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breakingsomething · 4 years ago

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Dawn Station - Part Two

Basic summary: Chase Brody is being kept safe, far away from other people. So he thinks.

Content warnings: gore, body horror, stabbing, emeto, death mentions

Chase Brody is not ok.

Of course he's not. How is he expected to be? Ten people have died, and now he's being told he's next. He's been under police protection for days and judging by the strained snippets of conversation that he's caught from officers, even the others that had been with him are gone. Ten people, they had said. As far as Chase is aware, there were only nine other youtubers who'd been roped into this shit. Who else has this monster that wants them dead killed along with them? Does he even want to know?

He's been in this room for… three days? Four? Fuck, he doesn't remember. All he knows now is white walls, too close around him, with a bed, a tv in the top corner that he doesn't have a remote for, a black bin, a rolling table that's covered in books and other assorted things that he managed to bring with him, and two doors, one of which that leads to a small bathroom and one of which that leads outside. The second door only opens when he's being brought food. No one's telling him anything. He's scared out his mind.

An officer, a pale skinned woman with orange braids and a sympathetic smile, comes in a couple hours after he wakes for the day with breakfast. Toast, cold, with butter slabs and little packets of jam and sugar for his tea. Also cold. "Sorry, we don't have any Weetabix," she tells him with furrowed eyebrows and a sad tilt of the mouth as she clicks the door behind him. "We do have Cheerios and porridge, if you want something more to eat."

It's all he can do not to laugh. "No, thank you," says Chase, in a hoarse voice that hasn't been used in hours. "I want my phone back."

The officer winces. Her eyes are dark, crimson lipstick slightly smudged. Her nametag says "Sarah" on it in violet ink. "I'm sorry," she murmurs, in a voice so soft and falsely sympathetic it makes Chase want to scream. "I don't know if we can do that. We -"

"The others are dead, aren't they?" Chase interrupts. He knows this already. But it's worth saying to see the woman flinch. "All of them. So much for your oh-so-safe "police custody" bullshit."

She attempts to gather herself as professionally as she can, which is seemingly rather difficult. "I'm sorry," she repeats, and something about her tone is more genuine than before. "They are. But I swear to you, Mr Brody, we are doing everything we can to -"

"If I am going to die today," Chase says, interrupting again. "I want to talk to my goddamn family one more fucking time. Please get me my phone."

She stiffens, but gives a jerky little nod. He doesn't smile at her as she leaves. Not much to smile about. But she comes back ten minutes later and wordlessly hands him his slim rose phone, no expression on her face. He manages to upturn the corner of his lips in response.

Once she's left again, he turns his phone on and practically sighs at the sight of his two kids on his lockscreen. Little Connor and Louise, tiny kiddos, dressed up in their pristine school uniforms and grinning cheesily. His heart swells, and he swallows hard as the lump in his throat seems to expand. He can't cry. He's been crying enough lately. To think that two weeks ago, he was ecstatic to be receiving an email from Jack Mcloughlin himself, giving him the opportunity to play his new game's demo early. Look at him now.

Stacy is at the top of his contacts list, but only because he has her favourited still. He's not sure why. It just feels right to have her there. Her picture is a small, grainy image of her face next to a three year old Connor's. He has her looks more than Louise. Louise looks like her dad. She's a daddy's girl. Chase misses her so much it aches, and closes his eyes as he clicks Stacy's number.

She answers almost immediately. "Chase?" she yells, causing him to wince and pull the phone away from his ears. He hears her inhale sharply. "Sorry. Christ, Chase - Where the fuck are you?"

He swallows again, digging his nails into the palm of his hand. His legs are already beginning to bounce. "Police didn't tell you anything, huh," he mutters. "I'm in custody. They're apparently "keeping me safe," but I'm well aware of the fact that the others - Persephone, Rodney, Stanley, and Khia - are. Well." He clears his throat. "Dead."

He says it so matter of factly that you wouldn't know how close he was to tears had you not seen his face.

Stacy shifts, and Chase hears a door slam faintly. Two small voices giggle far off. He bites down on his lip as Stacy talks again. "Yeah. That's… yeah. Chase, I'm sorry. Uh… Jack Mcloughlin's dead too."

Chase sits bolt upright, eyes suddenly wide. "What?"

Stacy sounds alarmed. "I - Yes, did they not tell you? He died maybe two days ago. Same way as all the others. I'm sorry, Chase."

He can't breathe for a moment. Then he's numb and his body settles into cold, unfeeling static.

"Ok," he says flatly. "Great."

"Chase -"

"How are the kids?" he asks before she can finish. He's tired. He's been doing nothing but sleeping and he's tired. "I can hear them in the background, ha. Sounds like a fun time."

He can hear her scratching the space behind her ear. She does that when she's anxious. Nervous habit. She had gotten a little tattoo of a bee there when they were seventeen. It was a dare from their friend Daniel, who had also gotten a tattoo of a crocodile on his left thigh. Chase has a black bear on his right shoulder from the same occasion. When he and Stacy had been together, they would sometimes kiss the other's tattoos and descend into giggles remembering that slightly drunken night back in Ireland. His chest feels tight thinking about it. His eyes glaze over, and he tries to focus on something across the room.

"They're… not great," Stacy murmurs after a moment, making him jump. He had almost forgotten she was there. "Some brat at school told them about - this whole situation. Told them their dad was going to die. Apparently, she made up a song about it."

Chase hisses softly, grateful for another emotion besides grief and missing to focus on. "Fuck's sake. Which kid was this?"

"You know that girl who was making fun of Louise's accent last year and put chips in her hair?"

"That kid again? I thought the school dealt with her."

A sigh. "Apparently not. They came home in tears. I've been keeping them home since then."

Chase shakes his head in disbelief. "Shit, Stace. Can I… can I talk to them?"

She sighs again. "I… I suppose. But - how have you been? I take it its not been great, but are you at least ok?"

What counts as ok? He doesn't know. "I'm not dead yet. So there's something. I guess I can't really say much more than that."

"Papa?" cries a voice on the end of the line, and a grin breaks Chase's face as he recognizes his son, Connor, yelling from somewhere quite close to Stacy. "Is that Papa? Mama, let us talk - Louise, Papa's on the phone!"

Chase can't help but laugh as his daughter also chimes in, two little voices clamoring for his attention. "Calm down, kiddos, there's plenty of me to go round," he grins, pushing his hair back from his face so he can concentrate. "How are you both? One at a time, Louise first."

"Favouritism," he hears Connor sulk, but the boy quiets.

"I'm ok," Louise beams. He can hear her smile, and sees it when he closes his eyes. "I can't go to school cause Megan Penicuik was being mean. We made cookies, though, me and Con-Con! All by ourselves, no help from Mama at all!"

"Now, that's simply not true," he hears Stacy laugh in the background. Chase laughs too, his heart suddenly aching. Something weighs heavy in his chest, but he tries to push it away, feeling sick.

A scuffle on the end of the line, and then it's Connor speaking. "I miss you, Papa!" he cries. "I wanna give you a - a chocolate chip cookie, I have one here." His voice becomes muffled, and Chase hears him chewing. "Yum yum yum. Can we push a cookie down the phone? Like, through the speakers, Mama!"

Chase listens to a small squabble break out, then hears Stacy sigh dramatically. "They're doing just fine," she says, sounding so tired, yet vaguely amused. "I… I hate to say it, but I should probably go. Connor's games club is in half an hour and I haven't gotten ready at all. My makeup's a state." Her voice softens. "Will you be… ok?"

Will he? He doesn't know.

"Stace," he murmurs. His chest feels tight. "I could die. Like, tonight. That's what people are saying. I'm the last one left."

A pause, then Stacy lets out a shaky sigh. "Christ, Chase…"

He gathers his strength. "Listen. Listen, Stace. If I die tonight - I just want you to know how much I love you, ok? Even if we… if we weren't meant to be together anymore. You're one of my best friends, you know? So… take care of the kids. Don't lose yourself. And by god, don't start drinking again."

She gives a choked laugh. "Chase. God, I - Don't fucking die tonight."

He doesn't know how to tell her he won't have a choice.

As soon as the call's ended, he opens up his roommate's contact. He can't stand the echoing silence that seems to go on forever in the minute or so before the ringing starts. He supposes that if tonight is his last night alive, he should say goodbye. Even if it hurts. Even if it makes him feel sick to say it.

He nearly sobs with relief when he hears the line click, and a familiar German accent speak loudly in his ear. "Chase?"

Chase sniffles, laughing softly. "Hey, Henny."

Henrik curses, and something slams. "Mother of God, Chase Brody, do you have any idea - Are you - Fuck, are you alright?"

Good question. "I don't know," he admits, bouncing his leg anxiously, and staring at his chipped black nails. "I mean, I'm… scheduled to die tonight. So probably not. Really, I've been weirdly calm about all this."

Henrik huffs, and Chase can almost picture him getting red in the face, yanking back his hair and staring out the window of their flat with narrowed, pale blue eyes. "They have not done anything about it? Surely it is not possible that a murderer who is killing in patterns cannot be apprehended? You would think that would be easy, especially if you are being held in high security. Motherfucking useless British police. Not that German ones were much better, but Christ -"

Chase cuts him off before he can rant for another five minutes. "How are the others? Are Jackie, Marv and Jem holding up ok?"

Henrik sighs, blowing out his cheeks. "Mhm. Marvin has gone a bit mad. Fucking idiot is spending way too much time online, reading up on your situation. He seems convinced that you are going to die as well. According to Jackie, he spent all of yesterday out of the house and came back saying he had been performing. But Jackie says he had not had any parties scheduled for that day, so he was talking shit."

Chase winces. His friend Marvin is a child's birthday party performer, a magician, and spends a lot of time perfecting fun tricks and illusions to add into his routine. Chase knows how much he enjoys his job. But he also knows that Marvin's habit of spending hours on internet forums and sites, learning things from other performers, can be bad for him. "Christ. I… Goddammit it. How's Jackie coping?"

He hears a microwave go off in the background. Henrik mutters something that Chase can't hear, then keeps talking. "Jackie has been at the gym every day since you were taken in. Overworking himself. He did come round yesterday and, uh, spoke about how scared he was for you. Cried a lot, poor man. I am not good with comforting people, but I tried. He does not know what to do with himself anymore."

This isn't surprising. Chase is well aware of Jackie's habit of overexercising and pushing himself too far when he was angry or upset. "And Jameson?"

Something clatters, like Henrik's rummaging in a cupboard. A fridge opens and slams shut, and then Henrik is back. "He has been round at our flat a lot. Did you know Euan ended things with him? I did not, until he told me the day before yesterday. He was dreadfully upset. The timing was… not great, to say the least. I do not think he is doing too well, but he refuses to accept any of the help I wish to give him. He kept asking about me instead. Really, sometimes I wish he was not such a good actor."

So does Chase. Jameson is never one to be open about his feelings, instead trying to help everyone else first. Chase loves him a lot, but he wishes the filmmaker would be less stubborn and insistent that he was always ok. His heart aches at the thought of Jameson suffering alone, especially now - he and his boyfriend Euan had been so close, as well. The thought that he might never be able to figure out what happened between them hurts. "Me too. God, Hen, me too. Give them all my love though, yeah? Tell Marvin to take some time to do self care, and tell Jackie to take breaks, and tell Jameson to talk to his therapist. And you… don't you overwork yourself either. I know what you're like. Only one cup of coffee a day, dude, remember. Don't make me come over there."

Henrik laughs softly, but there's a sadness to it. "You sound as though you are saying goodbye."

Something stabs into Chase's heart. He tries to catch his breath through the lump in his throat. "Henrik. I'm going to die tonight."

There's a long pause. He can hear Henrik adjusting, rubbing his face and knocking his glasses askew. Maybe he knows his roommate too well. Far too well, maybe well enough that he knows what he'll say next. "There has to be another way."

Chase shakes his head despite Henrik being unable to see him. "No. No, Hen, no. This - this is what's happening, and we can't just… fix it. I wish we could, cause I don't even understand why, and it's so scary, and… God, I wish we could. I have so much left I want to do, and…"

He trails off. Henrik doesn't speak. Chase imagines him pulling the phone away from his face, squeezing his eyes shut and covering his mouth so as not to cry. The image hurts. Chase hurts. He holds the phone tight, aching to be somewhere, anywhere else other than here.

"You know," he says, voice choked as he speaks. "It's ironic how much I wanted to die a few months ago, and now I'm here, and I'm suddenly so scared."

"You are not going to die," Henrik suddenly shouts. There is anger in his voice that Chase knows is not directed at him. "You are not. It will not just all end like that, Chase Brody. I will not let it."

Something hot pricks the backs of Chase's eyes. He swallows hard, his chest tightening, his legs bouncing harder. "Henrik. Henrik, I - I have to go. I have to go. I'm sorry. I love you, dude. You know that? I love you."

"Chase," Henrik practically sobs. "Shit, I love you too. But you are not going to die."

Chase ends the call and throws up in the black bin next to his bed.

Night comes quickly, Chase thinks.

He thinks, because an officer comes to take his phone soon after his call with Henrik ends. He's starting to regret hanging up, but it had to have been what was best. Of course it was what was best. No need to make this hurt so much more than it already does. This is something he has to keep telling himself. No need to make this hurt so much more than it already does.

The officers ask what he wants for dinner that night instead of giving him choices. He gets it. It's a last meal. He takes full advantage of it and orders pepperoni cheese stuffed crust pizza and garlic sticks, his favourite, with barbeque sauce and churros. It all tastes like cardboard. He eats it anyway, because he's bored and his mouth still tastes like vomit and if he's going to die, it's only fitting that he goes out with a Domino's in him.

Before he's even finished eating, an armed guard comes and takes him across the building. It's the first time he's left his room in days, and he's surprised to see how dark it is outside, how little people are around. The few people he does see stare at him, some open mouthed with awe, some with sad eyes like a parent trying to tell their child that their pet fish died. Chase stares at the floor. Stares at the gun tucked into the waistband of the officer in front of him. He's scared, and his heart is racing faster than it has in years, and he thinks he's dissociating a little because he doesn't feel real and his fingertips are numb. Adrenaline thrums through his body, warming him and erasing the painful cold. Fuck, but he's scared. He's so, so goddamn scared.

He's taken to an entirely different room, a slightly bigger one that looks nearly the same, but with wooden chairs sat all around the border. There's no TV in this room. "Sit here," one of the officers says, guiding him to the blue covered bed and gesturing for him to sit. He does so, feeling silly and light with panic. He thinks he's going to be sick again. His breaths aren't coming right and fuck, he might faint from the sudden, overwhelming wave of dizziness that's washing over him now.

One of the officers that has just come in walks over and sits next to him. He's in full uniform, a radio on his vest, a bat strapped to his belt. "Are you alright, Mr Brody?" he asks gently, looking at him with kind brown eyes, and Chase sobs with relief for some kind of comfort.

"H-h-having a p-panic attack," he stammers, shifting on the bed to try and feel something, clawing at his skin under his grey hoodie and desperately trying not to cry. "N-need my - my - my asth-ma in-inhaler, p-please, I can't br-breathe -"

He's brought his inhaler, and he clutches it gratefully, clinging to it like a child. The cold button grounds him. Maybe, maybe if he squeezes his eyes shut tight enough, he'll wake up in his bed at home and be able to get up and shower in a bathroom that's not small or lit too brightly and then he can go downstairs to the kitchen to find Henrik half asleep at the table, three cups of coffee in front of him, wearily participating in whatever Chase's dumb early morning joke is, and then he can eat toast that's not burnt or done too lightly and play his music while he writes or goes on a walk outside. Maybe. Maybe.

The armed guards keep watch over him for two full hours.

Chase Brody is terrified.

It's when it hits the two and a half hour mark that he begins to notice anything different. A faint ringing in his ears. He thinks it's his tinnitus and waves it off, simply swatting at the air around his head like that will help at all. One of the guards notices immediately. "Sir, are you alright?"

Chase nods. He's not, but he doesn't need them dithering over him. Unfortunately, the guard doesn't let up. "Seriously, it's important that you tell us what's happening. Anything at all. Anything that could help you."

Well, that's reassuring. "Strange noise," he murmurs, shaking his hair out his face. "I think it's just me, though, I'm alright -"

But the guard is standing, muttering something into the radio strapped to his chest, and is it Chase's imagination, or are more people entering the room? "What's happening?" he asks, but he gets no response, and he's starting to feel strangely dizzy and tired, like something heavy is dragging his eyelids down. "I don't… h-hey, I don't feel too… too well…"

Someone is speaking to him but the world is already blurring, his head light, floaty. "Stacy?" he slurs, trying to get a grip on the bedsheets beneath him. "Someone needs t'... m'kids, they…"

Chase Brody is no longer in the same room as he was before.

He doesn't know when that changed. He can't pinpoint the exact moment where the walls darkened and raised with pipes and doors and panels, he doesn't know when his bed disappeared beneath him and the floor became sticky and black, he doesn't know when the bright light of his room became a soft blue glow, lighting up the room from behind him. He doesn't know when the room had stretched both ways into a long hallway, lined with slivers of light through the windows. He doesn't know why, when he stands, his legs nearly crumple beneath him. And when he turns - god, when he turns, and he looks out the enormous windows behind him - he doesn't know why a calming sensation of numbness settles over him, burning his skin like pins and needles.

He is staring out at the vast abyss of space.

It's a blackness he's never seen before. It seems to go on forever, and maybe it does, and there is nothing but tiny pinpricks of silver light of gaseous stars piercing the inky nothingness. Nothing but that, and the ball of green and blue that Chase knows, somewhere in his mind. Earth. Earth, where he is and isn't, where his body should be, where he never left, and what kind of nightmare is this? What kind of sick nightmare, he thinks dizzily, his thoughts chugging slowly as though through a thick soup. Everything is spinning. There is no sound, the world is broken, and the space is fucking endless.

Move, says the tiny part of his brain that still has sense. Get out. Get out.

His footsteps echo on the metal panes of the floor, and he resists the tightening urge in his stomach to vomit.

He doesn't know why this place is familiar.

The hallway seems to go on forever. All the doors along the way to the left have small, glowing panels beside them that seem to demand some type of access keycard, which Chase very much does not have. Eventually he reaches one that he can open, and stumbles into a large room with a table in the centre, the walls covered in photos and clippings that he doesn't bother taking closer looks at. There is only one small window in here, over a sleek black couch that seems to have nearly been shredded right through the middle. The table has a bolted down chair and a large pile of papers next to a cracked laptop that splutters weakly as it asks for a password. The room is too dark. Chase slowly walks through it, wincing at the sound his boots make on the floor, wincing at the silence, heart racing with the promise of another panic attack that he pushes down forcefully, gripping his own wrist for support. This isn't right, screams the universe. This is too familiar. This is too real. This is too familiar to be real.

Chase has noticed that everything in this place, despite its immediate appearance of immaculate properness, seems to be slightly out of place. This becomes more apparent in the room adjacent to the one he'd just been in, a room filled with sealed metal crates and boilers that bubble menacingly from their perches on the walls, a room which has clearly been nearly destroyed. Black claw marks have torn out chunks of the walls, wires ripped from the floor, buzzing weakly and sparking from wherever they were thrown after their violent uprooting. Dark red stains splash across the floor like a tragic painting that makes Chase's stomach upturn sickly. A vent on the ceiling hisses, and the man jumps and bolts, all last dregs of courage leaving him in an instant. He knows this is a dream. This is a dream, nothing is real, nothing is real, it must be just a dream.

"I've gone to hell," he sobs aloud, clamping both hands over his mouth as a cry climbs up his throat. "O-oh my god, I've gone to hell."

This is what you get for being a shitty, alcoholic dad and husband, he thinks, and promptly throws up on the floor next to the fresh bloodstains.

The rooms start to blur. Objects to objects, light to light, black walls and coloured glow and sparks, hissing, echoing rumbles, all becoming one in Chase's mind. He's long gone past the stage of a panic attack; he's in a state of utter numb calm, now. In one room he finds a long, black lighter and holds it tightly in his hands for comfort, twisting it round and round in buzzing fingers just to feel something solid against his skin to ground him. Please, he prays softly, wiping sweat from his forehead, struggling to breathe as his chest tightens and the world seems to grow hotter and smaller. Please, let me wake up, let me wake up from this, please.

And then something is standing behind him.

He doesn't know how he knows. It's just a sensation of silent shock in him, of I am not alone, a stabbing feeling as the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Something is there. He feels eyes on him. He can't - fuck, he can't move, and all the emotion in him seems to be rising to a painful crescendo. I am not alone in here. I am not alone in here.

"Who's there," he says in a small, cracked voice, not daring to turn. It's barely a question. "What do you want from me."

Nothing but a low hissing, and, most frightening of all, a rumbling growl that nearly sends Chase to the floor in a faint.

He has to look.

He looks.

It's an… an astronaut.

Neither of them move, and Chase's grip on the lighter in his hands tightens, trying to find some form of comfort, anything. "Why am I here?" he manages, swallowing back hot bile that burns his throat and makes him gag softly. "Why, why, what nightmare is this? Am I dead? Did the killer get me and this is my hell?"

The astronaut is silent.

Fury bubbles in Chase's chest, overriding the fear for a moment. "Talk!" he shouts, perhaps stupidly, but he doesn't care. "Please! What is happening?"

Then things get perhaps even stranger, somehow. A glowing 2D box of light appears in front of the astronaut, hovering in the air, too quiet until black text begins to appear on it, cartoonishly video game like blooping noises playing with each letter. Chase watches in awe. He's unable to speak.

<TheAnti.chr_v09> You are the Player.

Chase reads the words over and over and over.

"My name is Chase Brody," he says, voice wavering with uncertainty, because something here is wrong, wrong, wrong, so ridiculously wrong, and he hates the way things are clicking in his mind. "I shouldn't - be here. I think I'm dreaming and I want to go home."

The text flashes.

<TheAnti.chr_v09> You are <player_variable_BroAverage>. You are the Player.

Chase feels like he's above his body, like nothing he's seeing is real anymore. "Please let me go home."

<TheAnti.chr_v09> I am <TheAnti.chr_v09>. I am the Anti. You are the player. Player objective: escape. Anti objective: kill the Player. Initialization - Upon game startup, play <soundtrack_opening2>, set spawn and character sprites -

Chase can't take this. "Stop it!" he cries, and he shouldn't step forwards so confidently, but he does, slashing his hand through the air in front of him. "Tell me what you -"

The astronaut explodes.

No. No, it doesn't explode; Chase's mind is taking a moment to make sense of it, to rationalize the way the helmet has shattered and there is nothing but sheer white and glowing green eyes, hundreds of them, underneath, the largest one on the being's neck, splitting open with disgustingly inhuman squelching sounds, and the way the suit has torn and a mouth has opened up on the stomach, a gaping maw with knives for teeth and a slimy crimson tongue, and the way rips open along the material and more eyes open, burning red skin like charred meat, black veins rising under its skin. It hisses and cracks and growls and hums and it isn't like anything Chase has ever seen before, or maybe it is, because he knows this monster. He's seen this monster. And fuck, now he knows why this world is familiar, because he's been here, he's played this game. This can't be real. This can't be real.

"Posttraumatic nightmares," he can hear Henrik saying to him, the man's voice comforting. "Nightmares that occur after a traumatic event and can contain, what is the word… recurring themes that make you experience intense negative emotions. Maybe that is why you are having such strange dreams, my friend. You have been through a lot in these past few weeks."

That had been months ago. I thought I got over those dreams. I thought I got over those dreams.

He's running. His legs are already burning, chest already tight, why did he have to have used all his energy on his panic attack? Is the monster still following him? Chase can't turn to check, and the blood in his veins is racing through his body faster than he's used to, his heart in his ears as he flies round a corner, barely able to catch a breath. This isn't real, he thinks. It's another nightmare. Please, this isn't real, this isn't -

And then something wet is snaking round his chest, pulsing in a way that makes Chase gag, and something sharp presses into the skin on his back and a burst of numbness runs over him like cold water, causing his body to go limp against the alien - because it is an alien, isn't it, he knew this already - behind him. Cold heaviness seeps through his veins, combatting the light weightlessness that the adrenaline was giving him. He tries to cough again, to speak as his lungs empty of air, but the alien only grips his arms tight enough to piece his skin with sharp claw-like fingers. A glance down at his chest, and he sees the tip of the bloodstained rod jutting through his skin. It doesn't really register. A light laugh escapes his lips, because it's funny, really, how he's about to die at the hands of a video game antagonist.

No, he's not about to die. This isn't real. It can't be, it's another bad dream, of course it is. But if it's not real, then what happened to Jack Mcloughlin and the others, all of those… all of…

The world spins.

And the world lights up in flames.

Chase had briefly forgotten about the lighter he'd picked up for support, and now he's putting it to good use; one flick of the switch and the alien is alight as though it had been soaked in gasoline, burning orange spreading across its suit, the crackling drowning out the monster's screeches. Its grip loosens on Chase's arms, and he pulls free, and the universe spins as the rod in his chest slips out like it's nothing, leaving a gaping emptiness in him. Please, he screams, in his mind or out loud, he doesn't know. Please. Please.

Please, wake me up.

White light. It floods the whole world, for just a moment, and then Chase's eyes are open and he is gasping for air, hands flying to his chest and feeling nothing but the soft material of his shirt, no pain except for the squeeze of his lungs as he coughs desperately into his sleeve. There are people surrounding him now; the police officers and armed guards from before, helping him sit up, holding a sick bucket in front of him as he throws up the little that's left in his stomach weakly, too much noise but nowhere near as bad as the silence of the Dawn Station. Nowhere near as bad as the hissing creaks of the Anti. Nowhere near as bad as his nightmare, because it was a nightmare, of course that wasn't real - nowhere near as bad as the nightmare that he'd thought was going to kill him.

I lived. I survived the night.

He's had this thought before, but this time, it's met with relief.

"You dreamed about the setting of a video game."

"Not just any video game. The, uh… the new Jack Mcloughlin game, Dawn Station. All the people who played the demo… died. I didn't die. The night I was supposed to, after all the others, I - I dreamed about the game. And the antagonist of the game. It's this, uh, this alien thing, in an astronaut suit. Tried to kill me. Apparently it's weak to fire, although I don't remember that from the actual game, maybe it was a secret that wasn't in the demo we were all sent, but I burned it, and it stabbed me, and I got away, not - not in that order. Does that… does that make sense, doctor?"

Dr. Ross scrutinizes Chase for a moment before turning his chair back to face his computer. The sound of his mouse clicking fills the room, off beat from the eternal clicking of the plain white clock on the plain white walls, decorated only with bookshelves and trays of medicines. Chase has never been in a more boring doctor's office. Usually his therapy sessions have more to look at, but this is a different therapist than he normally goes to, and all he can do is fidget with his hands on his lap and stare out the window at the

earth, the stars, the black abyss of emptiness that Chase could get lost in and never be found

setting sun through the trees just outside the building. The doctor's pen clicks, clicks, clicks. It sounds like the Anti's teeth, chattering against each other as it yawns, its maw opening wide enough for a head to be torn right off. Click, click, click. Chase closes his eyes, the repeating sounds like a mantra. He focuses on that instead. It grounds him.

"You have a history of nightmares."

Chase nods without looking. "I was prescribed triazolam by my first therapist. I took them for a year or so without changes except the lowering of doses a couple of times, because I was getting weaned off them. They helped. Nightmares didn't continue after that."

The other man nods slowly. "Hm. I can imagine the trauma of this recent event that you've been through was enough to bring these nightmares back to the forefront of your mind, especially given the contents of this dream in particular. We may have to ease you back onto medication over the course of your next few sessions here, which should be easier, given that it'll be a couple weeks before we send you home. Is that alright, Mr Brody?"

Click, click, click. Chase nods. Sunlight warms his face, and he sighs softly. "Sounds good, Dr. Ross. When will I be able to see my family?"

The man frowns, his forehead creasing. "Hopefully soon, although it will be slightly complicated, given the circumstances." A breath leaves him, and he tilts his head to the side slightly. His white collar digs into the fold of his neck. Chase keeps his eyes trained on that. "And these are strange circumstances, are they not?"

"They are," Chase mutters. He clenches his fists in his lap. "They are, yeah."

He should have died. He doesn't know why he didn't die. He doesn't even know what it was that killed the others. Really, the nightmare he'd had makes sense. It was easily written off as a traumatic event that had brought back old nightmares. Of course there was no way any of it had been real. That's ridiculous. Just ridiculous. He doesn't know why he's thinking that.

His hand trails down his shirt. Underneath, on the skin of his stomach, is a thick scar that hadn't been there before the nightmare he'd had. Right where the rod had pierced his stomach.

Coincidence. Coincidence.

"Do you have any other concerns, Mr Brody?"

"I don't believe so."

"Good."

Click. Click. Click.

#boop writes #jacksepticeye #chase brody #henrik von schneeplestein #antisepticeye #dawn station

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spoonie-swiftie · 5 years ago

Text

Tw: eating disorder and self harm

no specifics, no numbers.

I’ve been thinking about my “journey” with my eating disorder since I read the article through a steady flow of tears last night. I usually HATE using words like “journey” and “warrior” and it still doesn’t feel like it fits right or natural in this context even though its the truth. It’s been a very long, very wind-y, crappy and treacherous road that started and stopped many times over the past 28 years and while I wish I didn’t have to ride this very shitty, low budget, rickety ass roller coaster it’s mine and I’m proud to have made it as far as I have. I’ve wanted to talk about it and I have in bits and pieces for years. But between the article coming out last night and seeing so many of my swiftie friends talk about their struggles with body image and disordered eating and seeing a ton of my chronically ill friends coming forward and sharing that they, too, have struggled with the same issues as well (unfortunately most of us have since chronic illness takes a lot of body autonomy away and eating disorders give us a very false sense of control) I really wanted to open up and share, Just to get it out of my brain, even if it gets buried by algorithms or nobody cares reads it.

I read this article written by Variety on a snippet of @taylorswift new documentary Miss Americana as soon as it came out. In it she explains how the unsolicited comments and opinions of people in and out of the media about her appearance ended up putting thoughts in her mind of what her body “should” look like and subsequently what she should or shouldn’t eat. Thankfully it sounds like she’s doing better but as I know all too well it’s extremely difficult to kick those self critical thoughts out of our brains once and for all. The thing that I think hurts my heart most is that after her helping me through years and years of my eating disorder and listening to Tied Together With A Smile on repeat so many nights and hating everything about my body, or lyrics like “and it’s a sad picture, the final blow hits you, somebody else gets what you wanted again. You know it’s all the same, another time and place. Repeating history and you're getting sick of it But I believe in whatever you do, And I'll do anything to see it through. Because these things will change” or “Wish I could make it better, Someday you won't remember, This pain you thought would last forever and ever” or “Ten months sober I must admit just because you’re clean don’t mean you didn’t miss it. Ten months older I won’t give in, now that I’m clean I’m never gonna risk it” i sang these lyrics like they were prayers I was sending to God and they were some of the few things getting me through and making me feel better. It felt like she opened me up like a well loved novel and took excerpts of my life and made them poignant and purposeful. I just hate that she has had to deal with the same feelings and it makes me wanna drop kick all the people who put their two cents in on her appearance. Repeatedly. With spikey steel toed boots.

If you’re unfamiliar with my story, here’s a tiny snippet of my life and my experience with the crappy brain monster that is disordered eating and it’s best pal body dysmorphia. I went from being tiny (thanks to growth hormone deficiency) and twig like my first 14 years, being a cheerleader and never even thinking about how I looked and then I got injured, (which kicked my genetic condition Ehlers Danlos Syndrome unbeknownst to us at the time into high gear) went from being active every day to being homebound and spending most of my time on the couch. My muscles that I worked so hard on left and everything got soft and squishy and between years of different doctors looking me up and down, deciding I must not have anything physically wrong and telling me and my mom that I was just making it up for attention I got angrier and angrier at my body for ruining my life and taking most of my friends away and started taking it out on my body. I struggled with self harm in silence for many years before I ever dealt with food issues but as I’ve learned it self hatred is damaging no matter what actions you partake in. My mental health got better after I went back to school, was diagnosed with fibromyalgia (EDS was still hiding) and joined band but after I had to drop out of community college & went back to spending most of my life in bed that’s when I developed my eating disorder. I didn’t even realize that I had an eating disorder until after I had gone through multiple rounds of treatment. I thought I couldn’t have an eating disorder if I wasn’t underweight (spoiler alert: eating disorders have very little to do with your weight or size and more to do with your thoughts and actions just so you know 🥰) When I was my sickest and was admitted to a residential treatment facility I wasn’t underweight (I was actually “obese” according to my BMI which is the biggest crock of shit but that’s a whole other story) and I had to be constantly reminded that I deserved to be there because even if I couldn’t see it my brain was just as sick as the girls who were underweight. When I finally started accepting it (5 ish days in) my insurance decided that even though all my providers said I needed to be there, had completed multiple outpatient treatment programs, and I was pre approved before I even stepped foot on property I wasn’t “sick enough to warrant such intensive treatment”. Literally told my mom and I that they wouldn’t pay because I wasn’t thin enough. I’ll never forget hearing my mom sobbing on the phone and promising them that if I died they were to blame. Thankfully, even though I didn’t get the treatment that I deserved and needed, something clicked during my third program and I recovered and while I still consider myself to be mostly recovered, having my weight yo yo-ing from Gastroparesis (literally my stomach is paralyzed and food doesn’t digest normally which is why I have a feeding tube) and other symptoms of GP screws w/ my head every once in a while. But I’m so thankful that most of that is behind us, for me and Taylor, and I hope to God it stays there. And while it’s definitely not something I would have chosen for myself (they’re really not fun, 0/10 wouldn’t recommend) I’m thankful for the people I’ve met along the way because they are some of the strongest people on this earth (even if they’re rolling their eyes while reading this, you know who you are ♥️) and I’m so proud of us and the things we’ve learned along the way. And I hope one day I can hug Taylor and thank her for all the strength and courage SHES passed on to me through her music over the last 13 years.

~love love love~

Mandie

Photo timeline:

1-this was taken at the ComeBacks retreat this November. I can honestly say I feel the most at peace with my body image now than I have in 13+ years (2019)

2-when I was physically my healthiest. I was an All Star competitive cheerleader and was very physically fit, but at the same time I didn’t think about how I looked hardly ever (2003)

3-after I got injured and was homebound from school. This was when my feelings about my body started to plummet and I was super depressed (2005)

4-during my very short time in college, just before my disordered eating started (2010)

5&6-after I had to drop out of school because my health dropped off a cliff. This is when my mental health started to turn and my disordered eating took off but I was hardcore in denial (2011-2012)

7-during one of my intensive outpatient treatment programs that actually ended up making me a hell of a lot worse (2012)

8-right after I finished my last treatment program and it finally stuck. I was in recovery but not considered Recovered yet (2013)

9-one year behavior free! (2014)

10-definitely the heaviest I’ve ever been and the sickest physically but also some of the happiest times as well (2016)

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goldenhour-goldenboy · 6 years ago

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I love the ask you did with William and his s/o and Benny, would you be up for more of those? I really loved that request. Do you have anymore hcs on it?

Aww, I glad you like them! I don’t have them ready, stashed somewhere secret but I am more than happy to write some William + S/O feat. Benny because it’s one of my fav combos :D I didn’t do it in traditional hc style but more like snippets, like I did last time. I really love this format, it’s like getting a glimpse into a situation :)

William and You and Benny (basically), the second

“No, no, no - tell me again!” You laugh, leaning back against Will’s chest as he adjusts the blanket wrapped around you two - or rather himself, with you wrapped up in his arms. “I always thought he got that scar on his forehead when he was in a car accident.”

“No, that’s the one on his back.” Benny corrects you, poking the logs with a branch. They crack yet again and the wind carries a welcoming flash of warmth in your direction. You settle even more against Will’s chest, being content and kept warm with his heat radiating through your body from his the back and the fire doing it’s job from the front.

“No, he - You told me it was from the windshield!”

“Got a lot of scars.” Will sends you a half hearted shrug, an embarrassed smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Maybe I got them confused.”

“Bull-shit.” You turn back to Benny who grins to you over the fire, a satisfying look on his face from exposing his brother’s little secret like that as the flames reflect in his eyes. “I can’t believe you just ran into a glass door. Always thought that only happens in movies.”

Will grumbles something incoherent into your hair, his cheek pressed against the top of your head. His beard slightly scratches over your scalp but you don’t mind, you’re used to the feeling by now.

“No, it also happens in the Miller household.”

“I was eleven … ” Will tries to defend himself weakly.

“You were reading and didn’t watch where you were going. Always had your nose stuck in some book, you tiny little nerd.” Ben shoots back immediately. A pine cone goes flying to Ben’s direction and he dodges it easily. “Hey!”

“Who walks and reads at the same time?” You wonder but none of them seems to hear you.

“It was a letter, not a book!”

“A letter?” Both you and Benny exclaim at the same time, neither of you knowing that tiny little detail before.

You turn to give Will a surprised look. “What - like a love letter?”

The blush creeping up on Will’s neck is answer enough and now Ben’s howling with laughter. Will hurls another pine cone at him and this time it bounces off of Benny’s chest. “I was eleven!”

“Do you want me to get started on the garlic and the onions?”

“No, put do the meat first, please.“ You shuffle around the kitchen, grabbing a few small cucumbers from the bowl on the counter before returning to your place at the side with a chopping board. “It’s in the fridge, lower cabinet.”

“I know.” Ben chuckles and you forget how often he has been helping in the kitchen and cooking with you. Will, on the other side of the island is concentrated on shuffling a stack of cards, been that for the last 10 minutes now. Usually it would be him cooking and Benny watching but this evening the cards are, literally, turned.

“Is this your card?”

You barely glance up to shake your head, yet again. “Nope.”

Will heaves a frustrated sigh and begins to shuffle the cards yet again. He’s been trying to get either yours or Benny’s guess right and so far, he has gloriously failed.

“I think you need to go back to magic school, Will.”

“I think you need to shut your mouth and concentrate on the meat.” Will mumbles back at his brother before moving around the counter to hold out the flared out cards in Ben’s direction. “Pick a card.”

“I know.” Benny draws a card, holds it up in a dramatic fashion before stacking it back into the rest.

“Did you remember your card?”

“Yes, William.” You snort at Ben’s voice taking on a high pitch. “We’ve done this the whole night. Do you remember?”

“Let the man shuffle his cards in peace, Benjamin.”

You have exactly one minute of quiet in the kitchen, where Benny’s stirring the pan, you continue chopping and William is thoroughly mixing his deck of cards, leaning against the counter. It could’ve been nice, really, but then Will draws one card and holds it up for you and Benny to see. You’re suddenly more interested in the cucumbers.

“Is that your card?”

“Yes!”

“Really?” William turns the card around in disbelief and now you have to look up too.

“Yes, that’s my card! King of hearts.” Ben’s voice is stern and honest but you’re not the only one that’s spotting the faint glimmer in his eyes. Will lowers the card in disappointment.

“Ben, is that your card?”

Now there’s a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “No.”

Sometimes you forget, though. You forget, this isn’t reality, this isn’t normal and before you know it Will’s drawer in your bedroom is empty again, his duffle bag and a backpack sitting on your bed. His hair is cropped short as he steps out of the bathroom, already dressed in his uniform and your heart clenches with the heavy heartache that comes with saying goodbye. It’s a last long hug at the door for both of the Miller boys and a kiss that you don’t want to end, fighting back tears as you watch Ben and Will getting in the car and you have to force yourself to lift your hand as a wave goodbye as they pull out the driveway.

The house without Will seems empty, the bed too big without his body dipping the side of the mattress in his direction slightly. Days become weeks, weeks become months and though it’s not the first time Will’s gone again, you have to keep reminding yourself almost daily he’ll be coming back, he’s fine, he’ll be coming back.

When the phone rings you’re excited, almost dropping a bowl you’re drying off as you rush to pick up the call. The “Hello?” you breath out gets almost caught in your throat from how fast you spit it out and it’s a wonder the other person on the line understands you at all.

“Y/N?” It’s not Will - it’s Ben. The excitement that rushed through your body seconds ago turns to ice. “Hello? Y/N, are you there?”

It takes too many hours for you to get to the foreign country Will and Ben flew out to weeks ago, too many hours trapped on a plane, only being able to repeat Ben’s few words in your head. “He’s been wounded, shot – Y/N, it’s bad, it’s really bad.” His hollow voice still echoes through your skull as you land and hail a cab. It takes too long to go to the hospital. “It’s really really bad.” You walk through cold and sterile hallways, the only familiarity being the burning scent of anti bacteria scrub. “They say you should come.” The hallway spits you into an more open waiting area and suddenly there’s Ben. A dry sob escapes your lips before you know it.

“Ben?”

You’re met with red eyes, hallow cheeks. Ben’s head snaps up so fast at the sound of your voice, eyes wild with fear and terror you almost flinch back but his expression immediately softens as he sees you, clutching your bag to your chest and crying - crying, crying, crying. You’ve held the tears back the whole time, didn’t cry when you got the call, didn’t cry on the plane but seeing Ben just as you unraveled is the last straw. Suddenly there’s an arm around you and you sob into Ben’s chest, body shaking and fighting for a breath that won’t make it to your lungs.

“Oh my God, Y/N –”

You choke and cling to him, desperate to feel some sort of comfort but Ben’s arms fails it’s magic. Instead Ben falter’s as well, gripping you just as tightly and it feels like you stay like that for forever, standing in the middle of the waiting room, heart beating hard against your ribcage, praying for the same man that fights for his life just a couple of doors down.

“I can’t look! Oh no, nonono. I can’t watch it!”

“Yes, you can!” Benny next to you doesn’t sound convinced either as you scoot further back from the screen as if bringing some distance between you and the TV might change any plot that’s already unwrapping before you. The blanket’s being drawn higher and higher in an desperate attempt to cover your eyes, yet you’re still too curious to wait and see what happens next.

“Ben, if she dies I’m gonna vomit.”

“No ones gonna vomit.” Will grumbles and you feel the vibrations rattle through his chest where you’re currently curling your face into. Though his voice is steady and he sports an unmoved mask with his eyes glued to the television you can tell his arm isn’t quite as relaxed around you as usually and there’s a certain lack of his finger trailing up and down your skin. “If anyone of you vomits I’ll throw you out myself.”

You shoot him an amused look.

“Yes, even you, my Love.”

The episode of Throne’s continues to play in front of you, all of your focus shifting back to the screen but it’s not for long until banter ensures again. You’re used to it by now, all of you squished on your tiny couch, both of Ben and you barely holding back on the comments because your hearts just clench every episode and you need to voice your emotions before either of you collapse of a heart attack. Will, on the other hand sits through each episode with a tense focus, body flexed as if he’s the one fighting for his life and at times holding you so tightly, you need to wiggle in his arms a bit before he relaxes them enough for you to take a deep breath as another plot twist is revealed.

A dreamy look glosses over Ben’s feature as Sansa appears on screen again and you can’t keep the grin to yourself as you nudge him teasingly with your foot. “Benny-Boy … ”

“I’d die for her.” It’s a short, ernest statement. Ben’s voice is dead serious, his expression so sincere you have to laugh into your blanket. “No, really. I’d kill Ramsay and then steal a horse and we’d live happily ever after.”

“You’d die of pneumonia in the first week.” Will muses as he shifts behind you slightly.

“I would not!” There’s a sheepish grin spreading on Ben’s face and he starts to wiggle his eyebrows. “I’d keep her warm and cozy just fine.”

“She’d hop off your horse the second you’re in the clear and then probably friend zone you forever.” You throw in your own plot. “And then die of pneumonia.”

There’s another foot being kicked in your direction but you pull up your legs just in time to dodge it and it’s Will who feels the pain, sending his brother a warning glare. “Try that again and I’ll throw your ass out like the Hound.”

#william miller #benny miller #triple frontier #triple frontier imagine #william ironhead miller #william ironhead miller imagine #william miller imagine #william miller x reader #william ironhead miller x reader

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ladyxxdaydream · 5 years ago

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8, 17, and 20 for the ask meme~💕

(17) Do you write your story from start to finish, or do you write scenes out of order?

I definitely do NOT write from start to finish lmao. I usually start somewhere in the middle. For Night At The Aquarium, which is my longest fic (and still a WIP heh… O.o), the first scene I wrote didn’t even appear until like chapter 5 or something. It’s on chapter 13? (fuck I need to get back to this i’m sorry) out of like 21… and I already have chapters 15+16 written, but not the ones in between. My brain works in mysterious ways.

(20) Describe your perfect writing conditions

Mmm. Either early morning, right when I wake up, with a cup of green tea + mint. Or late at night with a candle/incense and an herbal tea picked from my garden (current fave is lemongrass and a tiny bit of rosemary). Whatever the case, there’s always tea. I tend to write with music a lot, too. Once I find the song for the fic, it’s usually kept on low, on repeat.

(8) Share a snippet from one of your dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

Tav, this was HARD. THANKS A LOT. j/k 💗💗I sorta had a crisis over it tho tbh lmao. At first I thought I should chose something ~deep~ and ~smart~ to prove my skill but then I thought about some of my favorite humor and UGH IT WAS HARD. So, I had to ask the other half of my brain @tea-blitz about what SHE thought I should be proud of jsdksgjks I cheated. In the end, I chose two snippets because whatever, I do what I want. One was picked by Tea, and the other by me. Putting them under the cut because this is already long ksjdgkshgj.

my pick—a snippet from the NATA universe, from the prequel I’ll Fall If You Do.

Forewarning. This isn’t a snippet. I have no self control SORRY

“So…” Iruka began, when the silence stretched on, unable to handle it, but Kakashi surprised him, by speaking at the same time.

“Do you believe in karma?”

“What?” Iruka asked, stifling a laugh.

Random.

“Yesterday. At the lake. You said that some people have a hard time in this life but all the progress they’ve made will transfer over and they can try again. You were implying reincarnation, right?”

Iruka stared at Kakashi in disbelief, trying to understand the person in front of him, but failing miserably. He really did remember everything, and with amazing accuracy.

He took another sip of his drink.

“Yes.”

“And if you’re talking about the Buddhist idea of reincarnation, then you must believe in karma, too.”

“Depends on how you define karma,” Iruka said, leaning back against the counter, crossing his feet at the ankles.

“From my limited reading of Buddhist texts so far, karma accumulates based on your actions—,”

“—actually, it starts at the intention. Everything begins in the mind.”

Kakashi gave a small laugh.

“Thank you, sensei,” Kakashi teased. “Shall I go on?”

Iruka blushed, nodding his head.

“Okay, karma accumulates based on your intentions. If you have good intentions paired with right action, you accumulate positive karma. If they’re bad, negative. Every action has a consequence. And your next life is based on the karma that ripens when you die. So, theoretically, if I did a bunch of terrible shit in my past lives, then the terrible shit I experience in this life, are a result of all the negative karma I’ve accumulated. Am I right so far?”

“Technically, yes. But I think there is one major thing that people misunderstand about karma.”

“Which is what?”

“Which is… that just because some terrible shit, as you so eloquently put it,” Iruka flirted, “arises in your life that might be a result of your negative karma, it doesn’t mean you should sit there and passively take it, if you have the power to change the circumstances. That’s not what’s going to purify a cycle of negative karma.”

“Then what will?”

Iruka placed his drink on the counter, before crossing his arms over his chest.

“Forgiveness. Either forgiving yourself, or others who have hurt you, or both. Because if you don’t forgive, you remain angry. You hold on to it. And anger is the ultimate enemy. The one true poison. It breeds negative emotions: retaliation, hatred, which spawns negative action. And there you are, back to accumulating negative karma, continuing the cycle. Or at least according to Buddhism.”

Iruka picked up his drink and downed the remaining sip.

Why I’m proud of it: Hrmmm. Well. I remember reading somewhere that in the datebook, Iruka’s intelligence level is like… super fucking high. Not that I’m surprised, but yeah. So I kinda always imagined him being well-versed in theory, or things that really require brain power, in this case, philosophy/wisdom. But what I really love about this scene, is Kakashi is trudging through his depression, digging for answers or reasons as to why he’s suffered so much in his life. Iruka and Kakashi are getting to know each other at this point, and Kakashi is masking his search for answers in a philosophical discussion. and Iruka basically blows his mind, and gives him his answer at the same time, while being oblivious to the effect he’s having on Kakashi, because he doesn’t know his trauma. The scene directly following this one is switched to Kakashi’s POV, and you can see how impressed he is—(Kakashi examined him meticulously. Iruka had a way of doing that. He’d say something entirely brilliant and breathtaking, and then he’d write it off at the end, like it wasn’t something entirely magnificent. // He was so captivated by Iruka’s way of thinking. He couldn’t get enough of it. He could listen to Iruka talk about anything, indefinitely. Sometimes, it felt like Iruka took his brain out of his skull, scrambled it around like a rubix cube, and put it back. He made him see the world differently, see himself differently. //And that was not an easy feat.) Anyway, I think it’s really sweet. And pin points exactly why they’re good for each other.

Tea’s pick—two bits of dialogue from this cracky piece I wrote called Konoha’s Krazy Kastle

Kakashi sulked. “I’ll be right back,” he said, giving Lee a high-five on his way out.

“No, you won’t.” Iruka said, as Kakashi merged. Kakashi’s brow was slick with sweat, and his breath short and shallow. “I rented that for Naruto and his friends, not you. They won’t go in, with you in there. You’re weirding them out.” Iruka’s lips quivered, as he fought off a smile.

“What do you mean?” Kakashi said, looking confused. “Lee’s in there.”

“Lee’s weird.”

“Hey, rude.”

“You’re the weirdest person I know, and I married you. It’s hardly an insult.”

“I’m serious, Kakashi. No sex in the castle.”

Kakashi pulled back slightly to give Iruka an amused, excited look.

“Don’t even try and roleplay this into one of your dumb icha icha plots.”

“How…” Kakashi laughed, in disbelief.

“Because I know you.”

Why I’m proud of it: WELL. Humor is kinda hard sometimes and I like to think that I’m funny lmao. Sometimes, anyway. So, YEAH. I think these scenes are funny and endearing at the same time. Their love is still playful and everything that’s good in this world. The “play-fighting” in the bouncy castle is still one of my favorite scenes I’ve written to this day.

LMAO WELL THANK YOU FOR LISTENING TO MY DISSERTATION. I BET YOU’LL THINK TWICE BEFORE SUBMITTING ANOTHER QUESTION, TAV. sjdgjksj thank you.

#asks #fic stuff #my work

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carumens · 6 years ago

Text

sunflowers at night snippet: valba’s and gerah’s first real convo

longer excerpt because i wrote literally 0 words on the first day of nano (this is self-indulging i know). just a tip, listen with the song i linked because it captures the mood perfectly and it’s just a song in replay in my head rn.

tagging: @kit-tells-a-story @annaalexiswrites @katabasiss @omgbrekkerkaz@aetheriium @sleepyscribbling @katherinescribbles @naturallysweetnloaded@maskedlady @writing-kimmi @endymions @chellewrites @the-ichor-of-ruination @breakingpointwip @cosmo-worlds @theforgottencoolkid @florhiver@jess—writes @nexiliss @easypreywip @brekkerings@saintephemeral @crimescenedwrites

https://youtu.be/OtFRcJpzEwA

Gerah Mayham was a strange creature. Spoiled only child born rich who felt irrationally wretched for having to wear slacks and dress shoes all the time. His whining was a silent one, never a word of discomfort leaving his mouth in front of his parents, the only sign of his restlessness being the sullen looks he sent his own clothes. Apparently, he’d declared war on using more than one type of fork when eating and was often reprimanded by Mrs. Mayham because there are different types of cutlery for a reason, Gerah.

Valba had discovered a heap of ragged hoodies, ripped jeans and battered sneakers behind a thorny bush that was far away enough from the house to be considered out of bounds from her jurisdiction, but the Mayham was nowhere to be found and she didn’t want to lose her job on the first day. Well, maybe she wouldn’t mind losing that particular job, but her father wouldn’t be happy if she did. Valba picked up one of the shaggy tee shirts and crinkled her nose at the mud and grass stains covering the white fabric. So it’s true, she thought.

A rumor had been circulating the village for some years now, that Gerah Mayham bought old almost-rubbishy clothes from the boys in the village, seemingly oblivious to their curious and sometimes enraged expressions when he approached them to offer money for their rags. Because he only bought rags, the kind Valba wore to work on the land or Tom Sanders used the days he had to clean the stables. She didn’t give too much credit to the gossip always pumping through Romello but from time to time a rumor was in fact a truth, and it seemed this was one of those times.

Valba sighed, dropped the muddled shirt and turned around, a hand coming up to shade her eyes as she scanned the vast green expanse surrounding Mayham Manor. She could see the gravel path that led to the village, the same path she had taken a few days ago to officially meet the Mayhams before she got hired— “Just a formality, love, I already talked to Mrs. Mayham myself,” her mother had said. “But it’d be good if you went by and presented yourself to them.” Behind Mayham Manor, the world looked like a crazy puzzle, as if a god couldn’t quite decide if he wanted a prairie or a forest, irregular patches of green and yellow grass suddenly cut out by a stubborn of high pine trees. Just like that, no gradualism, no creeping appearance of bushes and trees, just a sudden firm line separating the meadow from the woods—an ovation to saltationism.

There weren’t any more places where Gerah Mayham could have gone. Valba had looked everywhere, every room inside labyrinthic Mayham Manor, every crevice and potential hiding place in the immense garden. Five minutes, that’s what it had taken her to go to the bathroom, five minutes and Gerah was nowhere to be found. He tends to disappear, Mrs. Mayham had said, just keep an eye on him, he has a few health problems. That was her job: easy, simple, less demanding than she had thought it would be. When she arrived at the Mayhams a few days before, she thought she would be working as maid, cleaning endless halls and airing mattresses so they’d be soft and fresh for their rich Mayham owners, or maybe in the kitchen, struggling to cook French and Italian dishes she had not once in her life heard about. In actuality, her job revolved about one simple task: babysitting Gerah Mayham.

“Not babysitting,” Gerah had huffed when she had asked, more out of spite than real incredulity, why would a seventeen-year-old need a nanny to babysit him.

“Not babysitting,” Mrs. Mayham had repeated, a small polite smile plastered on her shiny chocolate face. “Just keep him company. You see—” she had said, sipping from the greenish tea she had served for the three of them. “My husband has had to go back to the city, business matters, and we have decided it would be the best for me to move with him.” There was a trace of a long-gone accent in her words, a quiet slur in the way she pronounced consonants that made Valba think of straw houses and colorful dresses. “Gerah will be staying here, since the school year has already started.”

“Okay,” had said Valba.

“It would be most convenient if you moved here,” Mrs. Mayham had looked at her intently while she spoke. “Not if you do not want to, of course.” Valba knew it was an essential condition for her to get the job, an order, even if it didn’t sound like one.

“What?” Gerah had jerked from the velvety sofa he had been tightly sitting in so suddenly that he dropped the cup of tea he was holding. “You didn’t say anything about her moving in, mom!”

“Well, your dad and I decided it only this morning.”

“But—” he looked at Valba, golden eyes almost popping out of his sockets. “That doesn’t make any sense!”

“Go change, Gerah, will you?” Mrs. Mayham’s smile looked murderous. “And call Sonya, you have made quite a mess here.”

Then Gerah had walked out of the room, seemingly calm, but Valba could see the clenching in his fists and the slight change in the set of his jaw.

Valba took off her faded espadrilles, dropped them beside Gerah’s puddle of second-hand clothes and started trotting through the high grass towards the clean line of pine trees, her feet feather-light on the dry mud. She loved the feeling of nature pressing against the soles of her feet, memories of infantile eternal summer days threading through the forest, Mark close on her heels, his too-big hands for a nine-year-old threatening with grabbing her and throwing her to the Chrysalis River. Not that being thrown to the river was too big of a trauma—winters were warm in Romello and summers were full-time furnace-hot— but it felt good knowing that not even racy Mark Marks could beat her in speed.

The forest surrounding northern Romello was a strange one: an aleatory turmoil of pines and oaks and weeping willows and wildflowers in every shade and color, bees and wolves and snakes that hid themselves in the fresh foliage, butterflies and rhinoceros beetles and poison ivy, a mind-blowing mix of polar opposites that made Romello seem a little bit more interesting for Valba. The Chrysalis River ran through it, a marvelous stream of crystal clear water and tiny colored fish that shone metallic in the sunlight.

She entered the forest, twigs and sticks snapping under the hardened feet, fingers stopping briefly to caress the bark of a tree or pull at her cotton t-shirt when it got tangled up in a low branch. It didn’t take her too long to find Gerah Mayham sprawling at the edge of the river, trousers rolled up to his knees and feet deep into the glassy Chrysalis’ water and his usually perfectly-combed hair a mess of charcoal tangles. A puff of smoke left his mouth, and as she approached, Valba could see a rather large pile of cigarette butts carelessly forming near the river bank.

“What are you doing?”

Gerah turned around so quickly the cigarette fell from where it was dangling on his lips. “Shit,” he said, as he picked it up before it could scorch even further his already scorched-looking jeans. “How did you find me?”

Valba arched a brow. “You haven’t gone too far.”

“Mom and Dad never found me here,” he said, taking a last drag of his cigarette and putting it out in the wet soil next to him.

“Well, then they’re not very good at looking for things,” said Valba. “Or they didn’t even try.”

Gerah frowned, his dark brows coming together in a way that didn’t seem fitting for him, not that Valba knew him a lot.

“What are you doing?”

“Are you going to tell me not to smoke?” Said Gerah, a tense set to his jaw that seemed somehow out of place for him. Valba didn’t know Gerah Mayham at all, but she remembered punching him in the face, and not even then had he seemed the littlest bit aggressive. He looked different now, she realized, not only because of his haggard looks, but for the vibrating aura around his posture, a wild animal prepared to jump.

“No, your lungs are yours to fuck,” she said. “I’m only gonna tell you not to put off your cigarettes here, because as surprising as it may be, the forest is actually not yours to fuck.”

Gerah sent a side glance to the butt mountain in the mud. “Okay,” he said, and his shoulders sagged visibly.

Valba leaned against the nearest tree and slid down, the rough bark scratching her skin, her bare feet creating muddy indents in the fresh soil. There was something, Valba didn’t quite know what, about the stillness of the forest that calmed down even the roughest of her edges, all thoughts about her life debt to Gerah Mayham almost forgotten. It was such a contrast with the bustling life inside the village, all whispers and shouts and overload of information.

“I don’t need you monitoring me,” said Gerah, his iridescent eyes trained on her.

Valba held his gaze. “Your parents seem to differ on that matter,” she said.

“Fuck you, you don’t need to be here.”

“Actually, I do. Because I need the money. Not that I expect you to understand what need is.”

Gerah dropped his eyelids, white teeth coming out to chew on his lower lip. He started fiddling with the cigarette butts, and Valba thought she could see something changing in him. His shoulders relaxed, and he leaned slightly backwards to rest on his elbows, the edges of his coal-rimmed lashes softening into something akin to curiosity. Suddenly, he was the dumbstruck boy that had stuttered at her a year before all over again, when she punched him in the face after he pushed her off the road and weakly demanded a “thank you” in exchange.

“Were you born here in Romello?” He asked, and Valba felt, much to her dismay, her own eyebrow raising in amusement.

“Born and raised,” she answered.

He looked at her, expectant, as if waiting for Valba to ask something to him in return, and frowned slightly, his nose furrowing childishly, when he realized it wasn’t happening anytime soon.

“I was born here, too,” he said. “But mom’s from Spain. I’d like to go visit someday.”

Valba knew the story: young handsome and promising Nicholas Mayham made an extremely important business trip to Seville where he fell desperately in love with young intelligent and exotic Nerea Murillo, who worked as a touristic guide to pay for her university fees. They married, moved to the United States of America, and after some very happy and dreamy years of marriage, decided to have a child and raise him in the quiet tranquility and safety of a lost village in the mountains, far from America and its cardiac-arresting life. Fairytale-like.

She could almost picture Nerea Mayham in her younger years, caffeinated skin glistening under the Andalusian sun the same way Gerah’s did under the stray rays that perforated the shady canopies of Romello’s forest.

“Your name’s not Spanish, though.” She said. “Nor English.”

Gerah looked up at her from where he was fiddling with the fallen foliage. “No, actually, it means something in Javanese, but it’s not supposed to be a name?” he said. “But they let you name your children however you want nowadays so…”

Valba frowned. “Why Javanese?”

Gerah shrugged. “Mom thought it was fancy.” He shrugged again, as it to clarify that he did not think it was fancy at all. Valba hated to agree with him.

“What does it mean?”

Gerah stared at her, a moment too-long for his ever-shifting gaze. “I don’t know.”

“That’s a lie,” said Valba, leaning forward.

“It’s not,” he said, his eyes stubbornly trained on Valba’s muddy bare feet.

“It is, how would you know it wasn’t supposed to be a name—”

“What do you care?” Gerah bristled, a flash of the boy Valba had found aggressively smoking next to the river some minutes earlier.

Valba leaned back again. “I don’t,” she said.

#im obssessed w rosalias new album #im not sorry #she just captures the atmosphere in san so well #listen to it!!!!#it's called el mal querer #wip: sunflowers at night

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looselucy · 7 years ago

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February

The plan was never to fall asleep there. So when I awoke at 7am, freezing in the middle of a fucking field, I almost leapt out of my bloody skin.

My eyes went wide as I tucked the sleeping bag tighter to me, still in the camping chair, looking around me and trying to piece together the evening before like I had been drinking, which I definitely hadn’t, I was just so confused. Everything felt very unfamiliar. But once I glanced to my side and spotted Harry, everything made sense again. Everything sunk in and the puzzle pieced itself together, and I knew where I was, I remembered the evening before, and I felt ten million times better. Still, it was damn freezing, and it was early, far too early. I wasn’t really aware of what time we had fallen asleep, but it must have been at least 3am. I was running off little sleep, and what sleep I had got was in a tiny, uncomfortable chair, in a god damn field, on the 5th of February. “Fuck.” I grunted. The sky was a single shade of grey, like there was a chance of it snowing again, which is the only way our scenario could get worse. Harry snoring wasn’t helping. I got to my feet, whilst they were still in the bottom of the sleeping back, shuffling awkwardly over to his slumbering frame and trying my best to extend my leg and kick him gently, just to wake him. It took a few attempts, my fists gripped tight around the top of the sleeping bag, because the thought of being any colder than I already was, was enough to make me weep. After possibly the fifth kick, Harry shuddered and bolted his eyes open, whipping his legs back towards him, his body almost folding together, just as alarmed as I had been when I first woke up. “What the fuck?” He whined, looking around with tight eyes. He finally looked up to me, and I saw relief wash over him in the same way seeing him had done the same for me. Suddenly things made a little more sense. “Mornin’.” I giggled. “What the fuuuuuck?” He repeated. “We fell asleep.” “I feel like I’ve been hit by a fucking bus.” I stood staring as he sat upright, looking around, still taking in the strange scenario. I mean, it had been weird enough anyway, stargazing, sitting and talking until the early hours, me and Harry of all people. But the fact we had nodded off only enforced how strange it was, and made it even stranger. “It’s freezing.” I shivered. “We need to go. I need my bed. What the fuck? This is like the worst comedown ever, except without the fun drugs part!” I rolled my eyes and kicked him again, before shuffling back over to my chair and folding it up, wanting to hurry up and get the hell out of there before I froze to death. Harry had a little more guts than I did, because as soon as he was on his feet, he got straight out of his sleeping bag, which meant he could move and pack up pretty easily, whereas I was waddling all over the show, still freezing anyhow. There wasn’t much to gather, so within a couple of minutes we were done, and ready to go back to the car. But Harry didn’t move, he just stared at me blankly, again. “What?” I gawped. “I’m not willing to walk across this field at half the pace I usually would, just because you won’t get out of your fucking sleeping bag.” “It’s cold.” I said plainly. “You’re right, Pip-Squeak. In fact, I’d say it’s near glacial. So don’t fuck about, get out of the sleeping bag and get a fucking move on.” He was trying to be as playful as he could, but I knew I was annoying him, so I just took a big gulp and stepped out of the fabric, feeling his eyes burn me as I hunched it up and tucked it under my arm. Once I was ready to walk I looked back at him. He gave me the fakest smirk of all time, before tutting and storming off in the predicted right direction, I was just going to have to take his lead. I tried to keep up with his giant steps at the same time I treading very carefully, because I knew if I was to fall over like I had done on the way in there, it wouldn’t be too much of a laughing matter the second time round. Harry was in no mood. I wasn’t a morning person, never had been, but Harry was taking it to a new level. We made the walk in about ten minutes, back through the trees and finally at the small, poor excuse for a carpark. The only car there was Harry’s, but I’d never been so grateful to see a vehicle before. We threw our stuff into his boot and clambered in the front. Fleetwood Mac started playing as soon as Harry flicked on the engine, but I only got a snippet of a song before Harry turned it off, sighing heavily and running a hand through his curls before placing both hands on the wheel, and taking off. “Sorry.” He mumbled once we were back on the road. “I’m a shit person on no sleep.” “Thought you were mad at me.” “No, I’m not. I’m sorry.” I concentrated on the road, a little worried that Harry could nod off at any second, and never before had I had such a strong feeling that a driver literally had my life in their hands. “Y’know what’s weird?” I smiled. “A couple of days ago, that kind of interaction was completely normal between us. I kind of... I hated the thought of you being mad at me.” “Y’know what I hate?” He mulled. “How right everyone was about the fact we would get on. I hate being wrong. Ed constantly told me we were alike. Now I know we are and it drives me mad that I was wrong.” “Urgh. Same. We’ve really let ourselves down by being friends.” “Haven’t we just?” He grinned. We didn’t speak again, we didn’t really have the energy to. I kept one eye on Harry, occasionally his blinks were a little drawn out, but he managed to stay awake throughout the drive, and I was very proud of him at the same time as being very grateful, now going from worrying for my life to being thankful for my life. That’s how much I was expecting Harry to nod off. To the point where I actually felt like I owed him my life. We probably shouldn’t have got in that car in the first place. But it was done, and as soon we pulled up outside his home it was like such a sight had never been so familiar, so warm and inviting. We left all our crap in the car and rushed indoors, even though it must have taken just a few minutes, it felt like a lifetime before I was actually back in Harry’s room, with a quick, very vital, trip to the toilet beforehand. When I got back into his room, Harry had settled into his spot on the floor. “What the fuck are you doing?” I shot. “What?” “Get in your own bed, you idiot.” “Fuck off, Pip-Squeak.” He groaned. “Look, you’re in a bad mood, you’ve had hardly any sleep, will you please just get in your own bed?” There was a war going on in his head, how much he felt like he should be polite and let me have his bed, but how much he craved to be between his own sheets. But I wasn’t budging either, we were both as stubborn as each other. He huffed, but he got up, and I smirked smugly to myself, just about to settle down on the floor before he spoke. “Just get in bed.” He groaned, clambering across to the far side. “Huh?” “It’s a pretty big bed, and we’re not twelve. Just get in bed.” He tucked himself up and flipped out the duvet on my side of the bed as I stood looking at the appealing spot, Harry already close to nodding off. I couldn’t say no. I took off my coat and jacket and clambered in, not even bothering to take off any other item of clothing and get in my PJ’s, because I was completely done. I was exhausted, and I couldn’t turn down being in a bed. I stayed on my side of the bed, and Harry stayed on his, tucked against the wall, asleep in seconds. + + + There was an Irish voice in the distance. Faint and mumbling and definitely, 100% trying to wake me up. It showed me that Niall didn’t know his audience. “Hellooooooo?” I heard. “Wake up, sleepy heads.” “Fuck off, Niall.” I heard from beside me. “It’s three in the afternoon, little ones, and I have plans for us so you have to get up.” I opened one eye, and closed it straight away. Niall was incredibly close to my face, bending over to get even closer to us, to taunt us with his low voice. “Go hang out with Naomi or something.” I felt Harry roll towards the wall. “She’s working and I’m bored. Come onnnnnnn. Pippa? Pippa are you awake?” “No.” I groaned. “I have a hunch you’re lying to me.” “I’m fast asleep.” “Why? Do you have any idea what time it is?” “Yes. You told us.” Harry shot so he was facing the ceiling, and I finally opened my eyes. “It’s three o’clock.” “Well then GET THE FUCK UP!” Neither of us replied, we both pretended to fall back asleep, and just for good measure, I decided to add a fake snoring noise. The weird part was, Harry did exactly the same thing, at exactly the same time. We both shot our eyes open and burst out laughing, creasing and bending over and clutching at our stomachs, suddenly pretty awake, and glad of it. “You two are weird.” Niall sighed eventually. “Now get up and get dressed, we’re about to have lots of fun.” He walked out of Harry’s room, shaking his head as he went, me and Harry still laughing away to ourselves, but kind of calming down, still tucked up and toasty, not really wanting to get out of bed. But we both knew it would probably be a good idea; our sleeping patterns were probably already in absolute tatters, never mind if we stayed in bed any longer. “Bloody hell.” He sighed once we were totally calm. “What’s Niall going to make us do?” “Fuck knows. He once came into my room at like, stupid o’clock in the morning, and took me to the zoo for the day. So, you never know.” I couldn’t be arsed doing anything. I just wanted to stay in bed. Not even to sleep! Harry had a giant TV on the wall at the foot on his bed, which looked so appealing, all I wanted to do was put on a nice film and snuggle up all day. But no. I had only met Niall Horan once before, and he was absolutely ruining my day. I cursed loudly and then jumped out of bed as quickly as I could, because otherwise I wouldn’t have got out at all. It had to be done in a quick, sharp movement. Harry soon followed. I grabbed some clothes out of my bag and shimmied off into the bathroom to dress myself, scraping my hair into a ponytail, because it was far too greasy to have down at that stage. I probably really needed a shower, but it would just have to wait. Harry had his own little bathroom in his home, which was very handy in such circumstances. It also meant I had set up a little home for my makeup, which I knew, even though I hadn’t seen it, Harry had rolled his eyes at. I didn’t care though.I put on a little makeup once I was clothed, stretching out my face in all different directions to do it correctly, when there was a knock on the door. “Pip-Squeak, hurry up! I’m desperate for a piss.” “I’m sorting out my face.” “Your face is fine! Now hurry up, we need to go, and I’m going to piss on the floor.” “Go to the other bathroom!” I tried, like I owned the place. “My dad’s in there. Do you really think I hadn’t thought of that? Jesus wept, Pip-Squeak. There’s a mirror out here. OH GOD, NO, PIPPA I’M BEING SERIOUS. IT MIGHT BE A POO.” I swung the door open and Harry stood writhing on the spot with his legs crossed, like an absolute toddler. I stood in the doorway, just to drag out his misery a little more. “You’re grim.” I told him. “I will poo with you in the room I swear to god, move.” I dodged out his way, feeling the force as soon as he slammed the door behind me. It was only then it sunk in that me and Harry actually lived together. I somehow completely forgot about that fact, so many times. I wondered why he seemed so comfortable talking about bloody pooing with me, when I was a guest at his house and we had barely spoke before that. It was just that automatic thing when it came to living with someone, it was so normal, even if it was me and Harry. I had felt as though that week was special, living with him. But I lived with him all the time. I had been living with him since November. I couldn’t quite grasp it. I bounced down the stairs, not noticing at the time how completely comfortable I had become in his house, how it had only taken me a few days to completely settle, how even the morning previous I had held back before I walked into the kitchen. I’m not sure if it was because Niall was there too, but I bounced into that kitchen like I would at home. “-so I said to her,” Niall was half way through a story to Ben and Kev as I walked in. “If you can’t drink Guinness then I don’t want to know about it.” “You didn’t tell her you had a girlfriend?” Kev chuckled. “Girls in clubs don’t take that as a valid reason, they think you’re lying. So, I thought I would make me turning her down more about how she was against myself and all other Irish people, because she didn’t like Guinness. She ended up getting upset and saying that I shouldn’t insinuate she was a racist. So I laughed in her face and drank the rest of my pint.” Kev and Ben listened to him and stared at him with total admiration. It was easy to see how much they loved Niall, how close Niall was with the two of them. I liked that. I had good friends back home, but none of them blended into my family in the way Niall was doing. I guess that’s why I was glad I had Liam, even though he hadn’t been around for so many years. “Good morning, Pippa.” Ben greeted once he had got over Niall’s bizarre tale. “Well, afternoon. We heard you come in at silly o’clock this morning. Where did you get to?” “We fell asleep in the bloody field.” I groaned, sitting in the seat next to Niall. “Awful experience. Never again. Not without a tent, at least.” “Not even with a tent.” He huffed, getting to his feet. “Do you want some tea?” “Yes please!” “NO, PIPPA! THERE IS NO TIME FOR TEA!” Niall slammed. I liked everything about Niall, I noticed. His attitude, his boisterous manners, his face, his look on life and his humour. He was just nice. Just an all-round nice person, from what I had seen. “Where are we even going?” I laughed. “You will see very soon. Once Harry’s here, we’ll make a move.” Now that I was actually up and out of bed, I was kind of looking forward to what Niall had planned for us. I was kind of hoping he would do a repeat of the trip to the zoo. “Tell you what,” Ben said, flicking the kettle on. “We have one of those portable mug things for hot drinks that you can take with you. Sound good?” “You’re a man after my heart, Ben.” He laughed a little, then began searching through some cupboards, not entirely sure where the item was. We all chatted casually for a little while, and I was beginning to become a little concerned as to how fit a state Harry’s stomach was in, since he was still on the toilet. I tried to shake off the thought of Harry’s bowels and get back into the swing of the conversation, but the main thing that niggled on my mind was how much I wanted Harry to be downstairs with us, how much I liked his company. The sudden switch was messing my with head. He eventually bounced down the stairs, wide awake and ready to go, his short hair bouncy and his tan even more noticeable than usual. He looked really good. He seemed really happy. “Afternoon.” Kev greeted him. “Afternoon.” He grinned back, walking between myself and Niall and balancing his hands on both our shoulders. “Thought you were really busy today?” “We are, but we can always spare some time for Niall.” He answered.” “And that is why, it pains me to say it, but we are going to have to get going.” Niall said with a hand on his heart. He rose to his feet, pretending to cry and then dramatically running out into the hall and through the front door, sobbing as he went. I was a little dumbfounded, but Harry’s dads and Harry himself reacted as though that was completely natural, like that was a normal thing. Every second that passed, I liked Niall more and more. “See you later!” Harry said, following Niall. “Bye!” I squeaked, scrambling up to my feet and jogging to keep up with Harry as we got out of the front door. “SHOTGUN!” Harry yelled right away. Niall was driving a BMW, which I couldn’t even comprehend. Harry was clearly well off, his family were doing very well for themselves, but even his car was a pretty typical first car. A good one, no doubt, but nothing too extraordinary. How Niall, at the age of 19, was driving a BMW, and a bright, shining, giant, new one, didn’t make much sense. “How the hell do you afford to have this car?” I baffled. “Don’t even get me started.” He huffed, as we all climbed in, me in the back. “I’m not even joking, this car is ridiculous. Naomi’s dad got it me for Christmas.” “What? Is he mad?” “Probably. He barely even knows what to do with his money. Obviously, me and Nay have been together for a really long time, so he trusts me, but... I found it hard to accept this.” He set off steadily. “How do you just say thank you for a fucking BMW, y’know? I tried to turn it down but he wasn’t having any of it. So... yeah... now I have a fucking BMW.” “People with money are weird.” I sighed. ”I know...... I CAN’T WAIT TO BE ONE!” He shone. Niall plugged in his phone and that handed it to Harry, who searched through his music selection. I watched over his shoulder, seeing him hover over Fleetwood Mac for a moment, before opting for some Foals, Niall agreeing with his choice merrily as we drove through the quiet streets of their town. “Niall, I have a question.” Harry spoke quietly halfway through the first song. “You’ll see where we’re going soon.” “No, not that. Do you like uni?” “Love it. I mean, I miss Nay all the time but, just proves to me how much I love her, y’know? Proves it’s not some childhood romance that got dragged out too long. I love her. Sorry... I just got really distracted talking about Nay. YES, I love uni.” “What about your course?” “My course? I love it. I love the freedom, it’s so different from college. I can take photos of anything I like! It’s mad. Been doing a lot of shots of houses and stuff, looking into people’s lives. It’s sick.” That chirpy mood Harry had when he first got downstairs was fading fast. He gulped and nodded, lolling his head back against the chair. His mind was a mess. He loved uni, loved the friends he had made, loved the location and how everything was going. The only thing that was bad for him was the reason he was actually there. His course. They just weren’t giving him the freedom he desired, something that they were offering on the same course elsewhere. I didn’t want him to leave. I really didn’t. I moved forward as much as I could and put my hand on the top of his head, ruffling his hair a little. “Play with my hair.” He demanded sadly. So I did, without a second thought. I stayed sat forward so I could play slowly with the hair on the back of his head, my fingertips occasionally meeting his neck, comforting him in the only way I could. Harry didn’t say any more about it, he didn’t explain his feelings to Niall, he didn’t explain why he had asked those questions, his mood just died. Niall didn’t call him up on it though, I think he knew it just wasn’t the time. “Y’know what, guys?” Niall sighed after a while. “I feel like I’ve hyped up this plan too much. I feel like I’ve completely overdone it. It’s not even that exciting.” “I FORGOT TO HAVE MY TEA!” I cried. “I wish I had tea.” Harry huffed. “Is there tea where we’re going?” “I don’t think so.” Niall shrugged. “We’re almost there.” I played with Harry’s hair, kind of glad we weren’t going out of town or anything because the closer we were to bed the better. I knew me and Harry would either stay awake until the early hours or crash at around 7pm, and at that stage of the day, I was hoping it would be the latter. Another couple of minutes passed before we pulled up, and the only thing in sight was a pub called The Cat and Mouse. I rolled my eyes straight away. “A pub? Really?” Harry yelled. “That was the master plan?” “Well... yeah. Of course it was. What good plan doesn’t involve a pub?” Niall seemed genuinely confused. “I wanted to go to the zoo.” I wistfully sighed. “OH MAN! Remember when I took you to the zoo? That was super romantic.” “Yes, Niall, I remember.” Harry groaned grumpily. “Oh well. Let’s go get some Guinness.” Niall ignored his tone. + + + I missed Zayn. That’s all I could think about after a couple of drinks. I missed Zayn. He had text me asking if I was safe, and I told him I was with a friend from home, to not worry about me and enjoy his holiday. The only reason I had done that was to shock him when me and Harry got back to uni and we were friends, otherwise I would have been texting him none stop. It never felt right not being in touch with Zayn. Not anymore. I had become a little distant throughout the two hours we had been there. My head was kind of all over the place. I had finally started thinking about my mum and dad rather than ignoring it, thinking maybe I should have been with my mum, comforting her. Maybe I should have gone to see my dad, to talk to him and make some sense out of everything. It started feeling like maybe I was being a little childish, ignoring it all. It helped me, of course, but did it really help anyone else? Was my mum comforted by the fact I hadn’t seen her since she broke the news the month before? I felt like an idiot. “Are there any clubs open on a Wednesday?” Niall asked Harry. “No. Thursday onward.” “I need to be in Ireland. I swear, you guys don’t know how to drink over here. Pathetic.” Harry smiled a little lowly, and I wondered if he was still thinking about the university issue or if he was just tired. A low number of beers was never going to help either matter. He turned to me, which I noticed even though I didn’t look back, eyes on my phone, wondering if I should text Zayn or my mum or my dad. Or even Grace. I missed Grace too. “You okay, Pip-Squeak?” He asked. “Mhm.” “We’ll go if you want.” There was so much concern in his voice. He knew I was feeling down, and he wasn’t feeling much better. We had done a few hours like Niall wanted, and now we were more than willing to go. Just as I was about to say yes, there was a yelling from the doorway. “STYLES AND HORAN, THE DYNAMIC DUO BACK TOGETHER AT LAST!” I knew we were stuck there for a while longer now, such was the curse of a small town. It was so easy to bump into people, hard to go to the pub without it happening to be honest. It was just like when Minnie turned up the other night. I was just happy it wasn’t her again. Both Harry and Niall leapt to their feet and ran over to the boy at the door, as I picked up my pint and swigged as much back as I physically could, watching as they shared a group hug with the boy who had yelled. “Holy shit, Matt, it’s so good to see you, what the fuck?” Harry gawped. They were overly excited. It can’t possibly have been that long since they last saw him, it wasn’t like it was some big coincidence that they were in the same pub. Hell, there must have only been around five pubs in the entire town, was it really that shocking? Everything was grinding on me. “Come sit with us!” Niall invited. “Sure, will do. Let me get a round in. Where you sat? What d’ya want?” “Over there!” Niall pointed at me. “Guinness for me.” “Fosters.” Harry smiled. ”And you, gorgeous?” The lad, Matt, grinned at me. I stiffened up and didn’t say a word. Niall grinned like an absolute idiot, whereas Harry’s eyebrows lowered, like he was confused, like he couldn’t possibly have been talking to me. He couldn’t possibly have called me gorgeous. “I’ll have a Fosters too, please.” I must have been just about audible. Matt winked and wandered off to the bar, Harry glancing quickly between the two of us, still with his eyebrows low. “You’re in there, Pip.” Niall nodded. + + + “He asked for my number.” I blushed as I got in Harry’s bed. He didn’t answer, he just took off his t-shirt, and I gave myself a good eyeful of his body before I dragged my vision to his DVD collection, smug and satisfied with the quick view I had gotten. He slumped out of his room and came back less than a minute later with sweatpants on, then going over to his DVD’s and folding his arms as he checked them out himself. “What film do you fancy? I need something nice. Like a Disney film or something.” “Disney is always a great shout.” I tucked in a little more. “Have you ever seen The Princess and The Frog?” He asked hopefully, and I swear my face completely dropped. “No, right, I know it’s one of the new ones but it’s actually really good. You should give it a chance.” My opinions on young Harry Styles had changed in almost every way since Monday, but this was something special. I loved that film, I bloody loved that film, and hearing Harry defend it in exactly the way I had done a million times over made me like him more than ever before. “Harry, The Princess and The Frog is one of my favourite films of all time.” “What? Are you serious?” He smiled. “It’s a classic that is completely slept on. If it had been released in the early nineties people would rave about it more.” “Exactly! You’re fucking spot on, Pip-Squeak. How were we ever not friends? Doesn’t make any sense.” He grabbed the DVD and excitedly opened the case, taking out the disk and practically jumping up and down as he slotted it in the side of his TV, before jumping onto the bed and crawling onto his side, tucking himself in and getting snug next to me. Sharing a bed with him was suddenly a lot more normal than expected, when that morning it had been such a debate whether I should get in or not, this time it wasn’t even a question. I couldn’t help but wonder why me and Harry were progressing so quickly. Why it was suddenly so fucking normal for us to feel so close, so comfortable, so normal. I felt like our stargazing helped. A lot. We chatted about the film as it went on, and around halfway through, I asked him a question, one I was desperate to. “Are you gunna drop out of uni?” He sunk into the sheets like he didn’t care about the film suddenly, and I didn’t want to start a conversation and then only half listen. So I sunk too, and we lay on our sides, facing one another, yet Harry wasn’t looking at me. He kept his eyes down. “I might do.” He breathed sadly. “It’s not my number one plan but... I dunno. Maybe it’s for the best.” “A week ago I would have been cheering but... I don’t want you to go.” I whispered. “I don’t want to either.” He whispered back to me. “I just have to do what’s best for me. I have to learn. I need to learn. I need to progress and I’m not doing that there. I just... I feel really at home there now, y’know? Especially now, with me and you getting on so well... That’s completely got rid of the only other thing I hated about uni.” I moved my hands, my fingers accidentally brushing against the warm skin of his butterfly tattoo. My breath shuddered as skin met skin, Harry biting his lip gently. “M’sorry.” He didn’t say anything, once again he stayed quiet, releasing his lip as quickly as he had gripped it, maybe nudging a little closer to me, or maybe I just imagined that. “Are you okay, Pip-Squeak? You seemed sad tonight.” “I’m fine.” “Well… you’re not. It would be weird if you were.” “Huh?” “This is not how you wanted to spend your reading week, Pip. You wanted to spend it with your family. Any idiot could see that.” A tear slipped from my eye, but Harry didn’t mention it, I don’t think he dared, he ignored it and I was really thankful he did, because I cried far too often and I bloody hated myself for it. I didn’t need Harry there, pointing it out. “I’m glad I’m here.” I hushed. Harry took his thumb and wiped at the second tear, still not saying a thing about it, but clearing my face, comforting me. The backs of his fingers were cold, they pressed softly to my cheek as his thumb took care of my heartbroken tears. “I’m glad you’re here too.” His low voice called. We fell asleep that night, in the same position, facing one another, and once in the middle of the night I woke up, when I felt his hand on my waist.

#I love this one and I hope you do too #DON'T FORGET HOW FOND I AM OF FEEDBACK #LIVE FOR THAT SHIT #1DFF #Harry Styles #BB16

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lafaiette · 7 years ago

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Hey ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) How about some angst. I really really love your writing, and I was thinking.... What if.... There was some angst about Solas and Scarlet with their children? I dunno, something that either hurt the parents' feelings OR made them worry sick? Ofc it would have a happy ending~ I know how you crave fluff.... But would you maybe consider this... 👀

YES ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Actually, I already wrote something like this, a long two-chaptered fics where Fenor is a teenager and wants to explore the world, freaking the shit out of Solas who gets pretty protective.

It’s called Dirthara Lothlenan'as and I think it’s exactly what you were looking for. I wrote it after getting a similar request on AO3 and it’s got all the themes you described - rebellion, angst, worry, but also a happy ending, of course.

BUT since you were so kind, I wrote a short snippet to thank you!

“Will you be alright?”

Scarlet looks at him with big, attentive eyes, looking for the answer on his face before hearing it. Solas nods, a small, cooing Fenor held tightly in his arms, and he tries to smile, although it doesn’t look so good.

“Yes.” he says, hoping he sounds confident and certain, but it sounds like a lie even to his ears and he blushes and tries again: “I will, vhenan. We will, I promise.”

“Solas, I know you will do a wonderful job. I just…” She caresses his cheek, presses her palm onto it, and he kisses it. Her sweet smile is back on her lips and he wishes she didn’t have to leave. He wants Dorian to call her again, right now, to tell her her presence isn’t requested anymore.

“I just don’t want you to feel bad. I know you tend to… panic a lot, in these situations.”

It’s true, he still isn’t able to keep calm and control himself when Fenor starts crying or fussing. He fears he won’t be able to help him, to feed him right; he is afraid of hurting him, of holding him wrong, of scaring him somehow.

He wants to be a good father and even though Scarlet constantly tells him how good he is, doubt still gnaws at his heart and the weight of his past, enormous mistakes presses down on him like a Titan.

“Don’t worry. I won’t give in to panic.” he promises, smiling again, brightly this time. “This will be a good chance to learn how to do better.”

“You already do it perfectly. You just need to relax.” She kisses him, chuckling softly. “But you’re right. This is a good occasion.”

She then smooches Fenor, who laughs happily as his mother peppers his face with loud kisses and cooing words. Tears form in her eyes, because she doesn’t want to leave; even if she will be gone just for a few hours, away to help Dorian with some delegates, they will feel like many more, because of the nearly still flow of time.

“I’ll be back soon.” she promises, both to Solas and Fenor, and she says it out loud also to reassure herself. Solas holds back his tears - they haven’t been separated one day since the successful fall of the Veil and the subsequent Restoration and even this handful of hours will feel like a painful eternity.

They kiss one last time, then she enters the eluvian they have hidden in a quiet part of the forest they live in. It will take her to the Crossroads, where she will be able to reach Minrathous in just a few seconds using the right mirror.

The light of the eluvian disappears and Solas lets out a long, deep kiss, already missing his vhenan. But then Fenor makes a tiny, funny noise and Solas looks down at him with a huge smile, which the child returns.

“Why don’t we go eat something, da’fen?”

The cute nickname perfectly represents Fenor’s appetite: he would eat anything, at any hour of the day, without pause. He is a healthy and florid child and Solas knows that he would accept to eat even in the middle of the night.

And since it’s not night, Fenor is even quicker to agree and he shows his joy with a flailing of chubby arms and other funny sounds.

“Papae, Papae!” he babbles, touching his father’s chin with his short, soft fingers, and Solas kisses them, then his cheek, making him laugh. He laughs, too, and thinks that this won’t be so hard. He just has to relax, just like Scarlet said.

He enters the cottage and sits Fenor down on the high chair Blackwall carved for him; he brushes back his hair - red like Scarlet’s, while the impatient eyes that are looking at him are blue like his - and he smiles, asking: “What would you like to eat, da’vhenan?”

That name is sweeter and tells another truth: Fenor is now part of his heart just as much as Scarlet. The wolf wags his tail whenever he’s around his child, growls at whatever dares bother or hurt him, be it a bug or an uncomfortable pillow.

“Cake!” Fenor points at the cake his parents baked the previous day, standing half-finished on the counter of the kitchen. Solas bites his lips, looking at the light outside the windows. Still too early to eat cake, the rules are clear and Fenor knows this, but he’s a clever boy and knows his dad might change his mind, now that mom isn’t home.

It’s terribly hard to be the serious, stern parent and neither Solas or Scarlet are good at it. They are able to say ‘no’ and put rules, of course, but it hurts them to see disappointment on their little cub’s face or hear the first noises that predict a wail.

“Please?” Fenor insists, making puppy-eyes at him, even sticking out his lower lip. It’s his special technique and it always works and Solas thinks those puppy-eyes are way too powerful for such a small child.

“Well…” He looks at the cake again and sighs. It’s a good cake and his sweet tooth demands him to take a bite, too, even if dinner is still far and fruits would be much better at this hour of the day.

He must be strong and let the child understand he can’t always win the food he wants that way. That’s actually the only thing Fenor ever fusses about; he’s a little saint for everything else and he always listens to his parents, sweet and calm, playful and giggly all the time, the sun and treasure of their cozy house.

“No, da’fen. It’s too early for the cake. Why don’t we eat something else?” The words hurt like glass on the roof of his mouth. Fenor’s face falls and his eyes are full of disappointed surprise, now.

Solas desperately tries not to feel like a bad father. He’s not bad, right? He’s just making sure his child’s tummy won’t hurt later and that he won’t ruin his appetite.

Still, anxiety slowly carves his guts into something twisted and painful and he tries not to cry as Fenor’s lips start to tremble and his cheeks get redder.

This is a silly thing and yet he can’t help but feel like a monster.

“W-Wait, da’vhenan.” he says, trying to fix everything, hoping to succeed. “We will eat the cake later, alright? With Mamae, we will eat it all together. It’s fairer that way, don’t you agree?”

Fenor remembers his mom isn’t there and the meaning of the memory of her leaving through the eluvian changes in his mind, now, it makes him worry. He also isn’t still good at sensing how much time has actually passed and the slow flow of time makes him believe she left much long ago, even if just a few minutes have actually passed.

“Mamae, where is Mamae?” he asks, tears in his eyes, and Solas panics.

“She is with Uncle Dorian!” he tries to reassure him, taking him in his arms again, but Fenor looks terrified, he never saw one of his parents leave and it is disconcerting not to see and hear Mamae in the house.

“She is in Minrathous, da’fen, where Uncle Dorian lives. She will come back soon, do not worry.” Solas kisses his hair, strokes his back, but Fenor is now upset, both by Scarlet’s absence and the lack of cake. His lips tremble again and he makes a choked sound, the beginning of a sob.

Solas feels wretched.

His hands start shaking and he swallows his tears, trying desperately not to make things worse. He looks around, looking for a way to reassure his son, but the only thing he sees is the cake.

He is about to give in and give a slice to the child when a spirit enters the kitchen and stares at the scene, perfectly quiet, perfectly still.

That visit is enough to temporarily distract Fenor, who waves at the spirit with a wet, timid smile, while Solas returns its stare, which turns into a glare.

“Why is the child crying?” it asks and Solas feels even more terrible, a disgusting failure.

“I… He…”

“Have you learned nothing, Wolf?” the spirit continues, shaking its glowing head. “Is your habit of making mistakes still so strong?”

A big lump blocks Solas’ throat and he cannot reply, but then something marvelous happens.

Fenor blows raspberries at the spirit and sticks out his tongue at it when it stares at him with offended disbelief.

“Papae is good!” he exclaims angrily, scowling at the spirit. “Warm and kind like Mamae! Go away!”

The spirit floats back, still looking outraged, but then Solas recovers from the initial shock and says coldly: “Didn’t you hear my son? Leave our house.”

The spirit disappears at that, after scoffing, and Solas thinks it probably was a spirit of Command - or Pomposity - like the one they met in Old Crestwood, so many years ago.

“Papae is good.” Fenor repeats, talking to him this time, and his tears are gone. There are only his smile and chubby hands, now, and Solas kisses them again, before nuzzling his cheek and making him laugh.

He sniffles, pushing back his tears, but the panic and anxiety in his heart are gone, he can breathe and think better, and things suddenly feel easier, because they are.

“Thank you, da’fen.” he says with a smile and he really believes him.

When Scarlet comes back, two hours later, she finds her husband in his wolf form, playing in the garden with their son, chasing him and letting him chase him in return. They hear her immediately and Fenor trots to her, giggling excitedly, calling “Mamae, Mamae!”.

Solas turns back into his elven form and approaches his family as Scarlet scoops up the small, squealing elf and kisses him all over his face, exclaiming: “Oh, da’fen, I missed you so much, little cub!”

Then she looks at Solas, smiling proudly at him, and he is smiling too, almost timidly.

“I missed you too, vhenan.” she says softly and he gets into her arms, hugging both her and Fenor and pressing his lips and nose against her cheek. He breathes in her perfume and sighs, relieved.

Fenor’s cheerful giggles fill the garden and the sun shines brighter in the sky.

#dragon age #da:i #solas #scarlet lavellan #solavellan #fenor #solavellan babies #lafaiette's fic #Anon #thank you so much!! <3 #Anonymous

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jungkoojk · 8 years ago

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Us Against The Universe

read on ao3 here pairing: jung hoseok & kim taehyung | vhope length: 15.3k words warnings: infrequent strong language, tiny bit of smut, angst

summary: the moment you kiss your soulmate, your universes bloom into magnificent colour - at least, that's what all the stories say. but when taehyung kisses hoseok and the two of them discover that the latter's world is still dismally grey, taehyung finds himself determined to splash colour into hoseok's life - even if it means doing the unthinkable, and giving him up to someone else.

alternatively: hoseok and taehyung defy the laws of the universe.

[a/n] hello! so, i really hope you enjoy this. i worked super hard on it! please be sure to let me know what you think!!!!btw i listened to 'hollywood' by the black skirts on repeat whilst writing this. it's really beautiful and definitely my favourite song at the moment. i might make a playlist for this story one day, who knows! anyway, enjoy~

“Clouds come floating into my life, no longer to carry rain or usher storm, but to add colour to my sunset sky.” ― Rabindranath Tagore, Stray Birds

The universe is a peculiar thing.

It is space and time and protons and electrons and stars and galaxies and everything to exist; it is concepts which are real and those which are not, reality and illusion, enormous planets and specks of dust and a billion things found in between. It is the force that puts things exactly where they need to be, the Earth rotating in perfect distance from the sun, gravity stopping you from floating up into the atmosphere, and sometimes, it is two boys attending the same university, two boys who just so happen to fall in love.

The universe is colour, too, bright and blinding – but for a while, you do not see that part of it. You view the world in shades of monochrome, and it only changes when you kiss your soulmate; then, you can experience the true beauty of the world together, growing old knowing that you’ve found the person you’re destined to be with.

It’s a system that has been researched and set in stone for hundreds of years. Nobody questions it, nor does it fail; it’s how it’s always been, and how it always will be. If every human is a drop in the ocean, the universe is the ocean itself; large, powerful, and unyieldingly omnipotent.

But sometimes, the universe is wrong.

Everything is grey when Taehyung steps into the party.

He’s spent his entire life wondering what colours look like, whether the trees on the mountains near his home in Daegu are as pretty as his mother says they are or whether the marketplace here in Seoul is as abundant in colourful fruits as he presumes; whether the wash of red at sunset is incredible, just like Namjoon says it is, or even what shade his father’s eyes are. Taehyung knows that the sky is blue and that his hair is brown and that the shirt he’s wearing tonight is red and purple plaid, but he has no idea what that means; it’s information that’s been fed to him from people who know what they’re talking about, people who have been blessed enough to find their soulmates already. In this universe, you only see colour after kissing your soulmate; until then, your world remains dismally grey. Taehyung’s nineteen. Needless to say, he hasn’t found his soulmate.

Still, at times like tonight, he doesn’t mind too much. It’s not so much a longing that makes him so eager to finally see colour, but more of an intense curiosity, constantly niggling at the back of his mind. Colour is a concept that no one can describe, and more than anything, he wants to see it for himself if only to know what they’re all actually talking about. But as grey is all he’s ever known, he doesn’t exactly have anything to compare it to, and besides, there’s one shining factor that could make the colour grey seem like a thousand burning stars. In the lifeless grey of a life-filled party, Taehyung is quick to locate it: the boy he’s had a crush on for pretty much the entire year, Jung Hoseok.

The dancer is standing across the room with a grey cup in his hand and a gang of equally-grey friends all crowded round, listening as he acts out a story and allows some liquid to slosh over the side of his cup. Taehyung chuckles quietly to himself at the sight of Hoseok’s wide, crazed eyes and animated movements, although he’s not particularly surprised to see Hoseok acting like this. Hoseok has always been the life and soul of every party, snatching attention with every amusing anecdote or random flail of his long limbs; the person nobody can seem to take their eyes off, or at least, the Hoseok Taehyung can’t ever take his eyes off. There’s just something so charismatically brilliant about him, something so bright and special that Taehyung can never seem to ignore. He’s certainly tried to ignore him, often refusing to look at him simply because he knows that if he does he’ll never want to stop, but here at the party, he decides that he doesn’t want to. He wants to spend every waking moment of his life watching Hoseok, savouring him.

“You’re staring,” Namjoon states pointedly, as if Taehyung hadn’t already realised.

“Can’t stop won’t stop,” replies Taehyung monotonously, lifting his Coke to his lips without even blinking, nor dragging his gaze from the handsome dancer.

“There’s having a crush,” his best friend says, “and then there’s this.”

Truthfully, Taehyung’s had a crush on Jung Hoseok pretty much since the day he first met him, or rather saw him, seeing as they’ve never officially introduced themselves. Taehyung first saw Hoseok at the dance club Namjoon forced him to attend on the first day of university, and walking into the monochrome room, he knew that Hoseok was something special. Because after spending the entire hour eavesdropping on Hoseok’s funny stories, catching snippets of his laughter from across the room, and most importantly observing how talented he is at dancing, Taehyung begun to see the world a little brighter. There’s something about the way Hoseok rolls his body, the way his legs sweep through the air with every acrobatic handstand, the way he puts so much effort into his dancing that his passion reaches out and smacks you in the face every time you witness it, that makes Taehyung’s world light up. Even though, like most people his age, he only sees the universe in shades of grey, with Hoseok around it’s somewhat bearable. He supposes some people just have that effect.

Luckily, at dance club, Taehyung met a boy called Jimin, and they soon got chatting about Hoseok who, as Taehyung quickly discovered, was by far the best dancer there. Jimin is studying dance at university, and is in the same class as Hoseok; while for Taehyung it’s simply a hobby, for them, it’s their entire life. Because of this, Taehyung has relied on Jimin to provide him with information about Hoseok that the younger boy would otherwise be unable to acquire, and although Taehyung sees it as a simple exercise in learning more about a person who he’s too shy to approach for himself, Jimin and Namjoon both agree that’s it’s borderline stalking. Especially seeing as it’s almost summer, and the first year of university is almost up, meaning that Taehyung has pretty much gone the entire freaking year without so much as introducing himself to the older boy.

“So, are you actually going to talk to him, this time?” Jimin asks now, appearing beside Namjoon and offering the younger of the pair a shot glass filled with mysterious clear liquid. He sinks into the sofa beside Taehyung and pats him comfortingly on the back. “Here, Tae-Tae, have some tequila. It’s free and disgusting and it’ll give you the courage to finally start up a conversation.”

Taehyung continues to watch Hoseok, but sets down his Coke and takes the shot in his fingers. “Maybe you’re right,” he says before swiftly knocking it back, and as the disgusting liquid slides down his throat, he shakes his head and locks his eyes on Hoseok once more. “Gross,” he comments, before folding his arms across his chest and immediately beginning to feel quite ill – but that’s not because of the alcohol. It’s because suddenly, Jung Hoseok is looking his way. Taehyung isn’t sure what’s happening at first, and it takes Jimin and Namjoon suddenly falling deathly silent for him to actually recognise that fact, but it’s too weird an occurrence for Taehyung to fully grasp. Hoseok is still talking to his friends, still acting as enthusiastic as ever, but his gaze is fixed to Taehyung’s as he talks like he’s been distracted, somehow.

It’s just such a shame that Taehyung can’t see Hoseok in full colour, because although he’s the brightest star in the room, in every room, Taehyung knows he’d shine a thousand times brighter when not restricted by simple shades of grey.

Still, even in monochrome, what’s happening is clear. Hoseok is definitely staring at him.

“Hang on, do you see what I’m seeing?” hisses Namjoon excitedly, and beside Tae, Jimin nods in agreement. Taehyung meanwhile wordlessly blinks, unable to tear his gaze from Hoseok’s, his entire body trembling as the dancer says something to his friends and begins to part the moving crowd. “Shit, he’s coming over here – get to your feet, Tae,” orders Namjoon, and without really thinking, Taehyung shakily stands up, realising as all the blood rushes to his head that alcohol was certainly not a good idea.

And then before he really knows what to do with himself, Hoseok is there, standing right in front of him. Up close he looks more beautiful, even in the shades of grey Taehyung has long grown accustomed to; his eyes are swimming with kindness and he’s smiling and he smells so good, some gorgeous sweet cologne, that Taehyung wants so badly to kiss him, to hold him, to have him.

“Hi Jimin,” Hoseok says brightly to Taehyung’s friend, who is still sitting down on the sofa, but Hoseok’s gaze quickly locks with Taehyung’s once more and then he says, astoundingly, “You’re Taehyung, right?”

Holy shit. Taehyung nods a little too quickly, every movement soaked in eagerness. He realises he’s desperate for some water, because his mouth has transformed into the Sahara Desert and there’s a lump in his throat the size of his fist. “I… uh, yeah. And you’re… Hoseok?” He tries to come across as if he doesn’t know this fact, but Hoseok can clearly see through him like glass.

Still, Hoseok nods, smiling warmly. “I was just wondering if you wanted to go grab a drink with me. If that’s not too presumptuous.”

Knowing full-well that if he drinks any alcohol he’ll probably spew up the contents of his dinner, because he’s so nervous right now he can barely function and he doesn’t rely on his body to act correctly in this situation, he remains silent, but offers a timid nod nonetheless. “Yeah!” he finally blurts after Namjoon smacks him on the back from where he’s still sitting. “Uh, I mean, not too presumptuous at all. Let’s go.”

Together they walk to the kitchen area, where drinks of all kinds of varieties are scattered across the crowded table. Hoseok begins to pour him a drink, but Taehyung quickly shakes his head and says that he can’t because he has to get up early in the morning, which is a total lie, but Hoseok shrugs and smiles and downs the drink himself. Taehyung can tell that Hoseok’s already a little tipsy, seeing as he’s smiling like an idiot and smoothly moving his shoulders to the beat of the music with apparently no care for the fact that no one else in here is dancing at all, but when Hoseok not-so-subtly checks him out, Taehyung ignores that fact. He decides that Hoseok must have had a crush on him all this time, too. At least, that’s what he wants to believe. So when Hoseok leans in close and asks if he wants to go talk somewhere quieter, Taehyung nods eagerly, convinced that this is the beginning of some magnificent love story.

But first, Hoseok has to go pee. “Wait here for me, okay?” He requests, and while he’s gone, Taehyung fills up a pint glass of water and downs it in seconds. He needs a clear head for whatever’s about to happen, and thankfully, the nerves subside more with every gulp. When Hoseok returns, Taehyung is surprised to see that the dancer is quick to grab his hand; he squeezes Taehyung’s firmly, then drags him out the kitchen, through the crowd and towards the corridor leading towards the bedrooms. On the way there, Taehyung catches Namjoon and Jimin’s eye from across the room, and he throws them an excited grin. They each offer a thumbs-up and Taehyung finds himself so freaking excited for whatever’s about to happen next. He doesn’t think this is real, that his crush is actually holding his hand right now, but whether it’s a dream and he’s about to wake up at any second, or if Hoseok is just tipsy and horny and eager for a quick make-out session with a total stranger, Taehyung’s going to relish every second.

They stand opposite each other in the corridor just off the main party area, each with their backs to the wall. “I just really wanted to get to know you,” Hoseok blurts all of a sudden. “Because I realised that term is coming to an end and I probably won’t see you much over summer, what with dance club not happening then, and…” He trails off and rubs the back of his neck with his hand. “I’m lame. Sorry.”

“No, you’re not,” Taehyung says quickly, his heart pounding. “I just…” He chuckles, then admits, “I thought you didn’t know I existed.”

“Of course I knew,” Hoseok tells him, eyes shining even in this greyness. “You’re one of the best dancers in the club. Is that what you’re studying?”

Taehyung shakes his head. “I’m actually doing Business and Economics. Dance is just a hobby.”

Hoseok wrinkles his nose. “Booooring,” he jokes, before offering an apologetic smile. “You know, I actually envy you. For me, dance is my life – it’s dance dance dance and never do anything else. I let it thoroughly consume me, and… I shouldn’t have.”

“You’ve got passion,” Taehyung tells him truthfully. “You’ve got fire inside, and that’s really special. It’s a good thing.”

Hoseok smiles sadly. “But, if I don’t succeed in dancing, I won’t succeed in anything.” He’s looking down at his feet now, and Taehyung makes the brave decision to lift his hand up to Hoseok’s cheek, forcing the dancer to look at him. He figures that if Hoseok trusts him enough to say something deep and personal within five minutes of properly knowing him, he trusts him enough to let Taehyung physically touch him. Taehyung’s glad of that fact; Hoseok’s skin feels spectacularly smooth beneath his fingers.

“Good thing you’re a fantastic dancer then, right?”

Hoseok looks at him for a second, then a smile spreads wide across his face. Taehyung notices that his teeth are blindingly bright. He decides that he likes Hoseok’s teeth quite a lot; they’re long and straight and heart-achingly cute, just like every other part of him. Taehyung slowly pulls away his hand, lifting his gaze up to Hoseok’s eyes. “Honestly,” adds Taehyung. “You’re the best dancer I’ve ever seen. Jimin says you’re always getting a hundred percent on your assignments.”

Hoseok cocks his head to one side, then. “You talk about me with Jimin?”

Taehyung feels a red blush spreading vividly across his cheeks. “A little,” he admits, shrugging.

The older boy takes a tiny step closer. “You know, you’re not so bad at dancing yourself. Not to mention the fact that you’re so good looking it actually makes me melt inside.”

Taehyung freezes in place, heart ramming violently against his ribcage. He’s always been told he’s attractive, but to hear Hoseok say that… it sucks all the air from his body and suddenly, he can barely breathe. “You really think so?”

Hoseok nods. “And you’re funny and charismatic and interesting and cool and—uh, are you okay?”

Taehyung is grinning like a maniac, not even trying to hide how flustered he’s become at Hoseok’s words. His mind is dizzy and hazy and swirling like a hurricane and he can’t quite believe that any of this is happening. “I’m fine,” he laughs breathlessly. “It’s just… You’re pretty amazing yourself, Hoseok. I hope you know that.”

Hoseok smiles warmly, then takes another step closer. “I’ve seen the way you look at me,” he says quietly. The music from the party is loud, bass pounding into the floor, but Taehyung catches every word. Maybe it’s because he’s staring at Hoseok’s lips. They’re soft-looking and pouty and he’s certain that, if he could see their colour, they’d be the perfect shade of pink. “I think you’re really cute, Taehyungie. I like you a lot.”

Taehyung’s stomach has begun to do backflips. He lets out a nervous cough, and asks, “But why?”

Hoseok chuckles softly. “You don’t believe that anyone can have a crush on you, do you?”

Taehyung gives a tiny shake of his head. Truthfully, he doesn’t. He’s kissed guys but never had a proper boyfriend, and he knows that he’s handsome, but he’s always wondered if anyone will ever fall for the real him. The him beneath the surface.

“Well, I do,” Hoseok continues. “I always have. I know I don’t know anything about you, but…” He closes the gap between them and lifts a hand to Taehyung’s waist. “Well, I’d like to know more. I want to know everything about you, Taehyung. Is that crazy?”

Taehyung shakes his head. “Not crazy at all,” he utters, his skin becoming electrified beneath Hoseok’s touch. He inhales deeply, looking from Hoseok’s firm hand up to his smiling eyes. “Your eyes are amazing up close, Hoseok. Even though I only see grey.”

“The same to you,” says Hoseok. “You make grey look like a rainbow.”

“So you can’t see colour, either?” As Hoseok confirms this by shaking his head, Taehyung tries to fight his smile, but this is wondrously good news for him. It means Hoseok hasn’t found his soulmate yet either. It means… well, he doesn’t want to get his hopes up, but it means there’s a slight possibility, even if one in seven billion, that he is Hoseok’s soulmate.

And that Hoseok is his, his, his.

He’s heard tales before, whispers passed fervently along the school corridor and lingering amongst the pages of every bedtime storybook, but in a universe void of colour, he never could have imagined that any colour, any colour at all, could be quite as beautiful as the boy standing before him. Hoseok’s hand presses at his waist, the warmth of it radiating through Taehyung’s shirt and into his skin, the movement soft and delicate and aching with promise. He thinks of the way the colour blue is described, but of course he can't picture it: all he knows is that it's splashed across the sky and swimming in every ocean, that some people have it in their eyes and others see it as a sad colour, melancholic yet brilliantly beautiful, and he wonders if he'd like the colour blue as much as his mother says he would. He lifts his head to look resolutely into Hoseok’s eyes and feels a notch of hope in his chest, wondering if he'll see it tonight. If he'll see blue and green and brown and pink and all the other shades and hues he's spent so much time learning about, but no time at all experiencing for himself.

Hoseok must be thinking the same thing, because he dips his head and tightens his grip on Taehyung’s waist so that the material of the latter’s shirt bunches up in his fingers, and he steps forward so that one leg is slotted between the younger’s thighs, his colourless eyes glistening as they flit back and forth between Taehyung’s own pair. “Do you want,” Hoseok murmurs, before inching forward so that the top of his thigh bumps dangerously close to Taehyung’s crotch, and the younger tenses up because he most definitely should not be getting a semi after such a minimal amount of contact. But then, with one hand still pinning Taehyung in place and the other lifting up to rake ribbons through the younger’s hair and the feeling of Hoseok’s fingertips sending shivers up his spine, the older student finishes his sentence, and Taehyung’s situation gets even more compromised. “Do you want to go somewhere more private?”

All the people in the vicinity suddenly seem all the more real, then, because Taehyung snaps from his trance long enough to realise that there's a drunk girl curled up asleep on the floor nearby, a guy at the other end of the corridor texting, and then a little further on, the entire freaking party. Taehyung looks at their shadow-like figures, each individual person difficult to make out in the shades of grey he sees him in, and decides that yes, fuck yes, he'd love to go somewhere more private, thank you very damn much. Somewhere he can drink Hoseok in, let the elder completely dominate him, where they can lick into each other’s mouths with hot breath dancing across untouched necks and fingers dancing too, in hair and down chests and fumbling enthusiastically with metal trouser buttons; somewhere they can melt entirely into one another. Nodding keenly at Hoseok’s request, he thinks about Hoseok’s slender yet muscular frame hovering over Taehyung’s body, denying him of pleasure before giving him all the pleasure in the world. The thought drives Taehyung wild, the air getting knocked from his body.

And then, of course, there's that Special Added Bonus to all this– the one undeniable fact that every kiss in Taehyung's life is another chance to find his soulmate. God knows he's tried. Kissing random boys in nightclubs in the hope that, when he opens his eyes, he'll see colour blossoming before his nose. Sadly, he's had no such luck so far, as proved by the fact that his world is still gloomily grey. But maybe Hoseok will be the one. Maybe, just one kiss with him will change his entire-

Hoseok’s hand slides from Taehyung’s waist round towards the small of his back, poising effortlessly between his body and the wall behind, and he uses this hand to hoist Taehyung closer. Their bodies are pressed together now, and Hoseok’s breath is warm on Taehyung’s lips as he whispers, quietly, “come with me.” His hand moves back to Taehyung’s and their fingers slide smoothly together; Hoseok’s hands are cool and calloused, Taehyung realises, as the older boy grips his hand and pulls him along. Tae doesn't at first know where they're going, but he's quick to find out; Hoseok yanks him down towards the quiet end of the corridor, and into the nearest bedroom.

The door slams shut behind them and there’s a moment where Taehyung tries to fumble for a light switch, because the room is pitch black and he can feel Hoseok’s presence but see no sight of him (and, god, he'd really like to be looking into Hoseok’s pretty dark eyes right now), but then suddenly Hoseok is eliminating the space between them once more and Taehyung forgets how to care. The elder presses him up against the wall before bending his frame ever so slightly to clasp Taehyung’s thighs in his long-fingered hands, the word “Up” tumbling from his lips in the form of a hitched, stilted breath. On instinct, Taehyung allows Hoseok to lift him upwards, locking his thighs around Hoseok’s waist and looping his arms around his neck. Then messily, hungrily, desperately, Hoseok crashes their parted mouths together.

His lips are chapped and swollen with liquor and Taehyung’s eyes immediately fall shut, his entire body trembling with anticipation. The feeling of Hoseok’s strong hands on his thighs, along with the combination of Hoseok’s chest against his and his tongue swiping wetly along Taehyung’s lower lip, makes Taehyung’s entire body shudder with lust. He runs his hands through Hoseok’s soft hair, parting his mouth for Hoseok’s tongue to slide against his own while the elder carries him back towards the bed, lowering himself down with Taehyung’s legs still hooked around his waist. Taehyung kisses him passionately, begins to roll his hips into Hoseok’s crotch. His body is on fire and Hoseok is such a good kisser that Taehyung allows himself to melt into him, cupping Hoseok’s face in his fingers. The night stretches delightfully ahead of them, kisses and love bites and the smell of sex lingering on the bedsheets, but for now, Taehyung doesn’t think about that. He just thinks about now, the moment; him and Hoseok and their hearts pounding in sync.

But then, like a surging tidal wave crashing over him, he's overcome with the sudden urge to stop, just for a heartbeat. He wants to look at Hoseok’s face. He wants to see the dark shine of his grey-coloured eyes, witness pupils dilated with want and lips glistening with Taehyung’s or maybe his own saliva; he wants to confirm to himself that this is happening, that his actual crush Jung Hoseok is sitting beneath his body, kissing him, wanting him. But most importantly, he simply wants to drink Hoseok in; the sight of him, the sheer magnificence.

And so, he pulls away from the elder’s lips and waits for just a moment, eyes still closed as he steels himself to be greeted with familiar black and white (because let's face it, meeting your soulmate when you're only nineteen is highly unrealistic, a fact that's been drilled into his brain pretty much since birth). He listens to the soft grunt of disapproval from a writhing Hoseok, and then, he opens his eyes.

And remembers that he can't see a single damn thing in this darkness.

“Taehyung-ah,” whines Hoseok, bucking his hips upwards into Taehyung’s body, begging for closeness. “Kiss me.”

“I- I have to check something,” Taehyung says, reaching for Hoseok’s waist in the gloom and pressing his fingertips into his skin, burying beneath his shirt. Hoseok’s skin is smooth and warm and Taehyung wants to explore the valleys and wonderlands of him, the grooves in his stomach and the flat plains of his chest. But he also wants to see colour more than anything in his life, his whole body aching for it now, and despite what he's been told multiple times, he can't deny the flicker of hope in his heart that Hoseok might be the one. And he supposes, as always, it’s not the fact that he wants to see colour. It’s the fact that he really freaking wants Jung Hoseok to be his soulmate.

“It can wait,” Hoseok mumbles, gasping beneath Taehyung’s weight, because the younger has just begun to squeeze his thighs ever so slightly against Hoseok’s hips. In the dark his lips find Tae’s once more, brushing against the younger’s before Taehyung decidedly pulls away. He wants Hoseok more than anything, lust bubbling in his lower stomach and his skin flushing with arousal, but some things are more important.

“Hoseokie-hyung,” he sighs. “Don’t you want to know if we’re soulmates?”

Hoseok freezes, his hand finding Taehyung’s hair and sliding effortlessly through its soft texture. “Baby,” Hoseok utters, his voice almost inaudible, “That’s unlikely.”

Taehyung shifts off his body, getting shakily to his feet. He still can’t see Hoseok in this windowless room, but he can feel the blow like a hit to the stomach. “Unlikely?” He repeats, choosing to ignore that Hoseok called him baby, a fact that any other time would send him into meltdown. “Yeah, of course it is, but it’s worth a try, isn’t it? And, besides…” He steps backwards slowly until he bumps into the wall, and he throws up a hand to search for the light switch. “I want to look at you when you fuck me.” He wouldn’t usually say something so forward, but if that’s what it’s going to take to make Hoseok let him switch the light on, then so be it. Besides, it’s true.

Hoseok’s sigh is loud against the quiet of the room. “Just don’t get upset if we’re not soulmates,” he says gently, and Taehyung feels him coming closer. The elder brings his hand to Taehyung’s cheek, his fingers softly grazing Tae’s skin. “If you don’t get your hopes up, you won’t be disappointed. I’d love for us to be soulmates, but… well, we’re only nineteen. Some people go their whole lives without finding their soulmates. I really doubt we’ve found ours at a party when we’re both off our faces on tequila.”

“I’m not actually drunk,” Taehyung admits with a frown, although he knows Hoseok can’t see it. “I only did one shot and then I downed loads of water so, really, it’s like I never even drank at all.”

“Baby boy, listen.” Hoseok’s hand is still on Taehyung’s cheek, his thumb carefully rubbing the skin by his ear. “I’ve kissed a lot of guys,” he confesses quietly, “and never have I wanted someone to be my soulmate more than you. I think you’re really special, Taehyung-ah. But… I guess I don’t have a lot of hope for the universe. It keeps fucking me over, making me fall for people and then taking them away from me. I hate it. I hate this empty, colourless world.”

“But you have to have hope,” Taehyung blurts, and then he takes a deep breath because he’s finally located the light switch. His fingers rest on its surface, eager to press yet terrified all the same. “Hope keeps the world turning. Didn’t anyone ever tell you that?”

He flicks the light switch and, sure enough, his entire world explodes into colour.

He didn't think it would actually happen. The colours… they blossom before his eyes and it’s all so strikingly beautiful that even the boring colours, as decided by his parents, the deep browns and the creams and the nondescript white of the ceiling overhead, are the most incredible things he has ever witnessed, bright and brilliant. He sees the yellow glow of the round beige lampshade and the pale duck-egg blue of the bedroom walls, the dark tan of his own skin-tone and the lighter shade of Hoseok’s, and speaking of Hoseok he sees the flush of pink in his cheeks and the soft rosy redness of his swollen lips and the dark brown hue of his hair. He sees the elder’s eyes as they soften with something unrecognisable, perhaps shock, but Taehyung is too busy clamping his hand over his own mouth to stop himself from screaming out to try and decipher what that might be. He pulls away from Hoseok and crosses to the other side of the room, pressing his fingertips against the gorgeous shade of the wall. He doesn’t know what this colour is called, but it’s already his favourite. Actually, no – they’re all his favourites, each more beautiful than the last.

“Oh my god, hyung, look at how stunning this is—” He cries, and then he literally does cry, tears slipping quickly from his eyes and onto his shirt which, when he looks down, is a mesh of red and purple that’s stunningly gorgeous. He steps towards the vanity and stares at his own reflection, a reflection filled with colour and not a drop of grey in sight, and he’s so overcome with emotion that he looses his footing and clumsily falls to the floor. Hoseok swoops in and attempts to grip his arms to stop him from hitting the ground but he’s slightly too late, and Taehyung collapses heavily into his lap.

Hoseok’s voice is rushed, panicked. “Taehyung, Taehyungie-yah, do you…”

“Yes, hyung, yes,” Taehyung cries, and his lips stretch into a watery smile. He looks up at Hoseok, his head leaning against the elder’s chest, and grips the fabric of his bright red t-shirt. He’s clinging to Hoseok, his heart blooming as he thinks of all the places they’ll go together, all the things they’ll see, the blue of the sky and the pink of the cherry blossoms in the local park, things he’s only heard stories about. “It’s so beautiful, isn’t it?” And in his heart he hears it, over and over again, the truth of what this means. I found you I found you I found you.

But Hoseok is frowning now, and he sharply sucks in a breath before lifting his chin to look at the ceiling overhead. He’s holding back tears, mouth pressed firmly into a thin line. Realisation creeps into Taehyung’s bones and he begins to cry harder, his entire body trembling as Hoseok cradles him loosely. “You… you can’t—” But maybe… we didn't find each other.

“You shouldn’t lie,” Hoseok blurts grimly, his arms stiffening around Taehyung’s body. “Don’t tell me you can see colours when you can’t. Don’t do that, Taehyungie.”

“I’m not lying,” whispers Taehyung, craning his neck to look up at him. “This isn’t how it works. This isn’t right.” He sits up properly, kissing Hoseok’s fallen tears, his glowing caramel skin tasting of sadness and salt. “You’re my soulmate, but I’m not yours? That doesn’t make any sense, that doesn’t…”

Hoseok’s arms come to life and wrap rapidly, longingly, around Taehyung’s body, embracing the younger boy tightly. He gathers Taehyung up like a blanket, bundled warmly in his arms. “Are you sure, Hoseok-hyung?” Taehyung gasps, curling into his chest. “Are you sure you don’t see the colours? Maybe you just need to wait a while, maybe you’ll…” But he trails off because all the stories and the research, everything that’s ever been discovered and written about the topic of soulmates, states that the change is instant. One second, you’re living your life in shades of black and white and grey - the next you’re enveloped by colour, a sudden shift in the fabric of the universe, like falling in love.

Hoseok shakes his head in response to Taehyung’s attempts to make things better, and sighs, frustrated. When he speaks, his voice aches with disappointment, although disappointment would be the understatement of the century – he sounds crushed. “I see nothing at all, Taehyungie.”

“But I see everything,” yells Taehyung, annoyed now. He scrambles to his feet and fishes out his phone, googling rapidly and squinting at the screen through tear-stained eyes. He tries to search for an answer but about ten seconds later he feels Hoseok’s bony fingers clamping around his wrists, and he sadly puts away his phone because he knows nothing can be done right now. All he knows is that things like this don't happen - it's an error, an anomaly in the universe. But why them? Why do things have to be different, difficult, for them?

“Hey,” whispers Hoseok softly now. “Don’t cry. It’s okay.”

“You’re telling me not to cry but you’re crying yourself. You’re a contradiction, Jung Hoseok.”

“Maybe I am,” Hoseok chuckles sadly, and as he lifts his hand to caress Taehyung’s face once more, his eyes linger down towards Taehyung’s lips once more. “Come on, let’s keep kissing.”

“Are you sure?” Taehyung wants so badly to kiss Hoseok, not only to make the pain go away but because it’s all he's ever wanted for so long, but is there any point in falling for someone who, by the laws of the universe, will never love you back? “Because I like kissing you a lot, hyung, but…”

“But you’re not my soulmate,” Hoseok finishes. “And that’s okay. Because I still like you. I’ve liked you from the moment I first saw you, and that’s not going to change. Did you know that, Taehyung? That I liked you from the moment I first saw you? In this dull grey world, you shine so bright, Taehyungie. Like a little twinkling star.” He boops Taehyung on the nose as he says this, then pulls him in for a cuddle. “So… let’s just… try it, yeah?”

They sit on the edge of the bed, and when they kiss this time it’s softer and slower, neither of them wanting to find out what will happen when the night draws to a close and their lips have to inevitably part. Hoseok’s mouth shapes itself around Taehyung’s and the older boy grips his shirt to pull him closer; clothes are tugged off and jeans unbuckled; fingers slip across expanses of skin. Hoseok’s breath is hot on Taehyung’s exposed neck, the older boy covering Taehyung’s frame with his and hovering there just for a moment, using a strong hand to guide Taehyung’s hips upwards and his finger drifting close to his entrance. Taehyung shudders, looks into deep brown eyes before letting his own pair flutter closed, giving himself up to Hoseok. Their hushed moans fill the night and in between it all, Hoseok whispers into Taehyung’s ear a promise, a “you seeing colours doesn’t change anything”, a longing for them to continue seeing each other. Although Taehyung may not be right for Hoseok, Hoseok is certainly right for him, so he accepts Hoseok’s request – hoping with all his heart that maybe, one day, Hoseok will see colour too.

As the hours slip into days and the days into weeks, Taehyung continues to see magnificent colour. It brightens every day and is better in daylight, he decides; the sky is a pale wash of blue, the sea green ocean like a miracle objectified before his eyes. The pebbles on the beach glitter beneath the yellow sun and the ice cream Namjoon buys him one warm Thursday is a brilliant shade of red, staining Taehyung’s lips with the colour of strawberries.

“So, he’s still not seeing it,” Namjoon states as they settle on a bench and look out towards the horizon, the ocean lapping waves against the vast expanse of beach as the evening sun hangs low in the sky.

Taehyung shakes his head and looks from the bench itself, which has been painted in yellow in an attempt to brighten up the place (yet is cracked and peeling at the edges), to Namjoon, whose hair is dyed an adorable shade of mint green. Namjoon dyes his hair often, by way of expressing himself, but this is the first time Taehyung’s been able to appreciate it. He lets his gaze fall from his best friend’s hair to his eyes and says, “Nope. He still sees grey.”

“I’ve forgotten what that’s like,” Namjoon sighs, leaning back against the bench. A dog scampers by with a bright red collar, catching Taehyung’s attention. The owner of the dog follows shortly behind, a woman dressed in an emerald summer dress with the most magnificent auburn hair Taehyung’s ever seen, not that he’s seen a lot of auburn hair in his life. Namjoon follows where he’s looking and says philosophically, “You’ll forget too, in time.”

“I still dream in black and white, sometimes,” Taehyung chuckles. “It’s like my body doesn’t believe what’s happening.”

“That’ll fade with time, too,” Namjoon laughs. “Trust me. I saw grey every time I closed my eyes, at first. But it made the colour even more gorgeous whenever I opened them. Like seeing it for the first time all over again.” Namjoon’s first ever kiss, at the tender age of sixteen, was with his current boyfriend Seokjin. That was three years ago, and they’re both still together and blissfully content, the two of them seeing the world in colour. Taehyung is happy for him, but after all that's happened with Hoseok, he's become increasingly more bitter about the perfect easy love story the universe handed to them on a silver platter.

Still, Taehyung isn’t surprised that they’re still so happy. That’s why soulmates exist: you’re born to be together, created that way. You stay together because that’s what the universe wants. It brought you together and it’ll never pull you apart.

Which is why Taehyung’s relationship with Hoseok is brittle, fragile, easily breakable, and every other synonym of the word – and that’s why Taehyung needs Namjoon’s help. Hours spent scouring the internet has confirmed to Taehyung that this has never happened before, at least not knowingly, and when google isn’t the answer, the wisest person Taehyung knows, Kim Namjoon, most certainly is.

“How long has it been now?” Namjoon asks then as Taehyung’s gaze locks to a kite flying up high against a backdrop of fading sky. It dives and dances across the world, rainbow-coloured and completely attention-snatching. Taehyung stares at it like a puppy dog, enamoured by the way the colour zips across the cloudless sky, and he’s only dragged from his trance by Namjoon nudging him gently. “Since you kissed Hoseok?”

“On Saturday, it’ll be a month,” Taehyung shrugs. The kite falls rapidly to the ground, the summer breeze no longer existent. He has finished his ice cream now, the feel of it cold on his tongue.

Namjoon falls silent for a long time, thinking. “I think, if he was going to see colour, he’d have seen it by now,” he considers after a few moments.

“Stop,” Taehyung snaps suddenly. “Don’t say that, Namjoon-hyung. Please. I’m sure he’ll grow to see it eventually. I mean, we’re meant to be together – that’s how soulmates work. He’s mine and I’m his.”

Admittedly, Namjoon seems stumped. In this world, soulmates always, always, come in pairs. You see colours together or you don’t see them at all. That’s how it’s always worked, how it’ll always be. “Maybe…” Namjoon says a few times, before faltering and falling silent. The two of them watch as colour bleeds into the sky, red blending with orange and yellow like a kid letting loose with a paint palette.

“It’s beautiful,” muses Taehyung, “and nothing can take that away from me. But… I want Hoseok to see that beauty too. I want him to become devoured by it. He deserves it, you know? He deserves to see the beauty in the world that so many others see.”

“Maybe he already sees it,” Namjoon says. “Maybe he sees all the beauty in your eyes, or something. Maybe he just wants you and doesn’t care about anything else.” He gives a shrug of his shoulders and slings an arm around Taehyung’s neck, pulling him close. “Things are going well, aren’t they, Tae? You don’t think the universe made a wrong decision?”

Taehyung shakes his head. “The only wrong decision the universe made was not letting Hoseok see colour, because of course we’re soulmates. We have to be. We… we’re so good together.” Although they’ve only been together for a matter of weeks, their relationship just keeps improving; they spend every day together, either tangled in sheets or watching each other dance or going for walks through the endless city streets. And the nights are even better, the times where they can just curl up into each other and lazily kiss and hold each other for hours, whispering in the darkness about all the wonderful things and all the things they want to change. They play video games and go to hidden little coffee shops and create shitty inside jokes and talk, just talk and talk and talk, and for the most part, they're happy. God, they're so damn happy.

“Has Hoseok told you it bothers him?” Namjoon asks now. “Not seeing colour, I mean?”

Again, Taehyung gives a shake of his head. Hoseok is supportive of the fact that Taehyung can finally view colour, taking him on strolls through the parks and pointing out all the summertime flowers (those which he assumes to have the prettiest colours, but of course he cannot know for this certain until Taehyung confirms it); popping into bakeries simply to buy the cupcake with the sickliest-looking icing as a treat for Tae; teasingly coating his lips in the craziest shades of lipstick and allowing Taehyung to kiss it right off (this is a game Taehyung has grown rather fond of. Hoseok looks sexy as hell in red lipstick; even sexier when it’s smudged across his mouth and cheeks and the column of his neck, and lingering on Taehyung’s lips too). But there’s always something there, lurking beneath the surface; a sadness, a remorse flickering in Hoseok’s eyes every time he sees Taehyung’s own pair light up, and though Hoseok forces a smile and laughs and pretends it’s all okay, Taehyung can see through him like a freaking window.

"Not outwardly," Taehyung answers, “But I can tell it affects him badly.” The sky is gloriously red now, and he pulls out his phone to snap a quick photograph, but there’s only one person he’d want to show these colours to, and it’s a person who can’t even see them. “I keep telling him to have hope that one day it’ll change, and I think maybe he’s starting to actually feel that hope. But, there’s a problem.”

“What is it?”

“It’s me who’s losing hope, hyung.”

Namjoon reaches over and pats him comfortingly on the thigh. “Don’t lose hope. It’ll happen one day. One day you’ll be kissing and he’ll open his eyes and see colour and it’ll be like Christmas and your birthday and a thousand puppies arriving at your doorstep for endless cuddles, all at once. Everything will be alright, Tae-Tae, just wait and see. And remember – the universe has a funny way of working these things out, in the end.”

Taehyung nods and looks out towards the fading light, the streaks of pink and midnight blue inching into the sky. The problem is, he doesn't want to wait till the ‘end’ – maybe he's just a baby, naïve and dumb and currently on the verge of a temper tantrum, but he wants it right now. Before, he had the certainty that one day, eventually, he'd find his soulmate, because everyone does. But now, he's done waiting around.

Taehyung changes the subject then, asking Namjoon what a particular colour is called, because even though he’s been pouring over guides for weeks, he keeps forgetting them in his anguish-filled state (“that dark blue colour, in the sky. It’s kind of blackish, with a bit of purple. Is there a name for that?” “It’s indigo, Tae. One of the colours of the rainbow.” “Oh. Of course”). But still, he can’t stop thinking about Hoseok. Maybe Namjoon’s right. Maybe things like this simply take time.

What Taehyung couldn’t have bargained for, though, was another person’s kiss splashing colour into Hoseok’s life – a soulmate other than him.

“New game,” Hoseok announces, his mouth transforming into a cheeky heart-shaped grin as he turns to face his boyfriend. Taehyung is stretched out in bed, assuming the starfish position with only a single cotton sheet strewn across his hips to cover his modesty. Propped up by pillows in the centre of their comfy double bed, arms flung out over his head and a smirk gracing his lips, he’s been enjoying watching his boyfriend get dressed for the past ten minutes. There’s something about the way the light from the window of their bedroom filters into their apartment, painting everything golden, including Hoseok’s toned back and butt and legs.

Taehyung has been offering helpful advice so that Hoseok can successfully choose an outfit that doesn’t horribly clash in colour, and Hoseok has been laughing at Taehyung’s various exclamations of disgust, but now Hoseok is standing in a cosy winter jumper and black jeans and he’s finally fully dressed. Taehyung, still openly naked (needless to say, he’s a whole lot more comfortable with Hoseok now, which isn’t surprising as they’ve been together a whole six months), lifts one eyebrow. “New game?” He asks. “If it’s as fun as last night’s, I’m in for a treat.” He wriggles his eyebrows suggestively, and Hoseok laughs.

“I pick out a shirt, guess which colour it is, and if I get it right, you get to hack my Twitter account and post something incriminating.”

Taehyung grins. “Oh, brilliant. Your grandma follows you on Twitter, doesn’t she?”

“Actually, she unfollowed me after Jungkook got hold of my phone, the cheeky little shit,” Hoseok snorts. His Twitter account is mainly empty, except for a few retweets from pages dedicated to dancing. But due to his popularity at university, he has over six hundred followers, a modest amount for someone who never posts anything. This’ll be fun, Taehyung thinks, as Hoseok wrinkles his nose. He muses aloud: “Pretty sure grandma blocked me, come to think of it.”

Taehyung chuckles softly, but feels that familiar pang in his chest; that ha ha ha this is all so funny, but you don't seriously think you're going to win, do you? Nervously, Tae says, “I suppose this game is a testament to how confident you are in your colour guessing abilities?”

Hoseok nods proudly, grinning as he stands at the foot of the bed. He's so blissfully unaware of Taehyung’s trepidation that it makes the younger’s heart hurt. “I’m pretty sure I can tell most colours just by their shade, now.”

“Ah,” nods Taehyung, though he knows that’s total bullshit. When his life was void of colour, he tried it hundreds of times, attempting to differentiate between various shades and tones. But it’s impossible. Whether it’s light or dark or somewhere in between, grey is always the same. “Well, Smarty-Pants, what do I have to do if I lose?”

“If you lose, you have to kiss me wherever I want,” Hoseok announces cockily, and Taehyung rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling too. Luckily, he happens to quite enjoy kissing Jung Hoseok - it's one of his favourite activities.

They go through a few rounds and Hoseok actually gets all of them right (however, Taehyung knows it’s not because of an ability to identify different colours, but rather one to memorise which colour goes with which shirt from what Taehyung’s told him in the past). While Hoseok stands there, Taehyung crawls to the end of the bed, first kissing Hoseok in between his thighs, then on his belly-button, and then on his neck. When Hoseok finally gets one wrong, Taehyung lies to him, simply because he enjoys kissing him so much; luckily, this time Hoseok wants a kiss on the mouth, and so they scramble backwards on the bed, collapsing into pillows in preparation.

Taehyung pushes their lips firmly together, the two of them closing their eyes for a brief moment. “Can you see the colours yet?” Taehyung asks hopefully, as he does after every kiss, but Hoseok shakes his head.

“You know I can’t, Tae,” he whispers, squeezing the younger’s hand. “But you can describe them to me, okay?” They settle in each other’s arms, Taehyung lying on top of Hoseok, his leg slotted in-between his boyfriend’s. Although it’s impossible to properly describe a colour, Taehyung likes to talk about the way they make him feel, in the hope that Hoseok will feel that way too when he eventually gets to see them for himself. Hoseok listens quietly while Taehyung talks, the younger thumbing the soft material of Hoseok’s woolly jumper and relishing his soft, sweet little breaths. Today, Taehyung has chosen to talk about pink.

“Pink is in the cherry blossoms and babies’ blankets and pale ice cream,” he begins. “It’s in your lips and in mine and it’s soft and gentle, flushing in your cheeks when you’re embarrassed. It is safety and comfort, and it is Jinnie-hyung’s favourite colour, which probably says a lot about it since he’s the most protective one of all of us. It’s known as a girl’s colour, but we all know that’s a load of bullshit.”

“That’s my man,” Hoseok interrupts then, his voice thick with a stilted yawn. “Gender roles can eat my ass.”

“Ooh, can I eat your ass, too?” Taehyung requests with a teasing snort, and Hoseok looks at him with narrowed eyes before slapping him hard on his arm. His teasing hit leaves a pink mark on Taehyung’s tan skin, but of course Hoseok can’t see that.

“You already did,” he says, deadpan. “Last night, remember?”

Taehyung feels his cheeks turning vivid pink at the memory, but he knows Hoseok can’t see it, so he simply offers a cocky smirk. Thinking about last night – Hoseok’s hand enclosing round his throat, fingers clamping just tight enough to feel his pulse; the elder’s lips slick and swollen and tasting of the hot cocoa they’d shared in the evening, blankets bundled cosily around their legs as they binge-watched Netflix before the inevitable kissing begun; Taehyung’s back arching as he squirmed with arousal beneath Hoseok’s touch – sends butterflies straight to his stomach. They were together the entire day, as usual, a fact that’s only improved recently now that they actually share an apartment (they’re still students after all, so it’s tiny and grotty and shitty, but it’s perfect for them. Being together is perfect for them).

Hoseok meanwhile explodes into raucous laughter, his eyes turning into crescent shapes like last night’s moon and his entire body shaking with amusement. “Uh… anyway,” Taehyung continues, clearing his throat above the noise and shaking his head to dispel the memory – for now. He cuddles into Hoseok and says, “Pink is soft and lovely and a lot like you. Although, I have to say… if you were a colour, hyung, you’d be yellow.”

“Yellow?” says Hoseok, wrinkling his nose once more as his laughter immediately cuts out. “I’ve read about yellow in books. Pus is yellow. Vomit is yellow.” He visibly shudders, the dramatic movement making his entire body shake. Taehyung laughs, wobbling on top of him; Hoseok grips his arms to steady him, then lifts up his nose to give Taehyung a quick Eskimo kiss.

“Sunshine is yellow, though, Hobi-hyung,” states Taehyung when he pulls away. “And sunshine is the best, brightest thing in the world. It kind of… stabs at you. Not in a bad way, but like a shock of lightning, heating up your entire body and bathing you in colour. It happens when you least expect it, like when the sun creeps out from behind the clouds. It dances upon your skin and lights you up and makes you feel warm all over, and that’s what you do. You light me up.”

Hoseok’s lips are curled into a smile, his eyes drooping with sleepiness, and Taehyung stares at the little brown mole on his upper lip, the mole the younger has kissed a thousand times and will never get tired of kissing. He wishes his kiss could unlock the beauty of the world for Hoseok, but sadly, there’s a possibility of that never happening. Taehyung looks down at Hoseok now, at the hint of sadness swimming in his eyes – because it’s always there when they talk about colour, really, though Taehyung tries his best to ignore it – and that’s when he makes his decision. Although to be truthful, the decision has been there all along, lingering in the back of Taehyung’s mind like a bad childhood memory you want to be rid of.

Still, as he softly asks Hoseok to get back into bed with him, to stay for just a few more hours rather than head out to buy groceries as he'd originally planned, the decision is brought to the forefront of his mind and confirmed like the flick of a switch. It happens instantaneously and there's a bubble of fear in his stomach but he pushes it away and says not yet, not yet, not yet. They'll have today. He'll be selfish for today, or maybe the rest of this week. But after that, it's time to do what's right. He’s always known this is what he wants to do, what he has to do, but for the past six months, he’s been putting it off.

But as the morning sunlight falls through the window and onto Hoseok’s face, Taehyung decides that he’s not going to do that now. He’s going to give Hoseok the shot at happiness he deserves - the life he’s oh so worthy of having.

And to do that, they have to break up.

It’s done through screams in the middle of the night, through curse words clawing at throats and glares made of barbed wire, through confusion and sorrow and the lashing of rain against the window, with the unmistakeable sound of two once-intertwined hearts splitting right down the middle.

It begins with Hoseok returning late one afternoon and with Taehyung finding the optometrist’s leaflet crumpled up in the pocket of his winter coat. “You went to see an eye doctor?” he asks bitterly, letting the leaflet be crushed in his fist. Hoseok whips round from where he’d begun to make two mugs of coffee at the kitchen counter, and stares at him. His cheeks are pink from the cold and his coat is specked with snow and his eyes glint with something sad.

“I figured there must be something wrong,” Hoseok shrugs, before turning back to the counter and beginning to stir milk into the coffee. But the clink of the spoon on the edge of his mug is like nails on a chalkboard to Tae, and the younger boy tenses up, gripping the side of the counter.

“You didn’t tell me you were going,” he murmurs, and his knee knocks painfully against the cupboard below. He glances at the screwed-up ball of paper in his hand, then sets it down on the counter. “Well? What did they say?”

“She said there’s nothing wrong with my eyes,” Hoseok confesses. “I just… haven’t kissed my soulmate, that’s all.” There’s a painful silence, and then he adds: “She said that it does happen – it’s not entirely unheard of. Most of the people who make appointments are people who think they should be seeing colour, but aren’t. She always tells them the same thing. To keep looking.” He chuckles but it’s entirely humourless, and he hangs his head and shakes it sadly. “I’m sorry, Tae, I-”

“Right,” Taehyung interjects, but something uncomfortable is coiling within him, a weird mixture of anger and annoyance and most of all, undeniable pain. “So… you’re clearly worried, aren’t you? I mean, you wouldn’t have gone to the doctor if you didn’t think something was wrong…”

Hoseok’s head snaps up. “Well, wouldn’t you be worried? If the love of your goddamn life supposedly isn’t your soulmate?”

Taehyung frowns, or perhaps he’d been frowning all along. “Well of course, but…” He sighs, picking up the leaflet once more, and there’s something about the way he takes it between his fingers that sends a stab of pain into his hand; a papercut. He cries out, “Shit!” and as it starts to leak blood, Hoseok comes over and takes his hands. “You cut yourself?” Hoseok asks with a concerned whisper, and Taehyung’s eyes are welling with tears as he lifts his head to meet Hoseok’s gaze. There’s a second’s silence, a heartbeat of uncertainty, and then:

“Hoseok, I don’t think we should be together.”

And another silence. And another.

Hoseok’s face transforms as the words sink in, crumpling with a sudden despair; he begins to breathe heavily, his breaths sharp and ragged, and he’s squeezing Taehyung’s hands so hard they turn white in his grasp. The blood trickles onto Hoseok’s hands and then he gasps and yells and shoves Taehyung’s hands away, and he begins to shout, and this is how it happens, how it continues to happen.

It begins with Hoseok returning late one afternoon and with Taehyung finding the optometrist’s leaflet crumpled up in the pocket of his winter coat, but it ends six hours later, with Hoseok slamming out of their apartment and out of Taehyung’s life and with Taehyung collapsing to the floor, praying with every inch of his aching body that he’s made the right decision.

He feels small, naïve, vulnerable. Hoseok taught him how to love, how to be loved, but now he doesn’t know anything else; his world still blooms with glisteningly bright colour, from the gloomy indigo of night to the blood within his body to the blueness in his heart, but it is void of the nicest thing of all, the loveliest thing he’s ever seen. Hoseok is the brightest and best thing in his life, the most vibrant and beautiful, and now he’s gone. Taehyung’s universe may as well be grey, again – as dismally grey as his goddamn aching heart.

They were perfectly happy. Of course they were. But sometimes, happy isn’t enough. Just because Hoseok was happy, that doesn’t mean he couldn’t have been happier. He could have been with his soulmate, and all Taehyung ever wanted was for Hoseok to be the happiest he could be. Sometimes, that means giving someone up.

And often, that means giving them up to someone else.

Taehyung sees Hoseok in everything, now. He sees his skin when the late morning sun glows on bronze-coloured pebbles on the beach; he sees his cheeks in the pale pink petals of flowers in the park; he sees his face amongst crowds. He hears his laughter catching on the breeze, feels his chest with every rise and fall of the fresh spring air, and every time he looks at the colour yellow, he sees him. Just him, in his all-consuming, magnificently bright, vibrant, golden glory.

He longs to feel Hoseok’s fingers in his hair, the warmth between their chests, their in-jokes causing laughter to bubble in their bellies. But when Taehyung hears the rumour, a whisper passed through mutual friends, that Hoseok can see colour now, he wonders if he’s made the right decision.

But seeing Hoseok’s widened smile a few months later, as he cuddles up close to his soulmate, confirms to him that he did.

Hoseok’s boyfriend’s name is Yoongi.

It’s late spring when Taehyung sees them together for the first time, sunlight bathing on their skin as they walk hand in hand across campus. Min Yoongi is at every dance recital, next to Hoseok in the cafeteria every lunchtime, curling into his chest the way Taehyung so often did. Yoongi is smaller than Taehyung, more delicate, paler and more dainty somehow; Taehyung watches him seething with jealously, but then he drags his gaze to Hoseok, sees him laughing with lit-up eyes and feels his heart clench in his chest and he knows that he did the right thing.

Maybe.

Or maybe fucking not.

Taehyung dates other people to try and get over him. He kisses guys at parties and even has a fling with Hoseok’s friend Jungkook, but things get awkward and messy and he finds himself better off alone. So for now, that’s how he’ll stay. Alone.

Namjoon tells him to be thankful that he can still see colour, but over time, Taehyung realises that it’s not the colour he so much adored – it’s Hoseok. It wasn’t the pretty flowers they spotted on the walks they’d go on, but the way Hoseok’s eyes would light up like stars when he pointed them out to Tae; it wasn’t the sickly green icing of the cupcakes Hoseok would so often buy him, but the laughter pouring from the elder’s mouth when Taehyung’s eyes widened at how bright they were; it was never the red lipstick worn by Hoseok when they’d play one of their many silly little games, but the feel of his soft lips moulding around Tae’s own, their eyes fluttering closed as they melted together in total harmony.

And he supposes that’s kind of the whole point. If you can’t be with the person you love the most, does it really matter how you see the rest of the world?

“I spoke to Hoseok,” Namjoon says one day as Taehyung’s moping outside the lecture theatre before their next lesson, and Taehyung bitterly nods. There’s nothing he can say so he slurps his carton of juice and tries to remove the lump in his throat whilst avoiding Namjoon’s gentle, sympathetic gaze. “The rumours were right.”

Taehyung freezes in place, chewing on the straw. “He can definitely see colour?”

Namjoon slings an arm around Taehyung’s shoulder. “Complimented me on my pink hair,” he shrugs, tugging Taehyung close. “He mentioned you.”

“He did?”

“He said the colour pink was as nice as you said. Anyway, he wanted to ask if you were free to talk, sometime.”

Taehyung shakes his head. “No, he’s… he’s with Yoongi. His soulmate. He’s happy.”

“Talking doesn’t equate to getting back together, Tae.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think I’d be able to stop myself. If I got that close to him, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from throwing my arms around him and never letting go, or something. I think it’s best that I just never speak to him again. Otherwise…”

“What about you, Tae?” Namjoon interrupts, pulling his arm away. He stares at Taehyung.

“What do you mean?” asks Taehyung, frowning. The corridor is scattered with students walking to lessons, their footfalls loud and their chatter louder, but it feels silent between them; Namjoon lets out a sigh and puts a firm hand on Taehyung’s shoulder, and that's how Taehyung knows he's about to go into Full Rant Mode. This is reaffirmed when Namjoon bends slightly so that he's level with Tae, and looks his friend dead in the eye.

“What about your happiness, huh? You punk? What about you? You’re always going on about Hoseok’s happiness and him being happy and everything going well in his life, but what about yours? You keep forgetting that you’re just as important a person as him. You need to put yourself first, sometime, okay idiot? God, just look at yourself – you’re fucking miserable, Tae. And it’s all because you’re too damn selfless for your own good.”

Taehyung’s mouth is hanging open, keeps closing then opening again like the mouth of a goldfish, and he’s just about to attempt to form some kind of articulate response when Seokjin appears at Namjoon’s side. “Hey Strawberry Frosting,” Seokjin says with a mischievous grin as the elder straightens up.

“That’s his new nickname for me,” Namjoon snorts, rolling his eyes. “Don’t worry – I find it as weird and cringey as you do. Not as bad as the last one, though.”

“Velvet Midnight had a nice ring to it, don’t you think?” asks Seokjin, and Taehyung thinks back to Namjoon’s previous venture; a deep inky blue-black. Unsurprisingly, Namjoon dyed his hair again within a matter of weeks. Taehyung has long been a victim of frequent cringe attacks from Seokjin’s unyielding sappiness, but due to the current circumstances of his miserable life, he can't help but wish his own soulmate was here to give him terrible nicknames, too. Something like Chocolate Caramel, based on his brown hair colour.

“It didn't have a nice ring to it, it was embarrassing as hell,” complains Namjoon. “Sometimes I wish you couldn’t see colour, Kim Seokjin.” He's joking, but when he spots the look on Taehyung’s face, his smile instantly vanishes. “Shit, Tae, I didn’t mean it like that-”

“It’s fine,” Taehyung snaps. Then, more calmly, “It's fine.”

“I bought you guys coffee,” Seokjin butts in, trying to dispel the awkward air that’s formed between them. “Cinnamon latte for Tae-Tae and caramel macchiato for Strawberry Frosting. Enjoy!”

"Namjoon," Taehyung says slowly. “Taking Hoseok away from his soulmate would be cruel and selfish. How would you feel if someone tried to take Jinnie-hyung away from you?”

“Ah, but Tae,” says Namjoon, “you're forgetting that you had Hoseok first.”

They’re allowed into the lecture theatre, then, and as they take their seats, Namjoon fills Seokjin in on everything that’s going on with Hoseok and Taehyung, while the latter sits there feeling shitty, but thinking about everything Namjoon said. Did he have Hoseok first, really? Because even though he kissed Hoseok’s lips before Hoseok ever met his soulmate, it doesn't feel like he ever really did have him at all. In this universe, you're not allowed to decide for yourself who’s yours and who’s not; you're given who the universe decides to give you, and you can try and defy it all you like, but in the end, things will never work out the way you want them to. If the universe wanted them to be together, it would have given Hoseok the ability to see colour as soon as they shared their first kiss. Not now, over a year later, after kissing someone entirely different.

Torturing himself further, Taehyung thinks about Hoseok kissing Yoongi and his heart shreds itself to pieces. He wonders where they had their first kiss. Was it somewhere pretty? Did colour bloom before Hoseok’s eyes like paint being splashed across the world, everything becoming as magnificently bright as him? Did they kiss in front of a sunset or beneath the cherry blossom trees or just as the spring showers caused a rainbow to stretch across the sky? Wherever it happened, Taehyung hopes it was somewhere nice. He hopes Hoseok marvelled at the colours and cried at the sight and that Yoongi kissed away his tears and held him as he sobbed, because Taehyung knows that Hoseok likes to be cuddled when he's crying and that's what Hoseok deserves. He only ever deserves the best.

It’s summer when Hoseok’s colour begins to fade. He notices it after yet another argument, over the phone this time, Yoongi cancelling their date through a nonchalant, “I’m busy”. Thinking that Yoongi has been busy an awful lot recently, Hoseok reaches into his bedside drawer and pulls out a polaroid from long ago. He’s giving Taehyung a piggy back ride, hands hooked beneath Taehyung’s knees and the younger’s arms looped tight around his neck. Hoseok looks at this polaroid often.

He settles back onto the edge of his bed, observing it carefully. Perhaps the most noticeable thing about the photograph is that Taehyung’s hoodie is bright red. When Hoseok had his first kiss with Yoongi, in a grotty bar when they were way too drunk on too many cheap cocktails, the first thing he did after saying goodnight was lock himself away in his room, and look at this photograph. Despite the grungy colouring of it, he saw the brightness of Taehyung’s hoodie and only then did it properly sink in that he could finally see colour, now. But the circumstances were all wrong and when he cried, it was not because of what he had gained, but of what he had lost.

Still, he stayed with Yoongi. Taehyung obviously didn’t want to be with him and Yoongi was his soulmate, after all, so he supposed he could make it work - but something never quite clicked between them. Sure, Yoongi is everything a soulmate says to be on the tin; he’s supportive and caring and kind, and they have a similar sense of humour and share deep conversations and when they have sex it’s pretty amazing. But there’s always been that ache of something missing, and Yoongi feels it too.

Looking at the photograph now, Hoseok realises that Taehyung’s hoodie is a little duller than it was before, and maybe it’s the lighting or maybe it’s the fact that he’s pissed at Yoongi for cancelling on him or the fact that really he’s not pissed at all, he’s actually pretty damn glad, because he can for once have a night where he doesn’t have to force any smiles or pretend to feel a way he doesn’t. But he knows it’s none of those things, because he’s looked at this photograph a thousand times and it’s never looked quite like that. Something is different. His world is fading.

And it continues to happen, day after day after day. The colour slips from the world easily, like how he somehow managed to let Taehyung slip from his grasp. The universe becomes greyer and it’s as if someone has knocked a pot of water on top of a still-wet watercolour painting, all the colour becoming diluted and dull.

But then he wakes up one morning and it’s gone for good. His world has reverted back to black and white and he’s so panicked that his heart is thumping at a thousand beats a minute, and he shoves awake a snoozing Yoongi, who he stayed with last night because they were both too sick of confronting their loneliness. “Yoongi,” snaps Hoseok as Yoongi blearily looks at him. “Yoongi, kiss me.”

Yoongi frowns at him for a moment, forehead crumpled, then rolls over. “Can’t,” he says through a yawn, as his eyes close again. “Busy sleeping… morning breath… can’t be assed. One of those.” He falls back to sleep and, frustrated, Hoseok shakes him again, a little rougher this time.

“I have to do everything myself,” muttered Hoseok, pissed off and simultaneously terrified at the fact that his world is void of colour once more, and then, tugging Yoongi to face him, he leans over and presses his lips firmly against his. He kisses him once, then twice, then three times again, just to check. He’s doing it so frantically that his movements are quick are rough and his mouth blocks Yoongi’s various protests. But it’s no use. Hoseok’s world is still hopelessly black and white and oh god, no, this can’t be happening.

“Get off,” squirms Yoongi, pushing him away. “You know, your technique could use some work.” He rolls over again, back to Hoseok, and Hoseok sits there helplessly, legs folded beneath him on the edge of Yoongi’s bed. Common lore states that a kiss with your soulmate is what activates the colour, but that, once you see colour, you see colour forever. It doesn’t fade even if you stop being with your soulmate; it stays until you die, and that’s how it works.

But Hoseok’s brain is already whirring, cogs turning rapidly as he realises what this could possibly mean. Is Yoongi… not his soulmate, anymore? Did the fabric of the universe shift yet again? There’s a flicker of possibility striking in his heart like a match, a flame of hope sparking up inside. He pushes the thought to the back of his mind, thinking it impossible, but then he thinks back to what Taehyung said that night they first kissed. Hope keeps the world turning. Didn’t anyone ever tell you that?

And so, he tugs on last night’s clothes and his shoes and leans over to press a kiss to Yoongi’s forehead, and he whispers goodbye and says I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Yoongi, and lets the door slam shut behind him. He breaks up with Yoongi that night.

The party Taehyung is at is filled with colour. The cups being handed out and filled with alcohol are that stereotypical red; someone’s hung up glittering silver streamers that the light bounces off, casting glints of pink and purple across the room; guys are clad in summery colourful shirts and girls have lipstick in a hundred different shades and everything is just so bright, yet, somehow, so dull at the same time.

Because this is the party he first met Hoseok at. It was around this time last year, in this same place – he’s older now, almost at the end of his second university year, but he doesn’t feel any wiser. In fact he just feels empty, like someone’s carved a hole in his chest. Someone called himself, because this is all his fault, isn’t it? It’s all his goddamn stupid fault. He only came because Namjoon dragged him along, because there was a tiny flicker of hope inside that, if he downed enough alcohol and ignored enough feelings, he’d actually be able to have fun tonight.

Unsurprisingly, that’s not the case.

When Hoseok walks in, Taehyung isn’t surprised to see him, but he's certainly saddened by the fact; he continues to sink further down into the sofa he’s deemed home for the night, arms folded across his chest and eyes dropping down to his lap. Namjoon is off somewhere with Seokjin – they’re past the stage of having to make out all the time (in fact they’re practically married by this point) so Taehyung decides that they must be somewhere squabbling about cupcakes, or something – and Jimin is somewhere talking to Jungkook, leaving Taehyung all alone. He continues to look at his faded black jeans and his tan coloured fingers and sighs loudly, deciding that if his friends don’t return within the next ten seconds, or if Hoseok doesn’t decide to leave, he’ll go straight home.

Somebody coughs just in front of him. Taehyung doesn’t look up, because he recognises that cough like the back of his hand.

“Taehyung,” the owner of the cough says. “Look at me.”

His lower lip already beginning to wobble, Taehyung lifts his head. Even from the under-the-chin angle Taehyung sees him from, Hoseok looks absolutely beautiful, like a model. His skin shines a gorgeous glowing bronze and his jawline is as sharp as ever, but there’s something missing. He looks empty and lost, wringing his hands together like he’s just as sad and nervous as Taehyung is.

“Hello,” says Taehyung bitterly.

“Taehyung,” breathes Hoseok. “Wait—don’t leave, please…”

Taehyung has stood up and is trying to step past him, to leave the party, but Hoseok manages to grip him tightly on the arm. His fingernails dig a little too tightly into Taehyung’s skin and the younger wants to cry, to scream out, not because it hurts but because this isn’t what’s meant to happen. Hoseok is making things so difficult, just like when Taehyung first broke up with him and he left about thirty voicemails in his inbox per day. In the end, Taehyung had to block his number. “I need to talk to you, okay?” Hoseok begs. “It’s important.”

“Stop,” Taehyung says, yanking his arm away. Hoseok is meant to be with Yoongi, his soulmate. The person the universe picked out for him. “Please, Hoseok-hyung, get off—”

“I broke up with Yoongi,” says Hoseok. When Taehyung looks at him, shocked, Hoseok sighs. ��Just let me explain—”

Taehyung looks at him. “You’re not meant to break up with your soulmate,” he whispers, his heart racing. He feels angry for some reason. “You—I broke up with you so that you’d be with your soulmate, so you’d be happy, you can’t just—” His voice is louder now, anger ripping at his throat. “After all I put myself through. After all I did!”

“He’s not my soulmate, Taehyung,” Hoseok hisses loudly, gripping his arm once more. “Don’t you get it? He’s not my soulmate. You are.”

Taehyung goes still. “No, I’m not,” he says slowly, frustrated tears pricking his eyes. “You didn’t see colour with me.”

“Listen,” Hoseok says softly, and he lifts his hand from Taehyung’s arm up to his cheek. “Yeah, I saw colour with Yoongi, but it faded away, Tae - and that’s how I know he’s not my soulmate. If he was my soulmate, the colour would stay forever, whether I was with him or not. But it’s gone. I stopped being able to see colour. I… only see grey, now.”

At that, Taehyung crumbles. He collapses into Hoseok’s arms and Hoseok embraces him instantaneously, Taehyung beginning to sob into his chest. Hoseok rubs his back and holds him tight, then forces Tae to look at him. “It’s okay. It’s not a bad thing.”

“It’s a horrible thing,” Taehyung gasps, and then pushes his face into Hoseok’s strong chest once more, weeping. Hoseok’s shirt is getting covered with a mixture of tears and snot but the elder doesn’t seem to mind, pulling Taehyung closer and whispering “it’s okay” into his hair. They stand there at the edge of the party, simply holding each other and breathing in each other’s warmth, and then Hoseok says, “I don’t care. I don’t care, Taehyungie. It doesn’t matter if I can’t see colour anymore, because now, hopefully, you’ll know that none of that matters. What matters is us, being together. That’s what’s most important.”

Taehyung looks up at him with widened eyes, tears blurring his vision. He supposes he always knew that, deep down – that it doesn’t matter what the universe thinks, because whether you’re soulmates or not, if you love someone, you should stay with them. Although, that wasn’t his intention. His intention was never to force Hoseok to be with someone else, but to finally give him the gift of colour. But now that he knows that Hoseok can’t see colour anymore, he wonders if giving him up in the first place was really the right idea, or whether it was just a bit… pointless.

Still, that doesn’t matter right now. Because Hoseok is looking at him with so much love, love that never left, even though Taehyung broke his heart and forced him away. “Taehyung, baby… Let’s go somewhere more private.”

His hands slips into Tae’s, and it feels like home; his fingers are long and slender and rough and calloused but smooth at the same time, warm like a hug, and it feels so right that Taehyung decides, instantly, that he’s never going to let go again. Just like that first night, that first party, it hasn’t sunk in that this is happening. It doesn’t even sink in when they step into a nearby bedroom, Taehyung realising as he peers round with widened eyes that this is the room they shared their first kiss in. There’s the baby blue walls, the light switch he flicked when he first saw colour. He flicks it again now, and there’s Hoseok, the boy he fell in love with, his soulmate. Standing in front of him. Watching him.

Taehyung doesn't see the colours anymore, or at least chooses not to. For now, he only sees Hoseok.

“Shall we… sit down?” asks Hoseok, and Taehyung nods wordlessly, perching beside him on the edge of the bed.

“So, you can’t see colour?” blurts Taehyung, and he realises that they’re still holding hands. There’s a space between them where their intertwined fingers rest, and Taehyung looks down at that space before lifting his gaze to Hoseok. The dancer’s warm doe eyes are swimming with anguish, and he shakes his head.

“I could, with Yoongi,” he explains slowly. “But I think the universe decided that we weren’t right for each other after all. We argued a lot, over dumb little things. Everything seemed great on the surface but…”

“Was there something wrong with him?” prompts Taehyung quietly. He’s stopped sobbing, but he can feel the emotions swelling in his stomach, in his chest, in every ounce of his blood.

“Not really,” admits Hoseok with a shrug. “He was kind and sweet and funny and good-looking and everything I could ask for in a boyfriend, but…”

Taehyung frowns. Each compliment towards Yoongi is like a punch to his stomach, but maybe he’s just bitter. “But?” He snaps, a little too harshly.

“But he wasn’t you,” finishes Hoseok, and that’s when it all clicks into place. Because sometimes, it’s not about who’s good and who’s not – it’s not about whether someone ticks all the boxes in the list of criteria you’d like in a partner. Sometimes when you know, you know, and that’s all there is to it. “When I first saw colour, it wasn’t like this amazing, miraculous moment. It just happened. I think the reason people get so excited when they see colour is not because they’re finally seeing something they’ve gone their whole life without seeing, but because of what it means. It means they’ve found the person they belong with. I mean sure, colour is amazing, but…” He chuckles softly. “It’s not as amazing as you, Tae. You’re a miracle, my miracle. When I saw colour, I just felt like shit, because it wasn’t with you. It should’ve been with you.”

He lifts Taehyung’s hand to his lips and kisses his skin. “You’re beautiful, you know that? You’ve always been beautiful, even before I knew you – but that night at the party, when I realised you’d been staring at me, that you wanted to kiss me as much as I wanted to kiss you, you became even more beautiful. It was the happiest moment of my life. I guess I’d always known you liked me… you have a penchant for staring, Tae, not gonna lie… and Jimin had made a few passing comments about you, thinks like ‘you know, my friend Taehyung is single and totally ready to mingle’…”

“I’m gonna kill him,” Taehyung laughs, curling into Hoseok’s chest.

Hoseok snorts. “But you get more beautiful with every passing day, you know? There’s something about you. The way your voice is way too deep for someone of your stature and how your mouth goes into a little rectangle shape when you smile and how competitive you get when it comes to video games and how you’re always supporting me and loving me and making you laugh. Or maybe it’s your soft hair and how nice it feels when I thread my fingers through it, or how adorable you looked that time you showed me how you could make an elephant’s face on your arm with your moles, or how you always make sure I’ve got enough food before you get your own or the fact that you always smell good and that hugging you is like being enveloped in warmth or… well, it’s all those things and more, but you know what makes you the most beautiful, Taehyung?”

Taehyung peers up at him.

“It’s the fact that you put my happiness before your own,” Hoseok finishes. “You’re so incredibly selfless, and I know that your intentions were good all along. Your heart was in the right place and that’s why you let me go, isn’t it?”

Taehyung nods, tears brimming once more in his eyes. Hoseok tries to blink back tears too, but one spills out onto his cheek nonetheless, sliding stubbornly down his skin. Taehyung reaches up with the hand not holding Hoseok’s and wipes it away, his fingers grazing Hoseok’s soft cheek.

“Which brings me back to now. With Yoongi, things were nice, but the colour began to fade after a couple months. Still, when it went grey again for good, I didn’t feel all that bothered. I mean, I was startled, but… well, I didn’t care, because who needs colour when you don’t have the person you really want to be with?”

“That’s how I felt,” interjects Tae, sniffing and clinging onto Hoseok like a koala bear. “Colour is beautiful and all that, but you’re what makes it beautiful. Without you there, it just seems futile.”

Hoseok nods. “I’m happy my colour went,” he says with a shrug. “It made me realise that I had to fight for what I want: you. When you dumped me—”

“Dumped is a bit harsh—”

Hoseok looks at him pointedly. “You did dump me, Tae, and it broke my heart. But I know why you did it, so—hey, baby, don’t cry…” Taehyung is fully weeping again, and Hoseok pulls him in for a cuddle. His arms are so strong, his scent so familiar and gorgeous that Taehyung wonders why he ever let him go in the first place. As if reading his mind, Hoseok says quietly, “You did it because you wanted me to be happy. You didn’t realise that, when I was with you, I was the happiest I was ever going to be. Way happier than all the days I could see colour put together.”

“But doesn’t it bother you?” asks Taehyung, curling into Hoseok’s chest. His legs have somehow ended up draped over Hoseok’s, his entire body pushed against the boy he loves. “Not being able to see colour at all? Not knowing if you’ll ever see colour again?”

“Well,” says Hoseok, cradling him like a baby, “that’s where I need your help.” Taehyung cranes his neck to look up at him, and Hoseok says, “It takes a kiss with your soulmate to see colour for the first time.”

“Yeah, but….” Taehyung’s mind is reeling with thoughts, a thousand passing by each second. But I’m not your soulmate. But you’ve already seen colour for the first time, with Yoongi. But colour isn’t meant to fade in the first place. But none of this makes sense.

“Just have hope,” Hoseok says quietly, as Taehyung lifts his hand up to Hoseok’s face. “The universe works in weird ways, you know? I never expected my colour to fade, but I also never expected to not see colour with you – but I think, now, it’s time to defy what the universe thinks. It’s time to do what we want, okay?”

“Okay,” whispers Taehyung.

“Hope keeps the world turning, or something like that - and I’m hopeful that I’ll see colour again after kissing you. But if that’s not the case, if this doesn’t work, I won’t care. I promise, I won’t care. We’ll put our middle fingers up to the universe and say suck it, bitch, it’s our time to choose.” He chuckles, and then the sound dies away and he says, “But let’s just check, okay?”

Taehyung nods silently, letting his gaze flit between Hoseok’s two eyes then down to his pouty pink lips and up again. He’s been dying to kiss Hoseok again ever since they broke up. He never wants to stop kissing Hoseok. But first: “Can I just say something, first?” There’s a silence, and then: “I love you, Hobi. I always will.”

Hoseok sniffs and nods and smiles and says, “You know I love you too, baby.” He pauses, then looks at Taehyung’s lips. “Ready?”

Once more, Taehyung nods. He lets his fingers slip away from Hoseok’s and lifts his other hand up to Hoseok’s cheek, cupping his face in his hands. He closes his eyes as he leans in, wanting nothing more than, after this kiss, for Hoseok to see colour once more. After all, that’s what this whole thing has been about. The two of them defying the laws of the universe, together - creating rules for themselves.

It will forever remain a curious thing, the universe. It will always be space and time and protons and electrons and stars and galaxies and everything to exist; it will be concepts which are real and those which are not, reality and illusion, enormous planets and specks of dust and a billion things found in between. It will be the force that puts things exactly where they need to be, the Earth rotating in perfect distance from the sun, gravity stopping you from floating up into the atmosphere. But now, right now, it is merely two boys: Taehyung and Hoseok, deciding not to listen.

Taehyung’s lips meet Hoseok’s and he feels instantly warm, Hoseok’s soft plump lips pushing against his with such desperation that it’s a wonder how, moments later, they manage to part once more. Taehyung blinks and opens his eyes, then watches as Hoseok opens his.

“Can you see the colours?” Taehyung whispers.

Hoseok blinks at him, then his head whips round as he grabs Taehyung’s shirt tightly. “Yes,” he blurts excitedly, his eyes brimming with tears. He pushes his forehead against Taehyung’s and gasps, “yes, Taehyungie, I see the colours now,” and his breath dances across Taehyung’s lips as he begins to laugh. The two of them are crying and giggling and holding each other, and then Taehyung mimics Hoseok, saying through thick watery tears, “New game.”

“What is it?” asks Hoseok eagerly. He’s smiling so wide his eyes have transformed to crescent shapes, his grin shaped like a heart and their foreheads pressed close together. “What is it, baby boy?”

“We make a promise to never let each other go,” Taehyung says, so happy he could almost die - and as he leans in for another sweet kiss, Hoseok nods. They both know it’s a promise they’ll keep.

Of course, Hoseok couldn’t really see colour. When he opened his eyes after kissing Taehyung, his world was still as monochrome as it had been all his life, except for those few short months with Yoongi where the world seemed to glitch out before it inevitably faded again. But he quickly realised, or really he’d known all along, that he didn’t mind one bit. Black or white or splashed with colour, it didn’t make a difference – his world was the most beautiful it would ever possibly be, and that’s because he was finally reunited with Taehyung.

The boy is fast asleep, curled against Hoseok’s body with his butt pressed into the elder’s crotch and his tiny breaths filling the bedroom of the apartment they long ago bought together. He’s snoozing peacefully, his naked body radiating heat and his skin smooth as silk as Hoseok leans over to plant a kiss to his bare shoulder. The younger wriggles in his sleep and pushes up against Hoseok, and Hoseok loops his arm around his body, pulling him tightly closer.

Everything in the room is grey and the universe is crying in despair, but Hoseok shoves a metaphorical middle-finger up towards the sky and smiles silently in the fading half-light. No, he decides. He doesn’t mind at all.

#uhhh yeah #a thing #mine #vhope #bts

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