#and like i said it before i don't mind doing a certain amount of suspension of disbelief to engage in the universe

[glitter-stained]

"but batman cannot be copaganda! A major plot point is that so many cops are corrupt! It's actually really critical of bad cops" do you ever get tired of listening to yourself speak? You should

[sungbeam]

𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 — part two

nonidol!ji changmin x f!reader

messing around with demonic rituals isn't exactly how you imagined getting bound to changmin's soul. (note to self: salt circles don't work when you draw the pentagram inside it...)

▷ genre, warnings. f2l, technically a college au, demon au (it's different from night terrors i swear. also it's not as intense lol), comedy, suspense/mystery, swearing (a lot... sorry 😭), drinking, low fantasy/supernatural elements, mentions of chronic illness, mentions of rituals and pentagrams, self induced soulmates? 🤔 but ofc 😂, kissing, mentions of blood, very small amount of violence (like one scene), what is a mfking slow burn like who needs to take their time w falling in love i sure don't 🤷🏻‍♂️, one allusion to death

▷ part word count. 18.5k out of 34.8k / read part one here

a/n: HI IF UR STILL HERE THEN YAY 😭 PLS DONT READ THIS WITHOUT HAVING READ THE FIRST PART. ALSO, ENJOY!

PART IV: THE SPELL

THERE WERE ONLY SO many ways to make a boy squirm. On top of that, there were only so many ways to make a demon boy squirm. Halfling status was of no consequence to certain observations of patterns involving the laws of attraction.

Case in point: Ji Changmin's dilemma.

“You look a little lost, man,” Hyunjae chortled into his friend's ear to bypass the bone-rattling volume of the house music.

Shuhua's friend Yangyang had thrown quite the rager in his shared house with his roommates. There was probably about a hundred people shoved into the first floor of the house, with some littered across the lawn outside and the backyard, too. The five of you had arrived as a unit and donated a few cases of beer to help the hosts out, but proceeded to grab your own drinks, disperse, and mingle.

Changmin coughed as he blinked furiously out of whatever daze he'd been in. His neck and ears had turned a brilliant shade of vermilion, but the dim lighting was his savior tonight. Oh, to have the shadows on one's side. “What?” he stammered.

Hyunjae's smile widened at his flustered reaction. “I'm sure Yn can introduce you to whoever her friend is.”

The roaring in Changmin's ears dulled considerably. “What?” he repeated, but this time, the word had an upward intonation at the end. Now he was confused.

He glanced back to where you were standing further into the living room. Who?

Oh.

Changmin hadn't even noticed you'd been talking to another person. His focus had been… elsewhere. Not that said focus was anywhere inappropriate in the name of Friendship—of course, the burn in his throat was the alcohol and the tightness in his chest was the soul-bond. That was all. He hadn't been considering the dress hugging your figure or the way your smile brightened your face—no, really it was the entire fucking room. He didn't want to linger on the thought of that torturous car ride over either, with his body pressed against your side and your perfume so sweet in his lungs. Was it possible to replace the very air he breathed with it?

Essentially: he was not faring well tonight. What had gotten into him? He'd attended plenty of parties with you before, and he hadn't been this strung up before.

Or maybe he had… he wasn't so sure of a lot of things at this moment. He wasn't supposed to be able to get tipsy on this human alcohol.

Only a week had passed since the soul bond was forged between you and him, too. Though he knew it was supposed to be an emotional and metaphysical link, he was certain it had nothing to do in terms of creating things that were never there in the first place.

Hyunjae grinned at him and slung an arm around his shoulders. “Come on! We should go introduce ourselves.”

For a moment, Changmin cringed at the thought of him appearing beside you with all the swagger he knew he lacked. He took a deep inhale and glanced back over at you… something in his mind flipped like a switch. “You know what? Sounds like a plan,” he said to Hyunjae, plastering a typical dimpled smile on his face.

The two of them maneuvered their way over to your position. As he gained proximity, the tightening in his chest gradually loosened, a rope slackening. Despite the loosening, it didn't mean the weight had gone away. The weight filled him with something comforting like his heart and lungs weren't alone in his ribcage.

He kept his eyes glued to you as he and Hyunjae neared.

You must have felt his gaze because you turned around to meet his eyes soon enough. There was a dilation in those pretty eyes and a smile that reached them.

“What have you been up to?” Changmin shouted to you over the music as he sidled up beside you. Your shoulders brushed against one another and he fought the urge to pull your form to his.

“Nothing much,” you chirped back, sharing his grin. You gestured to your talking companion. “This is Leona, by the way! She's a friend of Indigo's.”

Changmin finally pulled his eyes away from you. Leona, as you had introduced, was not someone he recognized. He didn't know many of Indigo's friends, but she smiled at him widely. “Nice to meet you!” she said.

“Nice to meet you, too. I'm Changmin,” he nodded back.

“And I'm Hyunjae,” his friend chimed in, raising a hand in greeting. “Did you come with Indigo then?”

Leona nodded her head. “I did! She went to go find Juyeon, so I'm not sure where they are now, but Yn found me wandering and we've been chatting since.” She flicked her attention back over to Changmin, and he cocked his head at the sight of something peculiar. He could have sworn there was a flash of electric blue in her eyes.

“Are you a student here?” he asked. He couldn't have imagined the blue, could he? But if she was a friend of Indigo's, then there was a good chance he hadn't.

“No, I'm from out east by Blue Brook,” she said, shaking her head. “I'm just in town for a couple of days visiting with my, uh, sisters.”

No, Changmin was certain now. Leona was a member of Indigo's coven. Blue Brook was where Indigo was from, and it was well-known amongst the supernatural community in this state as a witch's county. There were probably a dozen or so covens in that one area, but Indigo's was one of the largest. And if Leona was a witch, that meant…

Leona arched her brows at him expectantly. Demon? she mouthed.

Changmin stiffened beside you, and your head whipped over to him when you read her lips, too.

You swiftly turned to Hyunjae. “Hey! I'd love a drink, Jae. Let's go get one!”

Hyunjae's eyes widened as you snatched up his wrist and started hauling him in the direction of the kitchen. “Wha—hello? Bye, I guess?” he laughed in disbelief, sending a wink at Changmin through it.

Changmin pressed his lips together. He knew why you had taken Hyunjae away, but that didn't mean he liked it. Should it not be his wrist you were holding?

“She knows?” Leona's voice tore him out of whatever jealous stupor he was in. That cloud had returned to his head, the tightening to his chest.

He held his hand to his brow. “Yes,” he sighed. “Is there a reason you needed to make it so obvious?”

She shrugged innocently. “He didn't notice.”

“He could've.”

Leona wrinkled her nose at him. “Oh, loosen up. I forget that folks outside of heavily concentrated paranormal centers are so uptight about their identities. It's your heritage, for goddess's sake.”

“You mean you forget that you're privileged enough to live in a highly concentrated paranormal area,” he nearly snarled back at her. Adrenaline rushed into his veins with an uncontrollable velocity and bite. He wouldn't have gotten so worked up about this normally, but he already accepted that tonight was likely going to be filled with the irregular. “If you said it even louder than a whisper, that could've put you, me, and her in danger.”

Especially with some lunatic running around targeting demons with energy-draining curses, he couldn't be too safe.

The witch made a face. “I guess I know why Indigo's no fun now, too. No wonder you're friends…” Her voice trailed off as her eyes found someone behind Changmin.

Changmin peered back over his shoulder and locked eyes with a familiar face in the crowd. Indigo's dark eyes widened considerably at the sight of him before she began shoving her way through partygoers to reach him. He raised his arm up like a flag to signal where he floated in the ocean of people.

The crowd quite literally spit the poor thing out and she had to grapple onto his arm. “Where'd she go?” she exhaled out, head on a swivel.

“She's right—” Not here…? The place where Leona had been right beside him was vacated, as if she hadn't been there at all. Why did she run from Indigo?

“Changmin.” There was a desperate strain behind Indigo's voice as she wrestled his collar with her hands and dragged him down to look her right in the eyes to ensure he was listening. “Leona has been releasing empitachynsia synthios in the party. I don't know exactly where, but I found one broken flask of it on the second floor with Juyo.”

Empitachynsia synthios? In the Old Language most covens grew up learning, that term translated directly to ‘acceleration of emotion.’ Based on the vague knowledge Changmin boasted on potions, empitachynsia synthios was a potent liquid that turned into vapor when exposed to oxygen, affecting those who inhaled it by escalating their emotions to alarming proportions.

Changmin's eyes went as big as Indigo's. “She fucking drugged the party with an airborne stimulant?”

“Just the second floor,” Indigo corrected with a grimace, but she released the vice grip on his shirt collar. “I managed to convince Juyeon that it was someone's dropped perfume bottle, but I left him with Lee Minho on the porch to clear his airways.”

Changmin's head swam. Lee Minho—black cat spirit—okay, then Juyeon was fine. He dragged his hands through his hair with a groan. “Hell, if I had known, I wouldn't have turned away from her like that. Sorry, Indigo.”

“No, no, it's my fault for letting her come at all,” she dismissed with an anxious flick of her wrist, then flexed her fingers to crack her knuckles. “She's been acting strangely for the past few days and I should have taken it more seriously, but I thought it was because she needed to relax a bit.”

He exhaled through his nose and braced his hands onto his waist. “Yeah, she's got a loose mouth though, that's for sure.”

“Good goddess, what'd she say?”

“Let's just say that Hyunjae could've found out who I am.”

Indigo's face ashened to a horrified shade. “Shit. I'm so sorry about her. This is turning out to be more and more of a disaster.”

You can say that again, Changmin thought, but he wasn’t about to put the blame on Indigo for something that was her coven sister’s doing. Though, he couldn’t imagine what manner of thought convinced Leona to release such a strong, and potentially dangerous, potion into a house full of young adults. It didn’t matter that some were horny or hammered—all that mattered was that there would be consequences to this, and it wouldn’t even be their faults.

Indigo recruited his help to locate the runaway witch and Changmin was swift to agree. There were only so many places in this house that Leona could have run off to, but the problem was the amount of people here.

As he and Indigo hunted, he couldn’t help but linger upon the effects of empitachynsia synthios that he was aware about—its presence in the air must have been the reason for his own unrestrained thoughts earlier, both in regards to you and Leona. He convinced himself that that was the reason, not the bond or any feelings of his, but the artificial intensification of whatever miniscule feelings that lingered. The potion could not work from nothing—that wasn’t how magic worked—but he could stomach confessing to a little bit of the feelings from earlier.

This, however, should have not been his main concern. If he had even gotten a little bit of the potion in his system, then what about you? Were you feeling alright? Were Hyunjae and Shuhua unaffected? Hyunjae hadn’t acted differently from his usual self; he hadn’t had much to drink either—that applied to you, too.

Changmin could only come to a shaky conclusion that even if all of you had inhaled a drop of empitachynsia synthios, the dose was not strong enough to have any noticeable effect on your emotions.

It was some divine fortune or providence that, not even ten minutes later, Indigo reported that one of her friends had gotten a hold of Leona in one of the rooms upstairs. With all of the panic that had plagued the two of them, Changmin and Indigo agreed to take their separate ways for the night and to be grateful for a swiftly concluded catastrophe.

The remaining adrenaline left in his system fueled him in his search for you and Hyunjae, wherever the two of you had ended up. The bond had squeezed his chest cavity all throughout the past ten minutes when he was away. His senses led him toward the kitchen, whose crowd was hardly any better than out in the living room. He couldn’t quite differentiate the pounding of blood in his ears from the heavy bass in the house speakers; he could hardly hear himself think. But his eyes found yours and Hyunjae’s forms squished together in one corner of the kitchen, and there was no need for him to think anymore.

Hyunjae noticed Changmin first and tore his attention away from his phone where both you and he had been hunched over watching clips of cats on Instagram. “Hey, done so soon?” he posed the question with a teasing lilt in his voice.

The teasing, though no fault of Hyunjae’s, made Changmin’s eye twitch. Even the suspicion that Changmin was interested in Leona left him with a sour tongue and clenched throat. “Indigo came by,” he said with little inflection to signal the end to that conversation. He inclined his chin to you, who had yet to raise your head. “Oy, Y—”

Your head lolled slightly onto Hyunjae’s conveniently-located shoulder, and the shift in angle revealed to your two friends that you had, in fact, fallen asleep.

Changmin and Hyunjae shared a fond laugh between themselves, glancing at one another in silent agreement. The former quickly pulled out his phone to snap a picture of you unawares, saving it to the group photo album of drunk mishaps.

“How much did she drink?” Changmin lowered his voice, even if the music didn’t give a shit whether you were asleep or not.

Hyunjae screwed up his face into something like unserious exasperation. “I dunno what she was thinking, man. We were talking and she drank waaay too much of the flavored soju. You know how that stuff tastes and goes down like juice.”

Changmin bobbed his hand knowingly. “I think I’m done for the night, to be honest,” he sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “I can take Yn home. Have you seen Shuhua around?”

“Just a few minutes ago.” Hyunjae slipped his phone into his pocket and carefully swapped places with Changmin. “She came by with Yuqi to get refills of some cocktail and said that a few of them were playing Speed downstairs. I’ll probably go join them. Have you seen Juyeon?”

The weight of your head settled comfortably into the crook of Changmin’s shoulder, and he couldn’t help but gently ghost his fingers over your nose to brush the hair out of your eyes. “Huh? Oh yeah, he’s with Indigo and Lee Minho.”

Hyunjae stared between you and Changmin for a pregnant second, but nodded afterward. “Got it. Well, get home safe, man.”

Changmin clasped his free hand with Hyunjae’s. “Same to you.”

When it was only you and Changmin, your living and breathing pillow considered his current position. He did intend on escorting you home—you grew drowsy when you drank a little too much, and as Hyunjae asserted, it was the flavored soju’s fault; but he was loath to wake you from such a peaceful-looking nap. He twisted his head in a way to peer down at your face, your cheek squished against the muscle of his shoulder and your lip gloss leaving a shiny smudge on his shirt sleeve.

He exhaled a careful breath, then gently gave your shoulder a shake. “Rise ‘n’ shine,” he sang. The grin on his face was remarkably large and unsuppressable as you stirred with a small whine.

“There’s a new picture in the drunk folder, isn’t there?” You glowered while lifting your head up and blinking to adjust your vision. You squinted your eyes at him. “You’re not Hyunjae.”

“Is that so disappointing?” He hoped his voice didn’t betray the miniscule shard of bitterness that just pricked his chest. He reached over and helped you with an errant strand of hair; there was no need for him to sulk when he was the one with you now. (Hell, did he think like this all the time or was the potion still in his system?)

You still couldn’t open your eyes much and you yawned. “No, of course not. What time is it?”

“It’s nearly half past midnight.”

“Not bad,” you said. You yawned again, gingerly dabbing at the corners of your eyes when they began to mist. “I think I drank more than I planned to.”

Changmin chuckled, “Yeah, I figured. C’mon—I’ll take you home.”

The pair of you departed out through a side door in the kitchen, a rather convenient exit that helped you evade wading through the living room crowd to get to the front door. The alleyway on the side of the house was illuminated only by a single light above the kitchen door to accompany the trash bins.

You stumbled alongside Changmin with your wits not having returned yet.

His hand bumped against yours. “Can you walk?” he laughed, glancing over at you.

“If I said no, would you carry me?”

Perchance his pulse jumped. “Sure.”

There was nothing, to him in that moment, more lovely than the way you lit up like the fucking sun. Even the shadows in the alley washed away briefly in awe of your elation—an elation he elicited. “Really?”

His cheeks dimpled and a laugh, breathy but giddy, tumbled out of his mouth. “Yeah. Hop on.”

Thus, Changmin found himself strolling along a deserted sidewalk with your legs wrapped around his waist and your arms draped loosely over his shoulders. You had your head tucked into the warmth of his neck as you focused on trying to arrange an Uber to come pick the two of you up at the nearest 7-Eleven; Changmin fought every instinct in him to be still, including his heartbeat. There would be no hiding, even if you were drunk and less observant. Something about your weight on his back eased the ache in his chest at the front.

The night had a bearable chill to it. He rather enjoyed the silence encapsulating you and him, and the shadows clinging to his heels as if they were his guardian. Every so often, he would step into the glow of an amber circle of light and watch your entwined silhouettes cascade across the sidewalk.

“How’s the Uber situation coming along, sweetheart?”

He held his breath until you answered. “Almost,” you murmured in a small voice, focused. The white light of your phone screen streamed up the underside of his jawline from where you held it and also clung to him. “Done!”

He smiled and refrained from turning his head; that would be a dangerous thing to do with your mouth quite literally against his throat. “Good job. When will they be there?”

“I scheduled it for 1:30,” you replied matter-of-factly. You turned your phone off to ease the light shining up into his face, and settled your head against his shoulder in a more comfortable position. “Minnie?”

Ba-bump. “Yeah, Yn.”

“I remember why I drank more than I intended to earlier.” At his quiet prompting, you continued, “Hyunjae was asking about you. It was… he was kind of skirting around it, but he was kind of saying that we’ve been acting weird lately. He mentioned something about you and Leona—I think he saw that she mouthed the word ‘demon’ to you. So I got a little worried and thought if I got a bit tipsy, he’d change the subject.”

Changmin’s steps faltered, but he recovered neatly. A lump seemed to have lodged itself in his throat and it was no longer because he could feel your breath against his pulse. “Is that right,” he muttered, clearing his throat uncomfortably. He had been so careful, too, and all it took was one, little word to shatter his efforts. “Thanks for getting drunk then,” he jested in an effort to lighten his own mood.

“Maybe he doesn’t actually know,” you said to him quietly. “It took you at least two tries to get me to believe you, and Hyunjae’s more of a skeptic than I am.”

But Changmin simply couldn’t be too sure. Of course, what you said held ground, but paranoia was often a pebble in his shoe. “Don’t… don’t worry too much about it, okay? I’ll figure it out as we go.”

“I’m here for you, too.” You lifted one of your hands to give his head a pat. “Well, I’ve always been here for you, but now that I know your secret, you don’t have to hold onto it alone.”

He couldn’t fathom how mere words could warm him from the inside out as if you had taken a handful of whatever sunshine you radiated and placed it in his core. When you had asked him that day why supernaturals were forced to hide their identities from humans, he didn’t linger on the idea of his words sticking with you. He supposed he had underestimated you in that way—you were his friend, and you cared about him as much as he cared about you. Of course you would take those words to heart.

And perhaps that was what eased his anxieties about Hyunjae for the time being. He and Hyunjae were as good of friends as you and him; giving him the benefit of the doubt was what felt right.

“Thank you. I appreciate that.”

You hummed. “I’ll protect you, Minnie. Hyunjae—well, I guess it should be Leona, huh? Leona can catch my hands.”

Changmin’s joyful laugh echoed against the nearby houses. “Oh, you’re too cute.”

He felt your sigh even more than he heard it. “You’re always laughing at me,” you sulked. “I’m trying to be sincere here. Hey, that rhymed.”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry.” He was not super sorry; the grin wouldn't leave his face. “Thank you, Yn. Really.”

By the time you and Changmin raided the 7-Eleven, caught your Uber, and returned to your apartment complex, it was swiftly approaching two in the morning. Your knees no longer wobbled like those of a newborn giraffe, so you walked beside Changmin to your apartment unit. The hallway, alight with its typical blinding fluorescents, was appropriately deserted and effectively made even the smallest of whispers ricochet like the acoustics in an arena.

Changmin had walked this path to your apartment door dozens upon dozens of times before, and though the scenery and the smell hadn’t changed a bit, the feeling that nestled itself into the very fibers of his being had. The ache in his chest, the inconsistent thrumming of his heartbeat, and his headspace had all changed.

Your keys rattled with a tinny sound as you isolated your apartment key from the others. You shoved the carved metal inside the locking mechanism, then sent him a sidelong glance. “Wanna come in for a bit?”

His mouth went dry and it was difficult to pull his lips into the shape of the words that he didn’t want to say. “You should sleep. We should both get some sleep.”

He liked to think he imagined the slow blink of your eyes and the way your eyelashes brushed over the fleeting disappointment in them. “You’re right,” you sighed good-naturedly. You tucked your bottom lip between your teeth as a thought occurred to you. “I do have to be up in a few hours; I almost forgot.”

“Why’s that?” he chuckled, and the image of your feet propped up on your desk as you finished a last minute reading for one of your classes painted itself in his mind’s eye.

“Ah, uhm, Chan’s driving me up to see my parents and his sister.” As soon as the words left your mouth, you wished you could reel them back into your throat.

Changmin’s expression shuddered as the carefully constructed bubble that had formed around his reality tonight burst. The brightness of the hallway lights were suddenly stifling, and he feared what exactly lurked behind its artifice. It reminded him so starkly of your childhood friend—the cordial and warmth he put on as a show a stark contrast to a foreign murkiness that lurked below the surface of the water. There were only so many ways to make Ji Changmin squirm.

He managed a smile to reassure you. You didn’t have to censor yourself on his account, and he wished to know how you filled your days anyway. “Oh, that’s cool of him. Hope you guys have a nice trip home tomorrow,” he said, then brought his arm around your shoulders to bring you into a partial hug before he could talk himself out of it.

You reciprocated the action, but with both of your arms, slotting your bodies against one another so you were two hearts and one body for a second. “Thanks,” you murmured into his shirt. “And thanks for taking care of me. I should be the one taking care of you.”

Changmin pressed his cheek to the side of your head, his arms locking around your waist. The hidden implications behind your words weren’t lost on him, which was why he had told you that he would be good about the soul-bonding thing; about taking care of himself, so that you weren’t forced to in the name of your own privacy and safety.

He was the hazard out of the two of you, after all.

“You do,” he assured you. “You do take care of me.” By continuing to be normal with him, by continuing to treat him as you had always done, he could rest easy at night knowing that he still had a place in your life despite being who he was.

Love was felt in his chest where you belonged—you had made the bones of his ribcage your home, kept his lungs from collapsing, and rested your head against his heart at night. The bond had inadvertently made him two halves of a whole, and he could no longer bear to be without the other half.

There was too much negative space, you thought, as you laid in bed that night (morning). The ceiling was a rather interesting thing to look at with its imperfect, popcorned edges and the dark masses lying in the bottom of the lights, the dead carcasses of foolish insects who couldn’t help themselves.

In particular, there was a distinct lack of someone else. It was strange how fast another’s presence could grow on you, but how could that be when the two of you had already been friends for a couple years? When had spending time with Changmin become essential to easing an unseen ache in your chest?

When you were in the 7-Eleven earlier tonight, Changmin had filled you in on what had really happened at the house party. The idea of a witch being in your midst, releasing a perfumed potion that could escalate someone’s emotions was a frightening prospect. How many other times had you been in similar situations and none the wiser?

And if that potion had worked its way into your system or Hyunjae’s or Juyeon’s or Shuhua’s, then how did it affect Changmin?

A mental image flashed in your head. The first time one possessed another’s body would almost always feel akin to a dream. You were looking at yourself from an outside perspective at the party, your head tucked toward your chest as you slouched over Hyunjae’s shoulder. The body you were seeing through had laughed with him—subconsciously, you knew, exactly which laugh belonged to whom. But when he had pulled out his phone to snap a picture, that was the moment it came together.

When you woke up on Changmin’s shoulder at the party, you couldn’t be too sure that it was a dream; it had felt too real. Your physical body had yanked your astral form back into its vessel right before your eyes opened.

You lifted your hand up to your face in the dark and graced your fingers over the path Changmin’s had when he brushed the hair out of your sleeping face.

That same hand fell onto your sternum, the hard bone at the very center where you imagined your soul to rest deep within. You wished you could wrap your hand around the line that connected you to him, because then, maybe you could cling to it… and maybe it would make more sense as to how your mind ended up in his body tonight.

PART V: THE DIABOLICAL

TRUTHFULLY, 8AM was too early to be pondering moral dilemmas. Options as to how you would tell Changmin about your out-of-body experience flipped through your mind like a deck of flashcards. You were a hypocrite. You were a massive, clown-faced hypocrite whose thumbs hovered over her keyboard as you debated on how best to start the text message:

Option 1: Heeeey, you know how I gave you shit about possessing my body without permission? Well… we're even now.

Option 2: Guess what lol I might be going insane but I might have had a dream that wasn't a dream about possessing your body.

Or, last and certainly least, option 3: I'm pretty sure I'm interpreting your gestures wrong because I have feelings for you. Also, did I mention that I possessed you during my nap last night?

When you were drunk last night, you couldn't be so certain. (Saying this was if sleeping for less than three hours would've helped clarify your memory any better. Drunkenness and sleep deprivation were more alike as states of brain rot than one might think.) Nonetheless, you determined that you were in the wrong—not because you possessed him; that was an accident. You were in the wrong because you had contemplated murder for Changmin doing the same thing to you.

The question was: how? How were you able to take your soul and jump physical bodies? Changmin said this bond was largely for the benefit of the demon, but he also mentioned that the only reason his experience occurred was because he was exhausted.

If control was the baseline of demonic magic, and Changmin was under the influence of a powerful emotional stimulant, would that justify how you were able to pull it off?

(And if he really was under the influence, did that mean you were getting your hopes up about your feelings being reciprocated? Option 3 was looking less and less attractive.)

You chewed on your bottom lip meditatively as the driver's side door opened to your left.

Chan sighed as he dragged his seatbelt over his chest. “I can't believe I forgot to get gas last night,” he said, cranking the engine. “I could've sworn I did.”

“Maybe you just imagined it,” you teased quietly. When you peered over at him, you couldn't help the frown tugging down at the corners of your lips.

The eye bags and puffiness weren't exactly subtle on him. You could acknowledge that it was rather early for both of you to be up and at 'em, but it was essential to hit the road early since the drive was almost three hours.

Chan gave his head a rough shake in the same manner as a wet dog would. “Guess so,” he said before a yawn cut him off.

“Are you sure you're okay to drive?” You plucked one of the paper cups in the cupholders and handed it to him.

He gratefully accepted the cheap gas station coffee and took slow, measured gulps of the scalding liquid. “I think I should be fine. You should rest; you didn't get a lot of sleep last night, right?”

As he began pulling the car out of the quaint lights of the gas station proper, you adjusted your sitting position. “Chan,” you mused, “you look worse than I do right now. Were you up late last night, too?”

“Maybe a little later than usual… I was just—y’know, preparing some things for today.” He nudged his blinker on and craned his neck to check for oncoming traffic. When it was safe, he pulled out onto the road.

At this point in the morning, there weren't many cars accompanying the two of you on your journey north. The sky was a blanched blue further enfeebled by the pale autumn sunshine. You would instinctively settle in to watch the passing scenery—mountain ranges, pastures, and the like—but you continued to keep one eye on your driver this time around.

“Preparing things,” you repeated softly, turning your phone off having long given up on deciding on a text message to Changmin. “Are you—are you okay? Is everything okay?”

He liked to fuss over you, but you weren't ignorant to his own struggle. Chan was the one who faced adversity, not you—at least, in your mind. Sure, you faced your own troubles, but it hurt you to see him hurt. The two of you hadn't been as close recently, which was no fault of yours or his; people drifted apart sometimes. That was the way of life, but it didn't mean your care for the other waned even the slightest.

Chan physically loosened up his tense muscles. “Yeah, of course. I promise that I'm fine.”

Your eyes shot wide open as they tracked a trickle of something dark and viscous seeping down from his nose and into the cradle of his Cupid's bow. “Oh my god.”

Your friend's eyes flitted off the road for a second. “What?” He brought a hand up to his mouth and pulled it away. “Shit,” he muttered and gritted his teeth. The blood had dribbled into his mouth now to stain the white of his smile a gory crimson.

“I think you need to pull over,” you fretted as you tore through the center console for tissues.

Chan clutched the ball of tissues in one hand and held it up to his nose. “I'm fine, Yn—”

“Pull over. Now.” There was enough force behind your voice to make him twitch, but you suspected that the slight tremor wasn't unnoticeable either. Just how much had he been overexerting himself lately? “I'm driving.”

He didn't have a choice. Defeat clung to the tails of his exhaustion, digging the grooves of his eye bags deeper. Chan didn't argue as he pulled off to the side of the road.

You didn't have to pretend to be even a little angry—you were frustrated, yes, but only because he was clearly not in the state to drive for three hours. It was irresponsible and stupid, you wanted to say to him.

But after swapping seats and glancing over at him in the passenger seat, you opened your mouth with no voice to use. Chan couldn't meet your eyes as he kept the bloody wad of tissue to his nose. You didn't have the heart to reprimand him, and he sure as Hell didn't need that from you.

You reined in your concern and resumed the drive.

Changmin wondered if texting you was too desperate. Before one judged him too harshly, there once was a time when he didn't think about interactions like this as if they were rocket science. There was a time when he could text you with ease and without stress.

That was no longer the case.

“Please tell me you didn't spend the entire morning on your phone. That's a horrible example for the kids, you know.”

Changmin had known Aunt Jenna and her husband Kian were outside the door before they could pull out their house keys. His two cousins, who were reading and napping, respectively, on the rug scrambled to their feet with screeches of welcome to their parents. Changmin pretended their pitch didn't nearly destroy his eardrums. “No,” he protested, “we finished their homework really fast, so we were just chilling.”

“Yeah, eomma. We were just chilling!” parroted the youngest of the two—Dae—as he clung to his father's arm like a jungle gym.

Kian gave a laugh as he waddled into the kitchen with his hands full of groceries and a kid. The second child, Julia, wrapped around her limbs around his ankle; hence the waddling.

“Just chilling,” Jenna deadpanned, unimpressed. She swiped the bags from Kian and set them on the kitchen counter, peering over at her nephew. “Well, were they good?”

Changmin dimpled, nodding. “Yup. I think they deserve ice cream.”

“Oppa gave permission!” Julia hooted.

“I've got it,” Kian mused, squeezing past his wife in the narrow kitchen space. “Kids, go grab your jackets and we'll go down to the store.” He glanced between Jenna and Changmin. “We'll give you two some space.”

As soon as the front door slammed shut and the sounds of eager children disappeared down the hall, Jenna joined Changmin in the living room. Today was the day Changmin promised his aunt he would watch her kids. Rather than being out the entire day, Jenna and Kian promised to be back once they'd completed their long list of errands. Changmin didn't mind watching his cousins for the past few hours; they were, over all, decently well-behaved. (Plus, it was easy to bribe them with the promise of ice cream for good behavior.)

Jenna hiked up one leg beneath her as she claimed the opposite end of the couch from him. “How are you? Has it fully faded?”

Ah, there was no beating around the bush then. He sucked in a breath, but nodded. “I'm pretty sure, yeah. I haven't felt anything for at least a week.” It was strange to go from a period of sporadic headaches to none at all. It was like waiting for a dormant volcano to suddenly awaken; would the curse strike again and how soon?

How did he even come to be cursed? Now that was the question of the hour.

“Good, good. I don't… I can't sense it from you anymore,” she said, nibbling on her fingernail. “You had me worried there, Changmin-ah. How's your friend? Her name's Yn, right?”

A smile crawled onto his face. “You and Mom are always so bad with names.”

“I got it right, though,” she pointed out, but didn't deny his accusation.

“Yeah, she's doing alright.” He licked his lips and became contemplative. At least, he was pretty sure you were doing alright. The memories of last night came rushing back at him in a dizzying whirlwind of laughter, thrills, and warmth; the undeniable wholeness in his chest, your lips at his pulse. He cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck. “I'm trying to focus my efforts on the curse situation now though,” he said after clearing his throat. “I think that should take priority.”

Jenna gave a grave nod. “I'm inclined to agree.”

“Right. I reached out to that one guy you told me about.”

“Oh, the prince? Did he answer?”

Changmin hummed an affirmative. “You said he's a… demon prince. What circle is he from and how the Hell was he let out?”

Out of all the years Changmin knew his Aunt Jenna, it never ceased to amaze him that she was friends with a duchess of Hell. She was more of a social butterfly than his mother, but the extrovert quality didn't necessarily grant one the keys to class mobility and intermingling. Demon pride ran as dense as concrete most of the time, so it was a wonder that Jenna kept in touch with her highborn friend even after moving to the human world.

Jenna squinted one eye. “Ah,” she drawled, “pretty sure he's only second prince. His older brother's inheriting the throne to the third circle.”

Damn. A prince to the third circle, huh? Changmin chewed his bottom lip and his knee began bouncing up and down fervently. He was aware that there were plenty of the supernatural among him on campus, but he didn't go out of his way to interact with them. There had been a party here and there, but he couldn't get away with too much since his closest friends were all human.

“Well,” he continued from earlier, “he replied to my text and agreed to meet with me.” The task had been surprisingly easy. He imagined demon princes, or demon mobility in general, to be unbearably arrogant with each boasting an ego the size of the moon; however, this prince didn't treat Changmin any differently than if he were a classmate with a mutual friend. It was… nerve-racking.

“That's great! The hard part is over.”

Changmin made a face. “I really don't think that was the hard part.”

She flicked her wrist flippantly. “Nonsense. He'll be just as anxious to uncover the culprit as you are.” Jenna cocked her head to the side in thought. “And, well, who knows? Maybe he knows how to break a soul-bond.”

Changmin cradled his hopes for this interaction close to his chest as the day went on. He was supposed to meet this guy in the early afternoon at one of the music studios by campus—apparently, he practically lived there. Word through the hellfire was essentially that this prince was barely seen at his apartment, in class, or outside for that matter.

Suffice to say that Changmin hadn't a fucking clue what he was walking into.

He chained up his bicycle just outside the studio building with his phone's GPS open in one hand and the other absentmindedly rubbing at his chest. (It had been tight all day; you must really be at home, hours away from where he was.)

He glanced up at the unassuming brownstone facade towering above him. This was supposedly the place. The numbers 1117 were tacked onto the side for the building's street address, and Changmin triple checked that it coincided with the address sent to him.

When he was satisfied, he strode over to the front door and let himself in.

The interior of the building was a labyrinth of its own with white plaster walls that looked the same down every corridor. The building designer had left a small mercy, however, in the form of a large directory in the lobby with arrows directing the weary wanderer down a certain path depending on their desired studio number.

Changmin located the number and followed the signs. Before long, he stood before a sleek, black door with A8 emblazoned on its surface. He inhaled deeply, then knocked.

A long moment passed.

Changmin drummed his fingers against the seam of his pants and glanced up and down the empty hallway. Did he get the wrong room?

As if the demon prince could hear his thoughts (Changmin wouldn't be surprised if he could), the door opened. A light brunet poked his head out into the hallway, his eyes large like a doe's and paired with a rather warm smile. “Ji Changmin, I presume?”

Changmin cleared his throat, awkwardly bending himself at the waist in a hasty bow. “Yep, that's me.”

“Not here, not here,” Prince Kim Hongjoong of the Third Circle hushed with a grimace. He flicked his hand in the air, widening the opening to flag him inside. “You really don't need to bow to me, man.”

Oh. There wasn't anything Changmin could think to say except to mutter out an apology under his breath. He ducked into the dimly lit studio, and Hongjoong shut the door behind him. The studio itself was larger than Changmin expected with a small couch shoved into a corner, an expansive mixing desk with a couple monitors, a mini fridge tucked beneath, and a recording booth that spanned the entire back half of the room.

A demon's vision, even a halfling's, didn't worsen or get better with more light, but Hongjoong still turned it up. “Sit, sit,” Hongjoong insisted, gesturing to the couch in the corner. He took his own perch upon the office chair by the mixing desk.

Changmin stiffly lowered himself onto the edge of the couch and placed his bag by his feet. He placed his hands on either of his knees. “Ah, thanks for seeing me on such short notice,” he said.

Hongjoong nodded. “Sure!” That smile was both beautiful and sharp; Changmin couldn't put his finger on it, but it was the epitome of demonic royalty. Hongjoong's expression sobered slightly. “But when you said something about the curse going around lately, I did think that it would be best to talk about it as soon as possible.”

“Right, same here. Were you inflicted by it at any point?” Changmin decided that Hongjoong didn't look any worse for wear, but not everything could simply be observed upon the surface.

“I was lucky,” he replied, shrugging. “Probably because I don't go out much, but I can't be too sure. What about you?”

Changmin dipped his head once. “My aunt says I was, and I had been feeling more exhausted than usual and had random headaches. It's faded by now—but that's because I'm half-blooded.”

Hongjoong nodded his head in understanding. “Okay, glad to hear you're not doing too bad now and the curse was able to fade for you” —he paused, massaging his jawline, before turning to his laptop on the mixing table— “that clears something up for me, at least. Here—I’ve been putting together a document with my findings.”

Changmin stood from his seat and leaned over the desk to see the screen. It seemed that despite Hongjoong's lack of touching grass, the prince did get down to business. He wondered if all princes of Hell were so attentive to their species’ needs; cynicism though told Changmin that they weren't.

“Basically, with your testimony, it seems that whatever curse was performed was intended to only affect those of demonic heritage.” Hongjoong scrolled down to one portion of the document to add in this new nuance. He then worked his way down to a section where there were three images pasted side by side on the screen. Changmin recognized that they were books, but he couldn't identify their titles or purposes. “Which then narrows the curse's point of origin.”

Two images were deleted. The one left was a tome fitted with a dark colored cover. Deep purple veins seemed to scar the black and its edges were torn and crumpled like decaying flesh. There were letters engraved into the front—Changmin squinted to read them: nem focta diabolica. It was an old dialect, more similar to Latin than the more modern dialects used in Hell.

“‘For diabolical deeds?’” he murmured. His eyebrows creased. “That's the Book of the Diabolical?”

Hongjoong hummed, “Yes. You've never seen it?”

“Not until now,” he said while shaking his head. A shiver rattled down his spine and he braced his hand on the desk by the laptop. The Book of the Diabolical was one of the several forbidden cursed magic tomes that existed throughout the realms. Each tome was stuffed full of curses written to specifically target a species. The often lethal effects and methods of use were why most originals were banned and locked away. “But you said that my testimonial is what confirms that this was only targeted toward demons. Could we not have assumed that based on reports of who have been affected?” The reports had only noted a pattern of demon victims. If anybody else was affected, word would have likely been spread.

“Yes and no,” the prince replied. “We can make a judgment call based on reports, but your experience specifically is what gives us cause. If your mild symptoms are due to your half non-demoness, then we can now conclude that the curse is only supposed to work on demons.”

Changmin straightened as his mind went to work, putting together the pieces. “So now we just need to find out who is in possession of the Book of the Diabolical.”

A solemn nod. “I thought it would be easier to track down, but there's been nothing through my contacts about recent acquisitions. We know there are copies of the book that exist, too. It's just… ah, frustrating.” Hongjoong combed a hand through his dirty blond strands, a muscle twitching in his jaw at the thought.

It must have been another layer of aggravating to be a prince and have no control over the situation. Changmin truly could only imagine. “Do we know exactly which spell was used? I know it's energy-stealing, but the nature of it could lead us toward an answer.”

Hongjoong leaned back into his chair as Changmin settled his back against the edge of the table. “I do,” the prince said. “I consulted my circle's chief authority on magic and she mentioned that it was a spell that took energy in order to transfer it to another living being. The spell is also able to locate demonic entities without knowing them personally, so any demons within a certain radius of the spell would be cursed.”

At his own utterance, Hongjoong lurched into an upright position. “So we need to determine where the curse was performed!”

Changmin jolted slightly at his sudden exclamation. “How do we do that? Is it like checking for radiation poisoning?”

“Kind of. We'd just need a sample to match.”

“I'd offer my blood, but I'm not sure how potent the magic is any—”

There weren't many ways to describe what happened simply because Changmin himself couldn't quite wrap his head around it.

One moment, he could breathe perfectly fine; the next, he'd doubled over, desperately clawing at his chest as every ounce of air left his body and refused to come back. Black spotted his vision, narrowing his sight into a tunnel as his knees slammed against the ground.

His blood thundered in his ears as the pain in his chest seized his body whole. Someone had taken a knife and carved their way down the center of his chest.

Then, as quickly as it'd come, it was gone.

Sweat dripped down the sides of his face as Changmin greedily inhaled air into his lungs. Hongjoong was right in front of him, his arm hoisting his body into an upright position. He was murmuring something, but the sound was muffled… little by little, the pain and the blood in his ears dwindled to nothing but a terrifying dream.

Changmin grabbed at his chest as if he could feel the strained pull deep down where soul lived—where you lived—

His eyes shot wide open. “Yn.” The stabbing sensation that pierced his chest now was no longer physical agony but pure, unbridled fear.

He fumbled around for his phone and Hongjoong grabbed it from where it had fallen onto the floor. Worry creased the prince's brows. “Are you okay, Changmin? Who's Yn?”

“My—my soul—” Changmin dialed your number, half blinded by the sweat and tears blurring his vision.

Hongjoong seemed to understand. “Something happened to her?”

“I don't—I don't know.” All he could think about was the fact that you were with Chan and that he was afraid.

You and Chan arrived at your parents’ house just before the clock hit noon. Your childhood home was much like it was when you left and visited every break: half-dead azalea bushes and a rusted wind chime hanging over the porch; hallways and a stairway adorned with the occasional family picture and portrait from over the years; and the smell that clung to the walls, and when bottled up, would be called “home.” It had been where you and Chan spent so many of your formative years together running, playing, crying, and living.

Lunch was eaten at home, and while you stayed to help your parents out with a few errands, Chan went ahead to the nearby hospital to see his sister.

You followed behind him nearly an hour after he'd left, your stomach full and your hands buried beneath a basket of treats that your parents put together for Chaeyoung. Flowers had been considered, but then your dad reminded your mom that flowers could not be eaten, and that had marked the end of that conversation.

The room the nurse's station directed your toward was down a lengthy hall of clean white. You'd consumed media before—books, shows, movies—where a character had a distinct aversion to hospitals because it reminded them of a lost loved one or a moment of distinct pain and weakness. Whenever you passed by the open doors or closed curtains of these rooms, you couldn't help but wonder how many of these people thought the same.

At the end of the hall, you stopped before a closed door whose accompanying window was sealed off with closed blinds. You couldn't tell by squinting through the slits if Chan and Chaeyoung were inside, but there was a little whiteboard off to the side with “Lee Chaeyoung :)” written in dry erase marker.

You lifted your fist up to the door, gently knocking upon its surface. When there wasn't an answer, you took the gamble to let yourself in.

Either the hospital was generous this time, you thought to yourself, or Chaeyoung just got really lucky. The room was spacious for a single person, but there was only room for one bed. Shoving a second in here would have been cruel and unusual punishment. The television hoisted onto the opposite wall from the bed was playing an old episode of Friends at low volume, a comfortable white noise for the sleeping form tucked into bed.

You carefully tread over to the bedside where you saw Chan's backpack left on the chair. You set the basket as quietly as possible onto the nightstand, your eyes flickering over to Chaeyoung to ensure you didn't wake her.

Just as you were moving Chan's backpack off the chair, a book slipped out from the open zipper.

“Shit,” you whispered, barely catching it before it slapped against the linoleum. You'd seen a lot of books before, but this one… you peered at it with a small frown. It was incredibly worn at the edges and the cover design seemed to be something like human veins but in the color of a deep violet. There were words scrawled at the center, but you couldn't get a good look at them before you heard Chaeyoung stir from the bed next to you.

You shoved the book into Chan's bag and set the backpack down, simultaneously dropping your butt into the chair. “I woke you up, huh?” you winced.

Chaeyoung smiled sheepishly at you. Even with the nasal cannula and the formless hospital gown, she was beautiful. Though her skin was more blanched than usual, it didn't take away from the utter warmth she radiated in this sterile environment. In that way, she and her brother were so similar. “Hi, Yn-ie,” she mused. “And no, I was just pretending to be asleep.”

“Well, that's not very nice then. Were you planning to let me watch you sleep this whole time?” you teased back at her. Your lips pulled into a fond smile. “How are you feeling? Any better today, unnie?”

She lifted her hand up onto the railing of the bed and you gently clasped it with your own. Throughout the years, she had come to be almost like your own older sister figure, in a way. “I'm a little tired, but it doesn't hurt a lot, so don't worry. A little coughing here and there, but nothing a bit of water won't fix.”

You wished you could believe her.

“But enough about me. What's going on with you? Are you seeing anyone yet?”

You choked on your own breathing air, pulling a grin out of Chaeyoung. You had to let go of her hand in order to thump your own chest. “You sound like my mom,” you retorted as heat crawled up the back of your neck.

Chaeyoung made a movement akin to a shrug. “I'm bored; sue me… so are you?”

The silence in the room was enough to speak volumes. The way your mind immediately flashed to a particular demonic friend of yours made the tightness in your chest hum gladly. You rubbed the spot with the heel of your palm absentmindedly.

“Oh, well you have to tell me about them now,” Chaeyoung gushed, squeezing your hand. “You can't even deny it—your eyes just went so soft, Yn.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. How were you supposed to tell her that they were only feelings? The urge to tell her about the knot around your ribs was suddenly too great; it was like looking into Shuhua's eyes and denying everything to her. “He's,” you stammered, “we're friends.”

“That's usually how it begins,” she chimed in.

You fixed her with a look. “And he's…” How did one say “everything” without saying everything?

Chaeyoung grinned, knowingly. “I know you'll just deny it, but it's—” Her words broke off with a violent cough.

Your heart leapt into your throat as you scrambled off your chair to reach for the tissues on the nightstand. Her coughing fit raged on without a moment of mercy, not even to let her breathe air. Each one grated on you for your stupidity, for letting her waste her energy on coaxing an answer out of you.

She took the tissues gratefully, shoving them against her mouth as she hacked up globs of crimson red to stain the paper and sheets.

You began searching for water. Maybe medication. Anything that might soothe her for a second.

The door bursted open, and Chan and an older man with a white coat hurried into the room. You ducked out of the way as another nurse barreled in after them. The doctor and the nurse converged on Chaeyoung's bed and you held your hands close together by your chest as you stood next to Chan in the doorway.

“They heard her heart monitor skyrocket from the nurse's station,” Chan said quietly with his eyes on his sister's bed. His eye bags had not gotten better as the day dragged on, but you had been foolish to think for a second that this trip would make him feel any better. His hand gently warmed the place between your shoulder blades. “Come on. Let's give them the room.”

You and Chan ended up in the hallway just outside the door. Your back was pressed against the wall facing the window while Chan practically paced a hole into the floor.

Just a minute ago, he'd seemed almost resigned. But the energy around him had become frantic, frazzled. You grew wary and nervous simply by watching him, your fingers cracking knuckles and tugging at loose strands on your shirt sleeves.

He tore his hands through his hair for what felt like the fiftieth time, and you stepped forward. “Chan—Chan, please just sit down. You're going to tire yourself out like this.”

“Yn, I can't,” he said, and the tremble in his voice was unmistakable.

You grabbed his hands away from his head to force him to look at you, to stay still. “She's going to be okay.”

His eyes glittered with mourning. The jewels that welled up in his eyes poured down the slopes of his cheeks. “She's not,” he rasped, shaking his head. “They said she's getting worse and—and I—I don't know what to do anymore.”

There was a heavy pang in your chest, but you forced both you and Chan to the side of the hallway closer to some of the chairs left out. He balked, stopping in his tracks. “Yn, I don't know how to save her. I've tried everything.”

You squeezed his hands and your eyes began to sting. “I know you have,” you breathed out. “I know you have and I am so sorry.”

“I don't know, I don't know,” he sobbed. He hung his head. “It's my fault. I should've tried harder—I could've done better—”

“Chan,” you cut in, “why in the world would you blame yourself? You've done so much for her; Chaeyoung would never blame you for this, not ever.”

Chan lifted his head and you were so certain there was a glint of purple in his eyes, but there were so many tears it could've only been a trick of the light. “Can I ask you something?”

You nodded. “Anything.”

His fingers curled with yours and you believed that he was finally squeezing you back—that he was finally leaning on you. “Can you promise me that you're not chained to him?”

What?

You hardly registered what he just asked you when you keeled over. A searing pain ripped through your body and twisted around your sternum. It was as if someone had wrapped their hands around that central bone and was trying to tear it out of you. Your heart and lungs seized all at once—you couldn't breathe.

Oh my god—you couldn't—breathe—

Air rushed into your lungs all at once, and you found yourself grappling onto the sides of a chair. Chan was saying something to you—they were words, but words you couldn't hear correctly. …so sorry… can't… you… like me.

Your center of gravity tilted violently on its axis and leaned toward the ground. As blood pumped violently back into your skull, you could feel the cold embrace of unconsciousness pull you closer.

A pair of hands grasped yours again, and you felt something cool pressed into your hold. A cup? Water?

“Yn? Yn, can you hear me? I'm gonna call a doctor—”

“No, no,” you waved the comment away with a weak hand. Your vision gradually cleared along with the fog in your head. You groaned quietly, bringing the paper cup to your mouth and poured it down your throat. Your chest heaved with labored breaths and you slumped into the chair you were draped in. “I'm fine now.”

Chan's face was twisted into deep worry as he leaned over you. “Are you sure?” he asked. “Yn, I can't lose you, too. That looked and sounded awful. What even happened?”

You closed your eyes. “I… I'm not sure.” It was like that one time you had nausea while Changmin was possessing you. But that wasn't nausea; whatever the Hell that had been, it was closer to your heart being clawed out than a measly migraine. “Would you mind just, uhm, getting me more water, please?”

“Yeah, of course. I'll get you a proper bottle from the vending machine.”

“Thanks, Channie.” You blindly patted his hand, and heard the sound of his footsteps soften as he hurried away.

You brought your hand up to your chest and let the warmth of your palm soothe the ache that haunted you. What was all that? There was no way that could have been a heart attack. You hadn't felt it in the heart.

“Shit,” you huffed as your phone vibrated in your back pocket. With a slight grunt, you managed to maneuver your hand beneath your body to answer the call. “Hello?”

A heavy breath filled your ears. “Oh Hell… are you okay?”

Déjà vu, much? You pulled the phone away from your ear to see the caller ID. “Changmin? How did you” —the pieces clicked together in your mind and you straightened in your seat— “oh my god, you felt that?”

“Are you okay?” he repeated instead with more strength.

“Yes, yeah,” you exhaled. The pain was slowly receding to the edges of your memory and breathing gradually became nature again. “Did you feel it, too, then? Are you alright?” The though of him enduring that pain at the same time as you—your heart might as well have fallen straight into the pit of your stomach.

You definitely weren't mistaken when you heard a sniffle from that side. “I'm alright,” Changmin said softly. “I just—I needed to hear—I needed to make sure you were okay.”

A smile pulled so strongly at your mouth that the corners curled downwards. “Well I'm okay now. I promise.”

“When are you coming home? I… I need to see you.”

Your free arm wrapped around your stomach and wished it was his. Unconsciously, your eyes raised from the glossy floor to the presence coming back down the hall with a water bottle in his hand. (Was it survival instinct that had you looking at him in a light you never once considered before?) “Soon,” you promised with all the tenderness in the world. “Wait for me?”

“For however long I need to.”

PART VI: THE CURSED

Nightfall swaddled the world in its embrace when Chan pulled his car into the parking lot at your apartment complex. The headlights sliced through like twin blades across the sidewalk to blind the bushes lining the building’s perimeter. Sleep hadn’t claimed you at any point during the drive back down to the university, and you could feel the dryness begin to sting at the corners of your eyes.

You grabbed your bag from between your legs as Chan let the engine thrum beneath you. “Thanks,” you said quietly.

“Yeah,” he muttered back, dragging a hand down his face.

The drive hadn’t been much better. If someone asked you to point to the exact moment you were aware of the rift between you and Chan, you wouldn’t be able to tell them. There was a cloud of uncertainty, dark and stormy, that now blocked the radiance you were used to.

You glanced out of the window with your palm ghosting over your chest and you locked eyes with a figure loitering by the entrance to your apartment complex. The jump in your heartbeat was confirmation enough of who it was.

Fingers grazed over your shoulder—you shifted away, something you had never done before. A meekness took over your counterpart’s face. “There’s nothing I could say, is there?”

“You’ve never brought this up to me before,” you countered. At some point between Chaeyoung’s hospital room and the apartment parking lot, you figured out what Chan had asked you and who he was referring to. ‘Chained’ was an interesting word choice; you foolishly decided not to dwindle on it too long while you were within five feet of him.

It was a lot to think about. The chasm that gradually stretched between you had never existed before, and it cracked through the bridge that was your history with him. Your immediate thought was that the bridge was worth saving, but whenever you leaned over to grab the flayed ends, there was something in the dark that snapped at your fingers.

“He’s… Yn, he’s not who you think he is.”

You shoved the car door open. “I’ll make that judgment for myself. Good night.” Without another word, you stole into the night and let the door’s slam echo in the quiet.

As you made your way across the sidewalk to Changmin, there was an undeniable skip in that reliable rhythm called a heartbeat. The more you closed the distance between you, the less your chest ached and tugged. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you registered the sound of tires dragging over gravel and lights fading away, but if it wasn’t in your direct view, you didn’t quite care.

Changmin didn’t look hurt, at least from the outside. His dimpled smile graced his features as he took a few steps to meet you.

“Hey—” Your mouth muffled against the fabric on his shoulder as his arms scooped around you and pulled your body flush against him. An emotion bubbled up in your chest, then your throat, as you relaxed into him. The ache was gone, but he was here. You slowly brought your arms up around his middle and allowed the unspeakable to simmer.

You heard a small sound by where his face was tucked into your neck, and when the realization hit you, you could only laugh. “Are you sniffing me?” you snickered.

“You smell nice,” he sulked.

You patted his back. “So not only are we leashed, but you have also adopted the characteristics of a dog—”

“I’m letting go now.”

“Noo, don’t let go. I’m sorry,” you said and locked your arms around him. You both knew he could break out of your hold at any point, but in your arms, he remained. “Are you okay? You wanted to see me right when I got back.”

A breath was released against your skin, and it was so similar to the brushes of wind that he demonstrated early on as a physical manifestation of his power. “I needed to see you,” he corrected. “I needed to see that you were okay.”

The top-left quadrant of your ribcage fluttered. “I… yeah that was scary, wasn’t it?” you whispered. The phantom pain ignited within your breast for a moment, and you screwed your eyes shut. How could a single touch cause such physical agony? You were careening toward the truth you had been avoiding for hours now. You were peering into a dark chasm with no end to the bottom, but the longer you delayed, the longer it would continue to instill that fear and anxiety within you.

You cupped the back of his head with your palm, brushing your thumb through the strands of hair. “We need to talk.”

He hummed. “We do.” Changmin straightened and while one of his arms lingered about the curve of your waist, the other lifted toward your face. Before he could touch you, he stopped himself and pulled the hand back down to his pocket. “Are you tired? We could talk about this tomorrow?”

The thought of tomorrow morning’s lecture, but leaving the seat beside Shuhua empty, made your stomach sink. Your nod was reluctant. “I guess so… thank you for coming though. It was sweet—good. It was really good to see you. I—”

That hand from just a moment ago reappeared to cup the underside of your jaw and drew you over to kiss you.

(Under oath, Changmin would have admitted that there was a part of him that had been craving to kiss you since that day in his apartment when he confessed that murder from your lips was damningly divine; but if you were to ask him now, he would have said he simply didn’t want to say good night yet.)

You weren’t out of your wits enough to be completely slow as to what was happening. His touch was hesitant and bereft of the full strength he wished to impart. The brush of his lips against yours was fleeting and he was pulling away all too soon.

Cheater. You grabbed a handful of his hoodie in your fist and yanked him back over to you. You’re not getting away with that.

He stumbled in surprise, slapping his palm against the wall over your head. That arm was looping back around you in an instant, and your chests pressed together as if connected by opposite poles of a magnet. He was better this time around—sloppier, more fervent. His fingers dug into the meat of your waist, his mouth bruising against yours.

You wondered if a few minutes spent devouring the air between each other was enough to carve the other’s name into your mouths permanently.

His mouth glistened in the low light when you pulled away to relieve your lungs. Changmin’s eyes were hooded, pupils dilated to the black of deep space: consuming, but wondrous. “Another thing to talk about tomorrow then?” he exhaled out against your skin.

You nodded—that was a given—and you watched his eyelashes flutter as he leaned in again. Something deeply satisfied purred in the recesses of your center, somewhere only one’s soul might dwell. (Love was felt in your chest where he belonged, after all.) You breathed him in as he kissed you once more. It wouldn’t matter if the invisible string that tethered you to him eventually faded because your souls were far too comfortable with each other to ever let go.

The sun hung midway between the sky's precipice and the horizon, washing the world beneath it in a whimsical filter of gold. While Mondays were usually a lighter load for you, today happened to be the one you stacked all of your academic appointments onto. It wasn't until about three in the afternoon that you were able to see Changmin again.

You stepped out of your department advisor's building with your hand raised to shield your eyes. Waiting for you at the curbside and straddling his bicycle was the other half of your soul bond.

“You like guys with bikes?” Changmin grinned, half laughing as he nodded to you.

You threw your head back and couldn't fight the smile off your face. “You pick up all your girls like this?”

“That would be a yes, 'cause I only have one girl and I don't have a car.”

Your laugh bounced off the nearby walls and made Changmin's cheeks hurt from how wide he smiled. You made your way over to him, and he curled his hand around your waist, thumb rubbing into your hip bone. “Hi,” he mused.

“Hi.” Nothing had been said between the two of you since last night besides wishes of good sleep and to perhaps see one another in your dreams. (If dreams were considered a weakness to demons, it was safe to say that Changmin didn't give a damn.) You licked your lips. “So where do you wanna talk? Because we do have to talk about some things.”

“I know. Juyeon said he won't be home, so I thought we could go back and talk, and maybe… watch a movie, if that's cool.”

You snorted. “You kiss a guy once and he suddenly gets game.”

His eyebrows went sky high as he handed you his helmet to strap on. “Actually,” he scoffed, “we kissed at least f—”

“Ah!” You pressed your pointer finger to his lips, fixing him with a pointed look and ignoring the warmth in your cheeks. “That's semantics. Is this even safe, by the way?” you asked, gesturing to the back of his bike where he had a small rack installed over the back wheel.

“Yeah, you just need to hold on tight.”

You threw one leg over the middle and braced your feet over the two bars jutting out from either side of the back wheel. Your arms came around his nearly nonexistent waist, the side of your head resting against his backpack. “You just want me to hug you.”

Changmin laughed from the front. “You said it, not me!”

Who said sharing a bike was romantic? Certainly not you, but there was plenty of fluttering in your stomach that made you think otherwise. You didn't keep your face against him for long, and lifted it up to feel the wind across your cheeks and through your hair.

It was strange to think of him as a demon when you had known him longest as a good friend. There was nothing remotely unhuman about him, but what made someone a human? Was it physical traits or lack of magic ability? Was it the realm we hailed from or was it simply… prejudice and stereotype?

Whenever you thought back to that fateful night, you couldn't believe you'd harbored even an ounce of fear for him. A part of you thought he'd pulled all those stops to make you scared, but the other part knew that maybe they were necessary out of his own alarm.

When you arrived at his apartment complex, he locked up his bike in the room in the lobby. The two of you worked your way up to his floor, a light conversation bubbling between you about what movie you should watch after you filled each other in. Speaking about anything regarding the supernatural out in the open like this was not ideal.

“—it’s really not even that scary,” Changmin insisted as he fished around his bag for his keys.

You crossed your arms over your chest, unconvinced. “I know you've got a thing for Chucky, but—”

His mouth fell agape as he managed to grab his keys and shimmy open the lock on the door. “I do not have a thing for Chucky. That's just disgusting and perverted. I thought you were better than—oh. Shit.”

You were about to ask him what was wrong when you followed him in through the door. Seated on the couch was Juyeon, Shuhua, and Hyunjae, two of whom had their arms crossed and their faces fitted with matching masks of suspicion.

“Hi guys,” you greeted awkwardly and nudged the door closed. What were they talking about without you and Changmin?

“We’ve been expecting you—ow! We agreed that I was going to greet them,” Hyunjae hissed to Shuhua who had dealt a brutal blow to his ribs with her elbow. “Also, your elbow is so fucking bony—”

Shuhua harrumphed, sitting up straight with her chin inclined. “We’ve been expecting you. Juyeon purposely lied to Changmin so we could confront the two of you.”

You and Changmin exchanged nervous glances. Your counterpart then swiftly turned toward his roommate with an expression of betrayal. “You lied to me?”

Juyeon went doe-eyed. “I’m sorry, Changminnie—they made me!”

Hyunjae’s cough was annoyingly loud, and he thumped his fist against his palm like a gavel. What was this—court? “Ahem. We all agreed that we needed to catch you guys in the act and to hold an intervention. I tried” —he dragged out the word ‘tried’ as if he’d nearly died in the Sahara Desert while doing it— “to confront Yn about it at the house party, but then you went and got yourself drunk.”

Oh. You performed a mental rewind all the way back to last Saturday. Oh no.

You and Changmin gravitated toward one another’s side. “What exactly,” Changmin drawled with narrowed eyes, “are you holding an intervention about?”

“Guys, please. We’re not fucking stupid,” Shuhua huffed. “We know you’ve been sneaking around together. And whether you’re actually dating or just hooking up—”

You choked on your own spit.

“—we need to know if you’re committing friendcest.”

You had to hold back both a laugh and a tremendous sigh. This was about fuckass friendcest, not Changmin’s demonhood. You opened your mouth to relieve your friends of their concern when Changmin beat you to the punchline.

“We’re not sneaking around for that reason,” he said, his eyes flickering over to you. You felt the back of his hand graze yours, and you blinked at him. While it was true that the original reason you started sneaking around was not because of mutual attraction, there was a tablespoon of truth to that now. If last night hadn’t happened before this conversation, it would have been a lot harder for you to answer their questions, and if you had talked about the kiss before…

There was conflict across Changmin’s face as he warred with himself on how to properly put yours and his hunt into words that they would understand. There was undoubtedly a build-up of years’ worth of guilt mounting in him to put pressure on his reveal of the truth, but it was clear that he was still not ready for that conversation yet.

You stepped forward and grabbed his hand. “He’s lying. We have been dating,” you declared. It was an innocent white lie that was somewhat truthful. “We” —you cleared your throat as every pair of eyes darted over to you, including Changmin’s— “wanted to try it out. We only really have gone out a couple times though, and it hasn’t been long since it started. We’re sorry we hid it from you guys.”

Changmin’s eyes gleamed with gratitude as his fingers braided with yours and he cupped around your bound hands with his free one.

A beat of silence passed as the other half of your friend group exchanged glances with one another. Had they expected you to deny it?

At last, Shuhua broke out into an almost pouty smile. “I wish you guys didn’t hide it from us, but if you’re happy…”

“We hid it because we weren’t sure yet and didn’t want it to affect the group’s dynamics,” Changmin chimed in. He squeezed your hand at his side. “I mean, I’m happy.” He glanced over at you, cheeks dimpled. “You?”

You smiled back, nodding. “Very.”

Juyeon sniffled and clasped a palm over his mouth. “Ugh, this is so romantic. You guys look so happy together. I need to tell Eric and Indigo about this.”

“Man,” Hyunjae feigned exasperation, but even he couldn’t hide the large grin on his face, “I really thought this was gonna be more dramatic. Glad you guys really were just sneaking around and dating and stuff, and not like, hiding a body or anything.”

You and Changmin looked at each other again and produced similar sounds bordering on a suspicious level of nervousness. “Yeah… definitely nothing like that.”

The other three were, unfortunately, sharper than you liked to give them credit for. “Wait, what do you mean—”

“Bye now!” Changmin whisked you out of the apartment unit with a slam of the front door. Yours and his giggles wrapped around one another as you left, leaving your dumbfounded friends high and dry.

When you and Changmin had escaped to the end of the hallway by the stairs, you finally released the breath you had been holding. Keeping Changmin's secret was one thing, but lying to your friends was another. What you claimed back there wasn't a total lie, but in this case, perhaps ignorance was bliss. You didn't doubt your friends would be supportive of Changmin's heritage, but if it was something he wanted to continue to keep undisclosed, then that was his prerogative and it was not your truth to reveal.

Yours and Changmin's hands remained intertwined as you made your way back down to the lobby. Since his apartment was clearly occupied, you would need to find somewhere else to speak privately. The answer came in the form of a park nearby, who's trails and pathways were rather vacant at this time of day.

Changmin locked his bike and helmet up at the park's entrance before his hand found yours again. “We are dating now, right?”

You snorted. “That's the first thing on the agenda?”

“Well, yes,” he beamed boyishly at you, swinging your hands between your bodies. “Are you saying that what you told them back there was really a lie?”

“I mean, no,” you stammered. Heat prickled beneath the surface of your skin and you fought to avoid his direct gaze, so knowing. “We are dating, if you're okay with it.”

“Sure.”

“Sure?” you squawked. Such indignation in that pretty boy smile of his. Your expression flattened into a deadpan. “I suppose I do have something to confess before we put a label on it.”

Changmin smiled to himself. “This is the moment you tell me you're a serial killer, isn't it?”

“You're really sick in the head,” you joked back. “But no, I mean that… well—hear me out: that night at the party when I was asleep? I may or may not have possessed your body.”

Changmin halted so abruptly that you were almost yanked back into his body from your linked hands. “What?”

You squeaked out a nervous laugh. “It's not, y'know, that big of a deal. It was only for a few seconds, and it really could have just been déjà vu or something.”

“No. No, it makes sense.” He shook his head, then pressed the black of his knuckles to his pursed lips, eyebrows creased together in a pensive stare. “My mind wasn't the most stable, so I wouldn't have been able to stop you from coming across the soul bond. It's just an interesting notion to consider; I've never heard of a case like this before.”

“Ah.” You were glad he wasn't bringing up the utter irony of the situation. “Maybe you can ask Aunt Jenna, and I bet most demons don't regularly come across that potion very often.”

Changmin cocked his head to the side thoughtfully. “That's true. There is something that I've been meaning to tell you though. I don't know if you remember the random headaches I used to get” —you hummed your acknowledgement— “but it was apparently because I, and other demons in this area, were inflicted by a curse.”

Your face shuddered. A curse? How long had he been holding onto this?

His mouth set into a line. “I didn't want to worry you, but my being half human pretty much saved my life. It was… something from the Book of the Diabolical—a curse that stole energy from one being to transfer to another.”

The Book of the Diabolical rang a distant bell in your head. “That's really scary,” you murmured.

“I—I know,” he said, taking you by your arms, “but I'm working with another demon on campus to solve it. It shouldn't affect you at all because they've only been targeting demons, but—”

“That's incredibly worrying for you to say—”

He exhaled, “I know, I know. I can take care of myself though, especially now that I have this other demon to help.” Changmin's grip on your body tightened, but not to an uncomfortable degree. His possession of your gaze was even more secure; there was an urgency within him that compelled you. “I'm telling you this now because… because I can't stomach the thought of you getting hurt, and I need you to promise me to be careful.”

You brought your hand up to cover the back of one of his. “But you said this curse only affects demons,” you whispered.

“Yes, but” —he cut himself off, tearing his eyes away for a moment. He bit his lip nearly hard enough to draw blood. “I just have a very, very bad feeling about something.”

“Then tell me what it is,” you pushed. There was no way you could safeguard yourself if you didn't know what he was worried about.

Changmin considered you for a moment, then in a low voice, said, “It's about Lee Chan. I know you're friends with him, but I just can't put my finger on how he's connected to all of this.” Your eyes fell away from his, and his heart stuttered in his chest. His palm was gentle as he ran his thumb over your cheek. “Please. Please just be careful, sweetheart.” Please believe me.

At last, you nodded and slowly raised your head up to meet his eyes once more. “Okay,” you said, “I promise.”

There was a beat of hesitation in his heartbeat again—he couldn't bear to be without his other half.

Your conversation with Changmin was severed short when he received a call from his demonic friend—a Kim Hongjoong—about an update regarding the curse's residual essence. He biked you to your apartment complex first, walking you to your door. He left soon after, but not before bestowing a lingering kiss to your brow, the words between the stressed lines of his eyes imploring.

You promised to call him tonight, and you shouldered your way into your apartment. Your heart had not ceased to stop rattling in its confines since Changmin admitted his wariness about Chan. You didn't know why you didn't immediately agree with him then and tell him about your thoughts from the hospital day, but your thoughts whipped around in your mind, trapped in a violent rip current.

The reason you had looked away from him earlier was not because you doubted him, but because you feared those whispers of suspicion were quickly becoming your reality. It was a grave accusation to name Chan specifically, and to even suspect him having a hand in recent diabolical deeds, but you couldn't deny that your view of him was morphing into something else.

It wasn't right, you thought. Lee Chan was the sun—bright and warm. He wouldn't hurt a fly. Right?

You fumbled for the lights in your darkened apartment. It was strange that your roommates weren't home; usually they would have been. You suppressed a yawn as you failed to find the light switch for some reason. Had you been this tired all day? Your eyelids were growing heavier and heavier by the second…

“Shit,” you muttered as your foot hit something solid on the floor. Your fingers caught the switch and light flooded into the room.

A gasp tore out of your throat. By your foot laid the body of one of your roommates, her limbs splayed sporadically, but her chest still rising and falling with breath. (Asleep?) You lifted your head, and a dooming chill fell over you as you realized that the body on the couch was your second roommate; and there—the third's hand poked out from behind the kitchen counter.

There was another aspect to survival instinct. It launched into effect as soon as you spotted a figure emerge from your periphery.

You whipped around and reached for the door handle, but to no avail. A strong arm caged around your middle and slapped over your mouth. Whatever was on his hands—dry, chalky—dragged a cough from your throat. Though your heart pounded in merciless rhythm, it seemed only to work to your detriment.

“Can't let you do that,” said the voice behind you, gruffly. It was familiar.

The world grew darker… dimmer… your body's thrashing slowed. You screamed and attempted to flail around, desperate to get free. Why the Hell was your body getting weaker? Why—why were you tired—

Just before you surrendered to unconsciousness, the epiphany slammed into you like a truck. The worst part was it was way too fucking late.

If desperate people found faith, then Lee Chan was admittedly the most desperate of them all. Most people—humans, it should be clarified—found faith with the established religions of the world. There were truly far too many to count, but desperate and depressed ten year old boys were more resourceful than others gave them credit for.

The problem was that Chan was a creature made whole by the love imparted onto him by you and his older sister, as well as the neglect and hatred sown by his parents. It made for a dynamic persona—a soul torn asunder by the people he yearned for most. He wished his parents could have cared more, then perhaps he wouldn't have cared so much.

(Though, if they had cared even an inch more than they had, he wouldn't have traded their lives for Chaeyoung's in the first place… maybe he would have still done it, but he might have regretted it, at least.)

Wasn't there a definable point when a hero became a villain? No, he didn't like thinking of himself in those terms. “Protagonist” and “antagonist” were far too restricting. It was similar to the stigma surrounding the forbidden tome of curses in his possession; why was it forbidden if it was so very useful?

The only thing was that it lacked the spell he seemed to need most right now: a spell to convince you of the pure evil you had bound your soul to. Whether it was inadvertent or purposeful, Chan would do you a favor: by severing the demonic soul bond, he could save you—his beloved little sister. He could save you and protect you from an ill-begotten fate.

But even as he settled your unconscious body over the summoning circle sketched in confident, chalk strokes, he racked his brain for any possible reason why you were bound. To what end was your bargain with Changmin? Were you so desperate as to strike a doomed deal with a half-demon? He considered your face with a frown; even in sleep, your browser were furrowed with stress. He needed to get a move on.

The Book of the Diabolical laid open atop your desk where he had pushed it into the corner. The entirety of your room was rearranged in order to give him a wide berth to work—bed shoved to the far reaches, drawers and file boxes relegated to the closet. The middle of the room featured your body over his summoning circle, rounded out with burned phlox candles who's scent suffocated the room in its bitterness.

Chan hunched over the book and consulted the line of curse he had tabbed with a sea otter sticky note. Over the past several years of his life, he dedicated himself to learning how to decode the old dialect of this tome in order to use it to its full reaches. “Asmantha's star for summoning, check. Burned phlox, mhm. Conscious blood of the victim…” his voice trailed off as he caught miniscule movement from the corner of his eye. “You're awake already? What a weak spell.”

Your body stilled. “Chan…?”

“Just another minute,” he promised and reached into his backpack down by his feet. He withdrew a slim paring knife he had brought with him from his apartment. “This'll all be over soon.”

His eyes scanned over the lines of directions. Without looking back at you, he said, “I also wouldn't do that if I were you.”

You froze with your fingertips centimeters away from the edge of the summoning circle. If your nail had so much as crossed the line, your body would have been rendered paralyzed. It wasn't a pleasant feeling—Chan knew from experience—but it was a necessary evil.

“What are you doing to me? What is all this?” you queried, your voice as small as a mouse's.

He could feel your eyes go to the paring knife in his grip, and the thought occurred to him that it was troubling you. Chan turned around then with a reassuring smile, only to be met by your eyes, so round with fear. Oh. “Yn, this is for your own good,” he crooned sweetly with all the boyishness that you were used to. “I'm just doing you a favor. I know demon bonds are really hard to get rid of. They're nasty things, but I have a way to do it with minimal damage.”

You eyed him warily from your side of the line. “You mean a soul bond?”

Chan barked out a laugh. “Is that what he called it? Fucking disgusting,” he spat. Every molecule in his body boiled with anger—for you, of course. How dare Changmin fool you into some romantic vision of such a treacherous, vile thing? “I don't expect you to understand right now, especially if he's gotten into your head, but I'm going to help you.”

“Help me? I don't need any help—”

“You’ll thank me later,” he interjected with a click of his tongue. He nodded his head toward you. “Now hold out your hand. I just need a little bit of blood, and we'll be done.”

You scrambled backward on your hands. “What? No.”

Annoyance twitched in his jaw, but his chest twisted with something heavier. You were so far gone… if he didn't act now, it would be too late. “I'll come in there myself if I have to,” he replied and rose to his feet.

Wild, unbridled fear flashed across your face as your head swiveled around. You were trapped between a knife and the circle bounds, prey meeting predator.

Chan stepped into the summoning circle, brimming with determination. The spell's incantation swam fresh in the forefront of his mind, locked and loaded upon his tongue for the proper moment. His thumb ran over the flat side of the blade and he stalked over the chalk markings. “I only need a little,” he reassured you.

“Don't do this,” you sputtered, “please! You don't have to break the bond.”

Your words only spurred him on. Chan lunged for your ankle, and you rolled out of the way, the crown of your head narrowly missing the edge of the circle. It was to your slight advantage that he had drawn the thing so fucking large, but it only gave the lion more room to play with his food.

Rich purple fractured across his irises and you could no longer dismiss it as just a trick of the light. Stupid. You had been so fucking stupid.

He pounced again. The breath flew out of your lungs as you hit the ground, your hand grasping his knife wrist where it was poised above your cheek. Your entire body shook as you held him back. “Stop,” you cried. “Why are you doing this? Chan, we're friends.”

“That's exactly why,” he grunted and used his body weight and gravity to inch the blade down further.

Pure adrenaline was all that kept your limbs from failing. Sweat collected between the grooves of your palms and fingers, your heart racing at two hundred beats a second. Every ounce of energy went toward survival. “I don't” —you heaved at his wrist to get it to move away— “understand.”

Chan squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them. Tears had welled up in the linings, trickling down onto your face. Agony contorted his own, flushed, as he exerted every exhausted bone in his body. He'd used so much of his energy lately. “I can't have you end up like me,” he said through gritted teeth. “And if I can't save noona, I can still save you.”

He slammed the knife down.

Your head jerked out of the way, just as the tip of the blade crunched into the wood floor.

Before you could tumble out of the way, he snatched the front of your throat with his free hand and pinned you in place. Your hands whipped up to your neck, desperately clawing at his fingers and knuckles, your airways narrowing. Blood from his hand trickled down from your angry marks, a river of red flowing to stain your own skin.

“Please,” you choked out.

He didn't listen. You felt the bite of steel; blood, hot and thick, bubbled out of the cut and dripped down the side of your face onto the floor like a tear.

Chan kept his hand around your throat. His eyes, drowning in his own sorrow, never left your face. You once knew his eyes, but the purple that corrupted them struck you with fear. “Utimana catenia ab eterno effodiant sycut sol ad auroramae. Abi, daemon. Abi, daemon!”

You never thought you'd ever feel that same searing pain from the hospital ever again, but this was much worse. A guttural scream tore out of your throat with more wind than volume. Someone had dug their way into your body and was ripping their way out. They buried their fingernails and were shredding your muscle, cracking your bones apart, and they wouldn't stop until they saw the cold light of day.

The physical sensation—it was no clean slice. When a rope was pulled under strain, every fiber unwound until it snapped. You couldn't breathe. Every fiber of your being, physical and metaphysical, clung onto the soul on the other end of the line.

The rope splintered. Only then did you lay still.

Air once again flooded into your lungs, but your chest ached and ached and ached. Your throat burned from your crying. Your head hit the ground beneath you and you pawed at your sternum. The negative space was so damn loud. He wasn't there—he wasn't there—

“Yn?” A shaky voice, small and childlike. Chan's face appeared above in your line of sight with worry written stark over his face. “He's gone now.”

He's gone now. A cough boiled up in your throat, and you turned your head to hack up the residual blood. It was as if something truly had broken in your body. An entire piece of you was missing.

When you remained silent, Chan dragged himself up to his feet. “You’ll be grateful one day, you know? I'll clean this up and leave you be—”

You didn't have the heart or strength to lift your head, but you heard what happened next.

Chan's breath caught, followed by sounds of growling protest. There was a foreign voice or two over by the doorway. Take him to the Third Circle. We'll deal with him later.

The heart in your chest, its beats weak, stuttered into a pitiful skip as if it could sense the other half of it approaching. A face appeared in your view, his eyes wet and blood seeping from his nose. “Yn?” he rasped, wiping the blood with the back of his hand.

His blond hair hung in his eyes as you peered up at him. Your body relaxed in the presence of the one it yearned for most.

“I'm so sorry,” he said, his voice breaking, as he dipped his head to touch his forehead to yours. I'm so sorry I'm late, so sorry I let him hurt you. You could feel his body shake with silent cries. “I am so fucking sorry.”

“He said you were gone,” you managed to croak with your hoarse voice. Your nose and eyes stung with oncoming tears, and as soon as the dam broke, you could not reverse it.

“I'm right here,” he assured you. His arms wrapped around your body and pulled you up toward his chest.

“It hurts.” You pressed a hand to your chest where the gaping chasm now sat. You didn't know how deep your soul laid within, bruised and battered. “Are you okay?”

Changmin loosened a wet chuckle from his mouth, holding the side of your face tenderly. “I should be asking you that. I was so scared—Hell—” Loss was a unique feeling. It was strange because you were right here in his arms, but no amount of proximity soothed the visceral throbbing in his chest. He once was whole, one part loved and the other part loving. But what was done, was done: the goal you and Changmin originally had in mind was accomplished, but neither of you were sure that you wanted it anymore.

The two figures you didn't recognize approached the summoning circle. One was a boy who looked human enough, but with eyes that seemed too sharp. The other beside him was a woman with gray hair, styled to coiffed perfection as a bed for the pair of curled black horns jutting out from the crown of her head.

You struggled into an upright position and leaned back against Changmin. “And” —you cleared the congestion in your throat— “you are?”

“Kim Hongjoong,” said the former with a sad tilt to his smile. He gestured to the woman. “My colleague, Amari.”

“Prince of Hell and Magika Supreme,” Changmin muttered into your ear.

Your eyes went wide. “Should I bow?”

Hongjoong waved his hands in front of him. “No need. Are you feeling alright though? Soul bonds are… they aren't the easiest things to live without once you've had one.”

“You know what it feels like?”

“Definitely not,” he said sheepishly. “But I can guess. Changmin collapsed when he felt his end was devastated. I, uhm, imagine that your experience was similar.” The prince lowered himself into a crouch to be eye level with the two of you. “Your friend—the one who did this to you.”

Your throat squeezed tight with the phantom of his hand around it. “Chan?” you stammered. “What's happened to him?”

“We've taken him into custody,” the Magika Supreme replied with a low voice and perfect posture. “Did you know that he had a copy of the Book of the Diabolical?”

There was that title again. You shook your head, but pointed in the direction of your desk. “That thing? I didn't know what it was until now. He—he had it when I was at the hospital with him yesterday.”

“Do you know how long he's had it in his possession?”

You were about to answer, when Changmin cut in. “With all due respect,” he swallowed, “Yn deserves her rest, not an interrogation.”

Hongjoong exchanged glances with Amari, then nodded and rose to his feet. “Fair enough. We'll help you clean up and be on our way—”

“Wait.” You didn't expect them to listen to you. “I need to know what happened. I don't—I still don't understand.” When had everything gone wrong for your friend? In your mind's eye, you could picture the canyon that spanned yours and Chan's relationship, the tattered bridge hanging listlessly over the gorge. You could not banish his words from your head: I can't let you end up like me. And if I can't save noona, I can still save you.

Hongjoong pressed his lips together. “Your friend has been using that book of curses for a very long time to steal energy and transfer it to his sister. Recently, your Changmin and many others fell victim to one of them.”

Your hand fell over where Changmin's rested across your middle. Could he feel the guilt sloshing in the pit of your stomach like turbulent waves?

“We believe he targeted demons specifically because of a deal he made with a demon in his past.” A shadow fell over the prince's face, and you read the grave sadness embedded there. “He must have held a grudge against our kind since that rotten deal.”

It made sense. As much as it caused bile to creep up your throat, the pieces were slipping into place. The pure, venomous loathing he directed toward Changmin and the soul bond—if he had experienced a demonic bargain before, he would not only be aware of the existence of the supernatural, but the nature of such soul-binding deals.

Chan had done it for Chaeyoung—that conclusion wrung you through the deepest pits of Hell and destroyed you. He'd done it to save her life, but it hadn't been enough.

“What's going to happen to her?” The bloody tissues and crude scratches of her coughing crushed into your mind. “She didn't ask for any of this.” They said she's getting worse.

The Magika Supreme was the one who answered. “The energy Lee Chan stole and imbued her with was corrupted, which is unfortunately why Miss Lee's condition is worsening.”

An idea manifested in your head and you shifted to sit up out of Changmin's hold. “Then can you—”

“Yn,” Changmin lamented, predicting where your mind had wandered.

“—save her? Could you save her? Is there any way?” Someone titled with Magika Supreme must have the power or authority to achieve something like this. Chan's love for his sister fundamentally fueled all of his actions. Every malicious deed he pulled, every incantation he uttered, had been with the intent to save Chaeyoung from a fate she could not control. You wished his desperation hadn't shoved him over the edge; you wished he never had reason to get to such a point.

Amari paused, but not because she was uncertain of the possibility. She passed a glance to her prince, then to Changmin, before returning to you. “Of course, there is always a way, but it would require something in return.”

“Name it.”

Changmin grappled onto your arm. “Yn, you're walking into another soul bond. Please, just think about this first,” he implored, forcing you to look him in his wide eyes, dark and entreating.

It was reckless, you knew, but Chaeyoung was dying. Her brother tried all his life to lead her from a fate she couldn't control, but it only doomed her more. Were you simply continuing the cycle or could you do something good for her?

“The difference between your friend's magic—” you and Changmin's attention flitted over to Hongjoong, “—and the Magika Supreme's is that the latter won't be using corrupt magic to steal corrupted energy.” Hongjoong's smile was something warm and reassuring. What an effortless prince he made. “Whatever healing magic she'll use will work without crippling Chaeyoung's health more. Though, I can't promise about side effects; nature is a difficult divinity to fight against.”

Right. You blindly curled your fingers with Changmin's and the touch eased the throbbing in your chest. “What would you ask for in return?”

“You would be called to testify against Chan in our court,” Hongjoong stated, but not unkindly. “Take your time to think about it. I'm sure Changmin has my number.”

In the blink of an eye, Hongjoong and Amari were before you one second, then gone without a trace. A light gust of wind brushed past your face as the only evidence of magic being used. Beneath you, your floors were rid of the summoning circle and candles; and the Book of the Diabolical had disappeared from your table.

You and Changmin took your time returning your room to its former state. Your roommates outside in the main living space had all woken up from their forced slumber, their minds blank of the events leading up to Chan's ambush.

The emptiness in your chest left none to be desired. You sat in bed with your head against Changmin's shoulder, his hand playing with yours while your other rubbed your chest absentmindedly. No matter how much pressure you put, the chasm remained. Staying close to Changmin though remained second nature.

“What're you thinking about?” he murmured into your hair.

You tilted your nose up to graze his pulse. “How I'm going to tell Chaeyoung about this. She deserves to know what happened to Chan, at least.”

Changmin gave a slow nod. “I agree.”

Your eyes flickered up to his. “You're okay with me telling her? I can leave you out of it.”

“No, that's okay. She doesn't really know me,” he chuckled, that dimple impressing into his cheek. His smile widened as you leaned over and pressed your lips to it. “Are you feeling alright though? After everything?”

There wasn't much you could express with your words at the moment. How did one describe the loss of a friend? And how did one string together the words to tell someone that they loved them, that they were both the remedy and reason for the pounding of your heart? You did not know either for the time being. “It’ll take some getting used to.”

“What? The hole in your soul?” He pressed his palm flat against the center of his chest to feel the distant beat of his heart, slow, solid, and steady.

“That, and not being able to possess you.”

Changmin squawked in indignation. “And you say I'm the creep?”

“You literally still are!”

Both yours and Changmin's laughter lit up the dark, one spurring on the other. Though, if the shadows truly claimed him, then he was the night to your day; the other half for your whole; the one. Even if this entanglement began as an accident, all of the love you held for him was fully intentional. You would keep it safe in your chest, where he would always belong.

[the cast of incantations will return... maybe?]

a/n: IMPORTANT!!! i would like to write a follow-up/sequel to not only continue the plotline, but to also get a chance to better explore minor character dynamics, subplots with loose ends, and the literal fallout of these events because leaving it here is VERY unsatisfying. it would fulfill my creative needs esp since this was written under an extreme time constraint, but i also won't feel inclined to unless u reblog TT so pls. reblog and lmk what u thought ! thank u so much for reading :')

[bookwyrminspiration]

Have you any thoughts on Gethen Ondsinn, good sir?

I do! Though a lot of this is me repeating myself. Currently Gethen is at the top of my I Suspect You Of Being Sophie's Father list, for a couple of reasons. And since there's so little else about him that's kinda the main thing I think about him. I'm not someone who likes to create personalities or make headcanons about characters.

Before I repeat my father suspicions though, I wonder if in the next book(s) we'll finally get Sophie reading Gethen's mind. It's something she's considered at several different points in the series and always been dissuaded from, and I can't help thinking we'll finally get the Neverseen's telepath vs. the Black Swan's super telepath and crack his case. I hope we do at least. Because it's odd to me that they repeatedly say Sophie is the best telepath their world has even seen, and yet are sure Gethen will one-up her and trick her and pull her under. I understand there's a certain risk they want to avoid of him tricking/trapping her, but like…everything else has a risk, why is this the line? This is her area of expertise, let her use it. Which also ties into me suspecting he's her father and wants to drop that bomb on her during said confrontation, which Forkle knows and is why he always wants to take on Gethen instead of her.

Listen. I know Cadence suggested her parents wouldn't have her abilities, but she wasn't part of Project Moonlark; she's theorizing. And we already saw the realization of that suggestion in Oralie, we don't need to do it again. Given how crucial her telepathy is as her main ability, I find it difficult to believe neither of her parents is a telepath. Especially with the recent improved enhancing affecting telepaths and empaths more.

Also! People have said it before, but we just don't know a lot about Gethen compared to everyone else! Especially for being the very first Neverseen member we meet. He's the OG and we know fuck all about him. Which I suspect means he's existed from the beginning because Shannon had to know who her parents were from the beginning to set things up the way she wanted to, but his purpose is one that takes time because of the suspense built around it so he's just been waiting for that moment.

I know it doesn't make sense for Mr. Forkle to choose a Neverseen DNA donor, but given that it would provide an excellent amount of shock and drama both in the story and for the reader, I think it's reasonable to assume there's a plausible explanation to make it work. Such as double crossing, not knowing he was Neverseen, etc.

However! This is all just my passive speculation and may very well prove to be incredibly wrong, so take it with a grain of salt. There's not a lot to go on for him so I'm kinda jumping to conclusions based on the gaps, but they are my thoughts :)

[limenysnocket]

I Despise The Way You Make Me Love You pt. 2

(Taika Waititi X Reader)

Summary: Today, Taika gets the day off of work. He gets to lounge about his house, wear sweatpants and watch whatever t.v. he likes without having someone to tell him otherwise. His plans are soiled and revamped as an unexpected visitor pays him a visit.

Warnings: Horny Taika vibes, it gets very lime-ish in here, some foul language too.

Request: @honorarytenenbaum

Author's note: I really don't know what to put here except I'm excited and enjoy the story lol.

■●□■●□■●□■●□■●

Boring. Boring. Boring. That's all today is going to be, huh, Taika?

Without (Y/N) here to pester or other directors to bother and ask for their plates of cheese from-- even though he has his own God damn plate of cheese in his tent/office-- he just can't seem to find the joy in the matter of a "day off." I mean, what's the point of it? Why couldn't he just stay at work with his very special girlfriend, where he could "take naps" with her in a broom closet or his office any time he pleased! It was all bologna, if you asked him. Total absurdness.

He couldn't sleep, no, even if he had all the time in the world to take naps like the nap God he is. He could be doing anything else, walking around, talking on the phone, or catching up on his favorite television show, but nooOoo. You invaded his vision, either dressed in skimpy outfits... or not dressed at all. Just as he would reach out to touch you, your skin would dissipate into the air like mist and he would find himself back awake again, hot, sweaty and horrifyingly turned on.

Would it be alright to text you? He knows you're at work, but he can always invite you over for a little late night cuddling and a bottle of wine. He just stared at his phone, his nose twitching every once in awhile, watching, waiting and contemplating. Would he text you or would you text him? The suspense was killing him!

He pushed himself up, grunting and shaking his head. "God damn it," he muttered. He had reasoned with himself. You were at work and you had every right reserved to be left alone. He didn't know, at the time, that you were dying to see him again.

He sat down at a table, in the mini courtyard of his home, with a laptop, just as the sun turned the sky orange. It was right about time he got back to work on Thor: Love and Thunder, because he was clearly days behind... maybe a few months, actually. Inspiration was hard work, especially whenever he has to find the right timing to put a shirtless Chris Hemsworth somewhere in the film.

He rapped his fingers against the metal table and rubbed his temple with the other hand, a fresh sheet of virtual paper already giving him a headache. He closed his eyes again, which was totally a bad move, but he didn't care in the slightest. There you were again, that little vixen that made his more perverted side crawl out from beneath his usually goofy demeanour. (Y/N), dressed in nothing but one of his sweaters, and he was almost completely positive that there was nothing beneath that. You stepped closer to him, placing your warm palms on his shoulders and squeezing them, massaging them. He felt your bum rest in his lap, the skin brushing against his loose sweatpants and sending sweet shudders down his spine.

The sensation of your warm hands cascading across his stubble beard drove him crazy and his own hands started to travel, reaching out and seemingly running his hands along your curves, down your thighs and back up again. He started to slip up the sweater, exposing more of your skin to his hungry eyes and he came close to seeing what he wanted to see, until he felt warm palms over his eyelids and his fantasy was pressed flat. He didn't jolt, because he recognized the warmness and the softness of those palms.

"Guess who?" He heard you say, giggling all the while. He scrunched up his face to make it seem as if he were thinking extremely hard.

"Jemaine?" He answered, after a few long moments of total silence, not including the scream of cicadas from bushes and trees. He heard you burst into laughter and those warm palms lifted from his eyes. He titled his head back and smiled to see your flustered and smiling face.

"Man, I must suck at this," he chortled and teased. You only nodded, laughing still, before leaning over him and placing a kiss on his lips. "Ah, this is the perks of you having your own key to the house. You can surprise me whenever you'd like, but I'm still waiting for the one where I come home and you're sitting naked on my couch for me," he winked and shimmyed his shoulders, which earned him a playful slap on the arm.

"You're a dork," you giggled then stood up, "I'm just here to cook dinner for you and make sure you're not driving yourself insane."

"But I'm already insane," Taika twirled around in his chair and made a mass amount of kissy faces at you, "Insane for you, baby~." Before he could even flash you with another smug face and pick up line, you had gone inside of the house, leaving him high and dry.

What you were making him wasn't the most expensive meal in the world, but it certainly was delicious. Steak, keto friendly fettuccine Alfredo with sliced zucchini noodles. It was a healthier option but certainly very delicious, plus, you knew Taika could be very picky about his eating habits, but not, all at the very same time.

You slipped into his "kiss the chef" cooking apron and started to get to work, taking out groceries from bags that you brought over and cooking appliances that you knew he didn't have or never heard of. You were so focused on what you were doing, you didn't hear the courtyard door slide open, then shut. Nor did you notice that Taika was watching you cook with a very lust hazed look, from behind his island.

Taika would be drooling at the moment if he hadn't known that he actually was amidst your presence. There he was, fantasizing about you again. He was imagining that all you had on was the apron you were wearing, and the best part of all, he got a great view of your cute ass as it swayed in rhythm while you cooked. Every time you would bend over to grab out a pot or pan, conveniently not turning his way, he would stretch out his neck as far as he could and try to peep on whatever he could without throwing himself down on the counter and startling you.

Suddenly, even surprising him, you turned around and whispered to him, "Kiss the cook, Taika." You gave him the most fucking smug smile he had ever seen, he almost didn't think this all was real.

It wasn't. It was his imagination. What you actually said was, "Are you alright, Taika?" He seemed to be straining against the counter, nails digging deep into the granite top. Once the fantasy had lifted from his eyes, he shook his head and almost seemed to wheeze. "Huh?" He said, his eyes fluttering and he swallowed thickly.

"I asked if you were alright," you responded quietly, almost knowing exactly what he was thinking about. It had been awhile since Taika hadn't been allowed to get you alone for enough time to rock your world. It was one of those things where he knew he had it, but he couldn't touch it and it was killing him inside.

He coughed into his fist and shifted the weight on his feet, "Yeah, yeah, I'm okay." You could see the visible shudder shoot down his body as he tried to compose himself once more. It was adorable to see him get all hot and bothered over just the sight of you cooking, but you couldn't just get up on the counter and let him take you while you let your food burn into a crisp. He would have to wait until after dinner.

"Okay, so, I'm gonna turn around, and you're... not gonna be horny? Correct?" You cocked a brow at him, raising your hand up like it would convince him more. He only gave you a wry smile which is how you obviously knew that he was about to lie straight up to you.

"Sure," he shrugged. Yeah. He was about to pull a bastard move the moment you turned around, whether it be lifting up your skirt and being a peeping tom, smacking your ass expectedly unexpected, or grinding down on you until you finished or out down what you were doing and giving him a nice, dirty fuck. He's done all three, on set and at work, not to mention.

You gave him a terse look, then turned back around slowly, your mind boggling around while you scraped tiny cutlets of steak into the skillet where they started to sizzle loudly. Loud enough, apparently, to cover up the footsteps of a certain ornery, sex-bitten kiwi.

You quietly started flipping the pieces over so each one of their sides could get a bit of attention. One, however, when you noticed it, wasn't soaking in the brown color you needed, so you wanted to flip it again. You didn't know if it was your nerves that were from Taika's obvious white lie that had you ready to jump and touch the ceiling or what, but you just couldn't flip this cutlet. It was stubborn. You tried it every which way and all it did was slide across the buttered pan and push up against the sides.

Wait! Suddenly, you had a snag on it, the tip of it just scooching onto your spatula, and you let out praises of glory in your mind as it toppled over and landed flat and perfect on the spatula. You had just saved the perfect steak cutlet from burning. You were proud of yourself, and all those nerves had disappeared. Well, all up until all of them came rushing back to you at once when Taika shoved his hand down your panties and started squeezing your ass through your skirt.

You yelped and flinched, which made you fling your spatula backwards and that sent the perfect steak cutlet flying, landing with a nice, firm slap on the island countertop. Your mind almost didn't register the rubbing of Taika's hand over your folds, trying real hard to get you wet for him. You weren't having it. "Taika, you have no idea how fucking pissed off I am right now," you growled, your voice dripping with raw irritation and anger. "I lost a perfect bite of heaven, because of you."

"Mm, I know, and I'm sorry, but you know how I am sometimes," Taika continued to rub, seemingly dipping his fingers between the slit to check the water levels. It's still running pretty dry. He started rubbing faster, but that wasn't enough. He barely grazed his finger over your clit, when you grabbed his hand and yanked it out from his panties. You whirled around and threatened him with the steaming hot spatula. All he had left on him now was a smug grin and playful eyes that stared into your cold and displeased eyes. "What's up, babe? You seem tense."

"Taika, how long has it been since we last fucked," you said sternly, your other hand reaching back and taking the heat off of the steak.

"A week," he replied, proud of himself, yet still smug and still quite needy to put himself in your pants.

"Wrong," you corrected him with a flat gaze, "It's been five days, Taika."

"That's technically a work week, for me," he shrugged, biting his lip a little while he tried his best to keep his hips from bucking desperately, "And now we're on the weekend, darling, pleaassee, you won't even have to bite down on a washrag this time to keep from screaming! I mean, unless you're into that. It was kinda hot--." He was stopped by the familiar press of lips against his. He fluttered his eyes closed and let his hands fall and grab your hips, bringing them to press firmly against his. The crotch area, specifically.

You were the one who initiated the kiss and you were also the one to break it. You took both sides of his head in your hands and you shook it around a little. "Dumbass," you started, giving his head a little shake while he gave you a cheeky grin, "let me cook! Then, MAYBE, we can fuck, alright?"

"You're the boss, darling," he said, his hips doing a little happy wiggle, then he scooted away, back to behind the island, elbows resting on the surface while his hands kept his head up. You knew he was watching you intently, getting a little impatient sometimes and lightly rubbing his hips against the counter with need. Because he did this, and you saw him doing it, which confirmed your kill, you decided to take your sweet time with this meal, make it painfully slow and put an amazing amount of effort into a healthier version of Alfredo sauce.

This game didn't last long though. Taika was smarter than he let on, an intellectual of solid mind, though one wouldn't couldn't possibly see it if you had only one conversation with him. He started eye fucking you with every chance he got, giving you his sexiest, dirtiest look that he could muster, while rubbing his hard-on against the counter and whispering your name between gritted teeth. "You're making this so much harder than it has to be," Taika said through muttered, lust filled curses.

"What? Your dick or the tension in the room?" You said, turning you head so you could look at him from over your shoulder. He grimaced. He was on the verge of going up to his room and finishing things off himself.

"You can't just do this to me, (Y/N)," he groaned, leaning on the counter and whining like an injured puppy.

"Uh- ha! You did this to yourself! Even when you knew how hard it is for you to recover from something like that," you grinned, starting to plate the food and get it all nice and neat. "Plus, a bonus for me, this is practically like revenge for all the times you thought it would be okay to get me all riled up all the times I would casually be talking to another guy."

"Ah, they were flirting with you, I had to do it before they took you away from me," he grinned at you, now biting his lip so intensely, he left teeth marks on his lower lip.

"Taika, no one's going to take me away from you without a fight, you know that," you rolled your eyes and smiled at him, finishing with the pretty plating and bringing it over to Taika, where he was bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"Okay, food's done, now can we fuck?" Taika whined desperately. You could see the hefty bulge through his pants and it made you swallow thickly, but you stood by your own opinion and decided he could take a little more torture.

"No, we have to eat first," you said which drew a long, high pitched, goofy whine from the depths of his throat. Taika looked down at his plate, grumbling, then picked up his fork and started to shovel food into his mouth at a fast pace, eager to finish. He forgets that you have to finish your food too, and you weren't even starting at the same time as him, because you buried yourself with pouring the expensive wine that you knew he liked.

Whenever you finally were seated across from him, half of his plate was already gone and he was swallowing a hefty mouthful at the time. "Taika, you're going to choke if you keep eating like that," you laughed and shook your head, tangling the zucchini noodles around your fork.

"It's worf ut," he said with his mouth full and started to chew violently. You took your time with your plate, spindling the noodles around until it was a decent bite then stabbing a cut of steak and running it throughout the sauce. You only made this meal on special occasions, really, so you took time to cherish the flavor of it. Taika wasn't having it. He finished his food way before you did and chugged his wine like the madman he was. When he finished that, he slammed his glass down like he just finished a shot. He was a mess.

You shook your head, "I still have to finish, you know." Your plate was just about half way done. Surprisingly, he allowed you to finish your food in peace, well, enough peace at least. Every time you looked up, you were met with big, brown puppy dog eyes and a pouty lip. He watched you eat your food, begrudgingly, flicking the little piece of half cooked steak that landed on the counter awhile ago.

The longer you took to finish your food, the more the longing inside of you grew. You thought this was going to be just a night for snuggling and cute little romantic stuff that they never got to do at work. It was supposed to be a time to get to know each other better, besides already knowing what his favorite brand of wine was. It was a night meant for togetherness, and the want for that must have shown on your face, because, when it did, Taika's puppy-like expression seemed to lessen.

Finally, you finished off the last of your zucchini noodles, took both your and Taika's dishes to the sink, dumping what was left of your wine down the drain, and you started to rinse them. No one likes scrubbing off crusty food.

"Hey," you heard a specific New Zealander whisper gently from behind you. "You're tense again."

You set one of the wine glasses down in the sink, and it hit the metal with a soft clunk. That was the only noise between you two for a long while, except for the rush of the running water spinning down the drain. You took a deep breath and turned the water off, slowly, then dried your hands. Once you were done, you slowly turned towards him, "Is... Is sex all you're really wanting out of me? If it's true, then I really don't want that and I'm sure there's some clean hooker out their who is dying to get their hands on you and maybe would be willing to work for as long as you want." You started making hand motions as you spoke. They were awkward motions, but they were necessary.

"What? Why would I-- (Y/N), I don't understand, why would I try every day to get you alone, like during our first time. The only reason I needed you alone is because I wanted to confess and kiss you, I wanted to protect our privacy, because no one truly wants to be the newest hot couple cover of People Magazine. When we... When we fucked, it just so happened by chance. We were both in the mood and we got what was needed. I actually didn't expect this streak to go on for so on like this... but," he paused, coming around the island and grasping one of your hands with his, "every time I saw you at work after that, I thought back to our first kiss, then the first kiss leading up to the first time and... well, you're a smart girl, so I'll let you figure out the rest."

This managed to put a dismal smile on your face, you were still a bit upset. "But, why can't we ever have these days where we get to know each other, just cuddle and talk about things and learn things about each other that aren't liquor related!" It was more of a statement than a question. The two of you only had one night together like that. You cuddled up with him under a blanket and watched his and your favorite movies, occasionally talking, up until you both fell asleep in each other's arms.

Taika pulled you closer, gently, "Why didn't you say something, then, babe? You know I'm always open to stuff like that. Hell, I love that stuff." He brought the hand he was holding up to his mouth and he pressed a gentle kiss to the back of it, sending warmth shooting straight to your cheeks.

"I was too embarrassed to admit it," you whispered to him, looking down at the floor until he used his free hand to tilt your head up and your eyes met with his. Eventually, your lips met his as well. It was brief, but soft and love filled. He didn't hesitate to pull you into a hug afterwards as well. The only problem was, his hard-on still existed.

"You know, I would love to settle down and watch a movie and all with you to talk about all your favorite things, but my boner is still here too," He joked, softly pulling away from the hug and looking down at you, cheeks alive with color.

"You want me to take care of that for you, don't you?" You ask with a stiffled laugh and look up at him to see that he's blushing, embarrassed now, and nodding his head yes. "Alright, fine, but once we're done, we're staying in your room for the rest of the night, watching Flash Gordon and you're going to give me ten reasons why Soul Rebel is your favorite Bob Marley album."

He grinned brightly at you now, "Deal."

[hoopdiddies]

I'm Not Over You //Ben Hardy x Reader (Part 9)

A/N: All the fact checking had me reeling to be honest and this is one long-ass chapter, longer than the one where I said 'it's the longest I've written' but actually this wins the competition. I've used some lyrics from the song Photograph cos I felt like it would go nicely with the flow plus I am weak with hospital scenes because of the distresses that occur within it but I tried ya know ¯_(ツ)_/¯ It's a little messy and dramatic on a side note because I had to deal with some outside disturbances as well and my mind was on other things 😔 But again, thank you guys for supporting this series! Your feedbacks mean a lot ♥ Tag list is always open!! (seriously, I need more people to tag xd)

Summary: You had always loved Ben ever since you the two of you met in university and became the best of friends. That feeling went out like a candle flame when you parted ways until he re-entered your life...but this time with someone who has already occupied his heart.

Warnings: That angst from 8? Yeah, it just upgraded, fluff if you, like, use a microscope, explicit description of blood and injuries, swearing but I kept it to a minimum, mentions of death but there's actually no death. Melodrama, ig? Sorry, I had a hard time writing consistently this week ^^'

WC: 6.5k (Someone got carried away.)

Tags: @haendel-me-with-care

@mrsdoradominguez-barnes

@mickmoon

@lakef

@mrsmazzello

@valeriecarolinaw

@queen-turtle-boiii

@loveandbeloved29

@hardzzellos

Parts: 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

"Someone please help! Help us! "

"Bloody bastard just drove off without even stopping! "

"Are you fu- you left your phone?! He's barely clinging on to life!! Ask a random person to dial 911!"

"Oh god, what- what do we do- his head, his freaking head! There is so much blood right now!"

"D-don't move his neck! He's critical!"

"Rosy. Rosy. Calm down...he has to be fine..he should be... "

"An ambulance is on its way!"

"His head is fucking bloody! Do you even want- fuck! Someone help here! Someone, please help! "

"Is he even breathing?! "

"Oh god, Y/N! He's not- he's not! "

"You better not be joking around!"

"Joe! He is bloody dying and you think I'm fucking joking?!"

"He has no pulse as well..."

"I got to- I have to make an attempt to resuscitate him. "

"Are you sure?"

"We're not waiting for that goddamn vehicle! If I don't do it, he's going to die!"

"Wake up, Ben! Please, wake up..."

Blur. That's what everything was. A huge, uncoordinated, focal blur. A sea of people had crowded the scene like a flock of sheep ready to graze on the pasture, except the only green they had for their eyes was the sight of six, dreadful friends taking it in their hands to keep the seventh one grounded while they wait for professional help.

The ones with flashing cameras hoisted up high to document the scene disgusted you down to the pits of your stomach and you had wished for them to scatter away. You all, especially you had to bear the agony of seeing him motionless on the asphalt ground– without breath, skin drained of color while the only color highlighted in the spectrum was the copious but graphic amount of blood that had tainted the spot he was lying in– his hair coated in the sticky, sanguinary puddle, creating a traumatizing mix of blond and deep red that you now couldn't forget. The tears pricking from your eyes when you had given him mouth to mouth mingling with his bleeding forehead.

He had lost all consciousness at a maximum.

You had ached to cradle his body right there and then but had you acted on impulse; it would've worsened the situation.

Medics had filled in the scene seconds after you had given Ben a well-thought out CPR undeterred by your raging adrenaline. He was then brought into the ambulance with Rosy tagging along to be there when they rush him into the ER. You had gone after with the others in Gwilym's car, your shaking hands coated with drying blood -his drying blood- as you made your way to the hospital in a blistering cruise.

You're still in your dress, only topped with Joe's designer blazer to shield you from the cold and a warm, half-empty cup of brew situated between your palms partially substituting the natural heat of your skin, waiting quietly in the lounging room. They had transferred Ben to a private room after performing an operation on his head and scanning him afterwards. One of the emergency doctors remarked that if it weren't for your initiative to follow first aid protocol and give him immediate resuscitation before help had arrived– he would have gone ten minutes early.

You've been waiting an hour and a half for the doctor to step out of the room and deliver the news about his condition. And while you do that, Joe and Lucy have gone off to collect a fresh pair of clothing from the hotel for you to change into. Rosy is stood at the entrance making some calls, Gwilym and Rami have gone back to their respective hotels to change clothes and come back for the news.

You felt light hearing that comment but it's nothing compared to the aftermath of the accident. It was a hit-and-run and the driver didn't even step on his breaks or bother to stop to take responsibility.

Rami's blazer that had been used to delay Ben's bleeding has been given back to him for dry cleaning. To complicate the situation, you're supposed to be boarded on a plane back to England eight hours from now yet that's something you have to cross out from the bucket list, entirely. You're not going anywhere unless Ben heaves out a single sigh of life.

Not a single step out the fucking institution unless he opens those eyes.

Unless he parts his lips.

Unless he says your name.

You owe it to him for saving your life, nearly costing his.

And it's just 2 in the morning.

You put down the cup on the space next to you, bringing your hands up to your lowered head, underneath your eyes watering from all of that's happened tonight.

"We're back." Two figures stand before you minutes after your eyelids have fluttered shut in despair. You lift your head to be met with Joe and Lucy in their casual clothes, smiling sadly at you with paperbags in hand.

You return that smile with a much weaker one. They settle the bags down and Joe sinks down on one knee in front of you, taking your face in his hands gently while he peeks up at you. "I see the news isn't out yet. You can change, we'll take care of it."

"You sure?" You mumble quietly. He nods and you prolong a sigh as you sit up, getting tenderly lulled into a hug by Lucy. "He's gonna be okay." She expresses definitely as she rubs your back. You thank her for the reassurance before taking one of the bags that contains your clothes.

Pulling the hem of your sweatshirt in place, you couldn't wait to escape the lavatory. It smells of newly applied bleach and the pungent odor is plain nauseating. You close the door with the bag in hand on your way out but freeze in your spot as a certain, exclusive news breaks out in the TV screen above you.

"Just 10pm tonight, Bohemian Rhapsody and EastEnders star, Ben Hardy, has reportedly been gravely involved and injured in a hit-and-run just outside of Wallis Annenberg Center during the ongoing Vanity Fair after party. Sources said that he had dashed headlong down the traffic-jammed streets to what they said was an attempt to save co-star's, Joe Mazzello, date from an incoming vehicle– which he had succeeded in as he failed to save himself–" The rest of the news anchor's words go unprocessed in your head as you hurriedly trace your way back to the lounging area, unwilling to hear recurring reports at yours or anyone's expense.

It already hurts enough that you think it's partly your fault for acting so careless.

By now, the attending physician should be out and conveying the news to Lucy and Joe and as you arrive– he is, hands in his lab coat pockets, informing them in the most serious of tones.

They see you approaching and you ask immediately, words stumbling out of your mouth like perceivable beats. "Doc, how is he? How's Ben?"

With Lucy and Joe already informed about it, the doctor decides to tell you himself to save them the hassle. "He should be fine soon. However I must be frank with you, miss," your heart loses a beat for a fraction of a second at the suspense rising, "he flat lined twice in the ER. It took three sets of defibs to get his heart beating again." Hearing him break to you that Ben was a simple step away from death as they tried to treat him drains the warm color palette in your face, even with the affirmation that he's going to be alright; knowing there were two moments in which he had slipped in and out of life at the same time just upsets your stomach.

The doctor continues with his report, telling you that he's suffered from a mild to severe head trauma caused by the blunt force when he had his scalp dragged along the asphalt. Apparently he fissured the the near front of his skull and underwent neurosurgery for it.  You quickly get the idea, having studied a series of medical topics of course, but it doesn't invalidate the fact that it still sounds like a bad thing.

The doctor sighs and adds. "Although he bled internally at a minimum, he's lucky to have bled externally for the most part."

Forming a steeple of your fingers and stealing a quick glimpse of Lucy and Joe, you gulp hard. "How long 'til he wakes up?"

"I'd say in about 48 hours. His scan results after the surgery showed promise for a stable recovery though he might wake up a little dazed at first due to the moderate concussion," at least you're getting the assurance that he's waking up, "your friend has a thick skull. He'll recover in time, but with short-term effects."

48 hours. Not enough time for you to stay or leave.

"Can we see him? Right now?" Setting your expectations to the highest, you ask with a glimmer of hope and the doctor approves, minding you to turn down the lights in the room as Ben would likely be sensitive to it by the time he wakes. "A nurse will come by and check on him every once in a while as well."

You nod weakly, thanking him professionally as you gradually hang your head in disappointment. He wishes Ben a speedy recovery before turning on his heels, leaving you to it.

Lucy brings her short hair up in a pigtail, asking as she lifts up her share of the paper bags. "Are we going in now? I mean, the doc said we're able to." She vaguely points at the door of the room and you and Joe swap looks before deciding on it. You collect your items from the seats and draw in breaths as you follow suit, stepping into the room and being welcomed by the almost odorless whiff of paint and medicine; along with the light to moderate blow of the air conditioner.

As the door clicks close, you stand motionless yet internally trembling at the heartbreaking sight of Ben lying unresponsive, surrounded by various machines working to keep him alive. Flanking his bed are the heart monitor -fully functional- and a medical ventilator from which he is breathing from. He's hooked up to an IV bag with a breathing tube put into his mouth, his left arm is propped upon his abdomen but protected around a plaster and supported within a blue arm sling and lastly, his head is wrapped in a layer of roller bandage– the giveaway of his major injury.

"Y/N..." Joe cooing breaks you off from your vacant gaze but you hand him a forlorn eye as bring yourself to Ben's side, glancing over his limp body. He's taken quite a hit to have fractured his arm like this. His complexion didn't appear as livid as it is now and marking his bottom lip -which has lost that luscious red tint as well- is a small bruise, parted from his upper lip as he involuntarily breathes through the tube in his mouth. You don't hear his slow exhales but the normal rise and fall of his chest consoles a small part of you; the stable beeping of the heart monitor being the only occuring noise in the room. Concerned with how awfully quiet you've gone, Lucy and Joe give each other fitting looks as they share the same thought on the situation. As one of them begins to step close to ensure you're taking it well, you pipe up before them, your once honey-laced voice diminished to a monotone. "It's...not my fault."

"Of course, it's not," Lucy, being the one who has taken that step close, tenderly agrees but you add.

"It's not but it feels like it is."

Now Joe steps up next but stop as you add once more.

"And I told him I wanted to forget him and for him to do the same." Now some tears are inevitable.

"Y/N-"

"As impractical as it is to think about it now, but what if he does?" your hand has now hovered over him, the nerves of the pads of your fingers itching to skim themselves over his free hand, "I don't want to go. But I have to and he's still not gonna wake up by the time I leave."

His condition just yearns for your touch but you don't want to lay a hand on him just yet, out of the fear that you might hurt a small part of him.

Joe sighs softly as he puts his hands on your shoulders, rubbing them with ease. "Why don't you just email the institution about it? Tell them you're gonna have to delay because of an urgent matter."

"I can do that, but only a day after. I can't take long."

"Rami and Gwilym are on their way," Lucy reminds as she gets off her phone from messaging them, "with some food and water."

"None of us are burning the midnight oil then," Joe stretches his limbs and returns to the couch to take a moment to relax, eyes snapping wide as he remembers something. "By the way, Y/N. If you spilled your heart out to him earlier, did you include the bit where our relationship was all but pretend?"

Surely the stare you and Lucy are sharing towards him could render the atmosphere painful but you answer regardless of the topic, shaking your head as you turn your attention to Ben once more. "No. But he's bound to question it. That is if he remembers what happened."

Lucy rests her hand on her hip as she glances at the heart monitor, the waves tempting her eyes to follow them. "Doctor never implied anything about amnesia."

The three of you fall silent again with you locking your gaze at the man who didn't want to let you go. Who chased you down a busy highway knowing he'd bite the dust if he did and ended up saving you at the expense of his own well-being.

And life.

And his own soul.

He'll recover in a short period, yes. But when you had gently grazed your trembling hand over his bloodied head in the middle of the street, it was as if he was bound to never wake up. A visual you want to shake off for the sake of composure.

Joe and Lucy take notice of your stilled silence again, their expressions low-spirited. Taking small steps towards you, Lucy wraps her arms around your shoulders from behind and pulls out a certain object from her back pocket, slipping it to you. "Found this in the inner pocket of Ben's tainted blazer when the doctors gave his clothes to us."

You cast your gaze to what she's holding and hear your heart shatter at what it is. You slowly take it from her and sweep your thumb over it.

Ben's share of your Homecoming picture.

And behind it, the same date and continuation of what was written on your half.

You piece it in your mind and feel your eyes cloud with tears, a droplet making a small patter as it lands on the polaroid.

He kept it. In his blazer. He brought it along with him.

_I'm not going... anywhere at all. _

"But I am." You mutter as opposed to  the words in your head. For as long as you love him and he doesn't in the way you do, distancing yourself is something that needs to be done to make sure you finally let go. You'd stick around but it would further fragment your soul.

Just in time to tear you from reaching your breakfing point, the door creaks open to two men and a red-haired woman, two of whom are grasping paper bags containing some food and water and one with an overwrought look, respectively.

Lucy leaves your side and walks over to Rami's, kissing his cheek and helping them unload their items on the coffee table. Gwilym gives the three of you, and Rosy who had followed in behind them, an individual hug– asking you about Ben's condition as he lays eyes on him.

You assure him of a smooth recovery and it unknots the lump of worry he's under.

"Oh, Ben, baby... " Breaks down Rosy, who whizzes past you to tear up over her injured fiance. She gazes down painfully at the man before her and delicately fondles his blanch cheek, eyes narrowed to the point where her face has contorted to a scowl which she throws directly at you. "This is all your fault. "

Your brows crease at her in absolute confusion. "What are you talking about?" Sensing that an altercation is about to take place, the rest stumble quiet in preparation for the worst. Joe readies himself to butt in in case it escalates further.

"What did you say to him?" She asks you in a form of a hiss.

"Nothing! I-"

"He chased you down! You must have said something that set him off!" Her demanding voice echoes off the walls, overlaying the beeping and whizzing of both the heart monitor and ventilator. You begin swearing to her that you didn't say anything of the sort but trail off as you realize that what you had actually said, was something that indeed hurt him.

You draw your lips between your teeth and clench your fist, unable to respond with the truth, fearing it might just fuel the fire.

"That's- that's not important now." You shake your head dismissively and turn around.

"It is. You led Ben out into the street, agitated."

"Rosy, please. Can we not talk about this now? We're squabbling in front of an unconscious man-"

"Okay girls. Our boy is out cold but that doesn't mean he can't hear, right?" Eager to quench the growing conflict, Gwilym slides in between the dangerous proximity you've put yourselves in and you huff an apology.

On the other hand, Rosy does the complete opposite. "No, Gwilym. He has been acting strange for weeks and to think tomorrow's supposed to be our wedding! And this is all because of her."

Gwilym turns to her firmly and tries calming - or rather shutting her up for the sake of the peace Ben needs to heal- her down. "We're not throwing fingers here. I know tomorrow's the day and you don't want to put him under pressure, right? I don't think he's going to succumb to waking up if this goes on."

Rami, Lucy and Joe have remained unbelievably quiet but are as keen as Gwilym to prevent something unnecessary as this. It's barely 3 am in the morning for the love of God and you're all in a hospital room. Sleeping patients could bang their fists on the walls from the other side any time.

You, on the other hand, have already made four steps towards the door, ready to leave the room to be alone with your thoughts for the night but you're unable to twist the knob as Rosy snaps once more with the hint, distressing with a clenched jaw.

She's unrelenting.

"Please Y/N, you're overstepping and frankly it's getting in the way of my relationship with Ben."

"You have no idea what I'm trying to do," You mumble in the most bitter of intonations for Rosy to get the message, your fingers clenching around the knob and producing a faint chink. "But he's my best friend. Let me be the person I've always been to him, " you whip your head at her -a stare you're certain could equal to a pelted javelin- and draw your brows together, pleading on account of choosing to be present in a crisis such as this, " he's all yours anyway."

With a strong swing of the door, you march angrily out of the room, making your way outside the building to blow off steam – the smooth rub of the polaroid between your fingers surrendering you to tears.

You give yourself exactly 48 hours to stay before heading back to England to board your flight for Spain.

10 hours

Ben's accident was a clean hit-and-run. Apparently some bystanders had snapped a shot of the license plate the moment the car slowed down and accelerated afterwards. It was then delivered to the police to be given further investigation. His parents have flown in from England to visit him and you badly wish you could greet them but some things are just too heavy to do right now. Back at the hospital, Ben's been given hourly checks and assessments, with each desired result constant. He's not responsive to any physical contact but the doctor is certain that he can perceive sound and sound only.  His body is asleep but his mind isn't.

The rest will be visiting him at dusk while you're going in late with Joe.

After sending an email to the university about your 24-hour delay, you spend the entire day just waiting to go down there and be by his side. Regarding your solitude in the hotel room, Rami had Lucy stay in with him for the meantime and being initially worried about leaving you, she had asked for your permission to which you said yes to.

Sometimes in the day, you can't hold back a few tears at the flashing memory.

17 hours

Loving can hurt

Standing in front of the private room, you clutch the collar of your shirt anxiously, hearing incoherent but distinct murmurs on the other side of the door. Joe looks down at you and squeezes your hand lightly to relieve you of pressure. He knows how much this is affecting you, and though not visually shown, he's taking it hard too.

Loving can hurt sometimes

The door opens to a couple you've familiarized yourself with for so long. Ben's parents.

"Y-Y/N?" Says his mum, unable to believe that it's you standing before her. Your breath hitches as you grin sadly, being pulled into her embrace. "It's been so long."

"It has, Mrs. Jones."

Joe shakes hands with his father as he introduces himself politely. Mr. Jones greets you in with a light hug as well and you can't help but spill a few tears.

But it's the only thing that I know

They give you full access to the room

as they themselves have to leave for a while, thereby trusting their son to his closest circle. Knowing how tight you and Ben are, they give you much of their trust on this one and you'd want nothing more than to make sure he'll wake up without any further complications. They obviously know about Rosy but witnessing how long you and Ben have grown on one another, they trust you the most.

They bid you and Joe goodbye, leaving access to the room exclusive.

When it gets hard

As you begin closing the door behind Joe, he insists that you have some alone time with him. Though it may feel weird but he feels as if you need this the most with time going against you now. Touched by his thoughtfulness, you give him a quick embrace before he leaves you to it.

You know it can get hard sometimes

The sight before you hasn't changed that much.

The same monitors and the same person.

Same feeling.

However you'd rather take everything

in a different light and situation.

You fiddle with your fingers as you accumulate the strength to swallow the lump in your throat, drawing yourself to his side. The mild, incessant whirring of both the air conditioner and ventilator occupies the silent atmosphere along with the steady beeps of the heart monitor, blocking the huge gulp you've taken.

It is the only thing that makes us feel alive

Slowly taking a seat on the stool positioned beside the guard rails of the bed,  you let out a quavery sigh– the byproduct of all the tearing up you've  done today. You take his free hand in yours and stroke his pale knuckles with your thumb, leaning in to plant a kiss on it.

We keep this love in a photograph

"Ben? It's me. Can you hear me?"

One-sided conversations are helpful according to experts and this is the perfect opportunity to tell him everything without having to bear the flits in his expression.

But you beg to differ.

We made these memories for ourselves. Where our eyes are never closing.

You continue, allowing every crack and quiver to manifest in your voice no matter how relatively pathetic it will make you sound.

"Ben, please, you gotta wake up. You're leaving us in a hot mess here, bud. Hell, you gave your parents the scare of their lives. I know I'm starting off rough with this, but it's all cause you had to leap in like that. But then again, it was- it was not your fault. This- all of this is not your doing. I should've been more careful on that road. Would've been better if I had cut back on the melodrama, huh? Haha..."

You lick your lips and resume, owning the patters your tears have soiled on the tiled floor.

Hearts are never broken

"I'm sorry if I had to hide it all from you, " you build it up slowly, tears tenacious to leave your eyes, "it's just that I was afraid you'd soon forget me once you've married and I wouldn't be part of your life anymore. To make matters worse, I have always loved you, Ben. On every level and aspect, I still do. Sticking around to see you spend the rest of your life with someone else when that feeling is still present is just toxic. And to think you're supposed to be wedded tomorrow, "you sniffle, taking a few seconds to form your following words, "that's why it would be easier if we- if we...oh god, I'm actually much more of an actor than you are..." You want to chuckle for it, but nothing resembling a chuckle mopes out of your mouth. Just...short breaths.

Time is forever frozen-

"But I truly am happy for you. I really am. But I can't be happy myself when you've taken a huge portion of my heart and I'm just...I just want to make sure nothing will ever ruin your happiness," You close the distance between you and the bed, your hot tears dripping on his arm sling, the cloth absorbing it. You're really taking advantage of his inability to respond.

"I'm s-sorry, Ben. I don't know how long I can stay by your side like this. Literally like this. But as long as I am able, " you lower your head onto his chest, now shamelessly sobbing like you haven't broken down in centuries, squeezing his free but chilly hand like it's the only thing that'll give you warmth tonight, "I'm sorry if I'm going somewhere."

And still

Despite promising to give you a moment alone with him, Joe -having recurring, inquisitive tendencies- has acted as opposed to his promise and  eavesdropped on your unrequited talk due to having to wait too long, not realizing that after hearing all your words exit in sobs, you've fallen asleep with your head on Ben's chest.

Joe glances around the hall before budging the door open, careful not to disturb you as he sees you out cold next to him. He presses his lips into a hard line and chuckles quietly, amused as he grabs an available sheet from the couch and drapes it over you. The moment he notices a tear droplet stuck in the corner of your eye, he wipes it away with his thumb, sighing profoundly.

"Rosy's gonna flip when she gets back and sees this. So, " Joe, mumbling on his own, tumbles back down onto the couch and kicks back, "I'll be here just in case."

20 hours

So you can keep me

A nurse opens the door with a tray and clipboard in hand to conduct an hourly assessment of his condition, not minding your head placement on his chest. He's still unresponsive to anything external.

I**nside the pocket of your ripped jeans **

As the test ends and the nurse closes the door on her way out, his finger twitches.

30 hours

Holding me closer til our eyes meet

Joe wakes you up softly with a bowl of soup in hand– something he bought from the cafeteria upstairs. You lift your heavy head from its recent spot and blink your bleary eyes at him, giving away a wry smile and telling him you'll eat later on.

You won't ever be alone

"By they way, this slipped from your pocket." He slips something off the table and hands it to you with a knowing look, that something being the dual polaroids you've taped together the other night. You take it from him deliberately and turn your head to Ben, before staring down at the joint pictures, nostalgia ever so sudden like a whiplash.

Wait for me to come home

35 hours

Loving can heal

Rami and Lucy have stopped by to visit and take your 'shifts' considering Rosy is still absent and you and Joe had to return to the hotel to change. The attending physician and a nurse come in to replace his breathing tube with a nasal cannula, since the assessment done hours prior has shown that he's already capable of breathing on his own.

39 hours

Loving can mend your soul

"Funny how today is supposed to be his wedding but we're getting a funeral instead. " Morbidly comments one of Ben's visitors and closest friends. Every single person in the room who has come by to visit Ben shoots a death glare at him for making that joke within a two feet radius of Ben who is sure to give him a bop on the head the minute he gets up.

41 hours

And it's the only thing that I know

Meanwhile Rosy had spent the entire day rescheduling the wedding and the once volatile reactions she's had do a 360 and is brought down to one, constant look as she bumps into you on your way to Ben's room.

42 hours

I swear it will get easier, remember that with every piece of you

You both don't say a word until you've settled down on the couch as she strays to Ben's side and wipes the glistening speckle of sweat on his cheek with her thumb, the silence coming to a close as you pry the words out of your mouth.

"Rosy, believe me. I have never harboured the thought of coming between you both. I'm only ever there for him as a friend."

And it's the only thing we take with us when we die

Giving you an impassive eye, she ignores your words entirely and turns her attention back to her fiance.

45 hours

We keep this love in a photograph

You don't leave the room with the hours progressing to the moment he's timed to wake up. A lot of people have paid him a visit, cracking jokes and talking to him notwithstanding the fact that he's utterly unresponsive. They've done all they can to lighten the mood in the room, hoping all their antics and bliss would lure Ben out of his induced insensibility. But he's nowhere near the edge.

We made these memories for ourselves

47 hours

With Rosy snuggled up against his side, Ben retains immobility and it's a sight you're not used to since he's one of the most fidgety arseholes who's ever graced your life. You know you'd be bombed by her if you do this with her close by, but you had given yourself exactly 48 hours to stay before heading back.

Where our eyes are never closing, hearts are never broken

And so you wander to the opposite side of the bed and peer at down your wristwatch for the time.

Time's forever frozen and still.

48 hours

"Ben?" You whimper close to his ear. He's not responding. You know he wouldn't wake up that quickly at the strike of the exact hour but you're impatient to say goodbye to him with his forest, green eyes on full display and wandering around your (Y/E/C) ones to bolster you up.

"Hey." You coax into his ear again, still no response. The racing beat of your heart has matched the beeps of the heart monitor. His heart beats. The similarity is sketchy but nearly symbolic. You're leaving in the morning and he's not up and lively for you to fervently crush in a parting embrace.

"Bud, please. I can't force you to wake up but I'm leaving tomorrow. You have to help me...here." At this point, though how eager you are to, you can't let some tears stream down from your eyes since the possibility of Rosy waking up to you catching sobs is feasible, but Ben's involuntary stillness is not helping you with that ordeal. Losing all hope for a night, you straighten up and collect your things from the couch, deciding to come back one last time tomorrow prior to your departure.

You quickly open the door to the attending physician who's about to step in to take physical tests but you whisk past him without taking a second look.

Easy to say you didn't have a good night sleep with all the stresses weighing down on you that night. Either you hyperventilated in your slumber or remained asleep but with tears seeping from your half-closed eyes.

You've sent Lucy a text in the early hours of the morning notifying her about your departure today. She hasn't responded yet.

"Just a 24-hour delay? Are they that heartless?" Leaning on the door frame of your hotel room with a bitten donut in his hand, Joe questions as he watches you prop your luggage against the open door. "I had to reschedule the flight thrice last month, this one being the latest. It's only reasonable," You huff as a matter of fact, fixing the scarf that has dangled loose around your neck and staring into oblivion barely a second after going tight-lipped.

Finishing his donut, Joe pokes you out of your momentary trance. "You alright?"

You shake your head.

"I don't even know if he's awake now. It's past 48 hours and what if he-"

"There's only one way to find out," appeasing your elevating worry, he grabs you by the shoulders and looks you square in the eye, silently guaranteeing you of his recovery.

Since he'll be driving you to the airport, your things are neatly stored in the confines of the backseat but of course, you have to see Ben one last time, setting aside all the excruciating anticipation.

You scurry into the entrance with Joe by your side, out of breaths by the time you arrive at the door of Ben's room. Taking precautionary measures, you knock firmly on the surface expecting someone or Rosy to answer. But nada. You swap some looks with Joe and twist the knob gently, finding the room free of visitors and medical staff. Perhaps they've assessed him an hour prior.

"No one's around."

As you begin slipping a foot through the ajar door, Joe puts a hand on your shoulder, stopping you mid-step.

"Lucy's on her way."

His update on her reply makes you smile and you continue into the room, seeing the curtains that had blocked the sunlight for two days cast aside, spilling some sunlight into the room.

You take small, wobbly steps along the floor, unable to accept that until now he hasn't fluttered open those orbs you loved staring into so much. You suddenly fear that a complication has risen and is causing his extended unconsciousness but that must be the least of your worries.

So you can keep me, inside the pocket of your ripped jeans

He has to hear you. He has to. He has to.

He's gone really pasty. Dark circles under his eyes despite being asleep for two days. He has grown a scruff and looks painfully unruly, but still a face of an angel. You crouch and take his free hand in yours– careful not to disconnect the IV tube from his wrist, caressing it and drawing in a sharp inhale to free yourself of any doubt to speak up. "Ben. It's Y/N. You're scaring us, you know. The doctor said you'd wake up earlier but why? Why haven't you? What are you doing in there?"

This being the end of the long haul for you, you're not forcing anything at bay anymore– not your tears, not your peeves and certainly not your feelings. You interlace your fingers around his and kiss the back of his hand, your cheeks growing scarlet and wet with tears.

Holding me closer til our eyes meet, you won't ever be alone.

You get up from crouching and throw your arm around him in defiance of the possibility of applying a lot of pressure on his chest. It feels so different holding him that way. For the time you have left, an overly emotional, one-sided conversation should make up for the lost times that would've been great for those.

And if you hurt me, that's okay baby only words bleed

"You really kept that Homecoming picture, didn't you? Coincidentally I did too, just forgot it was there as well. But I pieced it back, by the way. Ironic that we both made a promise on those polaroids the night before graduation. I-I have it with me here, just so you know. Just thought I'd bring it out since...I'll be going soon." You pull the pictures out from the pocket of your coat with trembling hands, eager to wave them in front of him. Once out, you place it on the bedside table for him to keep once more but with your share of the picture.

Inside these pages you just hold me, and I won't ever let you go

You lay your forehead on his, your tears dripping onto his closed lids as you sob his name to get him to wake, at the same time feeling his soft exhales brush against your chin. " I told you I'd be strong and I'm trying to be. I know it sounds like a selfish thing to do but you have to trust me on this one. I want to move on, Ben. You're bound to be wedded soon and have a family of your own. I want to be there for that. I want to be that aunt who'll spoil your kids and make them fight you for the craziest demands. Those things I'd gladly do...if I wasn't this hopeless for you," Little by little, your voice comes out as broken whisper– losing your strength to add any more things to say in the process. On the other side of the door, Joe is finally joined by Lucy who has arrived not a minute late and they can't help but tear up a little at how uncontrolled your crying is slowly turning out, it's become audible enough to be heard from outside.

"Ben, buddy. Come on." He huffs against the hardwood as he and Lucy are tempted to barge in.

Burying your face into the exposed column of his neck with your arm slackening from being draped across his chest, you utter a voiceless but heartfelt statement.

Wait for me to come home

"I love you, Benjamin Jones. Be happy for me."

Your words hang thinly in the fragile air as you pull away from that proximity and leave a long kiss on his forehead, walking back sadly to the door with your hand outstretched ready to grab ahold of the knob.

"H-how could I be..."

The words released sound like a mere memory resonating in your head but you are proved wrong once you turn around.