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jamaiskookie · 4 years ago

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meet me in your memories (knj)

✂︎ pairing: memory traveller namjoon x gender neutral reader

✂︎ wc: 11.8k

✂︎ TW// car crash, mentions of death, crying, mental health, mental breakdowns, spoilers for frozen 1?? um, vomiting, mentions of PTSD, three seconds of family drama, memory loss

✂︎ notes: a little gift from me for being away so long <3 luv yall also ignore how short and shitty this is!!! ignore it!!!!!

✂︎ synopsis: namjoon is a memory traveller - he is thrusted back and forth into his world and the world of his memories, forced to re-enact his past experiences. but he doesn’t recognise you, who keeps showing up in his memories. why doesn’t he remember you? why can’t he recall any of these scenes if they’re supposed to be his memories? and why does it always feel like he’s forgetting something?

he comes to find out that he would choose you over and over again, in whatever lifetime or world he’s in. because he always returns to you.

✂︎ fic tunes: "eight"- iu (prod. & feat. suga) but you're at your favorite secret spot after a long day by neptjoon

masterlist asks

The road is slippery and Namjoon cranes his head out to look at the window. Rain splattering everywhere, he notes worriedly. He hopes that nobody crashes. The bus driver sitting about three meters in front of him is humming a melody to a song he doesn’t know nor recognise. While listening to the poor man hum the off beat tune, Namjoon sits in silence, wondering how sad it must be to drive a bus with no passengers but himself.

Suddenly, his stomach drops and his head spins, and this time Namjoon is certain it’s not from the rain or the driver’s subpar driving. He lurches forward, watching as the rain knocks against the window and falls in thick ribbons.

Click.

In an instant, Namjoon’s world collapses around him and he is thrown into his mind.

Seoul is sweltering hot - hot like he’s never felt before. Namjoon reaches up to clutch his head, which is still spinning, and finds himself standing in a pair of light washed baggy jeans and a sleeveless tee shirt, unlike the padding coat and thick boots he had on just a moment ago.

“Namjoon!” Someone squeals behind him and his heart jumps. He jumps around, facing you and the view of hot street food stalls and tall buildings behind you. Suddenly, his hand is reaching out to grab onto yours and you smile softly.

He hears his own voice ring out, clear as day: “Don’t run. I was looking for you.”

“Psh.” You wave off his concern, handing him a shiny golden hotteok. You hold an identical one in your fist, so he accepts it and murmurs his thanks, tearing apart the pancake and stuffing it into his mouth. Sweet, hot honey and small pieces of walnut flood into his mouth, and Namjoon is momentarily surprised. Science states that you cannot taste or physically feel anything in your dreams.

But Namjoon already proved that wrong long ago.

He takes you by hand and drags you over to a shelter, for some rest, apparently uninterested in your cries of wanting more tteokbokki or some Chinese food. He flings you over to his side and places his hand over your shoulder, while you both silently devour your hotteoks.

“This was a nice date.” You mumble tentatively, and oh. That’s what this is? A date? He wants to turn around and ask you for your name. Where are you from? Why am I here again? He wants to scream it out until his lungs hurt and he gets an answer that makes sense, but no matter how much he tries, his throat will not allow those words to tumble out of his lips.

Why don’t I remember you?

Instead, he replies: “Yeah, it was. This was fun.” He tilts his head down to smile at you and Namjoon finds himself nervous. Nervous enough that his hands are shaking against his will, but he tells himself that the sweat and the nervousness are all side effects of the swampy heat this summer.

You beam at him and Namjoon thinks you’re an angel. You lean up onto his chest to place a soft kiss onto his lips and Namjoon thinks about when he’s going to be thrown back out of his head.

“Wanna go home?” He asks, nudging at the sky, which is already filled up with first streaks of the sunset. Purple hues and pinks and blues that all blend together nicely. You watch the sky for a moment.

“Never.” You offer no explanation after that and Namjoon doesn’t pry. He feels like he understands you, which is scarier than any other encounter he’s faced, in real life and in here. You stare up at him more intensely, and a shudder of fear runs down Namjoon’s back. “I just want to stay here forever,” You enunciate, like you want him to remember this. “Just Y/N and Namjoon.”

Something tugs in his chest and Namjoon screams in his head, no. Longer. Not now. He slips away, gone, disappeared from the world before he can even tell you how pretty your name is. And he awakens back at the bus, where the driver is shaking him and yelling at him to get out.

Namjoon walks home in the rain, yelling out your name in happiness until his neighbours come over politely asking him to shut the fuck up.

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, Y/N… Y/N?” He keeps repeating the name over and over again, enough to make Seokjin annoyed, who has moved away from Namjoon’s desk to the sofa in his office just to escape the random spiel that Namjoon is hurriedly rushing through.

“I can’t find a single Y/N in here!” Namjoon cries frustratingly, and the corners of Seokjin’s eyes soften in something that is either pity or empathy. He discards his non-fiction novel about drag queens and wigs to come over and clap a hand on Namjoon’s shoulder.

“My friend, my crazy, idiotic, slightly insane friend.” Seokjin bends down. “You’ve checked all your yearbooks, social media, archives, newspapers… Have you perhaps considered that this person wasn’t that important? Just a passing stranger?”

“No.” Namjoon shoots down stubbornly. “They appear far too often for them not to be important.” So Seokjin shrugs, leaving Namjoon to, once again, search through the Facebook friends of a friend of a friend of a friend.

But no Y/N’s pop up, and he’s wondering if Y/N was just a nickname. Was it even your real name? With a sigh and one single (rather impressive) agitated brow wave, he lets go and spills. He tells Seokjin about how he finally learned your name, about the places you’ve been together and how much you adore street food.

He appreciates Seokjin for being a good friend, for sitting there and not interrupting to call him a crazy person, even if he is most certainly thinking about it in his head. Because Seokjin, at least, knows about a miniscule part of Namjoon’s tragic life. He doesn’t understand, but he gets it, and that’s all Namjoon needs in a friend.

He doesn’t tell Seokjin about how soft and pillowy your lips feel against his, he doesn’t tell you how much he longs to do unspeakable things to you when you show up in those blue short shorts. He definitely doesn’t tell him how much he loves your name.

Seokjin suggests a number of things. That perhaps you are a character from long ago, or maybe a passing stranger Namjoon once had a summer fling with. You may be someone long forgotten like a mutual friend in high school or college. He also suggests a psychiatric hospital to screw his head back on (as a joke, Namjoon’s pretty sure.)

But none of those seem right. Namjoon does his best to explain, he really does. For an award winning journalist and aspiring writer, he does just about a terrible job of trying to string his words together. Seokjin pinches the bridge of his nose and falls back onto the sofa, already spacing out. Namjoon weakly cries out that he knows you. He really does - he just doesn’t remember how, or why.

Like a puzzle with a few missing pieces.

He wonders when and if the missing pieces will ever make their way over to him.

Namjoon gives up and flops down onto the sofa next to Jin, who squeaks out various protests about how heavy he is and how stupidly huge his arms have gotten after he started working out, along the lines of comparing him to Jungkook and calling him a gym rat.

As usual, Namjoon doesn’t listen.

It’s difficult to explain the feeling of falling to someone who hasn’t experienced it. The cursed Click echoes out and suddenly, the world spins around, the axis breaks and he’s physically thrown into another time, another place… another memory that he can’t seem to recall. His stomach lurches, his head hurts and there’s a small breeze flowing in.

For a short moment, the loops of space and time are completely open to him. He can’t see it, but he can feel it. It flips his mind completely upside down and boom. He’s in a specific, random time and place. His body feels light, and every step he takes, he can physically feel it: He doesn’t belong here. He isn’t supposed to be here. Everything feels different. Even the air is more smoky, because something in this world is suddenly wrong, and it’s him.

The next time he meets you, he is in just about the worst place to fall. Sitting in a press conference, his stomach drops and he’s dreading the fall. Namjoon can already hear his boss screaming at him, and he desperately tries to root himself to his seat, typing whatever the assemblyman is yapping on and on about. About farming and agriculture and tax cuts…

Click.

He can distantly hear the assemblyman candidate talk about corrupt government workers as he’s thrusted out of his world and into another.

The memory he has the pleasure to be in this time is something not too unfamiliar. For a second, he thinks if this is just a normal day of him in his cramped, tiny city apartment. Until he turns around and realises you’re lying right next to him, sound asleep and nuzzling into the side of his neck.

The air is crisp. It’s spring, not winter anymore, and he can hear the flower petals outside his apartment complex falling lightly on the ground. This, Namjoon thinks, may just be the best memory he’s been in. The press conference and his life and his boss slips his mind and he cradles you in his chest, holding you closer and closing his eyes shut.

“Mm?” You mumble, half asleep. “You’re suffocating me.” You hoarsely call out, and Namjoon releases you with an insincere apology. He brushes the hair out of your hair and grins, framing you in his head. He reaches to his alarm clock, which is right next to his bed as it always is to check the time.

April 1st, 2017.

Oh god, Namjoon winces. This means he still has that god awful haircut right now. He reaches up to feel his head, and sure enough, the horrible slicked back bleached hair is still there, an unfortunate result of his friend Hoseok daring him to drunk dye his hair.

“You’re awake?” He asks you, and you nod slowly.

He wonders if this memory precedes or follows the one he had with you last time, and he desperately hopes things are going in chronological order. He wants to know you just as much as you know him. Namjoon naively prays to whatever deity that controls his dreamworld: Please follow things step by step, follow the clock.

You roll around, saying something he can’t really catch. He asks you what you said and for the first time today, you peel open your eyes directly facing him. Namjoon’s heart almost falls out of his ass, seeing your eyes bore into his own.

“Where’s my morning kiss?” You ask cutely, nudging his nose with your own button nose.

“Right here.” He finds himself saying, leaning in to close the inches in between your two faces. You taste like hotteok, even early in the morning. You taste like a spring day and a never ending forever. As your lips capture his and his everything is consumed by thoughts of you, Namjoon begs himself to kiss you harder.

His past self declines politely, and Namjoon thinks about whether this counts as himself being controlled if he himself is still controlling what he says and does.

In that moment, listening to your slow breathing and someone across the street playing simple, melodic piano chords, Namjoon tells himself: Do not ever forget April 1st, 2017. You rise from the bed and some form of protest bubbles up from Namjoon’s mouth, to which you just laugh and drag him out of bed with the excuse of wanting breakfast.

You push him into the bathroom, where he expects to meet his sad single grey towel and foggy mirror. You push him in front, and he cringes at the sight of his hair in the mirror. You sigh.

“Calm down. The blonde looks sexy. You can dye it back black later.” He laughs, because it’s clearly not very sexy. For once, his past self is doing exactly what the current Namjoon is pleading him to do. Does it count as reliving your memories if someone else was living through them originally? But, he reminds himself while you hand him a green toothbrush and squeeze a dollop of toothpaste on both your toothbrushes, this is him. He lived through this once and he is just taking a trip down memory lane.

The person who lived through this before was him.

He has to remind himself many more times before it sinks in.

You brush your teeth next to him, fluffing your hair and squinting in the mirror to wake yourself up. Without a second of hesitation, Namjoon brings the toothbrush up and starts to brush his teeth. Nothing has ever felt more domestic or right than this, despite the tentative steps and heavy lead feeling in his throat telling him he still isn’t supposed to be here.

You spit out toothpaste in the sink to gargle your mouth and Namjoon mimics you exactly. Somehow, you find yourselves in the kitchen, giggling while making some sort of french toast with an abundance of cinnamon floating through the air. Which makes Namjoon cough and makes you laugh even harder.

“This is a perfect morning.” You say, peering out the window to watch the city life slowly bustling to life. People scrambling out their doors, ushering their children or pets with them. People you don’t recognise going on walks or runs. Mailmen and delivery people dropping off packages and people yelling into their phones as they hurriedly walk along the sidewalk.

And you and Namjoon, calmly staying in your pajamas while frying toast on the pan.

“Is something burning?” You ask, sniffing the air, and Namjoon’s blood runs cold.

“Oh, shit!”

You smile and shake your head while Namjoon attempts to save the blackened piece of bread to no avail. He catches sight of the corners of your mouth lifting, even as you chastise him about watching the stove and ranting on about how you’re never going to trust him in the kitchen again. Namjoon watches your pink lips, stained with a brown mudge of cinnamon french toast mixture, which lifts up and your head falls back, hair flowing around your head like a halo.

Your laugh plays out in front of him in slow motion, and absentmindedly, he thanks that deity he prayed to for slowing this moment down. Because if there’s anything he yearns most to remember, it’s the way you laugh. A chuckle makes its way out of his own throat as well, and he’s not sure who’s in control at the moment.

Himself or himself in the past?

Either way, they both did the right thing. Namjoon forgets. He forgets the life he has back home, he forgets Seokjin’s warnings, he forgets that he has at least a hundred articles waiting for him at work to be written. He forgets that this world is nothing but a chance for him to follow the footsteps of what he once did, with no control to say or do anything he wishes to do himself.

But, oh, he really can’t bring himself to care.

Those piano chords from before blend together beautifully, and you scrape the black toast into the garbage can, still teasing him relentlessly, and oh. Oh, this is what it means to have a home. You made this junk of a house into a home, and he feels like he has to return here. This is where he’s meant to return to, everyday. Each time.

You turn around after discarding the toast and with a bright smile, you ask him to kiss you again. Namjoon thinks that he doesn’t ever have the capability to deny you when you smile like that, so he complies and crashes his lips onto yours.

The lead, heavy feeling in his throat is still weighing him down. Except Namjoon isn’t sure whether it’s weighing him down to this world or the real world.

The cursed deity pulls him back, pulling him through the time and space back to his own responsibilities and life. His heart is wrenched out and he reaches out, trying to grasp your hand for the last time. He falls back to his own world in a hospital bed and an IV attached to his arm with half a piece of french toast dangling in his mouth and another promise he makes with himself to meet you again with a smile on his face.

Memories… memories that he’s lived through but can’t remember. Memories he slips into to live momentarily through the actions and words of his old self.

Somewhere along the line of diving back and forth his own life and this past one, he has forgotten which is which.

“Most likely due to exhaustion. Lack of sleep, lack of rest. It’s quite common with working young adults, workaholics. I’m putting him on medical leave for the rest of the week. He needs a rest - He needed it yesterday. Don’t worry too much, Mrs. Kim. A long nap and a meal or two will fix him right back up.” Namjoon groggily registers the white walls and beeping noises, the chatter of doctors and nurses rushing around.

He’s in a hospital, and a rush of fear runs straight through his blood. He sits up to eye his mother, sitting next to him and holding his hand. She shushes him, laying him back down on the bed, but all he can do is panic.

“No, not here. Not here again.” He mumbles incoherently. His mother puts a hand over his eyes, shushing him again and telling him softly to go back to sleep. He doesn’t want to go to sleep, he wants to get out of here. But his eyelids are already feeling heavy and he weakly fights against his body, but before he can even process it, his eyes are shut and he is asleep.

Seeing her son close his eyes and drift off to sleep, Mrs. Kim turns back to the doctor.

“I’m not surprised,” She starts. “He’s always worked himself to the bone. But that’s not what I’m worried about. I’m worried about his brain.” The doctor cocks his head and looks through the papers which are clipped to a clipboard in his arms.

“Ah, yes. I see he was in a car accident a few years ago.” Doctors are some of the most heartless people, and you can always tell how experienced a doctor is by how much sympathy they show. This doctor shows none at all, which must mean he’s been working for a long time.

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Kim.” The doctor continues, peering over Namjoon’s sleeping body. “I see he suffered light effects after the accident. Selective amnesia, no external damages to the skull. He didn’t suffer as much. In fact, I believe the doctor in charge believed that the amnesia was mostly due to the shock of the event. But he’s received treatment for PTSD since then, right?”

Mrs. Kim nods.

“Good. Doctor Park also noted at the time that his amnesia actually didn’t affect much of his memory. He couldn’t remember distant relatives or kindergarten friends, but that seemed to be the extent of his amnesia. Oh,” The doctor slipped through the clipboard. “He also couldn’t remember certain knowledge about philosophers such as Freud, which he was, quote, ‘devastated over’ un-quote.”

Mrs. Kim stays silent.

“So, you don’t have to worry too much. Best thing your son could do for his well being is rest. And a therapist if he has a relapse or shows some symptoms such as sleep difficulties or nightmares, or physical signs like fatigue and nausea.”

Mrs. Kim nods. “Thank you, doctor.”

That’s it, and she turns back to her son, with her hand in his. She stays there, unmoving until he opens his eyes, mumbling incoherent questions and asking his mother why he is in the hospital again, demanding to be discharged immediately. Her heart breaks a little, small cracks form for her beloved son and she kisses him on the forehead, telling him he’d be out of here in no time.

“What did you see?” She asks quietly, and Namjoon is surprised. She never asks him about his memory walks. It’s taboo to mention it in his household. Not even his sister is comfortable talking about it. “Anything? At all? You passed out at a rather unfortunate time, I heard.” She continues.

“Nothing much.” Namjoon replies, lying through his teeth and trying to justify it with the sight of your laugh. He leans back and closes his eyes once more, bringing up his memories of you and your bedhead. He tries to fill the gap inside of him with thoughts of you, as if that can make up for the empty feeling that he’s forgetting something.

In the hospital, staring at a white ceiling and glaring lights, Namjoon is left to think about what’s happening to his head. During the end of his rather short stay, he comes up with a terrifying conclusion. One that scares him more than he could imagine, but it’s the only one that makes sense. He’s falling in love with you.

He voices out this concern to Seokjin when he visits after his mother leaves. Seokjin stays silent, mumbling out an apology that feels like the wrong thing to say. The elder boy can only look at his friend with sadness in his eyes, telling him that someone as great as Namjoon shouldn’t be suffering so much pain. Namjoon jokes that a witch must have cursed him when he was born.

None of the two friends laugh.

This routine continues on and on, without Namjoon dwelling too much on it. Which is so much unlike Namjoon, whose main personality trait is overthinking about the smallest things. He lets the flow of time and space take him wherever they wish to plop him down. He lets the evil deity toy with his heart and wrench him away whenever you smile the largest.

It hurts right after he is torn away from you, but he’s filled with so much joy in the moment that he can’t bring himself to do anything else about it. Even if he wanted to do something without it, he has no idea where on earth he might start.

Sometimes he questions the validity of his memories. What is real, what is fake? He still can’t answer, and this is what he spends most of his time wondering about. The memories he has with you don’t make sense. Those are large gaps in his life that he seems to have no recollection of.

He goes everywhere with you.

One day he showed up on November 5th, 2015.

The next day he jumped to August 23rd, 2017.

Another time, he was thrown into March 15th, 2016.

None of it makes sense. Are they not memories? He thinks. There’s no possible way he’s spent this much of his life with you and can’t recall any of it. What is real - the world he spends with you, or the world where he always returns to by default?

And yet, nothing else can explain these short periods of blackouts. Ever since one day in some horrible hospital, he’s gone under and pulled and thrusted into some land where he has no control over his own hands. Everything else makes sense. This world, everything else is accurate from the settings to the props, with one anomaly in his memory.

A character who goes by the name of Y/N.

He could go the science-y logic route that he so often frequents, come up with theories that can somewhat explain these periods of time. Theories that include explanations such as hallucinations, or that Seokjin��s right and he’s finally gone crazy. You’re just a figment of his imagination, that this is all in his head and he’s out of his mind.

But he rejects all those theories when he’s clicked into another memory. Somehow, he just understands. These are memories. These are memories he’s had with you, whether that was in a past life or in some sort of messed up alternate timeline where he’s actually happy.

Is this a gift or another curse from this stupid deity?

He has too many questions.

He cannot explain these memories using science, logic, common sense, or even using his own words. But in the moment, while you’re in his arms, he can feel it. He can explain it by describing the way you smell, like pancakes and fresh mint. He can explain it by describing the way you feel, like a warm marshmallow filling up his insides and consuming him.

It’s cheesy, cringier than Seokjin’s dad jokes, but only he gets it.

Namjoon is in his living room, switching channels on the TV and thinking about this when his stomach sinks again. He braces himself, and disappears.

Click.

Seoul is freezing cold. The air is light and he is sitting on a bench on his college campus, rubbing his hands together and zipping up his huge jacket over his sweater. Namjoon shudders, his body not yet used to the bite of the cold compared to the warm breeze he was just enjoying.

He sniffles, nose slightly red like some knockoff Rudolph and wanders around. His body pulls him to go to the right, despite the warm coffee shop being on the left. He shudders again and tries to protest, but his body won’t listen, standing up and walking over to the right with no particular destination in mind. Students are rushing around, complaining about the cold and talking about their next party or study session.

Namjoon pulls himself forwards, and thank god this version of himself still has terrible tolerance for the cold, because he reaches up and pulls his beanie down over his ears, still wandering around aimlessly. Where are you going? Namjoon wants to scream out frustratingly.

His brain doesn’t reply and Namjoon sulks.

Eventually, he is pulled over to another bench, outside in the cold, and he sits down, deeply resenting himself and wondering why on earth he just stood up from one bench to walk to another one. If anything, it’s colder here. He watches the students that pass by for a minute or two, thinking that this is the most boring memory he’s ever been in.

There is no snow falling, but almost everything on campus is lined with a sheet of ice or cold steam. Namjoon nuzzles deeper into his own clothes, cursing himself for not being able to go buy another sweater or something to fight the extreme cold.

Suddenly, you appear in front of him and Namjoon perks up. There you are. He thinks. Finally. You come over and sit down, holding something in your hands. He smiles, waiting for you to speak up and greet him with a kiss that will surely warm him up, but you silently sit next to him, ignoring him. Namjoon urges himself to say something, but instead, he continues to watch the students bustling through campus grounds without looking at you.

Are we fighting? Is Y/N mad at me?

This is excruciatingly frustrating, Namjoon bites his tongue and thinks. Why can’t he just say something? Abruptly, something lands on his jacket with a splat and he straightens up, snapping his neck towards you, who is looking at the yogurt splat on his jacket with a look of terror.

“Oh my gosh!” You squeak out, quickly setting your yogurt aside and reaching for some tissues in your purse. “Oh, god, oh god, I’m so sorry. Please, let me-” Namjoon frowns, taking his hands out of his pockets to thumb at his jacket, debating whether he wants to take it off or not.

You lean over, pawing at his jacket and wiping the yogurt off of his jacket. “I’m so sorry!”

“No, don’t worry.” Namjoon says, chuckling. He reaches for another tissue, helping you get the yogurt off of him. “It’s no big deal.” The yogurt is mostly wiped off and you side eye him with the unmistakable look of guilt filling your eyes. Namjoon laughs again.

“It’s fine, really! No, don’t worry about it.”

“I’m literally so sorry. Do you want me to pay for dry cleaning? Laundry? I can, um, wash it for you! I’m not the best at laundry, but it’s the least I could do?”

Namjoon briefly wonders why you’re being so polite.

“No, it’s fine.” The words tumble out his mouth again before he can process it. “Really, this jacket is old, anyway.” Not really, Namjoon thinks. It feels really new. “But who the hell eats cold yogurt in this kind of weather?” He jokes. “You sure you’re not a demon?”

You freeze, terrified before realising he was cracking a joke. “Oh. Hah! Yeah, no, I guess I just really like yogurt.” You offer lamely, and you break out into a small giggle. “Yeah, I guess I kind of am a psycho for eating it right now. It’s freezing today.”

“God, tell me about it.” Namjoon says, stuffing his hands back into his pockets.

“Thanks for not going bonkers on me. This jacket looks insanely expensive.”

“Not really.”

“I’m Y/N.” You greet, holding a hand out for him to shake. I know, Namjoon thinks with a secret smile, but everything makes sense now. You don’t know him yet. To you in this moment in time, he’s just a random stranger who didn’t blow up on you after spraying some yogurt onto you. To him, you’re… you’re…

“Oh, um, I’m Namjoon.” He says, hurriedly taking a hand out of his pocket to shake your outstretched hand. Your fingers meet and Namjoon swears a small zap just went through his hand.

“Namjoon. Nice to meet you, Namjoon.” You say with a small smile, yogurt already long forgotten on the bench beside you two.

“It’s nice to meet you too.” He says in return, even though he doesn’t mean it. He already knows you, he knows you better than everyone. He knows your favourite food is Korean street food, and you always wake him up with kisses and your favourite colour is periwinkle and you absolutely hate abalone with more passion than he’s ever seen in his entire life.

But this is your first time seeing him, ever, he reminds himself. This is your meet cute. This single moment set off the events in the next god knows how many years. This is the first time he ever had your name grace his tongue. This is the first time you’ve seen him.

Another moment to treasure. You let go of his hand, after realising you two have been shaking hands for much longer than the socially acceptable rate of hand shaking. Blushing, either from the cold or humiliation, you sit, turn back around, grabbing a hold of your yogurt once more.

Suddenly, Namjoon finds himself blurting out: “Hey, you wanna go get some coffee?” You look over curiously, pointing to yourself like you can’t believe he’s asking you out, because you don’t know that you’re all he ever thinks about at any given moment in any given day. “You’ll probably freeze your ass off if you keep eating that yogurt.” He jokes, pretending like this is all because he’s caring about how cold you are and not how cute or incredible or kind you are.

“Sure.” You say, nodding shyly. He stands up, leading you to walk over to the left where the campus coffee shop is. Along the way, you throw the yogurt cup in the trash.

“You can’t bring food brought from outside into a shop, right?” You ask.

Namjoon smiles. “Yeah.” He stays there until night takes over the sky and one single twinkling star in the sky is signalling that it’s time to go home. Possibly the longest time he’s ever spent in a memory. He keeps glancing at the clock, praying that he gets one more minute with you, one more second, one more moment.

At any time, he could be pulled out of this world, and he needs to make the most of it. You tell him about your childhood bedroom and your major. You tell him about the love you have for pancakes, and how much you want a puppy even though it’s prohibited in the on campus dorms. He nods, pretending like this is all new information even though it’s not, and he’s known all of this for the longest time. He knows you better than you know yourself, which he keeps to himself.

In return, he tells you about his own childhood bedroom, which was adorned with posters of western hip hop rappers. He tells you about his passions for writing and music, that if he didn’t major in journalism, he’d be studying music production in school. He tells you that he’s obsessed with philosophy, and in all honesty, is a bit of a nerd.

Instead of laughing or pulling a face, you nod and smile, saying that you think he should tell you more about philosophy on a second date.

You leave the coffee shop with a small goodbye, and even though he desperately wants to, Namjoon can’t kiss you.

He gets pulled back after you disappear pass the corner of the street, and the world morphes into a huge motion blur. When he gets pulled back into his living room, the TV is playing late night TV shows already. Namjoon checks the time. He was pulled in for five hours, the longest he’s ever been in that world.

After that, no matter how much more he prays and begs, he never stays any longer than that.

Three days later, Namjoon suddenly pops into Hong Kong, which is hotter than anything he’s ever felt. The streets are heavy with people, squabbling in cantonese while selling raw meats in a wet market. The sun is glaringly bright, and Namjoon starts to sweat almost instantaneously. Taxis and huge buses drive past, Namjoon jumps to a side only to find a vast ocean. He’s at the harbour front.

The smell of food, of egg tarts and pineapple buns and meat dumplings along with other Hong Kong delicacies waft through the air, combined with the salty air of the sea. It makes for a strange combination that confuses his senses but works nonetheless.

He thought he knew a city like Seoul, but this is a true city. This is busy and fast paced like he’s never even seen before. People shove each other aside to catch the bus, dogs are yapping everywhere and he soaks it all in before the thought enters his head.

What the hell is he doing in Hong Kong?

It’s like every time he wonders aloud, you pop up. “I’ve been looking for you.” You say, echoing the words he said to you that day in the streets of Seoul.

“I was exploring!“ He says defensively, and you roll your eyes.

“Come on.” You say, walking along the harbour front.

“You’re not still mad at me, are you?” Namjoon asks, the words spilling out and surprising himself. Are you mad at him? You’ve never been mad at him before, not in the memories he’s seen. He hasn’t ever seen you fight with him, and immediately, he wants to apologise, fix things before he’s pulled back out and he has to live with the guilt and overthinking of whether you’re still mad at him for the next week.

“Can’t believe you’re mad at me during our vacation.” Namjoon says, and that’s why he’s in Hong Kong, he realises. He’s on vacation. How strange. Namjoon thinks back to when the last time he took a break from work and the only thing he can think of is when that doctor put him on medical leave not too long ago. Oh no, you’re mad at him on holiday?

“Well, what am I supposed to do?” You retort back, and Namjoon has never heard your voice this curt. “Just sit around pretending like everything's okay?”

“What do you want me to do?” Namjoon replies. “You act like this is my fault!”

“It is your fault!” You cry out indignantly, and Namjoon knows that, but why? What did he do? What did you do? “Is this even a vacation?”

“Yes!” Namjoon cries out again in response, and you shake your head.

“You promised, Namjoon.” You say like it’s a warning.

“Yes, I know,” Namjoon says, even though he doesn’t and really, what on earth did he do? “But this is out of my hands! I can’t just say no, you’re not looking at this from my point of view.”

“You’re not looking at this from my point of view!” You argue back, and Namjoon looks around, realising that this squabble is attracting a small crowd of chinese people, gathering around to watch the free entertainment along the sidewalk of Victoria harbour. He awkwardly laughs, raising his hand and bows, a universal sign of apology, grabbing your hand and walking to the other direction.

“Come on, I’d rather not have the whole city witness our fight.”

“Oh, so this is a fight now?”

“What? Yes!” Namjoon says exasperatedly. “How else would you classify this argument?”

Once he makes it to somewhere with at least a sliver of privacy, he turns around with his brows furrowed and a glare etched on his features. Why do you look so angry? Namjoon chastises himself. Just relax, relax, relax. As usual, his body doesn’t listen.

“Why are you so mad at this?” Namjoon asks, and feels a flow of relief go down his spine. Finally.

“It’s not just this instance, Joon. I know work is important, but sometimes it feels like you put literally anything else above me! Like last time? You bailed on our date, like, at least twice. You keep saying you can’t say no, but you can. You have that right, Namjoon.”

Namjoon’s heart softens a little bit. His workaholic tendencies ended up biting him in the ass after all. Sighing he rubs the back of his neck, eyes glued to the floor. “I’m not prioritising work over you, baby.” He tries to explain, and tries to ignore how his heart sinks when your eyes turn stony at the sound of the pet name he often uses to address you.

“It’s just important to me as well, okay? It’s not my fault my boss heard I was going to Hong Kong and insisted I come to interview some investors about Hong Kong’s economy.” He explains slowly. “It couldn’t take more than a single day to get everything organised and tidied up.”

“But-!” You huff angrily, spitting out your words. “You don’t understand! You keep doing this, Namjoon. You keep working, working, working. It’s been this way since college. It’s like you’ll die if you just take a break to come talk to me. I even went over to your office to have lunch with you last week and they told me you were in a meeting.”

“It was important!” Namjoon insists and he can feel things sinking and getting worse and worse with every word he says. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? You can’t expect me to put you in front of all of my responsibilities. I’m sure you have things you can’t give up for me too.”

Hearing that felt like a slap to the face to both you and Namjoon, and he’s screaming at himself internally, why would you say something so, so, stupid?

“Excuse me?” Your broken voice rings out and Namjoon’s accusatory finger falls.

“Wait.” He mumbles, fumbling with his hands. “Wait, I didn’t mean that. Wait, I-”

“Fine!” You yell angrily. “You think nothing’s more important than work? You think I haven’t given up anything for you, Kim Namjoon? Because I’d quit and give up anything for you, you asshole.” You bite out, tears desperately trying not to fall. “You fucking asshole.” You say, before turning back around to weave through the crowd.

“No, wait, baby!” He calls out, and even he knows that he’s messed up. Messed up big time. That was more hurtful than any cuss word or insult he could’ve ever said. “Kim fucking Namjoon, you idiot.” He mumbles to himself. Seeing you cry is more painful than anything else in the world, Namjoon thinks. He’s not ever going to see that sight again if he can help it.

He walks forward, trying to find you. Maybe you went back to the hotel, or went to look at the sea to clear your head. He thinks he sees the back of your head for a second, and he reaches forward, clutching at air. He’s about to cry, and Namjoon has never seen himself be more pathetic.

“Oh no, where are you?” He murmurs to himself like a crazed man. What if you were hurt somewhere? He needs to know you’re safe, he needs to know you’re okay, he needs to make everything better. With each step, the lead feeling in his throat grows heavier and heavier until he feels like it’s sunk to his chest. He wants to kneel down, he wants it to stop hurting, but he can’t.

He must aimlessly follow his shell to do whatever he is doing now.

The lead feeling continues to grow, and Namjoon feels like he’s suffocating. He’s not supposed to be here, he reminds himself. But he has to find you first, then he can leave. Then he can go, but where are you? He wants to cry, he wants to breathe.

Namjoon tells himself to gasp for air, but he cannot. He tells himself if this is the last time he ever sees you, he needs to see you smile. He needs to see you laugh.

Like the pattern in the rest of his meaningless life, an evil deity always pulls him away from the ones he loves when he needs them most. He feels the lead feeling being lifted and pure panic races to Namjoon’s head. He tries to croak out no. He tries to resist, he shoves people aside and calls out your name. But no one answers him, and the cruel deity laughs at his demise.

He is too weak, too weak to control himself.

Namjoon is plucked out of the world and transported back to his bedroom with the threads of time slowly ravelling and tangling themselves around his neck, all while he reaches forward, only to grasp at air and pretend in his head that everything’s alright.

When he reaches his bedroom and wakes up, he stumbles into the bathroom and vomits, all while longing for the warmth of your lips.

Walking around dazedly, Namjoon somehow manages to make his way to Seokjin and Jimin’s apartment, knocking and hoarsely asking them to open, open up please. Because he’s not sure he can hold on to another night alone. Jimin opens the door instantly and catches Namjoon in his arms, frantically calling for Seokjin to come fast.

They lay him on the couch, hearts slowly breaking and trying to convince themselves their friend will be fine as they watch Namjoon whimper in his sleep.

Namjoon wakes to the smell of breakfast, of bacon on the stove and Jimin chattering around while watering his plants. He gets up, headache pounding and throat sore. Seokjin wordlessly hands him a few pills and a glass of water, while Jimin plates up breakfast, placing the sausage, eggs and toast separately on the plate because Namjoon can’t stand it when food on his plate touches.

Silently, the three friends eat. Nobody speaks until Namjoon clears his throat and looks up.

“Thank you.“ He whispers.

“What are friends for?” Jimin says.

Namjoon wonders why he’s got such amazing friends. Jin replies that he was born perfect and God created him like this, so Namjoon shouldn’t dwell too much on it. Jimin and Namjoon both throw a spoon of scrambled eggs in his direction simultaneously, high fiving without missing a beat when Jin lets out a protest of unjust behaviour.

As the three friends sit quietly, Namjoon says: “I think I’m going mad.”

“I’m glad you’ve realised.” Seokjin replies offhandedly.

“I don’t think I can keep going between these worlds. I think it’s making me lose my mind.”

Jimin stills. Seokjin stops washing the dishes and turns off the faucet.

“Do… do you know how to stop it?” Jimin asks hesitantly. Namjoon shakes his head, and Seokjin sighs, in deep thought, which is a strange and rare sight to see itself.

“Well, I guess we’ll have to figure this out together.” Seokjin says casually. Jimin agrees and the faucet comes back on, Seokjin going straight back to washing the pan he used to fry up the scrambled eggs. Jimin unplugs the toaster and Namjoon sits, smiling at his beloved friends.

“You can borrow some of my shirts.” Jimin calls from the bathroom. “You know, if you want to stay over a couple more nights. Feel free.”

“Make yourself at home and shit.” Seokjin mutters, waving his hand around sarcastically. Namjoon almost bursts out into tears of happiness, but he decides to hold it in until Seokjin doesn’t have access to his phone and won’t put Namjoon’s breakdown on instagram live.

The next day, the entire gang comes over, all with varying degrees of understanding what the hell is going on with Namjoon. For example, Yoongi pretty much knows as much as Seokjin does, who still doesn’t really understand what’s going on. Taehyung was just told Namjoon’s been feeling down because God knows that boy has a big mouth and definitely can’t keep a secret to save his life.

Seokjin supplies homemade snacks and burgers fresh off the grill, Yoongi brings over his unlimited Netflix and HBO account passwords he probably stole off of some innocent family member to watch Disney movies, Taehyung comes over with Yeontan clutched to his side because that’s the group's emotional support dog. Jungkook and Hoseok offer up their extensive alcohol collection and bring over some quality wines. Jimin, after a long three hours of consideration, gives up his lucky plushies and fluffy blankets to build a fort.

For one night, the seven boys crowds around the television, watching everything from The Lorax to Tangled to Frozen and bawling their eyes out when Anna turned to ice (spoiler alert!!!) For one night, the fully grown men all turn back into their 8 year old selves, playing video games and staying up as late as they wanted even though they all had responsibilities to tend to the next day.

When they all awake from their mega-sleepover the next morning, the remaining six friends all insist they just felt like watching Disney movies and drinking wine suddenly. It certainly had nothing to do with the fact that Namjoon’s been feeling a little off in the past few days.

Absolutely not.

Namjoon’s eyes brim with tears and he tackles all the boys to the ground in one incredibly coordinated group hug, ignoring Yoongi’s complaints of being anti-social and that his love language is not physical touch.

“Thanks, guys.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jungkook mutters. “Now could you please get the fuck off?”

“Never.” Namjoon says, muffled because he says it while his head is buried in Hoseok’s chest.

“Love you.”

“... Love you too.”

The next time he falls, Namjoon thinks he’s prepared. Ready, not to get attached, ready to make clear of what belongs in his world and what doesn’t, after lots of pep talks and therapy sessions with Seokjin and Jimin and Yoongi, who is surprisingly helpful with shooting down ideals of toxic masculinity and talking about mental health.

He’s wrong- he’s not ready, but he doesn’t know that yet.

Click.

He’s come to resent that stupid sound. In an instant, he’s dropped into a car, which is strangely familiar. You are next to him, driving, and thank goodness, because everyone knows Namjoon cannot drive. If he were dropped in the driver’s seat, things may have taken a turn for the worse.

“You want to play some music?” You ask, and Namjoon nods.

“Yeah sure, turn up the radio.” You reach over to flip a switch and a pretty tune fills the car, echoing and bouncing off the walls of the small vessel. You bring your hand down and interlace it with Namjoon’s, who is suddenly hyper aware of his surroundings.

“You’re driving, baby.” He says, and a great sense of relief floods back into his system when he sees you smile at the pet name. He hopes this moment is after the Hong Kong trip. He hopes he did the right thing and made up with you afterwards.

“We always do this. When there’s not many cars around, anyway.” You hum along with the music. “Nobody’s on the road tonight.” Sure enough, there are no cars in sight and Namjoon sighs, curling his hand tight against yours. He looks out the window.

“No stars tonight, either.”

You snort. “There are never any stars around the city, babe.”

“Ahh.” He huffs playfully. “Fuck global warming.”

“Fuck capatalism.” You add on, and he nods, wholeheartedly agreeing.

“I love you.” He murmurs.

“I love you too.” You reply with a sweet smile and Namjoon just realises that no, he’s not ready to let go of you, because his heart still flips like crazy when he hears you say that. He’s so unbearably, horribly, absolutely in love with you. Not in a creepy or obsessive way like he was probably in love with you a few months ago, but so in love with you.

He wonders why on earth he’s so drawn to you, but as usual, there’s no definite answers to his questions. Namjoon thinks about how he likes the way you cook pancakes, and how he likes the way you always reach down to pet a puppy no matter where you are or where you need to be. He loves the way you’d give up anything to defend the people you love. He admires your bravery and your courage. He admires the way you present yourself to the world.

He loves you simply because you are who you are, unapologetically and unashamed, which is something he never had the guts to do. But he gets pretty damn near to being fully and truly himself when he’s around you, so maybe that’s why he’s so in love with you.

Namjoon feels bad for a moment because he realises his love isn’t selfless or humble like the ones he sees on dramas and TV. His love for you is shamefully selfish, because he needs you more than anything else. He voices this out to you in a long speech while you keep your eyes on the road.

“I need you more than you think I do, Joon.” You say, while laughing, and Namjoon doesn’t know whether to feel offended or relieved.

“You think your love for me can trump my love for you?” He asks with his eyebrows raised.

“One hundred percent.” You drawl out, and this time, Namjoon’s offended.

“Excuse me? Who the fuck?” He asks, sitting up. You laugh bashfully, enamoured but mostly just entertained by your needy boyfriend who is very willing to prove how much more he loves you right now. “I love you way more than you love me!”

You laugh, your eyes still fixed on the road. “Oh no, please, we’re not arguing about this.”

“Yes we are!” Namjoon demands with a huge smile on his face. “How could you possibly think you love me more than I love you?” Your laugh only grows louder.

“I don’t even know if you’re being serious or just joking around anymore.” You say through bit back laughter.

“I’m being dead serious.” Namjoon softens for a bit, laying a hand on your thigh. “You’re my everything. You’re my future, you’re my present, you’re my past.” A part of you wants to tell him he’s being cheesy again, but the romantic in you who doesn’t want to hurt your boyfriend immediately shuts the realist in you up.

“That was sweet.”

“I try my best.”

You turn your head back to the road and he keeps his eyes on you. On the hoodie you’re wearing, which definitely doesn’t belong to you and he now has a certain inkling of where his missing hoodie went. He likes how it swallows you up. He likes that you have something of his on you.

Not as a weird mark of possession, but he likes that you’re comfortable with wearing something that essentially brands you as his. But you are his as much as he is yours and wow, Namjoon thinks in his head, is this the real Namjoon or the past Namjoon speaking? And his brain replies that it’s both.

“I love you.” He repeats, because as much as he seems to say it, he can’t seem to express how much he loves you (hint: it’s a large amount).

“I love you too.” You say right back.

He wants to say it more. He wants to say it better. He wants to repeat it until you get annoyed and tell him to shut up, he wants to let you know how much he loves you. But his lips are sealed, and he can’t say another word. Instead of what he wants to say, the words that come out his mouth are, admittedly, just as true.

“You’re pretty.”

You giggle. “Did you just realise?”

Namjoon shakes his head. “You’ve always been pretty. You were pretty on the day we met. You were pretty the day we fought in Hong Kong. You were pretty the first time you stayed over. You’re pretty when you cry, you’re pretty when you… I wanted to think of something that rhymes with cry, but it slipped my mind and now everything’s ruined.”

You laugh, a real, huge one this time. He can always tell when your laugh is real or not.

“Thank you.” You say. “For the record, you’ve always been pretty too.”

Namjoon leans back into his seat. “Damn straight.”

“When d’you think you first fell in love with me?” You ask, genuinely curious, and Namjoon thinks for a moment. He thinks about what the Namjoon in this moment would say, and he thinks about what the present Namjoon would say.

If he had verbal control, what would he say? That he fell in love with you during the very first memory he was thrusted in? But that wouldn’t be true, and that wouldn’t be honest. He fell in love with you during the memory of when you met? But that wouldn’t be true either. He fell in love with you in between memories, when all he could think about was the next time you could be in his arms, or how much he longed for your touch.

He tries to say that, he really does.

Instead, what comes out of his mouth is:

“I don’t know. I don’t know if there’s a specific moment. Maybe it was that time we went to the movies and watched Coco while crying over popcorn, or maybe it was that time we went to Disneyland.” Namjoon’s heart slouches, because he doesn’t know any of those moments. He hasn’t been in any of those memories.

“But I don’t think falling in love is a one moment, time stops kinda thing. I was always falling in love with you. From the time you spilled yogurt on my jacket to right now, where you’re asking me when I fell in love with you. I’m going to be falling in love with you tomorrow and the day after that, until the day where we shrivel up and die from old age.”

Oh, good answer, Namjoon thinks.

“Good answer.” You say. “I think I’d say the same thing.”

“Great minds think alike.” Namjoon sighs out.

Something strikes Namjoon’s heart. It’s not the lead feeling or the heavy weight he’s grown used to. It’s strange, like a wave of deja vu. And suddenly, Namjoon stops thinking. He glances over to the control board to look at the time, which proudly reads: December 3rd, 2018.

So that’s why he’s always had the feeling that these were memories. Why he was so adamant to believe these things really had happened to him. Even more strangely, what feelings strike him then is not panic, nor fear. It’s a strange flow of calmness that rushes through his veins. He looks over at you again, driving now with both hands on the steering wheel.

He wonders why the deity would make him witness something as cruel and horrible as this, and he gets the weird feeling that this will be one of his last memories to enter. Namjoon looks at the dark blanket covering the sky and sadly thinks that the deity could have at least placed a few stars in the sky on this night. As consolation, or perhaps an apology.

Something is ticking in the background, and Namjoon has no idea if it’s coming from the car or if he’s imagining it. Flashing memories go through his mind, so fast he can barely register them as images or moving pictures before they are gone again. Your smile, your laugh, your first date, your second date. The day he asked you to move in, the day you told him ‘I love you’ for the first time and he literally fainted.

The day he came to pick you up from work for the first time, the night where he first laid his hands on you and kissed all your worries away.

It comes fast and hurtles towards the two of you, but Namjoon doesn’t even see it coming because all he is looking at is you. Your face, your lips, your eyes, trying to engrave it all in his memory. You yelp out something to him, which he doesn’t hear. Floating images spin around both your heads and a high pitched screech rings out, a spark of orange lighting up like a stack of fireworks. The dark van shoots forward and collides into the driver’s seat.

The world collapses. It goes sideways, rotates then flips completely upside down, and the dark fog starts to eat up Namjoon’s eyesight. Oddly, nothing hurts. Perhaps because of the shock, or panic, but nothing on Namjoon’s body is in pain. Everything crashes, Namjoon’s head hits the window with force. Something breaks, glass cracks, people scream and he cannot tell which is which. Red and white flashes are all he can see before everything fades to grey and he can only reach around in the darkness, to find your hand.

He clutches onto your unmoving, still hand desperately, trying to calm his jumping heartbeat. Are those sirens in the background he hears or is that his imagination? Is that your voice he hears or is that a hallucination?

In the end, his final thought before leaving the world once again is a wish. A wish that he prays the deity will grant him. He hopes that in your final moments, you were not scared.

He falls.

When Namjoon arrives home, his entire body is numb. He doesn’t know where he is, nor what he was doing before he was clicked in. He opens his mouth and screams for a full minute without stopping.

It feels good in a fucked up way.

Namjoon has never been one for confrontation. Just ask his middle school bullies, who tormented him all they wanted because he wouldn’t do anything but put up with it. Just ask Mingyu from work, who keeps piling his unwanted projects and articles onto Namjoon because he never protests or complains to the higher-ups.

But while walking towards his childhood home with the birds chirping and his hands placed casually in his pockets, confrontation is all he can think about. He lets himself in the door; his mother never locks it and walks in calmly.

His mother is sitting on the couch, stitching up a sock which has a hole in it.

“Mom. I’m home.” He says softly, and his mother greets him normally. Namjoon leans on the wall and his mother stares at him strangely, calling him over to sit and have some fruit. He declines, telling her he won’t be staying very long. “That car crash that happened two years ago.”

The needle in his mother’s hand stills.

“They said I had selective amnesia, right?”

The needle picks up speed, stitching faster and faster, his mother’s hand moving faster than light.

“What did I forget again?”

“What did you remember?” His mother asks, never one to beat around the bush.

“Mom.” He says, firmly this time. “What did you do to me.”

The sock is torn apart in his mother’s hands. “Namjoon,” She starts and Namjoon already has a growing urge to shake the truth out of her. “When you got into that crash two years ago, you came out of it with very little injuries. We were all so relieved. When you woke up, you didn’t remember Y/N.” All that fills the air for another moment or two is the spongy sound of silence.

The gap in this family became clearer than ever to Namjoon. He thinks about how everyone must have been in on the secret, even his sister. And he was left to suffer, wondering why his life seemed so empty after forgetting something he couldn’t clutch onto.

“And what?” He demands, screaming and throwing his hands out of his pockets. “Do you think you can just keep something like that from me? The love of my life, and you just decide to erase them from my memory?” His mother stills and looks up at her son.

“You didn’t remember Y/N. You lost contact with all your college friends, and then when I asked the doctor how selective amnesia worked,” His mother cleared her throat. “Sufferers often forget some parts of their memory. Relationships, talents, skills, certain areas or certain people.” His mother looks up directly in his eyes. “Sometimes, especially after going through a traumatic event, people forget certain parts of their memory as a coping mechanism. To erase bits of pain and regret.”

“I thought,” Her voice breaks and her face twists in regret and bad memories. “I thought maybe by forgetting her, I’d be saving you from more pain and hurt. I just wanted you to stop hurting”

Namjoon held eye contact with his mother for three full seconds before collapsing and gasping for air, lying with his head on her lap. All words of scolding, anger. All the confrontational tactics and all the accusations he’d thought of shooting towards her had gone.

“Hurts.” He let out through large gasps of breaths. “Hurts, mom.” He lied there, with tears threatening to spill out his eyes for the rest of the night, with his mother caressing his hair and apologising to him with tears in her eyes.

“Miss Y/N. I miss Y/N.” He hiccups out, and his mother wipes away his tears, but it feels different from when you used to do it.

“I know, I know.” The woman looking down at her son wonders why she put him in so much pain. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.” The night carries on like that, with the lights eventually dimming and the night covers up the light in the sky. The mother son pair repeat their grievances and apologies to each other until the sun comes back up, peeking through the curtains and extending out their warm embrace as if it wants to comfort the hurting humans.

It doesn’t take long for Seokjin and co to come knocking on his door, sent by his mother who must have filled him in on everything, judging from the looks on their faces. It only takes one single glance at his friends, tilting their heads and all asking to come in for him to burst into tears. Ugly crying, with snot coming out of his nose and eyes bloodshot red from the nightmares.

Jimin is the first to reach forwards and bring Namjoon into a hug. Soon after that, the six friends surrounded Namjoon, comforting him with the warmth of their arms and soft spoken words of encouragement.

“You did well.” Someone mumbles into his hair.

“We’re all proud of you.” Someone else says.

Namjoon’s sweater sleeves are sopping wet with tears when he asks the boys to help him get into therapy.

Things went on like that for another while.

Therapy isn’t as bad as Namjoon had thought it might’ve been. He wasn’t forced to be vulnerable or open up or confront his worst fears. He certainly didn’t want to tell the truth about the world he’s thrusted in, for fear of getting thrown out of the building and into a mental institution.

Even his mother didn’t believe him the first time he told her about it. She urged him to visit a doctor. How could a therapist who doesn’t even know him believe the nonsense he spouts? Even he himself wouldn’t believe himself if he hadn’t experienced it firsthand. Slowly, but surely, he began to open up, and to his surprise, there was no calling of hospitals or kicking him out. His therapist sat there and listened like everything he was saying was valid.

He started eating again, mostly because of Seokjin, stuffing his creations down everyone’s throats every two seconds, claiming he needs opinions on his new recipes even though Namjoon’s fairly certain that the past three dishes of spaghetti were the exact same recipe.

Namjoon started to workout again with Jungkook, much to the younger boy’s surprise and happiness. They talked about their own struggles while panting on the treadmill and spinner. Jungkook eventually tells him that he also has a secret he keeps from the rest of the guys, which is his high school sweetheart who broke his heart so horribly that he still feels hurt from it.

Jungkook told him to cheer up though, because most of the pain fades away with time. It’s still there, ever as present, but other things will become more important to you and cover up a scar or a wound with blooming flowers.

“Like us,” He said cheekily. “Your friends.”

He talked to Yoongi most days of the week about nothing in particular. He enjoys the time with Yoongi because he’s the only one who never walks on eggshells around him. He still pelts him with pillows and roasts the outfits on Rupaul’s Drag Race with him. Taehyung and Jimin even helped him adopt a dog, an furry white Eskimo named Rap Mon which is literally now Namjoon’s entire life.

Would likely kill all of his friends if one of them hurt his precious baby.

Life is good, Namjoon learns. He gets better at his job. He never forgets you, but things seem to hurt less. But he gets relapses sometimes. Some days he wakes up screaming about the stupid lead filling up his throat. Sometimes he gets nightmares so intense he has to take medicine.

Therapy isn’t as bad as he painted it out to be, but recovery is ten times harder than he thought it would be. Some days all he can do is lie in bed or do nothing, thinking of you.

His therapist tells him that his life is more than his past memories. Both Yoongi and Hoseok agree, when he pulled up a random conversation about it late at night. Hoseok says that there’s never going to be a time where he won’t think of you, or still love you. Perhaps not as much as he once did, but he’ll never forget about you. Yoongi tells him he’s healing, and that they’re all proud of him.

Namjoon meets his friends, for the first time in the two years he’s known them. Taehyung has an extraordinary and (slightly strange) obsession over art museums. He’s been to almost every single one in Korea, and he dragged Namjoon over to one an hour away in Gangnam in the summer. Jimin is an amazing dancer, which Namjoon never knew.

Until Jimin brought it up casually, looking through old footage of his dance competitions. “Nothing big,” He said. “I used to dabble.” Namjoon’s eyes bulged out of his head and he told Jimin if that was ‘dabbling’, then he was wasting away his talent. He asked Jimin why he never made a career out of dance, and Jimin replied casually:

“I feel like if I start to make money off of it, and I’ll lose my love for it. Now that I haven’t really has time for it... I dunno. I feel like I’ve lost the talent a little bit.“

Namjoon told his friend that talent is nothing but a bunch of practice and time dedicated to a certain skill. Nobody loses talent, people just get a little unfamiliar with it. Jimin turned around in deep thought and told him he may just have a point.

Still, some days, he can do nothing but sulk around, feeling like a waste of space. Take today for an example. He walks down the street and out of the corner of his eye, he thinks, and he might be wrong, he thinks he sees you. The back of your head, anyways, but you’re wearing a red sweater with headphones over your ears and you turn around the corner.

Namjoon panics. He drops his coffee, which splashes all over his leather shoes and runs. He runs past the corner and he doesn’t know what on earth he’s doing but all he can do is run, and the wind dries his tears faster and faster, and he forgets all over again, that you aren’t here, that there’s no way he can go back and see you unless it’s in his memories, which he doesn’t even know how to control.

Somewhere deep in the depths of his mind, he knows something about this doesn’t seem right. That it couldn’t possibly be you, because he watched you go right in front of his eyes. He knows that in order to heal, he can’t chase after you or center his world around you. He knows all of that. But in that moment, he forgets that he still doesn’t remember everything about you.

He forgets that you’re dead.

And one day he’ll be free from this constant spinning. One day he won’t ever have to think twice when he cooks pancakes but that day and all that work he’s put in is the last thing on Namjoon’s mind and all he can think about is if that’s really you.

He sprints faster and reaches out, misses your wrist by an inch and ends up clutching at nothing but air. He heaves a huge breath, about to clap his hand over your shoulder-

Click.

tags; @jksbbyfacebunny @extremeobsessions101 @dwcljh @bishuthot @s0seo @stonyiscanon @cecedrake2217

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millennialfangirl · 5 years ago

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Wherever You Will Go (post AoS Dousy Fic)

Fandom: Agents of Shield Pairing: Daisy x Daniel Rating: Teen and up Word Count: 1,717

Summary:

What kind of present time is the team returning to after their hard fought battle against the Chronicoms? Will Daisy get her happy ending? If Daniel has anything to say about it, he'll always find his way back to her. Is there someone out there who can bring him back to her?

(entirely inspired by the song "Wherever You Will Go," by The Calling.

A/N:

Whooo boy yall. I heard this song the other day and was just struck with inspiration for Dousy.

It's also my attempt at an endgame fix-it fic of sorts regarding plotholes and the lack of Phil Coulson and Daisy Johnson in the MCU, and aos/endgame fusion if you will.

This is a multi-chap with it all plotted out, and several chapters drafted. Non-beta-ed, we die as men.

I hope you'll join me for the ride!

Ao3 Link

Chapter 1:

For a moment, silence rings throughout the Zephyr.

Daisy slumps against the wall, exhausted. The adrenaline from the final fight against Malick and the Chronicoms is starting to dissipate.

“The Zephyr is stable. Anyone still standing, make your way to the bridge for a headcount,” Mack’s voice booms through the stillness.

Somehow she finds the strength to make it through the corridors, the desire to see her team and make sure Daniel is safe, the only thing keeping her going. Finally, she turns the last corner and sees Coulson first.

He turns in time to see her as she half hugs, half collapses in his arms.

“Whoa, whoa, I got you.”

“Did we win?”

“Yea, we won. You can rest now,” he says leading her to one of the bench seats.

Then she’s pushing against him, fighting against his hold.

“No, where’s Sousa? Did he make it?”

“I’m right here,” he affirms from behind her.

Daisy feels a wave of relief at hearing his voice. She turns and finds him looking at her with a similar look of relief.

Without thinking about the consequences or who is watching, they step toward each other, and Daisy immediately pulls him down for a kiss. He wraps his arms around her without thinking, supporting as much of her weight as he can. The kiss is life affirming and celebratory, but there’s a desperation underneath, both of them scared that the fight’s not really over, that any minute now one of them will disappear.

“Ay Dios Mio,” Yo-yo grumbles as she passes them.

They pull apart, faint blushes covering their cheeks. It only lasts a minute before Daisy’s putting nearly all of her weight on Daniel. In an instant, he lifts her into his arms and carries her over to the seats. He carefully sits down with her, and her head immediately finds his chest.

“I told you so,” Mack rubs in Yo-yo’s face.

One by one, the rest of the team filters in. Injuries are assessed and hugs are shared.

Coulson and Mack quietly discuss their next steps.

“Everyone needs a break, and a really good night of sleep,” Mack suggests.

“Agreed. Fortunately for us, we have all the time we need here in the temporal zone. Let them rest, eat. We can regroup in 12 hours,” Coulson tells him.

Mack gives the order to everyone, and the team scatters.

***

Daniel carefully settles Daisy onto the bed of her bunk. Methodically, he takes off her boots, and then her gauntlets. He gently sits next to her on the bed, and softly moves hair out of her bruised face. Even with the dark purple spots and cuts, she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Heyya, Danny-boy,” she says sleepily with a half smile.

He laughs out loud and brings her hand to his lips, kissing it softly.

“Back atcha, Quake.”

She turns her head into her pillow and groans in embarrassment. She’s never going to forgive Mack.

“You need to get some rest,” he prods.

“You know, I’d normally fight you on that, but I kind of feel like I was hit by a truck.”

“You never have to pretend you’re okay with me,” he tells her earnestly, rubbing his hands up and down her arm soothingly.

“Then can I ask you to stay? I don’t want to be alone.”

“Thank God. I don’t want to leave your side,” he answers, already sliding his shoes off and propping himself up against the headboard beside her.

“You should lay down and get some sleep too,” she insists.

“I will. I just want to watch over you for a little while.”

Daisy blushes, but curls herself around him and lays her head on his lap. He automatically starts running his fingers through her hair.

“I thought you would have had enough of that by now,” she mumbles.

“Never enough,” he says softly. “Now get some sleep.”

His gentle touch and comforting embrace lulls her to sleep within minutes.

***

Daisy wakes to the smell of eggs and bacon wafting through the Zephyr. She also can’t help but notice a warm body wrapped around her. Her suspicions are confirmed when she opens her eyes and all she can see is the blue of Daniel’s shirt. That damn shirt.

Her head is tucked under his chin, and her arms are curled up between them. She’s using one of his arms as a pillow, while his other one is holding her close. She recognizes the intimacy of the moment, how they somehow jumped a million steps, but it feels right.

“Good morning,” she hears his deep voice mumble against her hair.

“Possibly the best one since 1931.”

She nuzzles further into him, and wraps an arm around his waist, pulling him closer.

“Definitely the best,” he confirms.

“As much as I would like to stay here and fall right back to sleep, I’m starving, and I can smell Coulson cooking breakfast.”

“Oh no, I better get out of your way before you quake me,” he mocks.

“The square has jokes, huh?”

“A few.”

He’s blushing when he leans over to kiss her softly. Her hand finds a home in his hair, and she kisses him back. His hand starts gliding up and down her spine, and without thinking, she gives more over to the kiss. She nibbles his lip, and he moans, causing her to stop, but he follows her quickly with his tongue, surprising her. From there, it’s a blur, both of them becoming heated. His fingertips are just grazing her stomach under her tank top when a loud knocking interrupts them.

“Daisy...Coulson has food ready. C’mon before it gets cold,” Jemma informs her from behind the door. She’s quiet for a moment before continuing. “And bring Sousa with you.”

Both of them are catching their breaths as they stare at each other, not flushed with embarrassment, but longing.

“That wasn’t funny,” Daisy says staring up at him with emotion.

“No. It wasn’t funny at all,” he replies, voice thick with the same emotion. He caresses her cheek softly. “Let’s get you some food.”

Daisy agrees and lets him pull her out of bed. They decide to part ways to freshen up and change clothes before facing the new day.

***

Everyone is gathered around the common area near the small kitchen galley. Daisy can hear the laughter as she comes down the hall from her bunk. It looks like she’s the last to arrive as she spots Daniel sitting at the table. On the opposite side, she catches the tail end of Mack’s story that has them all giggling.

“And then she did a full on superhero landing, right in front of hundreds of people, live on t.v.”

“She totally outed herself as Quake,” Jemma says, leaning over to show Daniel a picture on her phone.

He’s laughing along with everyone else when she clears her throat and makes her presence known.

“I see how it’s gonna be. Should I bring up the Jasper Sitwell incident?” she threatens while leaning against the cabinets.

Jemma jerks her phone away. “Oh, don’t be a spoil sport.”

“If it makes you feel any better, Tremors, we started off by telling him about how you saved our lives that day.”

Daisy grumbles as she starts to pour some coffee. “So what other dirty laundry have you aired, Mack Hammer?”

“Well, I have seen the,” Daniel pauses and looks to Jemma, “what did you call it? The goth phase?”

“Jemma!” Daisy shrieks.

“I’m sorry! We got carried away telling stories.”

“I think my favorite hair is the purple streak,” Daniel adds.

Daisy just face-palms.

“Okay, okay. Sousa, I’ve been dying to ask you for some SSR stories,” Coulson intervenes.

Daniel dives into a hilarious anecdote about Howard Stark and one of his inventions. As Daisy prepares her plate and sits down next to Daniel, she soaks in the peacefulness. From there, the conversation flows from one war story to another, some hilarious, some sad.

Long after their plates are emptied, they’re still going at it.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute...Thor’s real?” Daniel asks, shocked.

All of the girls nod and sigh, and Jemma pipes up, “I think I’ve got a picture!”

Jemma immediately pulls up a photo to show Daniel.

“You sure did find that awfully fast,” Fitz grumbles.

Daniel looks and his eyebrows raise. “That's...impressive.”

Daisy nearly chokes on her cold coffee, Daniel’s word choice reminding her of their conversation in the time loop. Yo-yo and May try to lean over and catch a glimpse too.

“Oh, jeez. C’mon guys. He’s not that dreamy,” Coulson whines.

“As much as I would love this particular conversation to continue, we do have some difficult things to talk about, like when we’re going home?” Jemma suggests as she puts her phone away. Everyone chimes in as they all start discussing problems back home.

“Hold on, hold on,” Coulson butts in. “Maybe we shouldn’t rush. You all deserve to have a break, and we have plenty of food. We all need to heal. We don’t know what we’ll be going home to.”

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt. We really have all the time in the world here,” Fitz responds.

The conversation drifts from there, everyone sharing the various things they’re looking forward to doing when they get home. Discreetly, Daniel takes Daisy's hand under the table.

Not discreetly enough that May and Coulson both don’t notice. Coulson leans into May as they continue to watch their friends, family really, talk about happier things.

“He’s good for her,” he says with a hint of remorse.

“He is. I can feel his affection for her. It’s genuine,” May observes.

Coulson goes silent as he watches on.

“It’s more than you just wanting the team to have a break, isn’t it, Phil. What aren’t you saying?” May asks looking at him stoically.

Coulson sighs and rubs his hand down his face.

“You know how I had to go into the time stream to destroy it...well I saw a lot of future timelines. They all had one thing in common,” he says before pausing and looking at Sousa grinning from ear to ear at Daisy.

“Daniel Sousa has to go back to 1955, or else he’ll cease to exist.”

****

Thanks for reading! Comments are treasured!!!

#dousy #daisy x daniel #daisy johnson #daniel sousa #agents of shield #aos #aos/endgame fusion #daisysous #daisy x sousa #my fic

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jising-jisang-jisung · 5 years ago

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Every Single Time | Lee Jeno

Genre: well floof ofc

Word count: 1.8k

A/n: I wrote this during my online class at school today for no reason other than avoiding ap Spanish yikerz. N e wayz it's kinda clichè and cheesey but I hope yall enjoy it nonetheless :)

It's one of my last fics in my jb song series!! Based off this Jonas Brothers song

To say you'd been in love was an understatement. More specifically, you had been in love with one (1) boy for five (5) years. Who is this boy, you ask. Well, none other than your very best friend, Lee Jeno.

You'd been crushing on him since eighth grade and have been friends for essentially your whole lives. The thing is, Jeno has always had other crushes and girlfriends. Of course, being that you two are besties, he tells you all about this and it lowkey highkey breaks your sensitive little heart.

To be fair, you have also had your fair share of boyfriends. Freshman year you dated Lee Donghyuck and later, Huang Renjun. The only reason you ever said yes to them was in hope of getting over your crush on Jeno. However, it never seemed to work and you were still left, well, crushed. Sophomore year you dated Chenle, but you two discovered that you worked much better as friends. Lastly, during your junior year you dated the school flirt, Na Jaemin. Everyone wondered how you managed to get such a renowned hottie. The thing is, Jaemin is another one of your friends so he knew about your crush. You two only went out because he was getting over his ex as well.

Now, in the middle of senior year, you find yourself sitting at lunch, mindlessly staring at the boy you're hopelessly in love with.

"Hey, y/n! Are you good?"

"Hmm? Oh yeah, right. Yeah I'm fine," you barely managed to convince Jeno after he caught you. Chenle gave you a knowing look from across the table, to which you responded with a glare.

As odd as it was, Chenle is still one of your best friends and he knows about your ongoing crush. In fact, he was one of the first people to tell you about it, because you were too dense to realize it yourself. Quite frankly, you think that may be the reason your exes dumped you, they could see your feelings for Jeno. However, it seems that you're lucky enough because Jeno has yet to catch on.

"Y/n, I think you should just confess. What's the worst that could happen?" Chenle suggested.

"He could hate me," you respond coldly.

"Okay yeah, but that would only last for the rest of senior year. Then, you'll both go to college and, if need be, never see one another ever again." :D

"Wow. That makes it sound so much better," you say in a sarcastic tone.

"Who knows, y/n, he might actually like you back. I get the feeling he does."

"What makes you say that?"

"Let's make a bet. 20 bucks says you won't confess to Jeno before winter break."

"I don't want to make any bets I know I'm going to lose," you pout.

"Fine then. 20 bucks says Jeno will confess first."

"That's a bet I can win."

"That's the spirit, y/n!"

"Because Jeno doesn't have feelings for me so he'll never confess!"

"You're hopeless."

"C'mon Lele, he's always surrounded by other girls. I wouldn't even have a chance."

"Okay, but you've dated other boys too," your friend reminds you.

"That's different. Throughout high school I only dated boys to get over Jeno." You paused briefly before continuing, "but it never worked. Every single time, I keep on going back. He's always on my mind. It doesn't matter what I do." You finally looked up at Chenle again only to find him fast asleep on your bed. Late night study dates with Chenle were always like this: deep conversation from you but snooze from him.

You sat impatiently in your physics class, waiting for the bell to ring. As you turn your head to check the clock yet again, you are met with Jeno's eyes staring back at yours. "Y/n," he started quietly, "you should be working on your project right now not staring off into space. We only have 2 more days before it's due."

You throw him a shy smile, blushing at his observation of you. "You're probably right," you whisper back. Instead of listening to his advice, you go back into staring off. This, however, was not to your advantage because he began to wonder about what Chenle said. Maybe you should just confess. What if Jeno actually does reciprocate your feelings? You turned to face him again only for your thoughts to be interrupted by his knowing look.

"Y/n, don't make me say it again. You need to finish your project so you don't have to finish it all in one night like last time." Of course. How could you forget the last project that you made Jeno stay up all night to help you finish on time. It's not your fault that he's much superior in physics. Oh gosh. There's no way he could feel anything for you when your literally so stupid! Yes, y/n, you are just so so stupid smh.

You checked the time on your phone. 3 am. Another all nighter to finish your dumb project. Okay so maybe Jeno had a point the other day. As you set your phone down it began to vibrate. "Hey Lele," you answer after reading his caller ID. "I'm sorry but I cant talk now because I need to finish this project. Why are you even up at 3 in the morning? If this is some lame attempt to convince me to tell Jeno about how I feel, it's not gonna work. He obviously doesn't like me back."

You waited for a response, but the line went dead. Maybe it was just a butt dial. Or a PRANK!! THAT LITTLE PIECE OF CRAP! Calm down, y/n. It's physics time right now.

Jeno sat at Chenle's desk, helping him study for his Calculus test tomorrow. "Chenle, you are just like y/n, always waiting until the last minute. I should call her. I bet she's pulling an all nighter right now to finish that project."

"That's not fair. We can't help it that we don't have the same level of intellect as the great Lee Jeno," Chenle mocked.

"No. You two are just bad when it comes to procrastinating. My phone is dead, can I use yours?" Chenle tossed Jeno his phone and he quickly dialed your number. You answered almost immediately. Stupid y/n, staying up so late.

"I'm sorry but I cant talk now, Lele, because I need to finish this project. Why are you even up at 3 in the morning? If this is some lame attempt to convince me to tell Jeno about how I feel, it's not gonna work. He obviously doesn't like me back."

The boy sat there, his mouth a bit agape. "Jeno. Jeno. Yo! Jeno what did she say?" Chenle finally recovered Jeno's attention.

"Oh, right. Yeah she just said she was busy and could talk right now. And then she hung up," he lied just a little. "N E ways. Back to limits. If the x in the denominator is..."

As you walk into school the next day, you are caught a bit off guard. Jeno was waiting for you at your locker. "Hey, y/n," he smiled brightly. How could anyone not fall for that? "Did you have to stay up all night again for your project?" He asks, playing dumb.

"N-no. Not all night," you argue despite him assuming correctly.

He laughs a little. "You're cute when you try to lie." And with that, he walks off, leaving you flustered at your locker. The warning bell rings and you quickly gather your things for your first class. Not that it'll matter. There's no way you could focus now.

The rest of the day was fairly normal until lunch. You sat down next to Chenle like usual, but Jeno was acting a bit,, unusual. He was looking at you almost lovingly and it was starting to get a little creepy. <(￣︶￣)> "Isn't y/n just do pretty today?"

Chenle just kinda looked at you like （＞д＜）which you responded with 乁། ˵ ◕ – ◕ ˵ །ㄏ

"What do you mean, Jeno? Is y/n not pretty everyday?" Chenle questions him.

"Oh. Of course she is pretty everyday! But today she is extra prettyyyyy," he draws out the last word adding to his cuteness.

You obviously wanted to join the conversation as opposed to awkwardly sitting silently but you couldn't come up with any words. You could feel the red tint burning across your face, but it's not like you could stop it. "Uh oh. Y/n is blushing. That must mean you like me too, huh?"

"What?" Your mouth hung open. Earth to y/n!! Did you hear that right? Did he really just say too? Say something!

"Ha! That's 20 bucks, y/n! I knew you couldn't tell him first," Chenle screeched, only briefly capturing the attention of the lunchroom. After the students returned to their own lunches and conversations, Jeno continued:

"I asked if you liked me. Of course, I already know the answer."

"Then why do you ask?" You reply rather innocently.

"Because I want to hear you say it again."

"Again?!" You question at the same time that Chenle shouts it.

"Yeah, again. Y/n confessed to me on the phone last night," Jeno elaborates. "So if that was some sort of bet, well, she won I guess."

You nearly died of embarrassment. "Wait so that wasn't Lele calling me yesterday? It was you? And I just-"

"Wait Jeno, you said she just hung up after explaining that she was busy," Chenle argues.

"Did I forget to mention that part?"

"Oh my gosh. I can't believe I did that. Ugh," you complain while facepalming.

"So, are you gonna say it?"

"Do I have to?"

"If you want to hear me say it again then I have to hear you say it first."

"Fine. Jeno, I have had the biggest crush on you since middle school. I really like you."

"Y/n, I have had a crush on you for some time as well. I really like you too," and of course to make matters even worse for your flustered state, he adorns his confession with that signature smile that makes your heart go we got that BOOM BOOM.

So yeah, y/no is the ship of the school. Y'all cute or whateva. Jeno always takes you out on fun dates like roller skating or bowling. He is also SUPER CLINGY which you didn't know back when you were only friends. He loves loves loves to cuddle and can almost always be found with his arms around your waist like a koala.

#lee jeno #jeno #nct jeno #jeno fluff #jeno fanfic #jeno imagines #lee jeno fluff #lee jeno imagines #nct fluff #nct imagines #nct dream #nct dream fluff #nct dream imagines #master tag #jb song series

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ughthatimagineblog · 7 years ago

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mates

azriel x reader

warnings; fluff? a kind of traumatic reference and some implied angst?

word count; 2672

requested; then anonymous but revealed to be @sippy--sippy also @smileylaurens expressed interest in this (even tho this be hella long a most likely trash)

prompt; the reader is an archeron sister and is mates w azriel but doesnt know :o

a/n; bruh so i kind of leave this off at a vEry bad spoT lmaooo kind of implying smut? but like ill do a part 2 of smut if yall want

your dress (in blue and black instead)

feyre's (in black and silver instead)

If tripping over one’s feet while dancing was a sport, you were an Oympian. A little over a month had gone by since you had made it back from Hybern. From the horrid day you were changed, like your sisters. Feyre tells you her transition was rough, you saw Nesta and Elain’s was harder. As Nesta barely slept and Elain never ate, you had made a smoother transition.

Sure, it was hard to deal with. Humans were taught to fear the kind you had been turned into. All you had known were horror stories. But the kindness Rhysand and Mor and Cassian and Azriel had shown you in your first few days back had told you different.

There were days you felt guilty, as you ate and spent time with them. You felt like a traitor; what Nesta had made you out to be. She was angry and her anger was festering as she found it unbelievable you would ever side with them, you understanding exactly who “them” was. When she said this, you had corrected her.

“We are them, now.” You had told her. This didn’t sit well with her at all.

You found the best company in Cassian and Azriel. Amren, who you had learned was more than ancient, was indeed the cranky aunt. Mor was always busy and Rhys was off finding the next thing to do about the Hybern situation, all while trying not to worry about Feyre.

You, on the other hand, never worried of your sister. She was smart and cunning and hard to kill. She helped keep you and your sisters alive and you were confident she could very well keep herself alive.

So on nights you spent wandering the streets of Velaris with your newfound friends, the guilt eased. It’s waves that would crash against the shores of your mind calmed to instead lap at the edges.

Cassian distracted you with light humor as Azriel. . . Azriel was a different kind of comfort. He was there in ways Cassian couldn’t be. Sure, Azriel had a sense of humor only showing it around just Cassian and you, but on nights you couldn’t sleep or Nesta’s accusations became too harsh to ignore, he would be two doors down, outside his room, waiting to help you, like he knew.

Those were the nights you spent walked the silent streets. The ones where no one went three hours past midnight. Some of these nights, you didn’t even speak save two words that were spoken in the House of Wind. “Take me.” And he would.

When Feyre returned you were foolishly enraptured by him. The foolish part because you saw how in-love he was with Mor. They had known each other for longer than you had even been alive. How could you compete?

When the nightmares came you stopped opening your door, even as Azriel could hear your screams through the walls. Even as he waited in the hallways until the screaming stopped long after he realized you wouldn't come.

When Feyre returned, you helped ease her heart. At least one of her sisters were doing well. Almost. She noticed your bags that didn’t seem as bad as Nesta’s or Elain’s, indicating they were a new occurrence and she noticed the way you avoided certain rooms or areas of the city.

She had spoke with Cassian and he informed that you had begun acting reclusive only recently. It had begun to worry him. And Azriel too.

But Feyre confronted you about it after Rhys had dropped you off at the door. While Feyre truly didn’t need to ask, as Daemati, she made herself and Rhys promise to never look into any of her family’s minds. Rhys respected this. So she asked you anyways. And you told her. You had no reason to lie. You trusted her. Trusted she would respect the fact you were no longer a child and could deal with your feelings as you are capable. But she felt for you. She felt sorry that you couldn't see the worry practically enveloping the man you had become smitten with. Feyre tasted it off the air around him when he greeted her on the ice and she could tell it wasn’t just because of her.

Worried about my sister despite a war about to rage and being preoccupied with thee Lord's sons to deal with. Feyre had thought to herself. This had sparked a hunch she later shared with Rhys that night. He didn’t shoot it down.

If he were to be completely honest, Azriel would always love Mor. That would never change. Just as he would always love Rhysand or Cassian or Amren or Feyre. And if he were to go back in time and tell himself, ‘There's someone else.’ he probably would have scoffed. But he believed it now.

Azriel had grown to love you as well, despite past feelings for Mor. But the nights he spent with you and Cassian, he had fallen for your smile, your laugh, your voice. Everything. And if he didn’t think that he wasn’t worthy of you, he would tell you the truth. That it was far more than an infatuation.

Rhys talked to him instead. He did not inform Azriel of your feelings, but let it be known Rhys knew of his for you. And Az had to be the one to tell you. No one else, despite that after a month and a half, everyone else already knew. The conversation was nothing short of a quarrel between friends.

“Rhys, you know I can’t. Has she not figured it out yet?” Azriel asked his High Lord. Rhys shook his head. “She was human before, she wouldn’t know how to tell. Feyre was the same way.” Rhys promised him. Azriel knew now that his suspicions were confirmed. He was a shadowsinger after all. “I’m giving you one big shot. I will hold a party two nights from now in honor of Feyre’s return.” Rhys suggested and Azriel gave him a look.

“Not truly. We need an excuse. Take your opportunity on that night however it comes but you and I both know it may not come again anytime soon. War is on our shores, Az.” Rhys told him. “That’s another reason why I wish to not tell her. If I die,” Rhys gave Az a look. “If I die, I don’t want her to know.” Azriel finished. Rhys crossed his arms. “The moment you die is the moment she will know if she had not figured it out already and it will hurt that much more."

The sound of Feyre’s neck snapping replayed in his mind and he shuddered. Azriel knew what he meant and left him without another word.

The party came and you were thrilled. Many people. Many distractions. You devoted yourself to one mantra that simply stated to focus on your friends to distract from your feelings. Your feelings that seemed to be so strong you couldn't ignore them.

You knew the party was in favor of Feyre which confused you were you saw yourself in the mirror. You were wearing things far more beautiful than anything you had ever worn while it still held the hint of Night Court. The top was more of a necklace of gold and blue jewels that was large enough to cover part of your neck and drape over your shoulders, cutting off right at the edge of your shoulder. It came further down in a point on your chest that connected to a single piece of fabric that drooped and reconnected with the piece in the back and if flowed all the way to your feet. The edge just brushed the floor. About a quarter of the way up, it began to grow transparent as it went down, turning into falling starlight, becoming completely invisible at your feet. You saw cuffs of fabric that dropped on your shoulders and again, reconnected at the back.

You looked like a walking embodiment of the Night Court and began to grow grateful they allowed their neck jewelry to be flexible as you turned your head to look at your dressers.

Your hair had been set to frame your face and show the blue statement earrings you wore. You could have sworn you had seen the blue elsewhere.

Entering the main part of the House, you found crowds upon crowds that grew hushed upon your entrance. Feyre was wearing an equally stunning gown as she approached you. “Everyone thinks you look stunning.” She whispered and you smiled. “What do Elain and Nesta think of this?” You asked and she tapped your forearm. “Nevermind them.” She told you and begun the festivities again.

Cassian danced with you a few times, poking fun of how you look like royalty for once and you tried hard not to notice Azriel on the balcony outside, his back turned to the stars. On guard as usual. You told yourself.

He was busy.

You danced until your feet hurt, realizing that was why your dressers left your feet untouched.

You stumbled all the time but you didn’t care. You had counted your blessings that night to discover you had many. Your sister was back, your friends were safe, Lucien was behaving, everything was nice. You just wished Azriel would let himself have fun.

The music was full in your ears and your free dancing persisted, even if your feet began to ask you to stop.

You looked regal and felt it too.

You were so caught up in the beautiful night that you didn’t notice the way people cleared the dance floor. You only looked up when the upbeat live music began to lull into a soft slow song. Not for dancing. For intermission.

You looked up in the direction of Feyre and Rhysand, then noticing as everyone else had cleared. Your friends were grinning. And looking behind you.

You heard footsteps approach you from behind and turned to see Azriel approaching you. If you were him, you would have seen the nervousness seeping off of him.

“Y/N.” Your name rolled off of his lips sounding like a song to your ears. “A-Az.” You managed. “Will you dance with me?” He asked, voice not wavering despite the heart bursting from his chest. “O-of course.” You agreed and looked to Mor who looked more than happy this was happening. "Don’t worry about her.” You heard Az whisper to you and you whipped your head to look at him in confusion.

You took his hands, feeling the burns and you felt your chest tighten. In the moment you swore to rip his step brothers to shreds if you ever got the chance. Without hesitation, you might add.

You must have not been thinking because you brought one of his hands to your lips in a kind of apology. It wasn’t the reaction Az was expecting, but it made his shadowsinger heart melt nonetheless.

The music began again to a sort of slow song. Az had been watching you all night and he knew your feet were tired. “Step on my toes.” He whispered, slowly beginning to sway. “What?” You asked, still going over why the hell you did that in front of everyone. “Step on my toes, your feet hurt.” He offered and your heart lurched as you stepped on his shoes. Your height was that of a mouse this close to him.

When he began properly dancing he leaned into your ear. “I hope you don’t mind being this close to me. We can stop if you like.”

It took everything Azriel had to not smile at the way your grip tightened at the suggestion.

“N-no no, I’m alright.” You said as you carefully set your head on his chest. Something more intimate, something to test the waters with. He had no objection. His right hand on your waist, your left hand curled around his shoulder. You were watching the way his fingers interlocked with yours when you noticed his Siphon.

‘Oh,’ you thought. ‘That blue.’

“Y/N,” Azriel began. “This night isn’t for Feyre.” He told you and he gulped. You mirrored the action. He went into detail about how Rhys had told him to tell you the truth, all without telling you what this ‘truth’ was.

You pulled away to look into his hazel eyes. “What is it?” You asked, noticing everyone was still watching. Rhys on his end, was silently praying these reactions didn’t run in the family.

“You’re my mate.”

A mix of emotions flooded over you like a fire that had once been struggling to even get a spark had now erupted into a bright flame.

You knew the basics of what “mates” were. They were a higher, closer bond than marriage. Bound by stars and fate and they belonged to only each other.

You had heard of Feyre’s story about how she found out Rhys was her mate. She told you of some of the customs. And you knew that mates saw each other as equals in every way.

Looking at Azriel now, you knew that was true.

It was truer than everything you’d ever known, actually.

You had never thought that of any of your relationships before. Any of them. Thinking back you always, subconsciously or consciously, thought either higher or lower of yourself. But with Azriel, it was equal.

He treated you the same way. Of course, when the mating bond had snapped into place for him, he then knew why he always felt you deserved the best treatment. Not that he thought he was less. It was just who he was.

Azriel had been noting your facial expressions that were, as of now, both shock and happiness.

“This whole party was meant for me to ask whether or not you accept.” He told you truthfully. You looked around again.

Mor was smiling, Cassian was grinning with his arms crossed, Lucien looked royal and was half smiling and Rhys and Feyre. . . Your sister had tears in her eyes as Rhysand looked more than proud, but also cautious.

You had a choice.

You could say no. You could say you didn’t accept. But if you did, Feyre had told you there was a platter of food untouched for you, “Later.” She had told you. You knew what it was for now.

You scanned the room and found it sitting there. It seemed to be some sort of meat, elegantly placed with other side dishes.

Azriel followed your gaze and knew you were weighing your options.

You looked back to his hands. He said nothing but the shadows swirling around his feet told you he was beyond nervous.

“It’s my choice.”

“Now and forever.” No hesitation.

You released his hands, looking into his eyes you could have sworn there was a flash of hurt.

The steps you took to grab the platter echoed. People stared. The way back was longer. The plate was light. When you reached Az’s feet again, you retracted your arms a bit.

“Only if you promise to make it official in less than twenty four hours. I was human first you know. I do like rings.” You joked with him and you heard a choked laugh. Probably from Mor, who looked as though she would cry earlier.

“Done.” Azriel smiled. Actually smiled.

You handed the platter over to him and the crowd cheered as you both walked towards the large dining table and he took a seat to begin eating.

The dancing resumed and you probably got a thousand congratulations from your close friends. Feyre was proudest. In the times you weren’t chatting, you watched your mate eat and in occasionally speak to people or hold your hand or speak to you.

In those moments you watched him. And remembered something.

Feyre, always having been more open to you, described what the first. . . Twenty four hours of being mated was like. You looked to her and Rhys and cringed. You looked back to Azriel and felt your heart stop.

This was going to be a fun next few days.

#azriel x reader #azriel acotar x reader #azriel imagine #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acotar imagines

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soda-kpop · 7 years ago

Text

Trumpet Player!Mark - NCT Dream Band AU

NCT Dream Band AU: ML - HRJ - LJN - LDH - NJM - ZCL - PJS

Word Count: 5763

Warning: I’m a hopeless romantic at heart so forgive the cliches

Rest of Dreamies + Coordinating Sports AU Coming Soon!

Trumpet boy for life

Like he can even imitate it with his mouth it was meant to be

Would not stop playing the john cena theme when that meme was a thing

Like seriously mark

We are trying to play the fight song right now

It’s not time for john cena

It’s either that or justin bieber love yourself

Anyways

He’d be the first chair trumpet despite not looking like he gives a shit at all???

Like to be honest a lot of people think he’s just in band to goof off with his friends

But he actually is very talented and loves playing his trumpet

The duality of it all shocks everyone

When he’s not playing, he looks chill and just there to have a good time

When he brings that instrument to his mouth though

Wow

It’s like a whole different person

His posture straightens

His focus is only on the music and the ensemble

Nothing can disrupt him

Perfect tone like 100% of the time

He is so talented with music he can hear the pitches and if they are out of tune or not easier than the others

Everyone usually tunes to him tbh

Has a crazy ass range compared to the others

Model trumpet tbh

Except when he never sees the cut off

When he is playing his trumpet, he gets into his own little world away from everyone else and like the band is simultaneously annoyed and amazed like mark come on but also mark keep going lol

He may seem very intimidating to other trumpets

But as the section leader

He is very nonjudgmental

If they are having troubles he will ask “did you practice at home” but whether the answer is yes or no he will help

“Alright let me help you.” wow fuck me up fam

He’ll even try to learn the second and third trumpet parts to help them out

Be also tries to balance sports and band

He is on the basketball team!

As much as he loves playing the pep tunes

He loves playing basketball as well

So when basketball season comes around the band has to say goodbye to their first trumpet

But the band still supports him anyway

When he gets called for the starting lineup

The band just goes nuts

“I KNOW HIM!!!!” - jeno

Cue blushing mark cause wow cause you guys are embarrassing

Donghyuck laughing and calling him a loser when he misses a shot during warm ups

(during the game though he is as loving as every)

His teammates call him trumpet boy

They tease him but love him

That could basically describe Mark’s relationship with anyone tbh

He is always that one in class where it’s the day of the concert and he goes

“Wait there’s a concert today????????”

But no one blames him cause he busy af

Even the director (since the end of his freshman year) is like

“The concert is on March 23rd” *glares at mark*

“The concert’s in a week” *glares at mark*

“Mark when’s the concert?”

“Uhhhhhhh I don’t know, Tuesday?”

Cue haechan face palming

“God mark he literally said it’s in a week two seconds ago”

But poor mark was too busy trying to study for his calculus test that he didn’t hear him

He gets especially busy during pep/marching season cause he’s first chair trumpet and gets all the belty parts for the pep tunes

So football season can be a handful

But absolutely nothing compared to basketball season

His schedule multiples with gym practices for basketball, extra weight sessions, hours practicing his trumpet, and trying to keep up with his school work

If he can get to sleep before midnight any day of the week, he is so thankful as most days he needs to get up early for his 6 o’clock weights sessions

God bless his soul but he somehow gets by and survives each day

To add to his plate even more

Mark decides to do solo and ensemble!!!

After weeks of trying to find the perfect song, all that he could find was a duet

It was called “The Prayer” and Mark thought it was absolutely beautiful

So when it was sectionals time in class

He gathered all of the trumpets into the office and searched for the audio file to show everyone and see if anyone would want to maybe play it with him

Everyone was kind of bored with it tbh

The rest of the section enjoyed “fun” pieces full of energy

(Mark swears if they suggest they play Mouthpiece Mania one more time he is going to shoot himself.)

That and no one really wanted to play during solo & ensemble

They all had their own things they needed to tend to

So when everyone is walking out, Mark starts to feel a little discouraged

That is until he realizes that someone stayed back

You!

You actually thought the song was quite beautiful and would love to play it

Although you are nervous about having to play this yourself

You see Mark’s excitement and can’t help but feel that excitement to

“So you’ll do the duet with me?!?!?!”

And his eyes are so big and his smile is so wide that you cannot say no to this boy

And when you say yes, he begins jumping up and down and immediately asks for your snap so you guys can schedule practices.

“I’m a little busy with basketball coming up, so I can mostly practice on home game days and weekends! I have a week until that starts, so we can practice for a week until then if that’s okay.”

You just smile and say that those days work for you

Not only do you get to sharpen your trumpet skills and play a beautiful piece

You also get to become closer to Mark!

He has always caught your eye with how calm and sweet he was when working with your section even if you or other members hadn’t practice any of the tunes yet

You two just haven’t had much time to talk other than that

Any other classes you may have shared, you were both in different period/hours.

It was a shame but now you didn’t have to worry about that

After you guys exchange your snapcodes, he quickly runs out of the office in a mad search for your director to sign you guys up as a duet

Donghyuck just looks at him like he’s insane

You just laugh and mutter to yourself

“What did I just sign myself up for?”

So after school both you and Mark come to the practice rooms in order to start your first rehearsal

You go through some scales in order to warm your instruments up

And Mark stops you and “show me your embouchure”

You slowly pull your horn away from your mouth and show him

He giggles looking at your face because it actually looks ridiculous without a mouthpiece attached

You begin to return to normal as he continues to giggle

He quickly stiffens back up and protests “no I’m serious let me see it”

So you do and

“See, your embouchure is all wrong. Your lips are turned upward not down like it’s supposed to be” and he pokes the edges of your lips

“Having this smile still allows you to play, but it weakens your tone. You want to have them down kind of like a frown!”

He pulls the edge of your lips down and giggles

“Try that now”

And your tone steadies and your eyes widen

“Haha see! Let’s go again!”

After you finish Mark’s like

“You are gonna take over my section leader spot!”

And you are just kind of like

“Yeah right 1. The director loves you and 2. I’m gonna fuck it up”

He just signs and says “well they’re gonna need some more first trumpets for pep season… you better volunteer ;)”

“Sure.. let’s keep working”

And y’all mostly just sight read the piece for the rest of the practice time

And the rest of the practices before basketball starts are spent in a similar fashion

If Mark hears something wrong, he’ll point it out (whether it was him or you)

If it is him, he’ll apologize to no end

But if it’s you and you try to do the same, he will continually reassure you that it’s fine

As basketball starts, you don’t get to practice

Mark is just swarmed with practices before the first home game

You didn’t want to let him down with not practicing so you spent everyday practicing along to the recordings in the hope of impressing him when the next practice arrives

So it’s the day of the first home game and all of the basketball team is wearing their matching sweatpants and warm up jerseys

And you cannot lie that Mark looks really nice

You can’t ignore the tiny little crush that you may have developed working with Mark

He was just so responsible and hard working and talented

So it was hard not to start falling a little bit

When you saw him in band

He came up to you with a big smile on his face

“Are we still up for today after school?”

You nod your head and confirm “Yes, 3:30!”

And yall sit in your sections and wait for class to start

After school, you have to meet with a teacher to review a concept before meeting with Mark

By the time you got out, it was only 3:15

You decided that waiting the other 15 minutes in the practice room wouldn’t hurt maybe you’d even be able to practice some before you have to show Mark

When you got there however

There was someone asleep in the practice room

It was Mark

You opened the door softly just to confirm and the tuffs of brown hair paired with his white sweatpants were all you needed

He looked too calm and peaceful to disturb

But you were also concerned

Clearly Mark hadn’t been getting enough sleep

And as a starter

This boy is going to need his energy for the game tonight

You pull out your wallet and see some cash

You make a quick run to the store and pick up a few drinks

An energy drink, a sports drink, and a large water

Everything that he could need at the game

Plus a juice for yourself

You make it back with three minutes to spare

Holding the plastic bag, you knock firmly on the door before opening it

Mark begins to stir and once he realized that he fell asleep, he quickly jolted up

“Oh my god what time is it?!”

You laugh at his shocked face and muster out a “3:27”

“Oh thank god…” he falls back into his char and notices the bag, “What’s that?”

You sit on the floor and take each drink out of the back

“I thought I’d treat you for your first home game!”

And his cheeks began to heat up

No one had ever tried to gift him anything besides Donghyuck

And even then

All he gave him was complete junk food like a bag of Skittles or a soda

He was touched to say the least

But he didn’t really express it well

All he did was look at you and the drinks with such shock on his face for about a minute

To avoid any other awkward tension, you quickly suggest to start

He snaps out of it “Oh! Yes, let’s do it!” and you sit down in the chair next to him

After your warm ups, you begin to run through the piece

And something seems off?

And Mark can sense it too

You stop playing and Mark follows

“Mark, can you play again for me? I want to hear something”

And he hesitates cause he knows it is him

Him playing confirmed him

“Your notes…”

“They are football shaped, I know.” He hangs his head embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I’ll work on it.”

“Hey, it’s okay! You usually don’t sound like this; is everything okay?”

And he takes a deep breath before completely spilling out

“I’m just about to collapse. I used to be able to balance everything so well, but this final year is just so much worse. I feel like I don’t have any energy left.”

You drop your trumpet and close the distance between the two of you, putting a hand on his back for comfort

He didn’t say anything too specific but you are still able to offer support “I feel like you may be too hard on yourself. You have so much on your plate, you shouldn’t expect to do everything perfectly. It’s okay to have bad days sometimes - it helps you grow and learn.”

“But everyone expects so much from me. Living up to that pressure is hard, and I don’t want to disappoint anyone.”

His breathing quickens and it sounds as if he is about to cry

“The only person you need to impress is yourself. As long as you are happy with what you’re doing and where you are at, everything is going to be okay. I know you can do it!”

And his shoulders relax and his breath steadies and looks down shyly

You can’t help but swing your other hand around him and give him a hug

“Give yourself a break sometimes, it’ll be worth it.”

He puts his hand over yours and squeezes it

“Thank you.”

After you let go, he starts to try and play again but your hand pulls his bell down

“We don’t have to continue, Mark. It’s okay. You have a big game tonight.”

And he looks at you with concern

“I don’t have to be there until 5:30, it’s only 4… and we haven’t practiced in almost two weeks! I’m obviously behind…”

You laugh to the side and propose a deal “How about we go for another 20 minutes, then you can get a nap in here before call time? Does that sound good?”

And you best believe this boy looks at you like you are an angel sent from heaven.

“Deal.”

When those 20 minutes are up, you just sit inside the band office with your director while Mark is taking his nap

When people start filing in early, you situate yourself close to the practice room Mark is in so you can make sure his slumber is not disturbed

When 5:15 comes around and almost all of the band members are destroying the room, you decide to finally wake him up

When you walk in, you almost decide to not wake him up

He looked so peaceful and content

But he was either gonna be woken up by you or by the percussion section running through their cadences

So you figured this would probably hurt less

You hunch over his body and slightly shake his shoulders

“Mark… it’s time to wake up…”

He flips over and before you could try again, he attempts to rub the sleep out of his eyes

“It’s call time!”

You say trying to get him up

But he just smiles and quietly goes “I’m up, I’m up.”

So you stand up and offer him a hand that he quickly takes but before you can get away, Mark pulls you into a hug.

“Thank you, honestly. For the drinks and everything.”

And you are stressing out, wondering if Mark can feel either your heartbeat increase or your face redden

“N-n-not a problem!” You stutter quickly releasing yourself from his grasp.

He quickly grabs the bag full of his drinks and runs out to store his bag in the locker room

But not without screaming “THANK YOU!!”

And you just come out of the practice room with a blush on yourself and mutter “you’re welcome”

ANd Donghyuck comes up next to you and just nudges ya

“So… Mark huh?”

“Shut up Donghyuck”

When you guys set up, you spot Mark hanging out with his teammates

Y’all make eye contact and just give him a big thumbs up

He instantly smiles

When you are playing during the girl’s varsity game

You guys constantly make eye contact and he makes faces at you

(MOstly it’s just him saying a smile is bad and you need to frown which is counterproductive because all it does is make you laugh)

It’s when warm ups start that you guys really start interacting

It becomes his turn to shoot at the 3 point line

And he misses the first one

“Nice shot!”

You immediately elbow Donghyuck

“OW! What the hell was that for?”

You look at him and with a serious tone just “Just lighten up, okay?”

And he just rolls his eyes and walks away… “Lovebirds…”

You turn your attention back towards the court and make eye contact with him

He had seen the whole interaction and was shocked

You just mouth to him good luck

And he smiles and guess what?

Makes his next shot

Nothing but net :)

And he sees you smiling out of the corner of his eye and you bet your butt that he’s replaying that image in his head throughout the night

When the game starts, Mark seems to be real nervous. Starts the game shooting 1 of 4 and you can tell he is frustrated

His team doesn’t pass as much to him and he gets taken out of the game before the first half is finished

When the half finished, your school is losing by 10 points

When he gets pulled out, he runs his hand through his hand in frustration and looks up towards the band section

Right now he’d rather be up there with everyone than on the court right now

He sees you in the corner with a look of concern on your face and once again you make eye contact except this time, you notion to your head and mouth “Believe in yourself. I believe in you.”

And maybe just maybe

You see his frown turn upside down

When they come out from halftime and start their warm ups again

You see Mark make almost every single shot

You know this is a different person out there

When you see him in the starting lineup again, you get on the edge of your seat

Soon he is almost unstoppable making the next 7 of 9

And you swear but you cannot confirm

That everytime he makes a shot, he looks in your direction to see your reaction

Which is nothing short of a smile and a fist pump

There’s 10 seconds left in the game and the other team has possession

The score is 73-75, your school down by 2

The person who Mark is blocking has the ball, but he kept the ball far from his body

Mark saw an opening and stole the ball with two seconds left

And before he could get in a proper position

He just chucks the ball just before the buzzer sounds

And in goes the ball

3 points for Mark

A winning game for your school

You instantly start screaming for as long as you can

But you have to start playing the Fight Song

It wasn’t the cleanest as the hype flowed through the brass section creating a blatty and harsh sound

But no one cared because Mark just shot a buzzer beater and won the entire game for you guys

You wanted to go up to him after the game, but you had to put all your equipment away and when you looked at him, he had so many people surrounding him

After helping the percussion with their equipment, you finally have time to pack up your trumpet

When you place your mouthpiece in it’s hole, you get tapped on your shoulder

You turn around and see Mark, all hot and sweaty

“You got a lotta attention out there, huh?” You laugh

“I think you should be the one getting the attention; I don’t think I would have been able to do that without you.” Your face reddens “So same time next home game?”

“Of course” you laugh

And he walks off to go find his parents and go home

And you shut your case with a smile and with some pep in your step

And for the next month and a half before every home game

You bring Mark those three drinks during every practice

And he becomes more and more supportive of your playing

Anytime you may doubt yourself, he quickly reminds you to believe in yourself

And you do the same

He starts becoming more confident not only in class and on the trumpet, but also on the court. He doesn’t need to look at you in the stands as often when he plays, but you can still tell he takes some glances

And Donghyuck notices it all and develops a plan

The day before the final home game, Donghyuck approaches Mark in the locker room before practice

“Mark you gotta do something,” he whines

The look of confusion takes over Mark

“What are you talking about? Do something about what?”

“Don’t act dumb, your special trumpet friend!” the blush on Mark’s face just confirming his best friend’s suspicions

“I can’t! Especially before the biggest game of the year so far! What if they reject me and I lose my spark?” He says tying up his shoes

“Wow you might actually be dumb. Have you seen the way they look at you? You have absolutely nothing to worry about. You are Mark Lee. Everyone wants to be with you, whether romantically or mutually, and I can bet your ass that they feel the same way… romantically of course.”

And Mark melts at the thought of you being an item.

“Well what can I do?”

“It’s Senior Night. This could be the last time you could ever wear this uniform again, wouldn’t you want someone special to wear it with you?” Donghyuck smirks, winks, and walks off leaving Mark to stare inside his bag to see his jersey for away games

Boy is he going to have to wash that a lot tonight

For the final home game, you decided to get him a bag full of extra gifts

He had done so much for you in these last two months that you needed to celebrate it somehow

You had gone to the store and picked up the usual drinks along with multiple cups of watermelon, a gift card to his favorite pizza location, and for an extra special gift, you had ordered him a custom mouthpiece with the word “Believe” engraved on it

You really hoped that he would like it and not be put off by it

When you walk into the band room, you can hear him practicing through the walls

Your performance would be in two weeks and you guys knew the piece by heart

And despite hearing him play the same song over and over again

You were always mesmerized every time he played

You wait for him to finish before barging in

“Oh hey! I was just working on secti… oh that’s bigger than usual” he says pointing out the large bag

“Well it’s a special day, and I wanted to celebrate that. If we practice till call time, you may be able to get everything before your game.”

And you swore you had never seen Mark so eager in his life

So you play and play (but not without water breaks and running it by your director for final feedback)

And finally it’s 5 o’clock and the rest of the band is supposed to be there in 15 minutes

“Good rehearsal!” Mark says placing his horn in his case

“You too, I’m excited for Solo & Ensemble!” You start getting giddy just thinking about it

“Me too, it’s going to be a lot of fun, and I’m really happy with how it’s sounding.”

“You’ve helped me so much with playing so in order to say thank you…” you slam the bag into Mark’s lap, “Thank you!”

If you thought that you have seen his biggest smile, that’s a giant lie

He has never smiled that big in his life

He takes out the water, energy drink, and sports drink with care

When he sees what else is in there, he absolutely flips

“I love watermelon!!” He immediately opens the cup and pops a cube into his mouth, melting into the sweet and soft fruit “And I’m totally going to use the gift card this weekend.”

The mouthpiece, however, was in your pocket

“Mark, I have one final gift…” His head turns in confusion, “Here, just close your eyes.”

He is hesitant but ultimately shuts his eyes

You reach into his case and pull the body of his trumpet out and place the mouthpiece on it

You hold it out to him “okay open!”

“My trumpet?”

You couldn’t help but laugh

“Just inspect it okay!”

He takes the brass away from you and starts examining the bells and the valves. It wasn’t until he finally checked the mouthpiece that his confusion left

“‘Believe?’ Why?”

“Because, you can do anything if you just believe in yourself. You taught me that, and now if you need any reassurance, it’ll be right there for you!” When you are explaining, his head drops down as he smiles at the ground

You couldn’t help but become shy after giving it to him, still not sure how he felt about you

“I have a gift for you, too…” He trails off before reaching into his bag behind him. Your head picks up at the mention of a gift.

Before you realize it, Mark is handing you a piece of black cloth

“It’s my away jersey, and I’d love it if you wore it tonight.”

Your cheeks begin to burn as you take the jersey in your hands

“I would love to”

And mark just whispers a gentle “great” before staring at you

Once he notices Donghyuck in the window, however, he quickly starts packing up his things

Seeing him so frantic makes you do the same

You were about to leave when Mark calls your name

“Wha…”

As you turn around, Mark’s lips touch your cheeks before he mutters out a quick thank you and he runs out of the room

You stay in the practice room for another minute or so in order to compose yourself and to change into the jersey

The second that you walk out, Donghyuck starts a melody of harassing whistles causing you to walk out of the band room, but not before screaming “I swear to god, Donghyuck!”

Walking into the gym, heads turn everywhere seeing Mark’s jersey rest upon your shoulders

He couldn’t stop smiling to himself seeing you play the first trumpet parts he loves so much with his name on your back

And just like the first game, he wishes he could be up in the stands

Not because he is struggling

But because you looked like you were having so much fun and he’d love to be up there to experience it with you

Also to get Donghyuck off your ass

And after the buzzer sounds, your school won by a landslide and as you play the fight song, Mark looks and points up at you with the biggest smile on his face

It almost causes you to stop playing, but you had to

People swarm him like always but his attention is somewhere else

You let people get their share of Mark while you put all of your supplies away and change back into your old shirt

You hurry as fast as you can and run back into the gym to see all of players with their families, including Mark saying goodbye to his

When he turns back to pick up his bag, he sees you in the corner of his eye

“Good job out there, Mark.” You walk toward him handing him his jersey

“Thank you! It’s all because of you.” He smiles “Also keep it, you look nice in it.”

You immediately started laughing

Mark’s eyes grew, “What?”

“Mark, you do know you have an away game next week right?”

His eyes widen even more and he slowly grabs the jersey from your hand

“Oh… right.”

And he stashes the jersey in his athletic bag

And your laughs just continue

“Anyways, you did really well out there, Mark.” and this time you find the courage in yourself to do what he did to you earlier and place your lips on his cheek, “Goodnight”

And you walk out with a fire on your cheeks and a pulsing in your heart

Mark was no different

From then on, band with Mark had been….different

He can barely look you in the face, he can’t focus, and his tone starts to suffer

He hasn’t even played your duet since that home game and you still had until their final game to start practicing again

After that game, you only had seven days to rehearse and finalize any changes you needed to make in order to get that superior rating

While in the zone, it was as if nothing had happened between you guys

When you guys are playing, there is absolutely no tension between you. The only way you guys connect is through the music

But again

Something is missing

You ask your director to listen in and really analyze the song - not just say if it sounds good or not

And he says

“The notes are all there, you have all the dynamics and rhythm set, but there is not emotion. You feel like you are just two people playing together, not two people playing as one. It may look the same, but the sound is so different.”

You both just look at each other and frown

“Playing the same music is not enough to connect each other, our emotions are just as valuable. Maybe try hanging out together, let loose, something like that.”

And he leaves you and Mark in the practice room

“So….” Mark starts

“So….”

“What are we?” he quickly asks

Almost to the point you couldn’t hear him, but you most definitely did

“I hope at least friends…” you say with some hesitation, “but I would love to be something more”

“I-I…”

“I understand if you don’t think of me in that light. I can come together to play this song with you, but I don’t know how much more I could stay around you.”

You held your head low unable to look him in the eyes, softly playing with your hands in your lap

Suddenly, your hand is being warmed in the presence of Mark’s

“You don’t have to worry about that. I’d love to be with you.” And when you look up, you can see Mark’s calm, sweet eyes meet yours. He wraps his arms around you, trying his best not to be too awkward in this chair hug (which is absolutely awkward you cannot escape it)

“So….” Mark starts, “Should we start playing again?”

And you just nod

You don’t make it three measures in until Mark stops you

“Hey, what did I tell you about smiling?” He teases.

“Sorry,” you laugh, “I’m just really happy right now.”

And you just smile at each other

Solo & Ensemble couldn’t come faster

You had one practice with Accompanist!Johnny then all of a sudden, you and Mark were on a bus with other contestants from your school headed to the performance venue

You were one of the first groups to perform that day and to say you were nervous was an understatement

And as if Mark could sense it, he takes your hand in his and starts rubbing it

“You are going to do great today, just believe.”

And you can’t help but smile to yourself

You walk into the performance room and hand your score to the clinician

While Johnny gets his sheet music in order, you and Mark set your stands facing each other so not only will Mark be able to comfort you if your nerves get the best of you, but you will also be able to create an intimate atmosphere

As soon as you get the go ahead, you introduce yourselves and begin playing

[LINK TO DUET]

Afterwards, you feel absolutely breathless

Between playing the songs and watching Mark play full of passion, your heart was beating at a mile a minute

Your clinician has a lot to say, but most of it is good things!

His main critique was for stylistic reasons - he’d prefer more accents in some places and a ritardando in others

But his main compliment was

“You guys feel connected. You respond to each other almost perfectly. If he does one thing, you are right there with him as support. For some people, it’s about being the best, but you only try to compliment each other. They try to feed on these emotions while you guys try to feel them. Outstanding job.”

And both of you immediately blush while your director is almost crying because he was so proud of how you took his advice and it was actually paying off

When you walk out of the room, your smiles never stop.

Not even when the scores are posted

You promised each other that no matter how you placed, you would be happy with your performance

There was no need to be worried

Not only did you receive a superior rating, but you were the first place Trumpet Ensemble

When you read it, you wanted to cry

And Mark’s eyes just grow really wide and he looks at you with all the shock in the world present on his face

All he can do is hug you

And it lasts for a solid two to three minutes

Celebratory pictures are taken of course, but you guys are quick to watch your friends’ performances

During which, Mark holds your hand

Earlier it was calming, but now it was doing everything but

While the clinicians went on their breaks, Mark pulls out his wallet

“Celebratory dinner’s on me”

You turn your head and see the gift card you got him that final basketball game

“I thought you were spending it that weekend!”

“Well, I felt pretty confident about this performance. I was going to ask you no matter what happened between us, so pizzas on me!”

And before you can respond, the only thing you hear is

“GUYS, MARK’S BUYING DINNER”

“Shut up, Donghyuck”

I haven’t written an AU in a long time! I missed this so much. I will be doing a Band AU for the rest of the Dream Team along with a corresponding Sports AU! That means that there will be a full Basketball AU for Mark. This took almost all day to write, so I can’t guarantee when they will be out!

I hope you enjoyed this! Thank you guys <3

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