his eyebrows furrow. "I remember--"

Bucky watches you hesitate for a second before your hands nimbly move the fabric of your shirt slightly to reveal the outline of the scar, inhaling sharply. 

"I wasn't careful enough. There were civilians I was getting out and someone from behind--"

It dawns in a slow realisation the reason why the scar hadn’t healed yet. Why it stood out from the others that littered your skin. Bucky had thought for this long that you'd died in a blaze, trapped under bricks and mortar. That you had been left suffocating because he hadn't been fast enough, that he wasn't good enough.

"I knew I would not be awake for long. I just wanted to get rid of as many of them as I could."

"The building came down." He swallows the rock in his throat. "We spent days searching through it."

"I think I was gone before the explosion happened."

It makes sense-- the sky shifted all too quickly that day. You were gone before he even had the chance. Your fate had already been sealed. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I should have been there.”

“I’m glad you weren’t. It wasn’t a pretty sight.”

"That's not–" his words come out in a rush, stumbling over each other, insistent. "If I was there--"

"There is no point in punishing yourself," you interrupt his spiral. "It was a choice I made. I would do it again. It was what had to be done."

He swallows thickly when he knows the conversation ends there. 

__________

Some nights Bucky settles on pressing a kiss to your knuckles, and lingers there for a second longer than he should. 

You turn to face him from your place on the bed, looking at him like you've known him for centuries. Some nights it feels like you have.

_________

Bucky builds you a swing. It's a little ridiculous, and it takes a whole week to do it.

But your face breaks into the biggest smile he's seen since you got here, and he can taste the sun on his tongue. The strange feeling in his stomach is alleviated for a moment, and replaced with something closer to pride.

You spend hours on it while he works on parts of the house. He makes sure you've got a blanket with you at all times, even though you’ve never once told him you feel cold.

You ask him questions about everything. Him, the world; like you’re trying to relearn what you’ve lost.

"How long ago did you buy this place?" 

"Nearly two years ago," he replies, paintbrush in hand as he swipes up and down the deck. "Owners hadn't come here in a while and they wanted it off their hands quick, so I made an offer."

You hum, using the balls of your feet to swing yourself higher. "I have always wondered what it would be like to live in a place like this."

Bucky’s painting halts for a second as he fights a smile, but he doesn't respond. The squeaking of the swing stops. He looks over to you, only to find you already looking at him.

"Is this why you bought it?" you accuse.

Bucky returns to painting the wood, face turned away.

"You are far more of a hopeless romantic than I ever remember you being."

He scoffs out a laugh. "You'd'a run away."

"I wouldn’t have." You narrow your eyes. "I have had suitors in the past who've done far worse. You are far from the most embarrassing."

"You laughed when we kissed for the first time," he points out, amused.

Your jaw drops. "That was because I wasn't expecting it. You'd been courting me for months, I thought you were never going to move beyond that."

"I was tryin' t'be a gentleman," he defends. "I didn't know how they do it in Asgard."

"Well, for starters, they don't kiss someone after dropping tiramisu all over them."

He cringes, but it doesn't escape him that memories of the both of you feel like they're accompanied by a light this time, instead of dread. "Could you blame a fella for bein' nervous?"

"I do not know why, you had no reason to be."

He wants to ask if you've seen yourself before. He was damn near pissing himself whenever you got too close to him. The tiramisu was just collateral damage from when you chose to wipe cream smudged at the corner of his lip that night. 

When he lifts his head to look at you, you're back to swinging. Back to your own world. A new one you seem to have constructed for yourself since you came back. Back then he was privy to all your thoughts, no matter how mundane they were.

Right before he goes back to painting the deck, his brain makes a small connection. It's a small detail, but one that holds a lot more weight the more he begins to notice.

Your back curves in on itself ever so slightly. No longer pin-straight. His grip on the brush grows a little tighter.  

__________

February rolls around. Bucky's only managed to work up the courage to hold your hand occasionally when you go for walks.

Fingers laced in yours, he shows you parts of the woods he's discovered that stray from the main path. The shrubs that look like they're alight when the sunset catches them. The trees that have a hole right through the centre, like they've taken a bullet.

You keep him out longer and longer, and by now he’s run out of things to show you. He ends up repeating a lot, but you look glad each time, like you’re learning something new about him each day even though he’s dredged you through the same mud path at least thrice now.

He wants to think that it’s because you like having longer to hold his hand. 

You listen intently, asking questions whenever you could. You let him know what parts you like better, and parts you’re glad he’s left behind, even if it was recent. 

Bucky blushes from head to toe when you pick a flower and tuck it into his hair, and you smile it away with a swing of your hand. 

"You get visitors?" Your mouth moves in tandem with your fingers that weave together a crown from stray leaves and blades of grass. You tell him, even though he remembers, that it was something you learnt from Sif growing up. 

"Sam drops by every now 'n then."

"Do you visit them?" you ask, hands twisting deftly and with skill of someone who’s done this all too many times. "How has everyone been?"

Should he tell you he's been sequestered? That he dropped everything and disappeared overnight because the questions of 'are you fine?' and 'do you want to talk?' became as suffocating as a thick cloud of smoke.

"Last I heard, they were doin' alright." He hopes it's enough.

"I tried talking to Thor," you tell him casually, but it feels like a cold fist clamps down on his chest. 

“And?”

“I couldn’t hear him,” you tell him, just as normally and he’s disgusted that he feels even the tiniest bit of relief. “I couldn’t hear Heimdall either. I know he’d respond if he could hear me, so I can only assume he hasn’t.” 

“You’re sayin’ you’re not able to talk to them?” His voice sounds small.

“I believe I lost the ability to communicate with them,” you tell him, tying the last bit of grass together. “I don’t think there is precedence for when someone comes back from the dead.”

You hand him the crown, and Bucky doesn't dare to meet your eyes. It’s too small for him. It’s closer to the size for a child. 

"'M sorry, honey," he mumbles. It returns to his stomach. The sick, gnawing feeling that he’s tried to obtain salvation for.

"I still have you,” you tell him, “But you were here for this long without anyone. It must have been lonely.”

Truth be told, he never really noticed. It almost seems like he’s forgotten how it felt.

"Hasn't been for a while, now." He squeezes your hand.

"I don't like the idea of you staying here alone.” Your eyes scan his face. "You deserve to be around others."

Bucky doesn't know what it is about the way you say it-- like you're not entirely sure you're here either. Like you aren't real. 

He calls your name, unsure, scared even. You answer with a hum. 

"Are you okay with being here?" It’s too late to be asking this. 

Your face pulls together thoughtfully, but he can't decipher what you're thinking.

"I like spending time with you. Always." 

Your head leans on his shoulder, and you resume the tune you’re humming. Bucky tries not to think about the fact that you haven't quite answered his question.

_________

He wakes up on the ground again, not to your muffled groans or bed sheets being thrown to the ground.

You're not in bed. The window is open. There's scattering downstairs, and it's followed by a strange scent, and for a second he panics.

He scrambles down the stairs, mind already conjuring pictures and images so vile and ghastly--

But all he sees is you in his biggest shirt, one that you yourself once got him as a joke for a punchline he can’t really remember right now.

And you're surrounded by broken pans, bent forks and an entirely indiscernible charred mass on the bottom of a skillet.

"I tried to cook," you admit, "like on TLC."

"And you broke the pan?" he asks, a little stunned, a lot more in love. 

"I did not realise your cookware would be so weak." You try so desperately to hide a smile. "Tried to scrape it off using the fork."

He looks at the misshapen piece of cutlery.

"And what's that?" He slowly makes his way into the kitchen towards you.

"The remnants of a frittata." You hold it out to him.

Bucky takes the handleless skillet from you and looks at the ashes.

"What do you think?" you ask.

Bucky holds it back out to you. "Could use a few more minutes on the stove."

The smile you try to hold back breaks into laughter and his face lights up in surprise. It's the first time since you've gotten here, and the first time in years since he's been graced with the sound.

He bites his lip when you take it back from him, all while still giggling, like he doesn't quite believe his ears.

"I do believe I would fare better at toas-- oof."

Bucky pulls you into his chest, arms wrapping around you like a weighted blanket. The pan drops to the counter as his head falls to your shoulders.

"I missed you so fuckin' much," he utters desperately into your neck, clenching his eyes closed so tight it hurts.  

"I missed you too," you say softly, arms circling his waist, pulling him closer.

___________

The days start to get warmer. Your skin still stays cool to the touch. It's something he's getting used to. For years he was used to waking up at night to turn down the thermostat, just so that he could stay under the covers with you without burning up.

But while good days increase, there are the ones you spend too feverish to get out of bed. You sleep the whole day, only waking when he brings you food.

March fades the dark circles around your eyes as much as it can, but they never truly go. The scar on your stomach doesn't heal beyond a certain point, and is always ready to turn garish and violent on days you can't get your head to lift.

Bucky wonders if you’ll ever get better. 

Fevers break when the mornings do. You tell him you dream of the same thing over and over. Darkness, holding onto you with the same tenacity as a mother stops a child from running into a flame.

You walk with your shoulders drooped, and always some sleep in your smile. Sometimes he hears you call for your parents, who he knows haven't been around for a few hundred years. He hears Thor's name, and Loki's during nights that are more peaceful.

On days that are good, you spend time helping with the garden and for once, the flowers start growing. Tree bark he can't break into two, you manage with one hand. You watch shows together on the couch, and he massages your head when it's in his lap.

And finally, Bucky shows you the lake when it thaws over. Crystal clear waters let you peer at the little plants growing on the bottom, and the sunlight glows in the ripples.

You notice the engraving on the boulder before he has the chance to divert your attention. When you ask, he tells you about the little memorial and the rain and the loss of the hair tie. 

Your hand squeezes his a bit tighter. He thinks no memorial can hold a candle to that.

You look at your reflection in the water a lot. Bucky sits beside you, skipping stones to see how far it can go, like he did in the harbour as a kid. Steve always used to win, no matter how much Bucky tried. 

"There was a lake by my school when I was child," you tell him. "When I was mad, I used to skip class to go sit there for hours."

“What made you mad?” He chuckles.

“A lot of things. I had too much energy to just sit there, and that was ‘unbecoming of a future leader of Asgard’.” Your face pulls into one of distaste. “I always thought there was more to learn about the world than what their books contained.”

Bucky collects a few pebbles from around him. "Did the lake make you feel better?"

"Always." You take a stone from him to skip across the surface. "Sometimes my friends used to join. Our elders said the water had the ability to remember. Loki used to make faces, and it would always linger for a few seconds before it disappeared. Even after we thought he was gone, I'd see his face there."

Bucky stays quiet, nodding at points to let you know he was listening.

"I used to see younger versions of myself sometimes," you continue, voice distant. "It always surprised me. I thought I used to know what I looked like. It was different each time."

You inch towards the shoreline, leaning forward on your knees. The clear water looks like an open sky underneath you. "I look different now, too," you say. "But I can't remember what I used to look like."

Bucky discards his stones to come join you, leaning down to where you were. The face staring back at him pulls a sick, twisted feeling in his gut. Deep in him, he knows what you're talking about extends beyond immediate impressions. Centuries of being intertwined with the universe had always given you lines and traces that transcended your physical appearance. 

You have always felt like the God of the Night.

Now you have been to the other side and returned, seen things others haven't and still kept intact. While he doesn't have the courage to admit it, he knows in his blood what you feel like. 

He's scheduled an appointment with him many times, but always just missed it.

Now, you feel closer to the God of Death.

"You've always been beautiful. Still are." It's a band aid on a gaping, festering wound.

Even still, you look at him with a smile. "So are you."

Bucky makes the mistake of looking at his visage in the water, and immediately recoils.

"Christ," he grunts at the difference between the both of you. "What a fuckin' mess."

"Oh, it isn't that bad," you laugh, watching him contort his face.

"Easy for you to say, you look stunning." He points to your reflection. "I look like I was raised by wolves."

"You just need a shave," you hum.

"I need a new face."

You leave aside his last comment to propose something entirely new instead, "I could do that for you."

"What? Give me a new face?" he asks and you give him a pointed look. "Oh. Shave my beard?"

"Same thing, no?"

He supposes so. "Alright," he agrees, with a certainty reserved for no one else. 

A small smile appears on your face, even though you aren't really looking at him.

Bucky watches you lean forward. Your fingers dip into the water, disturbing the reflection.

_____

Late evening finds you settled on the counter, armed and ready. "Lot of trust you're putting in me."

"I'd trust you with anything," he says, looking in the mirror to check once again that foam covers every inch of hair on his jaw. "You know this."

"Still," you note, watching him tilt his chin up. "I could do this with a dagger, if you'd like."

"This works fine, thanks."

You let out a laugh, and he finally steps in front of you, satisfied with his part. You swish the razor into water once again just in case, before leaning forward.

The first swipe goes agonisingly slow. Bucky watches your face screw up in concentration as you scrape down his left cheek.

You pull back and make a face. He raises his eyebrow in question.

"You are too far away," you declare, wrapping an arm around his bicep and tugging him closer.

Your legs wrap around his waist to keep him in place, locking behind his back. His breath hitches in his throat the proximity but you appear entirely unfazed, washing the razor again.

"Are you okay?" you ask, keeping one hand on his neck for balance as you get a much better go at his face.

"Yep," he thinks he says. It may just have been a sound.

You could have spent hours there for all he cares. He's too focused on the pressure of your legs on the small of his back and the way he's basically melted into your hand.

"Your eyes have always been my favourite feature," you tell him, blade carefully running down the curve of his jaw. "When you smile hard, there are these lines in the corner. It's like you can't handle being that happy."

He can't tear his sight from you, and from the fact that this is the closest you’ve been in years. You may as well have been telling him utter nonsense, and he'd still find it hard to control his breathing.

"But I have a soft spot for this." You lightly tap the bridge of his nose. He knows immediately what you're talking about. "I will never forget how stupid you were. Throwing yourself in front of danger like that."

"Couldn't let that guy touch you," his voice comes out an octave lower than what it was. "I'd gladly take a few more punches."

"That's why they stopped pairing us up on missions." The corner of your lip upturns, and you swish the razor around in water again. "You were being reckless."

"I'd do it again."

"One scar is enough." You tilt his jaw to see if you'd gotten everything. "I don't enjoy you getting hurt on my account."

Bucky exhales deeply when you get started on the other side. His hands itch to hold your waist, pull you closer like it’s been carved into the strands of his being, but they stay by his side. 

"I tried for so long after you were gone," he tells you instead, to gain a sense of control. "I went to the therapist. I tried talkin' about it. No one got it. It was the same thing over, and over."

How do you explain that it wasn't simply a person. He thought that that was where it ended-- everything in his life had finally culminated. And that was taken too.

"Went back to the roof a month after everything happened," he continues, studying your reaction. "It was s'ppsed to be a clear night. There was nothing in the sky. I couldn't see the constellations. I couldn't see your family-- I couldn't see you."

You listen intently, but never stop working at him. The longer you spent there, the more of his old face revealed itself to you. Worn, and aged a thousand years in a few months, but it was still the still face you swore to love and cherish for aeons. 

"They took all your stuff. Said it belonged to Asgard, they couldn't keep it here. Thor went off grid. All I had was pictures of us and the hair tie you gave me."

You clean the razor off in water, eyebrows furrowing at the information.

"It felt like you were never here. Like I'd just made you up all those years." You can hear the faint trembling in his voice. "But I had memories of you in all these places-- and I couldn't stay. It was easier to move here and start again."

Looking back at him, you realise you've already finished. There was nothing left on his face to clear.

"Was it hard?" you ask finally, letting go of the razor in the water. 

He looks at you, and you know he's struggling to form the right words. He looked like he wanted to scream, rip the hair out of his scalp, punch a hole through the mirror. 

"More than anything.” His voice comes out raw and peeling. 

Bucky watches you look at him for a long moment, and he wonders if he’s said too much too soon.

But instead you kiss him.

His arms find its way back home around your waist, and he feels you sigh against his mouth before your body relaxes, tilting your head to deepen it.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there,” you breathe, forehead leaning against his. 

"Don't," he begs.

You search his eyes for any kind of a message.

He kisses you harder, pulling you flush against him.

__________

Bucky moves into your bed after you threaten him well and good, and he knows you intend to keep your promises.

For the first time since he can remember, he keeps the windows open throughout the night and throughout the day.

It’s foolish, to think he was invincible. That what you had had finally cemented itself as final.  

You both stay in as long as you want. There is no hurry, nothing to get to. You talk a lot more. You begin to tell him sometimes at night that you see glimpses of what seemed like beyond the end.

Gold. Blood of ichor. Warriors fallen in battle go to Valhalla. Trees that kissed the skies, and valleys so green it hurt. Sometimes, in the corner of your eyes, you could see those you'd lost over the years waiting for you, hand outstretched.

No matter how hard he tries, Bucky doesn’t seem to get it. Every time he thought he was dead, there was only jet black silence and crushing pain. Then again, he never truly died.

But he isn’t ignorant. Fevers and fatigue that initially lasted a day, now knock you out for a week. There are times you throw up more than you've eaten, and the dark circles look like abysses.

He worries to the point of his stomach churning. You look like you don't have the energy to be here, even though you kiss him like you do. 

Bucky runs his hands over your scalp and tells you stories of his childhood. What he felt when you moved in with him, how anxiety made space for comfort. He reads you tales from other mythologies and marks the similarities in the stories you've told him over the years.

Each time you come around your smile gets more tired. Your shoulders grow heavier and your skin loses colour.

You still cook breakfast together. You still watch TLC together to figure out the culture on earth because even after all this while, you still maintain that's the best way to do it.

Things could still be good. But more often than not, Bucky wonders if he’s unknowingly surrendered you to a life you do not wish to live. 

_______

"Sweetheart?"

You continue to drag your finger through the water, oblivious to what he's saying. 

He calls your name, and there's still no response. April sees this happening more often, and Bucky's learnt that no matter what he does, it only seems to worsen.

He touches your shoulder lightly and you almost jump.

"It's getting late. Wanna head back?" he asks, because you’ve skipped out on lunch to stay by the shore the whole day. It seems like it’s the only place you want to be. 

"Yeah." You give him a small smile, wiping your hands on your pants.

"Want a hand?" he asks, holding out his.

You grab it, and pull yourself up, giving him a small peck on the lips along the way.

It feels comically normal. He wants to pretend that it is.

"Pasta tonight?" you ask breezily, slipping your hand into his.

Your fingers are ice cold to the touch. He forces back a shudder.

"Anything you want," he promises.

__________

He catches you humming as you water the plants, when you walk with him, while you read from the end of the bed. 

It's the song of my people, you tell him. They used to sing it when everyone was together.

He listens to the tune and tries to commit it to memory, but it changes far too often.

May catches you staring a lot more often. At walls. The trees. The lake is the worst.

On what would have been the fifth anniversary of the both of you being together, he brings you a cake. The both of you share it over a glass of wine, even though it clashes terribly and leaves an aftertaste.

You laugh harder than you have in the last few weeks and he gets to feel triumphant for an evening. 

You chase the frosting on his lips with a searing kiss, and that's that.

“What do you suppose it means?” you ask later that night, arm wrapped around his middle.

“What?” he mumbles, drowsy from a full stomach and good time.

“That I got a second chance and others didn’t?” your voice sounds distant.

Bucky is suddenly very awake.

“It couldn’t be that they weren’t as loved," you continue. "So then what made me different?"

He doesn’t have an answer.

He rolls over to look at you. But you are staring at the ceiling once again.

_________

His unwavering faith that he can learn to live with it feels like it’s eroding. 

Death changes everyone. He knows that before Steve left a few years ago, he wasn't the same Brooklyn-born spitfire. Steve's died a dozen or so times. He was reborn into a different soul each time.

Spring bounds towards you with warmth and life. The grass is greener, and Bucky's learnt there's more to life than just casseroles and toast.

You bring him more flowers to tuck into his hair. He wears them dutifully, and then learns to press them in between pages of books you both buy from old bookshops.

You give him wider smiles. You talk a lot less. 

Bucky learns that silence doesn't have to be filled. He's loved you in the winter, and he loves you in spring.

But there is always a tension simmering under the surface, just out of reach, like the sky reflecting in the lake. 

Sometimes you say things that he can't quite make sense of. Sometimes it's a lot more obvious, and the same feeling of guilt returns to his chest and flowers under his ribs.

So he asks you one day. You're on the couch, head in his lap while he reads a book you've annotated the week before. The only disturbances are when he stops occasionally to ask you why you liked a line, or why you drew a heart next to another.

You're humming the tune he can’t catch. 

There's nothing really wrong, but he knows. He can feel it in his marrow.

“Sweetheart," he calls gently. 

You look up at him. 

"Are you– are you happy?” And he leaves his heart, raw and unprotected on the line.  

You don’t look surprised. Not entirely knowing either.

A beat passes before you open your mouth to speak. 

“I like being here with you. I love you, I always have, and I will always love being here with you,” you choose your words carefully. “But I don’t know if I can feel that anymore. Happiness, I mean. Or sadness.”

Bucky keeps the book down. You don't lift your head from his lap.

“I feel like there’s a void where my body should be,” you continue in a chance to explain, “I feel like I'm made of air.”

“Are you feeling under the weather?” Bucky tries to find a rationalisation. Anything, that he can fix. That he can control.

You slight him a smile. “Not since the last bout.”

He doesn't know. He doesn't want to get it. He’s always felt that he was selfish, that that was ultimately what led to his punishments. This was a whole new level.

“I was born on Asgard. I have always felt like I was a part of the mud and the riverbed. They were a part of me as much as I was, them. I don’t know if that’s still…”

You pause, and Bucky feels time come to a standstill around him. 

“I’ve been reborn here,” you continue. “I don’t feel like anything is mine. I don’t feel like… I am a part of something. Even the night.”

He knew. Though he knows in his dreams he can still feel traces of Brooklyn carved into his bones, it had jaded over time, been eroded by years of waking up in places he couldn't place.

You sit up to look at him. Your eyes have an intensity to it that even the universe couldn't mask. 

“Do you really like who I am now?” you ask finally.

“I love all of you. Every one.” Ever changing, transient.

“How?” you ask softly. “I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

He swallows thickly and wills himself to ignore the chill creeping into his body. In truth there is so much he wants to say. He doesn't think that as a war-fractured man from the thirties who grew up in bloodshed will really have the sufficient words.

“I just do. Can’t help it.”

Even if you aren’t satisfied with his answer, he will never know it. He has known for a while now that he's been letting you down since the day he walked into Wanda's cabin.

You give him a slight smile. Lay your head back down on his lap. His book remains unread.

It felt like the beginning of the end.

It's a simple decision then. It would have been, for anyone who wasn’t born with a soul as corrupt as his.

One more week that is hard for you to get up from bed, turns into two. One more week that your face morphs into something he can’t quite recognise. He's never wanted to harm someone he loves, but he seems to do a fine job at it.

It's a simple decision, really. But simple didn't mean easy-- God knows he is anything but a saint.

When you see it finally, the fruits of a labour that took far too less time to manifest than justified the time he spent putting it off, the smile that appears on your face is blinding, he wonders how the sun even has the gall to shine.

“Thor,” you breathe out, only seconds before being engulfed in the most bone-crushing hug you’ve ever received.

Bucky watches from the sidelines, fingers wringing and entirely ready to be smithed to ashes.

“I came as soon as I heard,” he breathes into your shoulder. "I cannot believe this."

You pull back, and standing next to Thor gives Bucky a new frame of reference. One that isn't dependent on how you looked the week prior. He doesn't know how it slipped past him, how he hadn't noticed that you looked so different.

“You look wonderful." You grin at the behemoth of a man. "Your hair has grown out once more."

"They can try cutting it off my dead body," he replies defiantly, arms clasping at your shoulders to keep enough distance to study you from head to toe. "You'll have to give me a second. I didn't think this would be true, when Heimdall gave me James' message."

You look over at Bucky whose lips pull together in a tight line. 

He looks embarrassed. Unsure. Afraid. Guilty, and prepared to be berated for how long it took him. 

"It's true," you reply instead, giving him a smile. "Here, in the flesh."

Thor squeezes your shoulder once more, and laughs the same laugh he's always had around you. Loud, boisterous and entirely free. 

"The others will be thrilled. Sif, Hogun-- you have no idea how the past two years have been. There is so much to catch you up on."

Bucky knows. The fact that you're standing there today is living proof that he knows so well.

“I cannot wait to meet them." The corner of your lips upturn wider at his enthusiasm. "I've missed them terribly."

"We did not get to give you a proper farewell. Your welcome back will be a thousand times better," Thor says brightly. "We can return as soon as you say the word."

You look to Bucky, not for permission, but as a question he's known has been awaiting him a long time.

"Ready?" you ask softly.

He knows you didn't have to ask. That if you'd left him there and never returned, he'd deserve it and worse.

But you're you-- patient and kind. And he thinks that he can try to start redeeming himself.

__________

Turns out he wasn't wrong. Asgard really is too grand for a fella like him.

It is opulence-- gold and towering heights that bleed the love of its citizens and a history richer than words can contain.

Thor is smart. Aside from Heimdall, who greets you with the hug a father gives a child who's been away for too long, no one knows of your appearance until you are ready.

You get a few days in the tower to yourself, to breathe in the air that grew your lungs and touch the marble you've split your head open against in the past. The help are sworn to secrecy, and no one knows who Bucky is anyway except as the man who has been specifically allotted to the same room as you upon your request.

It doesn't take long for your face to pick up. Your skin comes alive with a vibrancy he didn't think he'd see again. You sleep sounder at night, and you eat more than you've had the appetite for in the last few months.

He trails behind you and Thor initially, not wanting to eavesdrop into conversations he has no place being a part of.

But you grab his hand, lace your fingers in his and tug him along as if to say that this is his home too.

He sees what you mean when you say that you are connected to the land. Clothes on Earth have never fit you right. Silks from Asgard decorate you like you are one in the same, like it flows from you.

_________

Reunions are a tearful affair. Lots of hugs are exchanged, punches to the shoulder, and kisses to various parts of your face.

“You have been alive for months, and we are just now learning of it,” Sif holds your hands in hers. 

“It took me a while to recover.” You give her a small smile. 

“We would have come as soon as you called,” she continues. “You did not have to heal alone.”

“I wasn’t alone.”

Eyes turn over to Bucky, and he’s suddenly very aware that the clothes he’s been given are too rich for him, too grand. He feels small, like they drown him out.

Despite what he’s saying, he feels as though he has deprived you. He knows that he has, and he has no one else to blame but himself. 

“Thank you,” Sif says instead, taking him by surprise. “We will remember this.”

“Don’t mention it,” he replies weakly.  

__________

It takes days to meet the closest of your friends, until they decide they had their fill. Bucky is slowly introduced to all of them. Boisterous and loud, most greet him with a wide appreciation. Others are less quick to warm, and he gives himself no room to blame them either. 

Upon insistence, he joins you for your welcome back dinner, and gets a seat right beside you. 

Your hand holds his the entire night, squeezing tighter when something makes you laugh, or when someone is particularly embarrassing.

When there is a lull in the conversation after hours, sly grins are exchanged.

"So, this is the one you raved on and on about." 

His eyebrows quirk in amusement.

"I did not rave," you huff. "I simply informed you--"

"For hours. Days even,” they drag on. “A great warrior from earth with eyes that could rival storms--"

Bucky chokes on his wine. You award your friends with several curses and glares.

"Long hair past his shoulders. Oh, and arms to die for--"

You take in the way his face has gone red, all the way up to his ears. You laugh and grip his hand tightly with an unabashed shrug.

"I am only glad that that's all you remember," you joke.

He thinks he should be buried in the garden for his sanity.

_________

Walks around the castle become increasingly common at night. You are mostly left undisturbed, and you take the opportunity to show him everything you've ached to.

Where you've learnt, where you first scraped your knee. The first arrow you shot. Where your parents met. The first and last time you cried over a friend gone astray.

He can't fathom why he ever thought he wouldn't be ready to know this. As if knowing more about you would cement the fact that he was lesser than.

“You look ethereal,” Bucky tells you one night, honest and true.

You look at him, a bit taken aback. There was nothing particularly different about you this evening. In fact, you’d chosen to stay away from festivities today to lie around the gardens with him, citing a headache.

“I should have said yes earlier,” he continues. “You belong here. It shows.”

A laugh leaves you as an exhale. “It feels different.” You run your fingers through his hair. “I don’t know if it would be the same if I brought you here years ago.”

“Different how?” Bucky closes his eyes and revels in the feeling of your touch.

“I don’t know,” you tell him. “I am not sure it is what I remember it to be.”

You don’t say anymore. Bucky doesn’t ask. 

He lays with you under a clear night sky, and your fingers deftly move the faint lights in the sky to mimic shapes of fishes and hunters. 

He notices the sky here, too, has taken the same fate as it has on earth. Not as full as it could be, always just a little less bright.

He assumed it would change when you came back. He assumed it would change when you came to Asgard.

The sinking feeling in his stomach reminds him of what he already knows is going to come.

_____________

There are nights you are dragged off by your friends for things that don't include him.

You shoot him a sorry smile and he tells you to just go with steady reassurance.

Bucky takes to exploring. He's been given robes to blend in. They always fit in a way that's too soft.

He looks at statues erected, memorials in place for those who've given up their lives for a bigger cause. He spots your name in there as well, as if they've not yet entirely sure that you're back. He spends hours at the library, reading up on things he couldn't find on Earth. Where heroes slain in battle actually go, what it's like over there. Stories of when they are brought back. None of them end well.

Thor finds him, and introduces Bucky to Asgardian mead that he swears got Steve tipsy. Bucky’s had a rough couple of years. He’s in no place to turn down a drink. 

He remembers what it's like to be 21 and drunk again and like nothing bad can ever happen.  When you choose to join in with them, Bucky finds he’s a lot braver and a lot smoother with liquor flowing through his veins. 

Stumbling through tower hallways, giggling and stealing open-mouthed kisses in the shadows like a bunch of teenagers until he has your back pressed up against the bedroom door. 

“Eager?” you breathe out when he nips at your neck, hands scouring every inch of you he can find. 

“What gave it away?” he mutters, pulling away to look you. 

Wild eyes and equally untamed hair, and there is a light in his eyes that outshines supernovae. 

“I love you,” you tell him, and it’s a startling moment of clarity in the middle of a juvenile hour. “I hope that always remains with you.”

Before he can respond, you thread your hands behind his neck and steer him towards the bed, mouth never once leaving his. 

________

Another solitary night, and it's by pure accident that he ends up retracing his steps to the first place he was introduced to in Asgard. He wonders how much of it was intentional, his conscience forcing him to a reckoning long awaiting him. 

Heimdall is there as always, standing tall with a grace that is still threatening. Bucky is not a fool-- he knows he can sense his presence.

Still, he looks only for a moment before making leave. 

"I hear it was magic that brought her back," Heimdall voices.

Bucky pauses in his tracks.

"Yes," he says, like he’s forced to respond.

"Are you aware of what it takes to bring a body back from the dead?" Heimdall asks, tone still. "Cells are broken and reattached if they do not malfunction. The brain is attacked with sensation after being dormant for months. The heart pumps degraded blood through vessels that have collapsed."

Bucky feels bile rise to his mouth at a memory that seems so far away. Enough has happened since.

Heimdall looks at him, steel cut eyes boring into his. “Our ancestors have tried this for centuries,” he says slowly. “It has always ended the same way.”

Bucky keeps silent. Wonders if the God can hear him swallow the lump in his throat– probably can.

“Tempering with fate has never fared well.”

“I’m not trying to play with fate,” Bucky finds himself moving on its own accord. “If this wasn’t supposed to happen, it wouldn’t have. I am not a God.”

Heimdall stares into his soul and Bucky feels suffocatingly exposed. “The separation between divinity and mortals is thinner than you may imagine.”

“I have no interest in crossing it.”

“Haven’t you?” Heimdall’s eyes flicker over to the direction you were last going in. “When your will supersedes reality– what else do you call it?”

“Luck.” His voice comes back stonily.

Heimdall gives him a wry smile. “No such thing.”

Bucky’s palms feel clammy, his stomach twisting into knots.

“Your grief is natural. But do not let it overpower your love,” Heimdall adds. “I am sorry you had to go through this. I'm afraid sooner or later you will have to see that you cannot disrupt the natural order of things.”

"Why?" His voice cracks and he curses himself.

Heimdall's eyes soften. "There comes a point where your love for someone becomes indistinguishable from hurting them. Your intentions are noble, but you already know where you stand."

Bucky quietly turns on his heel and leaves, but the conversation remains heavy on his mind for days to come.

_________

The first time you fall sick, really sick, like you used to be on Earth, Bucky watches from the sidelines as various people tend to you. Those with divinity at their fingertips, those with herbs and concoctions he’d never heard of, others with tools and prayers and everything. 

They try everything. It takes you a full week to recover.

Bucky sits, emotionless by your bedside, and feeds you from a spoon, food that your friends swore you grew up loving. 

Asgard was supposed to work. Being here was supposed to work. No one knows what to do, except to wait it out. As your fever quells and Bucky watches you open your eyes for the first time in a few days, everyone breathes a sigh of relief.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says quietly from your bedside. “How can I help?”

The smile you give him is tired. He gives you a small one in return, and leaves a kiss on your forehead. 

It feels all too familiar. 

God of the Night and the Devil of Cursed Fates.

_________

Thor teaches him the song, the one he caught you humming for months. It sounds different to what he remembers you singing.

He watches you thumb through titles in the Asgardian library, looking for a book of wildlife to show him. It only takes a few seconds for you to hum under your breath again, but Bucky is quick to ask this time. 

“Oh.” You blink. “I may have remembered it wrong.”

He tilts his head at you, but you go back to browsing through library books.

___________

Nights in bed, he spends tracing up and down your arm. He's full from a feast, and he's watched you dance around a courtyard with spirit and joy, and for the first time in years he feels like he can breathe.

You drag him along with you, and while he may have been quick on his feet in the thirties, Bucky was significantly older. You don't seem to care. You laugh like nothing has ever worried you before, and he finds it infectious.  

"D'you s'ppose we'd have been married by now?" he asks, breaking the quiet.

"I remember turning down your offer," you say, the corners of your mouth pulling upwards. "So, who's to say?"

Bucky's face breaks into a smile, one that looks particularly incredible in the moonlight. "You said I knew what the answer was already. Looks like that leaves the ball in my court."

You look at him, a little endearingly, and as he's come to expect, a little sad.

"I think we would have," you hum. "But you wouldn't have survived wedding festivities here."

He scoffs, rolling onto his back and feels his stomach ache dully. "Barely holdin' on now as it is."

You pull closer to him, fingers dancing across his chest. "Why didn't you try to find someone else?"

He exhales, sharper than he intends. "Didn't wan'to," he mumbles.

"I'd hate to think you didn't try to find others who loved you," you tell him, brows pulled together, "You have so much of it to give. It'd be a shame."

"Didn't see the point." Bucky hopes he doesn't sound as sharp as he does in his head.

"If something were to happen tomorrow, and I am no longer here," you begin and he wants to beg you to stop talking about this, "It would break my heart if you didn't go on with life as you were meant to live it."

"This is how I'm meant to live." He sounds pathetic-- obsessed, and entirely dependent but he isn't sure you know. "This is it. This is the best it's ever gonna get for me."

You look at him, eyebrows knitted. Your thumb caresses his jaw, running across the sharp curve.

"You deserve more," you say gently. "You do. Life has been unkind, but you will always deserve more."

You’re doing it again. Preparing him. For the inevitable he knows is looming on the horizon. The one he saw in Heimdall's eyes.

Still, you notice that it is too much for him, and you break the tension with a smile.

Outside the window, the sounds of a party continue on. You would be out there too, if he hadn't noticed the slow in your movements and the dip in your energy. He instead gave his lack of stamania as a reason and asked if you would join him in the room, for which you shot him a grateful look.

"You never gave me a ring," you remind instead, voice teasing.

Bucky looks at you wearily before silently getting up from the bed. 

You sit up in confusion, watching him trail across to the wardrobe and pull out the clothes he was wearing on his first day here.

He shuffles back into bed and turns to you, holding out his hand in a request.

It takes a second but you give him yours, and he silently slides a ring onto your finger. Even in the darkness it glitters like it’s made of light.

"I've had it for ages," he tells you. "Woulda given it to you quicker if you'd just said yes the first time."

You laugh loudly, and hold his face in yours before kissing him hard to the sounds of a fading party.

__________

The effect wears off gradually. It goes the same as it does in the cabin. 

You begin to space out visits. Stay in for a day or two, which increases as time passes. Though the castle help are ever gracious and at your beck and call, you send them away in exchange for quiet nights in.

Bucky wipes your forehead with cool cloth. Feeds you nectar by hand and tells you of everything he's learnt since the time you've arrived there.

You begin to look sick again, and miserably, he does not know what to do. You've been attended to by the best of medicine that the nine realms have to offer. You've spent nights with your friends, drinking in joy and embodying love.

But you are dying. You have been since you came back, and he can no longer choose to look past it in hopes for a remedy.

He looks at you like you've given the world the light it bathes in, and wipes your perspiration with his thumb.

You smile back at him in your sleep, and he lets that slow the march towards the end.

_________

One of the good days, you lead him to the lake. The one where water remembers. You point out faces. He discerns them to be some of your friends a couple of hundred years ago.

He follows as you walk along the banks, letting you show him yourself through the years. Some streaked with tears, others with joy so infectious it has his stomach doing flips.

"That is the last time I came here," you point at the last one. "Two months before it happened."

He remembers the trip. He thought he remembered how you were back then, that he'd etched into the crevices of your mind.

When he looks down, he sees a different person. Your face is light. The weight of circumstance does not weigh you down.

You were right when you said you did not recognise the person you were.

That night in bed, he holds onto you tighter than he has, no longer afraid of causing more damage. He has already done the worst, and you've taken it without a word.

“Bucky,” you call.

He doesn’t trust his voice to answer, so he just makes a noise.

Your eyes meet his intently and he knows. You do not have to say a single word to him. 

You’ve made a decision. It was your will, as Wanda had told him all those months ago.

“I'm sorry,” his voice cracks. “I'm so sorry. It was so selfish.”

“It's okay,” you press a palm against his cheek and shudders from the cold.

“I love you.” His eyes burn, but he forces himself to take more of you in. “I love you so much, I'm sorry. I just wanted a second chance.”

“I know.” You smile but your voice is sad. “I know. I understand.”

“I don't know how you aren’t angry at me." I don’t know why you stayed.

You look him in his eye, giving him no space to run. "I would have done the same. If I could, I would have done the very same thing."

He chooses to believe that, despite what Heimdall has told him. If he tries, he can find heat in the frigid veins.

"But we are simply delaying the inevitable, my love." You press a kiss to his forehead. "I no longer belong here. I am not who I was. I doubt I will ever be."

He loves every version of you. He already loved, and he will always learn to love whoever you change to be.

"I know it is hard, but I have to go," you tell him softly.

His eyes burn and his head stings.

"I grew up with friends I loved, and a family that loved me. My life was good," you tell him. "I didn't realise how much I wanted to give that forward until you happened. I will always love you for that."

Bucky kisses you till you can't breathe and his tears mix with yours.

Till the morning breaks and you have to tell everyone of your decision, he tells you over and over again a tale you already know. Everything he's ever felt. Everything that’s happened in the last few months– his revolving door of therapists and all the movies he’s watched and all the bakery foods he thought you'd like.

You listen, and you tell him stories he memorises to heart. You are still dying. 

But this time he is there, and in that lies his true second chance. 

________

A month later, and not a day before that.

You pass away quietly, surrounded by people instead of rubble. He holds your hand throughout, and for long after even once your chest stops rising.

The Asgardians let him stay for as long as he wants, still and quiet. No one says a word as he presses a kiss to the crown, leaning his forehead against yours for as long as the universe permits.

The funeral goes by in a haze. Everyone gathers, even after such short notice. No matter how much time he had to prepare, the air was thick, and he swallows down his discomfort.

A gentle breeze whispers through the columns of the great hall, carrying with it the soft, mournful melodies of Asgardian lyres and flutes.

In the center of the pyre, you lay, ethereal even in repose. Around you, night-blooming flowers bloom alongside, as if the sky itself was paying its respects.

Thor recites the ancient eulogies. With reverent hands, they guide the vessel into the river that flows through Asgard.

As the vessel drifts away, a hush falls over the assembly. Just before reaching the edge of the waterfall, arrows shoot fire onto the wood, letting the flames consume the casket. Bucky holds back a cry. 

Thor hits the staff, and the casket continues onward instead of falling off the edge. Within a flash Bucky sees an orb rise above you and shoot off towards the sky.

Thousands of lights are let loose into the sky. He closes his eyes, says a few words no one will know except you, and lets go of the soul orb given to him.

And that was it.

________

Bucky looks at the last of his belongings, tied tightly together. 

There were a few things he was allowed to take with him, things that belonged to you while you lived here. He's grateful more than anything, that he's not relegated to photos.

He was made to stay a few more days in Asgard while everything was completed. Though the people were lovely, and he's more than glad he came, he knows that this was where this ended.

He exhales, looking back at the place where he spent the better part of three months.

"You will be alright?" Thor asks, walking with him to the courtyard.

He shrugs. It was still fresh, but the utter despair he had felt the last time had been replaced with a quietness.

"You?" he asks in return.

Thor smiles, and claps his back and Bucky is forced to take a step forward.

"It will be an honour to remember her," he says, and for a moment, Bucky feels a sense of peace at his words. "You are always welcome here."

A small laugh leaves Bucky in the form of an exhale. "Don't be a stranger, Thor."

The God summons the Bifrost and the force is enough to make Bucky hold his hands up to his face.

"I'll see you around. Thanks for everything." His lips pull together in a tight smile.

Thor takes a second, but then says, “You will be alright, James.”

It’s reassuring, he thinks. Bucky nods and turns, taking a step towards the bridge.

"Wait," Thor calls loudly, "I almost forgot."

He turns to him in confusion, and a list of possibilities running through his head.

"She told me to give you this," he says, "She used to carry them around for us."

From around his wrist, he pulls off a hair tie and holds it out to him.

Bucky takes it, a little stunned.

________

Two months pass.

Bucky stands on the threshold of a door that is foreign to him.

His head falls, but his arms raise either way. Two swift knocks and he takes a step back. He looks around nervously, hands stuffing into his pocket. His car lays at the end of the long driveway, ready to leave at any given moment.

For a second, he thinks about making a run for it. But the door swings open and Bucky's eyes quickly dart up.

"Hey," he says, voice coarse. "You got space for one more?"

Sam looks at him in initial surprise, but it fades to softness when he notices the shape the man is in.

“C’mon, Buck,” Sam says softly. “We’ve got you.”

Bucky lets out a staggered breath, and leans over to pick up his backpack that Sam's already beaten him to.

He takes one good look at the sky. Dark, clear and finally returned to the way it had been for centuries.

But he swears that a single star in the corner of his eye shines a little brighter than the rest.

[sohnric]

partners in crime – j. changmin

after a series of unpredictable events, you and ji changmin, the foster kid with a shady reputation, become partners in crime. in a world where every choice has a consequence, you two must decide how far you're willing to go as you balance on the edge of danger with the promise of a better life.

pairing: ji changmin x fem! reader

genre: criminals au. coming of age, slice of life. angst, hurt/comfort. thief! changmin. partners in crime au (duh). slight high school au. inspired by a real case of robbery in a jewelry store here lmao. also loosely inspired by the kdrama extracurricular!

wc: 33k (33.689)

warnings: mentions of alcoholism and juvenile behavior, swearing, changmin's character is a little inconsistent at first. changmin is a foster child, dysfunctional families, financial issues, yn's father is absent. mentions of minors going on dates with older men, a man trying to take advantage of the reader, a physical fight (with the use of a knife), fake gun, robbery and that should be it...?

playlist || teaser || ao3

a/n: i had worked on this fic since december and only finished it at the beginning of may i am so glad it's finally out TT thank you SO much to my best friend @csenke for beta reading this, your comments were what made me feel more secure about this fic to actually post it. i know it's a lot of work and i appreciate you<3 i always wanted to write a fic like this and it's finally here, i hope yall like it hihi taglist: @songchan @luumiinaa

One of the police officers drags you up from the chair by your shoulder, urging you to move outside of the room. The one that’s been sitting opposite of you smiles sadly at you– something akin to sympathy, but not enough to really get through and hit your core– while the other one opens the door and shoves you down to sit at the plastic chair outside of the office. His movements are more stern and strong, tone of voice more stingy when he talks to you– it’s not hard to differentiate which one of them has kids at home, which one knows the tired eyes of a teenager more.

“Wait here until your mother picks you up,” the officer says, a stone cold look making you shiver.

“She doesn’t know that I’m here. You called her and she didn’t pick up, so–”

“I don’t care, young lady. Either your mother comes to pick you up, or you stay here forever, for all I care,” he mutters, sending you another one of his sharp looks before he turns around and disappears back into the room you came from, shutting the door behind him with a loud thud. 

Figure jumping at the sudden noise, you settle deeper into the uncomfortable chair. Christmas will come earlier than your mother, and that’s a lot to say, since it’s March– and it seems that nobody really cares if you stay here forever. It’s not surprising, actually. Not at all. You don’t know what you were thinking anyway, but hey– desperate times call for desperate measures, and you had no other way of going around the situation. You don’t regret trying. You just regret getting caught.

Head resting against the hard wall, intending to rest your eyes closed and maybe take a nap before a miracle happens and your mother somehow starts caring and appears on the doorstep of the police, your orbs are met with another pair sitting opposite of you, silently watching the previous exchange. The intensity of his gaze almost makes you jump in surprise again, only relaxing when you recognise the owner of the dark chocolate irises and visibly shudder, embarrassment creeping up your neck. 

It’s not every day you meet a guy from your school at a police station. Well, it’s not every day you end up at the police station, but being caught by someone who is aware of your existence makes this whole encounter even more uncomfortable.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Ji Changmin chirps, something akin to an amused smirk appearing on his face. His composure is light. He seems to be comfortable with the situation– well, as much as you can read from his blood-smeared face– and you start to wonder how and why your silent classmate from English class would end up at the police station, with a cut on his lip, a bruise on his upper jaw and scraped knuckles on full display, as he rests his intertwined hands in his lap.

“Could say the same about you,” you shrug, biting back at him. 

“Oh please,” he snickers, shaking his head in disbelief, “I’m a regular here.”

The sentence catches you off guard. It’s not every day you meet a guy from school at a police station, but considering his words, it seems like you would meet him here every day, only if you were dragged here by rough hands of a police officer as often as he has.

“Oh,” you gasp, not really knowing how to react to such a confession, “good… to know…?” you mumble, nodding to prove your point.

You expect the conversation to die down– you don’t really know what to talk about with someone you barely know at the most unusual place you could imagine for a conversation. Ji Changmin is one of the classmates you’ve never talked to before, but would say hi to when passing them by on the street. He seems polite and easy-going enough to not feel uncomfortable with when left alone in a closed space together, but aloof enough to not have many friends himself. You barely know anything about him– apart from his marks in the one class you share, since you are often chosen to be the one to hand out graded tests at the beginning of English– and you don’t expect things to change just because you met him in unfortunate circumstances.

At least you know this won’t get out in any way. Not like you have any reputation to withhold in the first place– you’d just hate to have the reputation of someone being chased around by the police. Trying hard to find the light in the things, you thank all higher forces that out of everyone, the one classmate that could witness all of this is the guy with seemingly no friends to tell.

Changmin seems to have different plans, though. For someone that isn’t interested in making bonds with people, he seems to be interested in casual talk with you.

Well, if you could call this casual.

“Yeah,” he shrugs, “they always let the kid from the foster house get away with it. They blame it on the trauma, or something, make me sign some papers and then someone comes to pick me up and the cycle repeats itself over and over again.”

The information catches you off guard. Truth be told, you didn’t know that about Changmin– you doubt anyone from school really knows, except for the teachers, and the sudden confession makes you hesitant. You don’t really know why he’s telling you this. If you were in his position, you’re sure you wouldn’t. It seems like everyone has a different measure for what’s appropriate to tell someone you barely know, though, and Changmin seems to enjoy the weird intimacy of the quiet police station enough to dump this information on you.

“Oh…” you say, chewing on the inside of your cheek. Not wanting him to think you’re distressed with the information, disturbed, even, you try hard to think of a conversation topic to discuss with him. “What… what did you do this time, then?” you ask, mentally slapping yourself for being so awkward.

“Tried to pickpocket someone on the street,” he says, chuckling to himself. His eyes move to his bruised hands, shrugging. “Seems like I picked a bad victim. See, he had this fancy watch, so I saw him as a jackpot, but then he swung at me and… here I go,” he says, laughing as if it was a funny story.

He must be a regular here. He is too comfortable with being arrested to not be.

“That’s… unfortunate,” you hum, watching as the boy in front of you shrugs, eyes curious as they land on yours.

“It is… I could buy so much with that money,” he sighs, shaking his head, “what about you, though? How did you end up here?”

“Oh, uhm…” you gasp, scratching the back of your neck, suddenly a little shameful to admit it once you’re asked, “I… I tried to steal something and I was caught by the store owner, so he called the police on me…” you tightly smile, hoping to seem nonchalant.

“Shoplifting?” Changmin chuckles. “What did you want to steal? Designer clothes, or something?” he snickers, obviously mocking you. And it’s valid– you are a teenage girl, after all. You seem to have everything you need in your life, but that’s only because you don’t let anyone even suspect that there is something wrong. To an outsider's eye, they might think there is nothing more you could need to be happy if not designer clothes or jewelry. It’s what most teenage girls get caught stealing– you guess he’s not wrong for making such a guess.

Still, you feel a bit hurt at seeming so vain. Locking eyes with the boy, you shrug. If he’s going to share every small detail of his life with you in the comfort of the walls of the police station, you guess you can unveil at least something to him, desperate to make him feel ashamed for assuming.

“No, actually,” you say, the tone of voice suddenly calm and collected, “I was stealing groceries.”

And it finally seems to down on him– because if you try to steal something, it means you’re lacking it, right? Why would you steal something you can easily buy?

That’s right– you wouldn’t.

Changmin’s eyes soften with the realization, his mouth opening to say something– anything– before he’s cut off by the door to one of the offices opening, the kinder one of the policemen approaching you with a solemn look in his eye, leaning towards you to talk quietly into your ear.

“You can go home now, okay? We’ll let you off with a warning this time,” he says, smiling at you. 

“But my mother–”

“Just go.”

You guess the object you’re stealing makes a difference in the way you’re treated at the police station. Also, you guess it’s good that people still have sympathy.

Usually, you hate the sad looks from people that are aware. This time, you leave the police station comforted, happy to know that you still have a future without a criminal record.

You’ll have to be more careful next time.

Eyes catching the glimmer of the silver chain in between your fingers, you press your skin into the metal and drag your nail over the stones in the pedant. You watch over the glass vitrines situated all around the store, various different shades of gold and silver staring back at you, almost laughing to your face with the prize tags slapped onto them, showing prices worth more than your groceries for the month. 

Contemplating your next decision, looking behind your shoulder to catch the security camera watching you, you think over your next steps. Angling your body so that it’s shielding what you’re doing with your hands, you gently take out the drawer that you’ve taken the silver chain out of, pretending to put the jewelry back where you got it from.

Your movements are careful, calculated. You’ve rethought this plan over and over again, birthed in your mind the moment you saw the sign ‘hiring’ on the glass door of the fancy jewelry store in the town center– made adjustments to it, tweaked it around and tried your hardest to make a good impression on your boss so she wouldn’t suspect anything– but now that you’re actually in front of the important part, the one that’s supposed to help you the most in your hunt for money, you can’t really bring yourself to do it.

Who knows. Maybe you could just keep the job– you don’t make much, though, considering you only work part-time. With the way your shifts are scheduled and the amount of time you have to put into working, you don’t really see the jewelry store as a good source of income– you are barely home and have time for anything. 

And it’s not the kind of money you need. Not at all.

Sighing to yourself, you shake your head to clear it off all thoughts– it’s time to do it. You can be sneaky. You can be uncaught. You just have to put your head to it.

Fingers shaking, you move the chain towards the front pocket of your jeans, ready to hide it in there and then sell it in the pawn shop a few weeks later to not raise much suspicion– when the sound of the front door opening brings you out of your thoughts, making you jump in surprise. Eyes snapping to the customer entering the store, you get ready to sport the kindest, warmest smile you can– to seem innocent and not at all suspicious. However, the grin stops growing mid-way as you recognise the appearance of the customer, smile freezing and turning into a concerned frown. 

This is not how you’d expect a customer of a fancy jewelry store to look.

The person is dressed in black, skinny jeans adorning their thighs, the hood of their jacket pulled over their head and a mask covering the bottom half of their face. Before you get a chance to dwell on it any further, they take out a gun– and they point it to your face.

There’s a moment in time where you feel like everything freezes. A moment in time where you just stare the gun into its eyes and wait for the person to shoot you, a moment in time where you can’t even think. Your brain clears, the only thought present at the tip of your tongue being– this is not how I imagined to go.

Your hands start shaking as you put them above your head, pupils dilating in terror. You guess this is something you should’ve expected when taking the job in an expensive jewelry store, but even though you’re aware a situation like this could exist in your timeline, you don’t really expect it. It’s like that with all bad things in life– you keep telling yourself that there’s no way something like that would happen to a person like you.

There’s no way your father would leave. There’s no way your mother’s world would crumble. There’s no way you’ll be left in charge of everything. There’s no way you’ll have to be the one to steal groceries because you can’t afford to buy food to put into your sister’s mouth. 

There’s no way a man would pull out a gun on you in the middle of your shift.

And yet, it happened. Everything.

In a moment of absolute terror, though, it feels like the world starts spinning again and the force clutching your chest relaxes a little when you stare into the man’s eyes. 

Strange, isn’t it?

There’s a sense of familiarity in his gaze. Something mirroring a weird kind of surprise, a weird kind of recognition. A million different thoughts flow through your brain, eyes scanning his figure– the skin of his hands as he grips the gun that you now recognise to be one of the kinds you use when you play airsoft, not a real one– the lean posture of his figure, but most importantly, the spark in his dark orbs that somehow invites you to do everything he tells you to. Not because he’d kill you if you don’t– but because somehow, you know this might be of gain for you.

Trying hard to play out your previous panic, riding off the erratic heartbeat in your chest, you walk over to the cash register and open the drawer. Eyes meeting with the intruder, you precisely take out the bills stacked in the register, throwing them on the counter in a careless, yet seemingly nervous manner. 

“The jewelry,” he mumbles, pointing towards the vitrines with his chin, waiting for you to obey his words. 

It doesn’t take you much to take out the drawers full of silver and gold, letting the man take whatever he pleases, his bag filled with expensive chains and rings, all while he keeps the gun on you to get the full effect. 

You could be given an Oscar for how good your acting performance was in this very moment.

Your eyes lock in another meaningful gaze, one that suggests that all cards are on the table now and you share a secret you will never be able to shake off, before he disappears out of the store into the dark. Acting stunned for the camera, you only reach for the phone when you’re certain he’s far enough to not be caught, dialing 911 and telling the line all about the robbery.

Ji Changmin chose the bad jewelry store to rob.

Or maybe, he chose the best one he could.

You find him sitting on one of the tables with built-in benches at the corner of the school yard, alone and seemingly lost in thought. His eyes are dark, deep as the ocean, the black bangs falling into his eyes only helping more with pushing his mysterious appearance. The tie around his neck is a little loose, since Changmin was never the believer of wearing your school uniform properly, and when you approach him, he barely notices your presence. 

Clearing your throat, you finally catch his attention. The male stares up at you, raising his eyebrows in question, as if to ask you what you want from him. And it’s valid– as you’ve never been the one to talk to him first, since he was the self-believed outcast in the school (and self-preserved too, since he never really made any attempts at connecting with others) – but you think that after your recent encounter, you reaching out to him is not something that shall surprise the boy. More so, he should’ve expected it.

“Changmin,” you hum, as if to tell him that he should be the one to talk to you first, the one to bring up the matter. If you really think about it, he should apologize. If not for making you lose your job (which was mostly your fault, because you didn’t make the attempt to call the police on the thief fast enough), then for the emotional damage and very obvious trauma his little play could’ve cost you, had you not recognised him and the fake gun aimed towards your forehead.

“Y/N,” he smiles, the tug of his lips almost looking ironical. He looks like the Cheshire cat, mischief almost reeking of him as he pats the place next to him on the table, legs resting on top of the bench crossed, showing his casualty. “Fancy seeing you here,” he says, and with that, you know he sees right through you.

He knows damn well why you came. Hell, it would be weird if he didn’t. He also knew that you’d come crawling to him first, almost taking advantage of the fact that he has the upper hand on you with knowing the information you confided him with at the police station. No person that steals groceries is a millionaire, after all. Only someone who desperately needs the money goes ahead and steals something so trivial. 

Maybe it's a bit of an asshole move from Changmin, if you really think about it. You let him get away with it, and now, he’s pretending like you owe him one, not the other way around.

“What do I owe the pleasure to?” he asks, tone of voice laced with irony. He is almost a little too lighthearted for someone who robbed a jewelry store just three days prior, and it suddenly makes you wonder if he’s done this before. How often does a boy like him just run around town and steals things from big corporations? You’re all for the eat the rich agenda– it’s just a little weird to think about how skilled Ji Changmin looked in the act. How calm he was. As if he’s done stuff like this before. As if he was an expert.

Was this his hobby? A way to pass time?

“Cut it out, Changmin,” you grunt, tugging the edge of your skirt down as you sit on the table next to him, covering your thighs, “you know why I’m here.”

“I’m afraid I have no idea,” he hums, pursing his lips and acting out a perfectly staged face of surprise. If you could punch him in the face right now, you’d do it. You didn’t notice the boy to be so smug back at the police station– maybe it was your own distress shielding your judgment. 

“Come on,” you roll your eyes, sighing. “I didn’t let you off just to have you laugh in my face about it. Where’s my cut?” you ask, feeling a little impatient at this point.

“Your cut?” he asks, chuckling. “I wasn’t aware you were the one doing the dirty job, you know. All you did was let me off because you were scared–”

“Of your airsoft gun? Mhm, you are so correct,” you cut him off, noticing his face spread into one of irritation. A crease appears in the middle of his eyebrows at your reaction, his jaw hardening when he sees the annoyance in your eyes. You don’t know what he was thinking– that you’re just gonna leave him off with all the money? He couldn’t be that stupid, could he?

“Look, it was me who did the work, so I don’t understand why you would think that you get a cut,” he shrugs, crossing his arms at his chest. 

“You do understand that I can just walk up to the police station and tell them that it was you?” you say, suddenly turning stone cold and serious. You thought yours and Changmin's little secret could do you something good– now it seems that you were wrong. “They wouldn’t bat an eye before sending you to jail, I bet. They have hoards of evidence of your past criminal behavior, but I don’t think they could overlook this one–”

“Now, don’t get all threatening on me, sweetheart,” he grunts, kissing his teeth. “There’s no reason to get all defensive–”

“Oh really!” you exclaim, catching the male off guard as you stand up from your seat, suddenly too heated to be in his presence. “I do believe that I have all the right to get defensive, though! You know damn well I didn’t do this so you can run with the money and spend it on fuckall! Because guess what, Changmin– I did this to get something out of it. Not everyone gets to go around and do stupid shit for fun, so you best believe that when I basically became an accomplice to your crime, it wasn’t just for shits and giggles.”

The male opens his mouth to reply to you, but before he gets a chance to do so, you continue, running your hand through your hair. “And if you think that I steal groceries for fun, then you’re terribly wrong. So if you don’t let me take the part of money I rightfully deserve by basically dropping the hundred dollars worth of jewelry right into your grabby hands so I can survive for the next few days, you best believe I will do something about it.”

There’s a moment of silence between the two of you, the only thing heard around being the chirping of the birds and the sound of the wind hitting your eardrums. Your hair gets in your face from the strength of the breeze, the fabric of your school uniform’s skirt ruffling against your thighs. It’s like the world stopped, something behind Changmin’s eyes changing at seeing your obvious distress. You’re really starting to think this was all a game for the boy. Something to pass the time– something to occupy his bored mind with.

He doesn’t reply to you even after a few seconds, though, which makes you even more mad. The anger is tinted with disappointment and fury as you turn around and shuffle your feet through the school yard, accompanied by the sound of the school bell in the distance announcing your next period. You’re ready to leave the boy there, already thinking of all ways you could go around telling the authorities without ratting yourself out in the process too.

Suddenly, something comes into contact with your wrist, pulling you back. Your legs stumble a bit, but you manage to stand your ground and throw daggers with your eyes at Changmin still holding you in your place. “Let me go–”

“Look–”

“I have class, Changmin,” you grunt, attempting to take your hand out of his grasp, but failing. His hold is firm. Unpainful, but strong. It makes you annoyed.

“Will you listen to me for just a second? Gosh,” he rolls his eyes, dropping your hand as if it was poisoned, shaking his head at your antics. You stare at him with raised eyebrows, waiting for what he has to say after having the opportunity to speak before, but ignoring it altogether and leaving you with the cold shoulder. Did he change his mind in that split second you showed him your back? Did he realize you were serious with your threats?

“Of course I’m gonna give you the cut,” he grunts, scoffing. “What do you think I am? I was just keeping it for some leverage.”

The question sounds a bit ironical out of his mouth, since he spent the last couple of minutes trying to convince you that you have no part in his little robbery and that you have no right for the money he gained from it. The other half of his statement makes you intrigued, though. Not in a good way– just in a way that makes you wonder what the fuck he was talking about.

“Leverage?” you ask, squinting at him in question.

“Well,” he starts, staring at the sky for a split second, as if collecting his thoughts into coherent sentences. Scrambling for something in the back pocket of his pants, he takes out an envelope seemingly filled with cash he’s gained, offering it to you, but retracting his hand as soon as you start reaching for it. “Let’s say I have a bit of a plan for us two. A plan to make even more than this,” he says, pointing towards the envelope.

Squinting at the male, you scoff. As if you would ever agree to something so reckless. If this interaction with Ji Changmin taught you anything, it’s that the boy is not to be trusted. You can’t read him. You can’t tell when he’s joking or when he’s serious, you can’t tell if he’s going to save you or throw you under the bus the moment he has a chance to. And if his plan is anything similar to the ways he’s shown himself to you before, you’re fairly certain that you want nothing to do with his endeavors.

“Yeah, no, thank you,” you say, snatching the envelope from his hand and turning on your heel, ready to leave before he changes his mind again and takes what’s rightfully yours out of your grasp, like the thief he seemingly is.

“Think it over, Y/N. You said you need the money,” he calls after you, not making a move from his previous spot in the corner of the yard. His words sting you a bit, but you guess he’s not wrong– no matter how embarrassed or ashamed you feel of the situation. The outside of the school is completely empty now, everyone back to their classrooms waiting for the lectures to start, letting his words resonate in the stranded field. “I think we could make a very good team.”

Not looking back, you walk through the grass, taking a look at the amount in the envelope. You don’t know the exact ratio he split the money into, since you don’t really know how much he earned after selling everything at the pawn shop, but it’s more than you expected. 

More than you would’ve made with your initial plan.

Still– you want nothing to do with Ji Changmin. This only happened once, and you’ll make sure it never happens again. Associating yourself with someone like him will do you more bad than good in the future, and that’s something you really can’t afford right now. 

No matter how hard he tries to persuade you, you two will never be a part of the same plan.

Lunch breaks are almost always spent alone lately. Or at least that’s how it’s been in the last few months, the last few years. It’s not like you don’t have any friends or acquaintances to spend them with– you’re not that antisocial– it’s just a lot easier to mask the fact that you have no food to put into your mouth when nobody pays attention to whether you eat or not.

The last amount of money you could afford to spend was pressed into the palm of your younger sister when you walked her to school today. There was no way for you to buy something at the canteen, and the last groceries that were edible were eaten last night. There was no way you could satisfy your hunger during the lunch break today, and to spare being embarrassed by the fact that you are barely holding your life together (since you’re 17 and taking care of everything), you decide to spend the few minutes in between classes in the school yard, sitting in the grass at the far corner of the school property.

Your eyes are pressed into your notebook, scribbling away as you try to pass time and ignore the pain in your stomach, chewing on the inside of your cheek in a bad attempt at focusing onto something else. When the sketch of the tree to your right turns out badly the third time in a row, you sigh and scribble all over the little drawing, wanting to see no more of it, wanting it to disappear. The very moment the tip of your pen lifts off the paper, something falls into your lap, the sound of a plastic bag rustling in the wind making you jolt in surprise.

Taking the item into your hand, you notice the sandwich wrapped in a tissue paper staring back at you, as if you wished it to existence and it fell into your lap from the sky with the sheer impact of your thinking. After more consideration, though, you look around and find a raven haired boy looking down at you, an indifferent look adorning his face.

“Changmin,” you hum, acknowledging his presence.

“Y/N,” he nods, taking a seat next to you on the grass, completely uninvited. His invasion of your personal space makes you sigh, but his gesture makes you even more frustrated. Pointing towards the sandwich he threw into your lap, you ask.

“What is this?”

“A sandwich,” he shrugs, “I bought extra, we can share.”

A heartbeat passes of you and him having a staring contest, something inside of you turning bitter at the otherwise nice gesture. Is he making fun of you? Or does he pity you?

You hate both alternatives– you almost can’t decide which one you despise more.

“Look, Changmin,” you scoff, shaking your head in disbelief, “I don’t know what the fuck you’re trying to do right now, but I am not your charity case. Just because you know I’m too poor to buy my own lunch, it doesn’t mean you can humiliate me and do it for me,” you grunt, throwing the sandwich back into his grip. He catches it with no trouble, fast reflexes working on full time.

“I didn’t get it to humiliate you,” he says, rolling his eyes at your antics. It seems to be hard for you to accept actions of service from people– and Changmin somehow understands. He’s been through it with people around him his whole life. They show him any kind of kindness or pity for the fact that his parents decided he wasn’t good enough to keep and threw him into the adoption system, and Changmin feels himself crawling out of his skin. He doesn’t need pity. He hates the considerate looks.

But after years of living that way, he learned to use those instances for his advantage. There’s no excuse as useful to getting him out of trouble as “I’m sorry, I live in a foster home.”

“Yeah? Then why did you?”

Changmin sighs, closing his eyes and paying more thought to how he’s going to reply to you. Speaking with you feels like working with a wild animal– any bad step could shoo you away, or make you attack. He doesn’t want either of those options. Actually, he wants something completely else. “It’s a bribe, really,” he shrugs, watching you and waiting for your reaction.

“A bribe?” you scoff, your chuckle almost sounding amused. “I already told you I want nothing to do with your plan, so you can take your stupid sandwich and fuck off.”

“I’m persistent when I want to be,” he just replies, watching you with an unmoving expression.

Ignoring his antics– as if to test how persistent he really can be– you point your eyes back towards your notebook, scribbling random lines and shapes into the thin paper. There’s only so much silence he can bear before he realizes you won’t pay him a minute of your time, you think, but the more you scribble away and the more the birds around you chirp and the distant voices of kids enjoying their lunch break preserve, the less confident you are in your assumption. Ji Changmin is a strange individual.

“Look, we don’t have to lie to ourselves now, Y/L/N. You know shit about me that could get me to jail, and I know shit about you that you don’t just show to everyone. Involuntarily, but I know that stuff,” he starts, tone of voice almost careful, almost a little caring as he speaks. “You and I both know you need money. And me? Well… I could use some cash too,” he hums.

When he doesn’t get a reply, he continues with his little speech. “You need money and I have a plan on how I’m gonna get it for you. For us. But it will only work if us two do it together. It’s a foolproof plan, but I need you on-board,” he says, clasping his hands together. Glancing up from your paper, you watch him with examining eyes. 

He repays you with eye contact, as if speaking to you through his orbs. There’s a hint of understatement in the air, an aura of a connection you don’t quite comprehend yet, but suddenly, the presence of him in your personal space feels less invading and more… alleviating. Like you’re not judged, like you’re not pitied. 

Your stomach churns and Changmin chuckles, offering the sandwich back to you. There’s a moment in which you contemplate your next decision, knowing that if you take the food from him, it’s your own way of sealing the deal. You have no idea what his plan is, you’re completely unaware of what you’re getting yourself into– for all you know and predict, it’s not going to be the most legal thing under the sun– but the more you think about it, the more you come to the conclusion that with the way your life is going right now, maybe you don’t have that much to lose.

“So? What do you say?” he asks, eyes lighting up when he notices your lack of resistance. “Will you at least hear me out?”

The wind makes his raven bangs move, revealing his forehead. He looks like he has a thousand tricks up his sleeve, hundreds of ways to get his way, no matter what he wants. He looks as sly as a fox, messy exterior with his tie loose around his neck, dress shirt a little wrinkly around the collar. Ji Changmin looks like he’s bad news. Like he can never bring you any good. 

You should stay away.

Still, you take the sandwich into your grasp, hand fishing for the food in the green plastic bag. Biting down into the seemingly homemade lunch, you avert your gaze into the sun. 

“What is it, then?”

“So.. what do you do for work?” you ask, twirling a strand of hair around your finger as you sit facing the man you don’t even remember the name of, a plate of fancy food in front of you almost untouched even though you’ve been starving for multiple days now. Truth is, you don’t really know which fork and which size of spoon to use when having those meals, since you’ve never been to such an expensive-looking place before– and even though you think your current date doesn’t really mind, you don’t feel like adding public humiliation to the list of your worries.

“Oh, I do real estate, honey,” the man replies, smiling at you with something sly in his eyes. Everything about the male sitting currently in front of you irks you a bit. The very obvious power imbalance in between the two of you, the age difference, the different social class… The fact that he only sees you as a young girl to spoil and get to do something more for him– no matter the fact that you’re underage. Judging by the way he kept getting into your personal bubble the moment you arrived at the restaurant, you’d even say he was enjoying the fact. 

You were told to act gullible and stupid. Men like him like that, apparently, and so, despite your best judgment and everything you know about life, you do just that. “And what is that?” you ask, eyes big and curious, putting on your most innocent face.

“Buying land and then turning them over, renting places, all kind of stuff,” he nods, “a lot of money gets around in this sphere, sweetie,” he adds another sugary nickname to the mix, making the hair on the back of your neck stand up all alert, disgust slowly creeping up your neck, but thankfully never reaching your mouth.

“So you’re a landlord?” you ask him, the last remains of your personality shining through as you bat your eyelashes at him, trying hard not to focus on the chest hair peeking out of his opened dress shirt. It’s quite difficult to do when the golden chain around his neck blinds you with every movement, the surface illuminating in the beams of the sunlight. 

God. You should’ve chosen a more attractive male to trick, at least.

The male laughs in shock, not really anticipating such a title. Maybe he’s offended, but still, he doesn’t let it show as he looks you over– mainly your cleavage and the girly way you managed to style your hair today– before he sighs, as if disappointed, yet happy to show you that you were wrong. “Not really, no. I’m a real estate investor, actually.”

Gasping, showing that you now completely understand what he’s trying to explain to you– that he’s basically a landlord, but hates being called that because it isn’t such a fancy title– you take another sip of the champagne in your glass. You’ve never drank before, and quite frankly, you hate the taste of alcohol on your tongue, you despise it with everything in you. If it was your choice, you would’ve ordered orange juice, or something– it seems that the man in front of you would hate nothing more than if you sat in front of him without a tall glass in between your fingers, and so you satisfy his sly looks and leave a lipstick stain on the rim of the champagne flute.

The breeze plays with your hair, sun kissing your exposed shoulders as you bathe in its light. You wore your prettiest sundress today– the one that you only grew into this year after inheriting it from your older cousin– and while you did feel pretty when you looked at yourself in the mirror, you’re not really satisfied with what you’re currently doing. Nothing makes you hate yourself more than working for money like this. Nothing makes you loathe your reflection in the mirror more than hanging out with old rich guys for monetary gain– no matter how beautiful you feel with the dress you got from your cousin three Christmases ago and the sandals you’ve owned since 15 and had thankfully not yet grown out of.

There’s one advantage to sitting outside of the fancy restaurant, though– and that is the fact that your plan is going smoothly. The man’s bag is on the chair next to him, just like Changmin predicted, and although it took you some time convincing him to sit at the table on the edge of the veranda, you’ve done your part in entertaining the male, making sure he’s as distracted as he can be.

Eyes averting to the right, seeing your accomplice with the hood of his black hoodie over his head, a mask over the lower part of his face, you lock gazes in what seems to be some silent kind of communication. One wouldn’t notice him if he hadn’t tried hard enough, but Changmin’s been standing on the other side of the road for as long as you’ve been sitting in the restaurant, keeping an eye on you. He’s dressed all in black, looking all mysterious, but not eye-catching enough for anyone to be suspicious of his presence. 

Raising your eyebrows at him only in the slightest manner, making sure your date doesn’t notice you nonverbally communicating with the teenager on the other side of the street, you get your reply from Changming almost immediately, a nod of his head sent your way to start your little plan.

Ready, yet a little stressed of executing it, you clear your throat and focus all your attention back on the male in front of you again. He’s currently talking to you about something you have yet to grasp, not really interested in the first place– but doubting you’d know what he’s talking about anyway. After hearing a part of his little speech, you conclude that he is mansplaining something to you, and although the fact would make you infuriated with any other male in your presence, you think this is a perfect opportunity to dibble more into your little school girl play. (As if it was a play in the first place.)

Nodding at him, showing that you’re listening, you put on your best doe eyes as you reach over the table and enclose your palm around his. You haven’t watched enough movies about this to know how to flirt with a man, but you think it comes to you naturally as you part your lips the slightest, biting on your lower lip in a sensual manner. It’s inappropriate, not at all something you should be doing at your age with a man at least twice your age, but you can’t help it– if you need the plan to run smoothly, you need all his attention on you and you only.

And it works. It does, you conclude as the man runs his thumbs over your hands and gently pats your leg with his under the table, feeding into your actions. His eyes are focused on your lips and you suddenly pray for Changmin to work quicker– fast enough for the man to not find an opportunity to kiss you, at least. Your brows furrow the tiniest bit, on purpose, of course– to look more dumb, to look more in love and enchanted with the male in front of you– when you notice a figure in black passing the two of you, their hand slipping easily into the opened contraction of the male’s bag.

Changmin works fast. It seems easy to him, you can see it in your peripheral– there’s no wonder that he’s done this countless times before. You wonder why he likes this kind of adrenaline. You wonder how he even taught himself– how he even came to the conclusion that he should try something like this in the first place. Either way, you must admit that it’s kind of admirable. Kind of cool.

You see Changmin taking out something from the man’s bag, and just as silently and unsuspiciously he came, he also disappears. You let the man play with your fingers for a bit more until you’re sure that your partner is a safe distance away from the restaurant on the other side of the street again, before you lock eyes with him, being let off with a victorious crinkle of his eyes.

“Will you excuse me?” you hum, tone of voice laced in sweetness, puckering your lips as you cut the male off, something about an annual turnover hanging in the air as you don’t let him finish. “I have to use the toilet,” you say, already breaking contact with him.

Unsuspecting, the male only nods at you, letting you off. You can almost feel his eyes watching every move of your ass as you walk back to the building. As your feet enter the interior of the fancy place, you don’t even aim for the bathroom– Changmin checked it before you arrived to the restaurant, chewing on his lower lip in distress as he announced to you that there’s no windows in the stalls– and so you take yourself straight to the other side of the room, taking the other exit out. “Look, it’s even easier, Changmin. I’ll just walk out the other way,” you reassured him, concluding the last step of your little plan.

Feet shuffling through the red velvety rug, you pay no attention to the waiters watching you as you walk through the big dining hall, escaping through the other door without looking back. Ji Changmin is standing on the other side of the street, taking off his initial place as soon as he saw you safely inside of the restaurant, waiting for you to rejoin him and celebrate the end of your successfully finished mission.

Running towards him, a smile breaks onto your face. Changmin stays in his place, not going as far as reaching you midway. 

“Did you get it?” you ask, raising your brows at the male.

Wordlessly, the boy shows you a leather wallet, taking it from the right pocket of his zip-up. A gasp escapes your throat at the realization of just how easy this was– just how fast you gained a stack of cash you can use to survive another week. Sure, you still feel a bit weak in your knees, you still feel like your blood pressure is a bit high, but the thought of the green notes soon secured in your hand makes it all worth it.

“Let’s get out of here before he notices,” Changmin says, tugging down his face mask and reaching for your elbow, dragging you to the opposite direction, away from the restaurant.

Somewhere along the way, you start to run. There’s a sense of childlike wonder in you. A sense of excitement you shouldn’t feel from stealing money from someone unsuspecting. Sure, you could argue that the rich person in the restaurant doesn’t need the money like you do– he has enough of it to not even notice its absence– but it was still morally wrong. 

It was still a crime. But hey– you’re only 17 with a seemingly big weight on your shoulders. So if getting the money you need in an illegal way takes some of the pressure off your back, you think you’re not so wrong for being excited about the success of your little plan.

Changmin catches up to you, his face mirroring a weird mix of annoyance and disbelief. He understands, though. The adrenaline of your first act of successful crime is a moment one doesn’t forget. “Wasn’t that hard now, was it?” he asks.

And when you lock your eyes with him again, a foolish laugh escapes your lips. Maybe he was right. Maybe this was the way to go around things.

Maybe it was good to accept his offer. Something about the inkling in his eyes tells you that he won’t betray you. 

Standing in the middle of the aisle, your eyes soaring from the pack of gummy worms you wanted to buy for your little sister and the chocolate bar you’ve been wanting to eat the whole week, you roll the coins in the palm of your hand around, as if counting them over and over again is going to make more money magically appear in your possession. Ji Changmin (who for some reason decided that by being your partner in all things illegal, he has to be glued to your hip at all times when he has nothing interesting to do), standing next to you, sighs at your composure and clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth.

“Y/N, Y/N…” he hums in disapproval, almost sounding disgusted at the fact that the logical thing hasn’t appeared in your brain yet, “I see you need a bit of a lesson in shoplifting, yeah?” he whispers into your ear, his breath hitting the side of your face and making you jolt away from him.

“What?” you whisper-shout, punching him in the shoulder. “Don’t be ridiculous. What we do is already enough. I’ll just pick one,” you say, rolling your eyes at the fact that your new friend always somehow finds a way to make everything an illegal act. It really must be his hobby at this point, no?

“Whatever you say, sweetie,” he shrugs, but the more he watches you move your eyes from the gummy worms towards the chocolate bar, noticing the sparks behind your eyes every time you eye the rich cocoa treat wrapped in red plastic and the fondness behind your gaze when you eye the sour worms, the more he’s convinced that you’re going to go with his previous proposition. Once the temptation is there, it’s hard to resist it.

And he’s right. A mere second later, you eye him with pleading eyes– as if to silently say ‘okay, you win. Now teach me how to do this thing,’, and that has the boy chuckling at your antics.

“Okay, newbie,” he nods, patting your back. “First thing first, the number one rule of shoplifting is: always choose a gas station. Check! Why? Frankly, the people working here are underpaid university students that could care less about the company they work for, so as long as you’re not too obvious with it, nobody is going to run after you.”

Nodding, showing that you’re following, you wait for the actual tutorial. “Step two,” he says, voice loud enough only for you to hear in the empty store, “look casual. Walk around a bit. Pretend you’re contemplating your choice of treats– check. Wow, Y/L/N, it seems to me that you are a born natural!”

Rolling your eyes at his useless comment, you sigh. Changmin seems to get the hint that you want to know how to actually shoplift, and not how to prepare to do the thing, and so with his next tip, he is a bit more specific, which you welcome with open arms. “Okay, okay. So, now you wanna look for the cameras. Try to look for any blind spots,” he says, casually glancing around the store.

You follow his motions, trying hard to stay as unsuspicious as you can, and before you can say anything or try to find the blind spots he was talking about, the serpent-like boy tugs you by your forearm into another corridor. Your hands are now covered by the regals, only the tips of your scalps visible under the security camera, and before you know it, Changmin ushers another order into your ear. 

“Now, take the more expensive thing and put it into your pocket,” he says. That has you pointing a sharp gaze to him, question marks accompanied by exclamation points striking into his skull, which has the boy utter out a quick explanation to your very confused state. “Trust me. Putting it into your bag is way more suspicious,” he hums, looking around the gas station and pointing his gaze towards the energy drink stand in front of you, acting as if he was contemplating on buying one for himself.

Hesitantly glancing behind your shoulder, finding the coast clear, you chew on the inside of your cheek before you swiftly put the pack of gummy worms into your pocket. Clearing your throat to signal to the boy that you’re done with the task at hand, he turns his head to you and raises his brows, smiling. “Are you ready to pay, finally?” he asks, his voice now a little louder. You think it’s to not cause any more suspicion, since the two of you have been murmuring amongst each other for the past few minutes. 

Humming, feeling a buzzing in your fingertips, heart quickening– you’re really doing this– you nod and let your friend lead you to the counter. You’ve tried shoplifting before, of course, but the last time you did so, you were dragged by your hair to the police station, so you think you have all the right to feel the tiniest bit paranoid when trying for the second time. There is stress settling to your shoulders when you awkwardly shuffle to the counter and put the chocolate bar in front of the cashier, but when you notice the fact that Changmin was right and the clark was barely paying attention to the store at all– there was Candy crush turned on their phone behind the POS machine– the nerves seem to fall off a bit.

“Cash or card?” the girl behind the counter asks– she is chewing on a gum and her neon pink hair is falling into her eyes. She seems a few years older than you, but she seems to be still in college. There are dark circles under her eyes– she seems tired. Not letting yourself to shield your next actions with the usual waterfall of empathy, you clear your throat and try to speak up with the most casual voice.

“Cash,” you peep, taking the hurdle of coins back from your pocket– the one that doesn’t currently hold a pack of gummy worms– and quickly count the sum of money you need, putting it onto the counter.

“You need a receipt?” the cashier asks, completely uninterested in her job. You can tell she has this situation rehearsed– she must have been working here for a while.

“No, thank you,” you nod, taking the chocolate bar into your grasp and spinning on your heel, following Changmin on his way outside of the gas station. Before the door closes behind you, the boy heaves out a cheerful ‘Goodbye!’ which has you mirroring his actions, yet your walking still speeds up with the weight of wanting to be outside and done as soon as possible.

You never know. What if she noticed and a policeman will come and catch you at the last minute for stealing those gummy worms? You can’t afford getting a criminal record– this won’t land you any job in the future.

As soon as your figure moves outside of the building and you’re sure you’re not being followed by anyone and there’s no police cars parked in front of the gas station, you feel the weight of the situation finally leave your physical form, your breathing finally becoming more normal. Changmin glances at you over his shoulder, a grin spreading over his features, patting your shoulder like a proud father. 

“See? Wasn’t so hard now, was it?” he asks, having you roll your eyes at him.

“I’m sorry, man,” you snicker, “I still have some PTSD from that one time…”

“It takes a few tries to perfect the art, I get it,” he says, nodding as if to admit your struggle. It’s hard to believe Changmin has ever failed at anything he tried before– in all situations you’ve encountered with him, he seemed completely capable and knowing. It’s as if he’s been doing this his whole life– and for all you know, he might as well have been.

“Well, not everyone takes joy in doing illegal activities like you clearly do,” you sigh, having the boy look at you with furrowed brows.

Unknowingly, you lead the boy towards your house. He doesn’t seem to mind walking with you, and although you did just commit a crime, you’re happy with the comfort of not having any committed against you– a girl in her school uniform walking home in the evening is an easy target for all men who’d love to take advantage of you and fulfill their dark fantasies. It’s funny to admit that you feel safer with Ji Changmin walking you home, but it’s also a natural cause of the fact that you two have been working together on fake dates with rich men for a few weeks now. (So far, you’ve gone on three. They all worked and went by the plan. You suddenly question why you didn’t say yes to this plan earlier.)

“Living in the foster home makes you fight other people over everything, Y/N-ie. Over food, old donated board games, treats, clothing, parents…” he chuckles at that, a bitter tone coating his words, “my point is… If you don’t take what you want forcefully, it will be taken out of your grasp one way or another. And if that piece of candy is stolen from you by an older kid at the foster home, you’re gonna have to find a way to get yourself one as well,” he explains. 

You feel a little embarrassed for assuming. Changmin doesn’t reveal much about himself to you. Neither do you. For this reason, you’d describe your relationship with the raven-haired boy like something similar to being coworkers. You don’t tell each other about your personal lives, you don’t talk about your issues or intentions. All you know is that the both of you need money, so you’re willing to work together to get it.

The sudden confession hangs an uncomfortable air of vulnerability over the two of you. It’s strange– hearing him chuckle so bitterly about his situation, seeing the shift behind his eyes when he realizes what he just said. You don’t really know what to say back to him– do you console him? Do you try to play it off, ignore what he’s just said? Before you have any chance to take action, though, the boy clears his throat and does damage control on his own. (Which is probably for the best. You wouldn’t want to overstep any boundary– so you’ll act according to his.)

“But after a while, it became kind of fun, yeah,” he laughs, shrugging. “I like the adrenaline rush.”

“You’re a freak.”

“A freak with useful tactics,” he points a finger-gun at you and winks, making you roll your eyes at his misplaced pride, but laugh along with him nonetheless.

It’s good to make fun of your situation sometimes. Didn’t someone say humor is one of the most useful coping mechanisms? Or maybe a sign of unhealthy coping mechanisms? Well, one way or another– you have to cope with it some way anyways. A little joke never hurt anyone.

“Half of that is mine, by the way,” he points towards your favorite chocolate bar in your grasp. “I earned it by helping you get it,” he says, content face beaming at you in mischief.

His features are a little sharper under the yellow lampposts, his dark hair falling into his eyes making shadows appear under his eyes. He looks like a cunning fox– much like always– but you think you’re growing used to the charm. “What?” you huff, face scrunched up in frustration. “I bought this, actually, so–”

“So you’re telling me you would’ve chosen the chocolate bar, had I not opened your eyes to the wonders of shoplifting?”

“What does that even have to do with anything–”

“Exactly what I thought,” he nods, taking the chocolate bar out of your grasp and tearing it open, not even sparing you a chance to defend yourself, “if I wasn’t there, you’d buy the gummy worms, so the fact that you bought this is my work and I deserve a half of your treat, thank you very much.”

“How can you even be so sure–”

“Y/N?” a thin voice calls for you, making you stop the little petty argument you’ve been having with your crime partner and look around, noticing both facts of the reality at once– one: you’ve reached your street, and two: your little sister is watching you from the doorway of your house, big eyes worried and hair tousled. 

She’s still wearing the clothes she wore when you sent her off to school in the morning, and by the way she keeps chewing on the inside of her cheek, you know that she hasn’t eaten. She always does that when she’s hungry and doesn’t want you to know. A pit opens up in your stomach at seeing your sibling in such a state, and although it’s not as uncommon as you’d like to say it is, you know you have to put up your big sister act.

“Aerin-ie? Has mum not come home yet?” you ask, watching as the little girl walks out of the house and through the pathway of your house, standing only a few meters away from you.

“No,” she shakes her head. You’re not surprised by the answer. Maybe, you’re not even disappointed anymore. You learned not to have any expectations when it comes to your mother.

Sighing, you nod, chewing on your lower lip. “Go inside, we’ll eat something together and then you’re going to sleep, you have school tomorrow, okay?” you hum, tone of voice compassionate and gentle, the way you always talk to your sister ever since the issues started. There is no room for quarrel between siblings when you’re too busy making sure your little sister is eating well and going to school. There’s no room for sibling fights when you’re more of a motherly figure now.

“Okay,” she nods, but doesn’t move from her spot in the middle of the yard.

“Well? Go–”

“Is that your boyfriend?” Aerin asks, pointing towards Changmin. You momentarily forgot that he was still here, so when you finally take in his silently standing figure, it almost makes you jump. Waving your hands around in panic, not wanting your young, gullible sister to get any ideas, you eagerly try to take her out of her lapse of judgment.

“God, no. No, no, that’s–”

“Hi! I’m Changmin!” the boy suddenly waves, smiling at your little sister. “I go to school with your sister.”

Aerin watches the boy with big eyes, as if scared. You understand her– Changmin doesn’t seem as the most approachable of people (although his smile does feel unusually warm and contagious right in this moment)– and she didn’t have much experience with male figures in her life to feel secure with any new men entering her life. Not that Changmin will be entering her life anyway– but you get the gist of it.

“You do?” she hesitantly asks.

“I do. Tell her to study more, because if she keeps it up this way, she’s going to have to go back to school with you and retake all the lessons for smaller kids,” Changmin hums, poking fun at you. 

“Hey!” you thunder, kicking the boy into his shin in a weak attempt of defending yourself. “That’s not true!” 

Hearing your sister laugh at your misery– an action you never thought would warm your heart up so much– you lock your eyes with Changmin only for a split second, and in that, you come to some sort of mutual understanding. You talk without words– you learned something about me today, I learned something about you today. Your secret is safe with me. 

He doesn’t know the full truth of it all– quite as much as you don’t know about his life, but somehow, this evening brought you two a little closer. You moved from being coworkers to now being coworkers who know more backstory about each other’s lives, and you don’t really find yourself hating it.

“Y/N got something for you,” Changmin muses, pointing a finger to your pocket. 

Somehow, he has it all figured out.

“Oh, right!” you gasp, taking the gummy worms out of your jacket and offering them to your little sister. Her eyes light up instantly, that kind of joy you only feel when you are 12 and presented with your favorite treat, and you get a solemn feeling on your insides comforting you– you’re doing all you can. She’s smiling. She’s still mostly unknowing.

“I heard they’re your favorite,” Changmin keeps talking to your sister. It’s a surprising sight– how welcoming he suddenly seems.

“They are! Y/N, can I have some?”

“After you eat dinner,” you nod, seeing the little girl furrowing her brows and opening her mouth to protest, a sense of blissful normality shielding you all from reality. 

“But–”

“After dinner, Aerin. Now let’s go inside so you can sleep,” you hum, walking over to your sister, “you get fussy in the morning when you don’t get enough sleep.”

Something about your hand on her shoulder has the little creature moving closer towards your house, the two of you walking alongside each other through the pathway. Looking behind, you wave at Changmin. He offers you a gentle smile– one you haven’t seen on him before. It moves something within you. 

He doesn’t know much, but somehow, he understands.

Before you close the door behind you, you mouth him a silent ‘Thank you’. The boy salutes you before he disappears into the dark.

“Do you want some lemonade or something?” you hum as you enter your house, tugging uncomfortably at the hem of your short skirt, throwing the knock-off purse Changmin got you from the donation bins at the foster home into the corner of the entrance hall. It’s midday, you are supposed to be at school and having your lunch break, but instead, you’re tiredly slugging home with your classmate tailing your back, done with yet another date.

“I’m good,” Changmin shrugs, “I’ll just have some water.”

“Amazing choice,” you nod, pointing towards the tap in your cluttered kitchen, “didn’t feel like making you a fucking lemonade anyway,” you sigh, watching as the boy helps himself to a glass of tap water and you get yourself a taste of the old coffee your mother must have made herself in the morning before leaving, furrowing your brows at the bitter taste.

After you’re done chasing down the thirst that’s accumulated in your throat, you walk upstairs into your room, followed around by the boy. There was a silent agreement between the two of you to let him stay over at least until the acceptable time to come back into foster home was– if he came before school ended, he’d get in trouble. (You wonder why he’s afraid of this and not the fact that he was dragged from the police station multiple times, but you choose to not question him anymore.)

It’s strange to have him in your house. It doesn’t make you uncomfortable, per se– you just wonder how much your living conditions say about you. It’s very clear that you don’t live with your father. He left shortly after your little sister was born and you haven’t seen him since– you wish you could say you don’t mind, because you never really had a good relationship with him anyway, but the truth is, maybe he was the whole reason for the downfall of your quality of life. The mess all around the house suggests that nobody has time or energy to clean it. You try your hardest to keep it relatively clean on most days, but it gets significantly harder when you also try to bring food home into the house. 

If Changmin makes anything out of the state of your living, he doesn’t mention it.

Settling into the mattress of your bed, totally uninvited, he squints at your ceiling. You, on the other hand, turn towards your wardrobe and take out some comfy clothes– the preppy mini skirt you were dressed in before you left to meet up with another rich old guy was starting to get on your nerves. Turning your back to Changmin, you slip your blouse over your head and put on a big T-shirt, one of the clothes you got at the Dollar store when you grew out of your last pajamas, and after you dress yourself in comfortable sweatpants, you walk up to the boy with an outstretched hand.

A mutual understanding falls over you as he puts the leather wallet into your hand. Opening it, you flick through several credit cards, squinting at the owner’s ID– by the birth year on the card, you calculate that he was even older than he told you he was– before you count up the money and cut it in half, throwing the rest into Changmin’s lap. 

The more often you do this, the more you wonder how it keeps working. It’s surprising to see just how many wealthy men are carrying cash around and being reckless with their belongings. Changmin almost never has any trouble with stealing their wallets– either when they’re not looking, or when the man foolishly leaves to the bathroom and leaves his bag behind on the chair. It’s like they’re inviting you to do it, at this point.

The more often you do this, the more you start hating yourself, though. There’s only so much objectifying you willingly submit yourself to before it makes you want to crawl out of your skin. If there was a better way to do things, you would. 

Sighing, you open your sock drawer and sit cross-legged on the floor. Taking out the sock balls and unraveling the items of clothing onto your thigh, putting bills into them and rolling them back into neat balls, throwing them back into their designated place very un-Marie Condo style, you hear Changmin ask a question after minutes of watching you in silence.

“What do you need all this money for, by the way?” he asks. “Except for keeping your sister alive, of course.”

The question has you halting your movements, looking up at the male with a blank look. You two never discuss deep things– you two never talk about your lives and the reasoning behind your actions. You just do things and don’t think of consequences– you just get as much money as you can without telling the other one what you need it for. 

Locking your eyes with him, you shrug. There’s a hint of understatement behind his orbs that shows you that maybe you can trust him. Maybe him knowing isn’t that bad– what could he possibly do with the information? You two know about each other’s crimes far too much to betray each other, you think.

“I… my family… we have debts,” you say, nodding to yourself. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you chuckle before speaking up again. “My dad left shortly after my sister was born and then we couldn’t really afford paying for the house anymore. My mum refused to move, though, so she got another loan to cover the previous one, but it’s…” you drift off, remembering the day you found out the harsh truth only a few months ago.

You hear your mother’s sobs as you walk into the house after your classes, making your heart drop to your stomach. It’s not every day you hear your mother cry, since she tries hard to pretend everything is okay even though it’s not– and the empty bottles of alcohol waiting by the trash can every day are the clear sign of both that and her not really handling it well. This feels different, though. The crying doesn’t sound like someone pitying themselves once again– the crying sounds like someone in such a deep despair, hopeless and lost.

Socked feet shuffling through the house as you take your shoes off at the door, you find your mother crouching above the kitchen table, a glass in her hand. There’s a sheet of paper staring back at her from the void, the scene almost appearing in front of you in grayscale. You didn’t expect your life to change so much in such a simple afternoon. You didn’t expect to grow up with a click of a finger.

“What happened?” you ask, carefully approaching the wounded animal of your mother. You learned quickly after she picked up drinking that you need to handle the fragile woman with care. A bad word and she could break– an incorrectly crafted sentence and she could turn into a volcano, erupting with screams and swearing, cursing you out.

No answer reaches your ears, though, so your only resolve is to take the paper into your hands and read it over. And now, you’re no expert in legal things and contracts, but it doesn’t take a lot of knowledge to recognise a loan contract. It’s a company you don’t know, though– one of the not famous ones, one of the fishy ones that give you the money quickly– and before you even get a chance to read over the fine print at the bottom of the page, you already know you’re in deep, deep trouble.

The knowledge of trouble only intensifies when you come home to strange men escaping your house one day. There are no groceries in the fridge for a few days after, making it vastly clear to you that your mother simply couldn’t afford to get food for her kids to eat. 

It only takes one crying fit and an argument with your mother to find out the harsh reality– your mother fell for a loan that is too difficult to handle, one that makes you pay back fast and with big amounts monthly. She already had a warning. 

If she is late with her payment again, you lose everything.

“It’s… it’s difficult to pay it back,” you conclude, watching as Changmin only nods in understatement. The air around you is suddenly too heavy, but you figure the whole truth won’t hurt anyone. Maybe the weight on your shoulders would feel lighter if you finally tell someone– however selfish the sentiment feels. “If we don’t pay it back within the next few months, we will lose our house. My mother fell for a loan shark,” you say.

“All the years of her telling us to not fall for scams, and then she does this,” you mumble, trying to make fun of the situation. 

“Y/N, that’s–”

“I was also thinking of leaving one day,” you add as you cut him off, not letting him psychoanalyze you or make you feel like he pities you. “I was thinking of getting enough money to settle all of this and then just… move out. Disappear. I need to get away from this house before it suffocates me,” you bitterly laugh, seeing the boy shift his eyes from the ceiling back at you, pressing his lips into a tight line.

“I get you,” leaves his mouth after a heartbeat of silence. Never in your life have you feared being judged as much as in this moment. It’s strange to face your biggest fear– being vulnerable with someone, opening up to them about everything you’re going through– and find that it wasn’t at all as difficult. It’s strange to face your biggest fear and realize that maybe, you had nothing to be scared of in the first place.

It’s strange to hear that you’re understood. That somebody gets just how hard it is to breathe every day, walking through the house you grew up in, but which is now haunted. If it was anybody else, you’d try to argue with them. How could they understand? How could they possibly know what is going on inside of your head on a daily basis? How could they get the extent of how far you have to go every day just to survive and keep your sister out of the mess, totally unknowing?

Ji Changmin may not know everything about you, he may not be in the same situation, but still; he knows how you feel. Coming from a background like that, you don’t get to keep a lot of freedom either.

“It’s… it’s a work in progress. I don’t really have a plan either, I just… I just know I need to save up enough to sort things out, move out and leave everything behind. I can’t… I can’t keep doing this forever, y’know,” you shrug, snickering to yourself.

Changmin hums in understatement, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He looks so out of place in the middle of your white sheets, dressed in his all black attire. The contrast of his clothes and the brightness of your laundry cuts through all major parts of your life as well– where there’s anxiety, there’s also Changmin’s ability to turn everything into a joke. Where there’s mess and confusion, there’s Changmin’s calculated plans and thought-out strategies. Where there’s loneliness, there’s also Ji Changmin’s sheer presence next to you during the lunch break. It’s strange, just how quickly you found comfort in the serpent-like boy. It’s unfamiliar. The novelty of it all both scares you and comforts you all at once.

The boy is silent for a while before he speaks up, processing the information. As if knowing that there’s nothing he could really say to make you feel better about the situation– or fearing that anything he could utter out would make it worse– he entrusts you with a secret of his own.

“If I don’t get adopted before I turn 18– which, let’s be real, with my history and everything, won’t happen– I age out of the system and I’m all on my own,” he says, shrugging, “I’ll need money to get on my own feet. To leave, too. Fuck, I need to leave that house and this town. I need to start over somewhere where they won’t know every single thing that happened to me in the past.”

You hadn’t realized just how much your plans align when you first nodded to this agreement. You think it adds a sense of reliability now. Both working towards the same plan, knowing that if you fail, the other’s fate is at stake as well. 

Before this, you didn’t know just how serious it was for Changmin– you didn’t know if he needed the money on reckless spending, on buying drinks and cigarettes to chase down his boredom, or if there was a greater sense of ironical responsibility behind it all. Knowing that there’s so much on the table, so much of both of your future’s that are at risk if you don’t try your hardest to make your lives better– because no one else in the whole world will help you, it seems– brings a greater sense of alliance hang in the air between the two of you.

Shared secrets, plans, view of life. Shared responsibilities, burdens, desperation. That bonds two people like nothing else does.

“You can count on me, Y/N,” Changmin hums, tone of voice barely louder than a whisper. Your eyes don’t meet in the confidentiality of it all, but your heart still squeezes on itself. “I’ll get us out of this town even if it’s the last thing I do.”

The low murmur of the school cafeteria lands into your ears as you stand in the line for food, Changmin’s tall figure in front of you turning to face you, an annoyed sigh heaving out of his throat. “Now I remember why I never fucking go to this place.”

“Oh, right,” you nod, shrugging to yourself as if to show your absolute fury with the fact that you’ve been standing in the line for more than 10 minutes now, a third of your lunch break already passing by like a flash, “it was never because I was too broke. The line was always the problem.”

The male in front of you snickers at your ironic remark. You’re convinced you could count the amount of times you’ve been to the school cafeteria to buy lunch on the fingers of one hand. Most of the time, you take whatever remains of food you can find at home with you. Lunch money is reserved for your little sister only– and even that is on special occasions. Usually, you try to buy her the cheapest things you can find at the store downtown– the retailed bread that’s too old to sell at original price now, but still fresh enough to eat– but when you figure you have enough money in the week to spend, you give her enough to buy lunch at school. For you, buying your own warm lunch at school feels like a holiday. You’ve lived through more Christmases than cafeteria lunches, you think.

“Starting to doubt if it’s even worth it anyway,” Changmin fusses, folding his hands at his chest. You don’t think you’ve ever met a more impatient person than him. If things take too long, he gives up on them– like the line in the grocery store the other day. You made the mistake of inviting him to buy groceries with you, but when he realized the self-checkout lines were too long, he just carried your groceries out without paying, grinning at your shocked face the moment you unsuspectedly got out of the store. ‘It’s okay to steal from big corporations,’ he justified. ‘They won’t feel the loss.’

“Changmin, this is my first time buying lunch this year,” you sigh, “have some patience. Of course it’s worth it– it’s a celebration of our hard work.”

“Does this feel satisfactory?” he doubts, pointing a thumb behind him to show the line in front of you two– which, just by the way, moved a ton, meaning it’s gonna be your turn soon. 

“Not yet,” you admit, chuckling to yourself, “but the feeling will come once I bite into the soggy, half-cold pizza. Trust,” you point a finger to him and poke him in his stomach, that has, just by the way, growled in hunger three times since you’ve taken your place in the line for food.

“Of course you chose to get lunch on pizza day…”

“What do you have me for?” you scoff. “I have some culture.”

“Says the person who hasn’t seen Train to Busan before. Girl, you’re the farthest thing from cultured, trust me.”

“You call Train to Busan our national treasure?” you ask, blinking at the boy in pure confusion. You don’t trust a man like Ji Changmin to be the film critic of modern age, to be fair, but you think even this opinion is quite far-stretched.

Changmin furrows his brows at you, clicking his tongue. “You’re only saying that because you haven’t seen the movie.”

“Well, I haven’t been given the opportunity to watch it, so I don’t see how that’s my problem.”

The line finally moves and lets you two get your lunch. The lady behind the counter looks even less pleasant than you remember her– with more gray hair and a more tired expression on her face– and the food isn’t much either even by looking at it. Still, you feel a sense of satisfaction run through your veins when you look at the sad-looking plate. You earned this pizza. This soggy, bad, a little shoe sole-looking pizza. You put a lot of effort into buying this plate, and although it doesn’t necessarily represent the determination, at least it represents the morality of your earned money– and you know what, at the end of the day, you think that’s fair.

Walking away to one of the empty tables in the cafeteria, carrying your tray in both of your hands and following Changmin’s lead, you feel your stomach churn at the image of the pizza on your plate. It sure doesn’t look great, but it looks edible– you still consider it to be a reward.

However, before you get a chance to sit down and bite into the meal, your side suddenly comes in contact with something firm, yet soft, the impact of the hit making you stumble and fall over to the hard linoleum. The tray of food you’ve had in your hands is knocked out of your grasp, falling to the ground with a loud noise, and the force in which you hit the floor makes your butt sting in pain. The moment comes by like a blur, and before you even get a chance to register what happened, a train of apologies lands into your ears.

“Oh my god, Y/N, I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to–” a boy a little shorter than Changmin (that’s just standing by your side, looking a little taken-aback, but still uninterested in the commotion, not at all trying to help you out), stutters out. You recognise him to be your classmate Eric Sohn– one of the people you’ve never really spoken to before, because you had no reason to do so. He is a loud extrovert, a people person, a bundle of never ending energy. He’s charismatic, but not someone you would find yourself hanging out with (not that you really hang out with anyone other than the criminal by your side anyway)– and a little inkling in your brain tells you that one of the reasons for this fact is Eric’s high social status. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, offering you his hand to bring you back up to your feet.

Wincing in pain as you take his grasp and get back into a standing position, you wonder if he was running– there was no way the sheer force of him walking would send you to the ground. Once you take a closer look at the boy, you notice his blushing cheeks and an incredibly guilty look on his face, notifying you of the fact that you haven’t replied to him yet, still too shocked by the events. “I’m okay, yeah,” you nod, eyes shifting to the plate on the ground. It didn’t break, but your pizza slice is very visibly on the ground– and no matter how desperate you are for food right now, you consider it too contaminated to be eaten.

“I am so sorry, Y/N, I wasn’t looking where I was going– oh god, your uniform is all dirty,” he points to your white button-down, now stained with the last remains of the soup that was seemingly in one of the plates your classmate was carrying.

“It’s… it’s okay–”

“I’ll pay for you to get it dry cleaned!” he stammers, eyes wide and bangs falling into his eyes, the boyish, panicked aura around him making you feel kind of bad for him. Which is strange– you are the one in pain and without lunch now. Not him.

“No, really, it’s okay, Eric… It was an accident–”

“And your lunch is ruined! God,” he grunts, scrambling to pick up all the dishes from the floor, cleaning up the mess. ���I’ll get you a new one. Just… wait here, I’ll be right back!” the boy assures you, running off with the trays and plates, aiming for the area designated for discarding them. 

Like in a trance, you take a seat at the table, following Changmin. Scratching the back of your neck, you sigh and aimlessly stare at your companion, watching as he eats his pizza. Casually speaking the fact into existence, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, the male decides to make you choke at his words. 

“You should get on that, Y/N,” he notes, snickering.

“Huh?” 

“You know what I mean. Man’s rich as fuck, Y/N,” he says as he swallows down the bite, shrugging. “He’d fit perfectly into your little plan,” Changmin schemes, pointing a finger at your face.

“Stop being ridiculous,” you grunt, “why would I do that? He doesn’t even like me, so–”

“Oh, as if,” Changmin rolls his eyes, speaking with his mouth full, “he looked at you as if you were Jesus fucking Christ, Y/N. He clearly has a crush on you. And, respectfully, any man would want to get with someone like you– why do you think our plan is working so well? You’re hot enough, that’s why,” he shrugs, making you blink at the male in surprise.

Hot enough? Did Ji Changmin just call you hot? You’d rather not focus on that part of the exchange.

“Shut up, Changmin,” you sigh, “besides, I’m not doing that to him.”

“Why not? I thought our motto was ‘eat the rich’, no?” 

“Yeah,” you grunt, nodding to the boy, tone of voice ironic, showing him just how stupid he sounds right in this moment, “but it’s ‘eat the icky old rich men’, not ‘eat unsuspecting, innocent rich’, Changmin. Got it?”

“You’re missing out on–”

“I said no,” you cut him off, pointing a finger right in the middle of his forehead. Something about your authoritative tone gets the point across, making the boy sigh.

“Jeez, okay, if you really say so…”

Opening your mouth to continue on with the sentiment, you’re quickly cut off by Eric’s voice coming from beside you, the boy suddenly appearing at your table. “Here,” he says, a bashful look on his face as he puts the tray in front of you, two slices of pizza and a box of orange juice settled on the red plastic dish, “I’m really sorry again! And…” he starts, scratching the back of his neck, “and here is my number, so if you want me to… uh… pay for the cleaning of that, or whatever, just… let me know, okay?” he smiles awkwardly, pointing to a piece of paper settled under the juice box, having you blink up at him in surprise.

Before you get a chance to protest, Eric pays you two his goodbyes and rushes out of the cafeteria, cheeks red and an expression a little alarmed. You’re not an expert in body language, but the more you think about it, the clearer it gets. 

Ji Changmin is right. Eric Sohn does clearly have a crush on you. 

If that even means anything…

The house is silent. Your naked feet clad through your room as you open your drawer, fingers reaching for the soft fabric of your socks. It’s gotten a bit chilly, so you automatically go and try to warm yourself up with one of your thick garments. Fingers unraveling the sock ball, prepared to find dollar bills inside– already knowing you’ll take a part of it and give it to your sister in the morning so she can get some lunch at school– a momentarily shock washes over you when you find the sock ball empty.

Confused, you furrow your brows and check the insides of the socks. You remember very clearly that you put some of your money into this specific pair just a few days ago. 

Or maybe you didn’t… You’ve been tired the last few days. You could be remembering it wrong. Maybe this particular sock ball didn’t have money in it in the first place.

Still, you reach for another sock ball, hands a little shaky as you look through it. When you notice the lack of bills inside, your heart starts hammering against your chest, sweat appearing on your forehead. Searching through another one and another one and another one, you find all sock balls empty. There is no money where you hid it. It’s all gone.

Thousands of won gone. Vanished. Nowhere to be found.

Where could they go? Who could’ve taken them? 

In the few seconds that pass before the fact that all of your money is nowhere to be seen fully settles into your brain, your feet react on themselves and drag you out of the comfort of your room, making you jog downstairs. Reaching the living room, finding your mother laying on the sofa with a bottle of rum next to her on the ground, you feel the amount of patience you’ve had with her slowly overflowing, frustration taking its deserved place in your body as you scream at her sleeping figure.

“Did you take my money?” you yell, watching as your mother slowly opens her eyes at you and blinks in confusion, the alcohol haze around her stinking and making you sick to your stomach. The woman looks at you with zero ounces of sympathy behind her eyes, no words escaping from between her lips as she continues to wordlessly stare at you.

“Mum! Did you take my money?” you scream, clenching your hands into a fist, chewing on your bottom lip in frustration.

“I needed the money,” she says, a groggy voice cutting through the silent house.

Running your hand through your hair, an amused chuckle leaves your throat. “Did you use it all? Is it all gone?”

“I needed it,” she only adds, turning on her side and proceeding to ignore you, which makes fury hammer against your chest with more force than ever before.

“You needed the money. You needed it,” you laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “For what, mum? You needed the money to give to Aerin so she could have lunch? You needed the money to buy groceries? To pay for the bills when a man comes to our house and tells me we haven’t paid enough for our electricity bill? You needed the money for all of that, right?” you chuckle, frustration making you kick your foot against the side of the couch. 

“Or did you need the money to buy alcohol, mum? Is that what you needed it for? Is that more important?” you bite, watching as your mother looks at you with stern eyes, the words finally entering her bubble and getting to her heart.

“Don’t speak to me like that. I am your mother.”

“You’re only my mother when you want to scold me!” you yell back, your words resonating through the silence. “Why won’t you be my mother when I need to feed my sister? When I need to take care of the house? Why aren’t you my mother when I need you?!” you scream, a sob involuntarily dragging out of your throat as you finally verbalize the words you’ve been biting back since this whole situation arised. 

“I brought you to this life. I raised you!” she screams back, merciless words stabbing you in the back like daggers coming for your heart. “So when I say I needed the money, I have every right to take it!”

“Do you?!” you argue. “Do you. Did you earn that money, mum? Because the last time I checked, you got fired and the only person trying to keep this family afloat is me!” you scream, watching as your mother sits up in her place, a tired sigh escaping her throat.

“Don’t you dare yell at me!” she gestures with her hand. 

“Well, then don’t take what’s not yours! Because now, I’ll have to work my ass of to get all of that back, because you won’t try to get your fucking life together–”

“Don’t swear at me,” your mother drags out, tone of voice stone cold and serious. It sends chills down your spine, a teardrop trail down your cheekbone and towards your jaw. You have a staring contest with your mother, one in which you question just how much impact your argument has on her– if she recognises the fury and anger and translates it as grief, just like your insides have been doing for so long now. 

Behind her glossy eyes, there’s not much for you to read, though. You lost that ability a long time ago. It’s one of the things you mourn the most.

“Y/N?” you hear a small voice call from behind you. It has you snap your head around and watch your sister shrinking away in the doorway behind you, holding on to the wall. Aerin’s eyes are glossy and scared, shaking from you to your mother, her little face morphed in anxiety as she chews on her bottom lip in nerves.

That has your fury dissolving– at least on the outside. You can’t afford to fail at protecting your sister from everything. Wiping your own tears harshly, you clear your throat and move to her hunched-over body, placing a comforting palm on her back, leading her upstairs to her bedroom.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” you hum groggily, sniffling on your way to the top of the stairs, “it’s okay. Me and mum just didn’t… we had a bit of an argument, but it’s nothing to worry about.”

As you cover up your sister with the duvet on her bed, she looks at you with watery eyes, a little voice shaking as she inquires. “We don’t have money?”

“Of course we do, dummy,” you snicker, shaking your head. “We do. Don’t you worry, Aerin-ie. I’ll take care of everything, yeah? Get those worries out of your head.”

“But you said–”

“Let the adults deal with this, yeah? It’s gonna be fine.”

“But you’re not even an adult yet,” Aerin furrows her brows, restless eyes not closing as she tries to wrap her head around the situation. No child ever should worry about things like this. And she’s right– you’re not an adult yet either, but as the older one of you, you think it’s your responsibility to take care of things. Just because you can’t afford to not worry about your situation doesn’t mean you will let your sister down and drag her with you.

“That’s right,” you sniffle, laughing airly as you rub her upper arm through the fabric of the duvet, “so that means I can still share a bed with you, yeah?” you force a smile to your lips, watching as your sister nods and scoots over in her place, letting you hug her from the side and snuggle into the warmth of her sheets.

“Everything will be alright,” you whisper into her ear, trying hard to provide her head with some distraction.

It’s kind of ironic, if you really think about it. Both of your parents failed you, but you were only truly hit with the reality of your mother’s betrayal. Who is your father if not the first man to ever disappoint you, right? You came to peace with the fact a few weeks after he left for good– you thought you didn’t need him. You could be good without him.

It seems like your mother needed him more than anything, though. Sometimes, you wish she chose her children instead.

Holding your little sister to your chest, you decide to do everything to protect her. You’d do anything it takes if it means she won’t have to worry about her future. If that’s your responsibility, then so be it– you are more than willing to carry it.

“I don’t think this looks right,” you mumble as you stare at your reflection in the mirror, furrowed eyebrows on full display as the girl staring back at you doesn’t look half similar to how she usually appears. 

You’re wearing a skirt you bought from your savings last month– wanting to treat yourself to something nice– and a cropped shirt that shoves a trace of your skin in the midriff. You’re wearing your old shoes that admittedly throw off the whole look a little– but you don’t have anything else to wear, so that’s what you’re going with. The outfit wouldn’t be the strangest thing about your appearance today– although you’re not the one to wear skirts casually, with the only exception being your school uniform.

The thing that is throwing you off the most about your apparel is the coat of makeup on your face. You and Changmin walked into a drugstore after your classes were over, trying your hardest to make you look the most enchanting you can. You did your makeup with the testers, going through three different lipstick choices before your companion was satisfied, and only when you finally escaped the fluorescent lights of the store and looked at yourself in the daylight is when you realize just how different your face looks to its usual.

“It does,” Changmin shakes his head, standing up from his place on your bed and walking over to your figure, prompting a finger below your chin to angle your head a little, staring at you from up close. His eyes glaze over your skin, making your throat dry out from being so closely examined. “You look different, but it doesn’t look bad.”

“It doesn’t look good either,” you sigh, escaping his gaze and turning around in your place, watching yourself in the mirror once again. The male leans against the desk behind him, communicating from your behind.

A sigh escapes Changmin’s throat at your words, rolling his eyes. “Be serious for once. You look good.”

“My face is all cakey,” you frown.

“You only notice when you see it from up close,” Changmin says, “and I don’t think Eric’s gonna look at you from up close. He’d shit his pants.”

“You’re not helping.”

“That’s because you won’t let me help,” he grunts. “No matter how many times I tell you that you look good won’t change the fact that you won’t admit it to yourself.”

“I don’t look like myself.”

“You do!” he runs his hands through his hair, shaking his head in frustration. “You always look pretty, it’s just… today you look like you put more effort into your appearance,” Changmin huffs, his voice growing a little more quiet at the end of the sentence. Your eyes meet with his in the full-length mirror, watching as the tips of the boy’s ears tint a pink hue, the warmth spreading to his cheeks at the compliment that just so casually slipped through his lips. “Which– which is good, because you wanna look like you put effort into a date with a rich boy, y’know?” he adds, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

His words comfort you a bit. Trying hard not to meet his gaze in the mirror– because you suddenly feel a bit bashful under his gaze– you nod to yourself and focus on the hem of your skirt for the thousandth time, making sure it fits right against your skin. “How does one act on a date? I’ve never been on one.”

“You go on dates every week,” Changmin snickers.

“I meant real dates. The dates you have with people your age,” you roll your eyes, watching as the boy cheeses and shrugs to himself.

“Well,” he starts, “he already likes you. Like, a lot. So making him fall for you won’t be a problem, because I’m quite certain it already happened.”

His words have you feeling a little bad for Eric Sohn. He’s just an unsuspecting teenager that just so happens to be born into a rich family. He likes you– quite obviously so– and you’re going to break all the trust he has in you and use him for your own personal gain. It’s not morally good to do anything like this. You should be ashamed of yourself.

But then again, you think of all the paths you have to take just to survive. You lost a lot of money, and you need to get it back again– and you need to do it fast. 

There’s no time for you to feel bad for Eric. You have to think of your sister first.

“I think you just have to pretend you like him back. Like… listen to him when he talks about boring stuff. Smile a lot– he’ll go crazy over your smile. Don’t be too touchy on the first date, or else it would come off as you being too eager, but if you manage to get a casual touch in without being too clingy, that’s bonus points,” Changmin hums, listing off all advice he can think of.

“Just be yourself, honestly. You have the guy wrapped around your finger anyway,” Changmin shrugs. “Let him pay for everything. Abuse the power you hold, Y/L/N.”

Nodding to yourself, you take a mental note of everything Changmin told you. “I don’t think it’s really fair to him, still.”

“Well, when was ever life fair to you?” he asks, tone of voice suddenly more sincere, more tender than the usual way he speaks to you. It has your eyes meeting again in the mirror, an unspoken understatement making you feel a tinge of bittersweetness in your insides, your gaze communicating the words you can’t quite materialize into existence.

The eye contact is broken as the male stands up from his place and pokes your exposed midriff with his finger, laughing at seeing you squirm before he dives into your bed sheets once again, a muffled yell sent your way from the cushion of your pillow.

“Go get him, tiger!”

“Why don’t we finish this at my place?” the man– you think his name was Baekho– asks you with a suggestive smile on his face after he pays for your dinner. 

This man was particularly hard to get to. He seemed smarter than the others– keeping his belongings close to himself, paying more attention to his surroundings. You and Changmin didn’t manage to go along with your initial plan, which made you tense on the inside as it was– his suggestion only made your heart drum harder against your ribcage, the self-preservation instinct within you telling you to run.

“I am actually not really feeling well, so I’ll head home,” you nod, a stern smile fighting its place onto your lips. 

“Don’t be silly,” the male opposes, shaking his head at you like you would at a child when it does something wrong and you can’t believe a human like that will someday grow into a fully functioning adult, “the night is still young, baby.”

Standing up from your place, following his motions, you turn your head sharply around and send a look full of worry to your companion. Changmin raises his eyebrows at you in question, but for the sake of your secrecy, you don’t pay him much of an answer in fear of where an explicit call for help would lead you. 

“Thank you so much for the dinner, really,” you try to seem welcoming, you try to play it off and put up a nonchalant facade, smiling at the man that towers over you, “but I really should get going.”

“Let me give you a ride home, then,” he insists, glazing your elbow with his hand, making you shudder at the action, acid hunting your tongue.

“That won’t be necessary, I don’t live far–”

“Oh, don’t be stupid. Let me show you my car,” the male grunts, harshly gripping your elbow and dragging you away from the restaurant.

One of the biggest mistakes you made today was the fact that you chose to meet with this man in the evening. Most of the dates you go on happen in the afternoon, providing you with more sense of safety– you should’ve known that this gathering would end differently to all the other ones you’ve been to. You get dragged away into one of the poorly-lit alleys, no cars in sight, and you swear you can feel the imprint of his hand burning on your skin.

“Please, let me go so I can–”

“So you think you can just go on a date with someone like me, bribe me to buy you dinner, and then leave me nothing in return? That’s not how it works around here, sweetheart,” the male grits through his teeth, dragging you along the alley despite you trying to wrestle your way out of his grip.

He’s stronger than you, and he’s taking that into advantage. The danger in your chest hammers stronger than any time before, alerting you of the fact that if a miracle doesn’t happen, you’re going to either die tonight, or be marked by the events of this date forever. Oh, what a foolish idea it was to go along with this. You should’ve known this was bound to end in a disaster from how well it’s been going since the start.

Trying to kick around in the male’s grip, huffing and screaming out– but knowing nobody’s going to hear you in the buzz of the nightlife– you gulp on nothing and try to use all your adrenaline for getting yourself out of the situation. 

“Stop squirming, you know it’s not going to help you–” 

The male suddenly grunts, a wince of pain flashing through his eyes. 

A miracle happens. Ji Changmin with his mask pulled up and his cap down low shielding his face appears in your point of vision, a bloody knife in his hand. When your shaky pupils look around, taking in your surroundings, you notice the man crouching down and holding his leg, growling like a wounded animal. 

Too shocked to do anything yourself, you let Changmin drag you behind him with his arm, shielding you from the man. You faintly notice him launching after your companion, but before he has a chance to fight with him, Changmin puts the knife up, threatening the male. You haven’t seen him fight anyone before– only heard of the quarrels he’s gotten into in the foster home or on the streets– but something about his swift movements and the kicks aimed at your attacker makes you feel a little safer, a tinge of relief flowing through your veins. He looks like he knows what he’s doing. He seems to have the situation at least partially under his control.

“Run!” you hear Changmin yell at you, only paying you attention for a spare second as he looks at you over his shoulder. 

You do as you’re told, but still keep looking back at your savior, watching as he kicks the man into his crotch area and slices the knife against the skin of his upper hand before he stabs him again, the pained groans echoing against the walls of the alleyway. There’s something terrifying about Changmin’s skills, leaving you wondering where he learned all of this– but before you get a chance to ponder on the origins of his self-defense skills any further, you hear his voice calling for the male.

“Don’t follow us, or this will end up worse,” he growls, still threatening the male with the pocket knife. “Try to go after us and I’ll tell the police you’re a pedophile– she’s only 17. You heard me?”

When the male doesn’t give him a reply, Changmin lets out a satisfied snicker. “That’s what I thought.”

Changmin runs up to you and drags you by your hand, tugging you out of the alleyway. The bloody knife is quickly hidden in his pocket as you charge through the streets, making sure you’re as far away from the man as possible. You stumble a little over your feet, making Changmin hold onto your hand a little stronger, dragging you behind a corner of a 24/7 bistro on the end of the street two blocks away, hiding you from the sight of the main road by the shade behind the building.

“Shit, are you okay?” he asks, looking you over with examining eyes. His shaky fingers take ahold of your chin, turning your face around to see any possible damage, letting go only when he’s sure there are no bruises on your cheeks, gripping your shoulders instead, breathing heavily. “Fuck. I’m so sorry,” he sighs out, his composure faltering a little, the contrast between him from a few minutes ago to now so big it leaves you weak in your knees.

“I’m okay,” you nod, barely registering the shakiness of your own voice.

The words have him tugging you close to him, arms wrapping around your body. He holds you as if he’s making sure you’re still there, all intact and alive, a hand sneaking into your hair petting it in an affectionate act you’ve never received from the male in the months you’ve spent working with him. “I’m so sorry.”

“Not your fault,” you choke out. The previous sense of danger slowly evaporates out of you, heart relaxing, your brain getting the signal that you’re finally safe and sound. Closing your eyes for a minute, you allow yourself to mold against his figure, foolishly adjusting to the way his grip around you brings you a sense of newly found serenity and calm.

“Kinda is. We’re never doing this again,” he says, and if you tune in with his body hard enough, you feel a slight tremble of his arms. 

“It’s fine, we can–”

“No,” he sighs, “there’s other ways. Safer ones.”

And it’s kind of strange– the way Ji Changmin demonstrates that your safety matters to him more than the money gain you’ve been both chasing after for the past few months. The things you two do to get by are never morally right and never the safest options, but when he lets go of you and holds his face in his hands before giving you a head pat, you know what he means: he’ll rather take the harder way than to leave you so vulnerable ever again.

Your shoes get discarded at the doorstep and your feet are quickly put into the guest slippers that reminds you too much of the ones you see in fancy hotels on the TV– the white, thin footwear you wear only to be polite, since they do nothing to keep your feet comfortable or warm, your heels thudding against the floor with as much force they would’ve if you wore only your socks. Eric takes off your coat and hangs it in the hall, like the true gentleman he was raised to be, and leads you into the house.

The ceilings are high, walls are various shades of white and cream, floors either mirror-like marble or expensive, hard wood. The whole house looks like it was taken out of a furniture catalog or made for one, everything fitting together in a simple, yet polished beauty. The decorations are simple and sleek, but they still make the whole place look put together. The floors are clean, not a speck of dust on either of the bookshelves you pass when the boy leads you into the common area, not a single mug misplaced or a dish forgotten in the sink. The air is fresh in the spacious rooms, yet it’s still quite overbearing, not letting you breathe.

“Do you want anything to drink?” he asks, almost a little nervously.

“Just water is fine, thank you,” you smile, agreeing. Your throat is suddenly dry, almost begging for the cold liquid to splash down and hydrate it a bit before you completely choke out.

Eric nods, leaving you alone in the living room. The big plasma TV seems to be framed against the wall, like an artwork in the gallery, and although it still gets a look full of awe out of you, you find the sentiment a bit ridiculous to look at. You feel like you’re in the Truman show– everyone’s watching your reactions through the camera, laughing at the fact that this is the first time you’ve set your foot into a place filled with so many expensive things, making you scared to even move in fears of breaking something more than your yearly rent. You must look like a deer in the headlights, clueless and shocked at the state of your surroundings, and it suddenly makes you self conscious as you decide to walk around the room and focus on what you’re here for– the plan.

Eyes scanning the contents of vitrines, the crystal glasses and expensive wine bottles, you try hard to mentally calculate the worth of everything in the house– you find yourself failing, though, since you can’t even tell just how much each thing costs, too far out of your league to even assume the price tag. There’s a particular display of jewelry you recognise from back when you worked in the store, scoffing when you add up the prices of the chains you once sold to an old man wanting a gift for his wife’s birthday– something about the number of digits making you feel just the tiniest bit infuriated.

How come some people have so much, yet you have so little? What makes them deserve it and makes you work tirelessly to afford a living? Why can they afford vacations in Greece and Dubai, yet you keep gluing together the last remains of your money to buy groceries for your sister?

It’s ridiculous. It’s frustrating.

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you move towards a wall filled with pictures– each framed in a white or silver frame so they fit together like a jigsaw puzzle for your eyes, aesthetically pleasing each guest that’s ever crossed the threshold of the house– gazing at the memories captured on the photos. 

You recognise the little boy on all of them to be Eric. There’s a girl, a few years older than him, but undoubtedly his sister, with her arm around his shoulders, a silly smile plastered on both of their faces so similar the resemblance is uncanny. There are a few pictures with all 4 of them on the wall as well, sun shining into their eyes as they all squint into the camera, posing in front of various monuments. A few of the mementos are from the beaches of Europe, some are from the hiking trails of Asia, and the one with Eric’s hair longer and in little curls, very obviously one of the most recent ones with how much he resembles the boy currently in the kitchen fetching you with a glass of water, standing on a surfboard, was taken in the waves of the american west coast. You remember him saying something about having family there, so it’s not unusual for him to visit often.

A knife laced with the green poison of jealousy cuts you somewhere into your abdomen. It’s not only the expensive luxuries he gets to experience that make you long for a life like his– it’s also the carelessness, the joy. It’s the care you see in his parents’ eyes on the pictures, the obvious love shared in the photographs– they’re taken not to boost their privilege, but to remember their happiest moments. You wish you had something like that. A functional family. One that cares for each other. One that doesn’t put obstacles under each other’s feet.

“Here you go,” Eric’s voice wakes you up from the slumber, making you jolt and take the glass of water he’s offering to you into your grasp, taking a sip.

“Thanks,” you nod, smiling. 

Watching Eric from under your eyelashes, you notice his eyes glazing the frames you’ve been focusing on before. Licking his lips, the boy speaks up with a voice laced with genuine absurdity, pointing towards the wall. 

“You must think this is just ridiculous,” he notes, scratching the back of his neck. Eric Sohn isn't stupid– although he grew up in luxury, he can still recognise the imbalance of resources the two of you have. You don’t know why he is being self-conscious about it, though.

“Not really,” you note, shrugging, “it’s just… quite unbelievable, to be fair.”

“Yeah,” he snickers, “we don’t really go on many vacations anymore, to be honest. We used to go on many when I was a kid,” he says, making you recognise the fact that most of the pictures did indeed look older– back from when Eric was younger. 

You never really went on vacations when you were little. There was always something that got into the way– your parents either had a fight just in the middle of the summer, or you simply didn’t have enough money to travel anywhere, since you were surviving from paycheck to paycheck. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you start to wonder about the difference it makes to miss something you once used to have, and the desire for something you never got to experience. Which one is worse? Or are they not really comparable at all?

“My dad started working much more, so he doesn’t really have time. My sister got married, so she has her own family to worry about,” he shrugs, trying hard to play it casual– somewhere in the depth of his dark orbs, though, you notice that he’s battling away the fact that it upsets him. “I was really close with my sister,” he chuckles, pointing towards one of the picture frames where she’s putting up a peace sign behind his head, photobombing their own picture together, “I miss her sometimes.”

The role of the older sister is perhaps the one you try your hardest to keep. Will your little sister miss you the same way Eric does now with his own sibling? Will it hurt her less or more? Will she resent you? You can’t imagine a world in which your sister hates you– do you choose to protect her always, or do you take a step forward so you can breathe too?

“Does she visit you at all?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he hums. “It’s just not the same. That’s alright, though,” he shrugs, pressing his lips together into a tight line, “little Eric had a very happy family, at least. Can’t complain about that.”

And when you lock eyes with him, the sympathy oozing into the spacious, silent, almost lonely-looking place, you recognize the reality of it all– that no matter how fortunate you are in life, no matter how much money you have, there will always be struggles. Life always has its way of finding your weak spots and hitting where it hurts, strangling you and leaving you breathless in the battle of it all. You either don’t go on vacations at all, or you once did and now you can’t– either way, it hurts to think of what ifs and to remind yourself of all that once was and is now wasted. 

For the first time since you met Eric Sohn, you start to see him as human. You start to see him as someone with his own life, his own emotions, his own struggles. 

Maybe Changmin was wrong to tell you to get closer with the male. Now, having the insight to his thoughts, having the image of his once so idyllic life that’s now so far away, lonely, makes it harder for you to think of what you’re supposed to do when the time comes– mercilessly, completely selfishly. 

You’re not so sure you can proceed with the plan anymore. 

You miscalculated your abilities.

“Do you really need to write it all down?” you squint at your companion, feeling at least a little comical when you watch him scribble down a list onto a lined sheet of paper, blue ink twinkling in the sun. 

“Yeah,” he nods, totally focused on the task at hand. “So we don’t miss out on any important information. Everything’s useful.”

A sigh leaves your mouth at that, making you shaking your head in disbelief. Changmin is currently laying on his stomach in the grass, not a picnic blanket in sight– just his bare shirt against the ground– and as you sit cross legged against the tree in the very corner of the park, enjoying the breeze playing with your hair, you start to wonder just how innocent and carefree you must look to the rest of the people. Just two friends enjoying their weekend in the park. Nothing else. No shady business going on– you promise!

“So you said there was a bunch of jewelry?” Changmin asks, tapping the glitter pen against his chin. You don’t really know where he came across one, but you don’t dare to ask. You know he was eyeing one of the fancy glitter gel pens in the dollar store when you last went to buy a notebook for class with him after school, so you guess you know the source of his newest shiny toy. He’s like a crow, you think. Both with the love for anything that glimmers and the love for stealing.

“Yeah,” you hum, “like at every rich person’s house,” you shrug, not really knowing what his deal was.

“Okay, good. Visible? Unprotected?”

“Are you asking if it was locked like in a jewelry store?” you snicker, rolling your eyes at him. “Because if so, the answer is no, Changmin. Who in their right mind has their personal belongings locked in their own home? Right. No one.”

“Just making sure. I don’t know how it works with rich people, I’ve never been one of those,” Changmin hums, not paying your sarcastic remarks much mind. “But this is good, it works in our favor. What other valuables have you laid your eyes upon during your visit?”

You try to think back to the day you went over to the Sohn’s mansion. You didn’t really see the majority of the house– since Eric didn’t give you a full tour and you didn’t really think it was appropriate to ask for one– so all you know about the stuff he has at home is from the living room, the entry hall and his bedroom. 

“A game console of some kind? I don’t know, dude…”

“A PS5?”

“God, I dunno,” you mumble, furrowing your brows at the boy. “Do I look like an expert?”

“Right,” he sighs, licking his lips. “Well, we can only assume. Next?” 

His glitter pen scribbles the words ‘PS5 (?)’ into the notepad right below the words ‘expensive jewelry’, making you chuckle. You really don’t know what he’s trying to achieve over here– well, the main goal is clear, you’d say– you just don’t really know why he has to have a complete list. It’s not like you’re going to rob his house of everything. You don’t have the capacity to do all that.

“Well, I don’t know. I doubt you want me to carry out his plasma TV or something, so I think this is all I can really give you right now,” you mumble, shrugging. “As if this whole thing isn’t totally immoral in the first place.”

“Y/N, sweetie, I told you to forget about morals long ago.”

“Not everyone is morally gray by default, Changminnie. It takes a while to recalibrate,” you say, rolling your eyes at his phlegmatism. If only you could live your life with Ji Changmin’s mindset. You bet handling a lot of things would be much easier.

Eyes searching through the trees and the greenery, you take a mental note of your sister’s whereabouts. You’re glad you were finally able to take her out of the house. Her friends invited her out, and although it’s only in the neighborhood, you’re much happier with keeping an eye on her, just in case. You’re much more concerned with safety of your little sister ever since you came in contact with breaking the law– you realized just how many people with bad intentions are on the planet, and although you’re not one of the people engaging in child trafficking, something about tasting danger on your tongue makes you feel more cautious when it comes to Aerin’s safety.

She is currently laughing at something with her friends before she runs off, seemingly playing tag. The park is big enough for the girls to roam around without getting on the road, and it’s good for her to get some physical activity in. Shifting your attention back to Changmin, noticing him doodling shapes in the corners of his notebook, your mind settles back into conversation with him.

“Or maybe you’re just starting to like your boyfriend a little too much,” Changmin scoffs, making you furrow your brows in confusion.

“I don’t think me not feeling 100% happy with planning to rob someone I know is the cause of me suddenly being in love with my fake boyfriend,” you note, “that’s just, y’know. Being a human being with basic empathy.”

“Fake boyfriend?” Changmin repeats, completely disregarding the rest of your sentence.

“Well, it’s not exactly real, is it?” you laugh, a hint of discomfort on your tongue. “Makes me feel kinda bad, but–”

“So you’re dating?”

Blinking once, then twice at the boy in front of you, you scratch the back of your neck in nerves. “Is that not what you wanted me to do?”

“No, it is, it’s just… is it, y’know, official?”

“Define official.”

“Does he call you his girlfriend?” 

Plucking a stem of grass from the ground, twirling it around in your fingers– because looking into Changmin’s eyes is suddenly too unbearable in this situation– you shrug. “Sometimes.”

“Ah,” the male nods, an unreadable expression sitting at his face. “So it’s pretty official, then.”

Not really giving him an answer to this argument– both because you’re suddenly a bit embarrassed, cheeks burning and ears ringing (even though you really don’t know what made you have this reaction, since you have no romantic feelings to your current significant other) and because you don’t really know what to say– you only chew on the inside of your cheek, examining the greenery in between your pointer and your thumb.

“Have you two kissed already?” Changmin asks, quite confidentially, making you kick him in the side of his thigh.

“God,” you sigh out, shaking your head. “No!”

The male in front of you clicks his tongue, a grin spreading over his features. There’s a boyish sparkle behind his eye, his expression not understandable to you, making your insides squeeze in a weird tinge of anxiety. “What?” you ask, but get no reply– just a soft laugh coming out of his throat, battling its way to your heartstrings.

“Nothing.”

“Changmin! What’s so funny?” you ask, hiding your cheeks into the palms of your hands. “It’s just– I don’t wanna do it if I don’t like him like that, y’know? It’s not as embarrassing as you make it to be–”

“Not for you, that is.”

“Changmin!”

“What?” he asks, the dimple on his cheek at full display when he faces you, clearly amused at your reaction. “Look, it’s just that if it was me–”

“Changminnie! Changminnie!” a high-pitched, female voice cuts your friend off, making both of you turn your heads towards the source currently running to you at full speed, laughter escaping your little sister’s throat.

“I bet you can’t catch me!” Aerin says, touching your friend by his shoulder to tag him into the game before she runs off, the rest of her friends looking behind their backs and watching as he scrambles up from his lying position, a smile of a beaming sun plastered onto his face.

You never learn what Changmin wanted to tell you that day. You don’t ask later– you forget, not really deeming the information as that important. The memory you have of the afternoon spent in the park is mostly the image of your friend running after your sister, the laughter of the little girl resonating through your brain like a distant taste of childhood you wish to visit.

Ji Changmin is a fast runner, but he makes sure to play according to the girls’ pace. His voice is cheerful as he taunts them, calling after them in the spacious park, and when he looks back over his shoulder at you, eyes locking, your heart is left soaring in your chest before an invisible hand pierces through your lungs and takes the muscle into its hold, as if to offer it to him.

You wish to make your sister’s laugh last forever. You hope to make her joy prominent in the memories of her childhood. You pray she never turns bitter.

And when one of the girls starts chasing after Changmin, her legs half as long as the boy’s, pace slower and muscles more tired, you watch the boy theatrically trip and fall to the ground, shielding his fall with his outstretched arms. The girls laugh as he loses the game, getting tagged, and after the male almost comically slowly gathers back up to his feet again, a thought flashes through your brain– how amazing life would be if it was just you three in it– just you, Aerin and Changmin, spending your afternoons together, free of any trouble.

How happy life would be if every afternoon went like this. How good life would be if you spent days together just like this, like family. 

For the first time since your decision, you start to doubt your life plan. How can you leave a fantasy like this behind? 

How could you ever leave your little sister alone?

“It’s happening soon, right?” Changmin asks, the two of you sitting next to each other on the bus stop. Changmin sometimes takes the bus back to the foster home after class when neither of you have plans, but due to your poor time management skills and awfully slow pace of packing your things up, it just so happened that the poor boy missed the earlier bus– which you tried to repay him for with offering him both your chocolate milk and your time as you stayed with him on the bus stop and waited for the nearest bus to the other side of the town with him.

“Hm?” you ask, a little confused at first. Then, it dawns on you. “Ah. Yeah, I guess.”

Changmin’s voice is soft, almost careful when he talks about the topic. You don’t often discuss your plan out loud together. It happens once a fortnight– after sealing the deal in the school yard that day, there always was a feeling of mutual understanding hanging over the two of you that said that even though it’s the reality you’re striding towards, you don’t really mention it out loud. As if not to jinx it. 

Or maybe, the both of you just don’t really want to discuss something so difficult. It’s easier to prepare for it when you pretend it’s easy. When you don’t open up about just how scared the both of you clearly are.

“Are you… are you ready?” he asks, making you look at him with confused eyes, a hearty chuckle escaping your throat.

“As ready as I’ll ever be– which actually, just for the record, means no,” you say, watching as your companion hums and nods to himself, head clearly full of thoughts he’s a little afraid to say out loud. 

You don’t blame him. Not at all, actually. Your own mind is full of conflicting thoughts and feelings, a battle of morality and selfish desire making a pit open in your stomach every time you think of the next step of your little plan. A part of you desperately needs to leave, to settle things once and for all, but another part of you is still hesitant. Maybe there’s another way. Maybe you could do something about it. Maybe you could try contacting your father again– one more call left to be sent into the voicemail really won’t hurt you right now.

You’ve been thinking a lot of similar things lately. Questioning the nature of your plan. Wondering if you’ll succeed, if it’s all worth it.

You don’t really talk about it, though. Not until now. You don’t know what gets you so weak and fragile. 

“What if… what if there’s another way?” you ask, watching as the boy’s head spins to face you, eyes glossy as they stare back to yours.

“Hm?” he seems confused. “What do you mean?”

A little sigh escapes your throat at that, your head turning so you face the road again. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you shrug. “I was just… I was just thinking, like… what if there’s a way for me to do all of this without leaving? Y’know, I could just…” you trail off, not really finishing your sentence. Truth is, you don’t really know where you were going with that statement either. Maybe you just said it out loud in hopes that Changmin would finish it and figure it out for you, offer you a different perspective, make a new plan– a plan where neither of you leave, a plan where neither of you have to cut ties with everything you know back home.

That’s a foolish thought, though. “What? Get 20 million won in a month a different way? A legal one? You’re gonna get another loan, or something?” Changmin chuckles, not really taking you seriously. Or maybe he is– you just feel a bit childish for having such unrealistic views.

“I don’t know,” you say, jaw clenching. “Maybe I could get another job, and start going on those dates again, and–”

“Yeah, no,” Changmin cuts you off, a huff escaping his lungs. “I know it’s hard, Y/N, but this is all you can do. This is the last resolution, or else you’re gonna lose your house, your mum will be homeless, and you two with Aerin will either end up with your dad– which is unlikely, from what you’ve told me– or at the foster home. If you’re lucky, maybe they’ll put you both to the same one–”

Something about his words feels like daggers are thrown into your skin. Like poison is on his tongue and you’re getting burned with each honest sentence that is uttered out your way. The truth hurts, it makes you feel like he’s only adding salt to an open wound, and it’s not fair of you to react that way– you’re certainly aware– but you can’t help it. The world is toppling over onto you, the weight is all on your shoulders, and you feel totally, utterly helpless. You feel overwhelmed. You feel tired.

“Okay, I get it,” you cut him off, shaking your head in a dismissive way and rolling your eyes at the boy. “It’s just that I don’t really like the thought of doing illegal stuff just to survive, y’know? It’s not exactly easy to steal and do all of this shit, and then leave. I know it must seem fun to you, since–”

“Fun?” Changmin cuts you off. A heartbeat of silence passes by between the two of you, and suddenly, you know you’ve crossed the line. You and Changmin can tell each other many things, but this time, you sound a lot like the people judging him on the street. You sound a lot like the police officers always letting him off without punishment– he’s a kid from the foster home. He does this stuff for attention, doesn’t he? For fun. For satisfaction. He doesn’t know any better– that’s how he was raised. Right?

“Fun,” he repeats. “You think I’m doing this for fun, huh?” he chuckles. You notice his knee bumping up and down in the periphery of your vision, a nervous action just begging to tick you off. “That’s not exactly something I expected you to say, but okay–”

“Well, that’s how we fucking ended up here in the first place, didn’t we?”

“I’ve been doing this for you!” he spits, voice rising and making you flinch. “For you, and for me. For our fucking futures,” he says. You refuse to look at him even when he stands up from his place on the bench, situating his figure in front of your body still hunched up on the hard wood. “I’ve been doing this for the both of us, because we deserve a better life than this, Y/N.”

“A better future?” you laugh, bitterness dripping off your tongue. “In hiding. On a run.”

“Do you prefer being homeless? Being thrown into the foster home for a few days before you age out of the system and your little sister is left there with the other kids? Kids like me?” he says mercilessly, only adding gas to the fire. 

“You know that’s not what I meant–”

“Oh, trust me, Y/N, I know,” he says, irony slipping through his words. “You’re just saying this because you’re scared. Because you feel selfish–”

“And isn’t it true, Changmin? Isn’t selfish what we both are?” you say, your eyes finally meeting with the boy’s. His hair is disheveled as if he’s been running his hands through it in frustration, eyebrows furrowed and a displeased expression is sitting at his features. On most days, Ji Changmin looks like a cunning fox– full of mischief, full of secrets. Now, though, it’s like you see right through him. Somewhere along the way, you feel like you’re the one that started building up a wall in the middle of this argument. “How could I ever just leave my sister there? You could never understand–”

“I can’t, huh?” he says, nothing close to the gentle softness in his voice now, all disappearing from when he spoke to you just a few minutes ago. His voice is harsh, hoarse, even, something behind his eyes shifting in the middle of the fight. “Why? Because I don’t have siblings? Because I have nothing to lose?”

“You wouldn’t know how leaving someone behind feels,” you let out, but even as you’re saying it, you feel immediately disgusted with yourself. How could you ever say this to his face? 

Changmin looks like he was slapped in his face. You swear he winces at your words, bottom lip trapped between his lips as he stares you down. The corners of your eyes start burning like there’s been acid poured into your sockets, hands trembling in the reality of your words. The boy in front of you nods to himself, harshly breathing in.

“I wouldn’t know how leaving someone behind feels,” he repeats, nodding to himself. “Yeah. You’re right. Because I don’t have anyone,” he admits. “I don’t have siblings like you do. I never met my parents, because they never gave a shit about me enough to keep me in their lives in the first place. Nobody fucking cares at the foster home, because I can’t seem to make meaningful connections with anyone. And you know what, yeah. It’s just so easy for me, because there’s no one here who would give a single flying fuck if I leave, because they don’t even really care if I’m alive or dead.”

“Changmin–”

“Just say it, Y/N. Say nobody cares,” he says, eyes stone cold, an avalanche taking place in your lungs. It’s hard to breathe and your eyes are hazy, fists crawling in themselves as you relish in the catastrophe you’ve caused.

“That’s not what I–”

“And you know what? Maybe you’re right, Y/N. I have nothing to lose, I am not leaving anyone behind, I wouldn’t know how it feels. Call me selfish, for all you like. Call me selfish for wanting something for myself, for wanting to leave this town and start over somewhere new. I don’t care. I’m doing this for myself,” he says, the noise of an approaching car landing in your ears through the sound of his words. “But don’t you fucking dare give up on your future just because you feel guilty. Don’t you dare call yourself selfish when you’re doing everything you can to keep the rest of your family afloat. Don’t call yourself selfish when you’re paying back a loan that isn’t yours and taking care of your sister’s future by doing all of this alone, yeah?”

A hot trail of liquid falls down your cheek as you hear the bus approaching the stop. Taking a shaky breath in, you open your mouth to say something– anything– but no words come out.

“And I know it’s hard for you. I know you’re tired, I know you’re exhausted and I know you’re scared and god do I wish I could make this easier for you, but Y/N, don’t you ever say it’s fun or easy for me, when I’ve been putting everything on line trying to help you. To help us.”

The bus door opens. Like a child that’s being scolded, you refuse to meet his eye. There’s shame flowing through your veins, embarrassment creeping up your neck. It feels like you betrayed him. Like you cut right where it hurts, tried to use everything you had on him against him, hitting all his weak spots– all because you were suddenly too prideful to admit to yourself that you’re scared and wallowing in guilt. It’s hard to bear the weight alone. You wish you could make Changmin feel guilty. 

That’s something he won’t understand. It doesn’t make it easier for him, though. He was right– you could never do any of this differently. You could also never do any of this alone. 

“And if you still think it’s selfish, then, well,” you hear him sigh, “I think it’s okay to be selfish sometimes. I think it’s fair of you to be selfish right now,” he says, the words both feeling like a hug and a punch to your sternum, leaving you cut open in the empty road.

“I’ll see you on Monday.”

The bus drives off, the boy’s figure peeling itself off your proximity, entering the other side of the town. You sit at the bus stop for a long while after, aggressively wiping your tears away with the back of your palm, embarrassed to cause such a scene. You never meant to fight with him. You never meant to act like a toddler, playing the victim in a situation that you sadly cannot change, in a situation you unfortunately cannot solve in any better way. 

Ji Changmin is the only person you can lean on in this situation. You feel bad for using him as your punching bag. You’re deeply flawed to take it out on him. 

In the silence of the street, the thought hits you with full force, making your knees weak and your throat dry up like the desert, a dagger straight through your heart as you realize you’re the only person Changmin would be leaving behind. 

And after everything you two went through together, he would never do such a thing. Ji Changmin will hold on to you like a lifeline, because you’re everything he’s got– everything he keeps fighting for. He could give up on everything, had you not been on board. 

He could never give up on you, though.

Warm sunlight peeks through the windows as you sit in silence side by side, neither of you daring to say anything, as if you were scared to break the atmosphere hanging over the calm library. You and Changmin haven’t talked to each other much the whole day, something in the air remaining tense and strained after your previous argument on Friday, but you still tagged along with him when he asked you if you wanted to do homework with him in the library. This is the first time you see your companion doing any school work at all, so you figure you don’t want to pass out on the revolutionary moment– and also, you still feel kind of bad about your latest interaction. You take the fact that he invited you to spend more time with him as a good sign, though. 

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you decide to break the bubble and move a little in your place, reaching for something inside of your bag. Changmin promptly ignores your movements, but when a carton of banana milk appears in his vision, he pays you a glance. 

You’re too prideful to say sorry with words. You don’t want to mention it and go back to the topic you were discussing, much preferring to let things be the way they were before you had an emotional outburst at the bus stop. While you can’t say you aren’t glad that the words are now out in the open, the two of you are more vulnerable in front of each other than ever, you really don’t think you can handle another argument. Some things are better left unsaid. Ignored. There was mutual understanding over you two anyway– there was no use saying those things out loud.

And when you move the banana milk closer to Changmin’s elbow resting on the table with a push of your pointer finger across the dark-wooden desk, you see his eyes softening. He understands, taking the drink into his hand and tearing the plastic off the straw, sucking in the beverage. Ji Changmin accepted your offering, and somehow, you feel like there was some weight lifted off your shoulders, a force unsqueezing your heart. 

“You’re not working on your homework?” he asks, voice hushed in the silent library.

“No,” you shake your head, deciding to lean over the desk and rest your weight on your folded arms, prepping yourself into a comfortable napping position. “I’ll just borrow your notebook before class and copy it.”

“Is this you finally admitting that I’m smarter than you?” he teases, shaking his head at your prompt laziness.

“If that helps you sleep at night,” you shrug. 

Changmin snickers at your reply, eyes hovering over you for a few seconds as you get comfortable next to him. He takes another sip of the banana milk before he offers the drink to you, the straw hovering over your lips. Like a baby being fed through a sippy cup, you open your mouth and let him slot the straw between your lips, sucking the liquid in and relishing in the sweetness of the beverage. 

You shoot him a smile when the carton is back in its place on the desk, his eyes promptly moving to the monitor in front of him. You don’t really know what he’s working on in the first place, the hoard of assignments mixing up in your brain, but you refuse to let your mind wander over equations or foreign languages now. It’s Monday afternoon, and even though it’s only the first day of the week, you feel like you deserve to rest.

Changmin types something on the keyboard of the library computer, eyebrows furrowing as he focuses on the contents of the screen. You find yourself glued to his motions, watching him from the side, studying the way his expressions change in milliseconds, irises dialing by the second. When he focuses a little too hard on the information his eyes are scanning on the device, he traps his bottom lip in between his teeth, tugging on it. He also has a habit of licking his lips every few seconds, leaving a wet trail glossing over his mouth, making you feel foolish at the examination of that part of his face. Hair is falling into his forehead, black locks messily trimmed and mostly unstyled, oftentimes leaving you eager to brush your hand through the raven strands to tame them into place. 

His features have grown familiar to you over the months. He has the face of someone you’ll remember even in a few years. He looks like someone you’d take pictures of in photo booths and tape the strips up in your room. You don’t have any pictures like this, though, and your room isn’t worthy enough of being made prettier with such a photo strip. Maybe in the future, you think. When I live somewhere else.

His voice wakes you up from the slumber, your heart hammering at the interruption. Changmin speaks to you casually, the monotone hum of his voice making you listen attentively to what he has to say.

“Where do we eventually want to settle?” he asks, making you raise your brows at him in question.

“What part of the homework is that?” you joke, watching as the boy’s cheeks tint pink, a dismissive wave of his hand shutting up your teasing.

“I’m already done with that,” he clears his throat, “I’m just… doing research.”

“Research,” you repeat, nodding to yourself. You nuzzle your nose into your hoodie sleeve, thinking for a while as you contemplate your decision. You never really thought of where you’d go. ‘Away’ was always your destination– never specified. You just knew you’d have to leave one day, eventually.

“Busan, maybe?” you hum, laughing to yourself. “I dunno. I always wanted to go to Japan, but I don’t think our funds will reach as far.”

“I don’t really think the language barrier would be ideal either,” he agrees, nodding to himself. “Busan sounds nice.”

“Doesn’t it?” you grin, locking your gaze with his only for a few seconds before he looks back to the computer. 

“We could get a little flat somewhere in the middle of the city when we save up enough, eventually,” he says, tone of voice sweet and gentle. There’s something about planning your future with Changmin that leaves you feeling particularly vulnerable and fragile. Not in a bad way, just in a strange type of way. In a way that makes your insides ache and heart tremble. You never thought you’d plan your future with someone. 

Ji Changmin never planned his future either. Somehow, he assumed there was nothing good waiting for him after aging out of the system. 

The intimacy folded over you two like a blanket makes you panic. “We’re moving in together?” you tease, watching as the boy’s face heats up more, a hesitant shrug of his shoulders acted out to seem casual.

“I think it’s more convenient that way,” he hums, trying to stay logical. “We can split the rent and groceries, and one of us can cook while the other one cleans…” he trails off, scratching the back of his neck. “We are leaving together, so I assumed…”

A dumb smile battles its way onto your lips. “I was just joking,” you assure him, watching as he shies away from your gaze. It’s not an usual reaction from him. Ji Changmin doesn’t really get bashful– at least not with you. You try not to question it for the sake of your own comfort.

Forcing your eyes off his face, you watch as he types something on the keyboard again, attention glued to his digits. Dark bruises paint his knuckles, scratches glazing the backs of his fists. Eyebrows furrowing, you act on instinct as you reach out your hand, stopping him from typing as you take his palm into yours. “Did you get into a fight again?” you ask, thumb absent-mindledly tracing the outlines of the scars.

“Maybe,” he admits light-heartedly, lips pressed into a thin line when your warm hand locks with his, the tender touch of the pads of your thumbs against the open wounds making him shiver. If asked, the boy would blame it on the breeze coming through the window. It’s getting late and the air is colder. That has to be it.

“No getting in fights after this is all over,” you say as you let go. “Wouldn’t want our landlord to kick us out for delinquency.”

Changmin laughs, the absurdity of the situation and your foolish dreams downing on both of you at once. Unaware that even though you were both forced to grow up much faster than other kids your age, you were still childish at heart– as if chasing the time of your life that was forcefully taken out of your hands– older, but still needing to live through that stage, you fold back over the table and force your eyes closed, scoffing at the sentiments.

“Don’t you worry, Y/N,” he laughs, “we’re starting clean. Hell, I’ll even give back to society. We can start volunteering, if it makes you sleep better at night.”

The joke makes you chuckle, warming your heart. It’s nice to think about the future with someone. It’s good to feel like your dreams might be tangible. The future is in your hands, and you will do everything you can to make it worth it. 

It’s good to have someone you can lean on.

“Can I help you with that?” Aerin asks you from behind, startling you in the small kitchen space. Turning towards her, you offer her a smile and shake your head, watching as your little sister takes her stance next to your figure, observing your cooking.

When it comes to cooking, you wouldn’t call yourself a professional. A lot of the times, what you end up with isn’t as delicious as you expected it to turn out when you started making it, but at the end of the day, it’s food anyway and you eat it– because throwing it out would be a waste of money and resources, and you have to eat something. There are a few foods that are easy enough that you perfected them, though– and those are ramen, an egg omelet, fried rice, and lastly, the pre-made foods you get at the grocery store that you either just boil or heat up in the microwave. 

“No, it’s okay,” you say as you work on one of your master dishes– the one that satisfies everyone, including your little sister: ramen. You can never go wrong with ramen, you think. 

“But I wanna learn to cook as well,” your sister insists, crossing her arms on her chest, “I’m not a child anymore, and I have to learn how to look after myself.”

A dry chuckle escapes your throat, shaking your head in disbelief at her mature words. In your eyes, she’s just a child, though– a kid that’s not to be trusted with knives and boiling water, a little girl that isn’t as careful with the utensils as she should be, which can undoubtedly end up with her getting hurt. 

“That’s what I’m here for,” you smile, throwing your little sister a caring look. “You just focus on studying and I’ll be there to cook for you so your little stomach is never empty,” you say as you slice the spring onion to add into the noodles boiling on the stove.

Aerin seems to be disappointed with your answer. Her cheeks grow twice as big as they usually are as she pouts, a frown overtaking her features. You take it as your sign to engage your little sister more in the grown-up activities, sighing to yourself as you realize just how fast your little sister has grown. Even though you try to shield her from all the troubles of the adult world, you can’t really prevent her from maturing faster than the other kids her age. Hell, she’s not blind– as much as you’d like her to be. She knows what’s going on. She might not be able to grasp it fully, might not be able to understand everything with her childish brain, but she knows– to a certain level, that is. 

Nodding to yourself, you try to put up a smiling face. “Okay, then,” you say, “I’m making ramen.”

Your sister seems to be intrigued with your sudden tutorial, eyes growing big and focused. Something grows impossibly soft and fond in you, watching her scanning the surroundings, trying to find any task to help you out with. 

“You can just open the pack and put the noodles in the water to boil, if you want to do it the easy way,” you start, “but if you want to make it more delicious, like I do, you can add some other ingredients in with it.”

“What do you add?” Aerin asks.

“Spring onion,” you hum, pointing to the vegetables you’d been cutting when she approached you, “soy sauce,” you point towards the black bottle on the counter, waiting to be opened and added into the dish cooking on the stove, “and lastly, I crack in an egg.”

“That doesn’t seem hard,” Aerin says, earning herself an amused chuckle out of you.

“It’s not,” you admit, “I’m not a professional chef, or anything, so I keep it simple.”

“Can I do it, then?” she asks, looking at you with big, hopeful eyes. You can’t possibly turn those eyes down. A passing thought emerges in you that she needs this– she needs someone to teach her even the smallest things. She needs you to teach her how to cook ramen, because you know how hard it is when you have no one to show you, when you have to figure out everything on your own. 

Nodding, you step aside and put the black bottle of soy sauce into her hand. “You can pour in a little bit. Not too much, though, or else it will be too salty.”

“How much?” she asks, furrowing her brows.

“I’ll tell you when to stop,” you smile, watching as her smaller hand opens the lid of the bottle, positioning the glass above the pot. Black liquid soon drips down, tinting the broth a dark brown color, the spices mixing in and making the ramen instantly twice as delicious as if you’d just thrown it on the stove with the spices that come in the packaging. 

“That’s fine,” you say, halting your sister in adding more and over-seasoning your lunch.

“Now the egg?”

“Yeah,” you nod, watched by the focused eyes of your little sister. You take the small sphere you’ve prepared onto the kitchen counter before you started cooking, offering it to Aerin. “Have you ever cracked an egg before?” you ask.

“No.”

“Okay,” you laugh, “so this is your first time. Don’t worry, nobody gets it right the first time. Just crack it on the counter and then open the shell. Be careful not to spill it everywhere, though,” you instruct, watching as your little sister moves with much uncertainty, small hands shaking with the delicate ingredient in her grasp.

The touch of the shell with the counter is almost delicate the first time, as if she was afraid the egg was going to spill everywhere and make a mess on the kitchen counter, but the second time, she’s a little more confident, cracking the egg on the corner. Pure concentration is shown on your sister’s face as she moves the ingredient above the pot, her little fingers having trouble with opening the shell and dropping the egg in. She struggles, nails digging into the light tan, putting in more force than necessary and breaking the shell even further, having the yolk spill all over her fingers, dropping to the pan with a crash.

Aerin gasps in surprise at her own actions, a frown instantly overtaking her features as she notices that the shell fell in, disappointment so evidently running through her veins.

“It’s okay,” you say, petting her arm, “as I said, nobody gets it right the first time. Throw the shell into the bin and wash your hands, I’ll finish this,” you smile, trying to transfer all your feelings of pride into her.

She is growing up right in front of your eyes. It’s a feeling only older siblings can understand– seeing someone transform from a baby to an elementary-school kid, being there for every step of their journey. You’ve known her her whole life. It’s a bond that you never want to break.

But there’s that bugging voice in your mind that keeps telling you to enjoy this, enjoy it while it lasts, enjoy it while you can, because soon, you’ll be gone and you won’t see her take the next steps, you won’t see her grow up. A chill runs down your spine at that, an unsettling feeling making you feel heavy, making you trap your bottom lip between your teeth and gnaw on it in a poor attempt to ground yourself.

Crouching over the boiling pot, you take out a spoon and fish for the cracked shell in the noodles, not really being in favor of getting an upset appendix. Your eyes get hazy, stinging at the corners– maybe you could blame it on the steam.

“You did well, Aerin. You’ll be a better cook than me in no time,” you praise her.

“I have to learn,” she agrees, the sound of the tap turning on as she washes her hands flowing into your ears with her next sentiment. “You won’t be here forever to do everything for me, after all.”

With your back turned to her, pretending to still dig around the noodles for the egg shells you already got out a few seconds ago, you hum. You catch yourself mid-sniffle, quickly wiping your cheek with the back of your hand, turning off the stove– maybe you could blame it on the spring onion. Cutting it always makes you tear up. It’s just the fumes getting in your eyes.

You won’t be there forever to do everything for your little sister. The day that happens is maybe sooner than she’d expect– you can’t tell her, though. You can’t prepare her for your departure.

By bringing this up, though, it’s almost like in the corner of her soul, she knew. It’s almost like she had it all figured out, it’s like she saw right through you. It’s like her own way of telling you not to worry– she’ll be a big girl and take care of herself. She’ll be strong, even when you’re gone.

You won’t be there forever to do everything for your little sister. You really, desperately wish you would, though. 

Carisoprodol, sold under the brand name Soma among others, is indicated for the relief of discomfort associated with acute, painful musculoskeletal conditions in adults. Carisoprodol is a white, crystalline powder, having a mild, characteristic odor and a bitter taste. It is slightly soluble in water; freely soluble in alcohol, chloroform, and acetone; and its solubility is practically independent of pH. SOMA should only be used for short periods (up to two or three weeks) because adequate evidence of effectiveness for more prolonged use has not been established.

“What if it kills him?” you ask, chewing on your bottom lip.

“It won’t,” Changmin says, placing his hand over yours, the package of pills resting in your open palm. “Trust me.”

The recommended dose of SOMA is 250 mg to 350 mg three times a day and at bedtime. The recommended maximum duration of SOMA use is up to two or three weeks.

“Where did you even get this?” your eyebrows furrow as you listen to him instruct you on the ways of using it. Your stomach is already burning with acid at the thought of what you’re going to do. It’s what you’re dreading, but it’s also what needs to be done. 

“Our caretaker back at the foster home takes them,” he says, shrugging. “So I just borrowed some.”

SOMA has sedative properties and may impair the mental and/or physical abilities required for the performance of potentially hazardous tasks such as driving a motor vehicle or operating machinery. There have been post-marketing reports of motor vehicle accidents associated with the use of SOMA. In some patients, however, and/or early in therapy, carisoprodol can have the full spectrum of sedative side effects and can impair the patient's ability to operate a firearm, motor vehicles, and other machinery of various types, especially when taken with medications containing alcohol, in which case an alternative medication would be considered. The intensity of the side effects of carisoprodol tends to lessen as therapy continues, as is the case with many other drugs. Other side effects include: dizziness, clumsiness, headache, fast heart rate, upset stomach, vomiting and skin rash.

“Just give him two of these. He should be out within an hour.” 

A chill runs down your spine. This is nothing close to the occasional stealing at the grocery store or the lying you used to do to get money out of old men that are predatory towards a girl knowing she’s underage. This is twice as morally wrong and twice as dangerous for everyone involved. If you had to draw a line at what you can excuse yourself, you think all of this is far over it.

“If this goes wrong, I’m ratting you out and we’re both going to jail. You hear me?” you say, eyes bearing into Changmin’s.

“That’s the plan, baby,” he grins. “If you go down, I go as well.”

The usual dose of 350 mg is unlikely to engender prominent side effects other than somnolence, and mild to significant euphoria or dysphoria, but the euphoria is generally short-lived due to the fast metabolism of carisoprodol into meprobamate and other metabolites.

You watch the boy from up close, his eyes now blown out and big, blonde hair falling into his forehead in a messy manner– yet he doesn’t find it in him to drag his palm across the strands and push them out of his vision. You’re laying in the bed with him, side by side, staring into each other’s eyes. You watch as the drug slowly takes over him, as the boy in front of you slowly starts slipping into a more and more sleepy state, completely unaware of the fact that you dropped two white, round pills into his drink when he went to the toilet. 

Your conscience starts stinging more and more with the passing time. Eric Sohn looks at you like you hung the stars onto the sky, like you made the whole world with just your two hands– and this is what you’re repaying him with. This is what you decided to do, this is what path you chose to take.

Millions of excuses flash through your alert brain. Maybe it’s just your mind trying to rationalize everything, trying to make you feel better about the mess you’re just now going to create– either way, it’s helping only a little bit with the rapid beating of your heart. 

You keep telling yourself that it doesn’t matter. That Eric would never understand the life you’re living, that he wouldn’t even want to date you, had he known just how much money your family owes. You keep telling yourself that it’s okay, because he has a lot of money, and it’s not like you’re stealing it all– you’re just stealing the valuables he showed you. And maybe it’s his fault for trusting you. After all, he was the one willingly taking you back to his house when his parents weren’t around. This is his lesson– he should start being less gullible and vulnerable. He should stop hanging out with people like you.

You and him, you don’t belong together. Eric Sohn is supposed to stand by the side of another rich heir, showing her off to his parents. He’s supposed to be proudly going around the town with his newest girlfriend, not hiding with her in the shadows, knowing, sensing that she’s flawed and not like him– not like others.

He’s going to wake up and find out who you are– the reality, not just what you’ve been pretending to be all this time– and he’s going to be disappointed, sure, but he’s going to move on to better things. Because what you’re taking from him is just a fraction of his wealth, just a small part of what he has. He won’t even feel the loss. 

But for you, you’re taking everything you can– everything you need.

It’s not like any of this– your relationship– was ever real. You two haven’t even kissed yet. You hang out with him and hold his hand, you listen to him while he talks to you with sparkles in his eyes, but there’s no depth. Surely, he must feel it. Surely, he must know there’s something wrong.

“I love you, Y/N,” he suddenly says, tone of voice hushed, almost not audible in the silence of his room. The sentence is like a knife to your heart, a dagger stabbing you in your back. Something inside of you crumbles, your stomach burning with guilt, hands shaking as you pretend you didn’t hear him. If you ignore it, maybe it’s like it never happened. 

It’s the effect of the drug. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. It’s not real– how could it be? He doesn't know you. He doesn’t know who you really are and what you’re about to do. He can’t love you.

Fingers playing with the loose threads of the blanket thrown over the two of you, your eyes avert from his, big and honest, still like water. It takes everything in you not to stay here with him, wait until he’s back from the sedation, and apologize. It takes everything in you not to back out. Every time the weight of your actions becomes too unbearable, the weight of responsibility and your family’s well-being drops onto the other side of the scale, though, and you’re back to square one– this is what you need to do.

“You don’t have to say it back,” he says to you despite not meeting your eye, “you… I know…” he trails off, but doesn’t finish the sentence, as if changing his mind. A dry chuckle leaves his throat at that, words sweet like honey lacing your throat, choking you up with the thickness of them, the richness of his unreturned care. “I just wanted you to know.”

You’re a terrible, terrible human being. The force of your teeth against the side of your cheek suddenly gives out, making you taste iron on your tongue. Promptly ignoring everything he says, focusing on calming down your breathing and the erratic beating of your heart, you wonder if he knows. If he’s aware you’re just playing with him– if he knows you never cared for him in a way he does for you. 

Because if he knows, it’s like he’s allowing you to break him. Isn’t that what love is, though? Being vulnerable, offering someone your whole heart, and expecting them to take care of it? Love is cruel in that way. It can take away all of you. It can consume you.

And would he still love you if he knew what you were going to do to him? Is his love unconditional? You chuckle at that. He doesn’t know anything about love. 

A while passes, the two of you laying in silence. When you finally battle away the fear and look up at him, you find him asleep. His eyes are closed and his breathing is steady, and when you touch his arm– testing to see if he will wake– you find him unresponsive. This is your cue.

Standing up from his bed and straightening the wrinkles on your clothes, you take a deep breath in and out to calm yourself down. Your hands grasp the backpack you brought with yourself– the bag that was supposed to be filled with clothes so you could sleep over, yet that is now empty, just waiting to be filled– and you walk out of Eric’s room, feet dragging you towards all the empty rooms in the corridor.

The first part of the plan is now in action.

Walking into the master bedroom, dashing to the walk-in closet, you take all the jewelry you can find. The mental calculations of the worth of the chains and golden earrings in your bag are adding up slowly, the digits growing and making a sense of satisfaction flow through your veins. Maybe something rubbed off on you from hanging out around Changmin so much– you get the thrill now. You get the adrenaline. It’s like working for something you want, something you need, and although you know there are other ways, they’re not as fast and effective. The thing is, you need the money now. 

Fastly getting through room by room, taking everything valuable you can see with the idea of turning it into profit in a pawn shop somewhere along the way, when everything is settled and you’re on the run, starting your life somewhere new, you find that it gets easier to operate. It’s like you’re working on auto-pilot, the full weight of your actions slowly slipping through your consciousness. You’re only an actor in your life right now, looking at yourself from a third person view– like you’re playing a video game. 

Detached from everything, hands now more steady and breathing almost normal, you take the jewelry from the living room as well. A dry chuckle leaves your throat as you eye Eric’s wallet thrown lazily on the shelf by the front door. You never leave your money out in the open and unhidden at home– don’t you know that? Haven’t you learned about the dangers of that yet, Eric Sohn? Oh, what a blissfully unaware life you lead.

Opening it, taking the bank notes into your fingers and folding them into your pocket, you stop as you put your shoes back on at the front door. Looking around the big, empty space, not really allowing yourself to dwell on your actions just yet, you take your phone out of your pocket and before you completely turn the device off, block Eric’s number. 

The doorknob is cold in your hands as you open the front door, walking out. It’s like you’re leaving who you once were and who you could’ve been in that big house behind you– it’s like you’re saying goodbye to the life you once led and anxiously awaiting the new one waiting for you behind the corner. 

Getting sentimental won’t help you in this situation, though. Being emotional and afraid won’t drag your family out of the depths of loan sharks’ teeth. 

And so you walk off the property, mind set on the meeting point you agreed on with Changmin. It’s now or never.

The first part of the plan has been completed. You have something to fall back on when you discard all the money into the loan shark’s hands. Eric Sohn’s wealth is now your safety net. 

You meet up with your partner in crime at the corner of the neighborhood. Your backpack gets hidden in the bushes, away from the eyes of everyone, on the route you’re going to take when completing your second part of the plan. The next couple of steps are completed on autopilot. 

Flashes of Changmin’s face. A ski mask pulled over his head, a hood pulled over your hair, disposable mask covering your nose. He throws one of his spare black hoodies over your body, leaving you to put your arms through the sleeves and zip the clothing up, the two of you masked to the point of not being recognised even to the eyes of people that know you. 

You two make a silent entry to the empty road leading towards the town square. Not much conversation is shared between the two of you because of the adrenaline running through your veins. The stride in your step is consistent and fast-paced, the timing of your plan set to a tight schedule. When you cross the corner, nearing your target, the two of you put on sunglasses and keep your head low. Your heartbeat is so fast you can hear it in your ears, your body responding to the stress with the help of your sympathetic nervous system– breathing growing fast and hands a little sweaty.

Your mind is repeating ‘It’s gonna be okay, It’s gonna be okay, It’s gonna be okay’, a silent plea that constantly gets overthrown by the rational side of your brain. Is it too late to back out now? You don’t know– but at the same time, you recognise that you don’t particularly want to. You’re just scared– you know it. You recognise it. 

And it’s okay to do things afraid. It means you have the courage to do them– it means you have what it takes to change the situation you’re in.

Your eyes lock with Changmin’s, his face mostly hidden in a shadow. You can’t really read his expression– it’s dark and his features are covered– but it seems like you two operate on the same frequencies. One nod is all it takes– the world stops for a second before Changmin turns on his heel and moves towards the jewelry store you once worked at, a heavy rock he prepared close to the sidewalk thrown through the door giving you an easy entry to the property.

The alarm goes off instantly. That means you only have about 10 to 15 minutes before the police come and you’re busted.

You have to act quick. Changmin climbs into the store like he owns the place. You have the background information from working there that could very well get you caught quickly, if the police are smart enough to connect the dots in the investigation. The plan you and Changmin have is efficient, fast and smart. You thought about everything– you can’t make a single mistake. The way you move and operate is calculated and thought-out. There’s no way you’re giving yourself to the hands of the police tonight.

While you run to the back and rummage through the manager’s room, looking for the key to the cash register– you know where it’s usually kept, since you closed with her many times before and watched her do all the tasks with innocent eyes, not yet knowing that you’re going to end up using this information for your good one day. When you find it– on the top of the shelf, almost invisible if you hadn’t known that’s where to look for it– you move to the safe in the corner of the room. The sequence of numbers is easy to remember– or at least for you. Your father used to tell you that you’re good with numbers. You’ve grown to hate every quality of yours he ever complimented, but you must admit it’s coming in clutch right now.

Your fingers work on the lock, the junctures of the metal unclasping under your touch. Your hands are still sweaty, but a little more steady now– you notice as you open the door to the safe and take out the rest of the money binded with rubber bands, throwing it into your backpack. You work fast, not really giving yourself an opportunity to mentally count and estimate the amount, but something in your bones is telling you that it should be enough.

Running back to the main store area after you’re done, not bothering to close the safe after yourself, you reach the register to get the last remains of cash from this store. The alarm is still going off, making your ears ring and your stomach churn with acid, but as you get the key in and forcefully take out the drawer, you feel a little calmer at the sight of the bills inside. 

From the corner of your eye, you watch Changmin getting out jewelry from each shiny glass vitrine, smashing it with his gloved fist. Countless earrings, watches and necklaces get thrown messily into his bag, expensive metal rising your worth with every passing second. 

When the cash is in your bag, you quickly pace around the store and try to help Changmin. As soon as your hand goes to smash the window, though, he takes you by the wrist and shields you from your attempts. Furrowing your brows, you meet eyes with him, wordlessly asking for an explanation. Does he not want your help? Does he want you to fully stick to the plan? But you’re done with your part– the best thing you can do at this moment is help him with his side, no?

Your question is quickly answered when the man keeps tugging on your hand, leading you out of the store. Your feet buckle the tiniest bit when you cross the threshold, but that’s when you hear it– the sirens.

You didn’t notice them over the sound of the alarm and the whooshing of your blood in your ears. You have to leave– they’re close.

Changmin takes the lead, his sneakers making a loud noise against the pavement. You run after him, your pulse quickening with each meter. They could be anywhere, you think. They could stop you right here, on the run. You have to be careful.

The paranoia gets the worst of you, making you constantly check over your shoulder. Pupils shaking, you scan your surroundings– there could be anyone watching you that could tell the police that they saw you on the run. There must be cameras everywhere. You can’t hide. They’re always watching. You’re going to get caught, and you’re going to be sent to juvie. You can’t help your family–

“Y/N,” you hear him call from in front of you, the anxious thoughts vanishing from your brain fast, like the strike of a lightning. 

His sunglasses are off, your eyes meeting. Something inside of you comes to a calm, your heart leaping, squeezing on itself. His hand grabs yours, a force dragging you to his level on the pavement. He’s not letting you fall behind, his legs giving the pace as you follow him, left, right, left, right… You’re almost there. You’re almost done.

It gets to the point of the route where Changmin bends down and searches through the bush. Your backpack is quickly found, thrown over his shoulder. He’s carrying both now, one on his back and one on his front, leaving you leaping behind him with a smaller duffel bag on your shoulder. You carry a lot of money with yourself right now. You don’t think you’ve ever seen so much money in one place in your whole entire life.

And then you’re finally there– the police sirens are no longer audible, there are houses all around you and the only thing accompanying the silence are the lampposts and your heavy breathing. Bending over at his waist, Changmin finally lets go of your hand. His fingers grasp the ski mask on his head, tugging it off and letting him finally breathe in the oxygen freely, not restricted by the thick fabric.

Your heart starts to calm down as you take more air into your lungs. Wiping your sweaty hands onto the fabric of your jeans, you unzip the hoodie and fan yourself with your shirt, hating the way it’s sticking to your sweaty skin. 

It’s calm. Quiet. Just like any other day. Tonight, it feels a bit strange.

Changmin looks up at you, hair messy sticking up everywhere, his sweaty forehead glistening a little in the moonlight. A heartbeat passes by of you two just staring into each other’s eyes before his lips turn into a lazy grin, the dimple on his cheek showing itself to you in its full glory. It’s a strange situation to smile in, but it still makes your heart leap and thunder, a similar expression taking over your face. Then, he laughs. Like it’s funny. Now, this is getting ridiculous.

Still, you can’t help but mirror him. He must be crazy. Surely, you’re both going insane. 

Shaking his head, he straightens his back and takes a step forward to where you’re standing, offering his hand to you for a high-five. When you meet him in the middle, he locks his fingers with you, squeezing your palm with his. “Almost there.”

“Almost there,” you repeat, nodding. 

Now, all it takes is to settle the loans and leave. Leave fast, that is.

You take both of the bags into your hands and slowly, quietly enter your house. Changmin doesn’t follow you– he’s on to the second to last part of your plan as you walk up the stairs to your room and lock the door behind you. Unzipping the bags and dropping the money onto the rug in the middle of the floor, your breathing heavy as you prepare to count, you crouch and let your eyes wander for a bit along the notes in the middle of your room. 

You’re rich. Only for a moment, though. You try to salvage the feeling the best you can– the satisfaction doesn’t hit your brain, though. You can’t fake it. You can’t make yourself believe a lie.

Pulling yourself together, your fingers slip across the smooth surface of each bill, your brain working fast as you rustle with the cotton. The amount gets added up, the sum growing bigger and bigger, and after each ten thousand, you put a rubber band on the roll and drop it back into one of the bags. 

You’re using your school bag to carry the money to settle your family’s debt. There’s something deeply ironic about the sentiment. It almost makes you chuckle.

The light pink backpack gets filled with expensive pieces of paper, each roll lifting the tiniest bit of weight off your shoulders. Only a few more and you have enough, you think– and although you hate to admit it, the remaining sum you see scattered across your floor is less than the amount you expected. It’s okay, though– you know how to live with nothing. You’ll survive. You’ll get through it. 

After you’re done counting, you zip up the bag. Shaky hands reach for the last notes on the floor. You take out the envelope you hid under your pillow and put the money inside before you hesitantly drag out the piece of paper you’ve treasured inside, letting your eyes scan over the last words you’re leaving for your sister.

My sweet Aerin. 

Don’t look for me. Don’t worry about me. You’re safe now and everything is going to be okay. Take care of mum while I’m gone and make sure to study well so you get into a good university and make your big sister very proud. There are some things you are too young to understand, but I’m sure you’ll get it when you’re older. 

Please don’t hate me. I’m always thinking about you. We will meet again one day.

Love, Y/N. :) 

P.S.: keep this money safe. Only use it when you really need it. 

The corners of your eyes burn, making you blink away the tears. Although your heart wishes for one last hug, one last goodbye, you know you can’t grant yourself the benefit. If you held your sister for a second, you know you’d want to hold her forever– and that’s something you can’t do anymore. Not after what’s done. You can’t look back and keep holding on to something so selfishly– there’s no going back after what you’ve done. You’re a criminal now– a proper one, but you did it all for your family. You hope that one day, at least your sister might understand.

Wiping the stray tear that’s rolled down your cheek, you breathe in to calm your erratic thoughts. Putting the letter back in and sealing the envelope, all while simultaneously gathering all the bags, you walk into your sister’s room and leave the envelope under her pillow. 

Her sleeping body is still shorter than yours, but she’s no longer so little. She’s grown so much over the years. The thought of not seeing her grow into an adult pains you, but it’s the price you have to pay for her comfort. 

You close the door to her room quietly. You walk down the stairs of a house you can no longer call a home, foot stepping over the threshold of a place you’re never coming back to. You don’t allow yourself to look behind you. You don’t allow yourself to say a proper goodbye.

The jog towards the car parked in your driveway feels like a marathon– you’re slowly running out of breath. You didn’t train hard enough for the responsibilities you’ve taken on your shoulders. It’s like you’re jogging with a bag of rocks on your back.

Changmin opens the door to the passenger’s side for you. The bags are dropped onto the backseat. When he asks you if you’re ready, you don’t look into his eyes when you nod. There’s a sinking feeling in your stomach telling you that he’ll see right through your lie– but you can’t waste any more time than you already allowed yourself back in the house.

Changmin twists the car key in the ignition and starts the car. You drive away towards the other side of the city. Your baby pink school bag is dropped at the gate of the expensive-looking house of which you found the address of on one of the contracts somewhere in the middle of planning your escape. You drive away before anyone notices. Somehow, it feels like by leaving the bag there, you’re losing your youth with it. You can never take that backpack back to school with you. 

But then again, you’re never going back to school. Somehow, you know you lost your youth before you had a physical reminder. Your shoulders hang heavy even without the weight.

The drive is silent. You try to distract yourself by watching the stars.

When you were little, you promised your sister that you would be by her side forever. She was only 6 when she came home from school crying, telling you that her friends all went out alone without her and talked badly about her behind her back. It took everything in you to not go out of your way to hunt down those little heathens and give them a piece of your mind back then, but you remember it as if it was yesterday, telling your sister that ‘It’s okay, because you will always have me,’ as her big eyes glistened with tears, ‘remember, I’m your best friend forever, okay?’.

You don’t really know if she remembers that day. It was ages ago and she made new friends just two weeks after this whole fiasco, forgetting all about it. It stuck in your brain like a sticker, though, the one that you try to peel off but the residue stays behind, tearing at all edges, getting beaten up and looking rather pathetic– just like your words resonating in your brain, bouncing off the walls of your mind.

You broke the only promise you ever meant. 

“You did well,” you hear a voice cut through the silence, the buzzing of the engine not really lullying you to sleep anymore, “you did the best you could.”

Eyes darting to your companion on the driver’s side, you hear yourself let out a soft chuckle. Teeth catching the flesh in your mouth, biting on the inside of your cheek to battle with the tears begging to haze your eyes, you try to focus on his side profile, studying the slope of his nose and the hair falling into his eyes instead, burning this image into your memory. You do everything but think about the events of the night. 

Still, you ask. “Do you think she hates me?”

“I don’t think she could ever hate you, Y/N,” he says, voice tender and sincere, trying his hardest to fight the battle with you, to hold you up when you’re falling.

“I think that one day, she will grow up and she will understand. She will get why you did what you did,” he hums, eyes still sternly glued to the road ahead of him, “she will understand that you did it for her.”

Swallowing hard, for you feel like there’s a lump in your throat, you nod and look back outside of the window. This is something you’re going to need more time to get through, but this is a start– this is something. You have someone that understands. You have someone who shares the burden. 

“Thanks,” you whisper. 

The lampposts blur behind the glass with the speed you’re going at, your surroundings unfamiliar and strange to you. You don’t really know where you are or where you’re heading to– you let Changmin handle that side of the planning, since you don't really care where you’re gonna end up– but the hills and forests cornering the right side of the landscape make you feel strangely at peace. You must be far, far away from Seoul right now. Maybe you’re heading north. You don’t really mind. Maybe you don’t really care.

“How did you even get this car, by the way?” you ask, turning your head back to the boy in the driver’s seat.

“Oh, this?” he snickers, shrugging. “I know a guy. We used to be friends when he lived at the foster home. He aged out of the system like three years ago, but he knows a guy who knows a guy, and he just so coincidentally had this old thing laying around, so I figured we could use it for some time,” he says, nodding to himself. 

Shaking your head in disbelief, you wonder just how far connections can take you in the world. It’s not quite as easy as if you were born to a rich businessman, per se, but you’ll take the off-handed nepotism of the underground world, if it makes your life go smoother– just for the time being, at least. 

“Do you even have a license?” you ask.

“No,” he shakes his head. “But nobody has to know that–”

“Changmin!” you exclaim, terror shaking with your body.

“You really thought I was allowed to drive a car when you got into the vehicle, Y/N? Come on, I’m a foster kid. Do you really think anyone paid for my license?” he laughs, eyes darting to your figure momentarily, forming moon crescents when he notices the look on your face. “My friend taught me how to drive, though! He got adopted a few months ago, a super rich family– can’t say I’m not jealous, but that’s a story for another time–” he hums casually, as if it’s not a big deal, “and they bought him a car. Anyways, we stayed in contact and he let me try it at this empty parking lot, you know, where the abandoned factory is? And–”

Watching him speak, arms flying around the air making him look like an animated character– going as far as comically noticing that the car is heading to the left by itself when the wheel is unoccupied, quickly taking ahold of it with both hands and trying to make it stay on the road– it’s like a weight is slowly being lifted off your shoulders. It all seems so ridiculous. Insane. Crazy. 

A laugh battles out of your throat. Changmin’s eyes meet with yours, a big smile spreading across his face. A dimple appears on his cheek, his essence contagious. 

Suddenly, you can do anything in the world. Nobody can stop you. You fought with your future. You changed the trajectory of your life. You helped your mother. You protected your sister.

What’s a few years in hiding? 

A foolish thought passes by your brain. You don’t dwell on it much longer, but it’s a nice thing to reflect on when you’re alone in the hostel room late at night, hyper-aware of Changmin’s presence on the other side of the bed– because it’s more expensive to get a room with two beds and it doesn’t matter anyway. You will push it back into the corners of your mind, ignoring it until this moment happens. But it’s there– creeping around, waiting for you to pay attention to it– and it says that as long as you have Changmin, you’re sure you can get on with anything. You can get used to this.

“Aren’t you hungry? There’s some snacks in the compartment over there,” he says, pointing towards it. Magically, your stomach starts to churn– he must have said it into existence. It stinks a lot of black magic, if you really think about it. You knew you should’ve been more careful around him.

Still, your hand reaches for the compartment, opening it. There’s an opened pack of Lay’s chips, a bottle of soda, a wrapped sandwich, and a small chocolate bar, wrapped in red packaging, smiling at you brightly from the darkness of the car. It’s looking at you with big heart-eyes, your favorite flavor of them all– peanut butter covered with tasty milk chocolate, a heaven on Earth– and then reality hits you like a truck again, your eyes burning with the realization.

Fingers wrapping around the treat, you study the packaging for a while– as if you weren’t familiar with it already, having the chocolate bar on days where you really felt like you deserved it, on days where you really felt like you earned it. 

When you look up, you see Changmin altering his point of view between the road and your face, a bashful smile playing with his features. “Bought it for you this time,” he notes, “as a new start.”

A sniffle. Your hands shake a little, your lungs betray you with the intake of oxygen. 

“No, you’re not gonna cry on me now,” he panics, shaking his head, “no, no, no. Open the chocolate and eat it, you moron, we don’t have time to be sentimental–” he grunts, although his intentions are too clear even without words– the silent support still makes your weak heart squeeze on itself. 

You laugh, unwrapping the chocolate and taking a bite. Somehow, you manage to let out:

“You remembered.”

“Of course,” he hums, “how could I forget, I mean, you had a whole hour-long dilemma about it back at the gas station–”

“Shut up, you’re ruining it,” you grunt, tearing a piece of the chocolate bar and holding it up in front of his lips, “I’ll share it with you this one time just to make you shut up,” you say, shaking your head.

The boy takes a hold of your wrist to steady it, taking the sweetness into his mouth. He stays silent for a bit as he chews on it, but his fingers still stay wrapped around your skin as he moves your hand away from his face, resting it on your thigh. Warmth covers the back of your palm as he rests his own on it, his digits intertwining with yours. When he squeezes your fist in tender reassurance, you feel your heart skip a beat.

Orange hues appear behind your window as you drive off the highway. The land is still sprouse with buildings, but you enjoy watching the sun slowly waltz onto the sky, greeting you into the new day. Watching the side of his face as he focuses on parking in front of a lone diner in the middle of nowhere, you finally get in tune with the fact that Ji Changmin’s everything you have right now– everyone you can lean on and fall back on. 

Maybe it’s been that way for a while now, but it only downs on you when you’re essentially on the same level now, no illusions playing with your mind– nobody’s son and nobody’s daughter.

“Breakfast!” he exclaims as he turns the engine off, seemingly impressed with his parking skills. When you get out of the car and he marches up to you, putting a cap onto your head and tugging it low to cover your face, ‘just in case’, tugging you by your hand into the diner, you can’t help but wonder– if anyone unsuspecting saw you right now, 

would you look like lovers, or partners in crime?

[drvscarlett]

About You Pt 10

Sebastian Vettel x Webber!Reader

Summary: Everyone knows about the history of Sebastian Vettel and Mark Webber. But there's a well kept story within the paddock about Sebastian Vettel and another Webber. This is that story.

About You Series

A/N: the calm before the multi 21 lore. are you ready for it??? i would like to know how you guys feel about this

Taglist: @spideybv28@randomcuboidshape @mehrmonga @casperlikej @cliosunshine @honethatty12 @randomgirlnumber-13 @sugyomama @ririyulife @skywalker1dream @vicurious28 @khaylin27 @0710khj @its-elias-world @vizzzashley @allisonwoods @taytaylala12 @miarabanana @ceciii-b @lindsayjoy444

2012, Winter break (December)

Even if Y/N was set on confessing after the Brazilian GP, she couldn't find Sebastian anywhere. She was a little bit upset by the loss of opportunity but Jenson assured that there may be another chance to do that again.

It was Christmas Eve when Sebastian Vettel appeared in front of her apartment. She was shocked that when she returned home after her morning jog, Sebastian was sitting outside her apartment door with a duffel bag. It gave her a deja vu of when Sebastian first won his WDC and he was out there waiting for her in her childhood home.

"You could have called me, what if I wasn't here"Y/N reprimanded.

"I called Michael and he told me the trip wasn't due till January. You are obviously not with Jenson as he is spending Christmas with his family. You are also not going home because I don't think you made up with your brother yet"Sebastian enumerates with a grin.

"You know everything about me, don't you"Y/N shakes her head.

"Well there are some things I still don't know about you"

Y/N frowned. With the amount of time spent together, it was obviously weird for Sebastian to miss out some details about her life especially with how attentive and updated Sebastian can be.

"Then go and ask away so you can satiate your curiosity" Y/N gave a green signal.

"This is more than the usual question and answer portion Y/N" Sebastian's tone was serious.

It was another rare occurrence. Sebastian was always the guy that laces his words with lightheartedness and some cheeky remarks. Seeing him go into his serious mode made Y/N put down her cup of hot choco.

"You know you could tell me anything"Y/N confirms.

Of course, Sebastian doesn't know it but Y/N is panicking. She wonders if Sebastian had already picked up her feelings and what if he doesn't reciprocate them. Things can go very awkward between them real quick.

"I wanted to ask something, please don't lie and just be real"Sebastian started "How do you feel about me?"

The blunt statement has Y/N taking a step back. She could hear a pin drop between the silence of the two of them. Sebastian seems to be waiting her answers and she was too scared to say the wrong words.

"You're my bestfriend Sebastian" the safest answer she could produce

"I know that but.."Sebastian closed his eyes "isn't there anything else you feel for me?"

What does he want me to say, Y/N mentally asked herself. She wonders if Sebastian was baiting her to tell her feelings. She is overthinking how this is all a very bad idea to do especially when Christmas is just a few hours away. Y/N couldn't simply deal with being heartbroken on Christmas day.

"Listen Y/N-"

"Seb I-"

The two chuckled as the tensions dwindles with the way they both spoke at the same time. It was like a perfectly timed comedy joke between the two of them.

"Let me go first and then I'll hear you out"Sebastian took the lead.

Y/N noticed how Sebastian's proximity has been closer with the way he gently held her hands. Her heart was pumping because she might be onto something special.

"I love you a lot"Sebastian laid it out, plain and simple.

"It has been a while since I harbored feelings for you. I am a coward and I have spent so many months and years trying to deny my feelings or running away from them but in the end I ended up looking for you every single time. Its you and it has always been you"

The words were english but it seems so foreign for Y/N's ears. She felt as if she was in an alternate reality because it seems unreal that Sebastian reciprocates her feelings.

"You like me?"Y/N repeated

"Like seems to be an understatement when I have been pining for you for years"Sebastian shyly admits "I think I love you now"

Her eyes looked at him to see if there was any malice or any false sense of hope that she can detect. She couldn't find any as his eyes were speaking to her genuinely.

Is this what love feels like?

"I understand that this is a lot for you to take in and I won't force things to work out if you are not ready. I am willing to wait and I am willing to make an effort to show you that I am sincere with my wishes"Sebastian started to ramble.

It was a funny sight because the usual overconfident driver was in a mess of words in front of a girl. Y/N gave him a kiss on the cheeks to assure him.

"I have feelings for you Seb"Y/N confessed "I have tried to tell you how I feel but it never seems to be a good timing and now you beat me to it"

Y/N could swear that Sebastian's pupils went wider as she was speaking. The look of disbelief in Sebastian's point of view is visible with his facial reaction.

"So are we like now together?"Sebastian awkwardly asked

There was still the pressing matter that Y/N's family is Mark aka Sebastian's teammate and his rival. It was still a little bit complicated if they will add the relationship into the mix.

"We can take this slow right?"Y/N wondered "I just don't want to rush things with all the tensions and problems"

Sebastian has already resigned with that idea that he has to keep the relationship on the low. But he was contented with that because now he knows how the both of them feel.

"We will take it slow then"

2013, Winter break (January)

"There is something different about the two of you"Michael noticed.

Sebastian felt like a deer caught in a headlights when his idol has suddenly popped out of the blue and had a pensive expression on his face.

"Maybe we are just adjusting to the alps altitudes" Sebastian joked.

Michael's eyes darted between Sebastian and Y/N. As a racing driver, it was like a second nature for him to be attentive of his surroundings as the slightest change could mean a lot to the whole competition. He believes that his years as a driver has given him keen insights to know if some relationships changed or leveled up.

"You confessed"Michael realized.

The evident blush on Sebastian was enough confirmation that Michael needs. He was absolutely thrilled by this information and he couldn't wait to tell his family all about it. They have been rooting for them for years.

"It happened Christmas eve and it sort of happened"Sebastian explains "But we're not currently with the labels as we are taking it slow so Mark doesn't freak out too much when we tell him"

"Tell me you confessed first"

"I did, how did you know that?"Sebastian was confused.

Michael just let out a loud laugh. He may have to call some of the grid drivers to tell them that they better prepare their money as they have lost big time. He was fairly certain that Sebastian would be the one to initiate a conversation and confess first.

"Good to hear, you just made a lot of us happy"

For Sebastian, it just felt surreal how he is conversing about Y/N as a special lady in his life. He felt giddy by the thought of it as he longingly looks at Y/N, who was currently playing with Gina and Mick.

"You are so down bad for Y/N"Michael observed "Young love"

"Was this how it feels when you met Corinna?"

When Sebastian tells you that Michael is his idol, he means that in every aspect. He admires him as a fantastic racing driver, as a family man, and even as a loving partner. He wanted to gain some insights as he didn't want to fuck up his relationship and Michael seems to have a good standing with how Corinna and him are going strong after all these years.

"How do you two manage your relationship?"Sebastian asked.

"I am very lucky as Corinna is very understanding and she would always love me through the good times and bad times. Being in a relationship with a driver is difficult as everything is placed under deep scrutiny but Corinna she loves me too much to be afraid of that"

Michael sits up straight as he felt like he was giving important life advices to his younger self.

"You really like Y/N, don't you?" Michael knew the answer to this.

"I love her at this point Michael"Sebastian's voice has no ounce of hesitation.

"Then let me tell you that you should always cherish her"Michael pointed out "Be loyal to her and fight for her. You never know what's coming but do this and its a guarantee that it will work out"

Their gaze drifted back to Y/N who was engaged in a snow fight with the kids. The thought in Sebastian mind crosses about maybe one day he will have kids of their own and they'll be having family trips like this with the Schumachers.

"If you two build a family, you better name the first born Michael"the older driver joked.

2013, Circuito de Jerez

It felt like a full circle moment when pre-testing season starts in Jerez. Seems like it was just yesterday that Y/N first encountered Sebastian in this same track and now a lot has changed.

"Penny for your thoughts?"Sebastian asked.

He gave her a kiss on the forehead as he gave her a cup of coffee. There was a certain lightheadedness that Y/N experience with the way Sebastian has been acting lovey dovey to her.

"We met each other in this circuit, do you remember?"Y/N informs.

There was a hint of confusement in Sebastian's face.

"As far as I could recall we first spoke in the Australian Grand Prix" Sebastian pointed out "I never knew you were already an admirer even before that point"

The teasing never seems to stop with Sebastian with his shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

"Go ahead and laugh but I'm not the one who confessed"

"That's fair I guess"Sebastian shrugged.

The two of them enjoyed the sound of the cars going around for the testing proper. It felt crazy how there is another upcoming season before them and Y/N could only pray for the the best.

"How are you feeling?"Y/N wondered "It seems like yesterday you're like that driver without a seat and looking to impress some teams with a single drive"

"Yeah I suppose it can feel weird that my future competitor might be somewhere over there" Sebastian thoughtfully stated.

"I'm sure Red Bull is dominating another season"Y/N is a boost of confidence for Sebastian.

The two of them spent the afternoon together as they watch some F2 drivers test their cars. Different teams definitely noticed the mix of the contrasting orange and navy uniform side by side with each other. It didn't take long before it reached Mark's intel.

2013, Melbourne Grand Prix Circuit

It wasn't until the Australian Grand Prix that Mark was able to meet Y/N in person. He have tried his best to reach out to her during the pre-testing season but she was surrounded by Sebastian or dragged into meetings with McLaren.

He really needs to speak to Y/N because he fears that she might be putting herself in a tricky situation.

"Y/N" The exhausted Mark finally saw her with a group of McLaren mechanics.

There was no Jenson or Sebastian anywhere near her so he might have a chance to speak with her freely.

"We need to talk, this is urgent"Mark's tone was a mix of begging and a command.

"Mark, you are not supposed to be here"one of the mechanics stepped up "Y/N we can call security if you-"

"That won't be necessary Ed, he is my brother and we'll just take a quick walk"Y/N interrupted.

The mechanics looked at Mark before meeting Y/N's gaze once again. They seem to be unsure about letting their employee go to the Red Bull driver regardless if he is her brother. But Y/N gave an okay signal and they left them all alone.

"You haven't spoken me for so long and now you are forcing me to talk to you"Y/N's voice was dull and without any excitement. Clearly she is still hurt by everything that transpired.

"I have been a bad brother, I know that"Mark admitted.

"Thanks for the obvious"

"But I'm here again because I don't want to be bad brother anymore"Mark added "I don't have the guts to see you feel more pain after everything I put you through"

Y/N stops on her tracks, she seems to understand that Mark knows something. She was scared that he might forbid her from forming any further relationship with Sebastian.

"You have to stop seeing Sebastian"

"What?"Y/N was furious "Who gives you a right to who should I and should I not date, this is so low of you Mark"

"Y/N please listen to me, I have my reasons to why you have to do this. Just listen to me"Mark was exasperated.

He is in the mental dilemma of telling her sister the plain truth of what he saw in Brazil. It will definitely crush her to know that she may be a third party in the relationship. Or he could not tell her and allow her to find out herself in the future which means more pain.

She may hate Mark forever but as an older brother he has to do this.

"I have heard you two have been going on and about but believe me Y/N, Sebastian is up to no good"Mark explained.

"You are just saying this without any grounds"

"Would you believe me if I told you things?" Mark rebutted.

There was a silence between them. Mark knew that he lost Y/N's trust a long time ago because of their unnecessary fighting. He doesn't know what he could do to make her trust him again.

"Did he ever tell you about what happened in Brazil 2012?"Mark wondered.

Y/N wavered as she realized that it was also that time that she was looking for Sebastian but he was nowhere to be seen. She felt curious to what Mark is implying with his statements.

"Stop speaking in riddles and tell me"

"You should ask Seb about it"Mark pushed "I cannot witness you to be in more pain than what he puts you through already"

The younger Webber cries out in frustration. She was so sick of Mark speaking vaguely and planting seeds of doubt in her head. She was finally happy and now Mark is ruining everything again.

"I don't understand any of this"Y/N was frustrated "Just tell me what's going on"

"Y/N I'm so sorry but I-"

"This is all just bullshit isn't it"Y/N lashed "You are just saying these things to further complicate things and prevent us from dating. Stop trying to fucking control my life Mark"

The exchanges of words reopened wounds that haven't healed. It was the first time that Y/N saw Mark tear up because of her words and she immediately regretted what she said.

"I am just doing what I know to protect you Y/N. I never meant to hurt you."Mark was fighting his tears but failing "I hope that when you know the truth then you can understand why I am doing this"

"Mark wait.."

But the Red Bull driver already walked away briskly.

[mew-less]

💫 MOOMIN AU INTRODUCTION 💫

Welcome to the Garden AU! This has been my passion project for over 2 years, and I’m excited to finally present it to you all! I hope you will join me as I tell the story of the Garden AU to the world! :-)

Interested? Click ‘keep reading’ below to see the premise of the AU and the characters, as well as some info about the arcs!

💫 THE STORY 💫

This AU mainly follows Moomintroll and his friends as they adventure together, both inside and far outside of the valley. Their adventures start out fairly lighthearted, but when they discover that their own lives mysteriously reflect what is known about the lives of ‘The Pillars’, also known as the founders of magic, they seek to uncover the missing pieces of their stories and solve the mystery of the King’s Ruby and its uncertain origins.

💫 THE CHARACTERS 💫

(icons coming soon! technical difficulties 💔)

Moomintroll

Species: Moomin (+witch) The enthusiastic Moomintroll, the self-proclaimed “leader” of the group and aspiring adventurer. It was his idea to bring everyone together to uncover the Pillars’ stories! He may be stubborn and hotheaded at times, but the love and warmth he has for his friends will always ground him in the end. Song I associate with him: Soap by The Oh Hellos

Snufkin

Species: Half jackalope, half mumrik The mysterious Snufkin, with the unique ability to turn invisible at will. While he and Moomin initially may not have had the best start, he will always come back to the valley to greet him each spring. While he appears stable and sure, rumors spread fast, and the winds are saying he’s keeping parts of him in the dark. Song I associate with him: What’s in the Middle by The Bird and the Bee

Snorkmaiden

Species: Snork A princess living abroad in the quiet Moominvalley. Her and her brother were dropped off at the Moominhouse years ago by their mother for unknown reasons. Don’t let her sweet nature fool you, she can brew up quite a storm! Song I associate with her: Once Upon a December from Anastasia

Snork

Species: …Snork A prince to match the princess. This curious inventor isn’t a fan of magic and prefers the predictability of science, but his roots as a magical creature are at odds with his ideals. Song I associate with him: Not decided

Sniff

Species: half dragon A half-dragon that was adopted into the Moomin family many years ago after a great storm. While on the surface he seems to be a mighty selfish beast with an eye for treasure, it seems his friends may take him for granted more than they realize. Song I associate with him: Not decided

Little My

Species: Half jackalope A “halfalope” like her brother, although she doesn’t possess the same ability to turn invisible since she lacks the mumrik genes. Her snarky attitude can prove to be quite a motivator even if it gets on other’s nerves. She’s a tiny trickster who knows a lot more than she lets on! Song I associate with her: Not decided

💫 THE ARCS 💫

The story is split up into 3 main arcs. The first arc focuses on establishing relationships and the world around them, eventually leading into the beginnings of their journey in Arc 2!

💫 ARC ONE 💫

Chapters:

To Be Determined

First chapter: There’s a mysterious newcomer in Moominvalley… but Moomin is the only one who can see him!

💫 EXTRA 💫

While this AU is fairly Snufmin-centric, I have developed stories for all of the main characters and each will have their moment to shine!! I hope to bring something for everyone with the Garden AU <3

This AU will be presented in Comic form! I am a fairly busy and tired person however, and pages may come out slowly.

[likeadevils]

talk more about taylor lying to make a cleaner story! i also find it hilarious but am only aware of a few examples (love story, i wish you would). are there others that you can elaborate on?

yeah! a lot of these are going to be splitting hairs a bit, and i understand her reasoning for all of these, and also this is by far one of my favorite things about her like i love every time she does this.

speak now:

famously, taylor said originally speak now being solo-written was an accident, because she was spending so much time alone in hotels and writing at werid hours of the night. this is not true, she's said many times she lied about this and did it to prove that she was writing her own songs and not getting pity credits or whatever

(THIS IS THE MOST SUBJECTIVE AND OUTSIDER PERSPECTIVE ENTRY ON THE LIST) back to december makes it seem like taylor had much deeper feelings for taylor lautner than she did. i dont think they were ever exclusive; she wrote both enchanted and ours about other people while her and taylor were ostensibly dating. i think taylor squared just went on a couple dates and when lautner tried to make it exclusive in december, swift turned him down

the secret message to mine is 'toby', which is the name of the guy who starred in the music video. i have heard persistent rumors that mine is about a college guy she dated in early 2010, and his name might be toby, but at the very least she's trying to trick us

red:

taylor told this to the la times: “I knew I wanted to bookend the album with 'State of Grace' and 'Begin Again' because they're inspired by the same person who inspired a few songs on the record. I wanted to start and end the album with the first and last song I ever wrote about that relationship." i can't definitively say state of grace wasn't the first song she wrote about that relationship (though she has said all too well is the first song she wrote for the album), i can definitively say she wrote wanegbt four months after she wrote begin again

taylor said this about red: "When I'm writing a record, I kind of don't listen to much music [...] the only artists that I really listened to were Snow Patrol and Ed Sheeran, and that's the reason why I wanted to collaborate with those people on the record." taylor gave many updates on what she was listening to throughout writing red, most notably the arm lyrics on the speak now tour. she gave occasional shout outs to what she was listening to on twitter and instagram into the spring of 2012, and various artists have talked about her complimenting recently relased songs at the time. this is one of my favorites like this made me laugh out loud when i first read it

the secret message for everything has changed, a song she wrote in may, is "hyiannis port", implying that it is about her relationship with connnor kenedy, who she met two months after writing the song

every single time she implied ikywt was about harry in 2013. i don't think it's a complete lie, but she did start writing the song about three months before she met him. finished it after the first time they broke up though

1989:

while taylor (as far as we know) did not have a long term boyfriend in 2013, she did go on dates (funniest one is with tom odell, who wrote this song about her), and it seems like some of those dates were with the intention of finding something more permanent (hence her disappointed "Dating is awful. Love is fiction/ a myth. I’m over it all.").

this and many, many interviewers where taylor says that she got the idea to make a 80s album after losing album of the year at the grammy's (she tells a lot of different stories about that night). bonus points if she says she had “accidentally” been incorporating 80s synths before that. it seems like taylor had the idea to make an 80s pop album around may of 2013 (to many little sources for this one, check my 1989 timeline), and taylor explicitly requested ryan tedder to make 80s pop for her before the grammy's where she lost album of the year.

taylor did not move to new york until after 1989 (at least non-tv) was finished

taylor didn't move from nashville to new york. she largely moved out of nashville to LA in early 2012, and spent a good portion of 2013 split between LA and rhode island.

reputation

taylor: "'I Did Something Bad' I wrote after Arya and Sansa conspire to kill Littlefinger." that episode aired in august of 2017. we have video proof of her writing idsb in october of 2016. now, filming for that season did begin in august of 2016 and lasted for another 6 months, so she could've been receiving insider information? but in the same article she said she was avoiding spoilers and she seems to be unaware of the upcoming events in season 8. i don't know what's going on here i love it

various sessioners have reported that taylor said she wrote all the songs on reputation for reputation, not years in advance. it seems like she had some lyrics for ready for it, dress, and new years day written years in advance. this is the most nit picky entry on this list and i’m annoying myself just by writing it

lover

taylor: "I posted [the seven palm trees] the day the I finished the seventh album." taylor did not finish the album in february, she definitely added death by a thousand cuts after april 24, and likely added london boy in july, something she knew at the time of giving the interview.

this interview about the making of lover (the song): "Interviewer: [Jack] was calling that the Paul bass, is that Paul McCartney? Taylor: Yeah. [Two seconds later] Jack: It's not a true Paul bass at all."

folklore and evermore

the statement that inspired this post, that folklore was the first time taylor wrote non-autobiographical songs! not true! large swathes of debut, fearless, and speak now are about made up scenarios! best believe taylor swift, born in 1989, did not meet bobby on the boardwalk in the summer of '45!

this interview with paul mccartney, where she says there is a song on folklore about "a pioneer woman in a forbidden love affair" (ivy, a song on evermore), and when asked what books inspired her on folklore, named Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier, the book that inspired tolerate it (another song on evermore).

edit cause i forgot: those joe credits on folklore are. so funny. no he did not. like i generally take taylor at something approximating her word but i'm gonna need some proof on this one. exile and betty i buy everything else is ridiculous. queen shit though

as for midnights-on, only time will tell. she also just does less interviews now so there’s less opportunities to catch her flubbing

[agentstarkid]

ENCHANTED TO MEET YOU ✦ DR3

✦ DEBRIEF: Amid the vibrant energy of a New Year's Eve party, chance encounters led to unexpected connections where captivating eyes, a charming accent, and a carefree personality were all she needed to be forever enchanted by his presence.

✦ PAIRINGS: daniel ricciardo x famous!latina!reader

✦ CHECKERED FLAG: 7.3K words

✦ TRACK LIMITS: female!reader, latina!reader, fluff, really sappy thoughts, there's a nine-year age gap.

✦ MAY'S RADIO: holis babes! i'm back with another attempt at writing! the last chapters were angsty and i needed a lil bit of equilibrium so please enjoy reading how the night they met went. Y'all can thank Tally for it <3 + FYI, the next chapter is nowhere being finished yet—this is a little treat for y'all because of that— this past month has been crazy at my job and the chia seeds' harvest season starts in June so I'm not sure how much time—or energy—I'll have. I'd probably be a bit absent but I'll try my best to keep this show going. Also, can you guys find all the references? 👀 PLEASEEEE let me know what you think of this. 'kay, byeee.

< previous chapter | series masterlist | general masterlist | next chapter >

December 31st, 2019 | 6:27 p.m.

As the world buzzed with excitement in anticipation of the approaching New Year, with its promises of new beginnings and fresh starts, I found myself yearning for something different. While others eagerly made plans for extravagant celebrations and wild parties, my heart longed for the simple comforts of home. The allure of crowded festivities and glittering fireworks paled in comparison to the warmth of my own cozy sanctuary, where I could embrace solitude. In a world that seems to thrive on noise and commotion, all I desired was the quiet embrace of familiarity and peace.

Despite my steadfast resolve to stay home, I found myself facing relentless persuasion from a certain Dutch DJ, my long-time friend Martin Garrix. His invitations to join him at a New Year's Eve party in New York, where he was scheduled to perform, grew more insistent with each passing week. Not content to pursue this endeavor alone —and knowing he wouldn’t be able to win this battle by himself—, Martin enlisted the help of my closest confidantes—Fio, my ever-reliable personal assistant; Vittoria, the vivacious soul who never shies away from adventure; and Danna, the wise and grounding presence in our lives.

You'd think that at 21, with a career that keeps reaching new heights everyday, I'd be excited to join those types of celebrations.

Nuh-uh.

Years ago, the prospect of attending a high-profile party filled with celebrities and socialites would have thrilled me beyond measure. Back then, I reveled in the glamour and excitement, relishing the chance to mingle with the elite and bask in the spotlight.

Furthermore, the aftermath of my final breakup with Harry —after two years together and the last year of it being on-and-off— had left me feeling disillusioned and wary of the intentions of those around me. Once the darling of the celebrity circuit, I now found myself excluded from the inner circles I once frequented, my invitations to exclusive events dried up almost overnight. It's a harsh reality I had to come to terms with, one that has left me questioning the true nature of the friendships I once held so dear.

With Martin's persistent pleas ringing in my ears, I gathered my resolve and attempted to explain my desire for a quiet evening in. “Guys, I really appreciate the effort, but I just want to stay home tonight,” I insisted, sinking deeper into the cushions of the couch. “I've been looking forward to a High School Musical marathon all week.”

Fio, my fiery assistant, raised an incredulous eyebrow. “High School Musical? Are you serious, chica? This is New Year's Eve! Yo lo que quiero es que salgas a janguear patabajo y pasarla de show. You can watch Zac Efron dance any other night!” Hailing from the sun-kissed shores of Puerto Rico, she wore her heritage proudly, her voice ringed out with the rhythmic cadence of her native land.

Vittoria, the true embodiment of Brazilian beauty and spirit with her sun-kissed complexion and luminous smile, chimed in with a playful grin. “Yeah, fofinha, come on! You can even ask Martin to play ‘The Start of Something Newʼ if it pleases you,” she grabbed my left hand between both of hers and tugged at it, “We can dance and sing along to Zac Efron together at the party!” she exclaimed, shaking my arm excitedly. 

Well... I could definitely ask Martin to play it, he'd probably say yes in a heartbeat if it meant I would cave in and go to this party. After all, he's been awfully insistent on my attendance. 

Danna, the 23-year-old American with an effortless grace and quiet confidence, offered a gentle smile. “I understand wanting a cozy night in, but trust me, you'll regret missing out on this party. It'll be a night to remember.” she punned with a wink and smiled when Vitto offered her an enthusiastically high five. Vitto sometimes reminded me of a puppy with an impressive amount of energy and excitement, always prompting me to try and keep up with her and leave my comfort zone.

Despite their protests, I remained steadfast in my decision. There was no way I was moving from this couch. “Thanks, guys, but I'm sticking to my plan. You all go ahead and have fun without me.” However, I was but a simple human surrounded by three forces of nature and it was super clear that my friends had other ideas and soon they were bustling around me, pulling me off the couch and insisting I get ready for the night ahead.

Reluctantly, I allowed the girls to coax me off the couch and into action. With Fio's enthusiastic energy, Vittoria's impeccable sense of style, and Danna's calming presence, they transformed my quiet night in into a whirlwind of preparation for the party.

Fio rummaged through my closet, pulling out a stunning short dress made with net-woven high-end silver jewelry that would—quoting her—help highlight and show mi sazón latino among the precious stones, while Vittoria offered her expert opinion on the perfect outfit. “Uff mami, that definitely screams ‘New Year's Eve glam’!” she declared, holding up the sparkling ensemble that catched the light just right. 

Meanwhile, Danna took charge of my hair and makeup, opting for a soft, glamorous look. “You're going to turn heads tonight, babes,” she assured me, brushing a hint of shimmer onto my cheeks. 

Despite my initial resistance, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of excitement as I watched my reflection transform before my eyes.

“Who knows, babes,” Danna paused, carefully applying a nude shade gloss to my lips. “Maybe you’ll find your own Troy Bolton tonight, and have your own The Start of Something New moment” she wiggled her eyebrows playfully.

“You are on a roll tonight with the puns and references, aren’t you Dannita?” Fio peeked out her head from inside my closet and asked jokingly, letting out a laugh while she ducked from a damp sponge lightheartedly tossed her way by Danna.

“Nossa, cara! Você parece uma deusa!” Vitto exclaimed, her voice filled with genuine admiration. (Wow, dude! You look like a goddess!)

A blush crept up my cheeks at her compliment, and I turned to Danna with a grateful smile. “Seriously, Danni, you've outdone yourself,” I praised her, marveling at her skill in transforming me for the evening. “Thank you for making me feel like royalty.”

With a modest smile, Danna accepted my gratitude, her eyes shining with pride at the success of her handiwork. And then, just as the last finishing touches were being applied, she posed the inevitable question: “So, what are your New Year's resolutions?”

With a playful grin, I shrugged, the weight of the question settling over me like a familiar cloak. “I think this year,” I replied, my voice tinged with determination, “I just want to have fun and focus on myself. No boys, no drama, just me.” It was a simple resolution, yet one that carried a weight of significance, a commitment to prioritize my own happiness and well-being above all else.

As I sat there, unaware of their subtle exchange, the girls exchanged knowing glances and smiles, a silent understanding passing between them. Little did I know, they had orchestrated this moment with a shared knowledge of Martin's plans for the evening.

After I was allowed to rose from my seat, I grabbed and put on the large hoops and a set of very discreet rings that Vitto opted for, she explained to me that the expensive design I was wearing ‘perfectly adorned my tanned skin in such a way that I did not need almost any other accessory to elevate the look to its maximum potential’. 

As I waited for the girls to finish getting ready, I idly scrolled through my WhatsApp contacts' status updates, seeking a distraction from the anticipation bubbling inside me. My mom uploaded a video showing all the food they had cooked for dinner. A homesick feeling hit me even if I just came back from spending two weeks at home. Next, Martin’s status showed up on my screen, he posted a photo showcasing his DJ set getting set up for the party. I tapped on his name and took a quick selfie flipping him off playfully and sent it, he didn’t take long to respond with “Does this mean I won?” followed by two pairs of eyes emoji. “Yes” I answered, also followed with the rolling eyes emoji. 

I scrolled through a couple others, when I stumbled upon Selena’s. She posted a selfie all dolled up with her friends and pinned New York City as her location which piqued my curiosity. I composed a brief message, my fingers dancing over the keys as I typed out a casual inquiry about her plans for New Year's Eve in NYC. A response appeared on my screen moments later, “Hey girl! We’re actually heading to a party at The Bowery Hotel. What about you?” a smile tugged at the corners of my lips as excitement coursed through my body, I haven’t seen Sel in a while! We’ve been friends for years and she was one of the few people that was always there to lend me an ear and words of advice whenever I went through a rough patch in my life. “No way! That's where we’re going too! Maybe we'll bump into each other!”

“That’s awesome!!!!! I'll keep an eye out for you. See you there!” she replied. I let out a little happy sigh and shook my head. With my friends by my side, laughter filling the room, I began to anticipate the night ahead with a newfound sense of anticipation. Maybe, just maybe, this New Year's Eve won't be so bad after all.

Unbeknownst to the singer, Martin's persistent efforts to persuade her to attend the party were driven by a secret agenda. For months, he has harbored a hidden desire to introduce her to a friend of his, in the hopes of sparking a connection between them. Despite Martin's best intentions, his attempts to orchestrate their meeting have thus far been thwarted by her obliviousness to his matchmaking schemes.

After receiving the confirmation that the first part of his plan had been successful, Martin discreetly sent a text message to his friend, informing him of her attendance. “She's finally agreed to come,” he typed, a hint of excitement evident in his words. “Be ready to charm her off her feet.”

On a different hotel floor, a 5'10'' curly-haired Aussie’s mind raced with possibilities, wondering who this mystery woman could be.

With a shrug, he tapped out a quick reply, his fingers flying over the keys as he crafted a response. “Sounds intriguing,” he typed, his tone laced with a hint of amusement. “Looking forward to meeting her. Just hope I can keep up with your high expectations mate!” As he hit send, Daniel couldn't shake the feeling of anticipation that lingered in the air.

Daniel's phone buzzed again with a response from Martin, and he couldn't help but chuckle at the playful banter that ensued. “Oh, don't worry,” Martin's message read, “I have complete faith in you. Just be yourself, that’s all you need”

Daniel grinned at his friend's confidence. Despite not knowing much about this mysterious woman, he couldn't deny the thrill of anticipation that coursed through his veins. With a sense of determination, he resolved to make the most of this opportunity, determined to leave a lasting impression on whoever this enigmatic figure turned out to be.

Little did he know, this chance encounter would set the stage for a fateful meeting that would change the course of his life in ways he never could have imagined.

As the sleek black car pulled up to the curb outside The Bowery Hotel, the pulsating energy of New York City's nightlife enveloped us like a warm embrace. Stepping out onto the bustling sidewalk, we were greeted by the soft glow of string lights and the distant hum of music drifting from the rooftop above.

Linking arms, we made our way through the elegant lobby of the hotel, the click of our heels echoing against the polished marble floors. Excitement crackled in the air as we rode the elevator to the top floor, anticipation mounting with each passing moment.

As the doors slid open to reveal the rooftop terrace bathed in the soft glow of fairy lights, we were met with a breathtaking view of the city skyline glittering against the night sky. The sound of laughter and conversation filled the air, mingling with the infectious beat of the music that pulsed through the crowd.

We stepped out onto the terrace and navigated through the crowd, the scent of champagne and laughter filled the air; our eyes alight with wonder as we took in the scene before us. The air was alive with the hum of excitement for the new year ahead.

Finding a secluded corner of the rooftop, I paused and craned my neck in search of the blond responsible for me being away from my cozy apartment that night. I spotted him talking with some people near where his set was set up. When our eyes met, he waved enthusiastically, his excitement palpable even from a distance.

Exchanging quick pleasantries, Martin excused himself from the group he was chatting with, his strides purposeful as he made his way towards our little circle. With a grin that could light up the entire city, Martin reached our group, his charismatic presence immediately drawing us in. “Ladies, you look stunning tonight,” he greeted us with a cheeky smile on his face, “and well, well, well, look who decided to grace us with her presence,” he teased, his voice laced with playful banter as he directed his attention towards me.

I couldn't help but roll my eyes in mock exasperation, a smirk playing at the corners of my lips. “I had four people ganging up on me, Martin, I couldn't exactly resist for long” I replied, my tone teasing as I shot him a playful glare.

Martin chuckled, his laughter infectious as he leaned in to give me a playful nudge. “That's what I like to hear! Now, let's show you what you almost missed by being a grumpy old lady tonight,” he exclaimed, his enthusiasm contagious as he gestured towards the bustling rooftop party surrounding us.

Half an hour later, Daniel made his way through the vibrant crowd, his eyes scanning the faces around him, he caught sight of Martin amidst the sea of revelers. With a nod of recognition, he approached his friend, a curious glint in his eyes. 

Martin turned towards him with a grin, anticipation dancing in his eyes. “Hey! What’s up, mate?” he gave him a quick hug. “She's already here," Martin exclaimed, his voice tinged with excitement.

Daniel's interest was piqued, and he glanced around the crowded rooftop, searching for any indication of who Martin was referring to. “Oh, really?” Daniel replied, his curiosity evident in his tone.

Martin nodded eagerly, but instead of gesturing towards our group, he simply smiled mysteriously. “Yep, but I'll introduce you later. Duty calls,” he said with a shrug, gesturing towards the stage where he was needed.

Daniel's brow furrowed slightly in confusion, but he simply nodded in understanding as Martin hurried off to fulfill his obligations. 

Martin's cryptic reply intrigued Daniel, sparking his curiosity further. He decided not to dwell on it for too long. With a shrug, he turned his attention back to the lively atmosphere of the party, eager to enjoy the night ahead. As he mingled with his friends, his thoughts occasionally drifted back to Martin's enigmatic words, wondering who exactly the DJ was referring to and what significance they held. But for now, he was content to simply soak in the excitement of the moment and let the night unfold as it may.

As Daniel's gaze lazily scanned the room, it landed on a group of vibrant individuals, among whom stood a figure that instantly commanded his attention. His eyes locked onto hers, and he felt a jolt of electricity course through him as their gazes met. In that fleeting moment, the noise of the party faded into the background, and all he could focus on was the captivating presence of the woman before him. Despite the nagging reminder of his supposed obligation to meet someone else, he found himself unable to tear his gaze away from her, his curiosity piqued and his interest unmistakably piqued.

Throughout the night, I found myself engaged in conversation with Selena and both of our friend groups, along with a few others who had approached us. However, the initial excitement I had felt was beginning to wane as my social battery ran low. I forced laughter and plastered on fake smiles as the people around us tried to create conversation, drawn to us for our status and connections rather than genuine friendship. My walls were up and I couldn’t help but be filled with nostalgia for the days when I effortlessly navigated the social whirlwind. God knows how I was able to endure all that, but now, that shiny façade of fame no longer held the appeal it once had. My eyes kept shifting around the multitude, trying to find an escape in the midst of the bustling party. Martin had to leave us after a while to greet other people that I’m sure he also invited. And now he was on the stage making sure everything was ready for the show, so that ruled him out of the equation. 

I found myself wishing I could channel Fio's bold attitude, and just tell all these phonies to go pal’ carajo. She had this undeniable strength and fearlessness about her that I envied. I couldn't imagine myself possessing even a fraction of her confidence. Yet, all of these thoughts melted away when my gaze landed on his face across the rooftop.

In that moment, it felt as though the chaos around me dissipated, leaving only him in sharp focus. Our eyes met, and a smile graced his lips, instantly captivating me. There was something magnetic about him, an inexplicable allure that drew me in without a word spoken.

His smile held a warmth that felt achingly familiar, as if we shared some unspoken connection that transcended the bounds of time and place. With each passing moment, his gaze seemed to deepen, as though delving into the depths of my soul with a silent question: “Have we met before?” It was a question that echoed in the recesses of my mind, sparking a curiosity that I couldn't shake.

As I stood there, locked in this wordless exchange, I couldn't help but wonder about the secrets hidden behind those piercing eyes. Despite the throng of people around us, it felt as though we were the only two souls in the room, bound together by an invisible thread of fate.

Suddenly, his silhouette cut through the crowd, moving with purpose and determination. With each step he took, my heart quickened its pace, anticipation rising in tandem with the rhythm of my pulse. The air crackled with a silent energy and I found myself holding my breath caught in the gravity of his presence. The distance between us narrowed, until finally, he stood before me, his eyes locking onto mine with a magnetic intensity that sent shivers down my spine.

As he extended his hand towards me, a rush of warmth flooded through me, tingling at the touch of his skin against mine. “Hey,” he said, his voice smooth and resonant, sending a ripple of anticipation coursing through me. “I'm Daniel.” His name rolled off his tongue with a certain charm and a twinge of an accent, and I couldn't help but feel drawn to him even more. 

“Hi” I managed to say, attempting to regain my composure. “I'm Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he repeated, the name rolling off his tongue with a hint of curiosity. “Lovely name for a lovely lady.”

I could feel my cheeks flush at his compliment. “Thanks,” I replied, trying to play it cool. The spell broke for a moment as he suddenly realized that there was a group of people staring at him, his own cheeks seemed to redden for a second but he recovered fast and greeted them with a radiant smile. I couldn't help but admire the way he carried himself with such effortless charm. The realization sinked in that this wasn't just any charming stranger – holy shit, this was Daniel Ricciardo, the Formula 1 driver. 

A playful glint danced in his eyes as his eyes drifted back to me, and a mischievous smile tugged at the corners of his lips. His easy charm catched me off guard, and I found myself blushing involuntarily. I stole a quick glance at my friends, who shot me knowing looks, clearly amused by my reaction. It's as if they could read my mind, teasing me silently. 

Okay Y/N, keep your cool. He is just a dude, I thought as I tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. He is a gorgeous, smoking hot dude with a megawatt smile who smells wonderful. ¡Agh, mierda!. 

Yeah, I was fucked. I guessed it was time to put those acting skills to use.

“So, Daniel, what brings you to this fabulous party?” I tilted my head as I asked, I prayed it came out in a flirty but nonchalant way and not in a way that revealed the nervous flutter in my stomach. Daniel grinned, his gaze lingered on me. “Well, a friend insisted that I come, said it was going to be the party of the year. And, I must say, meeting someone as captivating as you was an unexpected bonus.”

A light blush spreaded across my cheeks at his words, and I glanced away momentarily, trying to regain my composure. “Flattery will get you everywhere, won't it?”

He grinned, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “I certainly hope so.”

I chuckled, trying to play it cool. “Well, we'll just have to see about that, won't we?”

He grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Challenge accepted,” he replied, leaning in closer. With a playful smirk, he asked, “But first, would you like to grab a drink?”

The playful exchange between us continued as we made our way towards the bar, the atmosphere around us seemingly faded into the background as we became engrossed in each other's company.

Our playful banter flowed effortlessly, each quip and witty remark met with a matching response from the other. It's like we were in our own little world, oblivious to the party swirling around us as we exchanged jokes and anecdotes. There's something about him that feels like coming home, yet I know we've never crossed paths before. His genuine smile and easygoing demeanor put me at ease, and I found myself opening up to him more than I had in a long time. 

We both paused to stare at the DJ in his element, the corners of my mouth turned up when the Dutchy’s words ringed in my head: I almost missed this by being a grumpy old lady. I glanced over to find him already fixated on me, he smiled at me softly and a soft flutter danced in the pit of my stomach as I caught his eyes lingering on my lips. Was it just my imagination, or did the air around us suddenly crackle with an electric charge?

I tried to keep my tone light, “So, what's been the highlight of your evening so far?”

“If you’d asked me this about two hours ago I’d say the good vibes and great company,” he replied smoothly, his gaze never leaving mine. “But now that I've found you, I think I've found the best part of the evening.”

“Oh, stop it,” I chuckled, feeling my cheeks warm further.

“I mean it,” he insisted, his eyes sparkling with sincerity. “You've got this magnetic energy about you. I couldn't resist coming over to say hi.”

I felt a flutter in my stomach at his words. “Well, I'm glad you did,” I replied, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips. “It's nice to meet someone genuine at a party like this.”

Daniel grinned, leaning in a little closer. “Tell me about it. Most people here seem more interested in flashing cameras and rubbing elbows with celebrities than having a real conversation.”

I nodded in agreement, feeling a sense of relief wash over me that he felt the same way. “Exactly. It's refreshing to find someone who values authenticity.”

His smile widened. “Well, authenticity is my middle name,” he quipped, earning a laugh from me.

“Is it really?” I teased back, raising an eyebrow playfully.

He chuckled softly. “Not quite, but close enough,” he replied. The sound of his laughter was like music to my ears, washing over me in gentle waves. I couldn't help but smile in return, feeling a warmth spread through me at the sight of his genuine amusement. There was something so effortlessly charming about him, something that made it impossible not to be drawn to him.

As the clock ticked closer to midnight, Martin, from his place behind his console, grabbed the microphone, sending a burst of excitement through the crowd. The music softened, and all eyes turned towards him, eager to hear what he had to say. With a smile, he leaned into the mic.

“Alright, everyone! Get ready, because we're about to kick off the countdown to the new year!” his voice boomed over the speakers, igniting cheers and applause.

Daniel and I exchanged surprised glances, realizing how swiftly time had slipped away during our conversation. A sheepish grin spread across our faces as we chuckled at the realization.

“Wow, can you believe it?” Daniel exclaimed, his eyes wide with amazement.

Shaking my head in disbelief, I replied, “I know, right? It feels like we just got here!”

But despite our astonishment, there was an undeniable excitement in the air as we eagerly awaited the start of the countdown. Time may have slipped away unnoticed, but we were more than ready to welcome the new year with open arms.

With the pulsating energy of the crowd and the anticipation building up, Martin's announcement seemed to mark a pivotal moment in the night. It was as if time paused for just a brief moment, allowing us to reflect on the year gone by and the possibilities that lay ahead.

As the countdown began, the atmosphere on the terrace grew electric. Each second ticking by felt charged with anticipation, drawing us closer to the threshold of a new beginning. Daniel and I joined in with the crowd, counting down in unison as the numbers on the screen dwindled.

“Ten!... Nine!... Eight!” The voices around us echoed, filling the place with excitement and joy.

As the final seconds ticked away before the stroke of midnight, I stole a moment to scan the crowd, searching for familiar faces amidst the sea of revelers. My gaze locked onto Fio, Vitto, and Danna, who were huddled together nearby. Fio, ever perceptive, caught my gaze first. With a playful nudge to Vitto and Danna, she directed their attention towards me, and they turned in unison, their eyes met mine with knowing looks and a mischievous grin spread across their faces.

With playful antics, they puckered their lips in exaggerated kissy faces, teasing me in a lighthearted manner. I couldn't help but roll my eyes at their antics, a light blush tinting my cheeks in response to their jovial teasing.

Amidst the playful exchange, a fleeting thought crossed my mind. I wondered, for just a moment, if perhaps Daniel, standing closer than before, was considering the same playful gesture. But before I could dwell on the thought, the clock struck midnight, and the room erupted into cheers and celebration.

As the cheers filled the air, Daniel and I turned to each other with shy smiles, caught up in the infectious excitement of the moment. “Happy New Year,” we said simultaneously, our voices barely audible above the din of the crowd.

For a brief moment, there was a subtle shift in the air, a silent pause that seemed to linger between us. In that fleeting instant, it felt as if time slowed down, and I found myself meeting Daniel's gaze, our eyes locking in a silent exchange filled with unspoken thoughts and emotions.

There was a palpable tension, a delicate balance hanging in the air, as if both of us were teetering on the edge of something unspoken. In that moment, it seemed as though Daniel might lean in, his movements tentative and hesitant, as if contemplating a gesture that could change everything.

Was he gonna kiss me? Oh, I wouldn’t be mad if he stole a kiss. 

Or several.

But then, just as quickly as the moment had arisen, it passed. With a soft smile and a gentle nod, Daniel seemed to reconsider, pulling back slightly as if to preserve the moment's delicate equilibrium. And in that simple gesture, the unspoken understanding between us remained.

As the moment hung in the air between Daniel and me, on the brink of something uncertain, the sounds of joyous screams suddenly pierced through the atmosphere, drawing our attention away.

Before I could fully process what was happening, I felt warm arms wrap around me, pulling me into an exuberant embrace. It was the girls, Fio, Vitto, and Danna, their laughter mingling with the cheers of the crowd as they enveloped me in their enthusiastic greeting.

"Happy New Year!" they exclaimed in unison, their voices filled with genuine warmth and excitement.

I couldn't help but chuckle at the timing of their arrival, grateful for the distraction from the almost-kiss tension that had begun to linger between Daniel and me. With their infectious energy and playful banter, they effortlessly diffused the slight awkwardness that had threatened to overshadow the moment.

As we exchanged hugs and well wishes, I couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude for their timely intervention. In their presence, the lingering tension dissipated, replaced by a sense of sisterhood and shared joy.

And as we laughed and celebrated together, I couldn't shake the feeling that perhaps some moments were meant to be savored, not rushed. Whatever the future held for Daniel and me, I knew that in that moment, I was exactly where I was meant to be.

With infectious enthusiasm, the girls dragged me towards the terrace railings, eager to get a better view of the fireworks illuminating the night sky. Laughing and chatting animatedly, we leaned against the railing, our eyes fixed on the colorful explosions lighting up the darkness.

As we marveled at the spectacle unfolding before us, Daniel excused himself with a smile, promising to join us in just a moment. I watched him disappear into the crowd, his easy charm drawing smiles and greetings from everyone he came across.

Alone for a brief moment amidst the excitement of the celebration, I took a deep breath, allowing myself to soak in the energy of the night. The air was alive with anticipation, the promise of new beginnings hanging in the air like a tangible presence.

And as the fireworks continued to paint the sky with bursts of color and light, I couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the moments shared with friends, old and new. In that fleeting moment of tranquility, amidst the chaos of the celebration, I found solace in the knowledge that no matter where life took us, our bonds would always endure, guiding us through the highs and lows of the journey ahead. I felt grateful to call these incredible women my friends. And as the last remnants of the fireworks faded into the night, I turned to raise my glass in a toast with the girls following, my heart full with the promise of the new year ahead.

Just as I turned back to try and catch a glimpse of a certain Aussie in the crowd, Daniel appeared at my side with a warm smile. His eyes sparkled with the residual excitement of the celebration, and his easygoing demeanor put me at ease.

“Hey there,” he greeted me, his voice carrying over the lingering echoes of the fireworks. “Did you enjoy the show?”

I returned his smile with a nod, the exhilaration of the moment still coursing through my veins. “It was amazing,” I replied, my voice filled with genuine awe. “I can't believe how quickly the year flew by.”

Daniel chuckled softly, his gaze drifting towards the horizon where the last traces of the fireworks faded into the darkness. “Yeah, 2019 feels like it was yesterday,” he quipped, a playful twist to his words.

I couldn't help but laugh at his silly joke, shaking my head in amusement. Despite its simplicity, his humor didn’t fail to bring a smile to my face. And as my laughter echoed into the night, I noticed Daniel's own smile widening, his eyes alight with infectious joy.

As my laughter subsided, Daniel's eyes softened, his gaze lingering on me with a warmth that sent a flutter through my chest. In the soft glow of the terrace lights, his features seemed to soften, his smile taking on a tender quality.

“You know,” he began, his voice gentle, “you look absolutely beautiful under the firework lights.”

A blush rose to my cheeks at his words, a rush of warmth spreading through me at the unexpected compliment. It was a simple gesture, but it carried a weight of sincerity that touched me deeply.

“Thank you,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper, but filled with genuine appreciation.

Daniel's gaze held mine for a moment longer, his expression softening even further as he had the purest beam of light on his face that made my heart melt.  “Actually,” he continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “you outshine even the fireworks themselves.”

A surprised chuckle escaped my lips, and I could feel my cheeks flush with a warmth that spread from his endearing words. His unexpected compliment caught me off guard, leaving me momentarily speechless.

It was such a simple yet profoundly sweet sentiment, and it took me by surprise in the best possible way.

As Daniel's sweet words lingered in the air, a comfortable silence settled between us, punctuated only by the distant sounds of the continuing celebration. It was a couple minutes after midnight, and there were already a couple resolutions broken.

I couldn't help but chuckle softly at the thought, the warmth of Daniel's presence enveloping me like a comforting embrace. Despite the inevitable imperfections of the past year, there was a sense of hope and possibility lingering in the air for this new one, a reminder that every moment held the potential for growth and renewal.

We continued to chat and laugh as we made our way to one of the high tables to continue our conversation in a more comfortable setting. Martin even made an appearance, greeting us with his usual kind and friendly attitude. A shit-eating grin adorned his face as he saw us talking. He inconspicuously winked at me which prompted me to affectionately roll my eyes. 

Okay Martin, I get it, you were right...again. 

But one curious thing happened when Martin approached. I noticed a flicker of apology in Daniel's eyes, a subtle shift in his demeanor that caught my attention. Confused, I glanced at him, wondering what had prompted this sudden change. It wasn't until much later that I would come to understand the reason behind his apologetic expression.

Unbeknownst to me, Daniel had misunderstood Martin's intentions, believing that the girl he had spoken to him about was someone else entirely. In his mind, there was no connection between Martin's matchmaking scheme and the girl he had been conversing with all along—me.

And so, we were unaware of the intricate web of plans and schemes being woven around us. Little did I know, the seeds of something special had already been planted, waiting to bloom and blossom in the days and weeks to come.

A while later, one of the waiters passed by, weaving through the crowd. Seizing the opportunity, Daniel called out to him, “Excuse me, do you have a pen?”

The waiter nodded and swiftly produced one, handing it over with a friendly smile. Once he left, Daniel grabbed a napkin from the table and quickly sketched out a tic-tac-toe grid with the pen. With a mischievous grin, he declared, “Let's make a deal. If I win, you have to give me your number.”

I couldn't help but laugh at his spontaneous challenge, the playful glint in his eyes infectious. “Alright, you're on,” I replied, picking up the pen to make my first move. 

“But,” I paused with a smirk. I raised an eyebrow at Daniel, unable to suppress a playful grin. “What do I get if I win?” I challenged him, my tone teasing and light. 

Daniel's lips curled into a flirtatious smile, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Well,” he replied, leaning in closer with a playful glint in his eyes, “if you win, you get my number instead.”

His response elicited another laugh from me, the playful banter adding to the already vibrant energy between us. With a nod of agreement, I made my move, determined to give him a run for his money.

However, despite my best efforts, Daniel proved to be a formidable opponent—athletes do tend to have another level of competitiveness after all, even with the smallest and silliest things—, and before I knew it, he had emerged victorious, marking the final square with a triumphant flourish.

With a mock sigh of defeat, I conceded, acknowledging his win with good humor. “Alright, you got me,” I chuckled, conceding to his victory. “Looks like I owe you my number.”

With a pleased smile he passed me his phone. As I began typing my number into Daniel's phone, focused on the task at hand, I felt a sudden movement beside me. Glancing up, I saw Daniel grab another napkin, his expression mischievous as he quickly scribbled something onto it. 

Curious, I watched as he slid the napkin across the table towards me. My eyes widened in surprise as I read the words written in his handwriting: “You are cute.”

A warmth spread through me at his unexpected gesture, a rush of flattered excitement tingling in my veins. With a playful smile, I looked up to meet his gaze, my heart fluttering with anticipation.

“Smooth move,” I teased, unable to hide the smile that danced on my lips. “But I think you've already won me over with your charm.”

As I finished adding my number to his phone, I slid it back across the table towards him. With a grin, Daniel accepted his phone back, his eyes sparkling with satisfaction at my response. “Can't blame a bloke for trying,” he quipped, his tone light and playful. 

The playful energy between us only seemed to intensify and I found myself drawn further into the magnetic pull of Daniel's presence, captivated by his whiskey-colored eyes that held a depth that seemed to unravel the secrets of the universe. And when he spoke, his Australian accent danced with a melodic cadence that resonated deep within my soul, infusing every word with a warmth and charm that was impossible to resist.

But it wasn't just his accent that captivated me—it was his carefree personality, his easygoing demeanor that made every moment feel effortless and free. He laughed with abandon, his infectious joy spreading like wildfire and igniting a spark of laughter within me.

And then there were his hands, expressive and animated as he spoke, each gesture painting a vivid picture of his thoughts and emotions. It was as if his hands had a language of their own, weaving tales of adventures that left me hanging on his every word.

Just as the party was reaching its peak and the energy in the room soared, one of the girls came up to me with a sense of urgency in her expression. “Hey babes, we need to head out already,” she informed me, a hint of regret in her voice.

My heart sank at the sudden announcement, realizing the abrupt end to the evening's festivities. With a mixture of disappointment and resignation, I turned to Daniel, silently conveying my apologies with a glance.

“I'm sorry, but Vitto's had a bit too much to drink,” Danna explained, her tone apologetic as she gestured towards our intoxicated companion. “We need to get her home.”

There was a flicker of disappointment in Daniel's eyes, mirrored by my own sense of frustration at the untimely interruption.

With a sympathetic smile, Daniel nodded in understanding, his expression reflecting a mixture of disappointment and acceptance. “Of course, safety first,” he replied, his voice filled with empathy. “Take care, and hopefully, we'll see each other again soon.”

As I exchanged final farewells with Daniel, a pang of regret lingered in the air, accompanied by the bittersweet realization that our time together had been cut short. Yet, amidst the disappointment, there was a glimmer of hope, a silent promise of future encounters.

With a nod of gratitude, I turned to join my friends. And as I reached the girls, I couldn't help but sigh softly, my concern for Vitto mixing with a hint of amusement. “Ay, Vitto,” I murmured, shaking my head in disbelief at how quickly she had managed to get drunk in just an hour.

Vitto, in her intoxicated state, offered a drunken apology and let out a soft laugh, her carefree demeanor infectious. “Sorry,” she slurred, her words accompanied by a playful giggle.

I couldn't help but smile at her antics, reassured by her good spirits despite the unexpected turn of events. “It's okay,” I assured her, placing an arm around her shoulder. “Let's get you home safely.”

As I turned to leave, I couldn't resist stealing a last glimpse back at Daniel. To my surprise, I found him still staring at me, his smile widening as he waved goodbye. A rush of warmth flooded through me at the sight.

On our way home, the girls couldn't resist teasing me about Daniel, joking about how we had spent the whole night together. Their playful banter only served to deepen my blush, fueling the whirlwind of emotions swirling within me. The city lights blurred into a mosaic of colors outside the car window and the laughter of the girls faded into the background as I found myself lost in the memory of Daniel's captivating smile, the warmth of his gaze still lingering in the corners of my mind.

I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something truly special about that smile, something that lingered long after the party had ended and the night had grown quiet. To me, it wasn't just any smile—it was warm, genuine, and filled with an undeniable spark that seemed to reach straight into my soul. It was a smile that spoke volumes, conveying a sense of understanding, a twinge of mischief, and unspoken promise that left me breathless with anticipation.

With a soft sigh, I couldn't help but reflect on the serendipitous twist of fate that had brought us together tonight. In that brief moment of connection, amidst the music and laughter, I had felt a spark of something special—a connection that defied explanation and left me yearning for more.

And as I stared out into the night, the city lights twinkling like stars in the darkness, I knew that I would carry the memory of that encounter with me forever. In that moment, meeting him felt like a spell had been cast upon me, capturing my heart in an instant.

The thought made a soft smile tug at the corners of my lips, my heart fluttering with the anticipation of what the future might hold.

At the end of the night, all I knew was, 

Daniel, I was enchanted to meet you.

[sgiandubh]

Oh my you have it all wrong (again) regarding Lee Schrager. In no way he met him after the birthday party in Miami! After that birthday party he went straight to NYC promoting LA. And wtf are you babbling about BCAC going on about a ballerina? The nonsense you spread - smh

Just take a good look back, or maybe just use BCAC's timelines, than it would have save you half an hour or more, and prevent you from making these mistakes.

He met Lee Scharger on December 5th 2022 after his first bottle signing in Miami December 3rd 2022, not after his birthday party with the guys in 2023. As said after the b-day he went to NYC for LA promo and right after that back to Belgium for TCND filming. No time for Mr. Schrager

If he had been smart he already participated at NYCWFF last year, but hey a comped vacay to Nevis was more important!

Get your facts straight before you start bullying other bloggers who do post facts.

Dear Get Your Facts Straight Anon,

I am not very sure what you do hope to achieve with this submission to my account. Because I am a Stupid, Stupid Shipper, I can only think of two possibilities:

A - you probably thought I was about to burst into tears, not publish a word, throw in the towel and disappear for ever from your obsessive screens. Something that would have perhaps ingratiated you to Marple until the end of time

OR

B- you probably thought I would publish it and look like a zero credibility, lying idiot and lose all my readers and throw in the towel and disappear for ever from your obsessive screens. Something that would have perhaps ingratiated you to Marple until the end of time.

Same objective. Placing people between a rock and a hard place. Killing them quickly and brutally with venomous words and be done with someone that you perpetually seem to choke on from June 2023 until the end of time.

At any rate you were wrong, 'Anon'. There are better, more civilized ways to correct people, there are more subtle ways to ridicule them. No doubt, this is what you tried to achieve, here. And well, there we are: you are still Anon and I am still owning my game. How about that, pumpkin?

The first post about Lee Schrager has been published by me exactly one (fucking) year ago: https://www.tumblr.com/sgiandubh/730746701530431488/labor-of-love?source=share. During all this time, there have been zero comments or corrections about it (I have even blocked an Anti, @justagirlwithspirit, but NOT about that point). You waited. Fair enough. I owe you a corrigenda and I also owe @bat-cat-reader and all the people who commented under those posts about Schrager my deepest apologies. I have diligently scoured the socials, checked my archives, relistened to Mark Gillespie's podcast and no, I could not find any trace of a lunch with Lee Schrager end of April/early May 2023 (I arrived in this fandom on June 18th 2023, mind you - that does not excuse anything, but perhaps it could explain a bit).

You were correct to point out December 5th, 2022, as the day of 'a quiet Sunday night dinner' with S and the SS team. For anyone with a bit of time on their hands, this is obvious - why disingenuously deny?

For the life of me and with the best intentions in the world, I cannot remember how did I incorrectly connect those two episodes. I don't know what happened, how it happened and I feel quite angry at myself, to be honest. Again, you (all of you!) have my deepest apologies, knowing that it doesn't really change anything in the great scheme of things. It greatly pisses me off, surely. But it will not make me stop. You are not that powerful.

Your accuracy stops here, however. The ballerina (or 'dancer', as she called it) was something Marple heavily insisted upon, when she posted that footage from the restaurant where S was celebrating 'with the guys'. I hope you can read, Anon:

Perhaps it's her humor. Perhaps she has zero humor, as I tend to think. In any case, this kind of insinuation lacked class and taste. It was unnecessarily disparaging and could even be construed as downright cruel by some. But if three posts on the same totally irrelevant topic in the span of two hours and a half do not resonate as 'heavily insisting' with you, then I certainly can't help you see her intentions, here.

'If he had been smart, he would have already participated at NYCWFF last year, but hey a comped vacay to Nevis was more important!' Grammar will always betray you, 'Anon'. Always. But rest assured, your dirty little narcissistic secret is safe with me. I won't give you more time, nor space than basic ethics allow. The rest is your problem. It is absolutely clear the Nevis trip was not 'a comped vacay', as you so carelessly write. I have posted at length about this #ad hashtag, not once, but twice. In the hope you guys across the street would write less garbage about it - to no avail:

[October 25th, 2023: https://www.tumblr.com/sgiandubh/732163733760163840/y-seguimos-para-bingo?source=share]

[October 29th, 2023: https://www.tumblr.com/sgiandubh/732463933939728384/bigotry?source=share]

I am many things, Anon. I am a short-tempered woman and I take no prisoners. But I am no coward and I am no fool. I might sometimes mix up my 'timelines', but I am not a vile, obsessed troll, with a big grammar problem. Ask your Caporegime why did she insist I have no legal education, until the day I got angry enough to post one of my well, several diplomas from Paris? How is that called, Anon?

It's not just 'spreading nonsense', no. It's calumny.

Fuck you and the horse you rode in on.

[wings-of-ink]

Mini progress report, some ramblings and Patreon planning

Hello all! I just wanted to drop a note and check in. I haven't been around as much lately as I've had some busy things in my personal life going on (all good things, btw), and they've made me a bit sleepy. I have some asks baking in my inbox, but I will attend to them when I've got the energy saved up.

For now, I am still working on chapter 5 and she is a biggie. I do not know when the update will go through. I had hoped for October, but realistically it will probably be November. I'm giving myself some wiggle room since the season for me is shifting, and I often experience fatigue and some strong-sads when autumn/winter set in. I won't know for sure until it hits if I will be a sleepy mess or not, lol. Sometimes it doesn't hit until December.

Assuming I remain in good humor, I will be doing a lot of writing and testing in the coming days. Around this time last year is when I was finally writing the first chapter of GC. It really helped me get through the winter months, so I hope that this year will be much the same.

In fact, I found when I made the document for the outline and rough draft for the start of our story:

Between here and the very beginning of February 2024, I wrote the prologue and chapters 1 and 2 and then published them. This coming February, we should celebrate our 1 year anniversary, right?

Chapter 5 is coming along well. I've had a couple scenes that I want to go back over and refine since I either forgot something or they just didn't turn out the way I wanted. I have also written out an event that happens in chapter 7 which I am very (unreasonably) excited about. I could not help myself, it was burning a hole in my brain. It will, of course, develop a lot more after I have 5 & 6 actually done, but I can't wait until you get there.

Here is where Chapter 5 stands now:

This looks massive, but keep in mind there are two paths at the beginning of this chapter and each have unique events/consequences. Some of the text is shared here and there between them, and then they meet. This also includes code and such. I am at the mid-point of the chapter currently where there is a bit of downtime and the MC can get up to...a few things.

Such as this tease for a Duri-moment:

Just what are you two up to???

As for Patreon, if anyone is curious, I am still planning. The feedback I got from the poll along with messages and such have helped a lot. I am not sure when I will have things running since I am prioritizing the actual chapter writing while I've been busy with other things. Since my weekly schedule is going to be back to normal now, I can think about it more.

I have determined to take Patreon nice and slow. It will focus on just a few tiers to start (centered on only God-Cursed for the time being). From there, we'll grow things at a sustainable pace. Most were interested in extras (POVs & drabbles), so I will focus on those, early access, and spiciness. I had debated about starting this next year as opposed to, say, November or December. I may just shoot for whenever I have chapter 5 done. I feel like that's a good round place we can branch off from, and it will open up more flexibility in any bonus content I write.

I think that's all of what's been on my mind lately, and I've prattled too long as it is. I hope you are all safe and well!

Take care! ^_^

~ Lunan 🐦‍⬛

[redrose10]

Sorry this has taken so long…Here is #10 from the picture game. I hope it’s okay!

Warnings: Angst, slightly suggestive, hints of loosing virginity, small mentions of death and seeing a therapist as well as mental health struggles, cheating , swearing, mention of divorce

September 8th, 2003

To Whomever It May Concern,

My name is Min Yoongi. I live in Daegu. I am in the fifth grade. My hobbies include basketball, music, and sleeping. My teacher said that we have to write a letter that will be sent to a random pen pal. I think it’s a dumb idea but it’s mandatory. So here it is.

September 15th, 2003

Dear Yoongi,

My name is L/N Y/N. I received your letter. I also think this is dumb but I need the extra credit so here I am. I am also in the fifth grade. I like to cook with my grandma. I love animals and purple is my favorite color. I look forward to hearing from you again.

You laughed as you read over the wrinkled faded letters one by one. At the time you did think that writing to a pen pal was the dumbest idea that your teacher came up with specifically to torture you. The guy you were writing was cute at least. The attached school photo showing a gummy smile and beautiful eyes. At the time you didn’t know how much that letter would become a part of your life.

November 1st, 2003

Dear Y/N,

What do you like to cook? I don’t cook much but I love when my mom makes kimchi stew. It’s starting to get cold. I hope that you are able to stay warm.

November 12th, 2003

Dear Yoongi,

It is getting colder which makes it the perfect weather for kimchi stew. It’s almost time for Christmas. That’s my favorite time of the year. Do you have a favorite Christmas Movie? Mine is Home Alone.

December 11th, 2003

Dear Y/N,

My favorite Christmas movie is also Home Alone. I prefer to listen to Christmas music but I will deny it if anyone asks. Do you have a favorite song?

August 14, 2005

Dear Yoongi

I’m sorry that I never wrote you back. We moved and I lost your address. I just found it again though, if you even still live here. You don’t have to write me back if you don’t want to. I just always felt bad for leaving you hanging without an explanation.

By the way…my favorite Christmas song is Jingle Bell Rock.

You remembered that time of your life. Your parents got divorced and you moved in with your mom. Your grandma suddenly passed away not long after. Your best friend moved across the country too. It felt like your life was falling apart and you wanted some sense of normalcy so when you came across Yoongi’s address you decided to write him even if you thought you might die from embarrassment. You folded those letters back up and gently put them back at the bottom white wooden chest in front of you.

September 9th, 2005

Dear Y/N,

I wondered what happened to you. I didn’t mind. They didn’t make me write letters any more at least haha. I’m glad you’re okay though. I just got back from my cousins wedding. It was very boring. If I ever get married I’m going to wear a blue kangaroo onesie or something, ya know to spice it up a little. Have you ever thought about getting married?

October 12th, 2005

Dear Yoongi,

Oh my god, I’m sure your mother will be thrilled to watch you get married in a blue kangaroo suit. Weddings aren’t too bad but I’ve only ever been to my Aunt’s wedding. Her maid of honor got super drunk and started dancing on a table until it collapsed. It was pretty funny. I’ve never really thought about my wedding. I think I’d want to elope but I know my mom would cry if I did that. As long as I marry my best friend I don’t care though.

December 17th, 2005

Dear Y/N,

Merry Christmas! I hope you enjoy the holiday and break from school.

February 26th, 2006

Dear Yoongi,

I hope you had a great holiday! We went to visit my grandpa. It was really nice. I’m sorry I didn’t write sooner. I’ve been busy packing. We’re moving again in a couple months. My parents said I can finish this year with my friends but I’ll have to start a new school next grade. I’m scared.

March 3rd, 2006

Dear Y/N,

I think it would be exciting to start over somewhere new. Don’t be scared. I’m sure it’ll all be okay. You can still write to me if you want. I’ll always be your friend.

You were scared. Your mom had accepted a job a few hours away. Your parents agreed to to let you live with your dad for the remainder of the school year but then you’d have to move back with your mom and start at a new school the following semester. It was terrifying until you realized something as you were addressing a new letter to Yoongi.

April 8th, 2006

Dear Yoongi,

Thank you for being my friend. That is comforting knowing that I can always write to you. I just realized we’ll be going to the same school though. Maybe we can meet up some time and be friends in person. Is that weird? Anyways I hope to see you in a few months.

August 2nd, 2006

Dear Y/N,

Sorry it was a crazy busy summer. I had to work on my grandparents farm. Wow yeah it looks like we’re going to the same high school. We should meet up! Meet me underneath the maple tree at the front of the school before first period.

That was the most nervous you had ever been. Your heart rate increased as you walked towards the guy waiting underneath the tree. He was even cuter in person. Part of you didn’t want to meet him. Part of you didn’t want the letters to stop as you were sure they would now that you were at the same school. But you pushed forward greeting him with a shy smile which he quickly returned. Your friendship really evolved that day.

September 18th, 2006

Dear Y/N,

I know it’s kind of silly to write you a letter when we already spend almost every day together but I miss it. I really hate our algebra class. I swear Mr. Park is trying to make sure I never graduate. I think I’m going to try out for the basketball team. I might really have a shot at making it. If I do I hope you come to all of my games!

October 1st, 2006

Dear Yoongi,

Mr. Park is not trying to force you to fail. Maybe if you actually paid attention instead of staring at me the whole time you’d actually learn something… I know you’ll make the team, they’d be dumb not to take you. And of course I’ll be in the front row at every game!

And you were there. Yoongi was the star player. You attended every game cheering for him as loud as you could. You were shocked when after the championship game Yoongi pulled you in for a kiss. Neither of you mentioned it again after that night though.

August 21st, 2007

Dear Y/N,

Can you believe we’re in our second year of high school already? I know we haven’t written letters in a while but it seemed right. I’m excited for this year!

September 3rd, 2007

Dear Yoongi,

I was wondering when I’d get a letter… I’m ready for this year. I can’t wait for another basketball season too. I might look into drama club or something. That sounds fun. I’ll see you at Taehyung’s on Friday right?!

September 8th, 2007

Dear Y/N,

I’m sorry I didn’t come up to you at Taehyung’s party. I saw that you were getting pretty cozy with Hoseok and didn’t want to interrupt, anything going on between you two by the way? Not that I really care or anything but as your best friend I think I deserve to know.

September 8th, 2007

Dear Yoongi,

I’m literally sitting right next to you at the lunch table. We can just talk. But no nothing is going on between me and Hobi. I was actually asking him if he knew when you were going to show up.

September 8th, 2007

Dear Y/N,

Okay cool because I wanted to ask if you would go out with me. I’m sorry I don’t have the courage to say it to your face and have to ask you in a letter.

September 8th, 2007

Dear Yoongi,

Yes I will go out with you...but only if you promise to wear a blue kangaroo onesie at our wedding.

September 8th, 2007

Dear Y/N,

I will wear whatever kind of suit you want me too, birthday suit included ;)

You could still remember how hot your face felt that day. You had a huge crush on Yoongi and were planning to confess to him at the party but he never showed up. You were over the moon excited when he confessed first.

The next several letters were just little bits and pieces here and there. Yoongi took a vacation with his family. You got a part time job at an ice cream parlor. They were all important to you in their own ways but you were looking for one in particular and after some searching you found it.

July 11th, 2008

Dear Y/N,

I can’t believe we’re going to be going into our senior year of high school. Last night was amazing. I hope you’re not too sore. I’m sorry if I did or said anything dumb. I was so nervous but I’m thankful that my first time could be with someone that I love so much. You’ve gotten me through so much and I’m excited to see where the rest of our lives takes us.

July 11th, 2008

Dear Yoongi,

You were nothing but gentle and sweet and amazing. I’m glad I could share my first with you too. I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. I love you Yoongi.

That night was one that you would never forget as long as you lived. The love that you two felt for each other was overwhelming and you never thought it would ever change.

January 22nd, 2009

Dear Yoongi,

You are a meanie boo beanie. That is all.

January 23rd, 2009

Dear Y/N,

I am a meanie boo beanie but I’m your meanie boo beanie. I’m sorry I forgot that I was supposed to drive you and your sister to the concert. I really am and I promise I’ll make it up to you both. I love you.

You chuckled as you folded up those letters. Teenage you had no self control sometimes. You probably called him twenty five times and sent who knows how many texts. He stayed calm through it all and apologized to both you and your sister. He got you guys flowers and took you both out to dinner. It was probably super hard on his wallet as a teenager but he still did it without even a frown. You never realized how much that meant to you.

August 21st 2010

Dear Y/ N,

It sucks we ended up at different colleges. I really really miss you. Sometimes I regret our decision. I hope you’re doing well and everyone is treating you good. If anyone tried anything let me know and I’ll be there so fast. I love you Y/N.

September 5th, 2010

Dear Yoongi,

I know I miss you too. I hate that you’re six hours away from me. I’m already counting down the days until winter break when we can finally be in each others arms again. Be safe and make good choices. I love you Yoongi.

January 3rd, 2011

Dear Y/N,

I know you just left but I miss you so much already. Your friends seem really nice, but I’m super suspicious of that Namjoon. I’m keeping an eye on him (just kidding…not really though). Before you know it summer break will be here and we can be together again. I love you Y/N.

January 9th, 2011

Dear Yoongi,

Leaving was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I was so warm and comfy in your arms. Summer break can’t come soon enough.

PS. You don’t have to keep an eye on Namjoon. He’s nice and all but you’re then only one I want to be with. I’m more worried about all of those women constantly following you around…I love you Yoongi.

Oh boy you sighed to yourself. If you’d both only known the weight of your words in those letters at the time. The next few letters were thankfully light hearted and sweet. Yoongi made the basketball team. You surprised him by driving all day to make it in time for his first home game. Algebra was once again kicking your ass and Yoongi had a particularly hard time in Organic Chemistry. He got a job at a record store and you worked part time at the campus book store. You spent the summer break together before returning to your respective colleges. All normal and nothing upsetting. Then things quickly went south.

November 8th, 2011

Dear Y/N

I miss you like usual. Sometimes I really think about switching school. I’d give up all that I have here to be with you. I love you Y/N.

January 13th, 2012

Dear Y/N,

Christmas was nice wasn’t it? My mom loves that sweater you got her. She wears it almost every day. My brothers coming to visit for a couple days. It’ll be nice to see him since he couldn’t make it home for Christmas. I hope everything’s good on your end. I love you Y/N.

March 7th, 2012

Dear Y/N

It’s starting to warm up just a little. I’m glad because I hate the cold. The only thing it’s good for is cuddling. I miss seeing your face and kissing you. I know we text and call each other like every day but I miss your letters too. I hope all is well. I heard from your mom that you and Namjoon are working on some huge research project together. I’d love to hear about that sometime. Like maybe when we get together over spring break? I love you Y/N.

March 18th, 2012

Dear Yoongi,

I’m sorry I haven’t been writing as much. Things have just been so crazy that I feel like I have no time to even breathe. I’m so sorry I can’t make it for spring break. You sounded so heartbroken over the phone and it kills me. At least summer break is right around the corner right?! This research project is gonna be the death of me. Tell your brother I said he’s a doofus!! I love you Yoongi.

July 21st, 2012

Dear Y/N,

I’m sorry I had to cancel our summer plans. Coach is just so worried about this upcoming season but I didn’t expect him to hold a mandatory summer camp. I know you said you weren’t crying but I could hear it in your voice m and it’s been killing me ever since. At least we had those few days together. You ready for the next semester? You’re gonna kill it!

August 26th, 2012

Dear Yoongi,

How are your classes so far? I heard you got a job at a record label. I’m sorry if you told me that over the phone. I must’ve missed it. How’s that going? I bet you’re impressing all of them.

November 1st, 2012

Dear Y/N,

It’s getting cold again. I hate it but at least the trees look pretty. I’m sorry I missed your birthday party. I got the invite so last minute and I couldn’t get time away from work. I’m going to make it up to you, I promise. They have me working with this singer, Mia. I’m producing one of her songs. It’s my first solo project. She’s so talented. I think she has the ability to really go places. Anyways, I sent you a gift. I hope it got to you in time.

November 15th, 2012

Dear Yoongi,

I got it. Thank you. It’s a beautiful necklace. It would’ve been nicer to have you there with me though. I’m really proud of you and I can’t wait to hear the song. We’re planning a trip to the mountains. Namjoon’s parents have a cabin up there. Let me know if you’d like to join us. It would be nice to see you.

You took a deep breath trying to forcefully stop tears from falling and ruining your makeup. Yoongi in fact did not join you guys at the cabin. He didn’t even mention it. That was also the worst birthday you had ever had. And you knew his excuse of getting the invite too late was complete bullshit because your best friend told you she sent it to him three months in advance and he agreed to come but then cancelled the night before the surprise party. You never told him that you knew that. You also never told him that you spent that night crying into Namjoons chest. It was that moment that you knew your relationship was changing but you had no idea just how much.

The letters stopped for quite a while after that, for both of you. Truth be told the calls and texts slowed down too. When you pulled the next letter out of the box you took a long deep breath. You had wanted to rip this letter to shreds but you knew that would make you quite the hypocrite given what was written in your own letter beneath it.

May 11th, 2013

Dear Y/N,

I’m sorry I haven’t written in so long. I’m really sorry that there is a disappointing reason for me to write this letter. I’m also sorry that I’m too much of a coward to tell you this myself……I’m so sorry Y/N. I fucked up so bad. There was this girl…Mia. I can’t remember if I’ve ever told you about her. But she’s signed to the record label and we’ve been working together a lot and FUCK…I’m sorry Y/N. We were both drunk and I just miss you so much and one thing lead to another. I know that’s the oldest, sleaziest excuse in the book but it’s true. I regret it so much. She doesn’t mean anything like that to me. I just needed to release some stress and frustration and it just happened. I wasn’t thinking straight. I’m sorry again Y/N. I know I’ve said that like a million times already. I know we can get past this but I also know that if I never hear from you again that it was all my fault and I deserve it and I understand. I love you Y/N.

May 21st, 2013

Dear Yoongi,

Reading that letter did hurt. It hurt for many reasons I guess. But…I have my own confession to make. I kind of cheated on you too. Or I guess I did cheat on you? I made out with Namjoon. I stopped it before it went past kissing and some grinding but I won’t lie and say I didn’t want it to go farther than that. Maybe this long distance thing just isn’t going to work any more. We’ve really grown apart over the last few years and I think our relationship has ran its course. I will always have love for you Yoongi. Take care of yourself and I wish you nothing but success and happiness.

Ripping up those letters crossed your mind even now. Those were moments in your relationship, in your life, that you never wanted to remember again. Ultimately though they were apart of you so you folded them up and set them aside.

Understandably the letters stopped completely after that. You definitely had a few letters stored away in a drawer at home that you wrote but could never bring yourself to send.

And then two years ago you saw a familiar name in your mail box.

October 8th, 2022

Dear Y/N,

Wow it’s been a while since I wrote that…or at least wrote it with the true intention to actually mail the letter. I ran into your mom at the grocery store the other day and she gave me your address. I didn’t ask for it. I promise I won’t be weird and randomly show up one day or something.

I wasn’t even going to write this but my therapist said it would be good for me. I hope things are going well for you. Your mom also mentioned that you were engaged. Congratulations! I hope he’s treating you well. She also said you’re like some big shot at a research organization. That’s really cool. I always knew you’d do something important like that. I hope to hear from you again but I will completely understand if I don’t. No pressure or anything. I miss you Y/N.

You wrote him back. Nothing crazy. Just some info about your job and he told you about the music he was working on. How he got married and unfortunately divorced later the same year which you already knew but you didn’t tell him that. He opened up to you about his mental health concerns and starting therapy and you told him about your struggles as well. The two of you exchanged numbers and talked more that way too. Even after all those years and everything that happened he still felt like home to you.

You stared at the last letter you had written him. You were a mess while writing it. You were questioning your choices, you were exhausted and maybe a little drunk. If you’d known it would be the last letter you ever wrote to him you might’ve been a little more cheerful in your words.

June 16th, 2023

Dear Yoongi

I’m supposed to get married tomorrow but I don’t know if I can…I can’t do it. It just doesn’t feel right and feel like I’m stringing him along and he doesn’t deserve that. I don’t know what to do. I wish you were going to be there, even if you were wearing a stupid blue kangaroo onesie. It would make me feel better...especially if I was in a pink matching one just like we planned. Remember that? You were supposed to be the one I married. My best friend. We promised. But you’re not here. You’re probably in LA right now for your album release party. I hope you’re having the best time. I’m so proud of you and everything that you have achieved. I love you Yoongi.

“Y/N are you ready? He’s waiting outside with the photographer to get your first looks.”, your maid of honor smiled from just outside the door.

“Okay yeah be right there!”, you said quickly shuffling all of the letters back into the little white box.

Standing just outside the double doors trying to calm your nerves you heard your future husband laughing at something the photographer said which helped to bring some sense of comfort to your shaking nerves.

You gave the official okay and the doors were opened allowing you to walk out into the open courtyard.

Your future husband looked up breaking out into a huge gummy smile at the sight of you in a pink kangaroo onesie.

You couldn’t contain your laughter at the sight of him in a matching blue kangaroo onesie, baby kangaroo included.

“Oh my god Yoongi.”, you managed to cough out in between fits of laughter.

“My mom threatened me that if I wore this for the wedding she’d disown me so this was the best I could do.”, he said in between his own fits of laughter, “I’m glad you had the same idea.”

The photographer couldn’t help but smile as she snapped some photos of you before you quickly changed into your actual dress and Yoongi into his tux so she could get some photos that your mothers wouldn’t complain about.

“Five minutes til show time.”, the wedding planner announced.

“I’ve got to go get in place but I wanted you to have this.”, Yoongi said handing you a folded piece of paper before walking away.

You scoffed irritated because you could already feel tears begin to threaten your makeup artists hard work as you read,

August 15, 2024

Dear Lovely Wife,

We have come so far haven’t we? I never would’ve thought that the random letter I was forced to write in the fifth grade would lead me here but I’m glad that it did. I know we’ve made mistakes and have done things we wish we could change but we have been able to move forward from that and I promise to never hurt you in any way ever again. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life as your husband. I love you more than I can really write into words.

PS. I’m definitely bringing the kangaroo onesie on the honeymoon. I have some ideas that may or may not also involve binoculars, rope, and a suspiciously fluffy pair of handcuffs…

[eds6ngel]

✮⋆｡°✩⋆˙ a christmas miracle

a 'when i kissed the teacher' spinoff.

summary: you and steve were in a weird situation. you weren't actively trying to get pregnant, but you weren't exactly being safe either. so, how will steve react when he opens his final christmas present?

warnings: dad!steve. mom!reader. fem!reader. afab!reader. 90s!au. mentions and allusions to sex. mentions of pregnancy. pet names. kissing. tons of crying. alena being too young to understand pregnancy (kinda cute tho). alena being a cutie pie as always. some worries over steve's reaction. but mostly fluff and comfort!! [1.9k].

author's note: hi everyone!! i am back!! my first semester of uni is finally over, so i can get back to fic writing a little more! i couldn't neglect my happy family like this, so i've tackled a pregnancy fic! i've never been pregnant, but i do wish to be in my life, so all of my research has been for my own benefit and utilised in this fic. if i'm inaccurate in any parts, please let me know for the benefit of the readers and myself!! ♡

It was hard not announcing the news to Steve. Having to attend your first scan without him was heartbreaking, but the look upon the nurse’s face after you told her you were going to wrap up the ultrasound photo, along with a card saying “Merry Christmas Daddy” and a pair of small, cream, woolen socks, just confirmed your decision was the right one.

You and Steve were in a sort of weird situation. You had stopped using protection, but weren’t in a position were you were actively trying to get pregnant. You agreed that any time from now was an okay time for the two of you to have a child, but also weren’t bothered if the pregnancy tests came back negative.

But, a little Christmas miracle decided to form inside of you, the test showing two lines on December 11th, 1999.

Steve and Alena had gone grocery shopping for an hour, the perfect opportunity for you to wrap Steve’s gift.

Rolling out the wrapping paper, you placed a grey, fluffy blanket in the centre, before laying on top the Christmas card which read:

Hi Daddy.

I’m six weeks old today!

I can’t wait to meet you soon! I’m planning to enter the world on August 20th, 2000.

My mom is keeping me very safe right now as I grow, but I’ll still be listening out for you from inside my home.

See you in nine months.

Love, your future child <3

And as you were about to place the ultrasound photo next to the cream baby socks you previous put underneath the card, your eyes started welling with tears once more.

Was it the hormones? Maybe. But, something in you felt this was all natural. You were growing a human life inside of you, one that has half of your DNA and the other half the love of your life’s. That was something to bask in the intense emotion of.

With everything laid out neatly, you reached over for the sellotape, folding over the edges and carefully sticking them in place.

Wrapping the gift in a pretty cream bow, matching the socks inside, and adding a label reading “To my darling Stevie,” you added it to the pile of increasing gifts in the corner of yours and Steve’s bedroom.

Now, just a week to go until he gets his surprise.

You cradle your stomach, despite the size not increasing at all yet, and whisper to your unborn child “A week and he’ll know, my love. Your beautiful existence will be known.”

��Mom! Dad! Wake up! Wake up!”

You are awoken by the sound of your bouncing ten-year-old, aggressively rocking your fiancé as he groans loudly, his eyes adjusting to the light peaking through the window.

“Mornin’ pumpkin,” he murmurs, you opening up one eye as Alena’s full set of brand-new adult teeth smile right at you.

“And what are you doing up so early, missy?” you ask, the clock on the bedside table next to Steve shining a bright 6:00 in the morning, illuminating the room in a red glow.

“Mom” she drags out, rolling her eyes playfully, “You know what day it is!”

You tap your chin lightly, playing along with the joke, “Hmm… I feel as if I may need a reminder.”

“It’s Christmas Mom! And I may or may not have seen all the presents you left underneath the tree…” her vocal pitch increases, looking away in a guilty look as Steve reaches up and pulls her down into his body, the girl screaming as he ruffles her hair.

“Did someone be naughty and peak underneath the tree?” he grits through his teeth, Alena shouting in a reply, “I didn’t mean to, I promise! I saw it on the way to your room!”

You begin to tickle her sides as Steve holds her in place against his chest, making the girl scream in delight loudly, “Is someone now on Santa’s naughty list?”

“Mom…” she pouts her lips, a grumpy expression adorning her face as you sigh sadly, “I know sweet cheeks, you don’t believe in him anymore.”

“I’m sorry…”

You hold out your arms as you wrap her in a warm hug, “Don’t be sorry, baby. I knew you would realise eventually. You’re getting too old!”

She gasps and looks into your eyes, crossing her arms over her chest, “I am not old! You and Dad are old.”

You start giggling in shock as Steve just opens his mouth wide, “You better watch yourself, pumpkin.”

“Yeah,” you hold up a finger in warning, before pointing it over to Steve, “Dad doesn’t like being reminded he’s in his mid-thirties.”

And now it is Steve’s turn to attack you, but instead with aggressive kisses, littering them up your neck and across your face lightly, Alena now old enough to understand the playful love between the two of you. “You’re almost thirty as well, you know.”

“Two more years to go, babe. I’m still in my prime development decade,” you smirk at him.

And it wasn’t just you who was developing.

A loud gasp can be heard along with the shredding of paper as Alena holds up her latest gift, “You actually got me it?”

For such a small gadget, the Barbie Digital Camera cost you $70, the most expensive gift yet, but maybe not the one which will cause the biggest reaction.

“Of course I did! It’s the one thing you kept pointing at in the magazine!”

She giggles with a bright smile, “Thank you! Thank you!”

She launches herself at you, the motherly instinct in you clutching onto your stomach to protect your unborn child, hoping Steve didn’t notice the movement. The surprise would be known in the next half an hour.

“And after you’ve taken your photos, we can connect it to Dad’s computer and see it come to life! How cool is that?”

“Can I take it to school?” she asks, clutching the box in her hands.

“I assume you can! But, just ask Mrs. Critchley before you take it in, okay?”

“Okay!” she smiles, plopping herself back down on the carpet to open the rest of her gifts.

Your hands began to sweat. Alena was all done opening her presents, patiently waiting for you and Steve to unwrap yours.

Steve let you attend to your gifts first. Everything from a brand-new necklace designed with a rose quartz, matching your engagement ring, to the latest Nokia phone, you were thankful for everything he had bought you, praising him with many gentle kisses and warm hugs.

Now, it was Steve’s turn. You specifically told him to leave one present until last, leading him to give you an eyebrow raise and a shrug before simply agreeing, used to your weirdness by now. You got him everything from a new cologne to a new pair of Nike shoes, the soles of his old pair wearing thin from how much he was working over the Christmas holidays.

But, after one final kiss, it was finally time.

“Can I open this now?” Steve jokes, the nerves deeply settling in your stomach. You don’t even know why you were worried, you had stopped using protection in mutual agreement, knowing kids could be a possibility from that result. There was just a voice in your head trying to convince you an awful reaction would occur.

“Uh, yeah… Yeah, you can.”

“Hey,” he puts an arm on your shoulder, “Why are you so nervous?”

You lightly chuckle, “You’ll find out once you open the gift.”

Even after all of these years, Steve still wasn’t the smartest. Verbal cues were not his strong suit, but my God could he read body language like a champ.

He gives you a confused look before unwrapping the cream-coloured bow, delicately tearing apart the paper as his eyes immediately notice the ultrasound scan.

He may be oblivious, but he isn’t that oblivious. He has one very similar in his bedside table drawer of his sweet ten-year-old daughter sat next to him.

The tears form at his eyes before he can even recognise them. Small sniffles enter the atmosphere as his hazel eyes make contact with you, “Are you serious?”

And the tears follow suit for you, nodding frantically as he leans across the floor to collect you in his arms, crying into your shoulder.

“How far along?” he mumbles into your shoulder, tears dripping onto the red fabric of your dress.

“Read the card and you’ll find out.”

Steve was too drawn into the ultrasound scan to even notice the card you had gotten him. Releasing from the hug, he keeps a gentle hand on the small of your back, picking up the card and carefully opening it, reading the words you had written, the tears increasing as he noticed it was from the perspective of his baby.

“Wha— How? When did you get this done?” he stutters out, still in complete shock of the entire moment.

“Pregnancy test has been in the bathroom trash can for two weeks. I was scared you were going to notice it for a while, but then I remembered it’s you, and you don’t notice anything,” you giggle, Steve not even bothered by the joking insult, too caught up in his own emotions, “And two Thursday’s ago, I didn’t go to work. Went to the hospital and got the scan, and just hung around Starcourt until the time I would normally come home.”

“Well, you fooled me,” he chuckles, leaning in for a kiss which you gladly accept, cupping his cheeks as you smile into it.

“I love you so much, beautiful girl. And I love the baby who is growing inside of you. You’re so strong. Your body is so strong. I just— I can’t wait. I can’t wait to meet them.”

His hand had migrated down to your stomach, gently cradling the unborn child inside of you.

Alena had finally looked up from her Etch-a-Sketch, noticing the tears falling down both yours and Steve’s cheeks, your hands holding tightly onto each side of his head as your foreheads were leant against each other, kneeling on the soft carpet of the living room.

“Mom? Dad? Why are you crying?”

Steve turns around to face his daughter, you looking softly into her eyes, “Because Mom is having a baby, sweetie.”

Steve passes her the ultrasound scan, her face scrunching up in confusion as she points at it, “Why is it just a black blob?”

Steve begins laughing as his head falls onto your shoulder, sweetly rubbing up and down the sides of your waist.

“Because when a baby is first made, it starts out as a black blob and then grows into the full size baby we all know and love,” you explain gently to her.

“Hmm…” she takes in, before asking her next question, “But how did it get there?”

Your eyes widen as Steve’s hands stop on your waist, refusing to lift his head and look at his daughter.

You smile through the awkwardness, remembering that her sex education lessons would start in a matter of months, “You’ll find out soon, baby.”

thank you ever so much for reading!! do you guys want any more pregnancy related fics? i really want to do some research into post-partum for myself, so do you want me to skip straight to that, or tackle other things like morning sickness, gender reveal, baby shower, stuff like that? feel free to let me know!! ♡

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