#because None of the halls so far match well with their theme

[valiant-portabella-pirkko]

Wait a second... Considering SotO's theming, and the consistent pattern of content that came out of past expansion releases thus far...

Are we going to get a new Mists-themed Guild Hall?

[cipheress-to-k-pop]

Supernova (Chapter 7)

Pairing: Dick Grayson as Robin x Reader

Warnings: None! Lmao finally

Word Count: 3.9K

Summary: As the daughter of Wonder Woman, you always knew you were destined for something more than the life of a mortal. It seemed like your wish for a life of adventure came true but whether in the form of a blessing or curse, you didn’t know. All you know is that you were the sole witness for a chain of murders that would begin. It’s up to you to find out who was the murderer before it’s too late……

A/N: It's a sweet chapter ya'll. I promise.

Supernova Masterlist

“You’re sweaty.” Robin murmured when you rested your forehead against the nape of his neck. You both were exhausted after training and you were a shower away from passing out in your bed but you both still needed a few minutes to catch your breath, leaning on each other for support. Even though he was complaining about you sweating, he didn’t seem to do anything to get away from you, even going so far as to wrap an arm around your shoulder.

You felt him swallowing the gulps of water against your skin before scoffing and wiping your skin with a towel, “As if you’re any better, my eyes are stinging from your sweat.”

Then you both dissolved back to silence, quietly enjoying each other’s company as the night slowly bled into day.

“Do you ever wonder what smoking feels like?” You asked and Robin laughed, making you whine when he began shaking, moving your body in tandem with his because of it. Even though you pinched his side to get him to stop laughing, it was useless since it made him laugh even harder, slugging you off his shoulder as your back hit the training mat.

“It wasn’t even that funny.”

“It was random."

“I was just thinking about it. I can hardly breathe when someone else is smoking beside me. I wonder how it feels actually inhaling the stuff.” You wondered, now getting comfortable on your back and he lay down beside you, “I guess some people enjoy it.”

It was silent again and you yawned, waiting for your body to cool off. The unfortunate thing about living at Happy Harbor was that the weather was unusually hot during the summer, so hot that even the water ended up getting to a scorching temperature. If you went for a shower straight after training, you’d be slowly boiled to perfection.

But the more you waited, the sleepier you got.

Robin spared you a glance as you yawned once again, stifling his own. The training had been taking a toll on him, since he would come to the cave right after patrol instead of sleep at the Manor. Partly because he liked seeing you improve in combat and get better each day and partly because he just liked seeing you.

If he caught you on a good day, you were fun to be around, cheerful and funny. Your energies mixed together well, fitting together like two puzzle pieces but he never lingered on that thought for long. For now, Robin just wanted to be supportive and a good friend. He’d seen firsthand how much you could change when things hurt you and he never wanted to push you towards that again.

His mind drifted back to the day in the interrogation room, the way you didn’t have any remorse for Thelma when she cried and screamed in front of you. It was so unlike you and for a few brief moments he wondered if he ever knew you at all.

He looked at you again, noticing the way you were smiling at nothing, the sheen of sweat on your face and neck before rethinking. He knew you; he was sure of that. And he liked you for it too.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Just that prom is next week at school. Before Valerie I would’ve pleaded to go but I don’t think I’d want to return to school after this.” You said thoughtfully, suddenly thinking about what you would do if you made out of all this alive.

“Maybe you should transfer to my school.” He said absentmindedly. It wasn’t really a suggestion that he thought you’d accept but he actually liked the thought of you going to his school.

You sent him a teasing smile, “Oh? Boy Wonder actually goes to school? Not some advanced intelligence nerd program?”

He laughed at this, “You’re one to talk.”

It was silent for the next couple moments once again while you both rested comfortably. This was the thing he appreciated the most about your relationship; when it was silent, he wasn’t scrambling to find some conversation piece to fill the silence. He wasn’t unaccustomed to awkward silence but it never felt awkward when he was with you. It was just silence.

He could stay beside you and just stay silent and that was enough. He liked that.

“What color are your eyes?” You asked again, curious.

“Like I’d tell you.” He sighed, sounding way too comfortable for his own good. You kicked him lighter than you were intending to.

“They’re brown, aren’t they?”

“Why brown?”

“Because I feel like any other color would give you an unfair advantage.”

He settled in further, wanting the training mats to suddenly feel like his mattress back home, “Well I’m no swim team captain but.”

“Jealous?”

“Sure.”

The sweat was making the mats stick to your skin and you felt it aggressively peel from your skin when you turned on your side to face him. Now you were made painfully aware about the cold sweat pooling below you and realized you were in desperate need for a shower.

You rubbed his arm gently, wishing him a good night even though you knew that the sun was up. Robin returned the gesture with a smile, telling you to get a good night’s sleep. As he watched your receding back, a thought came to his mind and he stopped you in your tracks.

“Here’s a thought, why don’t we do something on prom night? Have our own little thing right here? We could watch a movie or something.” He proposed and your brows furrowed, “Don’t you have prom too?”

He did. Which was planned and decorated with the money his father had generously donated. But Dick didn’t feel an ounce of remorse for missing it. He also knew it was the only night that the others wouldn’t be home, all at their own prom. As long as he would get to have a fun night with you.

“Yeah, but I wasn’t planning on going anyway.” Alfred had already pressed his suit and had a special corsage ordered. He was going with Barbara, as friends, but cancelling on her seemed like a small feat in the moment.

“Are you sure?” “Definitely.”

You smiled slightly, nodding before waving goodbye and continuing on your way to the showers. When he heard the door shut, Dick realized just what he had gotten himself to and flopped back onto the mats, ‘What did I just do?’

He’d have to cancel the limo without his dad or Alfred finding out. He’d have to cancel the reservations at the restaurant. For goodness’ sake, he’d have to take a rain check on Barbara. Still, Dick wasn’t able to wipe the smile off his face.

***

You were oddly looking forward to hanging out with Robin tonight. Everyone had already left for their own proms, Zatanna was in a dress that she had borrowed from you. Even though you knew that the prom dress you had been planning to wear would’ve been the best for her school theme, you had a weirdly hard time parting from it, considering it was just a piece of clothing.

All three girls spent a couple hours primping with you, trying their best to include you in some of the fun. You even managed to rope Artemis into getting glammed up. She protested a lot at first but once she got in the chair it was like you had tamed a jungle cat. They had time to style your hair as well and you barely had any idea what was happening while Doja Cat played and you had a sheet mask on. After getting that off, you felt like a new born baby.

You sent all three of them off after taking a ton of pictures and they told you to have a great night too, smiling like they knew something you didn’t.

Now that the cave was completely empty, even Aqualad had left that morning to pay a visit to Atlantis, you were left alone with Robin and were excited about it. You weren’t going to do anything special anyway, other than watching a movie and stuffing your face with food but you were still happy to spend some time with him when you both weren’t sweating like pigs.

Even the thought of sitting beside him on the couch while a movie played had a skip in your step.

Just as you saw the doors to the main hall and a familiar head of hair, you picked up the pace until you stopped walking all together, shocked.

Because there stood Robin waiting by the door with a shy smile on his face. Dressed in a suit and tie.

You chocked out a laugh, not quite sure why it felt like the wind was knocked out of you before walking up to him, gently pulling his fingers away from the tie he was fidgeting with and straightening it out, “A little over-dressed for a movie, don’t you think?”

“Change of plans, we’re going to have our own prom night, right here.”

You giggled, reclipping the tie clip before straightening out the corsage in his breast pocket. You spared a glance up, meeting his eyes and you realized just how close the both of you had gotten. If he didn’t have the sunglasses on, you would’ve been able to see your reflection in his—probably— brown eyes.

You cleared your throat, stepping away from him not before smoothing your hands down the lapels, smiling at just how handsome he looked.

“Wish you would’ve told me. I would’ve matched what I’m wearing to your tie.” You teased.

“Actually, you can.” You raised a brow at this and the red began crawling up his neck, “I asked your mom to drop your dress off. It’s in your room.”

The uncomfortable conversation with Wonder Woman about why he wanted the particular dress that her daughter of the same age was planning to wear to prom was completely worth it when he watched your eyes light up like the sun before throwing your arms around his neck, “Oh my god! I love you!”

The dress fit you like a glove, even though the last time you wore tried it on it had been a teeny bit snug. All those hours training with Robin probably made it fit a little better even though you didn’t look any different. You stood in front of the mirror and couldn’t stop twirling; the dress was just so beautiful and you were over the moon that you got to wear it.

When you met Robin by the door, it felt a little too good to be true, the way he smiled at you just as your eyes met and then held out his arm for you to take. Your heart was sure to stop beating tonight at the rate it was thumping in your chest. You could barely hear him over the sound of it, filled with too much adrenaline and excitement. You could’ve gone for a 100-mile run with the amount of energy you suddenly had.

“You look pretty.”

You grinned and curtsied in an old-fashioned way, tipping an imaginary hat, “Why, thank you. You look pretty dapper yourself.”

He laughed, “Dapper?”

“It’s a word, look it up, tweetie bird.”

“And now all the magic’s dead.”

“Oh? Because I was expecting you to pull out a bouquet from your sleeve there.”

“Actually—” He smiled, pulling out a matching corsage from his suit pocket and holding it out to you, “I went all out.”

He helped you fasten it around your wrist when you struggled to do it with one hand and your breath got caught in your throat. It was awkward, to say the least, the energy between the both of you. In fact, there was so much tension that you felt like you could choke on it. Even though your first response to any kind of distress was to hide underneath the blankets in your bedroom, you still stayed by his side.

“So, what are we waiting for? What movie are we watching?”

It seemed like he finally remembered why he was standing outside the hall in the first place and smiled shyly, a blush faintly painting his cheeks. It felt like he was stalling the more you thought about it, lingering at the door for way too long as if something would explode or jump at you if he put his hand on the handle.

“Actually—”

He opened the door and you gasped, “You need to stop saying ‘Actually’ because every time you do, I get a heart attack.”

How he managed to get all this done in a day was beyond you. The table was filled with snacks and drinks that you knew was meant to be left over for Wally to finish. The TV had a blanket fort in front of it, looking so cozy that you suddenly wanted to take a nap. The holo-computer was projecting something similar to a carnival game, with a couple targets levitating mid-air, labelled with different points.

Your heart fluttered when you realized that Robin had gone through all this just to make sure you’d have a fun night and suddenly your eyes felt alarmingly wet.

“You’re not gonna cry, are you?” Came his incredulous response and you gave him the weakest punch you could possibly muster because you knew any harder could give your date a hairline fracture, “Excuse me. It’s a perfectly healthy emotional response.”

“Yeah, but you cry a lot, have you realized?” He teased, pulling you toward the holo-computer, giving you a simulator stun gun and then picking one up for himself.

“You don’t cry at all, Mr. Roboto,” You cocked the gun and pointed at him playfully, “But no matter, you’ll be crying once I beat you to dust.”

His signature laugh was the next thing you heard and you blushed, embarrassed that you liked it more than you cared to admit, “Let’s just see about that.”

***

“And then she goes—Word for word, I’m not even kidding—” You told, picking up a tennis ball and using it to imitate an apple before pretending to take a bite out of it, “Young lady, eating is simply not allowed on school premises. *crunch* These rules obviously apply to everyone. *crunch* No one is above the rules. *crunch*”

Robin was laughing at your horrible British accent and the way you tried so hard to sound all hoity-toity, had Alfred been here he would’ve been appalled. To be quite honest, you weren’t even sure if the lady was British or not, but it seemed fitting and the way Robin was laughing made you embarrassing yourself a teensy bit worth it.

“Not to mention she’s spewing apple chunks all over me. I can never unsee that image.” You shuddered, shaking your head and his laughs dulled down to chuckles.

“That’s not that bad. Once, our health class teacher was covering contraceptives and such. And he stands in front of the entire class and, with absolutely no hesitation, asks ‘So boys and girls, what are your favorite condom brands?’” You burst into laughter at that hiding your face in your hands as tears began blurring your vision.

“Oh, my goodness, I can’t breathe, stop talking!” You interrupted his story, clutching your stomach and flopping on your back from laughing so hard. He laughed, watching you writhe on the floor, unable to stop the choked chortles that were leaving your lips. Your stomach felt like you had just done an ab workout.

The movie that was playing had long gotten over, the credits frozen on the screen as you both continued to talk, recounting all the hilarious stories you could remember as music played in the background, “Alright, so it’s an all-girls program and all of the girls are chattering about and have their own little groups in the auditorium. And my principal goes, ‘Why are you all standing so close? You all are straight girls, are you not?’”

“Not as bad as a girl volunteering to sing during a school assembly before serenading me in front of the entire school. Even though we’ve never actually talked.” He blushed, remembering just how embarrassing the situation was. You threw your head back, missing the moment Robin took to admire you.

“You little Casanova. Are you really complaining about being a heartthrob?” You teased, nudging him playfully and he rolled his eyes though it was hidden by his glasses.

Eventually the stories and laughter begin to die down as your ears tune into the music playing in the background. Just as a fun, rap song that you weren’t paying attention to but were sure had something to do with sex ended, you heard the familiar tune flow through the speakers and smiled as the singers’ voices filled your ears.

“Ahh, I love this song.” You smiled, listening to the first verse. It was a pretty love song that always got you singing when you heard it playing in the car. It was the song you listened to on repeat when you read a romance book to give you the right feels. Closing your eyes, you recalled the last book you read to the music, smiling as the feeling of giddiness began to flow through you.

“Care to join me for a dance?”

When you opened your eyes, Robin was holding a hand out for you, a gentle and reassuring smile on his face and you didn’t hesitate before taking his hand. If he had asked at the start of the night, you probably would’ve blushed and felt nervous just by holding his hand but after spending a couple hours together, you were finally in tune with each other.

You didn’t mind resting your hands on his shoulders as his floated around your waist before you began swaying to the rhythm. You had spent the whole day together, more or less in the same way; resting against each other while watching the movie, holding his hand when he attempted to throw a ball with your lacrosse stick and failing before you stepped behind him to show him how it was done and finally feeding each other food as you attempted to play the guess different foods while blindfolded.

You giggled at the way Robin squirmed when the petals of your corsage tickled his neck, still swaying out of beat to the song but it didn’t really matter, you were just trying hard not to trip over the slight train of the dress or on his feet.

“It’s occurring to me that I haven’t actually thanked you for all of this.” You began, eyes darting around the place as you took in just how much he had done for you today and your heart swelled in your chest, smiling softly without even realizing it. His fingers tightened their grip on your waist slightly and the light blush crawling on his cheeks was the only indication that he was feeling slightly embarrassed.

You looked him back in the eye, well at your reflection in his sunglasses, “I’m really touched, Rob. No one’s ever done anything like this for me and I really don’t know what to say to make you understand just how much this means to me. Thank you.”

Thank you didn’t even begin to express how much you felt for him at this point, dancing with you in bare feet across the hall. A night you had been dreading for a while, a night you thought would be spent all alone was made one of the best ones since you opened your eyes on the planet just because of him. You couldn’t tell him how grateful you were for that.

He felt embarrassed that you were putting him on the spot this way. You had said so much and a simple ‘You’re welcome’ didn’t seem right to say. It felt awkward and distant and off-putting, how would you continue the conversation after he so rudely shut you down without any other way to continue?

His hands were slightly sweating against your dress and if you noticed the increase of warmth from his palms, you didn’t say anything. So, he said the only thing he could to sort of fill the silence, “It was nothing, really. You really don’t have to thank me; I didn’t do much. Besides, I hardly think any of this could compare to your real pro—”

He was cut of by your hands slowly sliding to delicately cup his cheeks before slanting your lips over his in your first kiss. He inhaled sharply against your lips, fingertips digging into your waist. The kiss itself wasn’t much, just a silky brush of your lips against his without any pressure before you pulled back and gave him an endearing smile, “Thank you.”

He returned it, pulling you a teensy bit closer so he could hold you against him but still far enough so you couldn’t feel his heartbeat thrumming against his ribcage.

***

Not even twenty minutes after the two of you had parted with whispered goodnights, you climbed up the stairs to Robin’s nest, with your makeup freshly washed off and dressed in comfy pajamas. You saw the tip of Robin’s head peek out from the beanbag and smiled. Your heart was slowly sinking to your stomach with the thought of talking to him.

“Hey.”

He turned around, seemingly surprised to see you which he never seemed before. Usually, he could hear you from a mile away. The tie around his neck was loosened, the top button undone and his suit jacket lay wrinkled beside him, though he was still wearing his glasses.

Nonetheless, he gave you a gentle smile, scooting over a little so you could plop beside him on the beanbag, “Missed me already?”

“Yeah.” The honesty in your voice caught him off-guard and he found himself blushing and avoiding your eyes as he waited for you to speak again and tell him why you came up here. Of course, his heart leaped at the thought that you were up here just to see him, even though you spent the whole night together.

“Listen about earlier,” He turned his head to you but this time it was you who wouldn’t look at him, playing with your fingers in your lap, “About the kiss; I’m sorry.”

He could hardly hear anything other than his heartbeat when he heard the tone in your voice and he knew that something bad was going to come. Were you going to tell him that it was a mistake and that you regret it? He wouldn’t hold it against you but his heart tore at even the thought.

“I shouldn’t have done it without asking for permission first, I’m sorry. I was just reliving it and I realized that I never actually asked if I could, you know? It’s just I really like you and got caught up in nerves and emotions and all—” Somehow you managed to catch yourself rambling and stopped, taking a deep breath, “Anyway, if it made you uncomfortable, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry.”

You glanced back up at him with a shy smile, “Are you gonna say something or, do you want me to leave….”

If it was possible, you looked even more beautiful barefaced and hair pulled back from your face than you did in the most beautiful dress he had ever seen you in before.

“Could I kiss you? Please?”

Your breath got caught in your throat and you found yourself leaning in before you could even think of saying anything.

Who were you to say no?

Forever Taglist:

@simonsbluee

@hanbedumbaf

@superheroesaremyjam113263

DC Taglist:

@emmacata

@p--e--a--c--h--e--s

@sometimeseverythingsucks

@sokkas-honour

@unstable1902

@lostgirlheart

@missdisapear

@tadpole-san

@isawachickeninatree

@uxavity

@battlenix

@capricorn-stark

@evermoore580

@dumbbitchgalore

@fuckingjinkies

Supernova Taglist:

@tinybeantm

@adc2016

@seoulnights5

@renjunvrse

@brightjimini

@mad4hugs

@uniyasi

@wierdlypineapple

@mono--moonchild

@smol-book-nerd

[cappymightwrite]

So I’ve just read your meta on the TWOW Alayne I sample chapter (it’s amazing btw!) and I noticed something while reading it that I wanted to share and see if anybody else has noticed - nearly every man Alayne dances with during the feast could be taken as a reference to Jon or the Night’s Watch.

Ben Coldwater -> Snow is, obviously, cold water, and Ben is a sneaky Benjen reference

Andrew Tollett -> most likely related to Dolorous Edd Tollett, Jon’s old steward and good friend

Ser Byron the Beautiful -> GRRM has described Jon as a Byronic hero

Ser Morgarth and Ser Shadrich the Mad Mouse -> these men are more dubious, I’m not really sure of the link with Morgarth. Shadrich is a callback from Brienne’s AFFC plot though, and a sign that Sansa’s cover isn’t as secure as she and Littlefinger think it is

Ser Albar Royce - a reference to Waymar Royce, he of the many Jon parallels and Sansa’s old crush, though she finds his cousin(?) stout and dull

The Sunderlands - their family are the lords of the Three Sisters. In ADWD, Davos is told a story on Sweetsister about Ned having to sneak across the Bite during Robert’s Rebellion, to get North and call his banners. A fisherman helped him but drowned when a storm caught their boat - but his daughter got Ned safely to the Sisters. The prevailing story on the islands seems to be that he left her with a bag of silver and a bastard in her belly, whom she named after Jon Arryn

Uther Shett - I was half-convinced this guy also had a relative on the wall, because his name (insulting pun aside) seems to be a reference to Chett, the prologue POV of ASOS who had a grudge against Jon for losing him his position as one of Maester Aemon’s stewards in favour of Sam

Ser Targon the Halfwild - Jon will likely be half-wild when he comes back from the dead, but he’s already been described as ‘half a wildling’ multiple times. Also Targon = Targ-Jon?

Ser Roland and Ser Wallace Waynwood - both are described earlier in the chapter as long-faced with brown hair, which are also Stark features. Alayne thinks of them as “horsefaced”, probably an Arya reference that also calls back to her and Jon’s shared Stark look. Wallace is even the same age as Robb, and thus Jon, would be.

So though Jon wasn’t mentioned by name in the chapter, I think he was very present... not just lemoncake-wise ;)

Thank you! :D Haha for a moment there I was like...wait which meta? Had to take my mind back for a sec there because I've written quite a bit since then! But yeah, doing deep dives into certain chapters is really fun — my next one that's in the works is Jon XI in A Dance With Dragons. Great to hear you enjoyed my Winds one :)

Ooooh that is really interesting and a mighty fine catch! Definitely the vibe I got whilst reading that chapter, after having analysed Alayne II, AFFC (which chronologically precedes it), is that Jon's presence or references to him are made subtly throughout the chapter(s) — especially whenever Winterfell is alluded to because Jon is the "Snow of Wintefell", the "blood of Winterfell", etc. But also vice versa, Sansa is very much connected to Winterfell in Jon's chapters as well — "Winterfell belongs to my sister, Sansa."

But let's take a look at those names you listed below the cut! Big post ahead, so buckle up kids!

So, I hadn't noticed the significance of those names on my reading, but I can well believe what you're suggesting because it plays very much into how I interpreted the subconscious goings on of that chapter — that you have these rememberances/reminders of Winterfell and Sansa's Stark idenity at crucial moments within the chapter’s narrative pacing, especially prior to moments with Harry the Heir. Not to sound too crass, but it's sort like a marking of territory, and this is made even stronger by that goddamn phallic as hell Giant's Lance lemoncake (aka Jon's peen). It's all quite neatly buried, but when you start matching up the imagery...I mean, I guess wolves are territorial beasts, so...checks out? (George...why are you like this?)

It is interesting that we get that iconic entrance of the Giant's Lance lemoncake prior to these dance partners, i.e. a claim has been staked essentially, and it ain't from Littlefinger, which is what could be interpreted on first inspection. And let's not beat around the bush, as uncomfortable as it is (because Sansa is ONLY 13/14!!), this is a sexual claim being made owing to the phallic symbolism and the general tone of the chapter being about Alayne's betrothal/marriage:

And best of all, Lord Nestor’s cooks prepared a splendid subtlety, a lemon cake in the shape of the Giant’s Lance, twelve feet tall and adorned with an Eyrie made of sugar.

For me, Alayne thought, as they wheeled it out.

I legit just snorted re-reading this: "splendid subtlety" MY ASS! What follows is a whole lot of gift-giving, which come to think of it, in combination with this bloody big cake...well, it reads quite a bit like a wedding breakfast to me, followed by dancing, in addition to a possible nod to a Stark bridal cloak, masked by the Arryn colours:

There were gifts as well, splendid gifts. Each of the competitors received a cloak of cloth-of-silver and a lapis brooch in the shape of a pair of falcon’s wings. Fine steel daggers were given to the brothers, fathers, and friends who had come to watch them tilt. For their mothers, sisters, and ladies fair there were bolts of silk and Myrish lace.

Because if we compare this "cloak of cloth-of-silver" with previous descriptions of Sansa's maiden cloak, we see this obvious recurring inclusion of either silver or grey as one of the Stark colours:

Cersei Lannister ignored the question. "The cloak," she commanded, and the women brought it out: a long cloak of white velvet heavy with pearls. A fierce direwolf was embroidered upon it in silver thread. Sansa looked at it with sudden dread. "Your father's colors," said Cersei, as they fastened it about her neck with a slender silver chain.

A maiden's cloak. Sansa's hand went to her throat. She would have torn the thing away if she had dared. – ASOS, Sansa III

"[...] and when they come together for his wedding, and you come out with your long auburn hair, clad in a maiden's cloak of white and grey with a direwolf emblazoned on the back...why, every knight in the Vale will pledge his sword to win you back your birthright [...]" – AFFC, Alayne II

This is all very in keeping with the theme of the chapter, which is meeting Alayne's betrothed, Harrold Hardyng, so obviously a future marriage/alliance is very much a prevalent theme here. Furthermore, the mention of "Myrish lace" for the "ladies fair" does somewhat remind me of Alys Karstark's wedding garb:

The girl smiled in a way that reminded Jon so much of his little sister that it almost broke his heart. "Let him be scared of me." The snowflakes were melting on her cheeks, but her hair was wrapped in a swirl of lace that Satin had found somewhere, and the snow had begun to collect there, giving her a frosty crown. Her cheeks were flushed and red, and her eyes sparkled.

"Winter's lady." Jon squeezed her hand. – ADWD, Jon X

I think some other people have mentioned before how even though Jon makes a conscious comparison between Arya and Alys — "reminded Jon so much of his little sister" — the romanticised, flushed cheeked imagery very much points towards a subconsious allusion to Sansa (ETA: anyone spoken on this got a link?). With that in mind, we could see this as foreshadowing of not only Jonsa, but a Jonsa wedding, and Sansa as Queen in the North — "a frosty crown" "Winter's lady" — with Jon as her king/consort. In my current Jon chapter analysis I've been working with the idea that actually as soon as Jon starts romanticising a girl, which is notably different from just noticing someone's physical beauty (e.g. with Val), that is when the subconscious comparisons to Sansa really jump out.

But anyway! Onto those names...or rather, Jon Snow stand-ins.

Rising, [Ben Coldwater] offered Alayne his hand. “Would you honor me with this dance, my lady?”

“You’re very kind,” she said, as he led her to the floor.

He was her first partner of the evening, but far from the last. Just as Petyr had promised, the young knights flocked around her, vying for her favor. After Ben came Andrew Tollett, handsome Ser Byron, red-nosed Ser Morgarth, and Ser Shadrich the Mad Mouse. Then Ser Albar Royce, Myranda’s stout dull brother and Lord Nestor’s heir. She danced with all three Sunderlands, none of whom had webs between their fingers, though she could not vouch for their toes. Uther Shett appeared to pay her slimy compliments as he trod upon her feet, but Ser Targon the Halfwild proved to be the soul of courtesy. After that Ser Roland Waynwood swept her up and made her laugh with mocking comments about half the other knights in the hall. His uncle Wallace took a turn as well and tried to do the same, but the words would not come. Alayne finally took pity on him and began to chatter happily, to spare him the embarrassment. When the dance was done she excused herself, and went back to her place to have a drink of wine.

And there he stood, Harry the Heir himself; tall, handsome, scowling. “Lady Alayne. May I partner you in this dance?”

She considered for a moment. “No. I don’t think so.”

If I've counted that right, that's 14 men? Alright, here we go.

First up...Ben Coldwater

I think you're right that Ben Coldwater feels very much like a nod to Ben-jen Stark, who is referred to as Ben a few times I think, and Jon Snow (cold water = snow), both men of the Night's Watch. House Coldwater also traces its lineage back to the First Men, and are sworn to House Royce, who are also notably descended from the First Men, have previously married into the Stark family and still maintain close connections to the current house through Ned's fosterage in the Vale. So, through the Royces, we see another possible connection to the Starks and Jon Snow...Jon Snow who was named after Jon Arryn.

I would also add that we have Ben make this inquiry prior to his dance with Alayne:

“Are there no singers?” asked Ben Coldwater.

I don't know, maybe I'm reaching but...singers feature quite a lot in connection to Jon, for instance:

Mance Rayder, who infiltrates Winterfell disguised as a singer called Abel, an anagram of Bael, aka Bael the Bard;

Bael the Bard and the Blue Rose of Winterfell — a story told to Jon by Ygritte, which very much evokes the tale of Rhaegar and Lyanna;

Rhaegar Targaryen, Jon's real father, was a notably skilled lyre player, whose singing supposedly made Lyanna cry — "The dragon prince sang a song so sad it made the wolf maid sniffle," (ASOS, Bran II). He is also theorised to have written the song Jenny of Oldstones, possibly for the Ghost of High Heart, Jenny's friend.

Ygritte — when Jon starts to find her more attractive, when he starts to romanticise her, he observes that "sometimes she sang in a low husky voice that stirred him," (ASOS, Jon II).

Val — again, we start to see Jon begin to warm to Val, to see her in more of a romantic + typically feminine light, because of her singing to the baby Monster: "I have heard you singing to him," (ADWD, Jon VIII).

Sansa — oh, my sweet Sansa...when remembering his family, not quite in his dying moments, but a little bit prior to that, Jon thinks "Of Sansa, brushing out Lady's coat and singing to herself. You know nothing, Jon Snow," (ADWD, Jon XIII).

I think it's clear that Jon loves a good song and you know what? He'd probably be asking about the lack of singers too! One final detail perhaps worth noting is the seat of House Coldwater:

[...] the Coldwaters of Coldwater Burn [...] – TWOIAF, The Vale

Obviously, the "song of ice and fire" is not a person, but more the elemental and destructive forces of the Others and the dragons, yet nevertheless, through Jon's parentage, as well as his actions (burned hand, etc.), plus his personality to a certain extent (hot-headed then repressing emotions) you do have this duality of hot and cold, of fire and ice...Coldwater Burn? Could be something.

Ser Andrew Tollett

So, like you said, the name Tollett immediately puts us in mind of Eddison Tollett, also known as Dolorous Edd, who is like Jon, a black brother of the Night's Watch. And he is a good brother to Jon, voting for him in the election for the Lord Commander, as well as becoming his loyal steward for a time, before being sent on a mission to Long Barrow. Interestingly, Dolorous Edd, as well as the Tolletts in general, do have a bit of a Stark vibe to them...

Like a typical Stark, Dolorous Edd is described as having a "long face" (ACOK, Jon III), a face like a mule's to be exact, but also notably a horse's as well:

"[...] Me, I have the mules. Nettles claims we're kin. It's true we have the same long face, but I'm not near as stubborn [...]" – ADWD, Jon XII

He only wished he had time to kill Tollett as well. Gloomy horsefaced fool, that's what he is. – ASOS, Prologue

He is given the nickname Dolorous Edd (dolorous = mournful), and is referred to several times as being "dour" (ACOK, Jon II, Jon III, ASOS, Jon V, ADWD, Jon XII, XIII), an attribute not entirely out of place when we consider some notable Starks and their disposition, as well as their house words:

He had the Stark face if not the name: long, solemn, guarded, a face that gave nothing away. – AGOT, Tyrion II

Winter is coming. The Stark words had never sounded so grim or ominous to Jon as they did now. – AGOT, Jon VIII

I gave my maidenhood to this solemn stranger and sent him off to his war and his king and the woman who bore him his bastard, because I always did my duty. – ACOK, Catelyn VI

Ned was shorter and plainer of face, and so somber. He spoke courteously enough, but beneath the words she sensed a coolness that was all at odds with Brandon, whose mirths had been as wild as his rages [...] And after the war, at Winterfell, I had love enough for any woman, once I found the good sweet heart beneath Ned's solemn face. – ASOS, Catelyn V

So, not unlike Jon, Arya and Ned, Dolorous Edd has a "long and solemn" face (AGOT, Arya I), as well as a "dour" personality. Furthermore, even House Tollet of Grey Glen's sigil and words have Stark vibes, since according to semi-canon sources, their shield is "pily grey and black" and their words are "When all is darkest," which arguably carries the same ominous, Long Night warning of "Winter is coming". In addition to this, like the Coldwaters, the Tollets are sworn to the First Men descended Royces.

But beyond this, if we take a look at some legendary and historical Tolletts...we actually have two notable names:

Torgold Tollett — also known as Torgold the Grim, though ironically, because he was famous for riding into battle laughing, and naked from the waist up:

The songs say that Torgold knew no fear and felt no pain. Though bleeding from a score of wounds, he cut a red swathe through Lord Redfort's staunchest warriors, then took his lordship's arm off at the shoulder with a single cut. Nor was he dismayed when the sorceress Ursula Upcliff appeared upon a bloodred horse to curse him. By then he was bare-handed, having left both of his axes buried in a foe's chest, but the singers say he leapt upon the witch's horse, grasped her face between two bloody hands, and tore her head from her shoulders as she screamed for succor. – TWOIAF, The Vale

Ser Jon Tollett — In Fire & Blood, Jon Tollett is recorded as a member of King Maegor the Cruel's Kingsguard. After the king's mysterious death, his successor, King Jaeherys I, offered Maegor's surviving Kingsguard a choice between execution or taking the black. Jon Tollett chose the latter. This somewhat parallels Ned's decision to take the black, to a certain extent.

You could argue that there are more than a few similarities, or future foreshadowings, between these Tolletts and Jon Snow...

Ser Byron the Beautiful

Like you mentioned, Jon Snow has been described by GRRM as a "Byronic, romantic hero". I'm so annoyed with myself, because I had written up some good stuff on how Jon really does possess certain Byronic traits but as I was inserting a gif it ended up deleting most of what I wrote...so I'm still a bit bitter over that, but will rewrite it at some point soon. Take my word for it though, Jon Snow is 100% more of a Byronic Hero (a la Byron's own Manfred), than Sandor Clegane, for example:

GRRM: “Well who wouldn’t want to be Jon Snow — the brooding, Byronic, romantic hero whom all the girls love.” [source]

Ser Byron, as well as being described as beautiful, is also notably very gallant, the perfect knight:

"Dutiful and beautiful," said an elegant young knight whose thick blond mane cascaded down well past his shoulders. – AFFC, Alayne II

We all know that Sansa appreciates a bit of genuine courtesy, and in fact, she's taught Jon well in that regard:

"Gilly, he called me. For the gillyflower."

"That's pretty." He remembered Sansa telling him once that he should say that whenever a lady told him her name. He could not help the girl, but perhaps the courtesy would please her. – ACOK, Jon III

I think this Jon stand-in does rely mostly on Jon's connection to the Byronic Hero. So, if anyone is still a bit dubious on that (because Rochester and Heathcliff are trash), just hang in there for my eventual meta on the subject, which focuses on Lord Byron's OG Byronic Hero, rather than the later Brontë/Victorian iterations.

In fact, in terms of Jon's parentage and future romance with Sansa, there's one Byronic tale that may be a particular source of inspiration — The Bride of Abydos. This poem notably includes a romance in which half-siblings are revealed to be cousins...sound familiar?

Ser Morgarth the Merry

Another hedge knight, like Ser Byron, who is sworn into the service of Petyr Baelish. I've got to agree with you here, red-nosed Ser Morgarth's connection to Jon is quite a bit harder to decipher! I have done a little digging though, and it is possible that the Garth in Morgarth is a reference to several Garths that appear in Jon's chapters, as well as Garth Greenhand, the alleged ancestor of legendary House Stark founder...Brandon the Builder:

Garth of Oldtown

Garth of Greenaway

Garth Greyfeather

All of these Garths are rangers/members of the Night's Watch at the same time as Jon, though I think by Dance it is presumed that they are all dead, or at least missing — in fact, Garth of Greenaway kills Garth of Oldtown. Garth on Garth violence!!

Haha, oh god...I think I just got the pun...Morgarth = More Garth! More Garths the merrier! Get it?! More Garths everybody!

George, I hate you.

Ok, so that's what that is. It's literally just a dumb pun, yet it also connects Morgarth to the Night's Watch Garths, and therefore Jon.

Ser Shadrich the Mad Mouse

I think you're right that Ser Shadrich's presence connects us to Brienne's quest, as well as foreshadowing potential shit hitting the fan at the tourney of the Winged Knights. But he also notably makes some interesting remarks, both to Brienne and Sansa, which we can connect to Jon Snow's secret Targaryen heritage:

"Where?" Brienne slapped another silver stag down.

He flicked the coin back at her with his forefinger. "Someplace no stag ever found...though a dragon might." – AFFC, Brienne III

On the surface, in response to Brienne's questioning about the whereabouts of the Stark sisters, Shadrich is talking about a monetary bribe. However, beneath that explicit meaning, is an implicit reference to a stag (Joffrey) failing, where a dragon (Jon) will succeed. Others have talked about this line in more detail elsewhere, but it seems like a pretty good allusion to the foils, Joffrey (a prince who is really a bastard) and Jon (a bastard who is really a prince).

In this exact Winds chapter, however, we also see a conversation between Alayne and Shadrich, which hints at his possible plans to uncover and abduct Sansa Stark in return for a lucrative reward:

“A good melee is all a hedge knight can hope for, unless he stumbles on a bag of dragons. And that’s not likely, is it?”

This "stumbl[ing] on a bag of dragons" could also be seen as an implicit nod towards stumbling upon Jon's Targaryen heritage later in the novel, something that is more "likely" than anyone would expect. That claim might be a reach, were it not for the implication that when Shadrich talks about money, i.e. dragons...he isn't actually talking about gold coins, he's talking about Targaryens, but more than that...he's talking specifically about Jon Snow.

Ser Albar Royce

"Myranda’s stout dull brother and Lord Nestor’s heir." I think like Ser Morgarth, the physical appearance of these stand-ins doesn't always play a factor, because it would be kind of unnerving if they all had solemn long faces... So, what is important here is, like you say, the name Royce and his relation to Ser Waymar Royce, Sansa's first crush, who just happens to resemble and parallels Jon quite a bit:

She had fallen wildly in love with Ser Waymar, she remembered dimly, but that was a lifetime ago, when she was a stupid little girl. – AFFC, Alayne I

Ser Waymar Royce was the youngest son of an ancient house with too many heirs. He was a handsome youth of eighteen, grey-eyed and graceful and slender as a knife. Mounted on his huge black destrier, the knight towered above Will and Gared on their smaller garrons. He wore black leather boots, black woolen pants, black moleskin gloves, and a fine supple coat of gleaming black ringmail over layers of black wool and boiled leather. Ser Waymar had been a Sworn Brother of the Night's Watch for less than half a year, but no one could say he had not prepared for his vocation. At least insofar as his wardrobe was concerned. – AGOT, Prologue

Jon's eyes were a grey so dark they seemed almost black, but there was little they did not see. He was of an age with Robb, but they did not look alike. Jon was slender where Robb was muscular, dark where Robb was fair, graceful and quick where his half brother was strong and fast. – AGOT, Bran I

"They're not my brothers," Jon snapped. "They hate me because I'm better than they are." – AGOT, Jon III

Although, it is worth noting that the Royces, as a whole, do somewhat resemble the Starks in appearance, at least in terms of their eye colour:

Bronze Yohn Royce, the current head of House Royce of Runestone, has "slate-grey eyes" as well as a "solemn face", (AFFC, Alayne I).

Ser Robar, his second son was "comely in a rough-hewn way" (ACOK, Catelyn III), with "pale" eyes (ACOK, Catelyn IV), possibly grey like his father's.

Ser Waymar, Yohn's third son, as mentioned, was "grey-eyed" (AGOT, Prologue).

It isn't as clear whether or not their cadet branch, which Albar belongs to, tend towards grey eyes as well, though we know that Myranda has brown hair, specifically "thick chestnut curls" (AFFC, Alayne II) — typical looking Starks, like Ned, Arya, and Jon, all have brown/dark hair.

As previously mentioned, the Royces are also descended from the First Men, have kinship links to the Starks, knew Ned when he fostered in the Vale, and Bronze Yohn even "knows" Sansa Stark:

"Bronze Yohn knows me," she reminded him. "He was a guest at Winterfell when his son rode north to take the black." She had fallen wildly in love with Ser Waymar, she remembered dimly, but that was a lifetime ago, when she was a stupid little girl. "And that was not the only time. Lord Royce saw...he saw Sansa Stark again at King's Landing, during the Hand's tourney." – AFFC, Alayne I

His seamed and solemn face brought back all of Sansa's memories of his time at Winterfell. She remembered him at table, speaking quietly with her mother. She heard his voice booming off the walls when he rode back from a hunt with a buck behind his saddle. She could see him in the yard, a practice sword in hand, hammering her father to the ground and turning to defeat Ser Rodrik as well. He will know me. How could he not? She considered throwing herself at his feet to beg for his protection. He never fought for Robb, why should he fight for me? The war is finished and Winterfell is fallen. "Lord Royce," she asked timidly, "will you have a cup of wine, to take the chill off?"

Bronze Yohn had slate-grey eyes, half-hidden beneath the bushiest eyebrows she had ever seen. They crinkled when he looked down at her. "Do I know you, girl?" – AFFC, Alayne I

They also have the house words "We will remember", which somewhat evokes the recurring refrain "the north remembers" (ASOS, Catelyn, ADWD, Davos IV, ADWD, A Ghost in Winterfell, TWOW, Theon I), as well as a possible remembrance of the Long Night, similar to the Starks’ and Tolletts’ words. All in all, as well as evoking a certain Starkness (and Jon-ness), the Royces seem set up to be staunch allies of the Starks going forward.

All Three Sunderlands

Since these Sunderland brothers aren't given names, we can assume what is significant about them, in relation to Jon and Sansa, is their Sunderland name. As you noted, the Sunderlands are the reigning lords of the Three Sisters, and in Dance, through Davos' pov, we hear about Ned's time there during Robert's Rebellion:

"At the dawn of Robert's Rebellion. The Mad King had sent to the Eyrie for Stark's head, but Jon Arryn sent him back defiance. Gulltown stayed loyal to the throne, though. To get home and call his banners, Stark had to cross the mountains to the Fingers and find a fisherman to carry him across the Bite. A storm caught them on the way. The fisherman drowned, but his daughter got Stark to the Sisters before the boat went down. They say he left her with a bag of silver and a bastard in her belly. Jon Snow, she named him, after Arryn.

"Be that as it may. My father sat where I sit now when Lord Eddard came to Sisterton. Our maester urged us to send Stark's head to Aerys, to prove our loyalty. It would have meant a rich reward. The Mad King was open-handed with them as pleased him. By then we knew that Jon Arryn had taken Gulltown, though. Robert was the first man to gain the wall, and slew Marq Grafton with his own hand. 'This Baratheon is fearless,' I said. 'He fights the way a king should fight.' Our maester chuckled at me and told us that Prince Rhaegar was certain to defeat this rebel. That was when Stark said, 'In this world only winter is certain. We may lose our heads, it's true…but what if we prevail?' My father sent him on his way with his head still on his shoulders. 'If you lose,' he told Lord Eddard, 'you were never here.' " – ADWD, Davos I

This passage has one of my favourite asoiaf quotes of all time..."In this world only winter is certain. We may lose our heads, it's true...but what if we prevail?" Truly iconic. So defiantly hopeful.

But, yes, you're right that this story, and the Sunderlands, connects us to Ned, but more importantly...to Jon Snow. Really, Jon has quite a few Vale connections, all things considered, and he is named after Jon Arryn after all!

Uther Shett

Well, along with his buddy Ossifer Lipps (ass for lips), Uther Shett (utter shit) is an example of George having some pretty lowbrow fun with punny names. During their dance, Uther paid Alayne "slimy compliments as he trod upon her feet"...so not the best partner!

But from one shit to another...I think you're probably right that Uther Shett is meant to recall Chett, indeed, if we take a look at his description in Winds:

The one on her left was no more than eighteen, and skinny as a spear. His ginger-colored whiskers only partially served to disguise the angry red pimples that dotted his face.

His bad skin is somewhat comparable to Chett's boils:

Chett had a wen on his neck the size of a pigeon's egg, and a face red with boils and pimples. Perhaps that was why he always seemed so angry. – AGOT, Jon V

What is also noteworthy about Chett's prologue pov in ASOS, is that we get this linking of literal snow and Jon Snow:

Snow was falling.

He could feel tears freezing to his cheeks. It isn't fair, he wanted to scream. Snow would ruin everything he'd worked for, all his careful plans. It was a heavy fall, thick white flakes coming down all about him [...] The snow's taken it all from me...the bloody snow...

Snow had ruined him once before. Snow and his pet pig. – ASOS, Prologue

This makes any mention of snow beyond this point a bit more noteworthy, especially since Jon is referred to as "the Snow of Winterfell," (ASOS, Jon I), and we also have Sansa's famous "drifting snowflakes brushed her face as light as lover's kisses" whilst building Winterfell out of snow scene, also in ASOS, (Sansa VII). So, Chett is very important when it comes to establishing this connection.

Ser Targon the Halfwild

Targon is only mentioned once and it is in that list of dance partners. He's not connected to any particular house, all we know of him is that he is a knight and that he "proved to be the soul of courtesy." This detail is interesting because it sort goes against his "Halfwild" moniker — he is courteous in spite of his half-wildness. Likewise, Jon is also courteous, chivalrous and knightly even, in spite of the stigma attached to being a bastard:

They still think me a turncloak. That was a bitter draft to drink, but Jon could not blame them. He was a bastard, after all. Everyone knew that bastards were wanton and treacherous by nature, having been born of lust and deceit. And he had made as many enemies as friends at Castle Black...Rast, for one. Jon had once threatened to have Ghost rip his throat out unless he stopped tormenting Samwell Tarly, and Rast did not forget things like that. – ASOS, Jon VII

As mentioned in comparison to Ser Byron, Jon behaves courteously towards Gilly, calling her name "pretty", just as Sansa taught him. He also often refers to Val as "my lady" despite her being a proud woman of the Free Folk. Jon also clearly looks up to and wishes to emulate legendary knights to a certain extent, and behaving with courtesy and honour is very much part of that:

They were not little boys when they fought, but knights and mighty heroes. "I'm Prince Aemon the Dragonknight," Jon would call out, and Robb would shout back, "Well, I'm Florian the Fool." Or Robb would say, "I'm the Young Dragon," and Jon would reply, "I'm Ser Ryam Redwyne." – ASOS, Jon XII

Furthermore, Jon has this connection to the Free Folk, also known as the wildlings, having spent a fair amount of time with them:

"The wildling blood is the blood of the First Men, the same blood that flows in the veins of the Starks [...]" – ASOS, Jon I

"Some of your own Sworn Brothers would have me believe that you are half a wildling yourself. Is it true?" – ADWD, Jon IV

Mully cleared his throat. "M'lord? The wildling princess, letting her go, the men may say—"

"—that I am half a wildling myself, a turncloak who means to sell the realm to our raiders, cannibals, and giants." Jon did not need to stare into a fire to know what was being said of him. The worst part was, they were not wrong, not wholly. "Words are wind, and the wind is always blowing at the Wall. Come." – ADWD, Jon VIII

"A wildling. A filthy, murdering wildling." Cregan's hands closed into fists. The gloves that covered them were leather, lined with fur to match the cloak that hung matted and stiff from his broad shoulders. His black wool surcoat was emblazoned with the white sunburst of his house. "I see what you are, Snow. Half a wolf and half a wildling, baseborn get of a traitor and a whore. You would deliver a highborn maid to the bed of some stinking savage. Did you sample her yourself first?" He laughed. "If you mean to kill me, do it and be damned for a kinslayer. Stark and Karstark are one blood."

"My name is Snow." – ADWD, Jon X

I am not the trusting fool you take me for...nor am I half wildling, no matter what you believe. – ADWD, Jon XI

If Stark blood is also essentially wildling blood, and Jon is half Stark on his mother's side...that would make him "Halfwild" in blood as well as in spirit. And like you said, Targon feels very close to Targaryen/Targ-Jon. So this name is there solely as a hint towards Jon's true parentage — half Targaryen and half Stark. But I think you could argue that the "Halfwild" element could allude to Jon's post-resurrection state as well. I do personally like the idea of Feral Jon™.

Ser Roland & Ser Wallace Waynwood

Like the Royces, and Dolorous Edd, the Waynwoods also bear some notable Stark physical traits, as noted by Myranda in this chapter:

“The first Lady Waynwood must have been a mare, I think. How else to explain why all the Waynwood men are horse-faced? [...]"

As we know, looking horse-faced, or in Edd's case, mule-faced, indicates a rather long visage:

Arya took after their lord father. Her hair was a lusterless brown, and her face was long and solemn. Jeyne used to call her Arya Horseface, and neigh whenever she came near. – AGOT, Arya I

[Arya] even looked like Jon, with the long face and brown hair of the Starks, and nothing of their lady mother in her face or her coloring. – AGOT, Sansa I

Interestingly though, Jon is never referred to as being called horse-faced, although we know he has a long Stark face. You'd think that Chett, in the ASOS Prologue would have made that kind of dig, since he says as much about Dolorous Edd? This is why I tentatively believe that, although long-faced, Jon isn't as apparently "homely" as these Stark looking Waynwood brothers:

Ser Roland was the oldest of the three, though no more than five-and-twenty. He was taller and more muscular than Ser Wallace, but both were long-faced and lantern-jawed, with stringy brown hair and pinched noses. Horsefaced and homely, Alayne thought.

That being said, I don't think he's as "handsome" as Ser Waymar Royce, or "beautiful" like Ser Byron. But obviously, he's got something going for him because as GRRM says "all the girls love" him, and you know, he's got a good bod probably and if the Giant's Lance cake is anything to go by, as well as all Tormund's small penis jokes...um, well, maybe he's packing, I don't know! (Don't look at me like that guys...it's GRRM not me!)

But anyway! Like you said, Ser Wallace Waynwood is even of an age with Robb, and therefore also Jon:

Robb would be his age, if he were still alive, she could not help but think, but Robb died a king, and this is just a boy.

There is also a teeny bit of Stark blood, though obviously potent stuff, in the mix with those Waynwoods:

"No," Catelyn agreed. "You must name another heir, until such time as Jeyne gives you a son." She considered a moment. "Your father's father had no siblings, but his father had a sister who married a younger son of Lord Raymar Royce, of the junior branch. They had three daughters, all of whom wed Vale lordlings. A Waynwood and a Corbray, for certain. The youngest...it might have been a Templeton, but..."

"Mother." There was a sharpness in Robb's tone. "You forget. My father had four sons." – ASOS, Catelyn V

Shit — "all of whom wed Vale lordlings" — that's probably where all these Stark looking mother fudgers are coming from. So, all in all, I think there's some strong parallels.

And finally...Ser Harrold Hardyng

But let's not forget this bitch.

And there he stood, Harry the Heir himself; tall, handsome, scowling. “Lady Alayne. May I partner you in this dance?”

She considered for a moment. “No. I don’t think so.”

Prior to Harry, who notably fits into the Ashford pattern of Sansa's suitors, we have all these Jon stand-ins, or references to Jon. We can actually separate them out into their different functions, though there is some overlap with Andrew Tollett:

Those who reference Jon's Starkness/the Stark Look™:

Andrew Tollett

Albar Royce

Roland Waynwood

Wallace Waynwood

Those who reference his position/location at the Night's Watch:

Because in the Alayne chapter prior to this one, Sansa learns that Jon has been made Lord Commander:

[..] Oh, and the Night’s Watch has a boy commander, some bastard son of Eddard Stark’s.” “Jon Snow?” she blurted out, surprised. “Snow? Yes, it would be Snow, I suppose.” – AFFC, Alayne II

So, it is interesting that you then have a number of dance partners connected to members of the Watch:

Ben Coldwater

Andrew Tollett

Morgarth the Merry

Uther Shett

This could be read as foreshadowing for Sansa's future journey north, and specifically to the Wall, where she believes Jon to be.

Those who reference his true/uncertain parentage:

Byron the Beautiful

Shadrich the Mad Mouse

The Three Sunderlands

Targon the Halfwild

All these guys get a dance, but when Harry asks? He is denied. It is only after some A+ dragging by Alayne, and begging by Harry that the latter gets his dance. Yet don't be fooled into thinking this is a win for Harrold:

"Should we ever wed, you'll have to send Saffron back to her father. I’ll be all the spice you’ll want."

He grinned. "I will hold you to that promise, my lady. Until that day, may I wear your favor in the tourney?"

"You may not. It is promised to… another." She was not sure who as yet, but she knew she would find someone.

First off, we have this reminder of the betrothal, but there is a lack of certainty there — "should we wed" — and I would argue that's because...they ain't gonna. Remember all that wedding breakfast imagery, including an umcomfortably phallic lemon (wedding) cake, gift-giving and nod to a bridal cloak? Remember how that was followed by several dances with Jon stand-ins?

"[...] It is promised to… another."

Oh, I wonder who that could be? Honestly...GRRM has very clearly, for those who care to really look, stated someone else's claim here, and it ain't Harry's. In fact, it is the very same person who also evokes Valarr Targaryen in the Ashford pattern.

...it's our boi, Jon Snow.

“Jon Snow?” she blurted out, surprised.

“Snow? Yes, it would be Snow, I suppose.” – AFFC, Alayne II

You "suppose", Myranda? Honey, I'm certain.

[samwrights]

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⤷ ℂℍ𝔸ℙ𝕋𝔼ℝ 𝟞.𝟝𝟘—missed calls

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Language, written portion and the moment you’ve all been waiting for

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As carefully as you can, you tiptoe past a sleeping Matsukawa in the living room and make your way down the hall directly in front of you. Dim lights from the city streets illuminate the walls of the apartment, allowing you to see the door that you perceive to lead to Hanamaki’s room—the only room with a light still on. Still trying to keep quiet, you rap on the door with a nail, hopefully loud enough for him to hear but quiet enough not to disturb the sleeping patrons.

With equal caution, the knob turns before the door is pulled slightly ajar, just enough for Hanamaki to grab you by the wrist and drag you in.

“What’s that face for?” He grimaces when he sees the stupefied look you’re wearing. “Did you really think I was just gonna let you sleep on the floor?” Grumbling to yourself, you toss your overnight bag onto the floor near the doorway, hoping you didn’t have anything in there that was particularly fragile.

The strawberry-brunette resumes what you assume was his previous position—resting on his queen-sized mattress that had the covers made up while you stood on edge before him. The fuck were you supposed to do? You didn’t know—it was the reason you had even called Terushima in the first place.

Listen to what your heart tells you.

Taking a moment to come to terms with the fact that you were standing in Hanamaki Takahiro’s bedroom, you glance all around the stylized space. You could faintly make out that the walls were a rich navy blue and he had an affinity for gold accents, but most of that was hidden underneath what was probably thousands of drawings. From the first Christmas gift he had given you, you knew art had been a hobby of his, but this?

This was far beyond your imagination.

The wall to your right was littered with flash sheets of various themes, large paintings that echoed to his neo-traditional style, quick sketches and doodles, as well as a large, weekly calendar that served as a planner for his work schedule. Flowers, as it seemed, was one of his specialities. Every work of art had a floral accent that screamed of his signature, regardless of how rugged the piece might have been.

To your left was a simple white desk that housed his laptop, tablet, and a few floating shelves that held various sentimental knickknacks. Your hands reach over to grab the dusty golden pocket watch you’d given him for secret Santa in your third year, not even needing to search for it on the shelf—it screamed its presence all on its own. Albeit hesitantly, you gather the courage to sit next to him on the empty space in his bed, mimicking his posture with your back resting against the grey, tufted headboard. “You really couldn’t open this fucking thing?” You ask, holding it up between the two of you before letting it lay flat in your palm, offering it towards the former wing spiker.

“The clasp didn’t work and I didn’t wanna break it.” His nimble fingers take the pocket watch, clicking the clasp that made repeated noises to signify it should open. However, the lid remained shut. Hanamaki shrugs before handing it back to you, turning away so he can hide the overwhelming bubble of emotions boiling in his chest.

You were here.

In Sendai.

In his apartment.

In his bed.

Right next to him.

And the thought that he couldn’t do anything about it was killing him.

Abruptly, you get up from his bed and carefully step towards your overnight bag. Unzipping it, you pull out a small, thin pocket knife that Daichi made sure went with you everywhere before sitting back down next to Makki. Maybe it was you feeding off the anxiety he was putting into the air, but you hesitated on prying the watch open for the first time. “The guy I sent it to for engraving must have ruined the clasp,” you muttered as you forced the tip of the knife at the seam of the watch. Your mind was relentlessly speeding at several hundred miles an hour, unsure of what was to unfold.

Once you opened this watch, everything was laid out on the table.

The pocket watch was meant to be a symbolic confession of the love you held for this man in your younger years—held?

The past tense didn’t seem to be accurate.

Your nail holds down the clasp as you gingerly twist the knife, breaking the inner mechanisms of it and allowing the golden pocket watch to show the custom engraving you had gotten for it. Hanamaki reaches for it, but you yank it away before he can read the inscription.

“Makki...” you whimper out, unsure of how to proceed, “Hiro, what comes after this?” From the corner of your eye, you can see one of his large hands tugging at his slightly longer locks in frustration.

“I dunno, yn. We won’t know until we move forward.” The trembling watch in your shaky hands like an unsteady rhythm of a snare drum as you cautiously place the slightly ajar watch in his hand. Much to his chagrin, the pocket watch no longer worked, the ticking dying down after a couple years. Not that Hanamaki had even noticed in the first place, his own wallowing drowning out the noise back when it had still moved. “‘After all this time, it’s still you’,” he reads aloud, calloused pads of his fingers tracing the inscription and stopping when they reached your initials.

Then he laughs.

He laughs so hard that he all but falls off his bed, not slightest bit concerned at the volume of it, as he clutches the gift to his chest.

“H-hey, don’t laugh!” The tips of your fingers snap against his bare arm as you back hand him, though there’s no real force to your playful strike.

“I’m not laughing at the gift. I’m laughing because...” Makki pauses, fixing himself up so he could face you. “Because it hurts that this is how this all comes out.” There’s a deep cloud that settles over his grey eyes, the pain in them swirling black into the stone. Meeting his eyes, you gnash on your lip, subconsciously grabbing at your sunflower necklace. “You kept it...”

“I’d never get rid of it.” There’s a thick silence much denser than what’s hanging in the air, though neither of you are unsure if you should break it, or even how to. Steely grey eyes drop to where your hand cradles the necklace, reaching out to run his fingers over the back of your hand. Your muscles tense at the touch, dropping the pendant and allows him to hold the golden sunflower.

“So what now?” Takahiro’s voice barely comes out as a whisper, the pads of his fingers still tracing every ridge in the pendant. He won’t look at you—not right now; he can’t. His control is wearing thin and it takes every ounce of him to not be selfish, just this once. But at the end of the day...

At the end of the day, he loved you.

And he would never do a single thing to intentionally upset you, regardless of how much he wanted to close the gap between you and finally feel your lips on his.

“I-I don’t know, Hiro. I’ve never given this particular scenario much thought.”

“I have,” he says immediately. Despite the self-control he’s exercising at the moment, his mouth moves faster than his brain. Hanamaki pulls his hand away from your necklace, finally, opting to rest it on his belly before the thin threads of his self-control snapped.

“Yeah? And how do you see this playing out?”

“Honestly? You rolling over and going to sleep and nothing changing.”

Huh?

You turn to your side, removing yourself from the headboard to rest on your elbow while you face him. What was that supposed to mean? That he had moved on and that you were reading too much into the moment? Shit, wait why were you reading into it in the first place? The feelings you once had—past tense—were exactly that: of the past.

Right?

“Yn,” Makki mirrors your position, resting on his own elbow while his free hand gingerly cradles the space between your shoulder and neck, “we can’t move forward if we’re stuck dwelling on the past. So...” the strawberry-brunette closes his narrow eyes slowly, long lashes dancing along the tops of his cheekbones as he does so. Rather than opening his eyes, however, he leans forward until his forehead rests against yours. You’re vaguely aware of the various spots in his body pulsating, drumming with blaring volume that you swear will wake the whole apartment. “I love you, and I will always love you. But, I came to terms with it a long time ago, that you aren’t mine to love. And I can’t ask you to just up and leave your life just because I’m no longer afraid to tell you I love you, that’s not fair.”

It feels like nails are piercing your throat, your own heavy heartbeat the hammer pushing them deeper and deeper into your chords. Nearly a decade you had waited to hear that this man returned your feelings, and here he was with his forehead pressed against yours doing just that. All while you were engaged to someone else.

Someone you’d fallen so hard and so fast for—a complete one-eighty from the way you’d slowly cultivated your affection for Hanamaki Takahiro.

“None of this is fair.” Before you had time to process the scenario, warm, silent streams of tears clump at your mascara-clad lower lashes before spilling past the dam. You inhale a shaky breath, closing your eyes to match Makki, exhaling forcefully because you can’t fucking breathe.

Perhaps it’s the trepidation in your breath or the rattling of your bones against his that causes Takahiro to pull away, opening his eyes. It almost felt like looking towards the sun, he muses, until he sees your crying form just below him. Instinctually, he wraps his free arm around your waist, pulling you closer until your smaller frame is tucked underneath his chin. “Hey, hey. No crying,” he attempts to soothe, his large hand roaming the cloth covering your side, “there’s no reason to cry, yn. As long as you’re happy.”

Maybe that was why you were crying?

Were you happy with Daichi? And if you were, why was that the second time of the night that you were questioning it?

“W-what do you want, Makki?” You ask quietly, hoping his answer will offer some sort of solace or guidance. Instead, he squeezes just a little bit tighter before relaxing his arm to hold you like a fragile China doll.

“Nuh uh,” he tuts, “this is about you and what you want. I will not let anything I have to say about what I want be any sort of influence.”

Part of you is grateful for that because maybe you don’t have to be the one to wonder what would happen if you left Daichi. Or if you got up and just drove to your parents right now. Or if you decided to indulge yourself for one night. There was no pressure, no hidden agenda to force you into a precarious situation. But if there’s anything you want to do at all in this moment, it’s the fact that you want to tell him for real, so that he can hear it from your lips. “I love you,” you whisper out, curling deeper into his chest so maybe—just maybe—he won’t actually hear you, “and I’m so sorry I waited too long to say it.”

“I’m glad to hear it, even now.”

The two of you remained entangled with one another, your tears and hiccups finally subsiding enough for you to be aware of your current state. You’d probably stained his pillow covers with clumps of black mascara or had it hoarding together in blobs down your face. Even so, neither of you dared to move, enjoying the feeling of being in one another’s company while being enveloped in your own thoughts. Or rather, thought, as in the singular. While you’d pondered the question long before your current state, you took the time to bask in his certainty to wonder what the fuck you did want. Clearly, you hadn’t the faintest clue.

You love Daichi, that’s a fact. He’s passionate and compassionate, he’s the pressure you need to keep you grounded and level-headed. Daichi isn’t afraid to tell you when you’re stepping out of line whether it be going out one too many nights in a row with Terushima or when you’d fallen into a depressive episode and can’t find motivation to do little things like bathe or clean. He keeps you together, despite the broken and dismantled soul you felt you were sometimes. Sawamura Daichi is the present and the future—the matured love you gladly welcomed.

Right?

So why did being in the arms of Hanamaki Takahiro, even in a rather platonic way considering the confessions, feel like a catharsis? Like you’d been drowning further and further into a sea only to finally break the surface and breathe fresh air? Like he was the reason your lungs had been able to inflate and take in oxygen. And the warmth he was bringing to you on a crisp spring evening echoed the comfort of a homemade hot chocolate in front of a fireplace after playing in the snow. Yet, all he had was his arms around you and his head caressing the crown of your scalp, restraining himself from speaking his truth so as to respect your reality. Hanamaki Takahiro was the past—the love of your youth belonging entirely to him.

Maybe you didn’t have to come to a decision right then and there—perhaps thinking it over would be a smarter decision. If anything, your focus should shift to the fact that if you move away from his chest that you’ve precariously buried yourself into, your resolve will crumble.

It’ll crumble, because the only thing you’re certain about in this moment is how much you want to kiss him right now.

But you have to swallow that thought like a bitter, too-big pill and wash it down with limbs wrapped around you carefully as you fall asleep.

              »»————-　    ✿     ♡    ✿    　————-««

𝕥𝕒𝕘𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥

@levinneheart​ @hoe4hq​ @veelafyre​ @its-the-aerieljeane​ @disgvste @sunflow3rbab3​​ @kiyoojima​​ @urdads​ @kuroos-babie​ @more-stuff-of-pi​ @dabi-hates-fish​ @chao01248​ @kuroos-roosterhead​ @cremepuffingwaldio​

𝕒𝕦𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕣'𝕤 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕖:

THEY FINALLY CONFESSED. SOUND THE ALARM Y’ALL. also, i don’t know why I totally see Mattsun looking for a cougar. But in all seriousness, I KNOW. You guys want them to live happily ever after already, BUT I really like showing how Makki’s grown up over the years without ya. 

[starlightxsvt]

weight of a crown

Pairing: king!seokmin x female reader

Genre: angst, romance, royal themed

Warnings: nothing if I remember correctly

Word count: 2k

Like it's a daily matter to him, Seokmin easily jumps over your window and into your room- not that it was a big hassle in the first place.You gasp softly before helping him into your room, "Were you a theif in your past life?" You hiss, sitting beside him in your bed. He puffs up his dark brown locks, chuckling, "Maybe. I promised you I'd visit at night, didn't I?"

You smile fondly at him, squeezing his hand, "That you did." You rest your head on his shoulder, "Did you snuck past the guards again?"

"Yes."

"You do know that His Majesty will be furious if he finds out, don't you?" You murmur, drawing soft circles on his knuckles.

"Only if he finds out, darling. And I've no intention of being caught." Seokmin whispers before softly titling your head up to a kiss.

Having an affair with the prince was something you never thought of, yet, somehow it begun after you started accompanying your father to tend his duties in the royal palace as the garderner. The prince, Lee Seokmin, weirdly took interest in you and since then it has been a common occurrence for him to sneak out of the palace and visit you in the middle of the night. You both couldn't make much noise since your parents slept in the other room and by God, if they ever found out, they were gonna offer you up to the Gods.

"I wish I could visit more often," Seokmin's voice wavers as he strokes your arm through the worn out night dress on you. "It's enough that we can meet, Min. We shouldn't wish for more." You remind to which a sigh escapes from his lips. He hugs you closer as you both look into the night sky from your window, hoping the strings of your fates will be entangled somehow.

-

The King's untimely death stirs a wave of agitation throughout the whole kingdom, including you but for some slightly other reason. It not only meant a dysfunction in the royal family but also that in the near future Seokmin is to be crowned king. Which would mean that your secret meetings would have to stop eventually. The thought pains you to an extreme extent but you prepare yourself for it.

Couple days later when Seokmin visits you, it's mid-day. He wordlessly guides you to the small stream present in the middle of the forest- a place you two often visit. You both take a seat by the rocks and you focus your gaze on Seokmin. He features are exhausted, bags under his eyes, far from his usual cheerful demeanor. "I'm sorry," you croak, trying to offer some sort of solace. Seokmin exhales deeply before turning to you, "You know what this means, ___." You swallow and nod softly.

"I'm sorry but I can't visit you so often now. In fact I don't know when I will visit you again. Everyone is looking up to me now and there's so much to do, so much to prepare that I can barely sleep at night." He whispers tightly holding your hands.

"It's okay, Min. You don't have to be sorry. It's your duty now and it comes before anything else. The whole kingdom looks up to you."

"I know darling, I know. But I want you to know that my love for you will never change. No matter where I am, who I am. Please have some faith on me." His eyes desperately search yours.

"Oh Min," you cup his cheeks. "I believe in you. Everything is going to be okay. And I'll wait for you, as long as it takes."

Seokmin smiles, his eyes shining. From his pocket he produces a brass necklace. "This is for you. I'm leaving a part of me that'll always stay with you." Seokmin gently puts it on you, a simple chain containing two hearts entangled. Your heart constricts. You knew he loved crafting. This is the result of his fine handiwork.

"Thank you. It's beautiful."

He pulls you into a hug, stroking your hair before pulling your lips in for a kiss. A kiss so deep, so passionate it lit a fire throughout you. A kiss that tasted like goodbye. Your gaze matches his- pained, scared. He kisses your knuckles one last time before standing up. You whisper, "You're going to be one great king, Min." He smiles at you, "I love you, my darling ___."

"I love you too, Lee Seokmin."

As he disappears into the forest, leaving you alone by the stream, you squeeze the ornament in your neck. You'd probably never see him again but you held onto the last bit of hope.

Maybe you shouldn't have.

5 years later

Being invited to the royal palace by the queen is something you never even dreamt about. You still don't clearly know why you have been called- only being told that the queen wanted to see your designs. You wonder how the queen came to know about your small clothing shop and why someone like her would be interested in your work. You hands get more sweaty as the palace nears not only because you're gonna meet the queen but also you might, just might come across him.

Your first impression of the queen is that she looks far younger than her age. She carries a bright, youthful aura around her, the complete opposite of grumpy and reserved you expected her to be. She doesn't immediately get into business, rather asks you about yourself over tea.

"So your mother owned this shop?"

"Yes, your Highness, she used to make dresses. I learned from her and I wanted to continue what she started."

"I see. I have heard your name a lot and I could not resist calling you over to see myself. All the ladies in the palace say that you design their dresses and my God, are they beautiful." She speaks.

"It's really nothing, Your Highness."

"May I see your catalogue?"

"Of course."

-

You're in the middle of discussing a neckline with the queen when you're interrupted. The doors open to reveal none other than the king, Lee Seokmin.

Your heart jumps to your throat as your eyes meet his, your heart beat so loud that you're afraid it can be heard. Seokmin's eyes go large as they land on you, shock evident on his face.

He has changed, a lot. He isn't the cheerful 18 year old boy, no. He's grown taller, broader and the aura around him has completely changed. His face has structured beautifully, sharp nose and a defined jawline, a scar on his left cheek bone, black curls spread across his forehead. His crown glints amid his black locks, shiny and proud.

You swallow.

"Hello, son. What brings you to me?"

"Hello mother," he steps into the room after thoroughly eyeing you and embraces his mother. "I wanted to let you know that I'm going for hunting."

"At this hour? It's going to be dark soon."

"It's alright. I will be back before dinner."

"Okay," the queen smiles at him before gesturing to you, "Oh this is the designer I was talking about."

You abruptly stand stand up and bow, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness." Seokmin's eyes go hard on you before he nods and murmurs, "Likewise."

He bids goodbye to his mother before leaving as all the air returns to your lungs. You breathe a sigh of relief. The queen claps her hands, eyes twinkling, "So where were we?"

-

You can't deny when the queen asks to you spend the night at the palace, insisting that it's already too late to leave. Her servants show you out of her chambers and into your own room, providing you with towels and dresses to change into. The gigantic room leaves you breathless as you plop into the huge bed, collecting your thoughts. This night did not turn out the way you imagined. You've met Seokmin and now you can only pray that you won't meet him again.

-

Your prayers remain unanswered as the queen asks you join her for dinner and of course, Seokmin joins too. His hair is still damp from his bath as he takes a sit opposite to you in the large dining table, answering his mother's question about the hunting. You try to remain invisible the whole time, quickly finishing probably the best food you ever had in your life. You quickly excuse yourself from the dinning hall- staying at such a close proximity to Seokmin becoming unbearable for you and you rush into your room. However, you are not blessed.

"___,"A voice calls you before you can enter your room. A voice you know too well. You jump slightly and gulp before turning, "Y-your Highness." Seokmin stands in front of you, frowning, "That's not what you used to call me."

Oh my god. This could not be happening.

You stand quietly unsure what to say. Seokmin brusquely pulls you into your room and locks it before pressing you against the door. "Why are you avoiding me? Pretending like you do not know me?" He questions, titling your head up.

"I- I do not, Your Highness. We should not be doing this."

"What? Talking? You're joking right? Stop doing this, stop ignoring me, ___." He pleads.

You bite your lip, "What do you want me to do?"

"Talk to me. Where have you been? I've looked for you after my coronation. Where did you go? Why did you move?" His desperate eyes meet yours.

"Please, it doesn't matter anymore, Your Highness. It's in the past."

"Stop calling me that!" He snaps before sighing, taking off his crown and raking a hand through his hair. "Please, do not act like a stranger. It pains me."

Oh it pains you too. Unbearably.

"...We had to move, after the flood. Our house was destroyed and my father was sick. We went to live on the other side of the village." You whisper.

"How is he now? How's your parents?" Seokmin asks gently.

"My father passed away after the flood, he was sick. My mother died a couple years back." You reply.

"Oh darling," Seokmin whispers before engulfing you in his strong arms. He holds you tighter as you try to break free, "Don't resist me, darling. Please, let me hold you. I've looked for you myself for so long. I didn't even had a picture of you so I eventually had to stop the search. If only I found you earlier."

"It's okay...Seokmin." You whisper. "You are a king, you've a lot on your hands."

"Still, I gave up on you. I broke my promise."

"No, you didn't. A commoner such as myself should not be your concern."

"What?" Seokmin pulls back, hurt flashing in his eyes. "You are not a commoner, ___."

"It's okay. We're not teenagers anymore. You should not worry about an affair of five years ago." You push yourself away from him.

"An affair?" He whispers, "Is that what it really was? An affair? Do you really think so?"

"Yes!" You sigh, frustrated.

"No," Seokmin states before holding you by your arms. "No because you are still wearing my necklace. You still carry a piece of me with you. It was more than an affair and you know it, darling."

"But it doesn't change anything now, does it?" You question.

"I told you my love for you will never change, no matter who I am." He replies, cupping your cheek. You look away, all the emotions swirling inside you and you have no idea how to repress them. "Give me chance," Seokmin speaks, making you look at him. "Now that I have found you, I'm not going to let you go. Or...is it that- Are you betrothed to someone?"

"What? No!" You deny, blushing, "That's not it."

"Then there is nothing that can set us apart." He whispers. "Let me kiss you. Let me kiss away all the pain. Let me make everything okay."

You don't really get to reply before his lips encase yours, matching perfectly, like it did years ago. His tongue tangle with yours, moving in perfect sync as he tilts your head and controls the kiss. He kisses you like there's no tomorrow, like you're the most precious thing to him, until you both are out of breaths.

He spends the night with you, talking about nothing and everything, wrapped in each others arms. You cling to him dearly, like he's a lifesaver and for one night you let go of all your worries.

When he visits you next morning after tending to his royal duties, he has a blinding smile in his face, a contrast to what you were experiencing. "Why do you look so happy?" You ask tentatively.

"Why do you look so troubled?"

"I asked you first."

"Mother knows about us," Seokmin announces like it's the most natural thing. You gasp audibly, covering your mouth, "Oh my god!" "Easy! Why are you so worried?" Seokmin laughs.

"What do you mean Seokmin!" You howl. "Her Majesty knows about us! What are we going to do!"

"We're going to start planning our future, my darling," Seokmin smiles, pulling you close by the waist. "I'd say, it's a step easier for us."

"Wha-... I..."

"My mother may look naive but she's very sharp. She noticed how stressed I was during the dinner last night and the necklace on you. She recognized my work." Then he adds sheepishly, "Also, she knew I used to snuck away."

"Oh my God," You put your head in your hands. "So that's why she said that."

"Said what?" He frowns.

"I met her earlier this morning and she said that I'm welcome to stay here as long as I want." You murmur, blushing. Seokmin laughs, his eyes crinkling in happiness, "I guess there is nothing to hide now?"

You bite your lip, "Are you sure..Min? You're a king now and I'm just-"

"Hush" he plants a soft kiss on your lips. "You're the woman I've been looking for all these years, the love of my life. And now that I have you, I'm never, ever going to let you get away, darling."

You sigh, your eyes welling up, unable to process so much. Your simply rest your head on his shoulder, wrapping your arms around him. He smiles.

"Now we have a wedding to prepare for."

A/N: Hellooo~ and I'm back! So, I've always wanted to make a royal au and Seokmin seems like the perfect person, you know what I mean? I kinda wanted to make this more action themed but I couldn't put together an ending so I went with good ol' romance :'). Pls like and reblog if you enjoyed. And if you've made it this far, here's a cookie for you 🍪 . 💖

[imagine-organization-xiii]

Want to go on vacation so I have to live vicariously through this blog - org xiii going on a cruise?

oh my god let’s get this chaos rolling - I’ve never actually been on a cruise before but I would absolutely love to go on one

if i had drawing skills i would totally draw some of this because it just cracks me up to no end

EDIT: i added some stuff about Xigbar because i forgot about him lmao

-

Xemnas: “Whoever is humming the Jaws theme song is going to get their ass kicked.“

They’re all sorely in need of a good vacation, something that they can all enjoy where they can do their own things but not be bothered by each other. Someone mentions a cruise in passing and some of the members are doubtful at being stuck on a boat with one another for a long period of time, but... Well. The boat is large and there’s an open bar and a WATER SLIDE so it doesn’t take long to get everyone on board with the plan.

They know that a lot of rooms on cruise ships don’t actually have windows, but Lexaeus, Marluxia, Vexen, and Xemnas all demand rooms with windows. Lexaeus and Marluxia can get a bit seasick if they’re in the bottom of a boat without seeing where they actually are, Vexen is high maintenance, and Xemnas isn’t having anything less than the best.

They don’t plan on paying out the ass for rooms, so they all decide to share. Roxas and Xion get their own room that’s connected to the room shared by Vexen and Lexaeus. Lexaeus, who was originally going to share with Xaldin, was forced to switch when Vexen refused to room with Xigbar. Xemnas refuses to share with anyone other than Luxord (because Luxord spends most of his time out and about and is actually rarely in the room), while Saix shares with Axel. Larxene and Marluxia cling to one another  while Demyx and Zexion claim the last room with a window because Demyx wanted to see the ocean.

Vexen: Okay, kids, just remember to stick with your buddy when you’re on the ship and that if you go overboard, none of us are going after you.

Zexion: I have a question.

Vexen: Yes?

Zexion: What happens if you go overboard? Do we just not go after you?

Vexen: If I go overboard then it means I went overboard on purpose to get away from all of you.

There are so many things that you can do on a cruise ship and everyone is ready to stay far enough away from each other while they still enjoy themselves. Even if they’re attending the same event, chances are that they won’t be sitting near each other. They have ONE night where they all sit and have a nice dinner together, but otherwise it’s free roam for each and every one of them.

The younger ones spend most of their time lounging in or around the pool, playing around on the water slides and generally causing a lot of chaos. Roxas and Xion enjoy swimming and playfully splashing each other with water when the life-guard (and Saix) aren’t paying attention, and they all enjoy trying to tip Lexaeus and Xaldin over when they decide to join them at the pool. Axel and Demyx manage to literally carry and drag Zexion out to the pool sometime during the second day, and the young magician actually manages to enjoy himself even though he’ll never admit it.

Demyx: Zexion, stop being a sourpuss and come terrorize people at the pool with us.

Saix is also at the pool, only so he can keep an eye on the others. It’s a good thing he does because chances are that someone is going to get in a fight with someone else - probably Larxene, when she and Marluxia decide to do some sunbathing - because some asshole thought it would be cool to hit on Larxene when she’s relaxing and that’s just going to be hell for everyone.

Some mornings are for GETTING PUMPED. Not wanting to get lazy just because they’re on vacation, Xaldin and Lexaeus do spend a bit of time in the fitness area, lifting weights and waking themselves up before they enjoy themselves with other activities.

Near the gym is the SAUNA/steam room! You can bet your ass that Axel will NOT be working out but he’ll definitely be in the steam room a few times during the trip. Demyx will join him on occasion and they usually get a big kick out of all the old people that end up there. Overall, they just like sitting and chilling like two bros

SPA TIME. You can guarantee that Marluxia and Larxene are spending a lot of the time in the spa with giant mixed drinks - mimosas in the morning with fancy breakfast treats, mai-tais in the evening. Facials, manicures, pedicures, massages, everything they can think of until they’re limp and pliant and lazy. Xemnas joins them one day for a back massage, much to Marluxia’s chagrin, while Demyx joins them when they get facials.

Saturday night brings a casino night in the main area of the ship, a tiny competition that has Luxord all but shaking excitedly with energy. Of course, he sweeps the floor with the competition during a giant poker match, and wins a nice $2500 prize for coming in first place. They’re all shocked and extremely impressed at how good his poker face is. He spends a good amount of time in the casino area during their cruise, but takes frequent breaks to go swimming, to the spa, or to tan on one of the Adults-Only decks with Xemnas.

All of the eating areas are a big hit. The younger group tends to go for the tiny food places by the pool, where they can find burgers, curly fries, hot dogs, tator tots, and giant slushies. The older ones like the sit down restaurants. Expensive wine, lobster with a delicious garlic butter, top rated filet mignon with a specialty seasoning, and live entertainment - usually someone playing piano, occasionally accompanied by a singer. Overall, they both agree that they have wonderful dining experiences.

Holy shit, when I tell you that Vexen somehow ends up entering and WINNING a shuffleboard tournament? It takes the whole organization by surprise. Somehow he just ended up on one of the decks and was observing some of the skilled, veteran players, and one of them asks if he’d like to give it a shot. He does and DAMN, he’s like an expert immediately????

Vexen: *comes back to the room he’s sharing with Lexaeus with a giant trophy in one hand and a margarita in the other*

Lexaeus: Uh... what’s that?

Vexen: Hm? A margarita, what does it look like?

Xemnas is the one who mostly sticks to himself the whole time. He tries a little bit of everything. Swimming, the hot tub, reading on a chair and getting a deep tan, relaxing at the spa, getting a bit of a work out, etc. He’s a fancy bitch who enjoys the fancier things in life, and holy shit they paid a LOT of money for this cruise for 14 people so he’s absolutely going to get his money’s worth.

Movie night is every night on a cruise ship, so everyone will gather together and lounge either in the pool or on one of the deck chairs and relax as a movie is played on a giant screen. It’s a good way for them to do something together without bothering one another. Axel and Saix help pass out sodas, icee’s, and popcorn before moving to lounge in the hot tub before the movie begins.

Xigbar has made himself known to the waitstaff on the ship for two reasons - he has good taste in alcohol and he’s an incorrigible flirt. He doesn’t mean any harm with it and he has no intentions of acting on it any further than a few playful words, so everyone knows not to take him seriously when they spot him flirting with a cabana boy or the staff in the gym.

Xigbar also has a secret night time routine, surprisingly with Saix. One night, Xigbar just couldn’t sleep and he found himself walking around the ship at three in the morning, when it was quiet and most people were asleep and the halls were almost empty. He ended up on the bow of the ship and it was AMAZING to look out on the water and the sky and just enjoy the sea breeze. He did the same thing the next night and found that Saix had beaten him there. After some quiet glaring, they mutually agreed just to enjoy it and not bother one another.

Finally, most of the younger group barely get any sleep. They order room service like crazy for various midnight snacks and have fun in the arcade beating high scores on all of the games they can manage until they all end up dragging themselves back and passing out in a single room together.

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Vice and Virtue in Tolkien’s Works

I’ve been rereading Dante’s Purgatorio (easily my favourite of the three sections, both for having a very satisfying structure and for its themes of repentance and reform), and the structure inspired this post. Each level of purgatory has images, words, or both, associated with the vice being reformed and its corresponding virtue (the examples being drawn both from the Bible and Greco-Roman history and mythology) and it gave me ideas for a discussion of similar themes in Tolkien’s works.

The structure is: 1) Pride/Humility; 2) Envy/Generosity of Spirit; 3) Wrath/Charity; 4) Sloth/Zeal); 5) Avarice/Simplicity; 6) Gluttony/Abstinence; 7) Lust/Romantic Love.

1) Pride/Humility

Saruman: Our time is at hand: the world of Men, which we must rule. But we must have power, power to order all things as we will, for that good which only the Wise can see.

Frodo: I will take the Ring, though I do not know the way.

This is easily the primary emphasis in Tolkien’s works. The fall of all his main villains (Morgoth, Sauron, Fëanor, the Númenoreans, Saruman) and as well as other non-villainous tragic characters (Túrin, Thingol, Turgon, Thorin, Denethor) is characterized by pride - the desire to be the one calling the shots, the desire for greatness and others’ recognition of that greatness, the refusal to listen to the advice or views of others.

It’s there in Melkor’s desire for his theme to be the only one heard in the Music; in Sauron’s desire to rule the world and arrange everything as he thinks best; in Fëanor’s determination to take any advice, correction, or disagreement as a personal attack, his desire for rulership in Middle-earth, and his attitude that the Silmarils are more important than anything anyone else has done or created; the late-stage Númenoreans’ campaign of imperialist conquest. It’s there in Túrin’s, Thingol’s, and Turgon’s rejection of good advice; in Thingol’s attitude towards other peoples, whether it’s Beren or the dwarves; in Denethor’s conviction that Gondor is the only place and people of any account in the war against Sauron.

Humility, in contrast, is mainly seen in the form of hobbits. None of them have any idea what they’re doing when they leave Rivendell (Sam and Pippin don’t even know where Mordor is), and they know they’ve got no idea. They’re not going because they see themselves as specially skilled or qualified, but because it needs to be done. And that’s the very reason Frodo can resist the Ring so long, and Sam can resist it, because they don’t have any grand ideas of themselves.

The ability to say I don’t know what I’m doing, but I’ll try to do what’s right is pretty crucial to humility; even members of the Fellowship who are far more experienced, skilled and knowledgeable than the hobbits show it. Aragorn says it, in the search for Merry and Pippin when they’re captured by orcs. Pride could easily say I need to go with the Ring-bearer, that’s the most important task or I need to go to Gondor and lead the war against Sauron as their King. But Aragorn lets himself trust in other people doing their parts, and focuses on rescuing his companions - the thing that no one else is a available to do - even as the chase seems increasingly hopeless. It’s also seen in Gandalf, who openly admitted he was scared to go when the Valar first sent him, and wandered around as an old man in a battered cloak and hat, talking with everyone, rather than setting himself up as a Respectable Dignified Authority Figure the way Saruman did.

The Silmarillion has fewer examples of humility than LOTR (perhaps why things turn out so much worse there) but there are a few in the Leithian. Lúthien is another case of saying I don’t know what I’m doing, but I’ll do it because no one else will when she sets off to rescue Beren. Finrod walks away from his crown and realm to help a friend.

2) Envy/Generosity of Spirit

Denethor: I will not step down to be the dotatd chamberlain of an upstart.

Faramir: My lord, you called me. I come. What does the king command?

Envy is akin to pride, but I’m characterizing it as being specifically the resentment of being surpassed (or even equalled) by another.

Fëanor is again a major example of this, specifically in his resentment of Fingolfin and of the descendents of Indis more generally. Peoples of Middle-earth notes that he resented the name Nolofinwë (Fingolfin’s Quenya name, roughly means ‘wise-Finwë or ‘learned-Finwë’) due to regarding himself as not only the most skilled of the Noldor at craftwork (which he was), but also the most skilled at lore/scholarship (which he wasn’t), and likewise resented the name Arafinwë (Finarfin’s Quenya name). He’s in a mental place of resenting anything positive that can be said about his brothers as if it inherently detracts from him. And he takes the same attitude towards Men (‘No other race shall oust us!’), treating their very existence as a threat to the Eldar. Losgar is the peak of this: he’s willing to sabotage his own war effort to prevent Fingolfin from participating. This is contasted with Maedhros’ attitude after being rescued by Fingon, when he willingly gives up the crown and, later, moves across Beleriand to the most exposed section of the northern border to avoid conflict. His own status isn’t his priority; peace with his family and the best interests of the war against Morgoth are his priorities.

Denethor is another major example, seeing both Aragorn’s return and Faramir’s respect for Gandalf as personal affronts to himself. (Gandalf points out that the literal job description of a steward is to be in charge until the king returns. When the king comes back, that means you’ve done your job, not that you’re being demoted. Denethor is not interested in hearing this.) He’s also mentioned in the Appendices to have resented the respect and admiration recieved by Thorongil [i.e. Aragorn in disguise] during the days of their youth. In very similar ways, Saruman resented the high regard that some (like Galadriel) had for Gandalf, and saw Gandalf as a rival. Thorongil and Gandalf were not interested in rivalry; they were more interested in what was achieved than in who was achieving it. Faramir is the contrast here - he is interested in the good of Gondor, not his own status, and has no jealousy of Aragorn.

3. Wrath/Charity

Fëanor: See, half-brother! This is sharper than thy tongue. Try but once more to usurp my place and the love of my father, and maybe it will rid the Noldor of one who seeks to be the master of thralls.

Gandalf: It was Pity that stayed Bilbo’s hand; Pity, and Mercy, not to strike without need.

I would say that this is the third-most-emphasized of the vices in Tolkien’s works, after pride and avarice. And, of course, another Fëanor example: both his threat on Fingolfin’s life and his actions during the Return of the Noldor, the latter being driven by wrath primarily against Morgoth and secondarily against everyone else in his vicinity (Valar! Teleri! Fingolfin and anyone who supports him!). It’s the spillover that’s the problem, and the self-centredness; hating Morgoth isn’t a problem in and of itself, but Fëanor’s taking the fight against evil and turning it into a personal vendetta, with disastrous consequences.

Túrin is another example, most particularly in three events: causing the death of Saeros, burning the hall of Brodda in Dor-lómin, and killing Brandir. The former two are provoked, the latter isn’t, but all of them are sudden deeds of anger that only serve to make matters worse.

The contrasting virtue is charity, mercy shown to people that you have good reason to be hostile towards. Fingon’s rescue of Maedhros. Lúthien’s sparing of Curufin when he and Celegorm attacked her and Beren. Frodo sparing Gollum and treating him with kindness and compassion.

4. Sloth/Zeal

Guard Hobbit: It won’t do no good talking that way. He’ll get to hear of it. And if you make so much noise, you’ll wake the Chief’s Big Man.

Merry: Shire-folk have been so comfortable so long they don’t know what to do. They just want a match, though, and they’ll go up in fire.

This is comparatively less of an emphasis in Tolkien’s works than some of the other pairings, but I can think of some examples. The best one is Saruman’s takeover of the Shire and the subsequent liberation. Sloth is the characteristic hobbit vice (not gluttony; I’ll get to that); they tend towards being comfortable and complacent and don’t like being bestirred. Even Frodo dawdled around for half a year after learning about the Ring, mostly because he was reluctant to go. And under first Lotho and then Saruman, everyone (except Tooks) more or less puts up with an abuses because they don’t want the trouble or danger of standing up against them. It’s the return of Merry, Pippin, Sam, and Frodo, who have experience fighting evil on a much larger scale (and who can organize things) that spurs them to stand up for themselves and their home.

5. Avarice/Simplicity

Celegorm: For the Silmarils we alone claim, until the world ends.

Gandalf: I wonder what has become of [the mithril-shirt]? Gathering dust still in Michel Delving Mathom-house, I suppose.

Avarice is, I would say, the second-most-emphasized vice in Tolkien’s works, after pride. The central conflicts in both The Silmarillion and The Lord of the Rings are objects (they’re in the titles!): the Silmarils and the Ring. The Oath is almost the strongest possible expression of avarice, the most extreme statement of this is mine that a person can make; The Ring is an even more extreme expression, as Sauron makes an object that is literally part of himself. And both conflicts are resolved through the renunciation of claim on these objects, in Eärendil’s journey to Valinor (and the Silmaril becoming a star that is seen by everyone and owned by no one) and Frodo and Sam’s mission to destroy the Ring.

The Silmarils themselves are not evil; they are good and hallowed objects, and fights between elves, dwarves, and men are the result of the Oath (the kinslayings) and the connection with the dragon-contaminated and Mîm-cursed treasure of Nargothrond (Thingol and the dwarves of Nogrod). The Ring is evil, and inducing avarice is its most basic power, even among people like Sméagol and Déagol who could never actually wield it; letting it go is incredibly difficult, and Bilbo and Sam are the only people in the history of the Ring ever to do it.

Avarice is also a central theme in The Hobbit, and dragon-treasure is specifically noted as provoking avarice in people who are in any way inclined towards that vice. Smaug is practically a physical manifestation of avarice in his rage over losing one small cup that he has no use for from an immense hoard, and both Thorin and the master of Lake-town fall prey to the dragon-sickness.

I’ve given ‘simplicity’ as the antonym, and I thought of ‘generosity’ as well, but neither of those is quite right. The opposite of avarice is holding lightly to things, and it’s a particular virtue of hobbits. This is seen both in their birthday parties (the tradition of giving away possessions) and the Michel Delving Mathom-house, a museum for old heirlooms that people feel they don’t need to have around. The most beautiful example is Bilbo’s mithril-shirt (worth more than the entire Shire!) spending some time sitting around there.

It’s worth nothing that the vice of avarice in Tolkien’s works isn’t associated with having stuff, just with holding to stuff. Bag End being comfortable isn’t a problem. The Noldor having piles of jewels isn’t a problem provided that they’re sharing them and letting them go, as in the Noontide of Valinor (gemstones scattered on the seashore!) or Finrod giving them away in Middle-earth. The issue comes when the owning becomes what a person values; the signal that Fëanor is becoming too tied to the Silmarils is when he prefers to lock them away so no one else can see them.

6. Gluttony/Abstinence

Gollum: He’ll eat us all, if he gets it, eat all the world!

The lembas had a virtue without which they would long ago have laid down to die. It did not satisfy desire...and yet this waybread of the Elves had a potency that increased as travellers relied on it alone and did not mingle it with other foods. It fed the will, and gave strength to endure...

Gluttony is distinguished from avarice as the desire to consume things, not merely accumulate them. This is an interesting one, because Tolkien has no issue with the consuption of large amounts of food for enjoyment (which hobbits do frequently and enthusiastically!). As with possessions, enjoyment of physical things isn’t seen as problematic. The enjoyment of everyday pleasures is specifically discussed as morally desirable in a way that contrasts with avaricious accumulation (“If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.”)

However, there is one large (very, very large) example of the concept of gluttony as unlimited consumption and appetite: Ungoliant. Ungoliant represents not the hoarding of things, but their destruction, and is continually described with very physical terms of appetite and devouring. Shelob and the spiders of Mirkwood are lesser versions of the same concept. There are other mosters in the same vein: Sauron’s werewolves and Carcharoth. On of the names for Carcharoth is Anfauglir, the Jaws of Thirst, specifically invoking the idea of insatiable consumption.

And gluttony can be described more broadly as an form of overconsumption which uses up or destroys things; pollution could be a modern-day example. Looked at in that way, gluttony can be considered the end-stage of all evil in Tolkien, in the same way that pride is its beginning-stage. The ruin of the Anfauglith, the Desolation of the Morannon, the trees of Fangorn used to feed the fires of Isengard or hacked down for no purpose (and even Losgar, if you like) are all its work. Gollum (heavily driven by mundane hunger) grasps this when he fears Sauron regaining the Ring: “He’ll eat us all, if he gets it, eat all the world!” Ungoliant is the final stage of all evil.

In the same way that hobbits enjoying ample meals isn’t treated as a moral flaw, abstinence isn’t particularly notable as a virtue. However, it does come up in forms like Sam noting that lembas provides more endurance as the hobbits rely on it solely in their final journey to Mordor. This indicates that Tolkien regards the ability to go without physical pleasures when necessary as a virtue (also symbolized by Sam’s heartrending decision to give up his cooking gear!) but doesn’t place value on ascetism for its own sake.

If we want to expand on the metaphorical idea of gluttony as overconsumption/destruction, then we can also see healing/restoration as its opposing virtue, in forms like the box of soil that Galadriel gives Sam, which he uses to restore the trees of the Shire.

7. Lust/Romantic Love

Celegorm became enamoured of [Lúthien]...they purposed to let the King perish, and to keep Lúthien, and force Thingol to give her hand to Celegorm.

Beren: Though all to ruin fell the world, and were dissolved and backward hurled, unmade into the old abyss, yet were its making good, for this - the dusk, the dawn, the earth, the sea - that Lúthien for a time should be.

Lust is often regarded simply as a term for physical attraction, and its condemnation as a type of prudishness, but I’m going to present a different take, one that draws on its connection with the two preceding vices (the three are consistently grouped together by Dante). Lust is when the two previous desires, of ownership and consumption/use, are applied not to objects but to a person.

It’s an extremely rare vice among elves, with only a few examples in Elvish history: Celegorm, Eöl, Maeglin. In all cases, there is sexual desire combined with the desire for control, turning to violence when that control is thwarted: Celegorm’s imprisonment of Lúthien in the attempt to force her to marry him, and the later assault on her and Beren; Eöl’s restrictions on Aredhel and murder of her when she leaves him; Maeglin’s attempt to kidnap Idril during the Fall of Gondolin.

In contrast, the examples of romantic love, which are primarily the elf-human couples and especially Beren and Lúthien, combine desire with value for the freedom and identity of the beloved, and with self-sacrifice (or willingness to take on risks) for their sake. Beren’s song before setting out for Angband is a celebration of Lúthien’s existence, irrespective of what may happen to him. Lúthien counters with the expression that she does not want to exist apart from him, and purpose of lovers is to act together and to guard and support each other. Elwing runs through the waves to Eärendil on the shores of Valinor because she would rather face the same risks he does than be safe apart from him. Eärendil accepts immortality for love of Elwing. Arwen accepts death for love of Aragorn.

[ephemerlskies]

the eighth hour | ot7

⇢ pairing: hoseok x reader

[other members - namjoon, seokjin, and jimin]

⇢ genre: (long ass) one-shot, angst, partial fluff, thebreakfastclub!au, highschool!au, badboy!hoseok + fosterchild!hoseok, jock!jimin, nerd!namjoon, and seokjin as just your classic seokjin, childhoodfriends!au, friends to enemies to lovers

⇢ word count: 38.1k

⇢ warnings: explicit language, underage marijuana usage, mentions of alcohol, mentions of sex, themes of bullying, themes of depression/anxiety, mentions of mental abuse, cliché high school tropes, mutual pining (as always), homophobic themes, mentions of physical violence, mentions of explicit pictures

⇢ summary: who would have guessed that five separate events could converge into one shared Saturday detention? what emerged as an even bigger, yet pleasing surprise was the bonds that could form despite the contractual bindings of the high school cliques that you, jimin, namjoon, seokjin, and hoseok were assigned to.

♪ playlist: apple juice - jessie reyez • around - niki • ivy - frank ocean • friends - bts • dont you (forget about me - simple minds ♪

a/n: holy shit this was super fun to write!!! i was going to make this a series but instead i just impulse wrote this as a super long one shot. anyway i hope you enjoy! <3 also the playlist really does match the ~vibes~ so i hope y'all give it a listen :)

8:00 - 10:00

You blamed timing. It had been the only scapegoat to somewhat reconcile your seething frustration, though there was always that part of you that scorned your own poorly executed decisions. Maybe if you hadn’t stopped to say hi and discuss something as unimportant as the temperament of the weather with your teacher in passing, or if you didn’t skip your semi-weekly coffee, or if you hadn’t spent as much time inspecting the new flyers pinned onto the bulletin board then you could have avoided this conundrum. Timing, however, was completely out of your control, making it ideal to place blame on. That and the troublesome deviant who had you being held accountable for actions that were not of your own doing. 

Jung Hoseok. Your once childhood best friend turned bitter and drifted towards a life of immorality and mild misdemeanors due to his series of unexplained personal calamities. 

Even the nonverbal idea of his name had triggered aggressive animosity in you. Well, it felt like hatred; the burn in your chest whenever you thought of him felt like hatred, but you never dug deep enough to figure it out. 

It was shocking that you could feel this despise with such severity, but Hoseok had that particular quality about him that seemed to make anything possible, though you could never quite place what that quality was. And of course, your path intersected with his at the exact wrong time and the exact wrong place. That particular quality had drawn a treacherous curiosity to influence you to linger a few seconds too long, another poor decision of yours. To top it off, the exact wrong person had caught you in this perfectly timed and unfortunate situation and convicted you on the grounds of guilt by association to land you a Saturday detention. Mulling over these consecutive misdirections was punishment enough to drag you miserably through the rest of the week; the detention waiting for you at the end of it was simply the cherry on top.

 Apprehensive questions had always been your mom’s go-to tick when it came to you. The car ride to school had been flushed with them being that this was your first detention, let alone run-in with authority, in your entire academic career and your annoyance to her queries was more fuel added to the already monstrous fire of regret. This had produced some odd concoction of eagerness to escape this interrogation. Though you had no real desire to start this long day, your mom’s questions were the closest to giving a reason to that.

Your mother pulled up two blocks away from the library where you would be jailed for the next eight hours, and she packed in a few more questions to delay your departure. You and she sat in the car, marinating in the discomfort, waiting for the minutes to tick by until eight o’clock arrived. Your mother looked to you with pity and guilt as if she were delivering you to a slaughterhouse, not aiding to relieve the guilt of your own harbor.

“It’s just detention, Mom. It’s fine.” And you wished you believed it as much as you wanted her to. 

“Did I remember to pack the apple?” 

“Yes.”

“And the water bottle isn’t leaking anymore, right?” Her worried voice and demeanor had not been subtle in the slightest for this question had been asked about eight minutes ago in this same car ride.

“No, mom.” The bite in your response had warned her to relent her questions. 

“Okay, I’ll see you at four.”

“I’ll see you.”

“I love you, ___.”

“Love you.”

Stepping out of that car, finally escaping from the perpetual, suffocating questions had you identifying the crisp Winter air as a comfort. The fog decorating the school’s roof and treetops looked like it wouldn’t recede. It was abhorrent, not being able to get a glimpse of the sun before an epoch of detention stole your last few seconds of freedom. 

Your deep inhalations had formed a few puffs of clouds mixing with the surrounding fog, and you began to prepare entry into the penitentiary that others called the library. Your heart had been pounding from the momentum of frustration with your mom’s doting. However, it hadn’t ceased even when you parted ways because of the dread of facing Jung Hoseok once again. 

If the thought of his name was enough to send you into a hurricane-like rage, you couldn’t imagine what type of disastrous storm awaited you being confined with him for the next eight hours. 

The walk down these couple of blocks was paced intentionally to stall the beginning of this tortuous Saturday. Your strides had slowed substantially as they carried you down the halls of your high school, past the bulletin boards that hammered more guilt upon remembering that was one of the fatal mistakes that led you here, then past the school’s cafe that drilled the regret even deeper in your bones. 

As you approached the doors to the library, you gripped the cold handle until it grew warm from your hand. A bit of time to breathe, compose and mask your nerves granted you half an ounce of dignity needed to open the door and step through the threshold. You walked over to the two rows of three desks and exchanged a cordial glance with the school’s renown football star, Park Jimin, seated at the front right table, in a manner that disguised your guilt with indifference. Then, you settled in the seat at the table behind his, finding this the optimal place to draw the least amount of attention.

The quiet boy sitting in the back of the rows had reacted with a noticeable surprise to see your face in this setting. He looked as embarrassed to be here as you felt, however, while you refused to show it, he draped it on his expression with little to no restraint. Both of you did not bother with the formality of a nod or smile, but a simple acknowledgment for the lack of proper acquaintance. 

Though you had never had a personal interaction with him, you still knew his name to be Kim Namjoon and that he was characterized by everyone who knew him as the nerdiest kid in school. Quite a cliché, though you had no reason to think he was anything beyond that since his rounded eyeglasses and turtleneck sweater certainly upheld the truth in that stereotype.  

The remnants of your intruded sleep felt heavy in your eyes which numbed your endurance to stay awake. Soon after the bothersome exhaustion almost conquered you into a sleep, a disarrayed body had fumbled through the doors snapping the heads of you, Jimin, and Namjoon towards him. He stood in front of the door, glancing back to it as if he were considering a swift escape from the concerned glares and embarrassment of the scene he had just made. And though there had only been three others to witness the progression of him rattling the handles, pushing against it with just enough force to unbalance him, and then nearly tripping into the eyes of his peers, it had been just enough to elicit a sizable amount of anxiety.

“Sorry, the door um…” He gestured towards it then towards the handle, then after bringing that same hand to his head to itch away his nervousness, “the door was jammed.”

None of you sitting in that book-filled jail cell cared, much less wanted to know the reason he barged in to interrupt the silence, but the way he fumbled through his words had been far too interesting and entirely ineffective in dismissing the unwanted attention. 

Jimin had found this particularly amusing as he choked down a few laughs as not to raze the other boy’s ego completely, but his efforts had just drawn more awareness that he was laughing at him. The lanky figure with red-tinted ears and cheeks scuttled with a low hanging head to the front table, next to the one Jimin was seated at, without another word as to avoid further demoting his dignity.

Dignity was a funny thing to everyone in the library. It was handled differently by each body during this Saturday detention. Some were trying to protect it, some had paid no mind to tend to it, some (you) were trying to pretend it was undisturbed, and one had felt the weight of his diminishing dignity as no heavier than a feather.

This one, the same one that tormented you with his mere existence, had shoved the door out of his way in a manner of excitement. He strutted through the room to suggest he had some sort of twisted pride to be here and that his dignity fluctuated from the various looks of disgust, annoyance, confusion, and attraction. 

Hoseok didn’t offer you more than a glance, although the scan of his eyes could hardly be counted as any sort of acknowledgment. In fact, he glared longer at Namjoon who had done everything in his power to surrender any dominance, already in scarce supply, and appear meek to avoid an altercation with Hoseok. 

The other boy, Kim Seokjin, who had previously made a fool of himself, waved at Hoseok expecting to make a quick friend through his naive opportunism. Hoseok responded by lurching forward with his fist raised level with his shoulder in an advancement of hostility. Despite Hoseok being about ten feet away from him and in no realistic position to actually hit him, Seokjin flinched. His juvenile bullying proved to be ineptly humorous to everyone else in the library, except Seokjin who successfully lodged himself deeper in embarrassment.

For some reason, you were agitated that everyone else’s presence but your own was enough to earn his attention. It was beyond reason to want this man’s eyes to meet yours, and yet when it failed to do so, there was an unmistakable disappointment sitting in the place where you wanted Hoseok to look. 

You knew it stemmed from the unsatisfied hope that he wouldn’t act like he didn’t know you once, that maybe he’d let the guarded past seep through and guide his eyes to rest on you gently, as they often used to do. But what did that matter? You hated him.

There was some shame that followed how you counted yourself lucky that he sat at the desk right behind you, giving you a perfect trajectory to shoot him a snide look. You hoped it would arouse guilt that he had been the reason you were here and that he couldn’t even present the decency of proper eye contact, though he most likely found it flattering from the way his lower lip slid between his teeth and a twisted grin formed. The quick avert of his wandering eyes had replaced the heat rising in your body with more disappointment.

“Hey, tool.” The voice behind you passed over your head to the target sitting in front of you. Jimin turned back to assure Hoseok was audacious enough to call him that name, “Yeah, I’m talking to you.”

“What do you want, dickhead?” Jimin had been over this conversation before it even began, but he still played into Hoseok’s little game. He too had succumbed to that particular quality of Hoseok’s that had many people wanting to argue with him. Nowadays, it seemed to be the only way to get a bit of his attention. 

“Ooh, dickhead.” Hoseok’s low scoff had interrupted him momentarily, and the toss of his feet on top of the desk and lean in his chair drained a bit of suspenseful tension into the air, “Those are big boy words. Someone’s been drinking their big boy juice!” His voice was caked in a sharp taunt that had Jimin’s fists contracting into themselves, leaving crescent-shaped dents in his palms from his fingernails.

“What’s your problem, dude? Just leave me alone. I didn’t even say anything to you.” Turning his body to face away was not nearly enough to evade Hoseok’s mission of infuriating Jimin just for the hell of it. 

The boy, layered in a black leather jacket over a red flannel, mounted the desk and jumped onto yours then Jimin’s with a racket of stomps that echoed between the shelves of books. You looked over to the spot on your table where his foot landed, grimacing at the dirt residue of his shoe print and the whiff of nicotine Hoseok left in his wake. Your attention, along with Namjoon’s and Seokjin’s, was soon shifting over to Hoseok who slumped into the chair beside Jimin, all in deep anticipation of what the delinquent would do next. 

Your focus was trained on his fingers that pushed through his hair, exposing his forehead, and if you weren’t so invested in his interaction with Jimin, you might have noticed the pesky butterflies flitting around your stomach. 

“Can I help you?” Jimin didn’t give Hoseok the satisfaction of another turned head, making Hoseok greedy and frustrated with Jimin’s passive protest.

“I just wanna know…” The glance he shot to you sent shivers through your body, but you knew there was some mischief in this look, “You and princess over there are fucking?”

“What the hell?” These words had escaped from your mouth before you had the chance to fully construct a more dignified response. Jimin looked to you in attempts to apologize on behalf of Hoseok’s foul tongue. Seokjin’s ears had grown into a much deeper red upon hearing these obscenities and Namjoon’s eyes had widened almost as large as his jaw-dropped mouth.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? I don’t even know ___ like that.” Hoseok sat on the desk to face you with a smirk of such arrogance that it riled a combative sneer from your face. 

“So, you’re telling me, you’ve never slipped him the tongue, ___? I swear I could cut the sexual tension with a knife.” 

“You’re delusional.” Jimin cut in.

“Maybe. I couldn’t be as delusional as you, being concussed probably a hundred times from rolling around in the grass with your football friends.” 

“As if a loser like you knows anything about me or my friends!” 

“You like rolling around with your brain-dead guy friends?”

“What did you say?” What Hoseok was alluding to hadn’t been a reference to what Jimin perceived it as, though it had gashed against a rather sensitive spot. More so a personal, secretive spot and Jimin sewed his lips shut in fear to push Hoseok any further.

“Shut up, Hoseok! Everyone stop acknowledging him. He just wants attention.” Though what you had said was true, and everyone surely agreed on that, Hoseok had drawn in each of you and had you all completely wrapped around his finger in minutes. 

You seemed to be spooled around it the tightest as your eyes were now at war against his piercing glare. A small ten seconds grew into eternity when you were under his gaze and the canopy of memories it seemed to hold, and when it was torn away from you there was a sense of relief and exhilaration tilling through you. 

Hoseok would never admit to it, but your eyes had almost faltered his own, almost moved him to an obedience that would have him sitting down at his desk and shutting up. There was a bloated discomfort with his recollection of your power over him, especially uncomfortable with the fact that the years of distance hadn’t diminished it in the slightest. Nor had it given him the time to muster a tolerance against your gleaming eyes. This pushed him to look towards the nerdish boy sitting in the back.

“What about you, nerd? Ever gotten down and dirty? I’m sure you haven’t but maybe ___ could help you out with that.” Namjoon was stiff except for his hands that had been quivering the moment Hoseok began directing his torments towards him. Maybe it wasn’t the hollow comments that had angered you, but the fact that he still wouldn’t find the nobility in himself to face you when he disgraced your name in such explicit ways. Or the fact that each time he failed to meet your eyes, you only felt yourself wrapping tighter around his finger.

“You’re an ass, Hoseok.” Jimin muttered under his breath because part of him was too afraid to address him with full confidence. 

“Jealous, meathead?” 

“Didn’t you hear ___? No one cares for the bullshit that comes out of your mouth.”

 “Yeah, that’s the point. If no one cares, then I can say whatever the hell I want.”

Someone did care, not that he had the mind or attention span to notice how even in hatred, you felt natural to be at his side again. Or rather, in between the crossfires of Hoseok and Jimin’s deafening stare-off. The letterman jacket covering Jimin’s torso had instigated Hoseok to flick the flap of his collar against Jimin’s cheek. He was swift to knock Hoseok’s hand and now his anger gave him the motive to speak louder. 

“Don’t start with me again, asshole.” 

Hoseok performed a fake shudder in the face of the confidence born in Jimin’s tone. The two have now risen to their feet and inches away from their noses brushing against each other. Jimin’s hands had repositioned into the same fists of enragement while Hoseok called Jimin’s aggression and raised him with his arms folding across his chest. Seokjin’s nails were being fervently trimmed by his teeth and Namjoon shifted to the edge of his seat. It was clear neither of their prideful masculinities would allow for them to subside from this standoff. Who would make the first move, however, had yet to be unraveled and thrilled everyone to oblivion in the dimly lit library.

Again, your eyes couldn’t be ripped from Hoseok and how his white tank top had clung against his heaving chest. The way his cocked eyebrow and ego had the strength of a crazed hurricane, one that swept you up in its winds with no trace of mercy. Still, there was nothing that could peel your eyes away from him, not even the rampant air currents thrashing through the library. Your focus had nearly distracted you from displaying your shameful affinity towards his arrogance and intimidation. Internally, you were sure you would have been salivating profusely with the way your mouth hung open. On the outside, you only stared, leaving the rest of what that meant up to Hoseok’s imagination. 

Has it really been long enough to note that his shoulders broadened and his jawline sharpened?

Timing played its incessant role as the overly suspicious Vice Principal Donald Dickson walked in, ridding the library of what could have resulted in bruised eyes and busted knuckles. Jimin and Hoseok sat down upon hearing the tick of the door handle, before the supervisor fully walked through the door and set his eyes on this group of expectant students. A beat of silence clung onto the space between the five of you, now six including the Vice Principal, and Dickson took in the sights of what he perceived were cowardice troublemakers sitting in the desks before him.

“Hello, everyone. You’re here today because you did something wrong. A wrong that needs to be punished. And what better way to do that than wasting away your Saturday?” 

His words had been spoken from an embittered tongue, eager to thread more guilt into each one of you. Truly the only thing more distasteful than his mustard colored tie paired with a navy blue collared shirt was his arrogance. In seconds, he squeezed the excess space between the five students, cramming you all, almost unwillingly, into a team against him. The surplus of space, flushed out by his own demean, drifted him further away. He stepped closer to the desk, specifically to the leather-coated boy slouched in his chair and leaned forward intending to tempt Hoseok into picking a fight with him. 

“Welcome back, Hoseok.” 

Dickson's arrogance began to singe the air, making the space smell rancid as if something had been rotting in this library for months.

“Good to be back, buddy!” His sarcastic chide sat horribly with Dickson, feeling this pet name as a challenge to his authority. And if something as trivial as the word ‘buddy’ stung him so, he couldn’t have been less prepared for the comment about to spill from Hoseok’s mouth, “How ‘bout we go for dinner after this, Donald? Oh, actually never mind. Looks like you’ve been eating enough for the both of us.” 

Normally, his empty insults would have passed through Dickson’s head but he had been in a bad mood today. The heckling had sent him right over the edge and gave him the opportunity to take his frustrations out on Hoseok.

“It’s Mr. Dickson to you. And you just earned yourself another Saturday detention.” Said with the slam of his hand against the table. All but Hoseok jumped from the slap that reverberated through the halls. The underlying tactic to put his foot down, or rather his hand down, lost its effect on the one person it was meant for; Hoseok saw this as a reciprocated challenge and was always up for a way to reclaim his domain.

“Don’t be stingy, how ‘bout another one?” Doing the exact opposite of what Dickens wanted, testing his power even more, though to Hoseok his power was nothing more than a pathetic hunger for any sort of authority, something missing from his life outside of work. If bossing around children was the only outlet to feed this obsession, Hoseok saw to it to make this worth his while.

“Fine! You got one!” 

“Can’t wait to see you again, babe.”

“That's it! All your Saturdays for the rest of the month are gonna be spent here, with me. You happy now?”

“Over the moon.” 

“Hoseok, stop it.” Even though your plea had been a whisper, it was loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. Hoseok snuck a glance to your disapproving face. You’d been surprised to meet his unworried expression, despite arguing with Dickson and sacrificing all his Saturdays for the sake of knocking the vice principal down a few steps on the hierarchical ladder. His attention to you was stolen by Jimin.

“Dude, what are you doing?” Jimin had his head facing down in compliance as if he were setting an example for Hoseok. Just minutes ago, they were at each other’s throats, but Dickson had this vulgarity in his threats that excelled in earning him the title as the most hateable person known to humankind, of a much higher rank than Hoseok, and that forged some unspoken solidarity between all of you. If it hadn’t been for Dickson, Jimin and Hoseok would have broken into an all-out brawl. Instead, it smoothed the dynamic between the two boys to a shielding defense of one another.

“Shut it, Park. Or you’ll get one too.” 

It took everything in your willpower to not scoff at Dickson’s insolence. You, personally, had quite a bone to pick with him as he was the exact wrong person that caught you, withheld the opportunity to explain yourself, and unjustly held you responsible for simply being in the vicinity of the crime scene. As much as you hated Hoseok, there had been nothing so compelling of your hatred than Dickson.

“Now, each of you will write an essay.” All five mouths groaned in response to this, “Yeah, yeah. You’ll write an essay whether you like it or not. You will sit here for eight hours, not say a word, not move unless it's to write your essay, and not even think about trying to leave.”

“What if we have to go to the bathroom?” This was a genuine question masked with innocence, however it doubled as a ploy for Namjoon to aggravate Dickson.

“Well, you’ll hold it!”

“Mr. Dickson, you’re definitely supposed to let us go to the bathroom.” You added.

“Even prisoners get to go to the bathroom.” A comparison laid out by Hoseok, quite fitting as Dickson seemed to treat you all lower than the dirt lodged between the ridges of his shoes. 

“You don’t tell me what I can or can’t do!” Dickson grew red in the face, a sight for the sore eyes of the five prisoners in this library.

“So, you expect us to hold it all day?” Jimin tossed his own objection in this dispute. 

“I expect you to do what I say, or do you three want to join your little friend next Saturday?” Dickson didn’t hold his tongue or restrain the volume of his voice that was barking this unreasonable demand. The wag of his fingers was as if he had truly asserted any real or respectable power over the five of you. Seokjin released the chuckle that had been brewing in his chest ever since Dickson began spouting his hollow threats. 

“Something funny, kid?” 

Yes, you’re making an ass of yourself, you thought.

“Nope just… thought of something that happened earlier today. Like, way earlier today, uh, a joke! It was funny, so…” Now you were all at the mercy of Dickson’s comical attempt to have students worship him. 

Jimin’s head had buried deeper towards his chest to mask the tears forming from holding his laughter behind his teeth, while Namjoon utilized the cover of his hand to fence in his. You and Hoseok had been trading off with noiseless snickers that exhaled as huffs of breath when Dickson had turned his back to check the time.

“It is eight thirty-two. You punks have a good six and a half hours until four comes, so I suggest you take the time to work on your essays. If you don’t finish, you’ll be back here next week to do just that. You’re going to write about what you did wrong, and why it was wrong, along with a long, thoughtful apology for what you did.” Dickson paced back and forth in the front of the desks with the sets of eyes, minus Hoseok’s, following his body. Two things stood with a backless stance in yet another empty threat of Dickson’s. One, there were not any grounds for Dickson to mandate another Saturday detention if the five of you didn’t finish an unrequired essay. Hoseok had the pleasure of pointing out Dickson’s other incorrect claim.

“Seven.” 

“What?” One could see the steam pouring from his ears and nostrils as he halted as if Hoseok’s retort acted as a hurdle placed in his path.

“We have seven and a half hours until four.”

“That’s what I said.” 

Jimin’s eyes had rolled back at Dickson’s inability to ever admit he was wrong, a trait only painting him into a bigger joke. You shook your head softly because the stillness you were trying to maintain was too overwhelming to handle, and this seemed to ease the second-hand embarrassment raging through you each time Dickson opened his mouth.

“No, you definitely said six. You said ‘you punks have a good six and a half hours until four’. Then Hoseok said ‘seven’ and then you said ‘what’ and then he said ‘we have seven and a half hours until four’ and then you sa-”

“Enough!” Dickson exclaimed.

Seokjin spoke innocently to give a correction to Dickson. His shallow grasp of social cues often had his well-intentioned actions trilling off his tongue with a sting to Dickson’s pride. Though, nothing had done more harm to Dickson’s pride than the prance of his half delusional authority before the eyes of those who had their own reasons for being stuck here. None, however, had been as lewd as the tyrannical reasons that drove Dickson here. 

“Watch your tone, kid.”

“Who else heard Dickson say six?” Hoseok asked after raising his hand high, followed by Jimin, Namjoon and you casting your concurring votes. Seokjin’s slow uplift of his hand was soon diverted to play off his affirmation as scratching his head. Hoseok’s smirk bloomed from the majority’s favor with him, and the one effortful but ultimately silenced support of Seokjin. 

“Looks like the Is have it!”

“Whatever! I’ll be back to check on you all in a couple hours. No moving from your seats. No talking.” He felt the slight of each of your hands, depleting his once esteemed title of vice principal to a speck of dust that did nothing more than agitate the noses of unimpressed students. The stiffness in all your muscles began to deteriorate from Dickson’s reluctant retreat, having you loosening the clench of your jaw. Watching Dickson wrangle the handle of the broken door before a gruff exit had assisted in soothing your nerves.

Not long after he left, not even a few seconds after the door closed, Hoseok felt an itch for not-so-civil disobedience and scratched a sweet relief to that by walking over to Namjoon, who had been scribbling on the paper that should have been filled with the assigned essay. He snagged the paper from the pencil once being grazed against it and jerked his hand away to evade Namjoon’s attempt at retrieving the stolen item. 

Everyone else’s attention had been forthcoming, and all found the contents of Namjoon’s paper much more worthy of their time than the essay was. Hoseok took a second for his own inspection as his lips curved to a quiet grin. Before Namjoon got the chance to explain it, Hoseok cruised along to the front of the room to behold to the rest of you the picture etched onto the paper.

“It looks like we got an artist on our hands.” Though it was heavy with teasing, there had been a cloaked adoration in Hoseok’s word. It was almost as if he were showing Namjoon’s talent off through the guise of badgering. You hadn’t known the man before you in the same way you knew him as a child, yet you still picked up on this through the lilt of his voice. 

It dawned on you then; no matter how many years past and how the roads of change diverted you in life-altering directions, there would always be a piece of the inner child in you. Small and fainter than the drop of a pin, but still there. You saw the kind child that Hoseok used to be still rummaging around deep within, trying to find its way to the surface.

Hoseok took notice of your perceptive glare that had differed from the others; your eyes always whispered something more that made him equal parts elusive towards you and troubled that maybe you’d been able to crack open his once impenetrable veil. The crusted formation of his toughened skin soaked in your eyes, making it softer and easier to see through. 

“Is that-” Your eyes squinted to focus on the detailing of the drawing, “Is that me?” The simultaneous glares of everyone onto Namjoon had caused a slight perspiration to fog the lens of his glasses. 

It was unmistakable, the face and shadowing were a near perfect imitation of yours, but the sharpness of each line exuded a striking tenacity quite the opposite of the demure front you upheld. A tenacity that felt indicative of a desperation for something; to Namjoon, it was clear in your eyes there had been a facet in your life missing which left you feeling robbed. This tore through you like lightning, leaving you to discover the source of what had been robbed of you. 

“Looks like I was wrong. The sexual tension wasn’t between meathead and ___, but bookworm and ___.” The blush on your cheeks wasn’t nearly as red as Namjoon’s entire face. “My sincerest apologies, please tell us how you and ___ fell in love. I wanna know every little detail.” 

He’d considered various routes of excuses, such as the picture wasn’t of you, or that maybe he’d absentmindedly sketched your features simply because you were in the same room but there would be no avail in either. He knew Hoseok wouldn’t accept that, backing him against the wall of shared curiosity between the other four, so Namjoon resolved that telling the truth was far more becoming of him than protecting the last of his dignity.

“To be fair, I drew almost everyone in the room.” He slipped a few papers from underneath his notebook, accompanied by an exasperated sigh, all depicting his own interpretation on his peers sitting before him. Each one held some unfeigned element of you all, not of intention though also not of coincidence, that drained the multiple facades to ineffectiveness until they were completely impotent. Everyone had gathered around Namjoon’s desk looking for their own picture, and neither Jimin nor Seokjin were prepared to face theirs.

“Yo, this is sick!” Jimin had his portrait between his fingers, eyes scaling the led sketch that accentuated his more flattering features. It was pleasing in the beginning but as he examined with more scrutiny that feeling had been sullied into fear. There had been a glint of worry in the eyes of Jimin’s drawing that had his once excited smile fading into a humbled concern of the growing nuances this small detail suggested. Jimin was just glad everyone else was concentrated on their own portrait so no one would be able to see this unsettling vulnerability strewn into the drawing.

Seokjin’s was a rather accurate paradigm of his eccentric expressions and attitude. To his surprise, this was given a more favorable look to what most people thought were awkward tendencies; it had become the focal point of the portrait as if there had been some unadulterated goodness in his heart that Namjoon seemed to be the only one to see. And below that surface of the painting, there was a tired expression bleeding through the excited one. All at once, his burdens seemed lucid and bare within the positivity intended to circumvent those exact burdens.

“I didn’t know you drew.” Jimin broke the silence with what he believed to be a keen observation. Namjoon found it quite daunting of him to act like this had been some revelation that the rest of you shared. 

“Well, you never asked. In fact, I don’t think we’ve ever had a conversation.” There had been an edge ruminating within the words Namjoon spoke that blew through the air and raised a few hairs on Jimin’s neck.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that we’ve been in art class together all year and my art has just now caught you by surprise.” The accusations in his tone shriveled Jimin into a corner of odd mortification for his ignorance of those who didn’t run in his circle. What made matters worse was there could be no proper objection to what Namjoon said, as he looked around to each of your faces trying to recount any memorable interaction with you all. It would be more fitting to call the rest of you strangers than acquaintances, let alone schoolmates, and least of all friends.

“I-” All words had been brushed to a place unworthy of being verbalized. 

“Meathead has better things to attend to than talking to us lowlifes, Namjoon.” Hoseok cut off Jimin’s already lost train of thought. 

You and the four others were now positioned in a circle, though some sitting on the floor and others finding a seat on top of the desks, you were all in this circle, together. The outside world had given you all the freedom to choose who you talked to, what kinds of people you associated with. Perhaps too much freedom that amounted in severed connections and missed opportunities to meet those who might serve as beneficial to your life. However in this room, in the crowded library which held that freedom from you all and granted you an even better gift of contingency, there had been an irresistible gravitation to seek entertainment through each other and learn what would have gone unlearned if not for the five different mishaps that led the five individuals to this room.

“I never said you were a lowlife!”

“Oh, but you were thinking it. Admit it.”

“Are you ever going to stop talking?”

“Are you ever going to stop using the entire bottle of Axe body spray or do you want us to lose our sense of smell?” Namjoon and Seokjin were more humored by this comment than you had been. Not because you didn’t find it funny, and it was all too true to foster any denial from Jimin and anyone in a ten foot radius of the boy, but because you kept busy wondering how the transition of the once sweet-tongued Hoseok had developed him to acquire such a thirst for belittlement. Or perhaps, why he had undergone this caustic transformation.

“Oh, like you’d ever be caught with me or Jimin at one of your parties with all your hoodlum friends.” You shot him this retort aspiring to sour his praise from the two other boys.

“You wanna party with me, sweetness? I think I can arrange that.” It was surprising, the sarcastic offer, and it suggested that he wasn't the one who initiated the drift of your friendship. That had struck some chord with you because you were certain it was all his doing, and subsequently cleared your tongue of a witty retort that would shut him up. He shifted from his crossed legged pose to dangle his legs from the end of the table that sat behind where your back had been. The tip of his foot had nudged against your shoulder blade in a tease to which you hastily swat his dark boot away.

“Fuck off, Hoseok.”

“You’re the one who brought it up! Don’t be shy, I’d love to see you get plastered with me and my, as you call it, hoodlum friends.” He had been a few more light kicks away from you landing your hand against the side of his cheek. To his luck, your resolve had kept your hands folded in your lap.

“In your dreams.”

“I’d party with you!” Seokjin’s idealism had interrupted your exchange with Hoseok as his eyes, now raked with astonishment, moved to the boy sitting diagonally from himself.

“I'm sorry, did you say something?” Hoseok asked. Jimin’s fingers pinched the bridge of his nose while you had surrendered to the foot still digging into your upper back to turn towards Seokjin as well.

“Um, just that I’d hang out with you.” A bit of regret had a stutter leaking through his words.

“I wouldn't want to interrupt your bible study with my hoodlum parties.” Thickly layered sarcasm was just another social cue Seokjin was wholesomely unaware of, or perhaps he’d caught onto Hoseok’s aim to insult but didn’t care about it as much as you and the others had.

“I’m not even religious and I can handle parties! I’ve been to lots of parties.” He had fooled no one in the library with that statement. Seokjin’s volume had tapered off towards the end, filling the quiet of his voice with even more regret. There was a force out of his control that had him spewing the first thoughts that popped into his head through an unfiltered mouth.

“Bud, you are the human embodiment of an unwanted boner. Stiff? Yes. Annoying? Check! Something no one wants at their parties let alone in their pants? One hundred percent.” The rest of you, but mostly Jimin, had given up on taking the high road. This was made obvious to Seokjin and Hoseok through the contagious laughter afflicting the three of you, and even Seokjin couldn’t resist the smile tugging at the ends of his lips.

“Hey Hoseok, come look.” Namjoon’s beckon was said seconds before a few more taps of his pencil against the paper. It wasn't in his nature to call out to someone like Hoseok, but the need for him to face his painting had given his words the momentum to be spoken.

His approach had been a bit too unsuspecting; he didn’t think to craft a strong guard for seeing his portrait that he’d been waiting for. That had been a grave mistake. 

Hoseok stared at the page as if he had seen a ghost. Though it was not one of an unfamiliar face, the apparition had been the mirror image of him. With the glide of his pencil, Namjoon haunted the man with the impenetrable veil to a state of uncharacteristic lethargy. You were sitting right behind him, giving you the perfect vantage point to witness the picture of a man being stripped from his conceit. In the drawing, he was crying. This had nearly gone unnoticed from the obstruction of your vision by his shoulder. 

Nearly, but it was the first detail that caught your eye. It was eerily familiar, like Deja-vu. Even if the others were to see it, they wouldn’t have distinguished how this had illustrated a portrayal awfully close to the innocence of a younger Hoseok, of which only you had been acquainted with, and he immediately crumpled it to a ball before you were able to collect any more of the details to your memory. 

“What kind of shit are you trying to pull, huh?” His demanding question stripped the lighthearted atmosphere from the room. The cuff of Namjoon’s turtleneck joined the shriveled paper in his hand as Hoseok yanked him to a weak stand and an even weaker defense. 

Jimin compensated for Namjoon’s frailty with a firm grasp on both of Hoseok’s arms followed by pulling him away to stop what could have been a brutal beating. The paper had fallen from Hoseok’s hand which went unseen because he was struggling to free himself from Jimin’s strong grasp, which was cultivated through his athleticism.

“Bro, calm down!”

“Hoseok, stop being like that!” Your voice had his scowl now directing towards you, still maintaining the weathered clutch on your heart. There was no ambiguity in fear. One thing often scarce in Hoseok's eyes, but you saw it then. You knew his anger wasn’t of shallow disliking to the picture, but what it exposed of him that he was trying so desperately to mask.

Seokjin had taken it upon himself to see what triggered the fumed reaction from Hoseok by picking up the paper and stretching out the wrinkles enough for proper inspection. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion as to why Hoseok would waste his temper on something as trivial as a few fictitious tears. With one more thrust of Hoseok’s shoulder, he escaped Jimin’s distracted hold and swiped the paper from Seokjin before anyone else had the chance to see it.

Hoseok wished you hadn’t seen it, as well as the other boy. The troubling fear in the painting, and how it reflected that particular quality onto him, though in an entirely new light. He wished it were gentler, the reflection; he wished it didn’t cut deep enough to carry a brutalizing truth. He wished it wasn't a reflection at all, that instead it was a misjudgment or an oversight. And he had no idea you saw past what Seokjin saw as just penciled tears on a paper. His shields of iron and skin were in no position to stand against your eyes. 

They never were.

“What the fuck are you looking at, freak?” 

“Hobi, don’t call him that.”

And with the utterance of the long-abandoned nickname, Hobi, it had sparked a sequence of memories to rattle through Hoseok’s mind. He was collapsing into himself, into the memories of you and your voice possessing exclusivity to the nickname that held a sentiment of which he’d almost forgotten. The scenes had tranquilized his boiling fury to a light simmer. Such nostalgia had that effect on his mind, as well as expelling the surroundings of the library from each of his senses and replacing them with sweet, untouched memories. 

The fragrance of fresh linen and lemon crowded his nose, the same way it would when he would walk into the comfort of your home. Long ago, when his arrival required no invitation, but was an expected, weekly affair. And during tough times, it grew in frequency. 

His nose would grow to associate the smells of linen and lemon with your home of pure safety, then into the arms of your mother whose delight had gone almost unmatched when she saw him. However, it never surmounted the ripples of joy you would feel when you were greeted with his arrival, and you believed you would never have to miss that feeling. This scent sailed him into the tragically estranged feeling of safety, now a malicious craving for it to return pooled in his chest; missing the feeling of safety he once had with you almost hurt more than the actual absence of it.

Though he wondered if it truly was the nickname ‘Hobi’ that swept him in a melancholic reminiscence, or the stark smell of fresh linen and lemon invading his nose. He wondered why it was that no other person had ever made him remember such insignificant details of his past that were too good to hold onto. He wondered if it really were the nostalgic scents and nickname, rather than the person who they reminded him of; all the good, safe things that left with you and your budding friendship. 

The muffled voices of those around him were just enough to crack through the tent of reminiscence.

“It’s okay to cry, Hoseok. We all know you just act tough but inside you care about what others think just as much as the rest of us.” That comment had been restitution for Hoseok’s previous jab at Jimin’s body spray misusage.

“Yeah, I cry all the time! Just the other day-” Seokjin chimed with agility from the quickly fading regret.

“Please stop talking. Please don’t make me punch you.” Jimin’s interruptive threat crammed back the thoughtless anecdote about to spill from Seokjin’s mouth.

“Wait, I’d actually like to see that. Seokjin, keep going.” To Namjoon, the idea of a boyish fight between the two sounded far more entertaining than whatever story Jimin had stopped Seokjin from sharing. “Why are you so afraid of crying anyway?”

“Yeah why?”

“Tell us, Hoseok.”

Consecutive questions such as these held a violence equivalent to assault in Hoseok's mind. He’d been cornered, his eyes that once couldn't bear to rest on you before now seemed to plead with yours for a salve from these bombardments. And you couldn’t tell if you hated him or the fact that with one look, he had winded you tighter around his finger.

“Hoseok is just mad because he cried during Marley and Me.” You said, quick to scavenge for a decent distraction. Your memory of watching this movie with him about ten years ago had been far too riveting to keep to yourself. 

In fact, you rationed it positively selfish to hoard something as enthralling as Jung Hoseok crying real tears, not like the ones on Namjoon’s drawing. And part of you, part of him too, knew this was done in favor of Hoseok to misdirect the rest of them from the actual root of his anger. Exploring the soul-bearing secrets he kept hidden beneath his thick skin was a venture overwhelmed by terror and discomfort. You felt this through that look glazing his eyes, and figured the Marley and Me incident was a worthy sacrifice to protect something far too fragile to tread on. The four of you were now swimming through a lake of laughter as Hoseok tried to suppress his annoyance, and especially his gratefulness to what you had done for him.

It began then, the struggle. He found the constant maintenance of keeping his skin intact over his heart forfeiting to your offer of kindness. As much as he tried to press the skin back onto himself, it would shed almost a bit too easily.

“What kind of heartless monster doesn’t cry at a dying dog? You’re all insufferable.” Hoseok stood up, turning away from the belly-aching giggles still erupting from you and the other three, “And I was eight years old. And ___ cried harder.” His trudge to the back of the room, away from the commotion of the drawings, was gorged in a strange distrust.

There was the possibility he had spilled one too many secrets with his long, catatonic silence after the way you called him that name. How you all had established a comfort to open yourselves to a partially amiable conversation together and that Hoseok felt like he was the one standing on the outside looking in. 

Thus, leaving Hoseok feeling betrayed, distrustful, and fumbling over where to place the blame. 

With himself, the full-fledged outing of his feelings that were ripped from his chest by his own hand without the consent of his mind. It felt unlawful, like he was unwillingly breaking his own rules. Or perhaps blame lied with the people who took one look at his leather jacket and paid zero caution when shedding a few layers of the deceitful front of his skin. What was left was the outer shell, the once impenetrable veil lying on the floor, and a man without his protective skin, open and raw and sensitive, though scared of vulnerability above all else. 

The rest of you followed suit to return to your empty chairs, ignoring how the air was damp with a complex rigidity that none of you felt equipped to handle. No one, least of all you, had been sure of what to do with the discomfort that sterilized the air with nothing but the sounds of five syncopated breaths, longing for some release of this silent torture.

You were sure of two things. 

First, you hated Hoseok and he showed his reciprocation of that through the flipped middle finger when you braved a glance back to him. Second, you concluded that the reasons pillaring your hatred for him had changed within two of the eight hours in this library. It was astounding, torn between being impressive and pathetic the way he’d roped you back into the sentiment of the young, inseparable children residing in the darker caverns of your hearts. 

The younger you that handed him a tissue and a shoulder to lean on, a gift of nothing close to judgement, when you had seen him crying at that sad movie. The younger him that in many ways held a strapping debt over your head for rescuing you from numerous bullies throughout elementary and middle school and a long spell of loneliness from your lack of friends in your younger years. The two mellow hearted friends attached at the hip, and the heart, that skipped along the steps of life as if misery and loneliness were nightmares lived out by those who didn’t have a person like Hoseok in their lives. They were locked away for quite some time and remained that way due to the abundance of freedom that this library had suspended. 

Because in the library, you couldn't run or hide.

Hoseok was sure of one thing, and one thing only. It was far clearer than the tainted air of the library along with the fogged arena of the outside world, and brighter than the way your eyes still outshined the shadow of his own pain; the irrefutability was beyond the depths of the ocean. 

His heart had been broken, pulverized to a dust, for far too long and it was because of how dearly he missed you and the safety that accompanied you. 

If you looked closely, you could see past his skin to his bones and all the secrets and scars carved in them.

 10:00 - 12:00

Timing. What you thought was an incarnation of the devil itself, seemed to torture you through today like it had a personal agenda against you. The five students and their endurance of boredom had been eroded from the minutes that felt like hours and the confiscated cell phones leaving you all to the devices of screenless misery. 

The silence continued stalking the air, still just as heavy and nuanced as before. You wondered why the quiet didn’t feel all that quiet. In turn, it was nothing less than an earthy rumble at this point, like the ground was ready to shake and knock every book from the shelves around you. Every time your eyes would meet with another one of your peers, they’d be instantly veered with a quick glance towards the ceiling or down at the blank papers sitting on the desks before them. Hoseok fell asleep long before you had the chance to read the hints of his mind that were lightly seasoned in his eyes, that seemed to have a way of avoiding you today. 

Still without some of his skin, and now the loss of his dignity joined. Because of that, he was tired and needed to sleep. It had more or less been Hoseok’s melodramatic efforts to recoup for the loss that put him in a moped mood; you not being in his life was the little secret that fringed his heart far worse than Namjoon’s portrait.

Maybe if you would have let him know that yours and the others’ dignities had been left at the broken door of the library then he wouldn’t be as mortified. At the time, you didn’t feel like it had been your job to do so which was retrospectively an all too uncompassionate choice. A bad choice. Far worse than the ones you made to lead you to detention.

Seokjin and Jimin had been tossing crumpled pieces of binder paper and shooting them in the trash can with high spirits, the heavy boredom of detention being cut through by their makeshift basketball game.

“That's fifteen.” A gloat followed Jimin’s victorious fist shaking but soon to be shut down by Namjoon.

“No, that was fourteen.” He held the paper where two sets of tallies were marked side by side under the initials J and S.

“What? I was counting too and that was fifteen!”

“Ha! Read it and weep.” Seokjin teased.

“Jin, shut up! You've made like three.”

Namjoon checked the paper and confirmed Jimin’s rebuttal with a thumbs up. Your resting head on the palm of your hand shook with laughter at the scowl plastered across the boy's face, which had made a habit of blushing a bright red in regret of his comments. 

Seokjin said nothing to this, instead proceeded to crumple four more pieces of paper now encased in his hand.

“Well now it's gonna be seven.” He had made this claim a bit too soon after the sling of his arm amounted to all four paper balls bouncing off the rim of the trash can and scattering onto the floor. Having all three of you laugh broke the fourth boy’s slumber, but he went about it calm. Hoseok’s eyes opened, quiet and slow, and none of you noticed he had regained his consciousness.

Dickson’s return had hushed the last bit of laughter along with the surprising enjoyment circulating through the third hour of detention. This time, Dickson was mindful of your collective vendetta against him which was why he had been armored with even more aggression than the last time. The mix of you four riding off the delights of playing with the little entertainment made available and Dickson’s heavily loaded disdain would make for quite a reactive outcome. There had been a lewd displeasure of finding littered papers along the floor adding to his frustration.

“Which one of you imbeciles were tossing around paper balls when you should have been writing your essays?” The unresponsive silence pushed him over the edge of annoyance, “Well?” 

His earth-shattering holler had fully awoken Hoseok who joined the unconcerned teens in this noiseless stare off. A yell or a whisper wouldn’t have made a difference by the means of intimidation since none of you could take seriously a man who missed the step of re-zipping his fly after going to the bathroom. The five of you were urged to point it out, though none of you felt the need to bury him even lower in all of your regards; he did that quite adequately and consistently on his own.

“We all just really want to do well on our essays! What you call paper balls were the triumphant efforts of remorseful students, sir.” Any resistance to Hoseok’s humorous antagonizations towards Dickson were depleted by the second round of his arrival. Namjoon demonstrated his agreeance with a snide head nod joined by Jimin who also nodded some proof to Hoseok’s lie.

“Really? Is that true, Seokjin?” 

“Yes, we all just want to better ourselves, sir.” Singling the evidently weakest willed student did not go over the way Dickson had hoped. He stood by Hoseok’s lie even if he couldn't bring himself to make eye contact with Dickson. There had been some unknown element of surprise that had Seokjin just a few steps ahead of Dickson and a few steps behind the rest of you. Still, he was far ahead of Dickson, whose temper seemed to be strained.

“What about you ___, any thoughts?” He asked you this as if there was any evidence for his disbelief. And he was right of course, to be disbelieving, but the derogation of his voice did render his correct assumptions as nothing short of foolish dictatorship. Again, there was space. It was the five of you, a dividing space, and then Dickson. 

Space is meant to be empty, or it is not space at all, and Dickson’s unwelcomed invasion into it had made him the target of five unrelenting students.

“My English teacher says writing multiple drafts before turning in the final product is a clear-cut way to do well on essays.” Your eyes weren't level with his. They had been glancing back and forth from the desk to the unzipped fly of his pants that were now unfortunately a foot too close in your peripherals. Provided you had nothing to lose, maybe another one of your Saturdays, but even that seemed to be worth pointing the zip, or lack thereof, of his pants. “Sir, your fly is down.”

He hastily corrected this and his authority had been running too thin from the jabs sent his way, diluting any call to action he made into a watered down whine. It wasn't enough to spread over himself or each of you, making his second retreat taking place faster than the one before. On his way out, he tossed three out of four of the papers in the trash and kept one to inspect. There was no draft of an essay written on the paper, and for once he was right and it felt awful. 

You would have felt bad, but no one could empathize with his fatal arrogance.

“You kids are a piece of work. I don't get paid enough for this shit. You better be done with these essays by the end or I swear.” And he didn’t finish whatever he was about to say before walking out of the library, hurried and belittled. Jimin was, of course, the first one to burst through the silence with giggles and the sound had doubled, tripled, and so on until all of you had been absorbed in a fit of laughter. Even Hoseok released a smirky chuckle, and felt attuned with you, Namjoon, Seokjin, and Jimin. 

For lack of skin, one could assume. Or maybe he genuinely liked the way he felt around you and those who were on this team that was too diverse to give a definite label.

“___, I can’t believe you actually said it. God, I was going to but I thought he would have cried.” Jimin pushed out this appraisal through gasping for air. 

“I couldn’t help it. It was right in front of my face! I think I have to go wash my eyes out.” You were rubbing your temples to massage away the increasing disgust upon picturing it.

“If anything, I thought Seokjin would’ve been the one to do it.” Namjoon said, keeping busy with another illustration.

“Nah, ___ handled that perfectly.” Jimin managed to level his breath by now.

“I wonder if your bite is as big as your bark.” Hoseok said, just to get another one of those annoyed glares, which seemed to be the only way he knew how to get your attention now. His affluence of communicating, especially to you, has been sloping off to quite elementary levels. Still, he did what he could.

“You wanna find out?” Your voice insinuating you wouldn't falter to his bereavements. Your eyes looked back to the smirk of satisfaction painted over his face, boiling a bit of frustration in your chest. Mostly, frustration with yourself for finding your eyes trailing along the length of his admittedly handsome face. Frustrated that, no matter how insufferable he was, you were undeniably attracted to him which made you struggle to suppress your own smile.

“Guys, look.” Namjoon held up a stick figure sketch of Dickson. It wasn’t nearly eligible to be considered a sophisticated piece or technically accurate to Dickson’s appearance. Though the elementary style of it had a stronger sense of accuracy than any proper portrait of Dickson would have. The grimace of the stick-figured Dickson and the detailed pants that included a dropped fly upstaged whatever ornate cross-hatched or contoured lines that had been applied to the four of your drawings. 

“You have a talent, you gotta give me some lessons sometime.” It felt like Jimin meant more of this. Perhaps he had been referring to what Namjoon had said before. As if he were realizing his range of friends left Jimin destitute in the terms of social circles and in some way, Namjoon had been entirely unique from anyone he’d ever met. He didn’t want to be another cart in a train of unexpanded minds due to a case of the status quo. 

Namjoon was alluring, to put it simply. Outside of his long undisturbed comfort zone.

“Well, you haven’t seen my art skills. I like to call myself the Van Gogh of our high school.” Seokjin did nothing but embarrass himself, but it had a normalcy you and the rest had grown used to. Now it was not just expected of him but looked forward to. Things were changing before the eyes of the five different faces with five different stories. Changing, yet at the same time, feeling as if things had been returning.

“Yeah, all you have to do now is cut off your ear!” Namjoon said sarcastically.

More laughter, more good feelings poured into the library that once felt nothing more than a temporary, barren jail cell and a source of guilt and boredom. It was full now. Full of something much warmer than before. 

You were looking at Hoseok, now with a little less hatred. Seeing him smiling, laughing even, had softened your hatred to something else. It was still painful, and just as hard to identify as that particular quality of his. Whatever blame you directed towards him hadn’t been as hampering as this new feeling you got when you looked at him. He felt your gaze, louder than the chime of a bell, and wondered if he had shed enough skin yet to look back at you. To be filled with fresh linen and lemon and all the pieces of safety latched onto the exchange of glances that were not of the seniors in high school, but the childhood friends that long ago shared one heart.

Sadly, he didn't look to you, not yet. Not when he felt unready and unaccustomed to the ripe, underlying skin covering him now. He couldn't be brave enough to risk disappointing you with how his gaze might not have measured up to how sorry he felt for being the loose cannon in your life.

 You looked at the clock that read it was twenty-two minutes until the third hour of detention. Watching time tick by had proven to slow it nearly to a full stop, so you took to the sights displayed by the library window. The fog was still heavy, trading the perimeter of the parking lot with thick invisibility. Somehow, you had acclimated to the unseen sectors of what was within the fog. You couldn’t see through it, all you could truly see was fog, but that was not as pronounced as what you felt and what you knew. There was, without a doubt, something beyond the fog; that was what you knew. And what you felt was consoled in knowing there was surely something, anything beyond the fog, thus leading your eyes to Hoseok, again. You looked at him, right at his face, at his thin skin, and knew there was something beyond the fog.

“Stop leaning against the table, you’re gonna knock it down.” Namjoon had been referring to the tower of dusty books gone unread for a considerable amount of time for anyone, even the librarian, to notice they were missing. 

What, you wondered, could be more captivating than the mysteries hidden between the fog? To Jimin, Namjoon, and Seokjin, the antics of stacking books was that and more. There were about ten, maybe thirteen books piling taller than Namjoon. Though it had the advantage of resting on the already raised table, it was still admittedly impressive since Namjoon was on the taller side. Jimin stood on the table with arms flattened and extended to steady his balance and to still his body from any shaking that could derail their handy work. 

“Yeah, Jin, stop leaning.” What Hoseok said was clean of genuine concern, made clear from how he’d bumped the table with his knee causing the pile to teeter side to side, yet not enough to actually knock it down. The other three boys held their hands toward the books as if the gesture would have actually saved it from toppling over.

“___, come over and help us steady the books! Hurry!” Seokjin’s request had you rushing over try and balance the stack wobbling nearly to a complete collapse.

“Do you guys wanna do something actually fun?”

If not for the almost bewitching inflection of Hoseok’s question, you would have maintained focus on keeping these towering books from falling. Though, he spoke with an implication that he possessed something that would whisk you away from boredom and you were still, a bit less unapologetically, reeled tight around his finger. So, your attention was spent on Hoseok until there was no more. Same with the others. All four eyes tossing an unrestrained marvel in place of a verbal answer to his question. The vigilant silence was enough to have Hoseok’s hand digging in the pocket of his leather jacket and pulling out a neatly rolled joint.

“No fucking way, we can’t do that in here… Right?” Although he wanted to sound doubtful, repulsed by the stick of weed between Hoseok's fingers, the question threaded along the end of Jimin’s doubt had a faint enthusiasm.

“Dickson’s stupid. We can just tell him it was a skunk.” 

“I think we should really evaluate our actions before we do them.” By we, he really meant Hoseok. Seokjin tried to act in place of a sort of parental guidance, though he knew now how unlikely his influence would take effect.

“You’re right. Let’s see.” He paused and inspected the joint pinched between his fingers, “I’m bored, in fact, we’re all bored. I have weed, I want to get high, being high is fun. My evaluation says we should definitely get high.” Mocking the frail advice from Seokjin, Hoseok evaded the logic behind what the other boy had presented with yet another sarcastic remark. No one else argued, even those who were strongly opposed to drug usage, because there would clearly be no avail in discouraging Hoseok. Not to mention, deep down, all your inexperienced hearts had a slight curiosity for the coveted thing in Hoseok’s hand. 

“That’s hardly an adequate evaluation, Hoseok.” Namjoon said, though he was already crawling with a rising inclination since a much less favorable boredom would have tormented him if he declined the offer. Jimin, Seokjin, and Namjoon drove through the traffic of worries and doubts and arrived at the destination where Hoseok was impatiently waiting.

“Fine, then I guess I’ll just enjoy this by myself then.”

“Wait! I’ll- um, I’ll go.” Jimin said and it was enough for Namjoon and Seokjin to admit defeat to their desires. Football season had not begun yet, neither the periodic drug tests, and there was a growing stress looming over them all that could be displaced by getting high.

The only one still fraught with a neurotic hesitation and clinging opposition that pushed back from the cohorts all in agreement was you. Marijuana had always deterred your fascination, even though you knew it was on the safer side of most drugs, and your virgin lungs feared it in the same way your stomach feared alcohol and your heart once feared Hoseok’s return in it. However, Hoseok had slithered his way back into your life and that wasn’t scary in the slightest. It was exciting and comforting, even, to be graced with his return and it made you question what else you had been missing out on.

“Alright. Dickson usually falls asleep around now because he gets tired after eating lunch. God, I hate that I know that. Anyway, this gives us the chance to sneak out to the second-floor bathrooms where there aren’t any fire detectors.” 

The timing of his plan mapped out a perfect escape, however timing was never one to do you any favors. 

As the others snuck past the ajar door to Dickson’s office, inside the vice principal was sure enough sound asleep, you remained in the library and watched the others, one by one, throw all caution to the wind. Hoseok’s stalled exit from the room was ushering you to a state of indecisive pacing. It was clear he was waiting for you, though Namjoon’s, Jimin’s, and Seokjin’s company would satisfy the quota for a proper smoking circle. 

“You don’t have to come if you don't want to. The offer still stands either way.” He spoke tentatively and his eyes were habitually resting on anything, your hands, your chin, your lips, the floor, and even the fogged window, but not your eyes. He could resist the magnetism of your eyes because he felt like he needed to, but surrendered to the way his feet carried him a few steps closer to you. Enough steps to work a fast beating into your heart. 

“I’m not going to pressure you. I wouldn’t do that, you know?” 

You knew he meant this genuinely. The only thing thus far that came out of his mouth without the stain of sarcasm. It was because of how genuine he sounded that made the rattle between your bones far more feverish than the shallow, meaningless jabs he’d made to and about you during today.

Why does it hurt when you talk softly? Why does what should feel like soft fleece burn like the friction of gravel against my skin? 

You branded these questions in the eyes unseen by Hoseok. It aches to know that you hated him all this time, and you just now realized his soft spoken voice had been reigned by you. Softly, like the inner child begging to be liberated from Hoseok’s protective skin. Softly, like when he said he wouldn’t do that to you, it came from a place in his heart ten years in the making and reserved wholly by you.

“I just…” His steps hushed you. The proximity of his body to yours had placed you in the eye of the hurricane, where it was quiet and calm and even softer than his voice. He radiated an energy that reminded you of something strong that was tired of being strong and on the verge of withering away; like a tall, old oak tree. Mighty, beaten down from the weather, and readying to lay in its tomb. 

You always were able to admit he was attractive. Anyone with functioning eyes could see that. The delicious sharpness of his facial features made for quite a face to look at. He was damn near perfect. But when did he become so beautiful? How did his sharp features soften to become delicate and lovely? The duality of this man was flexible, ranging from rough edges to rounded, gentle surfaces.

You believed his approach was to lead his quiet, soft voice to your ears because one had to be close - very close - for another to hear such a gentle tone. But he wouldn’t have achieved such closeness if it weren’t for the fortitude of longing and the smell of fresh linen and lemon that emigrated from you. Nor the gentleness of his voice could have been procured if the other three were still here. When it was just you, there was no reason to be anything but honest and gentle and close. Resistance was now undone by being with you and the timing of it all. It was peeling away more of Hoseok’s skin down to the bone and he allowed you to do this. Finding a place, the library, with someone, you, filled the hollow chasm of his chest with an oasis one could only classify as safety.

I want you to stay here with me. 

Wherever that thought surfaced from, whether it be the spirit of a younger you or the sentiment of the current you, it was too real to keep from choking back a few tears.

“___, I-” Before the words of an unbarred tongue expressed how he wanted to admit he missed you and lay out every reason for pushing you away in order to annul all the pain he caused both you and himself, Seokjin had peaked his head through the door quite similarly to the frantic way he previously exited it.

“Hey, are you guys coming or what?” His urgent whisper had melted the overwhelming feelings being exchanged through silent pauses and simultaneously reconstructed the wall that severed your friendship, or whatever you had with Hoseok. 

“___, you’re not coming?” Seokjin sounded friendly in his disappointment. If it weren't for the fact that what he was referring to was smoking pot then you would have joined simply because his tone had flipped into a sweet, inviting plea.

“No, sorry. I think I’m gonna hang back. Someone’s gotta keep watch for Dickson.” Hoseok exhaled with relief that you didn’t come. He didn’t want you to feel pressured and at least he could accomplish doing that.

The skin retraced its steps back onto Hoseok. And when you looked out the window, for you didn’t want to watch Hoseok leave you again, the fog was impervious. The tepid steps of his departure sounded similar to that of a ticking clock. Each tap moved time forward and Hoseok away from you.

When you looked back to the emptiness of the library, you wished you could follow him. It was too difficult. Not the walking itself, and joining them had only been one staircase away, but the following aspect of it. To follow him, to chase the man that left you like he did years ago, like a decomposed afterthought, was difficult because you feared to be met with dry rejection. You’d rather not venture off into the fog, and stay unharmed in the clearings.

 Hoseok should have, in the wise words of Seokjin, evaluated his actions before making any official commitments to them. His constant neglect of this crucial step had led him into quite disturbing situations, including this one.

It was a few minutes after the joint had been smoked to the stub of the filter. Hoseok tossed it in the toilet of the large stall they occupied. For the most part, the boys were silent and enjoying their highs. And Hoseok was silent as well, but his thoughts were under completely different circumstances. They were blaring around in his head with a sharp ringing.

The memory of you, his awareness of missing you, seeing you again, and finding that his ability to look into your eyes long expired had been a taxing precursor to getting high. It was a first to have his emotions heightened taller than a mountain because of his intoxication; most of the time it numbed his emotions and the world around him. Though, there is a first for everything and Hoseok was clamming up from all the guilt, loneliness, and longing ensued by the Indica making its way to his brain.

They were all talking by now, describing how they felt or if they were feeling any buzz at all. Namjoon was the first to be hit with a wave of high and he unceremoniously stood up to wash his hands because he insisted that he could ‘feel the germs crawling on his hands.’

Jimin and Seokjin were the next victims of the unspared joint. Jimin had been repeating the word “woah” until it was devoid of all meaning. 

Hoseok slipped under the spell last, but his high wasn't fermenting in the same light-hearted ways as the other boys’ highs. His harnessed a colossal weight that was an ounce away from being too much, from sending him into a fight or flight reaction. The stressor could only be the pent-up emotions that were billowing from his chest so wildly that there was no chance to inhibit or ignore it. Hoseok was not as high as the others, but high enough to send his dignity into the unreachable air. Soon, he couldn't tell if the discomfort in his skin was because of his high or his new discernment for this stifling barrier. 

The depth of this emotional hole was deeper than that of a dried well, and had left Hoseok to be somewhat of a benign lump to the conversation at hand.

“Guys, I think I’m peeing. I feel like I’m peeing. Am I peeing my pants right now?” Seokjin rose to a panicked stance, spinning and bending to check if there was any wetness seeping down the pant of his leg. Namjoon, who was still washing his hands, and Jimin had fallen into a debilitating laughter. Though even in a state of sobriety it would have perpetuated a hearty laugh, their elevated reactions were that of the high they were still riding, and based on Hoseok’s observations, wouldn’t be coming down from anytime soon. 

“Holy shit. Dude, just pee! we are literally surrounded by toilets.” It was a difficult task, but Jimin managed to squeak this out between his giggles. 

“I can't pee in front of you all! I get… I get pee shy.” They all noted, Seokjin was an exemplary companion to get high with. 

If Hoseok weren't entrapped in his thoughts of you, of fresh linen and lemon that seemed to be far more pungent than the remnants of weed wafting in the bathroom air, he would have tallied Seokjin as one of his go to smoking partners. Nothing deemed lucrative to distract him from what really mattered to him: 

Fresh linen and lemon and you, and his damn skin.

“You guys may make fun of me for my axe body spray but at least it’ll cover the weed smell.” Jimin gloated, hunchbacked and head lowered to check if the scent of weed clung to his clothes or hair.

“We’ve been in a closed room for like twenty minutes. Obviously, you’re not gonna smell the weed. ___’s probably gonna tell us that we smell like a walking dispensary.” Namjoon said with a chuckle. 

“Now you smell like Axe body spray and weed.” Seokjin hadn’t stopped patting down the inseam on his pants to make sure nothing was inordinately wet while throwing in an additional jab.

“We should be heading back soon.” The faucet finally shut upon hearing Hoseok’s suggestion. “You three go ahead first, I’ll hang back so Dickson doesn’t catch me with you all. God knows he would be way angrier to see me walking around with you three.” 

Namjoon dried his hands and nodded with red glazed eyes covered by partially deflated eyelids. Jimin stood up and yawned from the weed-induced drowse blanketing his own eyes and Seokjin’s eyes still scaled the expanse of his pant leg with hulking paranoia. 

In a line, they left the bathroom to house no one but Hoseok, the pungency of weed, and his memories. In Hoseok’s eyes, they were blindsided by one thing and one thing only.

 Ten years ago…

White faded to grey in the clouds hanging above your inattentive eyes. The sandbox with worn plastic digging tools and a red bucket was the only part of the world that mattered to you. Soon, everything else blurred into nothing. You liked the sandbox not for the majesty of castle building or the sandy canvas to carve the visions in your young, creative mind with the swipe of a finger, but because of its smallness and how there was no room for others to play in it if you were in it. That was undoubtedly a strange reason to enjoy a sandbox, especially since youth usually carried along with it a craving to meet the first friend you could find and stick with them through the trials and tribulations of elementary school. You were harder to please in the sphere of friendship, leaving you to take to the sandbox where there breached no worries of finding a companion. 

Your finicky little heart made you a feeble target for young, boyish bullies. The pleasure of picking on the loner of the grade often satisfied little boys of their brutish desires. You’d always been a bit docile, and perhaps too much for your own good. There was no need to fight back and usually their torments were no more damaging than paper cuts that would heal in less than one or two days.

Today, however, you were proud of the sand replica of the Andes Mountains, which was quite accurate in your own opinion. Having it grinded down to nothing, to a footprint of a bully’s unforgiving torture was the last straw. 

“What are you gonna do about it, loner?” One boy asked.

“Ha ha, good one!” The others cheered on his infantile belittlement.

You didn’t think words sanctioned a fitting reprimand for their actions which led you to throwing a handful of sand, aimed at their face. It wasn’t enough to do any physical damage, but it had been more than enough to elicit anger and fill the opened-mouthed laughs of the three other boys with the specks of dirt and other fine sediments. One boy cupped a clump of sand around a medium-sized rock and pelted your arm with it.

Hoseok, who had been sitting a few yards away, turned to see where the pained yelp originated. When his eyes laid on you and the way you had been rubbing a rock-shaped red mark on your left arm, he felt the muscles in his legs moving him before his brain told him to help you. Quite heroically, he leapt between the blockade of three boys and you, fists clenched and eyes narrowing to push the little roughness he had in his soft facial features against them.

“Leave. Go pick on someone else.” Hoseok warned with an edge that had two of the three boys tutting their heads down in shame.

“Oh yeah? What are you, ___’s boyfriend?” 

“I’m the guy who’s gonna beat you up if you don’t leave.” It had been the conviction in his voice that held all the power. The voice of an angel to you, and to them, the voice that made picking on the defenseless loner not worth the trouble. They all retreated to kick around dirt at each other giving Hoseok the chance to turn around and check your arm’s injury.

“Are you okay?” He sat down next to you, and to your surprise, there was just enough room for him in this tiny sandbox. 

“Yeah, it’s just a bruise. It’ll go away.”

“I’m sorry about those guys… I- I think they’re dumb jerks.” This little slight towards them was quite modest in comparison to how Hoseok spoke in his later years. It wasn’t intended to insult the bullies necessarily, but to show he was on your side. That you didn’t have to play in the sandbox alone anymore if he was lucky enough for your picky taste in friends to acquire a bias towards him

“Yeah, major jerks. They ruined my Andes Mountains.” You were shoving around some sand to piece together the broken sculpture.

“Why the Andes Mountains?”

“I don’t know. They’re cool! They’re super tall, have you seen them?” In some way, it wasn’t the mountains that were feeding your excitement and the discussion, though short, was much longer than anything you experienced before Hoseok. Not only did you ward off the few people that stumbled into your sandbox, but many kids began avoiding you altogether. 

“No, but I’ve seen pictures of other mountains.”

“I’ve seen them! They’re big and rocky and they go alllllll the way up to the sky!” Your arms shot up to mimic the mammoth Andes mountains. 

“I’ve never seen a mountain like that but I’ve seen a volcano.”

“Woah! Where?”

“It was on some beach. I don’t really remember.”

“You’ve been to the beach? I’ve always wanted to go! The beach is like one giant sandbox.” Hoseok chuckled at your fascination. If he could travel back in time, he would have befriended you long ago so you wouldn’t have to wish to go to the beach. You would have already been there - with him.

“It’s so fun! I found a jellyfish on the shore and threw it back into the ocean and it didn’t even sting me!” Now you had been laughing at his whimsical personality. 

“You’re weird… I like you.”

“Could I- Could I help you?” Hoseok asked this, already preparing himself to an untimely demise of his efforts to befriend you. 

You paused. Your empty arena of friends had gained a candidate well-suited for your liking. Even as a child, you knew the trope of ‘boys who bully you only do so because they have a crush on you’ was just a way to excuse the brazen attitudes of entitled little boys. Hoseok wasn’t like any of those boys. He was kind, he spoke gently when he asked to play with you. He fit into the sandbox with you and you didn’t mind the company. 

The answer was clear.

“Yeah sure. Grab a shovel!” You didn’t bother looking at him, though his eyes were immovable from you. 

“If you wet the sand it sticks together better.” He said, attempting to prove himself an asset to your sand mountain construction.

“I never thought about that. Thank you.” This piece of advice was the first of many gifts this boy would give to you. 

One could assume the rapid advancement of your affection towards him could be due to how easy it was for younger children to build attachments with one another. However, that could not single-handedly explain the way you already felt close to him and how when he wasn’t in the sandbox with you, the vast space was not comforting as it once was. Not in the slightest. It could not explain how you and him never fought over petty things such as sharing the red bucket or whose sandcastle was better. He, without fail, insisted yours was always best. How your fondness of him only grew whenever he handled you in a much more tender way than he handled the bullies, no longer coming around to throw rocks and mean words at you.

“Wanna have a playdate?” You proposed in an uncharacteristic lapse of valor. 

“Um…” The hesitance wasn't because he was opposed in the slightest to this offer, but the little details of his life that often got in the way of building normal relationships, “Yeah.”

“Yay! I just have to ask my mommy first. She will probably want to meet your parents.” You said while molding the sand into a pointed mound.

“I don’t…” He stilled his fingers against the dampened sand, hoping it would calm the fast pace of his heart. “I don’t have parents. I’m a foster kid.”

You didn’t give an immediate response, instead turning your attention over to the boy who was unable to move from mortification. It confused you that he felt ashamed of this, your young, well-intentioned mind unaware of the negative implications and stigmas that surrounded being in the foster system. You simply smiled.

“Well, that's ok! Mommy will just be happy I’m finally having a playdate.” You said, shearing away the depth to this aspect of Hoseok. He was surprised, and also comforted in the fact that him being a foster child was no bigger of a deal than the color of his hair or the size of his shoes. As if this trait of his was something normal. He felt normal with you, and his inexperienced heart couldn’t decorate the thankfulness he felt with the right words.

“I’m Hoseok, by the way.”

“I’m ___.”

And the rest was history.

With him, the world didn’t matter. The end of recess didn’t stalk your mind. The threat of mean boys had become unthreatening. The lonesome life that you were comfortable with now felt like pins and needles against your body. The idea of friendship that once felt like pins and needles was comfortable, with Hoseok. To think, you had been fooling yourself into believing you were okay with being lonely and that you would have never come to terms with the emotional poverty that being alone subjected you to if it weren’t for him. Because with him, you believed the byword adults would regularly preach ‘sharing is caring’. You nursed a considerable affection towards Hoseok to care for him and had now realized you had far too much space in your sandbox to not share it with him.

“Thank you for being my friend.” You said, in the wake of all the goodness of friendship he had introduced you to.

In sixth grade you weren’t worried about a new school or leeching onto a clique. The burden of belonging didn’t barge in on your life like it had most of your peers. You had the privilege of being best friends with Hoseok. He told you on the day of your fifth-grade promotion that middle school wasn’t so scary, not when he had you. There was nothing for you to do but trust in him, not because you had to, but because you wanted to and because you knew he would always be honest with you.

It was you, Hoseok, and the little sandbox against the world… until it was not.

Unlike the end of elementary school, the end of middle school was met with no such promises of the kindling allegiance Hoseok used to assure you of. You assumed it was because his consistency in your life now went without being said. However, you learned this was a terribly incorrect assessment.

The start of high school was when everything changed. The seasons cycled through right before your eyes, and you weren’t ready for the new semester of school that Autumn brought. What you had been even more unready for was the gradual disappearance of Hoseok from your life. When he’d been drawn to certain promiscuities and stopped coming over for the weekly visits and soon forgot the comfort of fresh linen and lemon. You wanted to ask him, or rather, plead that he wouldn’t drift. The only certainty in your life was becoming more and more unseen and, in his place, an evasive fog to renounce him from your vision altogether. There was nothing for you to do but let him go, not because you wanted to, but because you had to.

Because he stopped looking at you and forced a cold divide between you two without negotiation.

Eventually, you made friends though not nearly of the same caliber as Hoseok. Most of your connections felt shallow and a bit forced and you knew there was no way in hell you would have let them into the sandbox with you if you were a kid again. Not in the way you let Hoseok; you hated living with that knowledge.

It was horribly painful the way he tore the plant of his body from your life. He’d buried the seeds and began to fertilize your world with companionship and intimacy. He grew with every step that you grew, however the bud of your friendship hadn’t the chance to blossom before he ripped out every root tangled within the inner workings of your life.

He had abandoned you in the dark night of doubt and confusion and aloneness. Half of your broken heart was somewhat glad he didn’t tell you why he had done this because it would have been devastating to find out he simply didn’t like being around you anymore. That horrific thought that the need for you to be in his life grown to a rusted nonessential was second to aloneness in being the worst thing he left you with. The other half of your heart was dedicated to wishing he would walk into your life again.

Why would he do that to you? 

And more importantly, how could he do that to you? He knew there were no two things more fitting for each other than the two of you. So how could he dispose of the one thing that meant everything to you and leave it to rot in the soil with the rest of the broken, decaying promises? 

There was a reason, and he forbade himself from telling you. He was so ashamed of his bones that he decided to cover every fond memory and every scar that turned his skeleton textured with permanent divots with endless layers of skin.

The half of your heart that longed for him eventually merged with the other half that felt nothing but complete abandonment. The sandbox was of single occupancy once again. You hated him for that.

 Present day

Hoseok’s eyes were full. Not of bloodshot vessels along the whites of the eye and not of worry that Dickson would catch them. They were full, almost outweighing the irises, with none other than melancholy and tears. Real, wet tears. He could blink away the tears and wipe them on the sleeve of his flannel, but he couldn't disengage the melancholy, the utter sadness from infecting his eyes. 

Looking up at the tiled walls of the bathroom, there waxed a bitter disgust in his chest for going so long, far too many years, looking at anything that wasn't your eyes. His labored efforts to keep away from you, not even allowing himself the option to explain the purge of you from his life, was bitter. Disgusting. It filled him with more guilty tears. 

He wasn’t crying for himself or the pressing torture he had endured for the majority of his life. He was crying for you. He was crying for the fact that he couldn’t tell you all the reasons he’d left you and tarnished the purity of your smooth skin. He was crying for hurting you, he was not oblivious to it. 

Yes, he was crying. The portrait held a valid hypothesis of the future. An older Hoseok, crying for fear of losing you. For you.

He waited a few minutes longer, giving enough time to account for any sudden stops or distractions that might have been littered in the path of the other’s transfer back to the library. Hoseok stood, checking the mirror that the tears were dried, and the melancholy was clouded with a redeeming fog, and then made his way back to the library.

No one, not you, not even the thick skinned Hoseok could be immune to the commands of timing. It was unavoidable, the misfortune that timing would always sweep over the lives of you and Hoseok. Dickson was second to timing on being an unavoidable force of annoyance and persecution. Walking down the extensive, closed hallway gave Hoseok no possible divergent path to escape the hunt that Dickson seemed to be on. 

“Well, well, well. Look who we have here? I’m disappointed to say I’m not surprised to see you breaking the one rule I enforced.” The completely irrational and dictatorial rule that he had been referring to, of course, had Hoseok’s rejection of it written all over the way he strolled through the halls. 

Any number of excuses would have cushioned the blow of Dickson’s repercussive actions about to be set in a meticulous line. He could have said he honestly needed to relieve himself or that he was feeling nauseous and needed some air and a quick lap around the halls. But he didn’t want to make excuses for himself. 

Hoseok had been parading around this Saturday as if he had enough skin to protect him against the external forces of you, Dickson, even the other three boys. He was tired, reaching the apex of a tall cliff, climbing and climbing to what seemed like an abstracted end without the comfort of a hand to hold or a shoulder to lean on during this tiresome journey. And now, he just wanted to let his body fall down the agglomeration of his own barricades.

“I was smoking weed in the bathroom.” His defeat from trying and his apathy towards Dickson’s belligerent blows left him on the bottom of the cliff. There was no use in standing, in climbing again. No use but to fall and wait for the day to end.

Dickson took this vulnerability to his advantage. He was all too quick and far too eager to sink his teeth into the thin skin on Hoseok. As he was drinking the juices of all the power he felt entitled to, his thirst grew morbid, thinking the only way to quench it was to swallow every last drop of dignity from Hoseok’s body.

“You, Hoseok. You act like you’re top dog. You do whatever you want, whenever you want, and what does that leave you with? You’re never going to be satisfied. You’re gonna end up empty and broken just like the family you never had.” This was beyond crossing the line. Dickson had stomped over it, pummeled it into mush, spit his dirty hatred in it, and perverted every aspect of Hoseok’s life that had once been latched safely behind the line. “No wonder you’re such a troublemaker. You’re desperate for any sort of attention or authority because you never had the father figure in your life to set you straight. And even if you did, even if the world gave you every privilege and shortcut to living a better life, you would still probably be empty, broken, and useless to everyone around you. What are you gonna do? You’re gonna graduate in a year and I can safely bet you have no plans. You’re going to end up a nobody. A loser. Just another unwanted orphan.” 

The Hoseok four hours ago would kiss his knuckles against Dickson’s lip before he had the chance to finish grinding him to a pulp with those words. The Hoseok at twelve o’ clock, four hours older, was tired and swept in his anguish of losing you, or perhaps letting you go, or even worse, pushing you away. The tonnage of all these put his head into a haze and he couldn’t see Dickson, not that he wanted to. He couldn't see you, your eyes, even when he fell to his knees and begged the universe for that. He couldn’t smell fresh linen and lemon, only the faint memory of them which was quickly fading. The fog was surrounding, enclosing, imprisoning him but for what crime? For being the one who never seemed to be at the right place at the right times?

“Get your ass back to the library, Jung.” Dickson let this command roll off his tongue as if he’d been dubbed a place on a shiny pedestal. As if anyone in their right minds would have honored him for degrading the most fragile parts of Hoseok and shredding the sensitive skin of the man already fallen to the base of a cliff.

Wordless, visionless, Hoseok walked in a slump past Dickson to the library. Though, this book-filled prison felt safer than outside. Because it had you, it had the memory of your laughs and your eyes. It had the people who, though annoyed, still cared to give him more respect than he deserved. 

And everyone, especially you, were increasingly worried about the amount of time it took Hoseok to get back. The others almost settled on the conclusion that he had been caught and put in some sort of solitary confinement by Dickson. Toes curling and hands fisted, you prayed that he would return. You prayed and it cleared all the hatred from you, still leaving a few stains of resentment for him. You resented him, but hated? Not in the slightest. 

It was shocking, more so than your hatred of him, how in just four hours your animosity transformed into something tame and a little bit bruised and quite dramatically opposite of hatred. In hatred, one wants nothing to do with the other. In resentment, one seeks resolve with the other. You wanted him here and you wanted his eyes to make contact for longer than thirty seconds to make some sort of amends. 

“I’m guessing what's worrying you right now isn’t your essay?” Namjoon tacked a concern in his question and through the way he had been staring at the empty seat behind you, there was no doubt he was talking about Hoseok.

“I don’t know why I care. He’s the one who decided to leave.” The low hanging grin was the best ‘I’m fine’ face you could pull. It was no use against someone like Namjoon who, within seconds, painted a part of you gone unvisited by anyone, including yourself. “He probably ditched. He can never commit to anything.”

“Ouch. Didn’t know you took detention so seriously.” You and him were well aware that these questions were void of their surface meaning. The connotations strung onto his every word had encoded his knowledge of what was really going on and he was about to get it out of you. “You and him were friends in middle school right? I think I remember. You guys would always eat lunch together.”

You were about to correct him and tell him you’d actually been friends since the first grade, but you decided against it. What were you trying to prove by saying that, anyway?

“Yeah, well, that was a long time ago.” 

“Sorry, I didn't mean to pry.”

“No, it's nothing you have to be sorry about. It’s probably nothing he has to be sorry about either. It's just me setting my expectations too high and disappointing myself.” You paused to stilt the quiver in your voice about to crack through your words. No one had ever asked about what happened with you and Hoseok. No one had ever cared enough to even wonder. This was a first for you.

“I don’t see it that way. I think he’s lonelier than he lets on.” Namjoon wasn’t sure of what he was trying to prove, but he certainly harnessed more emotional intelligence than you had assumed. 

You suddenly felt guilty for doing the lazy thing of resigning him to a label, a slightly dehumanizing one at that, without even having one full conversation with him. 

“Sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?”

“I don't know. I’m not sure why I said that, but I just felt like I needed to say sorry. You’re a good guy, Namjoon.” The grin bubbling from your lips was not a front this time. You were genuinely, profoundly touched by the way he’d shown you compassion about the Hoseok situation like no other did. 

“Thanks, I guess.” He chuckled at the randomness of it, but knew you meant well and that you fully knew why you were apologetic. Feeling seen past the stigma pinned on his back, he knew you only meant well.

Right when you were about to give up and mark this as another self-designed hope that failed to be upheld, timing came to your aid. 

For once, it did and it brought Hoseok with it.

“I just got chewed out by Dickhead.” 

Despite the sting, the way he rubbed against the raw wound left by Dickson, it felt better than admitting it hurt him so. To make light of his deepest cuts and sprinkle a bit of his own salt in the wound, well, that was what Hoseok specialized in.

Seokjin, still riding on the waves of his high, walked over to Hoseok and wrapped him in a hug as if he had been gone for days. Hoseok stood still, he didn’t return the hug, nor did he shove Seokjin off of him. It wasn’t because he fancied a hug from this strange boy, but more so he felt too awkward to move or even react.

“Dude, we thought you died. We thought he killed you.” Eventually, Hoseok gathered the resolve to lightly nudge Seokjin from his personal space. 

“Well, I’m alive so you can stop hugging me.”

“Hoseok, what happened? Did he get you in trouble?” You sounded far more concerned than the rest. You really wanted to know if he was okay, but you found that it filtered through your throat with an overly mild expression of that. Still, he caught this, along with every other subtlety in your voice, and wanted more than anything to tell you the truth.

No, he thought, He did something far worse. I would have rather taken a lifetime of detentions than to have been forced to witness the sickeningly honest criticisms Dickson threw into my already melancholy, tearful eyes. How he left that interaction unscathed and I was drenched in the pain of facing my truth.

But the words didn't come out. He didn’t feel like anyone would care about what he said anyway, and he didn’t feel like dragging you into more of his issues.

“He just got all worked up about his no leaving the room policy. The usual ‘how dare you go against me’ sort of speech. I honestly didn’t really pay attention.” His eyes trailed to the floor.

“What a dick. Sorry, man.” Jimin said while yawning, unrecovered from the Indica induced drowsiness.

“Yeah sorry, but I’m sure you got in a few good comebacks, right?” Namjoon asked.

“Yeah, for sure.” Hoseok would have otherwise been boasting about the way he fired back against Dickson. You were expecting that, and when it failed to come you knew something was wrong.

Namjoon had been drawing a new picture while he asked this. Absent-mindedly enough to not notice Hoseok’s shaken behavior. The sketch was of the five of you, sitting in a circle. It was laid back, with a touch of delight that shed the new bond forming between you all into a visible light. No one in that room would have guessed this Saturday to turn out the way it did, however none of you really cared for the alternative outcomes. You were all just glad you were living through this one. 

The one that was encapsulated by the painting, the erasure of circumstantial union by a wave of perfectly crafted comradery. This wasn’t some deep insight of Namjoon’s, not like the ones in the individual portraits he drew. This was not of blind guesses or improbable hopes. This was clear to him, to you, to everyone. 

There were no such distractions to clamor your notice of his timid mannerisms. The way he walked a bit too quietly to his desk as if someone had stripped him down to nudeness for all eyes to witness. And just like before, when he first walked into the library, he found his seat without a single glance in your direction. Though, you couldn’t bring yourself to feel frustrated with him. Not when his worries were more real and devastating than his portrait. 

This time it was different on two accounts. One, your ambition for him to look to you was not so you could relish in the guilt tripping stare he would be met with. The reasons you wanted him to look to you now was because you wanted him to know he was seen and was anything but alone. Whatever Dickson said or did was not a burden he had to shoulder on his own. And two, he didn’t sit behind you, didn’t try to avoid the unavoidable. He sat right next to you, in the scant space of your table, and there was enough room for him; even in the smallest spaces, there would always be enough room for him anywhere you were.

The scenery of him was bringing it all back. The sandbox, the mountains of sand, the young savior with the heart of gold. The love of having him by your side and the pain of his gutting absence. The roots of him were sliding back between your veins, once again seeking habitat for the bloom of friendship, or something more. 

Look at me, you wanted to say. I’m finally able to see you again. Can you see me? We’re all here, Hoseok. Jimin, Namjoon, Seokjin, and me. We’re all here, waiting for your eyes. Waiting to see the bones beneath your skin.

“Hobi, are you okay?” This time you made sure your whisper only touched Hoseok’s ears.

“I don’t know. I don't know anymore.” He couldn’t see you and he had no idea you had been waiting for him, in the fog, all this time. 

 One week ago

The text read that the study group you had been invited to join, courtesy of your friend Lisa, had a study session on the second-floor study room. It wasn’t to hang out, just to study, and you wished it would be more than that. At least a part of you did. The other part of you, the one still hung up on something that happened long ago and the same part of you that liked to play in the sandbox alone, didn’t care that most of your friendly interactions had been surface level. 

One day, you’d meet with a few friends for coffee, or another you’d meet up with a group to study, and the more you hung out with people, the less personal friendship began to feel.

Friendship without Hoseok began to feel like a business exchange, or a mechanical interaction that had become overproduced and of less quality. Like pulling the same lever repeatedly, until it became a boring chore. Not to say you didn’t appreciate it. Though shallow, trite, and forced, it was more than Hoseok ever gave you these days.

But the text made you feel lonely, like an add on or an afterthought. Simply someone to fill an extra seat at the table. You wanted to feel like you weren’t just going through life without connecting, but connections were placed at such a high standard, thanks to Hoseok, that they were hard to come by.

Your teacher passed you through the halls, you tried to avoid eye contact but that made it even more obvious you didn’t want to talk to her. You both exchanged a cordial greeting and flung a few thoughtless comments about the weather into the mix to prevent any awkwardness. It was raining, you said. The rain looked like it was going to clear up, but still looks foggy out there, your teacher responded. She walked to her office and you returned to reality. 

Your reality. Alone.

You stared at the bulletin board and the dozens of neon colored flyers for new clubs and campus organizations. Band? You were hardly the musician. Physics? Barely passing Chemistry answered that quickly enough. Chess? You’d rather be lonely. Maybe it was pathetic, but you wondered why there wasn’t a club for finding people. No underlying activity, no common hobby shared amongst the group, just a club to help a few lonely souls feel a little less lonely. For people who had a hard time meeting friends and an even harder time keeping them. Where was that club?

You walked past the school’s cafe, not needing the caffeine to wind yourself up over the impeding awareness of how alone you felt today. Monday. The day of reckoning it seemed. When you felt alone, as you did today, your thoughts could only gather memories of Hoseok to cheer you up. To remember that once you weren’t so alone, it definitely felt better than remembering you were alone.

You and Hoseok had been diametrically opposed ever since the gradual end of your friendship. He’d become somewhat of a rebel and you stayed humbled and quiet. The once parallel lines of your souls running along the span of seven years together had diverged, his line east and yours, west, by the time you hit the eighth year. 

Today, all alone, you decided to start walking east. Not that you were looking for Hoseok necessarily, you were simply hoping to find something, or someone. It was that decision, along with the various others, that had you walking east and trying to get home before the rain fell again. You could have been surrounded by a group of classmates by now, who were half discussing the contents of the next Statistics exam and half meandering about what they were going to do this weekend, but that wouldn’t change the fact that you felt alone. 

Just like the one who played in the sandbox, you’d rather be alone while feeling alone. Though solitary walks in the rain meant you weren’t of any access to distractions. You began to wonder, which was never a good thing in your case, why you felt alone? There must be something wrong with you. Everyone else seemed to get along with the idea of friendship no matter the depth of them. You had concluded maybe ‘sociable’ wasn’t programmed in your DNA because sometimes you found yourself absolutely hating the idea. But that couldn’t be true because there was a part of your life that you spent loving the idea. Not just the idea, but the real deal as well. What could it be then? What was the reason you walked alone this Monday afternoon?

There he was. The moment you saw him you knew he was the reason.

“Hoseok.” You hadn’t felt those syllables in that order fall from your lips for quite some time, only hearing it in your head made him seem nearly unreal. But he was real, so was his name.

He had a cigarette stuck between his lips, then soon his fingers, leaning on the seat of his jet-black motorcycle. You were walking closer to him, slowly, like the way one would approach a wild animal so not to scare them off. Your steps drew you back to first grade again, and proximity wise, you were just as close to him as you were in the sand box. However, your hearts hadn’t even been in the same country.

“Do you need something?” The worst part about what he said was the fact that he didn’t mention your name. As if your name hadn’t crossed his mind in four years unlike how his was practically branded between the wrinkles of your brain. As if, to him, losing you was nothing more than a check off of some to-do list, a chore, a burden he was just trying to get over with. So, it was absolutely pathetic what you thought immediately in response to what he asked.

I need you.

“You smoke?”

“No, I just like holding cigarettes in my mouth.” Your eyes rolled to this, feeling a shockwave disassembling the Hoseok you remembered in your head. He was entirely new, not the boy who liked to go to the beach and played with sand, and you had a hard time recognizing him with this new skin he wore and the fog that, as your teacher guessed, was thickly lurking through the air. 

“How are you?” You thought this was a dumb question because you knew he would answer with some short winded, meaningless ‘good’ or ‘fine’ or maybe he wouldn’t even say anything at all, leading to a fateful dead-end to this dragged out conversation. It was enough to make you equally eager and exhausted. If you could call what you felt for him with words, it would be hate. Probably.

His face looked paler than it had before, and his hands looked like it would feel like ice if you touched them. You used to touch them all the time, and they were warm and looked just as warm as they felt. If you touched them now, would they be as cold as his voice? Would he even let you?

“I’d say I’m quite annoyed that someone decided to interrupt my peace and quiet.” He flicked the butt of the cigarette to shave a few ashes off the end of the stick. You just shook your head at how he didn’t hide the way he dodged your questions with insincerity.

“Sorry, jeez... How the tables have turned.” 

“What?”

“Oh just that,” You paused to wonder if him asking what you meant was some subtle indication he wanted to continue talking to you but you settled your bets on that being wishful thinking. Besides, you hated him so why should you care? “Way back when, I remember the roles were reversed. You were the one interrupting my peace and quiet.”

“I distinctly remember saving your life.” To you, no matter how desperate it was, any sort of mild banter with him was, beyond a shadow of a doubt, treasured with the memories stored in your chest. This was certainly the case being that in almost four years, the little he said to you now was the most he’d probably ever say to you in the rest of your lifetime. You took what you could get, after all, beggars can’t be choosers.

“Okay, calm down, you saved me from getting sand in my hair and down my pants.” You laughed and took a subconscious step closer to him. Carefully, lightly as not to scare him away because Hoseok looked stiff and distant minded when he saw you move towards him.

The mumble was registered clearly by Hoseok from the way you watched his partial scowl transform into a barely intelligible smile. You saw it, despite how small it was, and you missed the way he looked when he smiled at you. You missed knowing why he smiled, since right now you had no idea what prompted him to curve his lips the slightest bit upwards. More than that, you missed being the reason he smiled. That was selfish, maybe, and far-fetched from the looks of the gaping distance he seemed to be as comfortable with as you were uncomfortable.

“Li-”

“You-”

“Oh, you go.” His and your eyes were both fixed on the cigarette twirling between his fingers. And though you haven’t talked to him in a while, you knew that the tapping and twirling of his fingers was one of his habits to soothe his nervousness. 

Was he nervous? 

You wanted to carve the part of your brain dedicated to overthinking, specifically when it came to Hoseok, out of your skull. You hated the fact that you overanalyzed his every movement down to the twitch of his ears more than the fact that you cared enough to do so in the first place, and you hated that more than the man himself.

“You shouldn’t put that stuff in your body.” From the way his eyes didn’t move from the cigarette, it felt like you could have said nothing at all. He brushed it aside as if he was never intending on listening to you in the first place.

No, you thought, not Hobi. He would care, I think. He has to care enough about himself to keep his body healthy. And for some reason, above all the other overthought thoughts, that one seemed to scare you the most. If he didn’t care about you anymore, and he didn’t care about himself, then did he care about anything at all?

“Mm.” His gruff response fit unfortunately well with his hand, the one with the cigarette, that was moving towards his mouth again as if it were some act of defiance against you. 

Your hand moved to curl around his wrist, which began a new set of overthought thoughts about how rough his skin felt against your hand. Soon, you found your thumb grazing softly along the underside of his forearm. It was you double checking to make sure this was the same skin as the Hoseok you knew before, an accidental gesture born out of instinct rather than methodic planning, something that, if he asked, you wouldn’t be able to explain. For the time being, you did everything you could to investigate where his new nihilistic attitude had bloomed from.

Before the ten second mark of this abnormal, slightly familiar contact, you channeled every neuron in your body to signal your hand to let go of him. He seemed blind sighted enough for you to snag the cigarette out of his hands and into your own.

“Do you want a hole in your neck?” 

“What are you doing?” He didn’t sound as angry as you expected him to be. Moreover, he looked worried which under sighted your awareness of the deft approach to reach for his cigarette back.

“Like I said, the tables have turned. Now, it’s me who’s saving your life.” 

Before you could throw it on the ground and flatten out the flame with your shoe, you braced for the unforced mistake of looking into his eyes and seeing nothing. All that was sitting in the socket of his eyes was a lusterless fog. You wanted to see his eyes more than you wanted him to care, which was an odd transition being that his care had been the top priority ever since freshman year. Your hands were gloved by warm cotton, but you would have taken them off to hold his hand and make them warm with yours.

“Hey!” You thought that was just in your head. Maybe the voice of reason to advise you from holding his hand because that would be extremely weird to do to an estranged friend. But it wasn’t a voice of reason that stopped you, it was quite possibly the worst person to stumble upon this encounter. “No smoking on campus!”

You turned around and saw Dickson’s manic expression then immediately turned to the cigarette that was in your hand. 

Shit.

“I can explain! It wasn’t-”

“Can it, ___! No excuses.” Dickson’s eyes trailed to the pack of cigarettes that the one in your hand was sourced from. He didn’t say anything, just shook his head and reached into the pocket of his blazer to pull out that notorious pink pad of detention slips. With nothing more than a smug grin flashed like bright headlights against you and Hoseok, one that you would grow to hate more than anything, Dickson turned and strut away with long strides and an elevated self-esteem.

“Looks like I’ll be seeing you this Saturday, princess.” He smirked. To you, it was a mockery and some sort of reprisal for taking his hand and his cigarette soon after. 

“Fuck you.” You turned away to walk a petty five or so yards away from him before some gravitational force pulled your head to turn back to him. To see if he was watching, perhaps waiting for you to walk back over to him but sure enough he’d kicked his leg over the seat of his motorcycle and started the engine long before you walked halfway towards where you were left to do nothing but watch him leave. He became smaller and smaller, hazier and hazier, and then unforeseeable in the fog.

You watched him leave, and you were almost sure you hated him.

 One week ago

[Hoseok’s POV]

It was enraging and inconvenient for the weather to fog up right as school let out. Hoseok had more trouble driving his motorcycle when there was too much clutter in the air that disoriented the view of the road. He rarely stayed on campus for longer than he needed to, but it looked like he needed to. On the brighter side of things, Hoseok didn’t have to return to his foster house that smelled of old, wet, rotting rags and sounded of strained but persistent screams of his foster parents. 

Even sitting in the fog, sucking in the burn of nicotine, was better than going back there. Days similar to these, days intruding his week more often than not, he found himself stuck between a place he wanted nothing to do with and a place he could envision through a pixelated glare that brought him warmth, quiet tranquility, fresh linen, and lemon. The arms that would meet his body and wrap him snug against another body, then the excited face of yours that met with his equally excited face. 

It was a shame he could only live out these delights through an array of distant artifacts far too old to expel the loneliness from his heart.

Monday was whirling him through a pool of memories he’d rather keep covered up; it was winter and there was no need to swim in such a pool unless he deemed the risk of freezing to death a tenable substitution for smoking cigarettes in the fog. But it was not a matter of whether he would willingly dive into the pool, rather it was whether or not he could keep himself from falling in or even being pushed in.

Hoseok hadn’t seen your face in nearly four years. Of course, he saw you around the campus, strolling the halls or sitting in the cafeteria. He hadn’t seen your face, however, the way he used to look at it before high school. When he was a child free to flagrantly admire what his heart fancied as beautiful, there was no remorse or guilt from the way his eyes brazenly printed the details of your face into his memory. The creases at the sides of your mouth, the ends of your eyes that were pushed closed by the force of your cheek, and the number of teeth visible when you would smile had been graphed out like a mathematical equation; he was of the few that could solve it between the interval of two seconds. He knew where the inner portion of your eyebrows began and how far down the tip of your nose rested on your face along with the lining of your hair scaling the top of your forehead better than he knew any geographical map studied in school.

Most importantly, he studied your eyes more meticulously than he had his own eyes. Not your arms, or hands, or even the support of your legs could carry as much as your eyes. Hoseok liked to look at them when you smiled because they held the softness of a blanket after a tiring day burdened by a snowstorm. He could see it so clearly, a vast cloth in your eyes made specifically to wrap around a body in need of warmth.

But when you were angry, they held the wildest fires that would burn down anything in their line of vision. No matter how difficult it was to look at your eyes when they were sad, he was familiar with the molting roses that made your tears look like wilting petals; it was unsurprising that even in sadness, you shed beauty from your eyes. 

To him, you were the most beautiful being he’d ever gotten the chance to see.

He loved seeing your face, even if the only way he could do so now was through the partially disfigured memories of his younger self. He was sad to say he had no current frame of reference to jar in his mental gallery of you. There was no way he could look at you on the will of his own because he was afraid to unsheathe the distance and repression set to protect you from him

There was no way, because he would have probably fallen in love with you all over again.

He was about to leave, but a gust of wind blew him towards the decision to smoke one more cigarette before surrendering to the house that smelled and felt quite the opposite of one place he truly considered his home. 

And then he saw you. Walking slowly, and you looked so frightened of him. In all fairness, there was no reason for you to look at him with anything other than repugnance and unease because he turned quite jagged over the years.

You, however, were a relic of the past. Like a highly revered piece of art in a museum of grandeur, with the flawlessly manicured, picturesque beauty that couldn’t be bothered with the touch of Hoseok’s calloused hands. He could only stare from behind the velvet roped boundary that kept his body from melting into the art of you.

“Hoseok.” Your voice doubled down on the apprehension that tensed your walk up to him. He pulled the cigarette from his lips, feeling it inappropriate to have such a foul thing in his mouth if he were to greet you. 

You looked so beautiful. So different from the thinly spread memories of your face; your cheeks had grown into maturation but still maintained a soft innocence. When he looked in your eyes, he did not see roses or raging fires or warming blankets, in fact, he could barely recognize them let alone see what they were holding. It hurt more than the smoke battering his lungs.

Get your shit together. Get away from ___. He reminded himself in an incriminating manner.

“Do you need something?” How he had the ability to keep his mind wrapped around you but spewed words forcing you away was beyond any comprehension. Nonetheless, he did it, simultaneously scolding and applauding himself for not reverting to the version of him that would have greeted you with a soft hug or loving smile.

“You smoke?” The disappointment packed into your voice put him at an odd with himself. 

Finding the frustration plowing through his chest, he processed these self-aggressions through a misdirection onto an unsuspecting victim. One he never thought deserving to be the target of his projected anger, but then again, it was the only way to hinder your warm hands from digging beneath his skin.

“No, I just like holding cigarettes in my mouth.” He exhaled relief, along with the rest of the smoke inhabiting his lungs, that you had rolled your eyes. His charade was fooling you into annoyance, keeping you just out of his reach where you belonged. 

“How are you?” Or maybe this act of his was not working as well as he thought, since you padded these questions down like you had nothing better to do. Hoseok began to feel worried, the brimming loneliness was about to unleash through the conversation you were, for some reason, trying to initiate.

If you were to go away, it would break me again. But, at least, it would keep my skin intact.

“I’d say I’m quite annoyed that someone decided to interrupt my peace and quiet.” He freed his cigarette from the ashes bunching at the end, hoping you would mimic this riddance. Maybe you would see he had burnt your body to an ash, and sooner or later the entire cigarette would fall away to black dust. If you saw that, would you finally have the sense to leave him?

He couldn’t stand looking at your eyes. To behold such beauty, suspended from any chance to have your body against his was nothing less that torture to him because he was so very cold, and you looked like you harbored enough warmth in your fingertips alone to cure him of it.

“Sorry, jeez… How the tables have turned.” 

Hoseok bit down against the side of his cheek hard enough to steal a bit of blood from his gums and to keep him from asking what your eyes were holding today, and if you would be so kind as to give him a piece of it to feed his empty, starving eyes.

So, he settled on:

“What?”

“Oh just that,” Hoseok panicked in the span of your brief pause. Could you notice he was asking for a bit of your eyes and warmth? He was fucking everything up as usual, he thought. “Way back when, I remember the roles were reversed. You were the one interrupting my peace and quiet.”

The jig had not been up yet, thankfully.

“I distinctly remember saving your life.” 

“Okay, calm down, you saved me from getting sand in my hair and down my pants.” When you stepped close to him, the film of fear once guarding your walk was scraped clean which led to more silent punishment for letting his selfish indulgences of your company get the best of him. 

His muscles couldn’t resist the smile bubbling under the thick skin on his lips. Not even skin, or fog, could hide the smiles that never seemed to run short with you. 

And it was the step, or how miserably trapped in the purgatory he felt, or how he smelled fresh linen and lemon exuding from your hair and clothes that pushed him into the pool of memories he’d been walking around, but avoiding submergence. 

It was deathly freezing. Now, he was fully submerged in the fluid-filled vat of your memories, however. It wasn’t the bone chilling frigidity of the water that had him reaching his arm out and gasping for air, but the enticing warmth of your body that stood above him, as if you were waiting for him to reach to your aid, for you to fill his depraved lungs with linen and lemon tinted oxygen.

“Li-”

“You-”

“Oh, you go.” He believed it was better that you spoke.

“You shouldn't put that stuff in your body.” 

The broken levers and switches and pulleys which made up the inner mechanisms of his body found your banal suggestions as the only surge of kindness his old machinery had felt for a while. He’d heard it before; the Health Education segments, the anti-smoking adverts, the doctor’s orations tunneling out of his ears as quickly as they entered. But your words were caught like traffic in his head, so much that it blocked all entry of a fiery retort to pass through his mouth.

“Mm.” He mumbled because you were right. He shouldn’t be smoking; he shouldn’t be doing a lot of things but some of his actions felt out of his control at this point of his life.

Unprepared could not describe the intense degree of shock Hoseok felt when your fingers wrapped around his wrist so attentively. He was reaching his arm out, waiting to be removed from the cold and isolated pool he’d fallen into (or perhaps pushed into by you), but he never expected his hand to be met. He predicted he would spend eternity reaching to no avail, left to drown in this chilling pond of memories that rendered him frozen in the world of the past. Instead, his body reunited with the dryness of the air.

Hoseok hoped you couldn't feel the embarrassingly quick speed of his pulse with your thumb that rested right against his artery.

“Do you want a hole in your neck?”

He would have responded with: Could it be any worse than freezing to death?

“What are you doing?” His expressionless visage, one labored with hiding his worry, had fallen away from his face. 

The way the cigarette looked in your hands had him nearing a faint. To him, it felt like an accessory, like a bracelet or a belt, like it belonged in his hands. But when you held it, the small stick looked like it was going to leave permanent stains of corruption along your skin. It was absolutely abhorrent in your fingers. Any second, your entire body would be lurking with his repulsive residue and he thought it would kill him before it killed you.

“Like I said, the tables have turned. Now, it's me who’s saving your life.” 

That was the tipping point for him. The surge of tender nostalgia. The last bid of persuasion he needed to grab your wrist instead and press his mouth against yours, warm and wet and gentle. And he would have done exactly that, he would have kissed you and offered his last breath to your lungs if not for the unexpected saving grace that arrived in the form of a bitter vice principal.

“Hey!” Dickson’s approach was followed with the inevitability of detention. Hoseok only knew this to be true because even when he wasn’t smoking on campus or doing something that would elicit a detention, Dickson always found a way of weaving in reason to prosecute Hoseok. “No smoking on campus!”

“I can explain! It wasn't-” 

“Can it, ___! No excuses.” Hoseok was in his own world now, counting down the seconds until the pink slip of detention would be presented in front of him on a rusty silver platter. When Dickson walked away, he found it fitting to begin breathing once again.

“Looks like I’ll be seeing you this Saturday, princess.” The mischief in his smirk bred the annoyance back into your chest, which was his goal of course. Before he got the chance to enact his sinful deed to close the space between your lips and his, he hopped on his motorcycle and wheeled himself to a safe distance. 

Cold and lonely, but safe.

He had the rest of the week to figure out how in the hell he was going to spend an entire day with you without looking into your eyes and breaking through the already vulnerable skin. 

 12:00 - 2:00

“Are you okay?” 

“I don’t know. I don’t know anymore.”

About two minutes after Jimin’s head took a dive, landed against the solid wood of the table, and snapped back awake, he looked a bit confused and tried to reattach himself to reality.

“Does anyone know what time it is?” 

“Twelve ten.” You and Namjoon answered in unison like you had been keeping track of every minute that passed since eight o’clock. 

“Time isn’t real.” The still high and rosy cheeked Seokjin mumbled out through a cluster of thoughts bumping around the otherwise empty space in his brain.

“I’m going to punch you.” Hoseok said, feeling sensitive to irritation after the denigration he had just undergone courtesy of a washed-out vice principal.

“Hoseok.” Your tone was a punishing command that needn’t more than the one-worded sternness to make Hoseok huff lightly in adherence. 

“It’s been,” Jimin paused to count with his fingers, “four hours already? It honestly hasn’t felt like it’s been that long.”

“Well, you know what they say.” Namjoon commented this with no further explanation as if Jimin had any actual clue to what the other boy was referring to.

“What? What do they say?” Jimin responded, expectant for the explanation.

“I know. Is it that time isn’t real?” You tried not to laugh at Seokjin’s re-utterance of his thoughts that were polished over with an intoxicated glaze, knowing your approbation to him would further aggravate Hoseok into actually punching Seokjin.

“How are you still that high, Jin?” Namjoon said through a soft chuckle.

“I don’t know it’s kind of freaking me out now. Am I gonna be high for the rest of my life?” 

“No and no. It’s that time goes by faster when you’re having fun.”

“That’s rich.” Hoseok took it upon himself to point out the irony and wicked hypocrisy of the insinuation that Jimin was having, of all things, fun with the four of you.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jimin had almost forgotten Hoseok seemed to get the most satisfaction out of picking at Jimin specifically. 

Jimin wasn’t the easiest target since he was the furthest from a social pariah, Seokjin and Namjoon filled that slot, but he had both a namesake of being a star football player and a pyramidal structure of friends to lose from Hoseok’s unforgiving tongue. This made it much more satisfying to Hoseok.

“I just would have never guessed you would get off your high horse for a few hours to join the rest of us lowlifes. Consider me flattered.” This wasn’t the first or last sarcastic remark to whip tirelessly against Jimin however it was enough for Jimin to feel deserving of answers.

“Where do you keep getting this idea that I think of you guys as lowlifes?” 

“Oh, you wanna know?” Hoseok said, finding the clutter of denial Jimin had congregated around himself both ignorant and audacious. Even Namjoon and Seokjin found it astounding how gullible Jimin was towards his own refusal to admit an all too terrible truth.

“Please, enlighten me.” In the simplest terms, Jimin was in over his head to take on such a challenge with the amount of overzealous egoism in his voice. It felt like an affront, the ignorance shrouding him, to the experiences of the minnows that had to walk the halls with their heads hung low in order to avoid an unsolicited and traumatizing attack from the sharks of your school.

As much as Jimin didn’t want to acknowledge it, he was a shark, and the rest of you were minnows.

“Why don’t you tell everyone why you got detention?”

Jimin stiffened to a stone-like manner. It was petrifying to even move, let alone speak on behalf of his actions that led him here. He didn’t have his posse of dim-witted friends to protect him, nor the freedom of avoidance being trapped in the library. There was, for once, nowhere for Jimin to turn to other than the four faces of those deserving of his explanation.

“Well?” Hoseok coaxed.

“Damn, was it that bad?” Seokjin was worried he placed too much hope on Jimin’s shoulders. He wanted to believe Jimin was one of the good ones, or better ones at least. That out of his friends, Jimin would be the one to do the right thing because it would have been nothing short of betrayal if he relinquished himself to the cowardice of the ‘follow the leader’ mindset plaguing Jimin’s group of friends.

Perhaps it was the razing hues of the cheap fluorescent lights in the library, but there was a strange brightness illuminating this room in particular. Out in the halls, it was darker and easier to miss the faces of passing students. So dark that when you first stepped into the library, your eyes felt a slight burn and was forced to readjust to seeing with clarity for once in quite a long time. 

In the library, there was no way to miss their faces. Maybe if you closed your eyes it would have been easier and the burn of the lights infiltrating your retinas would be boiled down to a grazing sting but now wasn’t the time for closed eyes. The rarity of brightness and clarity was too good to return to the blindness of the halls and the fogged space of the world outside. It was safe to keep them open, just for now.

“Don’t tell me it was one of your dumb football friends who put you up to something.” You said as if you already knew this to be true. 

“They’re not dumb.” “What? Are you trying to defend them? Defend yourself?” Hoseok said and it was not caked in indifference or sarcasm. It was angry and driven by some demented sort of care for Jimin to take accountability for his actions; it was as if he knew Jimin was better than that but he wouldn’t admit this even with a gun to his head.

“No! It’s not that. It’s just…” Jimin had reached his breaking point. There was nothing left to hide. Not when the library was so damn bright that it singed his vision enough to well a few tears to collect at the base of his eyes. “They’re fucking cruel. I don’t think dumb people can be as cruel as them.” 

Jimin’s eyes were spaced out to the floor as if he had seen a ghost, or many ghosts in the form of the untracked amount of students that were swept into a relentless attack by those Jimin dared to call his friends. Those who he stood by, even if it cut through every moral instinct in his body. The most shameful ghosts were the ones sitting before him, listening attentively.

And the most haunting ghost of all was none other than himself. 

“Jimin, what did you do?” Namjoon, walking on eggshells or rather shards of glass, asked this of him apprehensively knowing how overwhelmingly displeased you all would be with his answer. 

“I didn’t have a choice! I-” The tears once held at bay on the bed of Jimin’s eyes had now been pushed over and down his cheeks from the guilt crowding the space where they once rested. “You know my friend Connor right? Well, I don’t know if I can call him a friend. Not anymore at least.”

The four silent nods didn’t give him enough time to construct the strong foundation of courage he needed to build upon this. However, Jimin had exhausted the last of his courage. All there was left for him, for all of you, was to be vulnerable. To be welcoming of his pain seemed to be the only source of strength to say what was needed to be said. What, for once, he felt like he could openly admit to. 

The library was bright. He began to feel seen because of it and the noiseless juncture gave him a chance to be heard.

“I, um, I made the mistake of leaving my phone out. God, I was so fucking stupid. I can’t believe I did that.” He took one deep breath to energize himself, “I, uh, I got a text from Kim Taehyung and,” 

Jimin had been instilling frequent pauses between what he was saying. Talking, especially to those whose opinions held a measurable importance to him, was the most difficult thing he had to do. Jimin spent over ten hours in the beating sun, extrapolated his muscles of their ability to move with the intensive workouts he had to do for training, ran over seven kilometers nearly every other day, and shoved an integral piece of his heart to a place of hateful and regretful shame for his whole life. But this, the uncomplicated act of talking had twisted into an unsolvable maze with Jimin placed right at the center.

“Connor looked. He- he fucking looked through my texts.”

The mention of Kim Taehyung, the only uncloseted person in your grade, had given you all the information needed to know why Connor looking through Jimin’s texts was not just an invasion of privacy but an infestation to the immunity Jimin built against how he loved; who he loved. The boundaries had been set and had been wrongly trespassed over, and to someone like Connor, that didn’t register as a violent act of homophobia. Jimin didn’t have to explain the contents of the texts for you all to know that it was far beyond platonic.

Suddenly, everything made sense to Hoseok. Being that he was the only one who knew what happened, but not as much to know the reasons behind it had him feeling almost as guilty as Jimin.

“You don’t have to explain yourself. I didn't know all that.” Hoseok had given Jimin an opt out, a shortcut to escape from the maze Jimin was still wandering through, which was his way of apologizing and clarifying he would never cross that boundary, the boundary that Connor ravaged with a hateful heart. 

Jimin turned it down. He turned down the shortcuts. This wasn’t a journey that would be accomplished by taking the easy way out. Sometimes, one must run right into the eye of the hurricane to be freed from the shackles of self-despair.

“No. I need to tell you guys. I don’t want you guys to think that...” Jimin pushed past the final wall, realizing the very mask meant to protect him was the thing that had been turning him into someone he couldn't recognize when he looked in the mirror. “I just… I want you guys to know.”

The low social status of the others in the room wasn’t why he felt like he could be honest. It wasn’t the fact that even if you all knew, it would have been diluted to an unverifiable and petty rumor because no one took what the delinquent, the loner, the nerd, and the freak said seriously. What motivated him, or more fittingly, what inspired him to be honest was your gift of listening, not just hearing to hear, but hearing to care and understand Jimin.

“I’m gay.” And he finally found the end of the maze. “I’ve never said it out loud before. It sounds weird coming out of my mouth.” What he expected was awkward silence, a few uncomfortable or disapproving grimaces, or a complete rejection of what he revealed himself to be. These expectations weren’t met, by the grace of God or more likely the grace of those who listened with care and understanding. And Jimin cried harder.

“I don’t think it sounds weird. I’m so happy you shared that with us.” You said in place of the expected rejection, and you smiled in the place of the expected turned back. “I’m proud of you for being so brave.”

“You are?” 

“We all are.” Namjoon added to the support.

No longer did Jimin feel the need to rely on the fractured confinement of the closet, but on the open, warm support of the four others and the brightness of the library. When he gathered the reactions for the four of you, the soft expressions directed towards him, he knew he was in a safe place. Even Hoseok, without outwardly smiling, gave him more acceptance than any of Jimin’s football teammates would have given him.

“No disrespect but what does that have to do with why you got detention?” Seokjin’s bluntness corralled Jimin back on topic, even if it wasn’t the most empathetic way of going about it.

“Oh yeah. Well, Connor started saying all this shit about telling everyone if I didn’t um…” It felt like the words coming from his throat weren’t hot air from his lungs, but jagged rocks scraping the sides of his windpipe, “If I didn’t beat Taehyung up then he’d tell everyone and leak our conversations.” 

“Would people finding out about you two be so bad?” Seokjin asked naively.

“You don’t understand. There weren’t just messages.” He had been fidgeting with the end of his shirt, engulfed by the regret of how he handled things. Though, his choices had made him a parcel between deciding on the lesser of two evils and this was never a fair advantage. “There- there were pictures too. He threatened to leak them and I… well, I thought I was protecting Taehyung from him, but I was being selfish. Weak. I was protecting myself.”

“Jimin, that’s not fair. Connor put you in such a fucked up position! God, how fucking dare he?” Your face was red with anger. Hoseok had been tracing the distress lines on your forehead and between your brows with reverence because it was too heartbreaking to look at the defeated expression tolling Jimin’s. “You know Connor also sent around my friend’s nudes after he was begging for them. He’s fucking vile.”

“There has to be something we can do to get him in trouble.” Namjoon had already been willing to risk having to voluntarily interact with Dickson to rat Connor out. However, Jimin objected strongly.

“No! Then word would get out. You don’t know half the shit my teammates say about gay people. There’s no way they would let me stay on the team. And my parents don’t have a clue. I have no idea how they’d react.” Jimin brought his forearm to wipe away the tears still spilling from his eyes. “I’m scared. I already lost the one person who I really cared about in this damn school because of that asshole. I can’t lose anything else.” 

“Why would you want to be on a team with people who hate gay people? Or be on the same team as the guy who literally blackmailed you into beating up your boyfriend.” Jimin didn’t take too kindly to Seokjin’s unthoughtful assertion. 

“You wouldn’t understand. I- I’ve built my life around football! I wouldn’t have any friends and my whole future is riding on my football career. God knows my grades aren’t enough to get me accepted into college let alone get a scholarship. You don’t understand the social pressure of not being a part of something.” Now, it was Jimin who made thoughtless assertions against Seokjin. “Someone like you just wouldn't understand.”

“Someone like me?”

“Do I have to say it?”

Internally, you pleaded with him not to say it. Namjoon already knew the hurtful assumptions Jimin had placed upon the four of you this whole time.

“Well, you're the one who brought it up.” Seokjin retorted.

“Say it, Jimin. Admit you think of yourself as better than us just because you're popular and on the football team.” Hoseok spat with a determined bite to his words.

“Fine! Someone like Seokjin is an outcast. It’s true, okay? It’s not my fault he doesn’t get the pressure that I’m under.” The admittance was torrid and vain but nonetheless true to Jimin’s prerogative. 

“Are you kidding me? You don't think all of us don't understand the social pressures of feeling like we don't belong?” He was never one to argue or get upset about things. He often felt like he had no place in ever standing up from the many instances when he’d been pushed to the ground for his entire life. 

Seokjin, and Namjoon too for that matter, have been casted as a sort of boot licker trapped in between the cogs of the social hierarchies in high school. Being at the very bottom, on the receiving end of the brute force from those who are lucky enough to be a part of something, hadn't been easy. They didn’t get the leverage to misstep or speak out, and their consequences had always been enforced with an expensive debt of hiding what was really on their minds. 

“You don’t think I see and hear the way people talk about me? I’m a freak, a low life, a joke. No one wants to be friends with someone like me. And yeah, I guess I am the joke of the school! The inside joke that everyone is a part of except for me. I've never had the fear of not belonging because that was a given ever since I started high school. At least you have something to lose. I never had that and I have to pretend like I’m okay with it all! I have to pretend that everything people say about me or make fun of me doesn't affect me. In fact, I feel like I have to constantly make a fool of myself because that’s the only way anyone pays attention to me! That's pathetic! If I didn’t, if I just shut up or if I-” His voice cut off momentarily from the lump impeding on his throat, “If I were to just disappear… or… if I were to die no one would care. And I have to pretend to be okay with that. But I’m not- I- I just hate it.” 

You didn’t have to look at his eyes to know he had also been crying. And he was right, everything he said. The way most people disregard him and when they do acknowledge Seokjin, it’s only to place hate or insults to titillate their sick amusement. It brought you to tears in the most gut-wrenching way, because part of you attuned to his loneliness. His feelings of unimportance, that if you were to fall off the face of the Earth one day, your tombstone would be just as undeclared and forgotten as your once beating hearts.

“Do you know how many death threats I’ve gotten in my locker? Yeah, they’re probably empty threats just to piss me off or scare me but they still affect me. I- I start to believe maybe I should be dead. I just… I just want to be seen.”

In some way, Jimin felt decided for just like Seokjin did. Decided by external forces that he should be manly, straight, and nothing beyond what had been expected of him. Though the oppression of heteronormativity chained around his neck was vastly different that the shackles that kept Seokjin at an arm's length away from ever making a true friend, there was a communion within the unwelcomed and pervasive loneliness.

And that kind of loneliness drives someone to a deep and unyielding kind of depression. The damaging isolation from having no one to tell you they love you when you feel unloved ricocheted against your insides, and it begins to feel like a hunger but a million times worse.

You couldn’t feed it on your own. You just have to wait for someone else to want to feed it, to want to love and accept you. But no one could wield such compassion when they were too occupied with fitting in, until now.

“I don’t think you’re a freak or a joke. I’d never make fun of you, and I would notice. If you left, Jin, I would notice.” Namjoon said to give Seokjin shelter and company in feeling out of place. He felt it too and it was heavy, crushingly heavy. 

“I think we’re all just pretending to be okay. Pretending that living and existing doesn't hurt and that every day doesn't leave a scar on our body in some way. Being alive when you are pretending is lonely because it isn’t you who’s living and existing. It’s the shell of you, and the real you has to watch from a distance. That distance is so lonely. And when you try to crawl back into that shell, and maybe become whole again, you just can’t. You’re stuck because you've been hurt too many times to feel safe in your own body. I’ve felt it, now I know Jimin and Seokjin feel it. Even ___ and Hoseok, I know you guys feel it too. I wish we could stop. I wish we didn’t have to pretend. If we could stay in this library, together, we wouldn’t have to. But the end of the day will come and we’ll all have to go back to pretending, won't we?”

A speechless agreement filled the air.

“I don’t. I don’t want to feel lonely anymore.” Seokjin said.

“Me neither, I don't want to go back to pretending. I want to be able to love who I want to love.” Jimin looked to Seokjin, scared and unsure of whether or not they could face the world again. Oddly enough, comfort surfed over fear and uncertainty because they were not alone anymore. To be in a state of apprehension with those who take time to understand one another lightened the load tenfold. If one can be lonely with other lonely people, then maybe they weren’t alone after all. 

In this library, bright and giving, they certainly weren't alone.

There was nothing to say or refute. Hoseok had in fact been pretending, his skin just as fake as the leather jacket covering him. Though now, unlike when he saw his portrait, he felt the absence of his skin to be freeing. He felt uncomfortable in his skin; he wanted it off completely. Being strong, pretending to be unhurt led him to come crashing down as hard as he did when he faced you again. You and all the mistakes he’d made and Dickson’s hostile attack in the halls. Perhaps weakness is a form of healing.

Letting the guard down just enough to let the kindness of another’s heart in. 

“Do you guys… to me, you guys are my friends.” Spoken with an intentional rephrase and delivered without an expectation that the four of you returned this projection of friendship, Seokjin felt less alone than he did in the dark of the hallways that, although physically narrow, were wide enough to have him walking through alone.

“You’re my friend.” You said this quickly, to not give any chance for silence to settle doubt. You were his friend, truly, more so than the friends you made to fill the Hoseok sized void in your life. “I don’t have a lot of friends either.”

“Me neither.” Namjoon said.

“I mean, I have a lot of friends, but I think it’s all bullshit. I think you guys are the only ones close to anything real.” Jimin said through a smile.

And though Hoseok had come to realize what it felt like to be seen, to have his bones exposed to the eyes of the understanding, there was still that adjustment period. Letting go of the habitual usage of rudeness and sarcasm as a defense mechanism against the rawness of being human with other people was not an easily dropped reflex.

“Wow, well this love fest was certainly something.” 

How could he do that? How could he reduce the trauma and bravery piled between the five of you to another crass, insensitive comment? 

“Oh, god. Can’t you just quit it already? Can’t you take anything seriously?” You were well beyond the brink of holding your tongue. Beyond the point of patience that was placating your owed explanation for Hoseok’s drastic change and unannounced desertion.

“No, that part of my brain died a long time ago. Sorry to burst your bubble, princess.”

“Oh, is that what your excuse is?”

The other boys sensed there was some unsaid history between the two of you which placed them as silent audience members, serving a watchful mediation to this long-awaited performance. 

“What’s your deal? Calm down, it was just a joke.” His insensitivity came from a place that grew used to pushing you away and stonewalling the idea of emotionality, yet another defense mechanism brandished to become second nature to him. And with the attentive eyes of the other three, there was no chance of loosening the skin and veered away from showing his bones. Hoseok knew exactly what ‘your deal’ was but he didn’t have the slightest idea of how much his feigned indifference packed more dirt in your wounds.

Or at least, you hoped he didn’t. It would have made it far worse to know he was aware of the way he hurt you. 

“What’s my deal? My deal is that you don’t care about anyone! You never cared about me and you made me believe that I could trust you. You’re just an asshole, when you get down to it. You have no heart.” You spat, feeling the heat rising just as quickly as your body which collected the strength to take a stand. 

He too stood up, facing you and it overspent the little energy he had to look into your eyes as you said these harsh things, unhidden in the library’s brightness. Of course, you didn't believe anything you just said. You knew he cared, or at least he did once, and that he had a heart, no matter how emptied of love it felt in his chest. His heart was there, beating slowly as if waiting to stop completely.

You were speaking through the frustrations of trying to reach out to someone who held their guard up stronger and mightier than a brick wall and seemed to want nothing to do with you. 

He didn’t know this. Hoseok was up to his neck in regret and guilt. He was tired, and his heart was weary from doing its job of maintaining his breath. A breath he didn’t feel worthy of harboring anymore. He had been tired for a while now and just wanted to be vulnerable, like the rest of you. However, no matter how many times he thought it over or talked himself into it, the skin just seemed to regenerate faster than it shed. 

He wanted to take you in his arms, never let go, tell you where it hurt and hoped you would love him there in the same way you would when you were young, and when his heart didn’t fully understand the hefty price of being the unwanted orphan who dragged misery into the lives of everyone associated with him. He wanted the sandbox, the Andes mountains, Marley and Me, the first grade, the aromas of linen and lemon, and you all over again. But he knew, he never stopped wanting that.

“You don’t know that, ___! You don’t know anything so how dare you make claims like that about me when you don't know half the shit I’ve been through!” He was screaming, though not so much in the literal sense. The high pitch of his voice was him trying to talk over the secrets that he kept from you. It seemed like the only thing that would drown out the loneliness itching to be liberated was his hurtful words. It sent you into a rage

“Then tell me! Let me help you or be there for you! Stop running away. For once in your life stop running!”

“Why would I tell you of all people?” The true meaning behind this was unclear through his spiteful tone and sandpaper skin. The one person he wanted the best for, he wanted to protect, wasn’t the person to dump all his problems on. Not you. Not your kind eyes and soft, warm hands and skin. He couldn't drag you under the bus with him and make you solve the unsolvable. To put you through that, it would have been better to drive a dull sword right through your chest. 

You wanted to slap him or shake him. Shake the secrets out of him and place him right under the bright lights of the library. You wanted to reach into his chest and pump the slowly dying organ with your own hand so he could keep on breathing.

“I hate you, Hobi. I fucking hate you.” You said this and you said his name. The name owned by your tongue that carried too much sentiment to mean anything of hatred. Both his name and your hatred flew through the thick fog surrounding Hoseok, but only one of those two met with his skin and melted it off his bones completely. 

“I hate me too.”

He couldn’t let you, or anyone see him cry. So he ran, just like always. Hoseok walked out of the library, right into the dark halls, but it was him running again. Running far away from you just like he did over three years ago.

It seemed like he didn’t reveal nearly as much as Seokjin and Jimin had. Even Namjoon, with the few words he’d offered on his place in the grips of loneliness seemed to be loads more than Hoseok gave.

But to you, it was enough. To you, his silence and grim avoidance told you everything you needed to know about Hoseok.

Dry eyes, dignity, skin, the defensive masks once mounded over your faces were nowhere in sight of this library. Becoming emotionally undone and disarmed was nothing more than becoming honest with yourselves and others. It came just in time before those mighty walls broke down to leave you all sitting ducks to the much harsher grasps of your peers’ judgements

It felt like symbiosis. The mutual giving and receiving between those who had been pretending, but were worn out by the last few hours of detention. To give the skin that covers and protects and hides the things unwanted by most of society. The things often put to shame or denial or negligence and root loneliness deeper into one’s body. And to receive a mindful ear that cares and listens, empathetically, to the words locked away, as well as a place where these insecurities and inner torments can be put to rest through the form of words.

No longer were these secrets kept. There was no one to shun or misunderstand or commit the crime of breaking the bones of those who stand out to fit in the mold of what was considered acceptable or worthwhile. 

Four out of five coats unworn, laying in the center of your circle, safe and understood.

The question remained, if and when the fifth one would be shed?

Namjoon broke the tense silence.

“Are you going to go after him?” 

If it was your freshman year, you would have been racing out of those doors before Namjoon had to ask. The you of the past would have climbed over the Andes mountains, the you of elementary school would have swam across the vast oceans to drag him back into your life. The you of the past, the one that had only a sandbox and Hoseok, would have gotten to the door before he had and blocked any exit from this room. 

But you were not in the past, and Hoseok was already gone. Namjoon had to ask whether or not you would go after him and that meant there was a chance you had given up, for good this time. There was a chance you wouldn’t go after him.

“I don’t know. I don’t know anymore.”

 Five years ago

For the better part of a year, Hoseok tumbled through life without any cadence for feelings and emotions. He was an adolescent boy, after all, and each week brought a new challenge to his plate that left little room to focus on the chaos of his life and guidance of his heartbeat. This week, he set his sights on getting you to race him on your scooters down the steepest hill in your neighborhood. 

Dusk was orange and warm, sending its hues along the streets and faces who were under it like an important message one must read with the utmost care. Hoseok liked this part of the day specifically because the end of the hour would take his tired body into your home to eat dinner with you and your mom. He saved that for later and for now, he and you were occupied with scraped knees and tired knuckles from gripping the handles of your scooters, and a hill rolling down so far it seemed like it would take a lifetime to reach the bottom of it.

“Come on! We’ve been practicing for hours! You can do it!” His scooter was edging to slip off the slope and down the hill in eagerness. Yours stationed a foot behind with your helmet strapped snug around your chin and a grip around the handles so tight, you left the divots of each finger on the rubber padding. 

“What if we die?” You looked at the back of his head soon turned to become his face as he peeled away his determined glare to a soft reassurance. Wheeling back to align the front of his scooter with the front of yours, he was left to subside to the beatings of his heart, fed by the sun placing itself on the crest of your helmet and the luminescent rays drizzling like a serene waterfall down your face and body. 

He never thought about beauty much, being that he was no older than thirteen years, but seeing you under the aging sun had put it at the forefront of his focus.

“If we die… then you’re mom’s gonna be mad. So, I won’t let that happen.” 

“Hobi!” You swung your arm that braised the bone of his shoulder not without a laugh at his rather playful response to your worries. 

“Trust me. We don’t die. And whoever gets to the bottom first wins.” Your laugh served as a catalyst that quickened the pace of his heart. Whatever it was trying to tell him in this moment, it was surely of sizable importance being that it sent waves of warmth through his cheeks and down to his legs. The challenge now hadn’t been the epic scootering down the hill but putting his heart aside long enough to last the rest of dusk.

“Wins what?” You asked with intrigue.

“I don’t know. A piggyback ride all the way home.” Tired legs and a heavy head convinced you this prize had been worth the risk of falling, akin to dying in your perspective. Your head turned to the hill, looming over the intersecting street at the base of it, notifying Hoseok that backing down was no longer an option.

“Alright. Ready, set, go!”

Opening your mouth didn’t come with the expected release of terrified screams but laughs of thrilled enjoyment. The wind was cut through by your body, now rocketing down the gradient that felt much less steep than it looked, and you commended Hoseok for convincing you to tackle this seemingly trifling challenge. 

“This is so fun!” Your yelp was lost in the rapid descent, but Hoseok, a few feet ahead of you, had been in range of your acclaim. 

It was then when the young adolescence in his brain was overtaken by the guidance of his heart. His own tired body became alive and light. When you said this, the joy in your voice made the decision for him to discreetly apply pressure to the metal brake of his scooter with his heel, to realize he couldn’t make you carry him home. 

Not because it was tiring for you, but he wanted to see the look on your face when you won. He needed that smile and the warm blanket of your eyes that would heal his aching muscles and tired body. And it was your open-mouthed smile and celebratory hops, along with the showering glints of sunlight and the end of dusk that turned his loss into an incredible win. His covert efforts to draw this joy from you came from a place none other than pure love.

“I won! Hobi, I won!” Without a second to spare, you ran and mounted his back with legs wrapped tight around his torso and your arms snug, but not quite choking, his neck. 

“Alright, fair is fair.” Though, it wasn't fair. Not in the slightest, and Hoseok made sure of that. 

The feeling of your soft, jaded breath against his neck was energizing, and every so often you would give his body a tight squeeze when he was struggling to trudge back up the hill, as if to thank him. And you were because you knew he let you win. You squeezed him in your arms, keeping firm to the memory of him and this triumph gifted to you. Though, it was not as great of a gift as Hoseok was to your life. 

“Thank you, Hobi.” Your soft whisper was followed by an even softer kiss on his cheek, damp from the sun and the hill and the piggy-back ride. Soft enough to communicate to him the gratitude in your heart, which translated and directly manifested into his lungs now fanned of all the burning once inflaming them; his face sporting quite a bashful smile too.

He was not tired, not when he was holding you because it felt more like you were holding him. Like you were always going to hold onto him.

The neatly lined houses had little to no variation. Individuality in this small, suburban town was like finding that needle in the haystack. To him, your house was that shiny little pin. Your house was a home, and he saw that through the partly uncurtained windows that gave him a view of the scene inside. Most of the time, you were already seated by the sill, waiting for him to arrive. 

You and Hoseok had arrived at the base of your driveway, staring up at the small incline that looked like it was taller than the Andes Mountains themselves to Hoseok.

“You know how I said we won't die?” You turned to his lightly blushed cheeks upon hearing this to see he was smiling. “Yeah, well, I think I’m going to die.” 

His pearly whites cemented with metal braces and strands of his unkept hair stuck in the sweat of his forehead were sightly. You began to laugh, looking at the goliath hill separating you and him from a home-cooked meal courtesy of your mom, then back at the odd, awkward boy who had yet to discover the wonders of deodorant and properly fitted clothing.

Hoseok wasn’t all too desirable in terms of the traditional realm of attractiveness. His arms were lanky, unable to place themselves naturally at his sides without looking uneven, and his posture did him no favors either. And you took in all five foot five of him, before he hit a spur of growth, and thought he was the loveliest little thirteen-year-old in your grade and in the whole world. 

“Come on, you know my mom won’t allow that. I got you, Hobi.” You weaved your hand through his, pulling with all the force your muscles could exert to haul him up the driveway. You made it to the top and your hand didn’t let go of him. Your mind was trying to deny the twists and turns of your stomach and the fast pumping of your heart any credence. 

When all else fails, you must listen to your heart.

Both you and Hoseok discovered in your very young, inexperienced lives that hills and driveways and scooters and all the other trivial barriers were no match to hearts. 

It was in first grade that he knew he was going to be your best friend. It was by eighth grade he knew he loved you. So much he’d carry you with bruised knees and broken arms to the ends of the earth. 

 2:00 - 4:00

Hoseok’s memories of you became sort of a mosaic. The little pieces of you were, singularly, a bit insignificant in the time they were being experienced. Often overlooked, and taken for granted, he couldn’t realize the beauty they captured until he stepped back. With distance, he saw the full picture, the ethereal mosaic had brought him a far and lonely appreciation for the past. 

All throughout the day, he didn’t want to look into your eyes like he did the day you convened with him in the parking lot where he was smoking. His fluency of your eyes had unraveled with time, leaving him feeling illiterate in the language of you and completely lost. When he felt lost, he wanted his heart to guide him again, but it would instruct him to return to you and replenish the deserted friendship. However, from what everyone told him, even Dickson, he wasn’t worth the effort. 

You had been staring at the door opened and closed by Hoseok, waiting to be opened and closed by you. As if there were a part of you deciding on letting him go, you tapped your hand against the table synchronically with the seconds ticking by on the clock. The door had eroded the rest of the library away, along with the three sets of eyes staring earnestly at you.

“So, are you gonna go or what? We have like two hours left and God knows whether he actually stayed on campus or not.” Seokjin sliced the wordless atmosphere with heavy hopes you would make any indication of your next move. 

“Seokjin, shut up! ___, don’t feel pressured to do anything.” This overlaid Jimin’s pounding urge to hoist you up himself and throw you into the wiles of the halls.

“What? ___ clearly wants to find him.” 

“Well, he clearly doesn’t want to be found. He’s such a child, honestly, I shouldn’t waste my time.” You knew you only said this to try and talk yourself out of the decision which had been established by your beating heart the minute Hoseok walked out. The obvious desire to follow him had been expressed through the discomfort you felt for tearing your eyes away from the door; you were guilty, above all else. 

Each tap of your hand could have been a prelude to your inevitable pursuit of the man who, in fact, did want to be found. It was effortful but insincere to attempt leveling the scale between the two options of chasing or letting go; the opportunity of Hoseok was a weightier one than the life without him, executed through repetitive, passionless motions. You were bored, repulsed by the way you had lived out each moment of your life just to wait for the next and the next until your life was over. 

“Come on, you know that’s not true.” Namjoon added, “We’ll cover for you if Dickson comes back. I really think you should go.”

“Yes, please. Go.” Seokjin placed his desires proudly once again. 

“In all honesty, I think you should go t-”

“Enough! I’ve already gone down that path. All I ever got from it was unheard voicemails and ignored texts.” You were still looking at the door, and still trying to talk yourself out of it - and still feeling guilty.

“Love is hard, I get it. But-” You didn’t let Namjoon finish his well-thought out life lesson that would have coerced you into going after him.

“What? I don’t love him.”

“Ooo, ___ and Hoseok? Fire and ice. Rain and sun. Winter and Sum-”

“Seokjin, don’t you have an essay to write?” You cut his words down as well, finding none of their entertainment in your inner psyche appropriate. They were placing themselves in your mind, but to them it wasn’t so much of a locked door than a door wide open with its secrets spilling out faster than the tick of the clock and the tap of your hand.

“Well, he clearly loves you. I don’t know him that well, but I can assure you he doesn’t get like that around just anyone.” Whatever ‘like that’ meant, you were annoyed that you knew exactly what Namjoon was implying. It didn’t stop you from perpetual, stubborn denial.

“He doesn’t love me.” 

“Oh… Are you being- Is ___…? Are- You’re stupid.” Seokjin’s words crumbled to near incoherency due to his complete astonishment for your lack of judgment. Perhaps if your belief that he didn’t love you was a genuine judgment, then his assessment would have been correct; you were being stupid.

“Well, fuck you too!”

“What he means to say,” Namjoon’s pause was to shoot Seokjin a disapproving glance, “is that it's really obvious you guys are into each other. I don’t know your history but there are definitely some unresolved feelings.”

“If you’re not gonna talk things out with him, at least tell him to come back so Dickson doesn’t get him into even more trouble.” Jimin’s addition only vegetated your inclination to find him again. 

It made sense. It was rational, reasonable, and therefore possible. You couldn’t let him get in trouble. You were just doing him that small favor. In your head, it caked over the real reason; to know he still cared or to see his eyes looking back at you, and figuring out what was the wedge that drove you and him apart. Maybe this would somehow re-cultivate the half of your heart still hanging by the thread that tethered you to him.

“I-” You stood up, walking towards the door that was about to be opened and closed, and looked back at the three boys now favoring much more satisfied and slightly smug looks on their faces, “Oh, shut up.”

Jimin held his hand, palm facing the ceiling, in front of Namjoon who greeted it with a victorious high five. Seokjin held his pencil up to signify you that he could now peacefully start his essay, to which you smiled warmly. You couldn’t thank them out loud, because you had nothing to ‘thank’, or so you thought.

You were just making sure Hoseok wouldn't get in trouble. That’s all it was. Then, you opened and closed the door and began the chase again. This time, however, the fog that once hurdled your vision was easy to sift through with the loud beats of your heart navigating you through the moors of the hallways.

You turned left, then stopped to ponder on turning back and going right instead. Hoseok didn’t make this easy and you wouldn’t have expected anything less from him. Eventually, you just let your body wander the many halls for about ten minutes before you decided on furthering your search to the roof of the main building. 

There was a new revenue of motivation that moved your legs forward. Before, they were struggling to keep up with everything life hurled at you. Now, it was far more determined and self-assured because you were moving towards a goal. You wanted to find him, and this time everything you had faced, all the loneliness, self-blame, forced smiles and friendships couldn’t keep up with you.

The stairs proved to be quite a test for your determination, and you passed with flying colors, heavy breaths, and inflamed hamstrings. You were lucky to push through the door and find him standing, staring off into the expanse of the fog. Towering over the haze had you realizing the entire school had been submerged, not just Hoseok and you and the library. Everything was under that sheet of blindness except for, as of now, you and Hoseok. The roof served as a platform to look upon the fog and stand safe from the numbing effect it debilitated on those in it. You knew he heard you. The perk of his ear as you ungracefully fell through the door to the open air told you he knew you were there. 

You stood a few feet behind him, and he offered only the view of his back facing you. There was a line to be crossed if you were to go towards him, place your hand on his shoulder, and ask him to face you. Whatever line that was, you knew it was Hoseok who set it and you wanted to know why.

“It’s cold out here.”

He said nothing, but did provide the tenuous gesture to turn his head, giving you a side profile of his face. In turn, wiring through your eyes was the stains of what could only be deduced as tears along his cheek. 

“Aren’t you cold? Let’s go back inside, Hobi.” 

Hoseok couldn’t look, doing so would only invite you to join him. It would plot his every desire along the pavement and undress how much he wanted to have and hold you. But you were no one’s, least of all his, to hold.

“Dickson could be back any minute.” Your footsteps towards him raised the clarity of your voice. You were doing a fine job at hiding the real reason you came up to get him, both from yourself and Hoseok. It pinched his weathered heart that you had just come up to warn him about Dickson. 

“Okay.” He answered curtly to bitter the atmosphere and showed no sign of leaving. 

“Well, I’m not leaving here until you get your ass down there, so, you’ll be getting me in trouble too.” You crossed the line which felt more like walking over a burned bridge, and placed yourself next to him with perfect access to see his face.

He was even more beautiful standing above the fog. 

You leaned your elbows next to his on the ledge of the building. His eyes, glistening from the tint of resisted tears, plowed over the treetops peeking through the top layers of mist. It was difficult to tell whether or not he was listening when his eyes were busy whispering secrets to everything in the far distance and the close proximities. To everything but you.

“Why?” Hoseok’s eyes were nudging towards the direction of you. He wanted so badly to look at you, to brave a glance but he was so cold out here that he had frozen over into ice. 

In this ice, he couldn’t move or even breathe for that matter. Looking at you and not being able to move towards you was an unnecessary torture of which he'd rather not look at you at all. So, he remained in his calcified state, eyes edging dangerously close to you.

“Why what?” Your eyes moved away from him, to the fog instead, trying to see the ground below. “You’re staying up here, aren’t you?” 

“Yeah.”

“Well, I’m staying with you.” Hoseok was shocked that you said this with such decisiveness; it was difficult to decipher whether this proposition came as easily as it was said. The lonely glades of mist were entrenched by a new plurality, like a double-edged sword ready to cut through the veil of secrets. The more you would push through Hoseok’s skin, the more it penetrated your own.

“God! Why can’t you just leave?” He removed himself from the ledge, pacing over to the space in the middle of the roof. Thinking this would suffice the desperation for distance was a gross miscalculation. You too pulled away from the ledge that overlooked the foggy plains and placed your steps consecutively with his. 

“Don’t you see I clearly don’t want you here?” That lie tasted much more sour when spoken out loud.

“I don't! Okay? I really don’t. I don't understand… I- Why did you leave? What the fuck did I do?” Your voice had matched in elevation with your frustration; you were not referring to him leaving the library, but to his cold departure from your life over three years ago. And with that, was the unending pursuit of him. 

“___, you just have better places to be. So go! Stop staying with me. Jesus fucking Christ! Look at me!” His hands angrily emphasized his sharp features that would surely draw blood if you came too close. “You shouldn't be hanging around with someone like me.”

“Is that what this has been all about?” You stood paralyzed; your body was stunned from this all too underwhelming reason. You were hoping that this wasn’t it, there was surely a much more redeeming explanation for how he ripped your heart right out of your chest. The thought that this was the reason for the cut tie had cornered you in a fiery rage. It made you furious. “Are you fucking kidding me, Hobi? That’s what this is about?”

What better place to be than right here, with you? You knew he would not be generous in giving any further explanation, so this question remained in your head.

“Yeah, actually, it is.” A shiver riddled its way under his jacket. He turned towards you, finding that revealing the truth which cemented him into a miserable, solitary life was not as climactic as he expected. Nor did he expect it to be revealed in the first place.

But it was, unceremoniously, rolled onto the roof. He had nothing to hide anymore so he looked at you. Your eyes, that he could finally see since you were above the fog, were close to tears. Years and years of denial and repression compounding against your heavy heart now alleviated, but it was not the least bit rewarding. You thought he was absolutely delusional to believe the gesture that his abandonment was rooted in the effort to protect you, when all it did was hurt you.

“No I-” You swiped your hand against your cheek, though it was useless as tears soon replaced themselves on your face, “That’s so stupid. That’s- You think I care? I don’t give a fuck about what you look like or what you do, Hobi. Don’t you understand I-”

“No, you don’t understand. I’m not good.” His voice wavered through his throat, releasing more as a cry for help than an assertion of truth. 

“How could you say that?” You did him the favor of taking the strides towards him. The initiative fell to you and your body moved through instinct to close that distance Hoseok kept trying to re-establish. His body was weak up close; when there was no space or fog and the jacket draped over his body could no longer keep his skin collected along his bones, he was weak and it was far more relieving to see him vulnerable. 

“You were the best thing to ever happen to me. You were the only little first grader that wanted to be my friend and not just that. You showed me that someone could actually want to be my friend. You gave me so many years of happiness that would have been dreadful without you. I would have hated life without you. And I do! I hate life without you, Hobi. I’m so lonely.” You were unsure how you came to finally reveal every message your heart pumped through your veins and up to your brain for all these years, but you were glad it happened.

It wasn’t Hoseok’s lack of effort that kept all the good things he’s done under the rug of unimportance. It was the mounds of contempt the world held for kids like him. The stigma of abandonment and undesirability that was clamping down on any part of him brave enough to reach out, making it difficult for any feelings to be shown without irreparable harm or discouragement.

“You don't mean that.”

“I don't mean that. That’s it? That’s all you can say?”

It was, for the moment, all he could say. The feelings of unworthiness facilitated utter shame of himself like congruent figures now inseparable from each other and had molded a cage of confinement around Hoseok. His body was trapped under the scrutiny of everyone who expected him to fail, and one day he was afraid your eyes would join. That one day, you would look upon him with nothing of warmth, love, or admiration. Nothing of the eyes populated with blankets and storms and bountiful roses. 

“You’re so fucking persistent!”

“Why are you pushing me away?”

“Because!”

“Tell me why! You know I deserve it.” The conversation metered out with a lot less organization and structure, which was the result of many untouched feelings released between the two of you. The blizzarding words were combative and destructive as well as reparative and conjoining, but most of all it was grievously uncivilized.

“Jesus Christ.”

“Three years. Three fucking years, Hoseok. I’ve wasted three years of my life blaming myself for losing you. Blaming myself for being lonely. God! I'm so mad at you! I'm so mad at myself for still loving you!”

And there it was. The last stroke of courage slipping from your mouth into the words spoken through an unfiltered and unrestrained heart. It was beating fast right now as if it had been unmoving in your chest for the past three years. Finally beating again, you felt all the blood return to your limbs in waves of pricks along the expanse of your skin.

Hoseok was not ready to be cast into the shallow, yet inescapable oasis of your testament. The remoteness of the past three years had him crawling through an emotionless desert, purged of any source of water or food or nourishments to keep his thick-skinned body functioning. The moment he was presented with a bit of the revitalizing water, Hoseok, like many starving people, dove into it too much, too fast.

He felt the atrophied muscles in his legs gain traction to glide towards you. The force was a savage agent of his tightly packed emotions which erupted the moment you said you loved him. He loved you, he knew that now, and his body wouldn’t allow him a second longer to sit desolate and starved. 

Without stopping him, his lips planted roughly and passionately against yours. You were wrapping your arms around his neck before the logical sense of what was happening had been granted permission into your conscience.

Your heart, his heart, were guiding and deepening the kiss, only tangling you tighter into your dedication for him as much as it was twisting the confusion and unanswered questions into a larger, messier knot.

His tongue slid against your lower lip, assuming an entrance to slip himself into your mouth. Your jaw hung slightly agape and gluttonous at the way his lips spilled such tender movements against yours. His hands were running along your back fervently, holding your body firmly in place, like he was trying to keep his own body from disassembling. 

Your lips were moving messily against his, though unchoreographed, they moved with a near perfect synchronicity. Refinement had seceded to your hunger to taste him. His mouth was sweet and hot, gentle and forceful, loving and angry, and the light pinch of his teeth that took your bottom lip between them had you moaning lightly into his mouth.

Then, everything once expounding into inexistence flooded back into reality. You divorced yourself from him as every empty promise claimed their demands to be fulfilled. The push against his chest was strong and it had to be in order to dissect that long awaited act of closeness. 

“What the hell?”

A long interval of silence tormented the rooftop since Hoseok could only explain himself through guilty looks directed at the concrete floor. The surface upholding him was solid, of course, so it was strange that he suddenly felt like he was sinking into the ground below. His hand ran through his hair, trying to bring himself to words. To say anything or do anything other than take you in his arms and hold onto you so that his body wouldn’t sink beneath the roof’s malleable surface.

“I’m sorry.” And that was not good enough for you. Not when he kissed you like he loved you and didn’t let you fill three years with desperate, lost hopes.

“Sorry for what? For kissing me or for giving up on our friendship? Or for breaking my heart? Or for making me feel like I did something wrong or wasn’t enough for you? Or for making me think that everything built between us was just my imagination?” The list could have lengthened into an unplanned admittance of all the pain he caused you, however, it wasn’t the time for you to speak. 

It was his turn.

“I guess I was just…” Afraid you wouldn’t want me anymore, “I guess I just didn't see it that way.”

“Stop lying.” You said and could only hope he wouldn’t revert to his evasive and insincere responses. Your hand came to rise and press against his chest. There was nothing to testify what came over you in this moment, but you wanted to feel his chest and know his heart was still beating. That, like yours, it still sent life throughout his body with its consecutive pumps. It was. 

Ever so harshly pounding away at his rib cage as if it were trying to break free.

“I never… I never had anyone care.”

“And?”

“And I didn’t wanna drag you into my shit.”

“What? What the hell are you talking about?” Your hand moved from his chest to his chin, holding it in place so he couldn’t get the chance to look anywhere but into your eyes.

“Don’t be stupid, ___. My life isn't exactly picture perfect. From the beginning, my parents didn’t even want me.” He felt like he was being held emotionally captive by the years of trauma he had endured. Of the cycle of abuse and repression that crushed his will to feel anything at all. He was trying to break free. Despite all these facets of struggle, he spoke gently to you and it made your heart bleed empathy for his pain.

“Listen, there’s always that kid that everyone knows is trouble. Everyone knows that they’ll end up in a bad place. You know what I mean... That was me. I was that kid. I didn’t wanna drag you in that shit with me. You think I wanted to push you away? I had no other choice!” To you, he did have another choice. He could have stayed with you, but of course, he had no idea. 

Hoseok looked at you so sadly, with eyes begging to be loved and a voice softened by his tender, bruised heart. He felt so isolated. The imminence of his downfall became prevalent ever since he began to pay attention to the judgmental whispers of teachers and parents on open house nights when he showed up parentless, or when he was the last one at extended day care when everyone else’s parents came to pick them up from school. Paying attention to detail was the wrench thrown into his life, unhinging the naivety, and drilling in its place the knowledge that society had ostracized him for being an orphan.

Maybe it was because you loved him so much, and it was blinding. You didn’t see much of the world outside of the lens of Hoseok, but you didn’t feel the need to see such a place. Your figment of him was always in a good light; you couldn’t fathom shedding darkness or disappointment or repulsion anywhere near him. So, when he said this, you were completely oblivious of that dehumanizing label many teachers, parents, and fellow students grouped him under.

“I don’t understand.” 

“Of course you don’t.” He jerked his head away with a scoff. Though to no avail, your hand still mounted onto his chin.

“No I mean,” Your head turned down, attempting to process this information into coherency, “I don’t understand how anyone could see you like that.”

“See, this is exactly why I can’t be around you. I’d ruin you! You see the best in me and that's the worst thing you could do.”

‘Ruin you’? You still didn’t know what that meant.

“Were people really that bothered that you were an orphan?”

He said nothing. He simply looked at you as if you had pointed out an observation so universally accepted that it went unneeded to be discussed. Like it was a given to cast someone like him off, or to repeat his worthlessness until it was purged from a tongue bored of belittlement and moved onto the next victim of verbal assault. He was simply one of the dominoes falling into place. Falling on top of each forgotten and neglected child.

“You wanna know what Dickson said to me?” He paused, not to wait for your permission but to prepare himself to recount the hurtful things still pronging against his open wounds, “He told me I’m unwanted. He told me that I was going to end up some loser not even worth considering a part of society. Basically, I’m damaged goods, ___, and you shouldn’t be hanging around me. You actually have a chance to make something out of yourself. Don’t waste that chance on me. I can’t let you do that.”

“You know that's not true.” Your hand moved to his cheek since he slipped too easily away from your grip of his chin. You held him in place, you held him with you.

“Why shouldn’t I believe it? ___, think about it. I am pathetic. My own parents didn’t even want me. And my foster parents told me I was just a financial asset. That my only worth was their monthly foster parent check.” 

It was crushingly difficult to hear such punishing words coming from Hoseok. That he not only had to endure the unfeigned demoralization of those who saw his worth to be instrumental but that he had come to believe them. He came to resent himself for a choice that was not his to be made but still suffered every waking day for it.

“And I guess I thought you were going to leave me behind like everyone else seemed to do. Like everyone eventually just wants to get rid of me.” 

“What?” The core pillar of your relationship with Hoseok relied on his permanence in your life, so hearing him fear what didn’t once cross your mind took you back as well as your hand. “Hobi, how could you think that?”

He shrugged distantly.

“Don’t. Don't you dare.” Almost out of nowhere, your soft cries were emulsified by the dryness of the air and turned into a heavy sob. But, it was not out of nowhere. It was from somewhere deeply upset that you let him think so lowly of himself all these years. That maybe, you hadn’t fulfilled your job as his best friend. “First of all, don’t you dare say that about yourself and second of all Dickson is a piece of shit.”

“___, please don’t cry.” He was urgent in his request. 

Not over me. Don’t waste your wilting petals of tears over my corpse.

“You thought I would leave you? You weren’t protecting me from whatever inferiority complex you’ve carried around your whole life. You were protecting yourself.” 

“It’s not like that.” He stepped towards you, trying to ignore the wince worthy pain when you dodged him as if he were a bullet. “___, I love you.”

You were astounded by the signals so contrasting of each other that they led you to a plight of hysterics. You had to let out a flustered chuckle at the way he told you he would be heading left then turned right when you were already walking on the opposite path.

“I love you.”

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“I love you.”

“You have a fucking horrible way of showing it.” Your arms folded over your chest and he realized it was his turn to keep your gaze locked with his. To chase you and to be put in the position that he forced you into three years ago. “I can’t understand you.”

“I was weak. If your hands were covered in blood would you walk up to something good and clean and force your stains on it? Would you leave disgusting prints of yourself on something so pure just because you were the only person in my life that didn’t see me as just an orphan?” Hoseok drowned himself in his words, but obtained and kept a soft hold on your cheeks with his hands.

 He was unable to register how distorted his perception of himself was in your eyes, feeling as though everything he said drowned his lungs with waters that almost choked him from speaking at all. 

There was a borderless delusion which fraught the comparison Hoseok just explained. It fell close to thoughtless and hollow, the way he reduced you to some virginal, helpless and unattainable prize on a pedestal; he subjected you to some paradigm of pristine stature that wouldn’t have the good nature to be anything less than empathetic for him. Though, you were not the image of purity or unmarred of pain and suffering; he was the reason for that.

“I'm not some little innocent kid. I know bad shit happens, but I’d never let that change the way I see you.” Filling the vacancy of your heart wasn't all too touching. You were distraught, distrustful, of everything in this world that led Hoseok to such a destructive mindset. To ruin the sweetest boy and subject him to undeserved misery. “You’re not just an orphan. You will not let that define you, you hear me? You are you. You are Jung Hoseok. To me, you will always be Hobi.”

The most frustrating part of this was tied between the fact that no real blame could be placed on one contender and the difficulty of understanding someone’s story when it went untold for far too long. Perhaps you had been pretending his pain didn’t exist because it was easier to see him as a stone-like, uncaring heathen. It was easier to cover your deep grief for losing him with hatred, but it did nothing to solve the division between you two; at the end of the day, you were still lonely and you still needed him. Wasting three years away to bitter resentment was nothing compared to knowing the truth of it all but having no power in redirecting yourself to compassion rather than anger.

“I should have been honest. I was scared.” He said. “I just thought I could never be enough for you.”

The fog was fully cleared. Your eyes panned from the edge of the roof to Hoseok’s needful gaze and down his addicting lips. All this time, he was just as alone and just as afraid, existing no less than a car ride away from you and still light years from ever being able to garnish his defeat with an admittance that he needed someone.

What more was there to say? Hoseok could have droned on about the way his foster parents stripped him of innocence and tossed him into the frigid hands of self-reliance or how he felt himself sinking into failure when the world of no mercy pulled him by the ankle and dragged his thrashing body through life without the guidance of someone who knew what was best for him. He could have explained how every unmet expectation put him against the world, in constant competition with not just everyone else but himself. Fighting against his need to be cradled and cared for with his resistance to tenderness enacted to thicken the skin on his body so the weaponry of an orphaned life, unearned glares of contempt and disapproval, and predisposed low regards wouldn’t dig as deeply. 

He could have relayed all his nights lost to wondering why he wasn’t worth keeping. Why a child without the slightest clue how to dress, or bathe, or speak, or trust was turned away by the very people who brought him into this world and had to figure out all these lessons on his own.

It was the depletion of his own self-worth that drove him to loosen his grips, and how that was not of apathy but instead caring too much to let himself get in the way of your opportunely life. Letting you go was a loss that came with a painful imminence.

He said none of this because you looked at his eyes and he looked at yours. Through the clean air, the ripe and unhazed space among reuniting stares, he saw what your eyes carried. It was an ocean. A place of immeasurable depth and complexity, never still and constantly giving the sand something to shelter and love. A wide body of life and water that replenished the seared collection of bones under the parched skin of Hoseok’s flesh.

In loving you, in gazing into you, he let the water diffuse his skin until he was skinless, fully bone.

“I never stopped.” You redacted the fact that you were referring to loving him, because the unsaid implications were communicated much more beautifully and accurately than what the entire collection of the English language could attribute.

“Me neither.” Hoseok paused, dropping his hands from your face to his sides knowing with full confidence you and your gaze would remain with him, “I don’t know what to do.”

“About what?”

“I hate living. It's terrible. Everything about my life is terrible and I hate it.” His face turned wet quickly. Seeing this brought a natural desire to hold him again and to cast off his despair with your loving touch.

“Am I terrible?” You asked, hoping your words would serve as that gentle caress.

“No, how- Why would you say that?”

“Because I’m a part of your life. You might have gotten rid of me once, but I’m here to stay. Am I so terrible?”

“No. You’re wonderful.”

“Can you look at me and tell me I’m wrong when I say I need you in my life just as much as you need me?” The stagnant exchange of undeterred eyes was a comforting overture. A beginning that was not quite new, but a dormant adventure ready to be reborn into fruition.

“No.”

“So, I’m going to tell you. Hoseok, I need you in my life because I love you. Because no matter what people may say, you’ve brought nothing but love and happiness into my life.” The words, like a needle and thread woven into him, stitched the fabric of his heart back to fullness.  “Do you understand? I believe in you. I will be there for you. That’s what friends are for.”

“You’re my friend.” It constituted both a question and an irrefutable statement.

“Yours.”

“Mine.” He smiled softly, a gentle disparity against his tears.

“Life won’t be so terrible. I promise. If we have each other. If we have people who care, life is not so terrible. You have me, Hobi, you have someone who cares.”

There was no profound revelation with what you said. Nothing that was original or unordinary; it was quite common to be told you were cared about. One could refine your words to about three, maybe four, with the same tact. But that is exactly what made it original and unordinary to Hoseok. Countless people said the words ‘I care about you’, trillions of times and in hundreds of different ways and languages. It was said over and over again but Hoseok was never familiar with the comfort of being on the receiving end. To be cared about, and to be told he was cared about was quite revolutionary, and a completely profound rarity to him. And to him, these words were invented by your caring tongue; the first utterance that transformed the radical concept of care into something plausible. 

Sometimes, that’s all one needs. To be told they are cared for. Sometimes it’s enough to clean the bone of its wretched, heavy skin.

“What’s going to happen now?” You and he had migrated to look out to the fog ejecting itself among the trees and stretching all the way to the horizon. The trees were sitting so close together yet far enough for fog to slide between them. You wondered if the trees knew that they weren’t alone. 

“At this point, it's up to you.”

Once again, it wasn’t said. The beautiful things were expressed through silence because it somehow fertilized the sincerity with greater effect. Verbalizing them would have tainted what was kept clean and loving inside the warmth and safety of your hearts. You never knew to have such a connection with someone where the most important things that should be said aloud were somehow louder when they weren’t. Somehow, with the gentle brush of his arms against your sides as he was embracing you from behind, it was louder than words.

There was a stillness encompassing every piece of this moment. A stillness of the air, of time, of the two bodies placed above the fog. You and Hoseok were arrested from reality, lounging in the freedom of each other’s presence. The bright orange sun permeated through the grey clouds, reflecting specks of light along the faces of you and him. Seeing your skin once again carrying soft ornaments of the sun’s rays returned him to the only place he felt like he belonged: your heart. Being taken away from the chaos of life, Hoseok felt that this Saturday fell within the bounds of eternity.

“Are we going to be okay?”

“Together, we will be. We have each other.”

You took his hand in yours, fingers sliding together. His attention was stolen by you, or maybe it had belonged to you this whole time and was simply being returned to its rightful owner, still soaking in the sweet rays of the sun. He had no facetious, obtuse comment to tack along the tenderness of the roof. For once, he was vulnerable. It felt euphoric, like his heart truly began to pump life blood into his body.

“Okay.” He readied himself for the new world he was about to embark on, though this time, it was hand in hand with you.

“Ready?” You took a few steps back, towards the stairwell, your arm pulling Hoseok along, “I got you, Hobi.”

He nodded, no longer afraid of the dark halls. His narrative was not a singular venture. There was a partnership, a force of love perhaps, that pushed him to step forward. 

Hoseok once feared no one would get to his bones; to see the skeleton of himself underneath the epidermal armor. After many years and many layers of skin, no one had attempted much less succeeded in exposing his bones that yearned to be seen by the eyes of someone brave enough to face this quagmire.

And by chance, by timing's watchful eye, you had done just that. Lovingly exfoliated each layer of skin, washing away the scars and bruises of everything they had endured, and held his bones bare in your hands. Standing in the glimmering ocean waves of your eyes, feeling his bones, purified of all grief, against the air and conflated four years’ worth of the lonely, blinding fog once surrounding him. 

Standing in the sandbox once again of double occupancy. 

“I love you.” The words cascaded off his tongue with the same grace and earnest of what being in love felt like. Hoseok couldn’t do a lot of things and had quite a bit of trouble expressing himself for these past few years, but his love for you was something that couldn’t be anything less than accurate and sincere to do his heart a bit of justice. 

“You said that already.”

“Are you going to say it back or not?” He pulled you in by your waist, leaving you no other option than to oblige the requests he flew into the air.

“I love you, Hobi. I do. I love you.” Your hands lifted to his face, and his cheeks were warm. Though soft skin covering it, you could feel his bones. They were being caressed, loved, touched by your hands. 

He closed his eyes, trying to remember the last time he felt this at home when he wasn’t in your home of linens and lemons. His face shifted to the side to press his lips into your palm.

“I love you.” He said again, seeping into skin, printing the words into your bones. Hoseok had to repeat it, just to hear you say it once more, to make sure it was all real. That it wasn’t just him that was melting into the art of you, but the art of you touching him, coalescing with him.

“I love you.” Tears of his face were brushed by your thumb and they didn’t feel like the sad ones shed before. They were a sweet and gentle ode to everything he’d ever wanted since the moment he asked to play with you in the sandbox.

You were crying as well, holding him in your hands. Holding him. You could not see the fog, the only thing rapturing every sense was Hoseok. Your lips pressed lightly against his, feeling him smile into the kiss, and that drowned out the crisp, punishing air that pricked chills against your cheeks. 

Hoseok knew he was going to be okay.

 The two of you made your way back to the library, greeted with three suspenseful eyes, trained against the doorway partly from apprehension that Dickson would return and partly from hoping you and Hoseok would make a swift return. They, too, cared and wanted to see if Hoseok’s skin had finally shed.

“Heeeeey.” Seokjin drew out his coy greeting to tease you and Hoseok for the all too noticeable gesture of holding hands. Jimin and Namjoon were captured in the physical intimacy that you two casually displayed as well.

“You two took your sweet time, didn’t you?” Namjoon said to the pair of smiling faces now returning to the table behind Jimin without further explanation. He was implying the long absence of you and Hoseok was not delayed through a reprimand from Dickson but by your own insatiable desires for each other. 

“I found this idiot on the roof. Took me a bit to convince him to come back down here, but I did it.” You turned over to Hoseok who was investing his efforts in rearranging himself back into an outwardly tough manner.

“Oh, I bet you had to do a lot of convincing, huh ___.” Seokjin’s comment was met with a light slap against his shoulder by your hand for his lewd teasing, and the way his fingers imitated quotation marks when he said the word ‘convincing’.

“Hey! I actually had to convince him. This man is very, very stubborn.”

“Yeah, ___ wouldn’t leave me alone so I didn’t have much of a choice.” He stared at his hand once being held in yours, trying to shovel over the smile simmering on his lips. Jimin shifted to face you and Hoseok, eyes squinting to slits from reading the overwhelmingly happy expressions on your faces.

“So, Dickson came back.” Jimin said, smiling widely.

“Oh shit. What did he say?”

“We all pretended that we could see you and he was the only one that couldn’t see you guys. It was hilarious, you should have seen his face.” Seokjin intervened with his own account of the story. Jimin turned to him and burst out laughing harder than when Dickson walked like a defeated soldier out of the library.

“He was like, ‘You kids need to learn respect. You mess with the bull, you get the horns’ whatever that means. But he didn’t even end up doing anything because he knew we wouldn’t snitch. But, damn, you should have seen his face.” Jimin’s hand covered his mouth during the process of him laughing and wedging in pieces of the story in between. 

“That sounds like the dumbest cover up ever, but I guess Dickson is somehow dumber than that.” The count of five smiles amounted to each of you hunching over with laughter at the vice principal’s idle reactions to the detentionees displaying a clear sign of insubordination. 

“He is. He really is that dumb.” Namjoon said during a pause from whatever he was drawing.

“Well, either way, I appreciate the effort. And Hobi does too, even though he won’t admit it.” His stubborn disavowal of expressing appreciation contrived through rolled eyes that then landed onto the four others accompanying his space. Though shadowed through his many apathetic modes of emoting, he found this Saturday detention not only bearable, but enjoyable. He found himself attached to other people after severing all ties from actual intimacy. Being connected and vulnerable was an easier way of going about his life. And, he didn’t realize it then, but he planned on keeping it that way. 

“Hey guys?” Seokjin tossed aside the Dickson debacle with this conversational prelude, “What’s gonna happen when we go back out there?”

“What do you mean?” You asked, absentmindedly reaching over to grab Hoseok’s hand at the mention of leaving the safe space of the library. He responded to you with a gentle, reassuring squeeze that eased the contraction of your worried muscles.

“We’re still gonna be friends, right?” The prospect fell into consideration as the five of you were moved to silence. After a few exchanges of ambivalent and uncertain glances, Namjoon worked in a soft smile to soothe the frightful thought of returning to the harsh reality. 

“Yeah. We are.” His confirmation spoke for the rest of your benevolent agreement. 

“Well, I better see you guys at all of my games.” Jimin set this expectation as a receival of the newly polished friendships, grooming quite a bit of fondness being that the four of you knew more about Jimin than his own parents. “And, we’ll be sure to go to Namjoon’s.... Art competitions?”

“Not quite, but I appreciate the thought.” Namjoon laughed. 

The commonalities that were once so obscured between you all had become clear by the arrival of the eighth hour. Though there were many obstacles placed to stint any form of connection between five polar adversaries, you all found a salve from the relentless feeling of loneliness through each other. Your essays were never written, finding Dickson’s call for another Saturday detention of probable cause. Even if you were to write an essay on what you did wrong and why it was wrong as well as why you were sorry, there would be no truth unveiled in it. You all found that living unapologetically had been a far more effective catalyst for growth and maturation than any half-hearted essay assigned by a man with no credentials to call himself a student administrator.  

There was that phrase, "down to the bone", that had hung over Hoseok's mind for quite a bit today. Some say it implies when you've spent all you had, and are left with the poverty of dry marrow. That, to him, was a mutilation of the phrase which he couldn't accept.

This colloquial, "down to the bone", could not be a reference to having nothing left. Not in his case at least. Not when he felt so full of safety with nothing but his bones under the home of your eyes and hands

Hoseok looked at you, then to the other three and knew things would be different. Eventually, things would get better, he just had to wait long enough for those better things to come.

You found each other, and that was all that mattered.

 A week later, you met up in the campus’ cafe with Jimin, Namjoon, Seokjin, and Hoseok discussing the rather insignificant topic of which contestant was going to be eliminated from the reality television show you had all been keeping up with. 

“Hey, did you guys ever actually write that essay Dickson told us to write?” Seokjin asked, knowing he had failed to do so.

“Nope.” Jimin said unregretfully, almost with a prideful twist.

“Of course not.” You replied.

“Well, I might have written something on behalf of all of us. It wasn’t an essay per say, more like a letter to Dickson.” Namjoon said smugly into the cup of his coffee.

“What? What did you write?” Jimin put forth the curiosity shared by the four of you.

“Oh nothing too special.” But, of course, if it was anything of Namjoon’s doing, it was something entirely special.

You decided not to further pry on the specifics of what was written, rather sipping your coffee and learning not to regret how the hot liquid burned your tongue. Those eight hours spent in the library gifted you with a wider perspective. Maybe you burned your tongue on this coffee, and tomorrow you might miss the bus to work. Or, sometime in the near future, there would be a new store in the mall that lured you away from the errands set to a schedule and you would have to rush back to work a few minutes late. You learned that these small misdirections in life happen, at the exact right time and the exact right place.

The grateful receive of every moment, deliberate or erroneous, was like a single grain of sand. One grain might pinch out some annoyance. Ten was too textured to ignore. Dozens and thousands padded down as a sandbox where two childhood friends could play. And millions of grains of sand, of gratefully received moments, cultivated a soft shoreline; a place where the deep blue tides had a comfortable bed to tumble onto when it was tired from the tempestuous ocean. Where the contents of the ocean could spill along the wet sand, and it would humbly the tired water’s offerings. A place where a mass of misty, opaque air could roll in, cover every inch of the ocean and would blind the eyes. 

But, never the heart. 

The hearts, joined since the first grade, were free of scars because of the plethora of love that continued to flourish even in your absence. Love always keeps the heart safe.

Timing was a fickle arbiter, always tearing you from one thing to the next and the next and the next, but somehow leading you to exactly where you were meant to be. It has a way about itself, inevitably delivering you into the lives of those you were meant to be with. 

With Jimin, with Namjoon, with Seokjin.

And once again with Hoseok.

-----

a/n: thank you so much for plowing through this long, angsty one shot! i am so happy to finally release this and hope you enjoyed reading it as much as i enjoyed creating it. as always, i would love to hear feedback from you lovely readers! 

[jihyuncompass]

730 Days

This is my first real fanfiction that I’ve posted here. It’s been a long time since I’ve posted any kind of fanfiction but I hope you enjoy! 

Mysme Week 2020 Day One ( @mysmeweek2020 )

Anniversary 

V/Jihyun Kim x MC 

Word Count: 1.6K

Summary: It’s been exactly 730 days of yearning for the man named Kim Jihyun

It’s been 730 days since you last saw Kim Jihyun. Two years to the date. It’s been 730 sunrises and sunsets,  and 730 days of desperately missing him. 

It was surprising at first, you had only known V for eleven days before he left. In less than two weeks you met and fell in love with him. And just as quickly as he appeared in your life he disappeared from it. For a good reason of course, but that didn’t ease the ache in your chest his absence caused. Soon after he left your life returned to some semblance of normal, and the events of the nearly two weeks you spent with V settled in your mind, though never too far away.

In the months following his departure there were nights where you wondered if V had been a figment of your imagination. V sometimes felt like a dream to you. The kind and gentle mint-haired man who promised to protect you. Who you helped nurse back to health after he’d been poisoned. Something about him felt so ethereal, almost otherworldly, it was hard not to think of him like an angel who appeared in your greatest time of need. 

The RFA was your biggest reminder that not only was he real, but your feelings for him were also just as real, and just as powerful as the day he left. 

730 days, two years since the first party you organized was cancelled, you got into a car on the way to the party that you organized. 

Sitting in the backseat of the car Jumin had sent, you ran through your to-do list in your head. There felt like thousands of little details to remember, from the guest list, to the refreshments, to the auction later in the afternoon. These thoughts swirled in your head like alphabet soup jumbled and somewhat meaningless. 

Clutching your hands together you saw the party venue come into sight. You had arrived early but already there was a significant amount of press that had gathered at the entrance. Walking up to the front doors you made sure your RFA badge was visible and waved to Jaehee. Two years had let you grow close with every member of the RFA, but this was the first time that everyone would be gathered up in the same room. The thought brought a smile to your face, you were almost looking forward to a possible fight between Zen and Jumin. Which was saying something. 

The main hall was gorgeous. Perfectly decorated to match the elegant theme of the afternoon’s event. Each table carefully prepared with champagne flutes being filled for the guests to drink. Finally getting to see it all in person took your breath away, suddenly all of the work, the planning, the emails, the late nights spent preparing felt worth it.  

The party started without a single mishap, guests filed into the ballroom as music danced through the air. While there was still many things to attend to, you took a few moments every once in a while to take in the moment and truly savor it. Taking one of these short moments and a soft smile on your face, you were already drafting a letter to V in your head. You couldn’t wait to tell him about all of this, your heart ached from his absence but the small points of correspondence you had with him made it all bearable. Your fingers itched as you thought about the future contents of the letter.

“Are you enjoying the party?” Jumin asked, appearing beside you, two flutes of champagne in his hand, one of which he offered you. You took the glass into your hand and shared a brief toast between the two of you, taking a sip you smiled at the crowd. 

“I still can’t really believe it’s actually happening.” You admitted. 

“It’s all due to your hard work.” Jumin stated in his standard tone. Very matter of fact, without any doubt into the truth of his statement. You watched him glance into the crowd, his eyes purposely trying to avoid the reporters lingering at the edges of the ballroom.

You and Jumin had become particularly close during the past two years. During the original two weeks when you met the two of you had both taken on the job of holding everyone together. Keeping the RFA whole while V recovered, and while the rest of the members grappled with what Rika had become was a struggle for the both of you individually. However, within the chaos you both held the group together, all while you both could feel yourselves falling apart at the seams. 

It took two months before you finally started to crack, and three for Jumin to start drinking more often. During this time you both found comfort in each other’s company. You enjoyed weekly dinners together where you drank wine and vented about everything that was worrying you that week. Work stress, RFA drama, the one time Elizabeth started shedding more than usual and Jumin worried she was sick, and of course your favorite topic, your mutual longing for one Kim Jihyun. 

“I wish he was here.” You blurted out. Looking back to Jumin you could see that look of nostalgia in his eyes he got when either of you spoke about your mutual friend. 

“As do I.” He muttered. You held onto your glass tighter. 

“There are going to be more parties, maybe he’ll be there for the next one.” Jumin’s eyes looked over at you, you still weren’t very good at reading his facial expressions but it almost looked like he knew something you didn’t. Opening your mouth to say something you couldn’t get it out before you saw the other RFA members coming towards the two of you. 

After the other members excused themselves to go about the rest of the party you found yourself alone again. After a long content sigh you gently set the champagne flute down on the table next to you. Wrapping your arms around yourself it was hard to fight the smile on your face. 

“I’ve been waiting for this moment.” You closed your eyes for just a second, the smile on your face growing wider. You didn’t look, almost afraid his voice was only in your head. 

“Me too.” You said. Opening your eyes you slowly looked to the source of the voice. Your breath caught in your throat. He wasn’t a figment of your imagination, he wasn’t a dream, Kim Jihyun was standing right in front of you. Tears welled in your eyes, because not only was he right in front of you. But he looked so happy.  

“Congratulations.” He said, his voice light and full of emotion. 

“V?” 

“It’s Jihyun Kim now.” He smiled bright, “Long time no see.” 

He spoke about his time away, the things he learned, the future he wanted to make for himself. A future that he wanted you to be a part of and help him create. He spoke from the heart, no longer weighed down by doubt and fear like he had in the past. Each word felt purposeful, confident. As you listened to him the realization of his return finally overwhelmed you. Tears now streamed down your cheeks as you made no attempt to hide them or wipe them away. You wanted to hold onto his moment, and not let anything detract from it. 

“I want to love you. I will love you. I love you. Just as I love myself.” V- no Jihyun finished. His smile remained while he waited for you to speak. Racking your brain you tried to think of what to say, you thought of every dream you had, every imaginary reunion you created in your head. None of them however, could compare to this. 

Unable to find words you pulled him into an embrace. Your face pressing into his shoulder. He stood shocked for only a second before his arms wrapped around you tight. Trying to keep yourself from crying you mumbled into his shoulder. 

“Jihyun, oh Jihyun.” His name sounded the sweetest song when you said it. “I love you. I love you so much.” You held each other as tight as you could, as if this moment would disappear once you let go.

Pulling away just enough to see his face, your eyes met his. Jihyun’s hands moved up to cradle your face. He heard him take a shaky breath while he stared straight into your eyes. 

“I-” He stopped to take another breath. “I’ve never seen you this clearly before.” He smiled, that sweet gentle smile full of warmth that you missed so dearly. Staring into his eyes it’s impossible to not see just how vibrant they are. Even more so than when he was half blind when you first met. 

“Is that good?” You whispered. 

“Yes. You’re even more beautiful than I remember.” A soft relieved sigh slipped past your lips. Your hands moved up to rest on his chest, just below his neck and shoulders. Staring for just a moment longer Jihyun leaned forward, capturing your lips in his. Time froze while one of your arms slipped around his neck to pull him closer. 

When his lips finally broke away to catch his breath, his eyes fluttered open to look at you. 

“I hope that was alright.” A brief look of concern flashed across his perfect face. With a gentle smile fixed to your lips you answered his question by pulling him close so you could kiss him again. 

It’s been 730 days since you last saw Kim Jihyun, and seeing him now, feeling his lips against yours, you knew it was worth the wait. 

[thephantomofthe-internet]

Not Your Type 2

Steve Harrington x Reader

Read the first part HERE

Word Count: 5,651

Warnings: Swearing

Authors note: You want it, I found a way to do it! Sorry if I came off mean at first about doing a sequel, comments that are purely asking for sequels to fics are really disheartening because I get all excited about a comment and then it just feels like a demand for more with nothing else. But I found a thing I like so here ya are! Thanks to everyone who read part 1, I hope you like part 2 too!!!

Tag List: @moonstruckhargrove @hotstuffhargrove @carolimedanvers @thechickvic @alex--awesome--22 @lilmissperfectlyimperfect @so-not-hotmess @hipsmcgee @agentsinstorybrooke @sunflowercandie @kaliforniacoastalteens @songforhema @spidey-pal

It took him a full twenty-four hours to call. You suffered through the whole sleepover at Robin’s, filled with ‘I told you so’s’ and holding back her hair when she puked from a bad combination of sour belts and malt whiskey. She nearly puked on the lavender trumpet sleeves you’d lovingly built for Juliet herself and you nearly killed her.  You’d never bolted out of her house faster and back to your own, only a block away, to check your messages.

Unfortunately, there were none to check. You were insanely disappointed. But you held out hope, you had nowhere to be with the demon child’s parents taking him to the zoo for the day. You spent half the day cooped up in the living room on your couch, switching positions every thirty minutes and watching everything your tiny selection of TV channels, watching soap operas and the news and b movies from the fifties and reruns. You ate sparingly, flipped through every magazine on your coffee table, you found a great dress to recreate once you were done the Juliet dress, you did your makeup and then took it off-anything to fill the time.

And then, at five o’clock on the dot, he called.

Every phone call that had come through all day, you waited at least two rings on before answering. Both your parents worked full time, so you were free all day to do nothing. But with your mother home since four, you were risking her answering, so you pounced on the phone. You were glad that the first call the house had gotten was him, it meant that you could finally ignore the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey, is this Y/N?” Steve asked. He sounded so nervous and awkward; he probably expected to get an older sibling or parent. He was trying so hard to sound polite. It was a little bit adorable. Just a little.

“Hey, Steve, what’s up?” you asked with a chuckle. The corded phone in the living room only reached so far, so you pulled the recliner’s matching stool to you with your foot and sat down again, resting your elbows on your knees and your head in your hands.

“Hey! Nothing much, how was Robin’s place?” Across town, Steve was fully laid down in bed, clutched his own phone to his ear. It had taken him all day to buck up the courage to make the call-he didn’t want to get your mom or some sibling he hadn’t heard about yet by mistake, that would be embarrassing and weird. He’d slowly given up on trying to be popular, but part of him wanted to live up to others expectations of him.

“About as fun as always. I half-watched Carrie for the fourteenth time and held back her hair after she drank too much and threw up. Party of the century...” you replied with an awkward laugh. You felt weird about making fun of Robin to Steve, but he laughed all the same and you didn’t want to seem totally lame and boring. In actuality, the night was boring and uneventful. You threw handfuls of popcorn at Robin’s younger brother Kyle when he tried to bust in all creepy. You hemmed a dress. You ate dinner with Robin’s mom. Nothing insanely eventful. Even the puking was fairly normal; Robin couldn’t hold her whisky despite her love for the stuff.

“No pillow fights and practising kissing?” Steve asked. He felt gross about it, especially knowing Robin, but he did it anyway. Maybe you’d laugh. Or say something snarky and cool.

You giggled, rolling your eyes “No, not really?” you replied, your tone turning up into a question. You couldn’t tell if he was serious. You hoped it wasn’t.

“No? Oh well...you’ll have to have one with me next time. Way more fun.” Steve propped his head up on his race car themed pillow.

“I generally like to have a guy take me out on a date before I start planning sleepovers with them...” you twisted the coiled cord around your finger, looking down the hall to ensure that your mother wasn’t listening from the kitchen, or worse on the other line getting the full conversation. Luckily, she had her ABBA cassette on blast as she cooked in the kitchen, mouthing the words to dancing queen into her slotted spoon.

“Well, then I’ll have to take you out then, what’re you doing tonight?” Steve asked, checking the time. It was only five fifteen, he had all night to see you.

“Nothing much, where’re you taking me?” you asked. You’d need at least an hour, to wash your hair and change your clothes. And that was just to look less sweaty and awful, to be at the level you’d like to be for a date you’d need at least another hour.

“How about I pick you up at eight and I take you to this diner I know and we get some food. And then we can drive around for a bit, nothing crazy.”  Steve offered out, trying to not sound meek and weird. He was not exactly proud of the half-assed plan, but it would work for now.

“I think I can make that work...I’ll see you at eight at 1245 Orchid Lane, alright?” you said, grinning giddily.  Steve bid his goodbyes and you hung up, rushing upstairs to take a shower. You scrubbed your hair rigorously, filling your private bathroom with the scent of artificial roses. You wanted the scent to linger in your hair as long as possible, even though you were going to put perfume over top. You knew that perfume never lasted as long as a man’s cologne, so you wanted to make sure you still smelt good. You scrubbed your body in strawberry body wash and scrubbed your face in apricot face scrub. You turned off the water fast and jumped out of the shower, pulling on a massive ‘Hawkins High’ tee shirt.

“Y/N! Robin’s here!” your mother called from downstairs, clearly annoyed by your not telling her that someone was coming over for dinner.

“Send her up!” you replied, pulling your baby pink hairdryer from the lowest drawer of your vanity and plugging it in, blasting your hair with hot air and using a rounded brush to build some waves in your hair.

“Harrington called.” Robin mused with a smirk as she walked into your room, plopping herself on your twin bed.

“He called. He’s taking me out. You got one right, bask in the glow or whatever.” You huffed, talking over the roar of the hairdryer.

“And we’re doing our hair...interesting...” Robin replied, examining her short nails and their chipped black paint.

You turned to her with a scoff   “I do my hair for every date. Unless I have no time, I always try to bring a bit of glamour to the equation.” Robin chuckled at that, reaching for the Seventeen magazine on your nightstand. “Well, if they’re going to take me out, they should get a bit of a show, shouldn’t they?”

“Whatever you say...” Robin said “But I’m sure Steve isn’t putting in this much effort.”

Robin was wrong. The second he got off the phone, he rushed to start his own process. He had just washed his hair the day before, but the Steve Harrington hair process took a bit of effort and time. And his hair needed to be damp. So he rushed to get it wet under the bathroom sink, running water into his palms and then his fingers through his hair. He repeated the motion over and over again, until he deemed his hair wet enough. Then went in the Farrah Fawcett spray and the fluffing and preening until it was the right height and shape.  He thought about calling Robin for help.  He felt completely out of his depths with you: you were still an enigma to him, confusing and strange and hard to discern. One moment you were bitchy and snarky and the next you were funny and supportive. He couldn’t gauge where he sat with you. Sure, you’d agreed to this date with him, you even seemed excited, but that didn’t mean that he was in the clear with you. You could turn on him again. He wanted to be sure that this would go okay. But Robin might not know, or worse she’d tell you and you’d laugh at him.  He couldn’t handle that.

He put his focus on choosing something to wear, something that wouldn’t look like it too much effort and yet came off attractive.

Back in your bedroom, you were freaking out. And Robin wasn’t helping. She had taken to pulling clothes from your closet to laugh at. It was like she wanted to stress you out. You tried to keep your focus on the tiny foam tipped applicator brush between your fingers, smudging very light peach eye shadow over your lids. You’d already filled in your eyebrows and put on the faintest amount of blush, to look flushed but not caked with makeup.  

Robin sauntered behind you, holding up a teddy bear themed knit sweater with a cheeky grin. “I think this would be perfect for your date with Harrington.” She giggled, bouncing the material up and down behind your head.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you tried to apply some mascara to your lashes.  “Yeah, that’s a no.” You muttered, jabbing the wand back into its pot and pulling it out to force more product onto the brush, swiping it thoroughly through your lashes till they looked defined enough for your liking.  You reached into the cup you’d filled with various lip glosses and lipsticks, digging through to find the cherry flavour you wanted. It was just pink enough to look defined on your face, but it wouldn’t stain the skin if you made out with him. Not that you were planning to make out with him. Just a precaution.

But it wasn’t in the cup. You whipped around to glare at Robin, who’d returned to your closet, examining a costume from the regional theatre’s production of Sweet Charity, which you’d snagged before the theatre snatched up all your hard work to keep in their vaults. “Did you borrow my cherry lip gloss?” you snapped.

Robin turned to you briefly, deadpan “Why on earth would I touch your lip gloss?” she asked, her voice completely monotone. You knew she didn’t touch the stuff. You were just stressed out.

“Damn...it was my favourite one...” you sighed, turning back to the mirror, choosing two lesser glosses and deciding between vanilla and strawberry flavour.  “Hey, while you’re in there, can you dig out my acid wash skirt? The one I hemmed too short, not the knee length one my mom bought.” Robin did a mocking salute before pushing through the hangers roughly. You felt like making a crack about her going back into the closet, but decided it wasn’t couth.

“Y/N! Come down if you’re eating! And bring Robin, she’s too skinny!” your mother called from the stairwell. You got up with a sigh, grabbing Robin’s wrist as she threw the skirt on your messy bed. You picked at your dinner nervously, unsure if eating would be beneficial to you or if it would just make you look bloated. Across town, Steve ate cold pizza while standing in the fridge.  Neither one of you were exactly focused on eating, simply on killing time before they had to meet one another.

Once you were able to excuse yourself, Robin left you to panic on your own and you went back to getting ready. Time flew by much faster with Robin not looming behind you, you were able to relax again as you dressed and painted your nails. Your tight denim skirt and white imitation silk blouse weren’t exactly comfortable, but you looked good and when you saw Steve’s car pull up to your house, you made your break downstairs. You shoved your feet into your white tennis shoes and threw your purse over your shoulder.  

“Be back later! Don’t wait up!” you called, yanking open the door. You waved shyly at Steve, who you found waiting outside his car, leaning on the passenger side door.  He looked effortlessly cool and confident; he wasn’t even looking at you. You made your way quickly over to the car, muttering a quick hello which he didn’t return. He did come to your side of the car and opened the door for you. That was the first time he looked at you in your whole interaction and he looked...nervous. It only showed in his eyes, but they completely gave him away.

He rushed to his own side again and climbed in, starting the car fast. You sped off a bit too fast out of your street and off into the night. Steve had the radio on low and The Smiths were playing, softly filling the car. You watched him drive, how he slowly began to find himself with his hands on the steering wheel and his eyes on the road.  You watched the grin slide onto his lips and the way it lit up his face, how it warmed his eyes and brought a bit of colour to his paled complexion.

“So, where are you taking me here?” you asked, turning to look at him fully. You crossed your right leg over your left, tapping your foot slightly to the melancholic wailing coming from the stereo.

“I know this absolutely awful diner, just the worst. And I figured, since it’s always empty, we’d go there, since its quiet. And hopefully, if all goes to plan, you won’t let me eat there ever again.” He chuckled and you bit back a grin, nodding slowly. With anyone else, having a boy tell you that they were bringing you to a secluded, empty, crappy diner would make you nervous and annoyed, but Steve was so trustworthy.  He wouldn’t pull any tricks on you. So you let him drive you to the outskirts of town to a faded, desolate diner off the turnpike, its spinning sign spelling out ‘Benny’s Burgers’.

“Isn’t this the place where the owner killed himself? In like the dining room?” you asked, furrowing your brow.

“No clue.” Steve replied with a shrug. He put the car in park and climbed out easily. You took a breath and followed behind quickly, not wanting to be left behind in the empty, dark, and far too quiet parking lot. Steve held open the door for you and ushered you in quickly to the desolate diner. The bright, white florescent lights hit you like a wall and you went momentarily blind, squinting under their harsh glow. You hadn’t realized how dark it was outside until they smacked you in the face.

Steve found you a booth and you slid in, still not used to the lights. He looked over you, concerned. “You alright over there?” he asked, leaning his elbows on the table as the ancient waitress brought you menus and cups of coffee.

“Just regaining sight, why is it so bright in here?” you asked, rubbing your eyes rigorously.

“No idea, it’s always like this at night.” Steve shrugged easily, flipping open the menu.

“You spend a lot of time here?” you followed his lead, looking over the standard diner fare at the offer.

“Yeah kind of...” Steve muttered, looking up to meet your eye. You nodded, easing him into the rest of the story obviously on the tip of his tongue. “My dad is a big investor in a chain of hardware stores. He’s always off out of town and my mom goes with him most of the time, so I’m on my own a lot. Big empty house, gets quiet. Sometimes I come here.”

You nodded “I get it, kind of...my dad’s never home either. He’s a truck driver, so he’s always gone, driving something somewhere. My mom has a job here now, but before my sister was born, she used to be one too, that’s how they met.” You explained.

“You have a sister?” Steve asked, surprised by the news. He’d hardly heard of you, much less another one in the family.

“Yeah, she’s like seven years older than me. Lives in Kentucky now with her fiancé and their kid. You probably wouldn’t know her, she didn’t live her very long before she graduated and moved out.” You replied. Steve looked confused, so you added “I didn’t move here till like fourth grade, super late into the year.”

Suddenly, Steve’s face lit up into a look of pure realization “I totally remember you now!” he slapped the table. You raised an eyebrow, cocking your head to the side. Steve pulled his hand off the table, pushing himself into the back of the seat shamefully “From school, I mean...” he added.

“Oh yeah?” you chuckled awkwardly. There were two options here: one was embarrassing, the other flashy and cool. You were really hoping he remembered the cool thing, not the awkward one.

“Yeah! You were in my gym class that year, you totally yakked on the gym floor on like the first day!” he cried with a laugh. You felt your whole face turn beet red and you turned away, utterly embarrassed. You hated that memory; it made you feel so small. You were so nervous that day and the cafeteria had accidently served milk out of date, it was a recipe for disaster.

“Everyone called me puke face for like a year...” you muttered. That shut him up quick. Steve’s laughter died in his throat and he coughed to clear it, rubbing the back of his neck, heat rises up his skin.

“That sucks, man...” he said awkwardly, floundering for something to say to fix the moment. He found what he was looking for quickly. “If it makes you feel better, like a year later I ripped my pants in front of like the whole school at one of the big assemblies, Tommy never let me live it down.”

You smiled sadly “Yeah I remember, I laughed my ass off about your Spider Man undies.” This made Steve blush, which was cute. But a bit of bitter bile came up in the back of your throat and you let the words it carried with it out thoughtlessly. “But mostly I remembered the way your butt was the gossip of the school for the rest of the year. I was puke girl after what I did, but you were just hotter.”

Steve frowned “I mean, that’s not completely true: all the guys gave me the same amount people gave you. And the puke thing wore off after Ricky Scott got stuck on that chain in the woods and had to be rescued by the fire department.” He argued, crossing your arms over your chest.

“The difference is that you had people on your side. You had Carol and Macy and Tina all telling the boys to stop. The right people. Anyone who stood up for me was shamed too, it was too much of a risk. And Ricky was left in that tree by Tommy H and Chris Samuels. Nothing would’ve happened to him if they had stayed to help him.” You fired back quickly.

Steve opened his mouth to speak, but shut it again. What could he argue? That it wasn’t a competition? He was battling against the hurtful memory of yours he’d brought up. He wouldn’t pretend that he didn’t call you that behind your back, that he didn’t laugh when people made fun of you to your face. He was a bad guy, he knew that. He was trying to be better now. And that meant, in that moment, to shut up.

You sighed, releasing the anger. You shouldn’t have brought up any of it anyway. You had let most of it go, that little bit was the last of it that remained. “But nobody really remembers puke girl now, except for you, I guess. I lived it down.” You said offhandedly. Steve nodded, his mind elsewhere, trying to figure out how to fix this.

“But you know who’ll never like her nickname down?” you asked. Steve didn’t respond, but you said it anyway. “Carol.”

“Carol didn’t have a nickname.” Steve muttered, clearly annoyed by the mention of her name. He really didn’t like Carol, not after what she said about Nancy way back when they were just starting out.

“Oh yes she did. Everyone called her period head in sixth grade. She got her period in Mr. Fitz’s history class and after that everyone called her period head, cause her hair matched her jeans.” You giggled at the memory. Karma was sweet: Carol was the worst about your cruel nickname, having her deal with the same embarrassment for a year was sweet revenge.

“Nobody called her that after seventh grade, when Tommy beat up Anthony Parks.” Steve countered, leaning on the table. You’d piqued his interest just a bit. Or maybe it was your smile. You looked so happy in the moment, it was hard to ignore.

“You and your friends might not have, but mine did. After she pushed Amanda Peats down the stairs in freshman year, we all started calling her that in silent protest. Amanda’s boyfriend, Arnold took care of actually going after Carol for it, and getting his ass handed to him by Tommy for it. Whenever we talk about Carol, she’s still period head.”  You said a bit too proudly.

Steve nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. Your waitress had returned and you couldn’t even remember what you had ordered as you handed back your menus, your focus solely on Steve and his pensive, thoughtful look. You didn’t think you’d ever seen him look pensive in your life.

“So, wait, what did your friends call me?” he asked, setting the mug down.

You scrunched up your face thoughtfully “Oh different people called you different things...Harrington, the hair, I know the whole soprano section of the Hawkins High choir called you heart stopper Harrington. My friends alternated between Harrington and that douche.” You replied.

Steve nodded “Sounds about right, I knew about the heart stopper thing. Don’t know where it came from.”

“You went to see the choir in junior year.” Steve shook his head, looking at you like you were crazy. “No you did, I remember I was there too, I went to see Robin perform with the band and you were there in the third row. You had detention or something, forced to see the show. You smiled at Tammy Thompson and she about near fainted. That’s where the nickname came from.”  

Realization washed over his face “I had to go cause Ms. Seymour gave me detention for skipping drama like four times in a row.” He added quietly before turning to you, wide eyed “How do you remember all this stuff?”

You found yourself blushing again, looking down at your lap “I don’t really know...I guess my life has just happened in parallel to your for awhile and I never noticed that it was weird till now.” You said shyly.

Steve smiled cheekily “I like it.”

You rolled you eyes, trying not to smile back “Well that’s cause you’re an egomaniac.”  Steve laughed at that and you watched him for a second. A piece of his puffed up coif had fallen into his eyes and his eyes crinkled up at the edges when he laughed. You wished freak Byers was wandering around with his camera, taking his creeper shots. You wouldn’t have a copy of this moment.

When he finally recovered and your food arrived, Steve looked you over, watching you for signs of discontent. He’d already fucked up once and you finally seemed to be happy again, he didn’t want to ruin it. But he had one moment he wanted to recount with you.

“I remember you for one more thing, you know...” he said softly, building a large pile with his corned beef hash, using the sides of his fork to mix everything together.

“Oh yeah? What’s that?” you asked, leaning your head on your palm, watching him lazily.

“You were in my drama class in junior year. It was the sophomore class, cause I didn’t have the credits for the junior one and I needed a class that I couldn’t fail.” He said confidently.

You nodded slowly “That all?” It wasn’t exactly a deep memory, it hardly had anything to do with you, just a glimpse of your life happening far in the background of his.

Steve swallowed. This was the part that could hurt him, he didn’t know how you’d take it. “No, I remember one more thing. We had to do monologues for our final. I don’t remember most of them, because they were shit. But I remember yours. You did this one from some Shakespeare play and I just remember how...beautiful you liked. Seymour insisted on having everyone stand under the spotlight on the stage in the cafeteria. And you were up there, and your hair looked so pretty under the lights, and you seemed so...confident. You were the only one who seemed confident about anything. You did the best job.” He explained.

You demurred. This was not the amazing moment you wanted to remember. That moment was really insignificant in your life. You preferred backstage work, you move onto crew quickly. Nobody else thought that scene was good, everyone liked Kristy McNeel’s scene better, she did the monologue about Santa killing her mom so naturally it was popular.

But you didn’t say any of that, though.

“You remember that?” you asked softly, almost in a whisper. You suddenly felt very seen and very shy.  

“Yeah, it was cool! You did like Romeo and Juliet or something. I didn’t really get what you were saying, but you sounded so dreamy and sweet. And then I actually met you and-”

“And I was a massive bitch, sorry about that...” it was your turn to be embarrassed and awkward. You reached up to run your fingers through the side of your hair, destroying the styling you’d done in one awkward movement.

“It’s cool, I was a douche like all of the time you knew me, it evens out.” Steve shrugged “So wait, what do you think? Did my reviews live up?” he gestured wide towards the empty seating around you.

You chuckled “Well...yeah kind of.” Steve chuckled, shaking his head. “But I can see why you’d want to come here sometimes. It’s peaceful in a way.” The diner wasn’t insanely loud, but it wasn’t dead silent. You could hear the hum of the radio in the kitchen, the distant chattering of your waitress and the cook in the back, the jukebox in the corner looked absolutely desperate to be played. When combined, it wasn’t bad company. Add in the sound of your forks scraping plates and the cups hitting the table and a good book and this place could feel like home.

“Plus it’s open really late.” Steve added thoughtlessly. You raised an eyebrow at him curiously. Steve swallowed hard, his throat turning dry. “I have a bit of insomnia.” It wasn’t a complete lie, he just didn’t give any reasoning behind it. He could rationalize holding back information, it made things easier.

You pursed your lips, nodding your head back and forth “I guess that’s good then, good to have somewhere to go.” You decided.  “But you know what this means, right? Now I know your hiding place. Robin has been trying to figure out where you go besides your house, work, the arcade with Henderson, and the occasional party. Now I know, I could sell you out to her in a second.”

“Don’t you dare! That girl has been trying to get me to go to a Chicago concert with her for the past week and a half! Do you know how much Chicago sucks? If she knew where I hid from her I’d never hear the end of it.” Steve pleaded jokingly.

“Oh she’s on you about that too? I won’t go see it with her either! I saw them once, with my mom when I was ten, and it sucked ass. I won’t do it again.  I can’t believe she’s bugging you about it now!” you moaned, shaking her head as the image of Robin heckling Steve over the counter at Family Video to come to the dumb concert filled your mind and made you cringe. Poor guy, Robin was persistent about those sorts of things too, he probably never heard the end of it.

“It’s not so bad; if it was like three towns over I’d go see it with her, but it’s right in Carmel, people will see me there.” Steve said.

“Oh, and I thought you were over caring about your rep in this town?” you asked cheekily, swatting his arm.

“A man’s gotta put his foot down somewhere. I choose to not be seen at Chicago concerts with girls who I’m not dating.” Steve answered truthfully. Your waitress brought over your check and cleared your half-eaten food away before either of you could pretend to want to take it home. Steve dropped two twenties on the check before you could even attempt to pull your wallet from your purse.

“So, and correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re saying that you’d be seen at a Chicago concert if the girl was putting out.” You asked with a giggle. The logic was so stupid, you had to laugh.

“Pretty much, you ready to blow this place?” he offered you his hand and you took it happily, letting him pull you up and walk you out of the diner. It was nice; his hands were warm and enveloped yours easily. You found yourself gravitating towards the heat his body gave off. And he smelt good, like good cologne and hairspray and something else, maybe laundry detergent? Whatever it was, it made the smell utterly intoxicating. You wanted to be wrapped up in that smell and that warmth.

Steve drove you home in comfortable silence, your hand held in his and your gazes switching from each other to the road ahead and back again. You felt giddy and drunk. You really liked him. That was weird to think, that you liked Steve. You remembered making fun of him with your friends in school, joking about how dumb his hair is and how stupid he was. But now...now, you saw something different in him. How self-aware he was, how focused he was. He was just a big old dork with money and a cool car and more than an ounce of charm.

You liked that he was a dork. It made him more approachable.

Steve already liked you. He knew that he liked you the second he saw you smile in Burger in a Basket the day before. He didn’t want you to stop smiling. You were too pretty to not smile. And you were smart and funny and you paid attention to people, to him. He wasn’t used to that. Nancy didn’t pay attention to him, especially after Christmas. He always paid attention to the girls he dated, especially Nancy, but you? You matched his attention at every move.  It was flattering. But it was also nice to feel as though his effort was matched by yours. It made him feel wanted.

“You know...in that drama class, I had a massive crush on you...” you whispered softly, running your thumb over his knuckles. There were scarred and jagged from some events you weren’t a part of. You wanted to know the stories behind the scars, the fights he’d won or probably lost. Everyone already knew that he lost a fight to Billy Hargrove, expected, and Jonathan Byers, very unexpected and kind of embarrassing.

“Yeah?” Steve muttered back, his expression softening.

“Yeah...I mean you were so cool and charming...it was hard not to like you. But I did fall out of it quick enough. You’re a terrible actor.” You chuckled, brushing a strand of hair out of your hair, grinning up at him.  Steve scoffed dramatically, rolling his eyes with a wide smirk.

“No, I’m serious you’re awful! You did that scene from A Streetcar Named Desire, which I’m sure Seymour chose for you since you were never there, and you were awful! You didn’t even know what you were saying!” You cried. Steve shook his head, laughing along with you. He pulled up to your house, parking outside.

The pair of you stared at one another for a moment, the laughter dying out in both your throats and your eyes locking onto one another. You weren’t sure what to do, but you couldn’t look away. You watched as Steve’s eyes flicked to your lips and yours did the same. You couldn’t tell who kissed who first, but you knew that Steve was a really good kisser. Top five at least, maybe even top three. He was firm and slightly aggressive. He kissed you like it was his last moment on earth and he needed to savour it. He set your whole body on fire in a single moment.

Steve broke away first, but you pulled him back fast, pulling him to your chest and letting his hands run up your back and to your hips. The gear shift was in your way, but it was clear that Steve wanted you even closer. You wanted him closer too.  

When you broke away again, your chest heaving in breaths, you nodded to Steve with a small smirk “Wanna go to your place?” you asked slowly, drinking him in.

Steve’s eyes darkened and he swallowed hard, nodding hard. He shifted the car into drive and slammed the gas, sending you flying back in your seat and laughing loudly.

This was going to be a fun night.

[upinmyfeelz]

Red

Red -  Yandere! Tendou x Reader

Hey! If you’ve stopped on this little story there are a few things I want to mention. First, please read the bold warnings below, just encase. Secondly, this is my first one-shot I’ve written, well written and put out here, as well as being my first Yandere fic ever! So please be kind, although constructive criticism is always welcome!   

I would also like to mention some songs I listened to which inspired this, you could even listen to them as you read if you like! 

Cologne, by Alec Wigdahl

Choke, by I DONT KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME

Nightmare, by Set it off

High Enough, by K.Flay

There will be Blood, by Kim Petras

Lemons - Demo, by Brye

Warnings: Gore, toxic relationship, abuse, violence, rape, self-harm and more dark themes. Also its a little bit of a slow burn? If you aren’t comfortable reading these kinds of things, please don’t click on this one as I don’t intend on upsetting anyone. If you suffer from some of the topics in this story, I’m sorry you have or are going through it and just know that help can always be found, even in the smallest of ways. 

10.3 K words / 40 ish min read. 

Without further adieu, I present to you my first Yandere Fic! Have fun!

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

The air was thick with tension as the hilariously underestimated Karasuno high scored yet another point against the powerhouse team of Shiratorizawa, bringing the game to a match point. Meaning that if they score the next point it won’t be Shiratorizawa going to nationals. The stands were in chaos with suspense, some fans screaming loudly while others stood back in a cold sweat, eyes fixated on the court in anticipation. There was a small pause as the players set themselves for another round, their setter readying the ball. The players had given their all, the evidence in the sweat that dripped from their every pore and were now running on nothing but determination as their joints ached from overexertion. While things were tense enough for the powerhouse team with their position at nationals seriously at risk, what they didn’t know was that a much bigger event for one of them was about to be set in motion by this very game, something involving the unsuspecting girl in the stands.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

Your interest in the volleyball team’s notorious blocker started with something so small and cliché it was almost pathetic. The day had been like all the ones before and it had come to its usual lunchtime break when your eyes got distracted from your very animated friend by the streak of red in your view. Your eyes then focused to see that, yes, that tall guy really did have bright red hair. It was that same shade of hair that you began to pick out in crowds during school assembles and you found that you were pretty good at noticing whenever he was in the same room as you as your eyes always wandered over to him naturally. It created a strange sort of feeling in the pit of your stomach, it was as if your subconscious was attracted to him or there was some kind of unseen force that drew you to him. So, naturally the more you noticed him the more you became interested in him. You began to collect all the little snippets of information about him you could get your hands. From what you could see, he had a childlike aura surrounding him as was always smiling while also making others smile. He walked through life with a spring in his step and he had a carefree attitude towards things that, in the long run, didn’t actually matter. After seeing all of this you found yourself wanting to know even more about him but this time you wanted to find out from the man himself; as you wanted to be one of those people he smiles the brightest for.

So, when the class representative came in during the morning class to ask for audience members for Shiratorizawa’s up-coming important match, of course, there was no way you couldn’t go. However, you realised with a sinking feeling in your chest, you were going to have to go alone. There would be no way your friends would want to come, not after their reactions to your crush.

     "He’s just so weird! I don’t see it."

     "I don’t get why you like him of all the volleyball team, I get nothing but creepy vibes from him."

     "Honestly, I’d say it’s better you stayed away from him. They say he’s nicknamed as a monster!"

     "Speaking of monsters! He shares the name with a really creepy one that can read your mind, Satori!"

Your frown deepened as you remember their comments. First of all, on the court, he was nicknamed the ‘Guess Monster’ because he was extremely good at guessing the attack and stopping it. Secondly, he was not creepy, he was just a little more extroverted and eccentric, which you’d take over boring any day. But of course, even when you tried protesting this to them, they just got even more annoying about it, which made you more defensive. It was a headache trying to talk to them about it so you actually should be thankful for going to this game alone, it would give you a chance to watch the game in pace.

And so, you found yourself front and centre to their match, your voice joining the masses as you cheered for your team to win as they always do. You as the game progress it became more apparent that this was no ordinary, straightforward, game as Karasuno seemed to continue to take the lead, leaving Shiratorizawa on the ropes. There was a lull of silence through the hall as both teams set themselves up for another toss which had the potential to send your team home. Feeling an overwhelming urge to give them one last push, you flung caution to the wind as you shouted at the top of your lungs.

‘GO TENDOU!’

Red irises darted to yours within seconds of your shout, your cry had awoken everyone in the stands as they erupted again with their chants. Those crimson eyes still held you captive as the moment shared between you seemed to go on forever. At that moment you witness a shift in his gaze as his eyes narrowed from their wide exploded position from the shock into something darker, something intangible. Then those eyes left you, focusing back on the game, and you felt as if you could breathe again as a shiver of cold ran through you.

The feeling Tendou got when your eyes locked for the first time after you cried out his name was nothing like he had ever felt before. His entire existence felt weighed down and defined by this very moment as if he had been living in a simulation his whole life leading up to this one moment that had pulled him from his dream state into a vibrant reality. All of his senses felt heightened when he had heard his name fall from your lip, saw your eyes widen in shock as they met his own. Everything pulled him towards you at that moment, as if all his ties of reality had now been tethered to your existence. While he struggled to put a name to these newly awoken, primal, feelings he shifted his focus back to the court. He had to finish off here and figure out what to do about all of this. However, he found himself unable to give the last part of the game 100% of his attention because of the nagging feeling on the back of his head that you were in crowds, alone, and without his attention.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

The day after the match had gone by as normal, classes in the morning were a drag and lunchtime was ever the same. So, when you went to your last class of the day you really didn’t expect much and were just looking forward to heading home so you could be done with the day. It almost slipped your mind a certain someone was in this class but found it to be a pleasant surprise when you see his familiar red hair sitting on his usual seat closer to the front beside the window. Feeling a little chirpier, you took your seat diagonally behind him and took your notebook out. The class was dragging on. Your motivation for the day was hitting rock bottom and there was nothing you could do about it, no amount of positive re-enforcement from yourself about the day almost ending or glances in his direction could change that. However, you were snapped out of your self-pity spiral by the girl in front of you subtly sliding you a folded note across your desk when the teacher has his back to the class. Making sure you wouldn’t get caught, you unfolded it to see scribbly handwriting.

“Meet me out back after school. Alone.”

Vague. You tensed up a little wondering who would single you out like that. As you made your way through possible people in the class that’d want to talk to you, you found yourself coming up short. You hadn’t upset anyone, as far as you knew, and you didn’t really talk to anyone in this class. Unless… your eyes flicked over to the spiky red hair in front of you. The game yesterday. Had you upset him with your rather obnoxious cheer for him? Did it throw him off his game? You frowned at the thought of causing him problems from wanting to show him support. You had to own up to whatever this was for, so you sent a quick text to your friends telling them not to wait up for you without disclosing the details. They would be opposed to meeting up with him alone, saying you wouldn’t be safe. You rolled your eyes at their thoughts, sure the concern was appreciated but it was just a boy from school wanting to talk, on school grounds none the less, not much could go wrong.

Suddenly the time had gone in faster with the added anticipation of meeting Tendou and the next thing you knew; were on your way to the meeting point. Reaching the back door, you one-over-ed yourself as you made sure nothing was out of place. Then, taking a breath, you opened the door.

‘Well, hello! I knew you’d come, tell me, did you figure out it was me?’

There stood Tendou Satori in his full glory, up close and personal. While you had expected to see him, it was still a little overwhelming and it left you a little flustered.

‘I-I wasn’t completely sure, but I guessed it was you, Tendou… ’

‘Oh? And just who else did you expect to meet? Did I disappoint you?’ Tendou tried to keep his tone light and playful but his eyes revealed a different story, one he wasn’t able to fully contain as it leaked a little into his words and face. To think you had been contemplating someone else in his place, even a little bit, infuriated him to a whole new level he never knew he could reach. Taking a sharp breath in through his noes he blinked his expression away to a more neutral one and gave his head a playful tilt as he stared into your eyes, daring you to lie to him.

‘N-No! You didn’t disappoint me, Tendou.’ You flushed under his intense gaze, it unnerved you a little, it was as if he was staring into the depths of your soul. You fidgeted with your hands as your eyes found his shoes. ‘I honestly didn’t know who or what to expect… I-I haven’t upset you, have I?’ Your mind cast back to the ominous note he gave, and you felt a spike of panic.

‘I don’t know, have you done anything that I should be upset about, Angel?’ He bent himself over leaning into your personal space for emphasis, so his face was right in front of your own. Were you hiding something from him?

‘D-Did I, um… Did I somehow throw you off your game yesterday with my shouting? I-I’m sorry if I did I-’

‘No, don’t apologise for that.’ You shouldn’t be apologising for finally revelling yourself to him, it irked him a little, but you meant well. He kept that closed eye smile pinned to his face. ‘I really liked it, especially since it was all for me! Although I think next time you cheer you can call me Satori.’ He winked as you as he brought his face closer hoping you’d catch onto his intention.

Tendo was smirking as he raised his eyebrow at you, it was so adorable to watch his little angel fret over possibly upsetting him. Now he just needed to be close to you and keep her closer to him. He had to make his move now, he was sure that just from the looks of your fragile frame you simply couldn’t last another day without him to protect you. Heck, he was surprised you’d managed it this far on your own! Poor dove must’ve been aching for his attention and care for a while after all he had noticed there had been a set of eyes on him recently. He felt a little stab of remorse for not noticing your pleas sooner. Now was his chance to make it up to you, and he wouldn’t let it slide this time as he did on the court yesterday.

‘A-Are you sure that’s o-okay?’ You looked so flustered as you picked up on his implications, was he serious? Did he really want to drop formalities so quickly and actually start seeing you in that way or …? You got a little shock, what if you were misreading the offer entirely! ‘I-I mean, why would you, um…’ How were you supposed to ask this and clear things up?

Tendou watched you squirm a little under his intense gaze before he put you out of your misery and clarified what he had meant.

‘Of course, it’s alright, can’t have my girlfriend calling me by my last name, can I? People would think we were fighting!’ He leant closer to whisper in her ear. ‘Besides I want you to be my personal cheerleader from now on, so no looking or cheering for anyone else. Okay?’ He took both of your smaller hands in his for emphasis. And oh my god, all he could think about was how your hands fit perfectly in his own, how soft and delicate they were, just like you, just like his petite Angel.

You flushed under his stare again and you began to worry about the amount of blood going to your face and head right now as you went dizzy with excitement. He was asking you out! Him! The guy you’ve been drawn to for a few months now! You let out an excited squeak in reply as you told him yes. His face split with the biggest grin you had ever seen, and he tugged you towards him as he caged you in a hug, spinning you.

‘You’ve made me so happy, Angel!’

However, just as abruptly he pulled away to hold you at an arm’s length to look you in the eye as he said in a light but bordering on a sombre tone as his face still held his smile but his contrastingly chill eyes sent a shiver down your spine as he spoke.

‘But I’ll say this again, you’ve got to promise me not to look at anyone else, okay? Only me.’

You nodded in earnest, the look he was giving you had scared you a little, but, you thought, maybe someone had cheated on him in the past and he needed the reassurance? If so, you would readily give it. Placing your smaller hands onto his larger ones that gripped your shoulders, you squeezed them in affirmation.

‘Don’t worry, Ten-S-Satori! I’ll keep my eyes on you!’

Just like that, the tension in the air dispelled and he was left grinning again.

‘That’s a good Angel! I’ll walk you home today, so lead the way!’

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

It had been a little while into dating Satori now and you had begun to settle into a new norm with your hyperactive boyfriend. He would walk you to and from every class, regardless if he was in the class nearby or not, he somehow always managed to be there when the bell rang. When you had asked him how he made it to your class so fast, curious to how he got away from his own classes or if he was even going to them, he’d simply brush off the concern and saying, “The thought of seeing you made me go at the speed of light!”. He also whisked you away during breaks, taking you straight from your class to a new spot you both found that was secluded from the rest of the school which was always remained desolate of people. “A perfect spot for us to have some alone time, those other people hog you too much!” At the beginning of your relationship with Satori, he also had you sit with him at your own table at lunch. However, that didn’t last long as something had unnerved him which made you both moved to have your lunches somewhere far away from others.

It happened just a few days after you and Satori had started dating. You were still getting used to the new normal of not sitting with your friends during lunch, as Satori insisted you pay him all your attention as he was your boyfriend after all. Everything was going smoothly; you had managed to find a table that was empty and in the corner of the hall so you both sat down and began to chat away about nothing at all. Then another plate was placed down beside Satoris. You looked up to find Ushijima had taken his place beside his friend as he nodded to Satori, who had tensed at his fellow player’s arrival. Goshiki also sat beside the ace, wanting to talk about their recent practice more about how well he was doing on his route to be the future ace. Both men stopped in their tracks when they saw you, their eyes freezing for a moment before looking over at Satori. Goshiki was the first to speak up.

‘You never told us about your girlfriend, Tendou!’ He then turned to you and gave a little bow with his head, ‘Nice to meet you, I’m Goshiki Tsutomu!’ You smiled and bowed your head in return and looked at Ushijima as he too done the same then introduced himself.

While they were saying their hellos, Tendou could feel himself burning all over. It was like he was itching all over. His eyes remained fixed on the lunch box in front of him, unable to look at anything else or he might explode. His right side, where they sat next to him, felt like it was on fire as he had to witness them looking at his treasure, his sacred angel that was for his eyes only. Knowing they were looking at you right now was hard to prosses and he felt the snake of jealousy wrap itself around his lungs travelling all the way up to constrict around his throat making it almost impossible to breathe. His mind was doing overtime as it burned with one thought over and over and over again, someone else is looking at my sacred treasure. His heart was beating out of his chest and he was filled to the brim with burning hot fire that threatened to seep out of his pores if he let it. Then you smiled. You SMILED at someone who wasn’t him. And Tendou saw RED.

Standing Abruptly from the table, Satori lifted his lunch, grabbed your wrist from across the table and pulled you from your seat. He spoke in the lowest tone you’d ever heard him use and it terrified you. Scrambling to get your stuff as Tendou continued to drag you away, you never even got to excuse yourself as you left the two men wide-eyed wondering what had happened. When you and Satori hand reached your spot, he dropped everything and roughly shoved you against the wall. One hand rested on the wall above your head while the other was in your hair tightly, you winced a little at his grip but said nothing. His breathing was heavy as he rested his head on yours with his eyes closed. His hand in your hair started to move, slowly twirling your hair and running his fingers through it, then he moved to trace the side of your face, which led him to your chin until finally, his hand rested menacingly on your throat. His thumb resting on your pulse. He finally opened his eyes to look into your own petrified ones. He was the one to break the silence.

‘From now on, we’re eating here.’

Not wanting to agitate him further you nodded in submission. You’d keep your questions for later when he was calmer, right now your mind was going crazy with fear as his overpowering figure engulfed you.

‘You looked at someone else, Angel. You promised me you wouldn’t do that. You said, “I’ll keep my eyes on you!”’ He mocked your tone in a sickeningly high sweet one of his own before growling. ‘You lied to me. My Angel shouldn’t lie.’

Your eyes widened at the accusation and the threat that was laced in his words as you started to sweat. You noticed his eyes hadn’t lost their fire. A little confused, your brow frowned a little. You had only spoken to Ushijima and Goshiki, you hadn’t flirted with them or anything. Unless a smile counted? Did it?

‘I-I was only smiling-’

His finger on your pulse pressed down as he let out a heated breath and he tightened his grip on your windpipes. His eyes narrowing into small beams.

‘Only Smiling, huh? Angel, do you even know what a smile can do?’ He looked so furious, but it was more than that. There was something else in his eyes, something you still found you couldn’t understand, it was that same look he held when their eyes first met. You were skating on thin ice. ‘You don’t do you?’ He sighed as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders and he took a moment to collect himself.

‘You don’t know that it’s your smile that brought me to you, one that holds all of your light. You showed it to someone else. You can’t do that, you promised you’d only look at me and you need to keep your promises. I’m doing this for your own sake! If you got me with that smile, and that look in your eyes, can you even imagine what it could do to someone else?! Do want someone else to have you, is that what this is?!’

He looked positively crazed now and you wanted to simply run away. You normally felt so safe, protected, around Satori but this was nothing like that. He was terrifying. It was as if he had read your mind as he relaxed his actions. He released his grip on your throat and moved it to the back of your neck, stroking it in soothing motions. The corners of his eyes began to tear up as he looked away from you off to the side, biting his quivering lip. Clearly, there was a deeper-rooted issue that he needed help with, maybe this was something he was struggling with. From the looks of him now, he seemed remorseful for hurting you. You felt slightly guilty and ashamed for your thoughts of abandoning him when he clearly needed your support.

‘I-I… I don’t want anyone else Satori, I-I never realised I made you feel that way. I’m sorry.’

You looked down to his chest unable to meet his eyes. You were sure you were only being friendly, but from the looks of it, you had begun to screw up with your just-blossoming relationship with Satori. This was something you’d have to try and address with him later. In the meantime, you were going to have to be more mindful. Taking in a small breath, albeit a shaky one after his hand’s tight grip leaving you a little bruised, you met his eyes.

‘Don’t cry, Satori. Can you forgive me?’

Some tension left him as he could see your little eyes look up at him pleadingly and as he felt your shaky hands come up to his face to caress his cheeks while wiping the tears away. Perfect. Of course, he would forgive you, his angel. You truly were far too precious for this world, you had to be shielded from it at all costs. No one else deserved to see this look in your eyes, they were all too tainted and dirty. He was sent to guard you, be your best blocker against people trying to defile you. He leaned into your palms and closed his eyes, relishing the moment.

‘Of course, I forgive you.’

Then he snapped his eyes wide open staring unblinkingly right through you, tears nowhere in sight.

‘But, don’t let it happen again. You won’t like what happens.’

Ever since that encounter, you both ate alone at your spot so no one else can disturb you. You also found that you never saw Goshiki and Ushijima again, and when you asked after them Satori got really hostile. ‘Why are you even thinking about them? You’re with me, you don’t need them.’ Even when you explained all you wanted to do was apologise for being rude, he had snapped back ‘They don’t need your apology, you shouldn’t be so concerned about other people and what they think.’ Any retaliation on the matter was met with a hard stare that unnerved you to no end.

Months into this relationship you found that the glamour of it had long since worn off. You were second-guessing yourself at every turn, walking on eggshells around Satori and other people, worried about what would set off your explosive boyfriend. You couldn’t meet up with your friends anymore, ‘They’re backstabbers, just look at them! They haven’t even tried to keep up with you so why should you keep up with them?’ Which was true, he had a valid point. Not one of your friends had tried to contact you since the second week into your relationship, which was strange. Normally they would at least text you if you couldn’t see them much during the day. Satori had also put that down to them being jealous of you, which you couldn’t understand but according to Satori, there was a lot of things you didn’t understand that you needed him to explain for you.

Honestly, it was getting exhausting. Satori was wearing you down by the minute and ever since that day during lunch similar scenarios kept coming up. You would space out in the wrong direction in class, which he would take as you looking for someone else. Or, heaven forbid, you would take too long getting dressed in the morning which implied you didn’t love him as much as he loved you and your parents were keeping you from him. It got more and more ridiculous as time went on and the punishment got even more severe. It started out with a hand menacingly placed on the back of your neck in the presence of others, squeezing a little too tight or sharply yanking on the back of your hair ‘Playfully teasing’ you enough to leave tears in the corners of your eyes. If you really upset him, he’d wait until you were alone so that he could ram you into walls, giving you mini concussions, and bruised you silly with his tight grip or from spanks on any area he saw fit. He never held back for one second if he felt you deserved it, leaving you in tears every time only to kiss them away after explaining how you deserved it, how it was to help you keep your promise you were having so much difficulty keeping.

So, there had been a build-up to your situation now, which was you being utterly terrified of your manipulative, abusive boyfriend who had warped your mind with fear to submit to him. You really felt helpless. There was no way out, he’d simply find you and the punishment would be so severe you wouldn’t be able to show your face in public for weeks. But you had to try, you can’t just accept this and live the rest of your life like this. That was an even more terrifying prospect, living with this for the rest of your life was not an option. Feeling a little determined to start somewhere, you snuck out your phone while you were in class. The substitute teacher you had right now wouldn’t notice a thing and the lesson you were covering was actually one covered a few weeks ago by the regular teacher. They always say to start small, tell someone, baby steps. While you hadn’t contacted your friends in months, you knew they would understand. They’d help you. You sucked in a breath as you hit send with a shaking thumb.

“Hey, sorry it’s been so long, can we talk?”

It didn’t even take her long to reply, she must be in her free period right now.

“Hey, er, now’s not a great time. I’m a little caught up with something.”

You blinked at her reply, had you really driven her that far away? You’ve been such a horrible friend to her lately that you guess you deserved that. Not wanting to lose hope, you tried to apologise first.

“I’m sorry if I am interrupting something, but I really need to apologise to you. I’ve been a really shitty friend to you lately, ever since I started dating Satori, I noticed I’ve not spoken to you. I’m really sorry.”

You watched as the typing bubbles appeared on the screen quickly then went away for a moment before they reappeared.

“Look, you’ve got Tendou now. Just leave me alone.”

Why was she acting like this? This wasn’t like her at all, had she changed drastically since you last spoke to her? Feeling a little dejected you let out a sigh, but this was important. If she knew you actually needed serious help, she’d understand. You tried again.

“Look I’m really, really sorry, for leaving you for Satori. But he is why I need help right now, he’s scaring me. I’m planning on how to break the news to him that I can’t do it anymore but I’m too scared! Please, I know you can hate me for not being a good friend but please, please help me figure this out.”

There was a moment of silence as you watch her read the reply. The minute lasted longer than an hour for you before she franticly texted back.

“RUN!”

“HE SEEN MY TEXTS.”

“HE’S COMING.”

“RUN! I’LL CALL FOR HELP!”

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

As soon as you saw those messages you could feel your heartbeat in your throat, every limb shook on its own accord and you swear there was no blood left in your body as everything turned stone cold. Your nausea must’ve shown on your face as you raised a shaking hand to be excused to the toilet because the teacher didn’t even question it, only giving you a look of sympathy that was all too fitting and telling you to try sipping some water. None of which helped your current predicament. Stepping calmly out of the classroom you sprinted in the opposite direction of where you think your friend was knowing he’d be on his way from there. That sentence haunted you, HE’S COMING, and kept you going at a speed you never knew you could run at, but you guess things change when you’re threatened.

HE’S COMING. Your mind was a mess, you looked up ahead to find yourself at the end of the corridor, you didn’t even know where you were going so you took the first turn that came to mind. HE’S COMING. You went left, straight on, through the doors and ran frantically down the stairs. Hoping to buy some time, you hid under the staircase. You sat with your legs hugged to your chest as you rested your head on your knees, rocking a little. HE’S COMING. Trying to get one cohesive thought was hard enough at the moment, so you had absolutely no clue what to do next. Should you run out of school? Or Should you go to a teacher? HE’S COMING You should go to a teacher; they’d help and know what to do. HE’S COMING. At the very least, they’d be there to protect you. HE’S COMING He wouldn’t do anything with them there. HE’S COMING Taking a deep breath in, you lifted your head and opened your eyes. Only to be met with a pair of dead, stone-cold vermilion eyes that stared back, unblinkingly into your soul. His head tilted to the side.

‘What’s wrong, Angel? Scared?’

He brought his face closer to yours so your noses were touching, never breaking eye contact. You could feel his breath on your skin, he was like a predator checking that his prey was actually dead and not just acting. You felt dead at that moment, unable to even feel your own heartbeat as you went cold and stiff under his glaze. The sheer amount of dread that filled your body weighed you down to the floor, your body turned to stone, like a deer caught in headlights only you knew the car would run you over. Shivering, your eyes glazed with tears as your lungs started to fail you.

‘Shhhhhhh, Angel, don’t cry. That’s what you told me right? Don’t cry.’ He mocked as he stroked your cheek, his eye twitching as you flinch. ‘It’s everyone else around you, isn’t it? They’re making you feel this way, getting you to say these things to hurt me?’

Tendou knew, deep down, why you’d decided to run. However, his mind wouldn’t let him accept that explanation. His mind was sent reeling when he had seen those texts. It had been just another day as he went to check up on how well your little ‘friends’ were holding up their end of the bargain when you started to reach out to one of them. She thought she could hide her phone in time for him not to catch the flash of your name across the screen, but she was, oh, so, wrong. He then demanded she hand her phone over, which she did. He noted that she had already replied to you, saying she was busy, not bad but a little stiff for an excuse. He then saw the typing bubbles, so he kept it to see your response. “…I’ve been a really shitty friend to you lately, ever since I started dating Satori, I noticed I’ve not spoken to you. I’m really sorry.”? “I’m really sorry.”? He had already TOLD you about apologising to other people, they didn’t deserve your apologies and besides, you shouldn’t even be THINKING about anyone else. Why would they matter when you two are together? He felt his brow frown and his mouth slip into a scowl. He clearly needed to teach you a lesson tonight, one you wouldn’t forget in a hurry. He replied in place of your friend, trying to get you away from her. Something along the lines of “leave me alone”, that usually worked, people couldn’t handle bluntness well. The typing bubbles appeared again, just what were you playing at? What he saw next; he wasn’t prepared for.

“Look I’m really, really sorry, for leaving you for Satori. But he is why I need help right now, he’s scaring me. I’m planning on how to break the news to him that I can’t do it anymore but I’m too scared! Please, I know you can hate me for not being a good friend but please, please help me figure this out.”

Red. Everything went red. His head throbbed as your words echoed in his mind ‘I can’t do it anymore’. ‘I’m scared.’ You now had a fucking reason to be.

He had to try and think straight but every time he thought back to those words and something in him burned. It was like when Ushijima and Goshiki set their eyes on you but this time it was worst, so much worse. What he felt now, was like staring into the abyss and having it stare back into you, this all-consuming rage that just took over his body without him having any say. Heat radiated all over his body and it felt as if he was being licked by blue flames as his skin crawled, boiling over and the blood in his veins turned to acid. His eyesight was going haywire. How could you ever want to leave him? You couldn’t. It was impossible, you were his angel. You called on him that day. You sought him out. You smiled at him. He had seen it when you first started dating, that innocence, where had it gone? What went wrong? Where did he go wrong?!

An image of you flashed through his head, of you smiling at Goshiki, smiling at Ushijima, glancing at your friends, texting your friends, being looked at in the hallways, being looked at during class. Being looked at and looking back. Of course, how could he have been so stupid? He had made such a grave mistake and his poor, sweet, now falling, Angel is paying the price for it.

He mindlessly gave your friend back her phone as he left to find you. He should never have left you as you were, so exposed to the outside world. He had let the world taint you, all because he was to blind to see what it was doing to you. If only he had seen this sooner, maybe things could have been different. But it was okay, he was on his way. He would make it all better now! He’ll right the wrong and save his darling angel from falling from grace before it was too late. He’ll save the day; you just leave it to him. He’ll need to find you first and he couldn’t be too slow about it either, wouldn’t want you getting into more trouble or falling further! He wanted the corridors around the class you should’ve been in but, as expected, you weren’t there, your friend must have told you to leave. Just further proof that the world was poisoning you. He mindlessly went to your spot. He remembered the many times he pressed you against that wall, hand on your throat while his mouth was on your lips. If only it had stayed that way, but it was his fault for not noticing you struggling. He heard shallow breaths. His eyes widened as his ears perked up at the sound, could you really be here of all places? He wandered around to under the stairs and sure enough, you were there, all balled up. He made sure not to make a sound, he wanted to just watch you for a moment, engrave every detail into his mind all over again. You just being here had to mean you still needed him, still loved him, even if you wouldn’t admit it because you came to a place where both of you would wander off to too feel safe. It was your safe haven because he was here.

Your head lifted and your eyes met his own, you looked so fragile. Tears threatening to spill over, shaking like a leaf and pale as a sheet. Poor Angel, what have they done to you?

‘What’s wrong, Angel? Scared?’

Everything blurred for you as you were straight-up panicking. The rocking increased and you buried your face in your knees again with your eyes squeezed shut, wishing it would all go away. Arms encircled you, drawing you closer to them. Your mind wasn’t even registering it was Tendou at this point. Nothing was registering past the shock. He rocked you and combed your hair, wanting to have a moment of peace with you. He kissed your head.

‘Let’s get out of here, Angel.’

Your head shook franticly as the fear rose in your eyes again. He sighed, knowing it was wishful thinking that you’d be cooperative. He put in a little more force.

‘I’m not asking.’

Still, the same response was repeated back to him. His eye twitched and he cracked his neck.

‘You asked for this, Angel.’

And your world goes dark.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

The first thing you could feel was the thin layer of sweat that covered your body as you gradually regained consciousness. You started to slowly become aware of the rest of your body like you had woken up from a really deep sleep. Every part of you felt heavy and you found you couldn’t lift your arms or move your legs as they felt weighted to the bed you were currently lying in. Looking around to gauge your surroundings didn’t help much as everything was pitch black, making it impossible to see anything. Feeling groggy, you frowned your brow thinking about how you had gotten here in the first place.

Tendou.

The last thing you remember before your world went black was staring into his wide eyes in terror. There was an ache from the side of your head which served as a reminder of where he had hit you, which you couldn’t even see coming because he was that fast in serving his blow. Volleyball had served him well. Your heart sped up a bit as you remembered him, where is he now? More importantly, how much time do you have before he comes back? You couldn’t see right now, so you’d better get up and start searching for a way out. However, just as you went to move your stiff limbs it was brought to your attention that you were tied down to each bedpost by what looked to be cushioned handcuffs. Your raised head hit the pillow as you let out a sigh in frustration. Of course, you had been restrained, you hadn’t been very cooperative with him.

You started to panic as you struggled to come up with any solution to get out of this mess. You pulled and pulled on all four restraints, none of which were giving-in any time soon. If you couldn’t get out of these restraints before Tendou came back… you shuddered to think what would happen to you. You knew you couldn’t take him on directly either; the man was a machine, a genius guessing machine at that. You really cursed your past self for not trusting your friend’s instincts more. If you had only listened to them and stayed away, you might not be in this mess right now. Your friends. They could still save you! They knew he was after you, she had even told you she was going to call for help! That’s it, just pull through until they can get help and you’ll be okay. Just breath, that’s all you have to do right now, just keep breathing…

The door opened with a creak and light came flooding in, casting a shadow on the floor. Tendou had been finishing up the last of his preparations for tonight, everything had been set and taken care of. All that was left to do now was enjoy his time with his precious angel and right his mistake while asking for her forgiveness for his ignorance.

You looked so pretty all tied up like that on his bed, just like a present on Christmas morning ready to be unwrapped. However, he felt his eyes darken as he drank you in, knowing that while you looked so good and pure right now, he had failed the main goal of his guardianship which was to keep you untainted by the world. It was as if their eyes had left traces on your precious skin, they might as well have left fingerprints all over you as Tendou examined your exposed flesh from a closer angle. He felt that familiar lick of rage inside of him as he knelt by your bedside and laid his head on the bed in a bow to you. It was all so overwhelming to him, the feeling of failure, of rage, of pain, of protectiveness. He needed to take this slow, go through all the motions or this wouldn’t work. And he couldn’t fail you this time, he wouldn’t. His voice was thick with emotion and remorse as he croaked out,

‘Angel, there’s a lot I want to explain to you before I do anything, so please hear me out, okay?’

When there was a slight pause, he moved his face and flicked his eyes up to your face. Vermillion eyes daring you to protest but also holding so much emotion. There was still that one unreadable look in his eyes.

‘I-I’ll listen, S-Satori, but-’

‘There should be no “but’s”, Angel. All you have to do is listen, so I’ll take that as a yes.’

‘Why am I being t-tied up? C-Can’t you let me go?’

A hard look crossed his face and instantly she felt the ghost of a hand around her throat, thinking back to all the times before when she had ticked him off in some way.

‘If you’re willing to listen, all your questions will be answered in time.’

It was not up for further debate. He turned his face back down towards the bed, regaining the air of someone submitting themselves for confession.

‘Angel. I failed, and I am so sorry. You were put into my care by whoever it may be, be it fate, destiny or some kind of deity. My one goal through all of this was to protect you from everyone, to keep your aura clean from contamination. To keep you as pure as the day you were entrusted to me. I tried so hard. I made sure no one got too close to you in class, I took you to and from everywhere so as you’d have minimal exposure to people. When I noticed others looking at you during breaks or lunches, I took you away so it was just me you could see. I regularly made sure that no-one would even dream about coming close to you so that you could remain as you were. However, I failed to see…’ A small hiccup sounded through the eerily silent room as Tendou let his tears wet the bed covers. ‘I failed to see your struggle, Angel. I failed to see that even minimal contact was too much for you, that they were still poisoning you. I had thought about taking you away from it all nearer the beginning, I really did! I just thought that it would cause more complications and that what we had going on at that time was enough. I didn’t realise just the environment was toxic for you. I’m so sorry for failing you and not doing the right thing sooner, I swear to you it won’t ever happen again. I don’t care what it costs, I will do what I need to do for you.’ He, almost shyly, raised his head to now look you in the eyes. ‘Angel, can you forgive me?’

You lay there stunned at his words. How could you even begin to process what he just said? He thought he had somehow failed you by keeping you in amongst society. There was so much wrong with all of his speech. He wanted to keep you all to himself, but it was more than the typical boyfriend ‘I don’t want to share this side of you’ because he wanted to isolate you from everyone bar himself. First things first, you had to get yourself out of this crazy situation. So maybe when he said he’d do the right thing for you, it meant listening to you? You sure hoped so because this might be your one shot at it. Schooling your fearful expression a little, you look back at him.

‘I-I forgive you, Satori-’

He sprang into immediate action, up from his bowing position right on top of you on the bed to give you the tightest hug you’d ever received. His breath was tickling your neck as you squirmed beneath him.

‘Oh, thank you so much! I was so scared you wouldn’t forgive me! That would cause so many more problems…’

‘But, listen, Satori…’

He pushed off the bed so he could face you.

‘Yes, Angel?’

‘Can you untie me, please?’

His expression snapped from bubbly to eerie neutral at the drop of a coin.

‘I’m afraid I can’t do that.’

‘W-Why?’

He looked at you like you were some incompetent child who had just asked why you can’t see you dead pet again.

‘You see, you’re still infected, Angel. We need to clean you all up first.’

‘C-clean me? I can clean myself, Satori.’

He clicked his tongue and continued to speak in a condescending tone while stroking your cheek with the back of his hand.

‘Oh, I know you can, I know, but this is a special kind of cleaning that only I can do you see.’ He gave a smile that didn’t look as if it belonged on a human face. ‘Don’t worry though, I won’t expose you too much. It’s just on the parts that are dirty.’

He then lent over you from a straddling position above and began by removing your tie.

‘R-Really, Satori, please don’t. I can do it myself, please.’

‘Tut, tut. The more you protest the more it shows me how badly you need this. It isn’t something you can do alone, Angel, because once you’ve got this kind of dirt on you it infects you mind so you can’t clean it off properly. Besides, you need me for this.’ He sounded all too happy about this outcome, and you weren’t in a great protesting position. However, that didn’t mean you had to give up.

‘Tendou, I said no. Now stop taking off my shirt! I thought you’d listen to me?’

Your words bounced right off him, leaving you with a cold feeling inside as you seen his eyes darken at the use of his last name. He unbuttoned the whole of your shirt and you had noticed that your shoes, socks and shirt were also missing; leaving you in nothing but pants, a bra and an open shirt. Why he hadn’t pre-removed that as well, you wouldn’t question and just thank whoever was above that he hadn’t, not that it was offering much protection now. While you were now mainly exposed, you still remained warm as the room seemed to have been pre-set to a warmer temperature, as if he’d known this would happen.

If you were uncomfortable and scared now, there were no words to describe just how terrified you felt when Tendou then proceeded to take out a decently sized blade from his pocket.

‘What are you doing with that, Tendou?’ Your voice came out in a fragile whisper thinking that if you spoke too loudly, you’d somehow break the safety bubble that the quiet provided you with.

‘I’m about to make up for my mistakes, Angel’ He had a twisted smile on his face, and you had to push the raising bile down from your throat, as you watched him bring the blade down. Somehow it disturbed you, even more, to see that, instead of slicing you open, he painstakingly dragged the blade across his own forearm, creating a large gash in its wake that immediately gushed blood down his arm, trickling down his palms and dripping from his fingers onto your stomach. You had a harder time keeping the sick down now as you watched him repeat this process further up the same arm with the same results.

There was a twisted look of fascination in his eyes as he made the incisions in his arm and watched the blood spill from himself. It was in that moment you could finally read what was hidden behind his guarded eyes this whole time, pure unadulterated insanity. He was a breed separate from the rest. This is the reason he was called a monster because he was a demon. The hardest part to swallow was how painfully obvious it had been from the start. The many signs you had simply ignored and driven by suddenly flooded in front of your eyes. Your friend’s warnings came back to you like a stab in the gut, they had said he was creepy along with being called a monster and you had dismissed everything. Even when you had come face to face with this lurking demon inside him when you stared into his eyes and he stared back with his hand wrapped around your throat after body-slamming you into a wall for looking at Ushijima and Goshiki. The gut feeling you had towards him, the pull you thought you had felt to his red hair, was really a massive warning trying to alert you to the danger that awaited beneath as it pointed to the one thing that should trigger alarm bells. The colour red.

The red that was now currently pouring down on you from above as he squeezed his heavily bleeding arm over your exposed flesh. His face menacingly hovered above you with the edges of his screwy grin turned up completing the unhinged look that covered his face as he finally let himself go into a rabid frenzy above you. All you could do was lie there, trying not to choke on your own vomit, while you prayed to whatever god there was that you’d make it out of this alive.

This was it. Tendou could feel himself go lightheaded with the amount of excitement he was experiencing. Having you below him like this was all too much. He hadn’t anticipated this being so … euphoric. He had, admittedly, made a show of giving himself the cuts because he simply wanted to see that expression on your face again, that one when you looked like you were either going to cry, pissing yourself or passing out from fear. When he’d first seen it at school with you curled up under the stairs, he hadn’t gotten to fully appreciate it in his blind rage. But, now, he got to see it in its full glory, and it did not disappoint. There were tears and snot dripping down your flushed and blotchy face, your eyes looking a little pink with how hard you were crying. God, the things that face did to him. Needless to say, the combination of your expression as it was, you being tied beneath him, and his blood beginning to cover every exposed inch of you… he was beginning to have a little bit of a situation on his hands. But he wouldn’t indulge himself, no, not yet, his Angel wasn’t herself just yet. You needed to be fully cleansed before he touched either one of you like that.

He was making good progress on covering all of you in his blood, he would start by kissing the area, dripping the hot, sticky substance on you and rubbing it around the area before moving to the next. It was a slow, rewarding process as he began to feel the catharsis as he washed away the stains of other’s eyes and touches from you with his own DNA.

‘Yes, Angel, that’s it your doing so well. It’s working so nicely; can’t you feel everyone else being washed away and being replaced by me?’

There was nothing but continued crying from you, but he was too far gone in his own head to really register anything you were saying anyway.

‘Don’t you just love it? … Being covered …’

He kissed down her red smothered neck, trailing down the valley of her equally blood-coated breasts to then kiss her stomach.

‘… All the way from your head…’

He kisses further down, running his crimson hands down each of her legs, to then kiss the red arches on either of her feet.

‘… Right down to the ends of your toes, in nothing but me.’

Once he was satisfied you were fully dowsed in his blood, looking oh so pretty. He decided it was now okay for him to let loose a little. He mounted you again, this time his lips went straight to your mouth, smothering any protests in the process. His hands found your own above your head and he wove his fingers between your own. Immediately he growled and began grinding you so hard into the mattress you felt it dip and spring up again. Your mind was screaming in protest and you felt your chest tighten as you struggled to breathe both from his aggressive onslaught on kisses and your other-worldly fear of this man. While your mind was crying, other parts of yourself awoken as it would under normal circumstances. You tried to tell it repeatedly that this was not regular circumstances and you’d like to have some dignity. Biology never really listens.

Tendou was panting now as he trailed hot, sloppy kisses down the side of your jaw and throat. Everything was just getting too much for him, yet he couldn’t help but crave more and more of you. Nothing was enough. He bit down hard and was rewarded with a yelp from you, smirking he kept up his attack.

‘How does my Angel like having me on top of her like this, hmmm?’ He released a hand from her hold to quickly undo his belt and his fly, just to get closer, keeping the layers for more friction. His eyes rolled to the back of his head at the next thrust of his hips, you were so wet for him. Had you felt this way the whole time too? Did you get the same overwhelming feeling from seeing yourself fully claimed and covered in him? His mind just couldn’t keep up with the rush of feelings that kept crashing over him like a tsunami every two seconds. His eye barely knew where to look, everywhere on you begged for his attention. He licked a line up the drying blood up the middle of your throat to then steal your mouth in a heated kiss by first shoving his tongue inside. What he hadn’t counted on was you fighting back a little by biting down so hard on his tongue that it drew blood. This almost sent him overboard as the act of protest immediately backfired on you, sending him on another hysterical spiral. He kept up his brutal pace with you as he pulled his face back with a look across his face that spelt ecstasy.

‘Angel! Yes, yes, yes! O-Of course, a-ah… l-let’s make a blood bond right now. I can’t believe I didn’t think of tha-ah-t.’

He then assaulted your mouth once more only this time he came with teeth as he bit down hard on your own tongue. He then let out a groan as your tongues swirled around each other, mixing the blood and saliva. Everything was getting hazy and the sides of your vision began to blur. It was too much. He was getting closer to the edge too from the way he was panting and franticly rutting against you. His free hand clamped down on your airways suddenly as he stiffened up, gritting his teeth he said.

‘Don’t you faint again on me! UgH! Now, my sweet sweet Aaangel. Oh, fuck…nh, cum with me, DO IT! NOW!’

It was almost shameful how easily pushed over the edge you were by that. That tone, the hand, the feeling of him everywhere and the lack of oxygen just sent you teetering off the edge and your vision went white. You questioned yourself silently if you were some kind of sick masochist before blaming the entire thing on lack of oxygen going to your brain.

Coming down from his high left Tendou with a radiating kind of afterglow. His twisted mind still shining through as he did one last thing to fully satisfy himself, for all his hard work he deserved a reward to. He reached into his messed up pants taking his cum on three fingers before he took them to your mouth, putting them in. From your mouth, he also gathered your mixed blood and saliva, all while revelling in your fucked-out face with his cum in your mouth. Taking his fingers from your greedy mouth, he made sure he collected everything on his fingers before he thrust them deep inside you, stuffing you with your bonded blood and his cum. He kept that up for a while, listening to your oversensitive whines of protest before he then took some of your juices for himself. The taste of you and him together, in every way, blood, cum, sweat and spit in his mouth was otherworldly. There was nothing like it. He lapped up everything, swirling his tongue around the combination of you both in a drunken haze, you were bonded forever now.

Well, he was about to work on the forever part of that fantasy. Seeing you so boneless was perfect for the final step in his plan. Everything was perfect, it couldn’t have gone better, you were both now connected forever. He let his weight press gently down on you as he sang your praises for being so good for him as he kissed you softly, stroking your hair with one hand while the other remained laced with your own. He then trailed his hand down from your hair, along your side to then reach into his side pocket where he gripped the smooth fabric. Only the best silk for his Angel. Trailing back up, he released your hand to bring it to the sides of your face as he continued to distract you while he delicately wrapped the soft material around your neck. Your brow frowned at the sensation, but the fabric was so smooth and gentle, was he giving you something?

Your eyes went wide with panic and you gasped as the smooth silk violently constricted around your windpipes. Your eyes franticly searched for his, pleading for your fucking life again. You shook your head and thrashed against your restraints.

‘Sh, sh, sh, hush now.’ He stroked your cheek with such a gentle, bubbly look on his face. ‘You wouldn’t want to end our perfect moment like this, would you? I’d hate for you to remember it like this…’

The noose around your neck tightened again and you’re sure your face was going a darker shade of red and you franticly gasped for air, making strangled noises you’d hear in horror movies. But the tighter it got, the less oxygen you received, and your eyes began to roll around, your limbs losing their fight to survive.

‘No, no. Look at me, look here.’ When, for some unknown reason you did as he asked, he cooed. His blissed-out face looking to disgustingly happy, he was fucking giddy, as he spoke his last few words to you as you started to drift off and see stars.

‘They say you relive the last few moments of your life over and over again for all eternity. I really hope that’s true, Angel. I’m so happy I could fill those moments for you, and don’t worry, you’ll be my last moments too!’

The last thing you saw was the hysterical look of twisted love on his face, with his signature deranged smile and the unhinged look in his piercing vermillion eyes that you hated. Fuck the colour red.

‘I love you, My Angel.'

[sinsofheather]

I'm not bitter, I'm just tired

mentions: Heidi Sinclair & Harrison Sinclair

featuring: @dontforgetthej & @sinsofheather

location: Sinclairs Household

date: January 27th, 2021

heather had grown annoyed with now having to run messenger as holly j was in her room ignoring the rest of them. she got up from her bed heading out to go over her to sister’s bedroom. it was possibly the one place she steered away from not wanting to start conflict as there was always something to set one of them off. “i’m not sure if you’re just choosing to ignore mom calling you for the past few minutes but she wants you.” she said as she leaned at her doorway, crossing her arms against her chest.

had her headphones on, ignoring her mother, as usual. She was currently sitting in bed, her knees up to her chest, as she texted Sean. She bit down on her bottom lip, a bashful flush spread across her cheeks. She looked up at the sight of her sister in her doorway and dropped her phone on the bedspread to pull her headphones off. "Huh?" she asked, only having heard that last couple words Heather said.

rolled her eyes as she realized that she had heard nothing of what she had just said. "i was saying that mom was calling you for the past few minutes." she sighed after she had to repeat herself. "guess you're so busy talking to whoever." she motions toward the phone with a raised brow. it's not like she knew much of what her sister was up to these days but the same could be said about heather.

let out huff, scoffing, "Maybe I am." She rolled her eyes, stating, "Not that you'd care anyway." The only time Heather seemed to care about her life was when she could disrupt it. She set her headphones aside before climbing out of her bed to go check on what their dearest mother could possibly want from her now. She had only just gotten to her feet when Heidi started yelling both of their names. "Oh, for fucks sake," Holly J grumbled.

couldn't help but have a smug smile watching this tiny reaction she had been able to get from her. she wasn't even actively trying this time but she matched her eye roll. it was a signature move for the sinclairs now. "i was just curious." heather shrugs. once she heard both of their names being called she sighs. "now look what you've done." heather is now out of the doorway going to where her mom was now.

shoved past her sister, giving a deadly glare. "What I did?" she questioned. "Oh, please. You were born first and weren't enough for them. So technically, I'm only here because you fucked everything up from the start. I've had to clean up after you from day one." She started down the hallway, her feet stomping loudly so their mother could hear her coming. "Holly Jeanette! I heard that!" her mother's voice echoed from elsewhere.

was pissed that she walked right passed her like that but then the words that came after pushed her over the edge. "that's rich coming from you." all she could see was red, a color she had grown too familiar with.  heather didn't even hear what her mom had said her anger getting the best of her. "is that what mom told you? i think you got your backstory incorrect because last i checked you weren't even from the beginning." the implication was out as she realized what she was saying out loud, her mom's voice now coming into the scene once again.

froze, her brow furrowing in confusion. "What the fuck are you talking about?" she demanded, grabbing her sister's bicep to pull her back so she could look at Heather's face. "Heather," she spoke, her tone lowering to a  deeper depth, blatantly ignoring their mother still yelling their names on repeat. "What the hell do you mean?" They knew each and every little quirk of the other's and something in Heather's voice inflected more than just their usual fights.

fuck. fuck. fuck. the error of what she said was now coming to light as she had to face holly j head on. "just forget i said anything." her eyes were filled with panic and she couldn't keep up this facade. her face had softened at this point unsure of what to even start with, as she remembers the yelling match she had with her mom about a year ago. "now isn't the time." she pulled out from her grip unable to even think with their names now sounding like a loop to her in the background.

narrowed her eyes, tightening her hand around Heather's arm, knowing there was something being kept from her. She released her hold on her sister, mumbling, "You're a bad fucking liar." Actually, Heather and Holly J were both exceptional liars. A skill they had adapted from their parents' inability to be completely honest until it was too late. But Holly J had the curse of knowing when her family was blatantly lying to her, even if she rarely called them on their bullshit. She didn't move another inch, stubbornly crossing her arms over her chest, not budging despite the noise down the hall, waiting for Heather to retort.

it wasn't even something she would have wanted to know this secret she was basically threatened to keep. her jaw tightened as she looked at holly j fighting the urge to just explode on her right there in the spot. "Holly J. and Heather do you guys even listen to me at all?" her mother's voice was only sending her over the edge. it was the same tone of the day they went at it when heather had found out about holly j's adoption. "ask mom about all your baby pictures. how there's none of you from when you were born. hell, maybe even search in her closet she's not very good at keeping things hidden." she was tired of it all and how her mother just made things worse for them. the only good thing she was actively good at was keeping the two as competition for each other.

Holly J's face softened as she let her sister's words sink in. In the back of her mind, she always found it strange that there were no baby pictures of her first year. Her first birthday, which her mother claimed they were just too preoccupied to take any, second child and all. Holly J pushed past Heather before sprinting in the opposite direction of their mother, to their parents' bedroom so she could dig up her sister's claims.

her heart was racing realizing all of what she was saying now. she held this in for so long with a threat from her mother every once in a while. it was a reminder she said. heather immediately followed her sister ignoring their mom and whatever she was yelling now. all she could think of was to find the files that must have been hidden somewhere else in the room as they both were silent with each other, only the sound of stuff being moved all around.January 28, 2021

sat on her knees with the closet door pulled back, looking through a box she had seen her mother put important documentation in, but it wasn't anything substantial. She shoved the box carelessly aside and opened a box marked "seasonal". At first, it seemed to be holiday themed items of clothing, but underneath the ugly Christmas sweaters and Halloween stockings, seemed to be a manila file. She pulled it out and sat back, her knees pulling up to fold against her chest. She flipped open the old, flimsy file and felt as though time slowed down as she carefully read the paperwork. A letter sent to someone who must have been important, begging for Heidi and Harrison to bring Holly Jeanette Odonell into their home. Holly J held the paperwork with one hand, using her other to push her glasses askew to rub at one of her angry, watering eyes. "Heather," she squeaked, not able to look away from reading through the next page, the legal documentation sent by their lawyer to the courts.

felt like she was in a bad dream watching everything unfold in front of her eyes by her own doing. once she saw her pull out a box she sat down on her knees beside her unable to look at her directly. “i found out last year by mistake” her hand was trembling a bit, so she placed them on her lap. heather was hardly ever afraid of anything but all of her worst fears were coming to light at this moment “i was told not to say anything.” she lets out once more before hearing the bedroom door open to their mother coming in now. she peaked up nervously pulling a strand of hair behind her ear and then to look back at her sister.

lifted her head as she fixed her glasses as if it would help her see straighter through the blur of tears welling in her eyes. She tightened her hold on the file of documentation as their mother, Heather's mother walked into the room. She threw the entire stack of old paperwork in Heidi's direction, a dramatic overreaction which was pretty on point for her, sending various flimsy papers in ever direction, littering the floor of the room. Holly J had always felt slightly out of place, which she always blamed on her mother pitting them against each other. Now she knew the actual truth. "Don't," she warned her mother as she pointed a shaky pointer finger in her direction. "Don't." She found her way to her feet and literally shoved Heidi out of the doorway so she could just get away from this whole bunch of liars.

she watched as the paperwork was thrown towards her in what she can only describe as in slow-motion. she felt absolutely sick to her stomach knowing she let all this out, something she had to keep hidden beneath. once holly j was gone she immediately got up from her place until her mother then decided to confront her. “what did you do?” her voice was low yet still cut deep as she can see the anger in her eyes. heather said nothing, her own anger taking over as she knew she had to just go far away from her before she truly exploded. it wasn’t supposed to come out like this and especially not when heather said it out of anger. “holly j!” she called out as she watched her walk away from it all.

Holly J. could hear Heather's voice, but she was already in go mode. She grabbed her phone and her school bag, looking around her room as she tried to figure out what to take with her. She blinked a series of tears down her face, thankful she hadn't put on makeup today, as her mind raced every which way. She didn't know what to do, but she had to be away from Heidi and Harrison and Heather right now. She couldn't stay here.

[geekeryandsentiment]

I remember you telling us, you know quite a bit about all the kiddo’s rooms. Can you describe them for us? And why did Liz wanna rearrange her room? (as mentioned in the silent treatment) Also, You had mentioned chalkboard paint once, and I found that idea so cool😍

Hey there! You send this in about four years ago and I just didn’t have the time to answer when you sent it in and then idk, I just got lazy and let it sit in my inbox for a while...however, here’s your answer, sorry about that. This one is below the cut and I’m warning you it’s loooooong. Sorry lol, I got a lot carried away. I hope it was worth the wait lol. Sorry again.

Before I forget...Lizzie just wanted to rearrange things. Sometimes moving the direction the furniture is facing can help spice things up a bit. If i remember correctly she was 11/12ish during the silent treatment and around that age Arthur pulled out his old desk from storage and put it in her room, so possibly she thought of a better way to rearrange her furniture to put that desk in the place she wanted it? 

Liam’s room is like his happy space. There is no theme or reason to anything. It’s all completely random. He’s still got posters and trinkets from his first year attending school and even before that. Alby’s art is plastered on his walls and he has old birthday cards and little notes that he and Alex used to pass back and forth in lessons tacked up on his walls as well. He has repainted it 4ish times since he was eleven and his parents repainted one of the other rooms (the one that would eventually become Alby’s room) and he decided it looked fun and wanted to try it. One time, when he was sixteen, he endured his room being pink for almost three months over the summer because Elizabeth dared him to do it when he was discussing possible color changes and he didn’t have anything else to do that next day (and has absolutely nothing against the color pink) so decided to take everything off his walls and paint them pink just to show her that he would. His room is currently green and the wall that had chalkboard paint on it is accented a darker brown (the green did NOT properly cover up the chalkboard with only two coats and he didn’t have any more green so he had to improvise). For several years he had a whole wall of chalkboard paint (the around his door) and he and Alex were entertained by that for many many hours in their preteen years. He is the only one of the kiddos to have a TV in his room. He didn’t get it until he was thirteen and he had to practically trade away his soul to convince Waverly to allow it, but he and Alex also had a lot of fun playing video games on that throughout the years. He has Theo’s old room, and Theo is very crafty with his hands. When he was younger he installed bookcases into the same wall his two windows are on, so William has bookcases surrounding his two windows that go from his ceiling to his floor. They are covered in books, some of which he will never read but owns anyway simply because he likes the cover and think they look cool. The other furniture in his room doesn’t match all all. Like at all. For the most part that is because he has broken a lot of the pieces that used to match and instead of doing what Waverly wanted to do and reordering the pieces or even picking something that matches the remaining stuff, Liam just picked out things he liked as replacements, even if they clashed with the other things in his room already.

Alex’s room is a bit more themed and put together, but it’s also always messy. It’s not dirty. It’s regularly cleaned and he makes his bed every morning (and if he dared leave food wrappers or any food in his room Waverly would have his head) but it’s cluttered most of the time. He doesn’t really mind if things are on the floor or if his desk is stacked three feet high with different files and textbooks and Lord knows what else. He knows where everything is. He manages to stay ahead with his schoolwork and keep everything straight, so Arthur and Waverly don’t hound him too often to make sure his room is as neat as they would like. His room is pretty typical. It’s painted a dark, navy blue and he has a whole lot of red (his curtains and bed sheets) and grey (his comforter and bean bag) accents. He does have a giant beanbag in the back corner behind his bed that Alby loves to fall asleep in sometimes, though. His bedroom used to belong to Beatrice when she lived in the palace when Arthur was younger, but her pink walls were painted over when he was about one years old and Arthur and Waverly decided to stick him in the room beside William’s. It’s nothing too fancy. William’s room is definitely far more interesting with the built in bookshelves (and wait until you hear about Lizzie’s room...🤭) but it’s his home. That’s his safe space. When he feels like the whole world is against him, the only place he wants to be besides maybe on his piano bench, is his own bedroom. 

Elizabeth’s room has changed colors a few times throughout the years too, but it’s stayed purple, just different shades. Her room is across the hall from Liam and Alex’s and on the same side of the quarters as the sitting room, meaning her windows overlook the palace gardens. She has a large, three window set up with a small cushioned seating area that extends out from the wall a little bit. When she was younger she had a few cushions and a mattress pad there and her and Alex would have sleepovers in her room all the time. They would look up at the stars and she would try to point out constellations. Now, that mattress pad is used every once in a while for Alby if he wants to spend the night in her room, but more often it’s tucked away and she just uses the area to sit on her laptop or read. In the corner she has a large corner desk with a desktop computer with two monitors. She doesn’t have a TV, and she doesn’t really need one because she has a pretty sweet set up there. Her desk belonged to Arthur when he was younger (no, none of the children are in his old bedroom. Too many unhappy memories. That’s used as a guest bedroom now, and only if there are too many guest to fill up the other two rooms) and still has his initials carved into the corner from when he got bored and engraved them one day when he was about twelve with an old key he found. Her room is more themed than Liam’s, her furniture matches, even Arthur’s desk fits in really well with the other black pieces, but there isn’t really a color scheme or anything. Lizzie doesn’t really care about that. She just fills it with things she likes. Oh, she also has a blacklight in her room and an epic solar system hanging from her ceiling as well as markers that she can draw all over that massive window with. When she was home full time it used to be schedules and count downs until special dates and to do lists. Now it’s not quite as busy as it used to be and more often than not the windows can actually be seen out of because they aren’t covered in marker...but every once in a while she’ll feel a sudden urge to draw on them again and fill them with chemistry or math or biology...or even music. 

Alby’s room is stand alone and surprisingly the farthest away from Arthur and Waverly’s because he was born last. He is on the same side of the hall as Lizzie, but he does not have the room connected to hers. He’s actually one more down. ((Oh, this is actually relevant so let me talk about it for a moment...The room that is connected to Lizzie’s is currently used as a lab or sorts for her. She has all kinds of old technology in it that she tinkers with a lot, it’s pretty empty and none of the others are jealous that she has the extra room or anything. They do call it Lizzie’s “lab” though sometimes, and there is a proper key to it that she has and she regularly locks it when she doesn’t want Alby to go in and touch anything she’s working on.)) His room is still really kid-ish. He has toys and a little chair that hangs from his ceiling that he can sit in when he reads. His room doesn’t have the same bay window that Lizzie’s does. He doesn’t spend a lot of time in his room. He’s almost always in one of his siblings’ rooms or he’s lugged a handful of toys down to the sitting room/Arthur’s study/wherever someone else is to sit and quietly play near them. He doesn’t really like to be alone, and his room reflects that. There isn’t a lot of personalized things in his room, instead he likes to leave an impression on the other rooms of the house (leaving drawings on the walls in Liam’s room, pictures on Lizzie’s windows when she lets him use her markers, and leaving stuffed animals and small toys on the shelf where Alex’s stuffed crocodile spends his lonely days now that he’s a teenager and he doesn’t play with him anymore). No one seems to mind, in fact, William regularly tells him when he’s away at school that he wants a whole new set of pictures hanging in his room for him when he gets home to help keep the baby busy. Alby has his own shelf full of books that has slowly started to overflow as his siblings slowly hand the boy more and more books to read. His favorite toy when he was younger, and to this day, is trains. He looooooves trains. So if his room has any theme in the chaos it’s definitely trains. He has those stickers on his walls of little cartoon trains and he almost always has some giant town built with the little wooden train sets across the back half of his room on the floor. His parents gave up trying to make him clean those up every night a long time ago. Some battles just aren’t worth fighting, especially when one little town of his creation could keep him occupied for days. 

I don’t know if you meant Elaina too but you’re going to get her because I’m on a roll at this point, lol. Elaina’s room is...well kind of boring. And she hasn’t had too much freedom to change anything either which kind of stinks. She has Brielle’s old room and it is exactly how you would expect a princess’s room to look. Light baby pink walls. Her furniture is white. It’s adorable. She HATES it. I mean, I shouldn’t say it like that, it’s her room and she likes it because it’s her space. But she doesn’t like how it looks. She doesn’t really like how it looks like a nursery (because it kind of does) but her parents aren’t really feeling the whole re-painting thing and her furniture belonged to her grandmother and so it’s staying in the family and she can’t get rid of that either. She really loves all three of the English kids’ rooms. They all are a little darker and the paint and the colors are cooler and not as bright and blinding as her pink and white. She is just a touch jealous that despite Arthur and Waverly’s dictaror-ish tendencies, they let their kids decorate their rooms how they want. She’s an artist, as you all know and she loves to sketch and paint and draw. At one point when she was about 11 or 12, I forget exactly but it’s written so perhaps I could share it one day, she used a sketching pencil to draw this really pretty floral design down the side of her nightstand and her parents saw it and lost their shit (old family antiques are not for drawing on, Elaina. You know better!). She hasn’t dared try to do that again, but she’s also always wanted to get all new white furniture and paint over it and cover it in her own drawings. One day she promises herself that she will. In the meantime, she has one single poorly shaded drawing on her nightstand that she managed to convince her parents to let her keep and not erase. 

That was a LOT. However...sprinkled in there is a few really relevant pieces of information. The story arch I am currently working on directly involves some of this information and you know how my brain is...I can’t think of anything without figuring it out for everyone...so you’ll see some of this brought up in the actual story again too, eventually. 

[brookelynndyke]

ok last episode,,,, let’s talk.

(SPOILERS) I’m breaking down a lot of the looks cause I like to think I’m somewhat knowledgeable on fashion. its really long but im hoping atleast my mutuals will read it

THE TOP: so like Gigi, Jaida, and Nicky literal beauty, like that was absolutely delicious.

Gigi Goode: omg all three of her looks were absolutely phenomenal. Her Lady Ballers look was one of my favourite of the night, the reference to heathers so smart and the construction of the blazer and blouse was so beautiful (go follow the seamster on insta @domingocholula). she really knew what she was doing with that one. next is her basketball wife realness and tbh it was the weakest out of the three but not by alot, the snakeskin jacket (go follow her mom on insta, who made it @kgeggie) and boots matched the long flowy black hair so well, and the reason I say it was the weakest is because she said it herself that she was “recently divorced trying to spend all his money”, meaning more independent and that does not fit the theme as much as others did. lastly was her balls to the walls eleganza that she made herself, and if you follow me you know that was literally my favourite thing in the world. her talent in sewing is gonna take her far in the competition, cause she literally sewed that in a day. the sleeves the skirt i just am crying. her faces were on point every runway and she deserved her win.

Jaida Essence Hall: how is she that pretty? her lady ballers look was so cute and i’m glad she’s able to let herself be silly on the runway cause her personality is amazing. i normally hate heeled sneakers but since her were plain white it looked great with the outfit. AND THE HAIR, idk what about it i liked so much but that ponytail moment was so cute. next was her basketball wife realness, that if I’m correct she made herself and when i tell you this was so fucking gorgeous I mean it. the fur on her shoulder and tiny fluffy accents on her shoes, shes so polished and knows her body so well. last was her balls to the walls eleganza, and lord!!!! the concept was so smart, and the matching hand bag with soap carved into it was amazing like periodttt, if I had to say one thing about it that I didn’t like it was the hair, I wish she had done either a wet hair just out of the shower wig or even changed the headwrap colour to silver like her jewelry, it would have made the look ten times better. i would not have been mad if she won this week.

Nicky Doll: I have a soft spot for nicky as a french speaker myself and I’m so glad she was in the top this week. her lady ballers look was unfortunately the weakest for me, although I loved the concept i thought it feel a bit short just because it looked very similar to her look in the first episode for the sparkles runway. but the way she served it to us on a silver platter with that WALK ugh amzing presentation. next was her basketball wife realness and OH MY GOD. this look was one of my favourites of the night it was stunning, she giving you “im from paris but fell in love with a basketball player when i moved to america and now i travel the world doing photoshoots and fashion shows. the red ostrich feather coat sold the entire look and honestly i want to marry that woman. (coat and jewelry were made by @onauratoutvu go follow!!) last is her balls to the walls eleganza and this was great by all means she had a clear concept in her mind and went for it, my favourite part were what she called the “marie antoinette” hips (great reference btw) that added shape to the garment. i can understand where people are coming from when they say it looks like yvie’s look from the farm to runway challenge but I don’t think there was any correlation. and also i think their personality critique for nicky was absolute bullshit but thats none of my business

SAFE: i’ll only be breaking down one look from each safe contestant!

Jackie Cox: i might be biased cause i’m canadian but that lacrosse moment was great, i was here for it. the socks were bedazzled and the jersey said beaver, her attention to detail is amazing, but I really want to see her stand out!! (go follow the designer on insta @daviddalrympleinc) 

Crystal Methyd: she’s such cutie, honestly. her bowling look was great and the references were smart, i loved the colour combo and hair.  i wish she didn’t change her makeup cause of michelle, because honestly it’s her face and like shes polished so why does it matter. 

Jan: her basketball wife realness was amazing. i believe it was a 13,000$ tracksuit by Thom Browne! like WHAT? first of all it was stunning and her makeup is always on point and i might just be a whore for chanel but the purse/basketball in a net was AMAZING!

Heidi N’ Closet: her last look the balls to the walls eleganza was... interesting. it was giving me alien something and she was showing versatility and i’m here for it. i think the purple and green colour combo was great but could her construction use some work yes, but overall proud of her for that being the second garment she’s ever made.

Widow Von’Du: sis isn’t doing it for me i’m sorry, her looks were all great but none of them stood out, she just needs to go one step further and they’ll be amazing. her lady baller was cute tho and i loved the lapels and collar.

Allison MOSSey: her balls to the walls eleganza was bad, period. it was boring uninspired and where were the balls. i enjoyed the other two looks so PLEASE go follow their designer and look past the person wearing the clothes to enjoy the designers art @florencedlee on insta.

BOTTOM THREE: i have some very strong opinions on this bottom three like many so just hold tight.

Brita: her first look was the best out of all of them which is unfortunate because i didn’t even like it that much. her second look was bland, and i get the reference but it could have been done so much better instead of this neon yellow fabric and giant hair. finally her... corn-apple, i have no words, it was poorly constructed and she deserved to lipsync.

Rock M. Sakura: why did she go home ugh, yes she lost that lip sync but she did not deserve to be in the bottom 2. her first tether ball/ball in a cup look(idk people are fighting over what it is) had such a great concept and the hair was AMAZING. i do wish the garment had been just as strong from the neck down but her face was stunning last episode. her downfall this week was her padding and how crowded her balls to the walls eleganza was.

Aiden Zhane: i- no. how was she safe. i have some respect for her lady baller look because of the concept, but the other two... the basketball wife one was not good and id not fit with her aesthetic, it gave me more crack whore who stole one of trixie mattel’s wigs. and then the balls to the walls eleganza was literally just bad. everyone put so much effeort into their looks and aiden glued some pom poms onto a corset and said “done”. severely confused as to why she didn’t lipsync. i know they want to keep aiden for drama but that was pathetic.

ANYWAYS... if you read all of this and want to see more just drop a like please and thank you

[magic5ball]

Nature Trail to Hell Arc IV: Megamart of Darkness (6)

Chapter 6: Franklin vs. Penn: Ultimate Grudge Match

“I’m sorry,” He said, all polite-and-founding-father like, “but the museum is now closed. Those who do not leave WILL BE EXTERMINATED. As I always say, early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and NOT DEAD! Thank you so much for visiting the Franklin Institute, and please come back tomorrow, when I WON’T KILL YOU!”

           Unfortunately for Silverstein, I’d been in situations like this a thousand times before. See, when you get in trouble, be it trying to flood the house, drawing pictures on the walls, or just plain old putting fireworks in your breakfast cereal, you learn real quick to always have a buddy (or little brother) on standby. Why? Because-

“It was them, Mr. Franklin!” I cried, pointing my index finger. “They started it!”

Then I ran. Always run before they can think long enough to punish you!

There was a loud Pop as Ben Franklin cracked his knuckles.

“A fool and his money are soon parted, as is a certain Quaker and his life if he does not leave now. I once said visitors and fish stink after three days, but you were rotten on arrival, pacifist!”

Penn stamped his foot so hard it cracked the floor, accepting the challenge. “I may not believe in fighting, but soon you shall see why they call us the Quakers, you impoverished d!ck!”

“Uhh… guys? I’m still here.” Said Silverstein, just in time for Penn to kick him into a marble pillar.

“The child is mine to reprimand, you fool!”

“’Tis not!”

“’Tis too!”

“’Tis not!”

           As much as I wanted to hear a riveting philosophical debate between two of PA’s most famous citizens, I wasn’t exactly looking forward to getting crushed by giants, either. Instead I ran. I ran so far away. Now, keep in mind I hadn’t been to the museum since I was five, which made searching out the train an absolute pain. Having two giant men bumbling behind me didn’t exactly help.

All I could think was runrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrun.

           It should have been easy: all I needed to do was find that stupid train, bring it to life with gold dust, and vamoose! If only I could remember which room the darn thing was in! Instead, I ran through rooms filled with electricity, weather, and ‘shudder’ physics. Sometime along the way, I realized this is where parents put all the boring sciences nobody cared about, locking them away from the rest of the world. This wasn’t a museum, this was a prison. A prison of learning.

           Then there were Ben Franklin and William Penn hot on my tail, reducing rooms to rubble as they went. I had no idea what would happen when all that science got released into the world, but I didn’t want to find out. At least they seemed more interested in each other than me. Until Ben Franklin stuffed Penn’s body up a working Tesla coil, that is. Penn might have recovered, had he been made of something other than bronze. Instead, the room exploded in a burst of electricity, Franklin and I leaping out in the nick of time like a pair of action heroes.

           Of course, without Penn to distract him, I had to contend with Big Ben himself (and Silverstein, whenever the heck he got back in the fight). So now on top of finding Baldwin (seriously, how hard can finding a 400,000 pound choo-choo train possibly be?!) I had the world’s angriest founding father on my tail, spitting maxims at me. Maxims that were also really bad puns about my demise (that I may or may not still sometimes hear in my sleep).

“I once said three can keep a secret if two of them are dead. So far, one down, one to go!”

I slammed my knuckles to my head.

Come on, Watt! Think, thiiinnnnkkkkkk!

I pumped my ten year old legs hard enough to pop my knees off, the air pushing back against me like concrete. There was a flash; the world spun. Then everything was still. Absolutely still.

                                                          .   .   .

           When I opened my eyes, I back at the Franklin Institute. Srta. Now, it was day and there were tons of guests. And in that great thong of guests was none other than five year old me being dragged along his parents. 

Fist, I was right confused about what the hey was going on, when it struck me that just last year I managed to run faster than the speed of light, going back through time. But back then, I’d sprained my ankle so I shouldn’t have been able to go that fast again. This had to be an illusion! Unless...

Unless, being a soul now, my ghost ankle wasn’t sprained, which, combined with my dinosaur feet, had let me run fast enough to break he sound barrier again and go back to the day my parents first took me to this hell of learning! Should I have been worried I wasn’t more shocked? Maybe, but all my mind could think of was how I distinctly remembered seeing a giant train as the last stop on my visit. It took my nerve wracked mind five seconds to churn out a plan. And so began the first (but sadly, not last) time I would find myself stalking somebody.

           Funny about stalking. In the movies they make it look like some daring spy espionage thing while some awesome music plays in the background. Fact is, you spend most of it just sitting around searching for that perfect mix of part of the crowd, but not so much you’ve lost your target, the whole time internally screaming Darn it, kid! Put down the plastic stegosaurus and get a move on to the trains already! (I also felt tempted to tell him throwing Steggy into incoming traffic on the way home was a terrible idea even by 5-year-old standards, but that’s the sort of thing that causes time paradoxes, so I kept my mouth shut.) Seriously, it’s no wonder I didn’t remember squat about the place! And somehow, despite having his face in front of a dinosaur the whole time, little Watt spent hours in front of every exhibit (except the giant human heart, that one sent little me screaming for the exit until Mom convinced him there were no ghosts in there). If it weren’t for Dad grumbling how ‘we should’ve just gone to the dinosaurs like we usually do’ while Mom countered with ‘we need to expand our son’s horizons’, I might have died of boredom for the third time that summer.

           One planetarium show later (which I sat outside for, seeing I didn’t have a ticket) they finally got a move on to the trains, which actually got little me to stop staring at his plastic dinosaur for five seconds. Heck, I found myself gaping at the darn thing (which of course was in an out of the way area most people wouldn’t even notice if it wasn’t on the map.)

           So I knew where the Baldwin was, now I could get going returning to my own time! As if on cue, a loudspeaker screamed

“ATTENTION GUESTS! IN FIVE MINUTES THERE WILL BE A DEMONSTRATION OF OUR TESLA COIL IN THE WONDERS OF ELECTRICITY EXHIBIT!”

           Mom, determined to get little me to see there was more to life than dinosaurs (Mom, I love you, but you’re wrong) immediately started dragging the family over. Naturally, I followed suit, knowing full well how this story ended.

Turned out, there was one other thing that could get little me to take his eyes off his plastic dinosaur for more than five seconds (that wasn’t a giant, fleshy organ in the middle of a museum hall). And that was seeing their future self running into the Tesla coil right as the demonstration began.

Have you ever been barbequed? Roasted so dark your skin feels like lava, then you can’t feel anything at all? Well, jumping into that coil was like that, and more. Only thing I could feel was my brains being spun around like clothes in a washer. All the while, I thought of that stupid giant heart. Whose heart did it even belong to, anyway, and who thought it was a good idea to put it in the middle of a museum hall where all a manner of kids could crawl through it to their heart’s content?

Whose heart was it?

But I already knew the answer, just like I know the history of dinosaurs. With that knowledge, I came up with the perfect plan.

And everything was still, absolutely still.

                                                         .   .   .

           When I got back up, it was nighttime in 2006, angry Ben Franklin and all. Quick on my feet, I ran to where the little kids go to learn how disgusting they are on the inside. Franklin followed close behind, each footstep a five on the Richter scale. If I wanted to pull my plan off, I couldn’t miss a beat. Running was a bit trickier, though: somehow, I’d sprained my ghost ankle from running so fast. Not that I really had time to wonder how that worked. 

Anyway!

           Most kids like theme parks. I was never one of them. You know why? Because of those creepy animal mascots! Just like clowns, there’s something inhuman about them! But at the end of the day, a thousand of those costumed freaks seemed less scary than Big Ben Franklin’s ticker. And this is coming from a guy who literally lived in the Underworld for a few weeks!

           Did you know it glows at night?! It freaking glows at night like some bloody Chinese lantern. While pulsing! It was enough to make me lose my lunch (or Cheetos, in this case) to the point where I wondered if being crushed to death in the marble hands of our first president might not be such a bad thing after all. (He was our first president, right?) But at the end of it all, I flinched. First I was fleeing from death, the next moment I was lodged somewhere in Big Ben’s left ventricle.

“Coward! Come out and face me!” He cried, punching a hole mere inches from my face.

I may or may have not screamed as blood splattered my face. For the next few minutes, it was a fight for survival. Franklin ripped open the heart, trying to grab me, and I didn’t know what would kill me first: Fists, or the guy’s cringy maxims.

“He who would sacrifice his freedom for security deserves neither!”

Punch.

“My energy and persistence will conquer all things-that includes your flimsy little bones!”

Slam!

I would have parried with quips of my own, but really, it’s kinda hard to come up with puns for ‘ventricle’. But in the end, I decided who lived a-or-ta died, so that’s neat.

Sure enough, the more Franklin punched, the more blood spread over his marble face, the slower the heat beat and the weaker he got, over and over and over…

“Nothing is… certain in life… but death and…”

Just like that, Ben Franklin collapsed on the floor. Now it was my turn for a witty one liner.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you an investment in knowledge pays the best interest? Fun fact about the heart: when it stops beating, you stop living.”

And with that, I went to my way toward the Baldwin, but not before Franklin gave me one last ominous warning.

“He who lives upon hope…”

I didn’t hear the rest because by then, he’d drowned in his own blood.

           So I ran to the best of my memory, diving down that staircase where they keep the pendulum thingy into the space travel exhibit (or as I like to call it: ‘You think it’s gonna be fun, but it’s not’.) And who do I see leaning against a replica lunar module but Smell Silverstein himself, looking mighty proud of himself

“Good evening, Watterson.” He said, all sinister-like. “You probably think you’ve been doing real good, busting up two of Pennsylvania’s most famous figures like that. Too bad, mother*cker! Because I’m Shel mother*ckin’ Silverstein, and now, you will be crushed by the wrath of Apollo, the Living Lunar Module!”

With as much charisma as he could muster, he took some dust from his pocket and splashed it on the space thing.

Nothing happened.

Shel looked at his hands, now a bright orange. “What the Stephen Hellenberg?! This isn’t gold dust, this is CHEESE PUFF DUST!”

           You know that gold dust Silverstein tried to snatch from me earlier? Too bad he didn’t have good night vision (the kind you get from constantly checking for monsters under your bed) otherwise he’d have noticed I’d pulled the ol’ switcheroo on him. 

And I made certain he wouldn’t have time to correct his mistake. 

You ever rammed a guy twice your size before? The key is to catch them by surprise, because even if you’re an eighty pound wimp like yours truly, if the other guy isn’t expecting it, they’ll topple like a domino, bang their head on the leg of a lunar module, and that will be that.

           Of course, I didn’t exactly have time to celebrate my victory. With what little energy I had left, I tottered over to the train exhibit. For a moment I’d expected the worst, but there it was, black, long, and big as a house: the Baldwin 60000, the greatest locomotive ever designed by man. Right where I’d left it. Climbing into the cockpit, I opened the firebox, pouring every last ounce of Penn’s gold dust inside. The whole thing shimmered as streams of gold circled the train, like some kind of magic spell.

“What the f*ck?!”

A deep booming voice erupted from right out of nowhere.

“Where am I? What is this place?! How the hell am I talking?!”

“Hey, relax-“

“And now there’s a voice in my head!”

“Actually, my name’s Watt, and I’m gonna bust you out of here.”

“Well I’m not interested! If you’ll excuse me, I have to go back to being the greatest steam engine in America!”

I slapped my head, finally realizing my Mom put up with this crap every time she put me to bed at night.

“C’mon, Baldwin, I nearly got sent to the Underworld, MULTIPLE TIMES I might add, trying to rescue you!”

“Then if you want a train so badly, go to Rocket over there! He’d probably help you out!”

Rocket was a dinky little rust bucket who probably couldn’t outrun a fourth grader, much less crush a Wegmart Greeter. In fact, I’m still not sure if that thing even qualified as a train.

Fortunately, my Mom put up with this crap every time she put me to bed, so let’s just say I knew a little about getting people to do what you want.

“Fine then,” I said, putting up my hands and making an exasperated sigh. “Guess you won’t have the chance to be famous, then.”

“How?!” The desperation in his voice was palpable.

“Oh, I just wanted you of run over a Wegmart Greeter and help some geese get their nesting grounds back. It would get you in the papers. But I could just go over to Rocket, since you insisted…”

A whistle erupted. “NO! NO! You definitely want me! Ever since I’ve somehow gained a consciousness, all I’ve had the inescapable urge to do something stupid that’ll land me in the papers! I’m a very useful engine, I SWEAR! Please don’t leave meee!”

I crossed my arms and rolled my eyes “Okay, but promise you’ll do everything I say, alright.”

“Yes, yes! Anything for fame!”

Just at that moment, William Penn barged in, creating a giant Quaker shaped hole in the wall. His hair was a bit frazzled, but other than that he looked just as dandy as when I first saw him.

“Halt, Wastrel! In the name of Penn-“

“CHARGE!” I screamed.

With an ear shattering whistle Baldwin rammed forward, shattering Penn’s bronze butt into a million pieces. But we didn’t stop there. No, we kept going through the museum, out the other end, and…

“We’re going to crash into traffic!”

“Don’t worry, kid! You just have to belieeeeevvvveeeee!”

“How is that supposed to-“

“Do you want to ram through a traffic jam or not?!”

So I did. I hugged the firebox, believing we might somehow get away with all this. Gradually, the ground stopped screeching beneath us. When I finally found the courage to look down, we were a hundred feet in the air. I wondered what passersbys would think when they looked up to see a seven hundred thousand pound train making a silhouette as it passed over the moon.

“What the heck is happening?!”

“Magic, kid! The Magic of BELEIVING, MOTHERFORKER!” He tooted his whistle triumphantly “Just don’t stop, or we all fall to our deaths. I’ll even sing a song to help you remember!”

“No that’s-“

“Don’t stop! Beleivviiiinnnngg!”

I screamed all the way back to the pond.

                                                          .   .   .

Just like I promised, Baldwin did get in the papers. Specifically, an article in the National Esquirerer titled

“Lascivious Locomotive Finishes Founding Father! Makes Daring Escape into the Heavens!”

Right beneath an article about one of the most pressing issues of our time:

‘Hannah Montana: the American Beethoven?’

[ncityislove]

More

➳Genre: smut

➳Pairing: Stoner!Mark x Reader

➳Word Count: 4k+

You meet Mark at one of your parents’ boring dinner parties and when Mark shows you his stash of weed things get heated in more ways than one.

Requested? lol naw but y’all nasties wanted it anyways

Your heels echoed on the wooden floors of the over-sized dining room as you sauntered over to the open bar, ordering a shot of Hennessy. Your parents dragged you to yet another one of their friends' gathering to "make more connections" as they had put it. You were out of school on summer break but you wished you had taken up those extra classes because then you'd have an excuse not to be here.

The bartender placed your glass in front of you and you downed it in the blink of an eye, ordering another just as your mom approached you.

"Ah, there you are! Come along, dear, I want to introduce you to someone," she said, grabbing your wrist.

As if there was someone here you hadn't already introduced me to, you thought, rolling your eyes. Your mom lead you across the crowded room to a secluded area where your father was standing in his freshly ironed blue button down and matching tie, his jacket draped over his arm.

"Oh! Speaking of the devil--this is my daughter, y/n!" he exclaimed, clapping his hands together.

You forced a smile, avoiding eye contact with the small family standing before you.

"Oh, she's gorgeous! Isn't she gorgeous, honey?" asked a woman wearing too much makeup.

"She sure is. The apple doesn't fall too far from the tree!" the man next to her boomed and everyone burst into laughter.

"Stop it, Todd! I'm married!" your mom giggled. "And so are you!" Everyone laughed again and you tried not to gag. It was obvious your mom didn't want to be here just as much as you and it was shameful how badly you wanted to laugh. Your mom was never very good at pretending and it showed now more than ever.

"Hey, Mom? The maid said you wanted to see me," said a young looking man dressed in grey sweats and a t-shirt. His voice matched his face perfectly, soft yet deep at the same time.

Suddenly, the night had become much more interesting.

His parents seemed repulsed by his attire but you, on the other hand, thought it suited him very well. His joggers hung low on his hips and his baggy t-shirt was loose but not loose enough that you couldn't see his toned figure underneath. His hair was a mess but it surprisingly didn't make him look any less handsome. You couldn't help but imagine how soft the tufts of hair would feel between fingers as you tugged at the strands begging him for more.

"Mark, sweetheart, you couldn't have put something nice on before you came down?!" his mom shrieked.

"Oh, sorry," he apologized although he seemed like he didn't really mean it.

"It's alright, Beverly. My son, Doyoung, is the exact same way," your father chuckled.

You sighed, wishing it was your brother who was standing here instead of you but unfortunately he had a better excuse than you for not being able to make it. He was in Paris "studying" for his law degree for another year but you knew he was probably just messing around with some French girl in that big fancy penthouse your father bought him.

"Then you must understand how embarrassing this is," his father sighed. "Well, this is my son, Mark. He's in college right now but he came back home for an internship at the company! Isn't that right, son?"

Mark nodded, chewing his bottom lip, his eyes meeting yours briefly then flitting away, his ears turning red.

"Now that I think about it, you two are the same age!" said Beverly. "Isn't that wonderful?"

Mark looked up at you in surprise, his big amber eyes looking even larger as he gaped at you. You smiled at him, eyeing him from head to toe as you licked your lips. You didn't mean to be so obvious but you couldn't deny how cute he looked when he blushed.

"Oh that is!" your mom cheered. "Maybe they'll become good friends!"

"That would be great! It's too bad Mark's got so much work to do right now," said Tom.

"Yes, it truly is a shame," you agreed, everyone turning to look at you.

"R-really?" your mom stuttered, surprised at you for showing interest in the conversation for once. "I mean—it really is a shame."

Mark cleared his throat. "Well, I can take a break and stay a while...that is if you'd like me to," he trailed off, glancing at you.

"I'd like that," you said, grinning innocently as filthy thoughts ran through your mind.

This was exactly what you needed. A cute boy to toy with until you can go home and finally finish the last season of The Vampire Diaries. The show was cheesy and the characters got on your nerves but you wouldn't be able to sleep at night if you never finished it.

"Is that okay?" he asked his dad who looked hesitant.

"If it's only for a bit then what harm could it do?" he said waving his glass of wine in the air.

"I'll just go change then," Mark said stepping back.

"Marvelous!" his mother remarked, as she took a polite sip from her glass.

Your dad patted you on the shoulder, showing his gratitude towards your sudden act of kindness towards him but what he didn't know was you weren't doing this for him, it was for you. If your parents were going to force you to go to every boring party for the next three months you needed something to entertain yourself. Or rather someone.

Mark came down the elegant spiraled staircase in a crisp black button-down tucked into his slacks with a rather expensive-looking watch adorning his wrist. His hair looked tamed this time, slicked back in a way that resembled his father's. Although he looked absolutely drool-worthy all dressed up, you much preferred him messy-haired and wearing sweats.

You met him at the bottom of the steps, not even trying to hide the fact that you were checking him out.

"I never got your name," he said, offering his arm out to you.

"Y/n," you replied, linking your elbow to his. "Let's head to the bar, I need a drink."

Mark nodded, as he escorted you to the open bar at the end of the corridor.

"Two shots of vodka, please," you called out.

"Ah, none for me, sir. I don't drink," interjected Mark.

You raised your eyebrows at him. "I'm sorry?"

Mark smiled. "I'm not much of a drinker. I always regret it in the morning and it tastes awful."

You laughed at his explanation, finding it cute. Mark was different than all of the other kids you met through your parents. Most of them jumped at the opportunity to get wasted at these boring affairs and you were one of them.

"I'll still take those two shots," you said.

The bartender nodded, setting two shot glasses in front of you and you threw your head back, finishing them in seconds. Mark watched you with amusement in his eyes as you gently placed the glasses back onto the counter.

"So if you don't drink," you began. "then what the hell do you to deal with...all of this?"

"All of this?" he questioned.

"You know...everything. These parties, the fancy suits and all that."

"I know what you meant," Mark chuckled. "I don't have to be intoxicated to have fun."

You squinted your eyes at him. "I'm not buying that."

Mark smirked, looking down then back at you, a mysterious glint in his eyes. "Yeah, I didn't think you would."

You propped a knee onto the bar stool, leaning closer to him, not caring that you were wearing a dress. "Then what do you do?"

Mark cocked his head to the side, a smile playing on his lips. "Why don't I show you?"

You blinked at the large hand being offered to you, curiosity getting the best of you as you placed your palm on top of his. Mark look satisfied as he laced his fingers between yours, leading you up the stairs to his room.

His house was big but not as big as yours. The hallway was spacious, decorated with art pieces that must've cost thousands. The band music faded more and more until the only sound left was the click-clack of your heels.

His room was just as impressive as the rest of the house. It was black and white themed with a modern renaissance inspired wallpaper with just as much art hanging on it as in the hall. His desk was the only part of the room that looked messy, papers and folders thrown everywhere, even some littering the floor around it. But the bed. The bed was what really made the room so beautiful. It was huge. The bedposts were made out of a beautiful oak wood and almost as high as the ceiling! The comforter was draped beautifully over the bed and with perfectly fluffed pillows placed on top.

"Nice room," you said, sitting on the chair by the bookshelf.

"Thanks," said Mark as he opened his closet door, disappearing for a few moments.

You got up, wandering around his room, pausing at the wall of trophies and medals next to the fireplace. Most of them were from years ago, but there were a few a golfing trophies with this year's date on them.

"Ready to have some fun?" Mark asked, startling you as he emerged from the closet.

"Sure, why not," you retorted, walking to his bed where he was sitting with a small wooden box in his lap.

"You're not gonna pull out a gun on me are you?" you asked, eyeing the box.

"Just sit down and watch," Mark said half-chuckling.

You plopped down next to him on the bed, peering over his shoulder as he opened the lid of the box, revealing something you hadn't been expecting at all.

"Weed?"

"Yep. Weed," he said pulling out a lighter from the bottom of the box.

"You don't look like the stoner kind," you said, scooting further back on the bed.

"I'll take that as a compliment," he said, lighting up a blunt.

You hummed, watching as he put the object to his lips, inhaling then blowing out a puff of white. Mark let out a content sigh before offering the blunt to you.

You took it from him, taking a hit then passing it back.

"Shouldn't you open a window or something?" You asked, already beginning to feel lighter.

"Nah, my parents already know." Mark took another hit, holding his breath for a beat before exhaling.

"My parents would lose their shit if they found out their precious daughter was up here smoking pot with you."

"I bet your parents probably smoke too," Mark mused.

You let out a surprised laugh. The idea of your parents getting high on marijuana out of all things was absolutely hilarious to you.

"Please, they won't even have more than three glasses of wine."

"That's what they want you to think," Mark sing-songed and you giggled.

Mark laid down next to you, giving you a lazy smile.

"What?" You asked, a cloud of smoke escaping your lips.

"You're just really pretty, that's all," he said, his voice sounding confident but the blush on his cheeks evident as he looked away.

"You're really pretty too, Mark," you said, trying not to smile as you took another hit from the blunt.

Mark crinkled his nose at you, snatching the brown object from your fingers. "You're totally high right now."

You looked shocked as you snatched it right back, your lips turned downwards. He was way off base—there was no way your tolerance was that low. And if it was? It was none of his business how much weed you could smoke, anyways.

"What? No way, I'm not high yet."

Mark shook his head, a teasing smile on his face. "If you say so."

You scoffed, shoving his shoulder. "I do say so."

"Oh yeah?" Mark stood up, towering over you with a smug grin, blowing out a white cloud of smoke at your face. "And I say, you're much better at handling your liquor than a measly blunt. I mean, you've only had like three hits? It's barely halfway done yet."

You wanted to smack that grin right off of his face right then and there. Nothing irked you more than a man who challenged you. What you say is law and if you say you're not high (although you may have been a teensy bit) then you weren't.

To other people, it might seem like you were over-reacting but who could blame you? You always got what you wanted, when you wanted, and how you wanted it. No limits. No one to tell you 'no' when you really needed to hear it the most.

"I don't like to be teased, Mark."

"Really? Because I think you look cute when you get all worked up."

You squinted your eyes at him. The poor boy. He didn't realize what he was in for. "Where was that shy, blushing boy I met earlier? I wanna talk to him."

Mark's eyebrows raised at your comment. "I don't know what you're talking about, love, but I'm all ears to listen to whatever you have to say."

You stared at him for a second, sitting completely still and Mark grew uneasy. "Um, was that too much? Sorry, if I got the wrong vibe but I just figured—"

"Kiss me," you said, your voice calm.

Mark's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "W-what?"

You tugged at the sleeve of his shirt, dragging his body down to level your faces. "Kiss me, Mark."

Mark looked at you with wild eyes, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. You brought your hands up to his face, cupping his cheeks, encouraging him as he slowly inched forward, finally, his lips meeting yours. It was awkward at first, your lips moving at different paces but you didn't mind. In fact, it was kind of...endearing.

His nose brushed yours as he deepened the kiss, your legs wrapping around him on their own as Mark emitted a soft groan. Your hands moved from his face down to the expensive belt on his pants, undoing it with haste.

Mark broke the kiss, startled by your urgent hands. "What are you doing?" he asked, his chest heaving as if he were trying to catch his breath.

"Is this not okay?" you asked, your fingers pausing at the latch of the belt.

"N-no—I mean yes! Yes!" Mark stuttered, his cheeks glowing red again.

The tingling that surged through your body at the sight of the flushing boy before you took you by surprise. Every time Mark blushed it made you want to do things to him. You craved to see those naive big brown eyes of his rolling to the back of his head from pleasure. You wanted to hear him pleading for you. Begging you to make him feel good after he couldn't take your teasing any longer.

Once you successfully removed his belt, you wrapped it around his wrists, careful not to irritate his skin.

"What's this?" Mark asked, looking uncertain.

You brought your lips back to his briefly for a chaste kiss. "Teaching you a lesson. The first thing to know about me is I don't do well with any kind of disagreements."

Mark looked down at his bound wrists before glancing back up at you. "Are you doing this because I was teasing you?" he asked, his tone too playful for your liking. "You know I'm right."

You grabbed a fistful of his shirt, pulling him down with you in the bed, your leg lifting over his body so that you were sitting right over his crotch, roughly braying your hips. Mark cursed under his breath.

You leaned over him, pressing your lips to the shell of his ear, "If you keep up this tough guy act of yours, this won't end well for you,"

Mark shuddered underneath you as your cool breath caressed his ears. You took the forgotten blunt, which was shrinking in size by the second, from the ashtray next to the bed, putting it up to his lips. Mark's eyes didn't waver from yours as he filled his lungs to its capacity, the butt of the blunt glowing a dangerous red. Your lips connected to his as he blew the smoke into your mouth. You released the white clouds from your mouth, making sure to blow it back into his face as he did earlier.

"You're gonna be good for me now, won't you, Mark?"

Mark nodded, his eyes wide.

"Why do you look so nervous," you giggled, your mind starting to feel hazy.

Mark's lips parted, his eyes adverting yours abashedly. "I just...I never did anything like this before."

You pulled his arms over his head so that you could lay on top of him without his hands sitting between your bodies awkwardly. "If you start to feel uncomfortable just say so and I'll stop. Although, I didn't think you'd turn out to be so vanilla."

"Hey! I'm not vanil—"

"That's enough, Mark," you cut him off by stuffing the blunt between his lips. "Good boys don't talk back.

Mark could only blink at you, unable to respond without the blunt falling out and burning a hole in his expensive sheets.

"Perfect," you said, unbuttoning his shirt, revealing the smooth skin underneath. You began your assault on his neck, nipping and sucking without caring if it left any marks behind. Mark groaned, extending his neck to you as your hand slipped under his half-undone shirt, your fingers dancing over the firm muscle. His body responded to your touch, his back lifting off of the mattress slightly, chasing your fleeting hands.

"Patience," you muttered as you sat up on the back of your legs. You unfastened the hatch of his slacks, pulling the loose clothing down to his ankles. Mark looked down at you, trying his best to take a hit from the blunt without dropping it. You chuckled, helping him take a drag from it before putting it out in the ashtray, discarding it for now. Mark whined, protesting your actions and you rolled your eyes covering his mouth with the palm of your hands.

"Didn't I tell you good boys don't talk?" You asked, your other hand reaching down to palm him through his boxers, his cock hardening immediately. Mark's eyes closed as he let out a soft grunt from underneath your hand, lighting a spark in your core.

You licked your lips, humming as you teased his member, squeezing him through the thin material. Mark let out a muffled noise you couldn't make out.

"What is it, baby?" you asked, removing your hand.

"Please..." he begged.

You cocked your head curiously at him. "Please...what? Tell me and I might give it to you,"

Mark's tongue peeked out to wet his bottom lip, his cheeks rosy. "Your mouth--your hands--anything. Please, I don't think I can wait, I need you."

You core reacted, clenching around nothing. "Is that what you really want?" you asked, your lips ghosting across his jaw. Mark said yes, trying his best to keep his composure. "I'm afraid I can't do that. Not yet, baby."

Mark huffed, his chest dejecting with a small pout in his lips as he struggled against his restraints. "Undo this so I can fuck you, goddamnit."

"Bad boy," You clicked your tongue as you hiked up the hem of your dress, bunching it at your hips. Mark ogled at the newly revealed skin, a look of longing imprinted on his face.

You peeled off your panties, balling them up and stuffing them inside his mouth, shivering as the cold air hit your slick core. Mark looked absolutely helpless as he grunted, staring at your exposed heat, his eyes dark as the night sky just outside of the window. Your hands returned back to his boxers, sliding underneath the waistband this time. His dick jumped in your hands as you teased the head, smearing his arousal as a lubricant. You gave him a squeeze for good measure and Mark jolted in response.

You bit your lip, pumping his dick slowly, deciding to torture him a little more. You knew what you were doing was unfair but he was just so fun to play with, you couldn't help yourself. Mark's fist clenched and unclenched as he tried to stop himself from bucking up into your hands, knowing you would take your hands away altogether.

"Does that feel good? Do you want me to go faster?"

Mark nodded his head vigorously and you complied, feeling a little guilty for teasing him too long. You pulled down his boxers, his cock springing free and hitting his stomach. Maybe you were super horny but it may just have been the prettiest sight you've ever seen in your entire life.

Your face hovered over his writhing member, your breath tickling his skin as a silver pool of liquid fell from your mouth into your hand. Mark's breathing picked up as you massaged your hand over his length in a single twisting motion. You watched intently as his expression morphed into one of pleasure, his eyebrows scrunching cutely.

Your tongue swiped over your teeth as an idea popped into your head.

"I wonder...should I untie you?"

Mark nodded again.

"I don't know..." you said, pretending to think about it.

Mark mumbled something unintelligible as he waved his restrained hands at you, whining.

"I don't think you deserve it. I'm afraid you might do something and then I'll have to punish you."

Mark huffed, giving you a pleading look as he wiggled his fingers at you.

"Okay, okay," you laughed, unbuckling the belt.

The first thing Mark did once his hands were free was reach under your dress and grab your ass. You gasped in shock, slapping his hands off of you.

"Did I give you permission to touch me?" you asked but received no response, as his mouth was still full of your underwear.

"I thought you would've taken that out first," you mused, pulling the lace from his mouth.

Mark licked his dry lips as you brought your face close to his.

"So tell me," you whispered. "Isn't this much better than those lame ass vanilla girls?"

His lips parted to respond but he couldn't find his voice to speak so he nodded instead.

"I bet they just laid down and made you do all the work, didn't they?" Your hands trailed down his stomach. "That's no fun, is it? Hmm?"

"No," Mark answered, his breath hitching in the back of his throat when your slick folds rubbed against his length.

You nipped your teeth at his collarbone receiving a hiss from Mark. "Unzip me," you commanded.

You could've sworn you heard him say 'thank you' as he yanked your zipper down your back, eagerly ripping it off of your body so that you were only left in your bra. You told him to unhook your bra next as you sank down on him, filling yourself up to the brim. Mark complied with fumbling fingers and after a few failed attempts he finally got off, his hands flying to your chest as soon as the garment was discarded.

You decided to let the action slide, the feeling of his hands on you better than you ever imagined. You raised up your hips only to slam yourself back down on him, a moan escaping your lips. You repeated the movement again and again until you built up a steady rhythm.

Mark pushed your back down so that you were face to face and encased your lips with his, his tongue sliding into your mouth for a heated kiss. He let out a broken moan, his mouth parting from yours briefly before kissing you again.

"Faster," Mark groaned, his lips swollen from kissing.

"Manners," You hissed, biting down harshly on his jaw.

"P-please?" He begged, his face flushing again. "Please, I'm so close."

You slammed hips down harder, ignoring the stinging in your thighs. Mark's moans mingled with yours as you pushed each other towards your climaxes.

"F-fuck," he husked, his hips meeting yours as he thrust up into you. Your hands clutched his shoulders, the skin turning white under your fingers. You squeezed your eyes shut at the overwhelming amount of pleasure washing over your body, your legs turning to jelly.

You called out his name as you came, Mark gripping your hips as he continued to fuck you through your high, chasing his own in the process. Mark rubbed his thumb on your clit in tight circles causing you to cry out as you threw you head into the crew of his neck, your fingernails raking down his chest. Mark cursed when you clenched around him, his hips snapping up into yours with vigor as he neared his climax. His skin smacked against the bottom of your ass, a loud slapping noise filling the room.

You came again, letting out a strangled moan of ecstasy pulling Mark over the edge with you as spurts of warm cum filled you up. The two of you stayed there for a few moments to catch your breath, basking in your post-orgasm state.

You were the first one to move, rolling off of him after carefully pulling out his softening member.

"I never told you, you could cum inside me," you complained.

Mark turned to you, pulling you into his arms with a chuckle. "I'm sorry, I should've asked."

"Do you always cum inside girls' without permission?"

"I've always used a condom so I never really needed it," he responded, lips resting on the back of your shoulder.

"Well, I'm glad to know there won't be any chances of me catching any STD's from you," you laughed.

Mark traced circles on your hip with the pad of his thumb. "Haha. Very funny. Shouldn't we get back to the party before our parents notice we're gone?"

You sat up, with a grunt. "Yeah, you're probably right." The two of you got cleaned up and dressed as quickly as possible which took longer than it normally would considering you both were as high as a kite and your legs kept giving out every five seconds.

"Can I get a kiss, before we go back?" Mark asked, grabbing onto your elbow.

You smirked, bringing his face to yours. "What's the magic word?"

Mark never failed to blush at your requests but nonetheless played along. "Please?"

You barely gave him time to finish before your lips crashed onto his, your fingers gripping at the strands of hair at the nape of his neck. His hands rested on your lower back, pushing you further into him.

When you pulled away, his lips chased after yours and you found yourself smiling at how adorable he was.

"Should I get more weed for next time?" he asked, his forehead pressed against yours.

"Next time?" You repeated.

"Oh, don't tell me there won't be a next time," he pouted, his hands sliding down to grip your ass.

"I'll think about it," was the last thing you said before pulling away to go downstairs, only for Mark to follow behind you on the back of your heels like a lost puppy.