#been drawing so much the past couple days lets hope i dont burn out

[liminalcritter]

the scrunkly

[hotwings0203]

I feel like Dabi would be the type of dude who would bully you incessantly at the LOV and for the life of you you can’t figure out why. He’s always around you and making snarky comments or pulling your hair, trying to catch you messing up on missions. You’re sure he hates you, and you do well to stay out of his way, or sometimes when you feel bold you’ll offer a quip of your own. The bullying increases whenever you talk to other guys at the bar, especially when you make Tomura crack a smile, Dabi’s breathing down your neck the second your leader leaves, calling you terrible names and pushing past your boundaries.

Cw: language, nsfw, noncon, manga spoilers, some angst?

In a perfect world, Touya would not have been abandoned and rejected by his family. In a perfect world, Dabi would not exist, and Touya would be eating dinner with his family right now as he shows his little brother how to properly wield fire to its fullest extent.

But there was no such thing as a perfect world, and therefore Dabi did exist. And Dabi doesn’t care for anyone, or anything.

Or so he tells himself.

“Slut”

“Nothing but eye candy, and shitty eye candy at that”

It’s nothing you haven’t heard before, but it doesn’t make it any easier to ignore him

“What was that all about, huh? The fuck are you and crusty snickering about?”

Fed up with his continuous antics, you decide to mouth off a little too.

“Oh nothing, just talking about how adorable you and Hawks would make as a couple. And wipe that sneer off your face, it looks like some of your staples fell out of your mouth.”

It’s nothing too snarky, but in a second he’s shoving you in some dark room, forearm pinned against your throat as his hand is lit up with blue flames merely inches away from you, snarling in your face.

“You wanna be funny, bitch? I got jokes of my own too, why dont I show you what happens to dumb little girls who don’t know their fucking place? I think that would be real funny.”

But his hand is stopped from drawing near your wide eyes when you both hear Twice and Toga calling everyone for their next meeting.

He pushes you away from him, giving you a murderous look over his shoulder as he leaves the room, not paying mind to the way you slide down the wall in the dark.

You take extra precaution to try avoiding him for the next few days, not even making eye contact with him when you two get teamed up for tasks. He never mentions the room incident, if anything he acts as if it never happens. It’s like whiplash for you, he tries to weirdly talk to you more but all you offer him is mumbles and hums of agreement.

The conversation is never long, but it starts to be less talk of degrading you and more of begrudging questioning of what you’ve been up to. You never engage, opting to pretend like you never heard him, and strangely enough he leaves it be.

You give him a side eye one day as he joins you at the bar (much to your discontent), downing your glass just to fill another.

He says nothing as he slides into the stool right next to you, and pours a glass of whiskey for himself as well.

It’s awkwardly silent, you’re not sure if you should leave or not, but you’d be damned if you try to initiate small talk with this psycho.

But then, he speaks.

“Is Shigaraki sending you on the mission to get that UA kid?”

His gravely voice rumbles and cracks from his usual lack of use, and he clears his throat after he talks.

“No.”

“Oh.”

This is excruciating, you think to yourself as he mulls over the drink in his hand for a silent minute or two.

Toga calls you over thankfully at the exact same moment, and you breathe out an inaudible sigh of relief as you slip off the stool to join her.

“Wait-“ Dabi grabs your arm and you flinch out of instinct, expecting a slap or a burn to come from him.

He sees your reaction and shakes his head dismissively, letting you go and muttering a “Nevermind”. You don’t ponder over it as you trip over your own feet to join the eccentric blond.

A week passes, and then two. With each day you maneuver your way around him, request to be partnered up with different people in private, and busy yourself in random tasks. Every time you pass him by the bar he lifts his head from whatever he’s doing and tries to maintain eye contact with you, even going so far as to open his mouth to say or ask god-knows-what.

You try to ignore the foreign hopeful glint in his glacial eyes as you walk right past him, ducking your head as you do so.

It drives Dabi crazy.

He can’t handle any more rejection, he thought his family would be the last straw for him to ever want recognition or love validation from again. He wants to talk to you, to hear your voice as it snaps back with witty comebacks of your own that he secretly enjoys so much, even if it means he has to force it out of you with hateful words. He wants to feel your hair underneath his scarred hands, even if he has to mask the soft wanting of you in forms of yanking the strands. He wants nothing more than to see your eyes fill up with no other sight than him and think only of him, even if it means he has to corner you and scare you into submission.

But your silence is something he’s not used to.

Well, to be fair, you weren’t silent completely, but the only sentences he was hearing from you nowadays was when you were speaking to Shigaraki or the other League members.

You were the only idiot who didn’t notice the smoke curling from his nostrils and ears comically when he’d finally see you stop your stoic act just to open up to other men apart from him. Spinner, Twice, and Compress backed off almost immediately from talking to you for too long when they’d see the look on his face as he watched you surrounded by them, but Tomura would merely smirk from behind your shoulders and keep a level gaze with his subordinate, knowing fully well why he was so pissed off.

You began to notice the weird energy at the base soon after the rest of the men would keep curt conversations with you in comparison to your long talks about video games, sex, and life after you would all win the war.

So you thought it would be best to ask the most semi-normal person there that wasn’t fueled with testosterone and aggression.

“I just don’t get it, why are they all being weird? I mean, we all used to talk so much and now they just...try avoiding me. Except for Tomura of course, he’s still normal I guess. But he always has this smirk on his face when I’m with him and I can’t figure out why.”

Toga stops cleaning her blood-laced needle to give you a sly look, all fangs and glinting white.

“And Dabi?”

“What about him?”

She sits back on her haunches and cocks her head at you. “You really don’t know what’s happening here, do ya?”

“No,” you roll your eyes in exasperation. “But I’ll gladly take any theories here, since apparently I’m the only one who doesn’t get it.”

“He likes you.”

You gape at her for a moment and then burst out laughing.

“What? That’s crazy, he doesn’t like me, he hates me!” He can barely stand being in a room with me, all he does is talk shit and harass me.”

The blond curiously licks at a bead of red from the top of the weapon and you cringe when her own tongue rips from the sharp point.

“You say he can’t stand being in a room with you, so then why is it that he’s always there? He might talk shit, but he talks to you out of everyone else right? Regardless of if it’s something mean.”

You’re thoroughly flabbergasted. She had a point, but it was too much to wrap your head around. She cheerfully hums and gets up to flounce around the room, cleaning her already-tidy room up to a T.

“And that little silent treatment act you’re giving him isn’t helping either. I swear, Jin told me Dabi almost burned his mouth off that one day you, him and Spinner were talking about GTA. He totally cornered the poor guy and threatened his life if he didn’t stop talking to you.”

“You’re joking.”

“Am not. He wanted to do the same to Tomura but I figure he wants to keep his job, so he won’t. Doesnt make it any better for him when you’re all chummy with the one person Dabi can’t stand the most, though.”

No wonder your leader was so smug whenever you two were in the same room, your attention solely focused on him.

You run your hands down your face, moaning about the whole situation being fucked. It’s just your luck that you couldn’t take a clue, but to be fair, how could you? Being called worthless and a waste of space wasn’t exactly what you had in mind for flirty banter.

“Soooo what’re you gonna do now? I heard he’s gonna try talking to you for realsies like, tomorrow or something.”

“Tomorrow?” You yelp, jumping up to your feet. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I can’t face him!”

“Oops,” she giggles, twirling with outstretched arms around her room and falling down onto her bed.

“Oh god, I can’t do this. I don’t even know if I like him! He’s such an ass, and even when he tries to come off as normal he’s just so..unsettling. I don’t think I’ve ever had a good conversation with him.”

Toga props her elbow up to rest her chin on her hand, frowning in thought.

“Why not just tell him how you feel?”

You snort and fold your arms. “Yeah, because the psycho arsonist is really gonna take the word no well.”

“Hmm.. I see what you mean. Oh well, whatever you choose, I’ll support you!”

And with that she skips out of the room sing songing for Twice to make a clone for her.

You were fucked.

And sure enough, the next day he approaches you, hands stuffed in his pockets and an almost bored look on his face.

“Yo newbie, I gotta talk to you for a second. Come with me”.

You look blearily up at him through eye bags and mussed hair, a direct telling of your sleepless night. Your stomach drops when you hear his words, but you nod your head and take a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself of the speech you practiced till the sun rose.

No one else is bothering you both today, Shigaraki having gone to visit All For One and the rest of the League left to their own devices. It was something you weren’t so comfortable with, but you doubted a hero would come to save you.

He leads you through the short winding hallways, each step of his growing louder and heavier as the space started growing smaller. Finally, he reaches a dimly lit room and stops outside the door, gesturing for you to go in with a casual wave of his patched wrist.

“After you.”

You raise an unsure eyebrow at his uncharacteristic show of consideration, and do as he says. You’re sweating bullets, fists balled so that your nails are digging into your palms, and vision going in and out of focus as your eyes begin to adjust to your surroundings.

A loud bang pulls you out of your stupor, and you whip around at the sound.

Dabi is already staring back at you with lidded eyes, leaning his weight against the door, his arms crossing over each other.

You shift on both feet, picking at your nails nervously.

“So, what did you wanna talk about?”

He says nothing, but just observes you, his head slightly tilted as if you were some abstract art piece.

“Dabi.”

“You got a lot of nerve, y’know that?”

He pushes himself off the wall and advances slowly towards you, hands stuffed in his trench coat pockets.

You immediately back up with raised palms, sputtering indignantly at his offensive movements coming closer and closer. However you thought his ‘confession’ would go, this was most definitely not starting out like how you planned

“Excuse me? What’re you talking about-“

“I know what you’re doing. You think whoring yourself out to ol’ crusty and the rest of the guys here is gonna make everyone forget just how useless you actually are. What the fuck do you even do here? You fuck up half the missions which I have to come bail your ass out of, you constantly put us in jeopardy by being all friendly with everyone, and you can’t even keep your mouth shut when I need to let off a little steam, as I rightfully should.”

In a perfect world, Dabi would be the light of your eyes, the hero of your world. In a perfect world, Dabi would be able to hold your hand in his smooth one and tell you that he wants you so much that it impairs his rational judgement and makes him say things he doesn’t mean. He’d tell you that your presence is like a weight lifted off his chest, your presence means he doesn’t have to think or worry about the outside world, he just wants you all to himself without anyone interfering.

But this is not a perfect world, and Dabi is not a hero, but rather one of the worst villains.

So he does exactly what one does as a villain.

Instead of a loving look that he knows he’s incapable of, Dabi looks down into your horrified gaze as he traps you against the wall between his scarred arms, spewing misplaced venom at you.

“I don’t know what your problem is, but you need to chill out. First you go ballistic on me ‘cause I talked to Tomura for no reason, then you act all weird and quiet as if you’re some decent person, and now you think you can just bring me in here and tell me how worthless I am? Go fuck yourself, seriously.”

You scoff and make your way to push him but stop when he does what he did a couple weeks ago. You hold bated breath as he casually brings an inflamed hand to scratch at his face as if he can’t feel the hellfire emitting from it, and let out a whine of distress as he lowers his head mere inches from yours, lips almost touching.

“Stop talking to the rest of the guys,” he breaths. “Stop smiling, laughing, or going near anyone who isn’t me.”

You wonder if he knows how insane he sounds. He does, but that’s nothing he doesn’t know already. If anything, it solidifies in his mind that if he is to be as bad as the world has made him out to be, then he is acting exactly fit for the role.

“Why?”

“I don’t need to give sluts like you a reason. It should come as easy, right? What’s putting out for one more person?”

Your eyes are brimming with tears now, your stoic facade showing cracks as you sniffle a little bit.

He eats it up and groans watching salty rivers cascade down your cheeks. Suddenly, he feels as though he can no longer hold back anymore, he feels as though if he thinks for one more second he’ll combust.

So, acting on instinct, he surges forward and presses his lips against yours, swallowing your cries of distress and holding your hands above your head in midst of them frantically beating on his chest.

Your lips are so, so soft compared to his and it’s making him sink deeper into this instinctual daze. He puffs against your writhing lips as he thrusts his hot tongue in your mouth.

You try to bite him but when his hands heat up against your skin you resign to your fate and wail, allowing him to pull his hips flush against yours and start humping your thighs.

He draws back and bites your lips, teeth clacking against yours as he does so. You open your terrified eyes and blanch when you see the look on his face.

Lust is clearly drawn everywhere, from his blown pupils to his heaving chest, all the way to his flushed face and wild eyes. He looks as though he’s about to eat you alive and it’s appropriate that you feel like a lamb about to be slaughtered.

“Dabi, wait, please stop-“

But he cuts your pants off again in favor of slamming his hips against yours again and grinding impossibly hard on your legs, the friction of his jeans catching on your clothed cunt and forcing a mewl out of you.

“I’m not gonna stop. I’ve had enough of you teasing. You’re mine now, and if it takes burning our dear leader alive and this whole place down for you to understand that then I’ll fucking do it.”

He thought that terrorizing you would ease the empty feeling in his heart, that continuously berating you would force him to see you as what he always said you were, just another empty headed cunt. He thought that distancing himself from you and focusing on other things would make him forget about the soft feelings he longed to share with you, feelings he thought perished in the fire he was in when he was a young boy .

Even now, there is an ache in his chest as he hears you beg for him to stop, to let you go, that you’re sorry for whatever you did.

But this is not a perfect world, and not everyone gets their way in life.

You should really learn that, because Dabi already has.

And so Dabi will act accordingly to what life has put out before him .

[cafedanslanuit]

levi with a super bratty reader that drives him insane, never listens, is constantly defying his commands... they get snowed into a camp together while on a scouting mission... which leads to some hatefucking mayb... 🤧 ps allie dont forget to take care of yourself babes iluvvvm

i adore your requests mwah pls also take care please we cant keep having these all nighters and then sleep all afternoon fkjdshfks

------

tw: female reader, dom themes, brat taming, impact play (with a belt), degradation, overstimulation

Never before Levi had been su infuriated by someone. Not even by Eren and his stubborness or Mikasa and her death glares. It had to be you and your eye rolls, the way you talked back whenever he gave you an order and sometimes even went behind his back. He has talked to Erwin about it and while he promised to talk with you, he asked him to consider your choices had saved the lives of many soldiers and that you were really talented.

Levi didn’t give a shit.

And now, besides being stuck in a snow storm and having to wait it out, he had found you had been neglecting your cleaning duties, leading him to pull you from your hair to the space destined to be his office for the time being.

“Why the fuck weren’t you cleaning, brat?” he spat, pushing you against the wall. Far for flinching, you looked at him menancingly.

“It’s already clean. Not my fault you’re a freak who obsessed over the small details. It doesn’t smell like piss anymore, it’s enough.”

“I don’t care about what you think, if I give an order you do it. That’s it,” he said.

“Oh, please, Levi,” you rolled your eyes. “Why are you so insufferable? Go get laid or something, seems like you need it.”

Before you could say anything else, he had his hand around your throat holding you against the wall.

“Whoa, it’s really been that long since you fucked, huh?” you chuckled. “Don’t worry, Captain,” you mocked him. “If it comes to it, I volunteer to suck your dick. You seem like someone who comes quick so it shouldn’t take a lot of my time.”

“Don’t you get tired of talking so much shit?” he hissed.

“I really don’t,” you smiled.

“If I wanted to fuck someone I wouldn’t fuck a spoiled brat who only knows how to bring problems to the corps.”

“Oh, that was rough,” you said, pretending to be upset. “Why are you being so mean to be, Captain, when I can be so good to you?”

You smirked as you pressed your thigh against his crotch, feeling him tense at your moves.

“Want to take your anger out?” you joked, licking your front teeth. “I bet it’s--”

Your sentence was cut short by Levi’s lips pressing against yours. Your body reacted immediately, drawn to the warmth and strenght in the man’s touch. His hand was still grabbing your hair, keeping you still as you shared a rough kiss. You rolled your body against his, his erection poking on your thigh. His tongue invaded your mouth and soon enough, you were tearing each other’s clothes letting them fall to the floor while your hands roamed around each other’s bodies, quiet moans and sighs escaping from both your mouths.

When you were just in your panties, Levi pulled you to the other side of the room, bending you over the desk. He put a hand over your head, leaning over until his lips were grazing your ear.

“I still need to teach you a lesson,” he muttered. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“What do you mean, less--”

A hard hit on your ass cuy your sentence short. Without having to look back, you could just tell what he had just hit you with. Of course he had chosen his belt. At least he wasn’t using the buckle.

“Lets see how much until you learn,” Levi said. You hated how you pressed your legs together in anticipation.

Another hit. You felt your skin burning but didn’t move as Levi continued with a third one. Even if you could feel yourself getting wet already, you were determined not to let him know how much you were enjoying this. You let him hit you more times and bit your lip, trying your best to conceal your moans.

You had lost count of all the impacts on your ass when you felt his fingers easily sliding across your folds.

“You may be silent, but you’re creaming like a whore,” you heard him say and felt your legs trembling for a second. “Oh, was it always like that? You like to be reminded what a dirty slut you are?” he asked in a mocking tone.

The next hit was much harder than the previous one, finally making you whimper.

“There it is,” Levi said, a dark chuckle escaping his lips. His left hand went back to your folds, two of his fingers sliding inside you and fucking you slowly. The belt collided against your ass again and you clenched around his fingers.

“Can’t believe how much you’re enjoying this,” he huffed, still fucking you with his fingers. "You're such a needy white."

Another hit, a moan and Levi's fingers curling inside you. It doesn't take long for him to find your sweet spot and once he does, he makes sure to run his fingers against it.

Your hips buck against his fingers, but everything he thinks you're doing it too much, you get hit with his belt again. The sole sound of it impacting your skin makes you quiver. You come hard around his fingers while you try to muffle your moans with your hand. Your legs are trembling when he pulls his fingers away and leaves the belt on the desk next to you. Just as you were about to stand up, you feel Levi's cock teasing your entrance.

"I— I'm too sensitive," you stutter.

"Well you do seem to be the type that comes too fast," he shot back, using your own words. "Just tell me to stop" he says. His tip is already stretching your entrance but doesn't move even an inch, waiting your response. You know you're sensitive but fuck if you don't want Levi's cock inside of you. You swallow.

"Fuck me," you sigh and Levi is immediately pushing inside you, stretching you open. You weren't expecting him to be so thick and now you can't do anything but moan as he fills you up.

Levi starts fucking you from behind, his hands grabbing youe hips so tight you know you're going to end with bruises. You listen to him grunt everytime he bottoms out, filling you up completely. His rhythm increases and you are already whimpering again, the closeness of your last orgasm making you want to come again.

Levi seems to notice it too.

"Touch yourself," he orders, but you don't make a move. He waits a couple of seconds before he’s spanking you hard, making you clench around his cock. "I said touch yourself."

Your hand travels to your clit and it only takes a few gently strokes for you to come around Levi. He curses under his breath as you squeeze him jus right, but never breaks his rhythm.

"Keep touching yourself," he commands and you whine.

"Please. Please, I already came two times, I—"

"I think three is enough for you to learn your lesson," he said, squeezing the plus on your ass, spreaing yourself further as he keeps fucking you. “I know you have it in you,” he smirks.

You grab the edge of the desk, looking for support as your mind . Every trace of defiance is gone by this moment, you feel like nothing but a mess of limbs that wants to be used by the same man you had been challenging these past few years.

It was over. You had lost.

“I said fucking touch yourself,” he reminds you, slapping your ass forcefully. You hate the way you start circling your clit again, overstimulation making the pain and pleasure mix together dangerously.

Levi slides out almost completely to ram into you again, making your eyes water. You let out a mix of moans mixed with incoherent curses, your legs shaking as you feel your third orgasm drawing near.

“Fuck, I can’t-- I can’t,” you pant.

“If you can be a fucking pain in the ass every day, you can do this,” Levi said, grabbing a fistful of your hair and pushing your head further on the desk.

It takes Levi slapping your ass again to reach your high. It’s almost as hard as the first one and you whimper as he fucks into you more rapidly. He comes inside you with a hiss, his cock twitching as he releases his load. The moment he pulls away, you feel both your releases dripping down your inner thighs.

There’s silence for the next few moment while you try to regain your breath. Your limbs feel too heavy when you try to stand up, legs wobbly as you walk to the nearest chair and take a seat. You let your head fall, your hands on your knees as you try to form coherent thoughts.

Suddenly, you feel someone yanking your hair, making you look up. You notice Levi has already dressed himself again, the only clue of your previous activity in the way his hair looks a little more messier than usual.

"Hope you learnt your lesson, brat," he whispers before letting go of your hair and walking out of the room.

[latenightdecaf]

Entry 6 - of light gaze and worrisome face

part of let the pile of good things grow series - series masterlist

previous entry here

Yoongi x reader

Ft. nonidol!bts

Producer!yoongi, roommate!yoongi, soft!yoongi

slow burn romance, friendship, slice of life

series of drabbles/one shots

no warnings for now

A/N: starting to get the hang of this again, it’s been a while so i’m just going where my imagination takes me. So i’ll probably be posting another one for tomorrow before the motivation leaves me. Hope you all like it.

Word count: 1,953

Pacing back and forth in the living room as you’re having this conversation with your friend and also editor, Hye Jin. Talking you out into the possibility of taking in another project that would put an indefinite pause to your own book.

“I couldn’t possibly say no, she had this whole speech on how she wanted to make this book for her baby. To read to her when she’s old enough. Words from a loving mother for her newborn child, my goodness.” You stopped and sighed. “I know, but having to accept this means also putting your book on hold, you’ve been working on that for months now—is that really something you are willing to do?” Hye Jin reminded you on the other end. You stopped on your tracks, not saying a word and just looking blankly over the view from your living room. Thinking to yourself, ‘I can’t believe it’s summer already.’

Yoongi who have just woken up and is getting himself some water in the kitchen and were just looking intently at your back not particularly eavesdropping in your conversation, but just looking. You haven’t even realized he walked in.

“I know you, you’re just running away from this. You’ve been so scared of finally publishing something that is yours and yours only. So when a small window of opportunity presents itself you immediately took the ticket to leave.” Hye Jin, your editor who has became a good friend to you throughout these years, has always been good to you—she can so easily read you, too.

“You know for someone who’s actually trying to get pregnant for months now, you don’t seem to understand her feelings. Of course, I’m just here to help.” Weak argument on your end, you know she’s right when she said that you were running away. “You’re always there to help. But what about you? You know for someone who doesn’t want to have kids. I’m surprised you’re too adamant to do this.” Her statement made you laugh. “Have you changed your mind?” She added.

“I may not want kids, but I’m not heartless.”

And those were the last phrase Yoongi heard from you as we backed to his room.

Your conversation with Hye Jin went on for a couple more minutes only to end up with some sort of a compromise.

“You’ll need minimum 3-4 months, and probably maximum 6/7 months to wrap this all up? You need to get this done more quickly. That’s my only deal.” You sighed in defeat. “I’ll try.” Ending the call and waving the white flag. You too were also not sure of what you’re getting yourself into. Is it just you running away? Or is this the small part of you feeling guilty again.

“You’ll need minimum 3-4 months, and probably maximum 6/7 months to wrap this all up? You need to get this done more quickly. That’s my only deal.” You sighed in defeat. “I’ll try.” Ending the call and waving the white flag. You too were also not sure of what you’re getting yourself into. Is it just you running away? Or is this the small part of you feeling guilty again.

Weeks later, Yoongi’s packing up for their fishing trip that his friend, Jin insisted they would come. He felt like he has no choice but it might be good reason to go our for a change.

“Hey, I thought you said you guys were going camping? Why do you have your equipments with you… you poor corporate slave.”

He laughed at your remark. You’re still looking at his stuff all puzzled and confused by how heavy it all looks. You leaned on the kitchen counter as you watch him put his stuff out from his room.

You asked again, “Dont you think it’s a little too much? Cant you leave some stuff? Do you even have clothes in there? How bout food? Not important? Music is life?” He laughed. You’re good at making him laugh.

He finds all of your worrisome-sarcastic remarks endearing. He looked at you and said, “Look, it’s like you—you not taking your ipad everywhere you go. Or that small sketchbook you have. You draw every chance you get, you draw in the middle of lunch or while waiting for someone. And if not your ipad, you draw even on table napkins and ask the waiter for more. It’s the same for me.”

You let out a smile at his comparison.

“Okay okay, point taken mister. Point. Taken. But my ipad wont break my back—just saying.” You teasingly replied.

“Maybe i can leave some.” Looking at his bags and talking to himself as he puts some of his stuff back in his room and minutes later he’s done preparing for their camping tomorrow.

“All done?” You asked as you look over to a now somehow reduced luggage. “I’ll help you put some of it in your car.”

You carried with him some of his bags as he is the type to have everything ready before leaving.

As you walked down the stairs, just carrying the lightest possible baggage you could ever find. “You sure you have enough food in here?” Lifting the bag and shaking to hear whats inside. “I mean i know you can certainly whip anything and turn it into a meal but this looks like there’s just ramen in here.”

He finds you cute when you worry.

“We’ll do grocery tomorrow on our way, no worries.” That statement puts you at ease. You reached the ground floor and towards his car. “That sounds good. I mean—just incase the fishing thing wont work out. You know, like last time? There might be a lot of fish in the sea and then suddenly there’s none for you—i mean that in the most literal sense. Not just in women, you know—just incase.” Teasing him again and bringing up the time he went home from a fishing trip. He was so tired, they didn’t caught a single fish. And the trip was cut short and they all immediately went home. He declared then to never go with Jin again but I guess, he love that Hyung of him a lot to be packing all these for yet another fishing trip.

There’s a good sense of companionship between the two of you. The way you can always make him smile without even trying. The way you always tease him lightly. He’s known you for a while, has seen you with your friends and he knows that you’re just the warmest person—to everyone, not just to him. But it looks like something has been bothering you lately, he even offered if you wanted to go with him on their fishing trip, assuring you that Jin and Hoseok are good people and nothing bad will happen. But you respectfully declined. Not just because you don’t eat fish but because you just need some time alone. Not that Yoongi has ever been a bother to you in any way too but just alone would be nice, you thought.

Yoongi will be gone for the whole weekend and possibly be returning on Sunday afternoon. You don’t have any particular plans just work and then some more work. As soon as you’re both back into the apartment you asked, “You’re leaving tonight? At midnight?”

“Yeah around that time, why?” Yoongi confirmed.

“Nothing.”

“Are you okay?” He asked, as you stopped in front of the refrigerator to get yourself some coffee.

“Yeah, why won’t I be?”

“You do know you say that a lot.” Yoongi grabbed himself a glass and grabbed the pitcher in your hand and you just smiled. “There’s not much meat left in the fridge, couple of things are missing too. You want me to go to grocery before I leave?” Leaning in the kitchen sink and drinking your coffee. You let out a deep sigh unknowingly. “No, I’ll go. Don’t worry.” You left your empty glass onto the sink. “I’m just saying, I can go if you’re not up for it.” You shake your head to reassure him, “I don’t mind, okay? I’m going to be fine.” You walked passed him as you went to your room.

Yoongi definitely knows that something’s been bothering you for days. He doesn’t want to pry, if you don’t want to talk about it. He just keeps looking at you, just in case you want to talk—these days your mind has always been elsewhere and there’s just so much work to be done.

You wanted to say goodbye before he left but you fell asleep in the middle of the evening and woke up half past one. You went outside to check and it looks like he already left. You got yourself some water from the kitchen and there’s a post-it left in the fridge that says, “Got you some groceries, call me if there’s anything.” You opened fridge and he even refilled your ice creams. You know you couldn’t have a more thoughtful cat. Even when he went away for almost a week for work and you were dying from a sky high fever, you never really called him for anything. But he constantly reminds you that you always can.

Yoongi volunteered to drive this time for some odd reason. It’ll be an almost 2 hour drive from Seoul to Daejeon, he actually doesn’t mind driving and quiets enjoy it more than he’d ever admit. Everything is set, their fishing trip as orchestrated by his hyung, Jin and Hoseok who had no choice but to be dragged unto this trip. They’ve been his friends for the longest time, being in the same company who also works in the industry. Hoseok, a renowned choreographer and Jin, one of the company directors in his agency. He never would’ve agreed to yet another fishing trip if only Jin didn’t promised to have everything paid for and ready to go. He held Hoseok hostage though and so he has no choice but to go as well. Sleeping at the passenger’s seat they both drifted away as Yoongi drives.

They have gone to multiple fishing trips over the years, some where even overseas during their vacation and something wrong always turn out like the time they have to cut the trip short because they have been sitting in the boat for hours and they haven’t caught a single thing. The owner of the boat found it odd too.

But to Yoongi’s surprise everything’s turning out smoothly, on their second day of camping they were able to caught a lot of salmon and have it for dinner. Stuck in his own thoughts while grilling some salmon, Jin shouted. “Yoongi-ah! You’re burning it.” Immediately going back to reality, and thankfully saving the precious fish from burning. “What are you thinking about so deeply?”

“No it’s nothing, Hyung.” He replied as he kept tending to his almost burnt fish.

Once grilling is done they all gathered to have their dinner with some drinks. Soju and beer is always present and with Hoseok around to play some games. In the middle of all the silliness that is Jin and Hoseok and taking the game way too seriously for their own good. Jin asked Yoongi, “Why are you always staring at your phone?” He immediately hide it and said, “No nothing, hyung.”

“What are you thinking of again?” Knowing how Yoongi is sometimes, Jin pried as Yoongi kept looking distracted the entire trip. “Nothing, Hyung. Really.”

“Okay, it’s your turn.” Giving him his Nintendo, he eventually added “If this is about Hyuna, just let me know if you don’t want to work with her again. Maybe we can do something about it.” Yoongi let out a chuckle and drank a shot of soju. “Hyung it’s nothing really, it’s not about her either. The work is fine, we actually finished it sooner than I thought. You must have heard it already.” Jin eventually took the game from Yoongi replied, “I did, you guys were really professional about all this.”

“Of course.” Yoongi proudly replied as he sneaked a peek into his phone again. Unconsciously waiting for some call.

moodboard sr: x x x

[mgsdays]

Thank u for always being so sweet and insightful with your asks!!! i love you 🥰

AnYWAYSs, I wanted to ask you a question particular to the timeline of 19days. We have about 300+ chaps of current flashbacks and present time. Do you think, little by little, we will see more present time dynamics? I know this is the SLOWEST of slow burns and I’m wondering that maybe this is how OX wanted to write; maybe they wanted to show that the past is a reflection of their current present selves? Idk im just rambling here but I think that the past connects to their future selves; it explains to us WHY ZZX and JY have that dynamic in the current time, why MGS and HT still banter, etc. i think OX shows us flashbacks from the past to let us understand how these characters really FEEL about their love interest. its a very interesting way to show character development. I think all these flashbacks are building up to something- I don’t know what but they seem really important and we still dont know HOW JY and HT left so yah thats my theory. What do you think? Another question; how do you think MGS and ZZX will realize their feelings in the future time? A lot of the OX art, as you said, shows these boys comfortably loving their partners so Im wondering as well 🤔 We even see HT and MGS with the couple rings so will we see that too?? I hope we do :(( I think it makes sense that we’ll see them as partners eventually- I mean, we have seen a lot of character development till now with only 300 chaps. Little by little, I think we’re gonna get the end product ☺️

I just hope Im alive to see it happen!

Hey love! Thank you for the message, you were so sweet 😊

I am… more pessimistic about future chapters. More than you, in either case haha

I believe we are building up to the boys leaving, but I do not believe we will see much of a future where the couples have figured things out. I’d love to be proven wrong, just to make it clear, but I don’t think so.

I love your point about the past being a reflection of their futures selves. My theory is that the past chapters serve as a way for Old Xian to give us enough info to presume what happens in the future. Kind of a ‘fill in the blanks’ kind of thing. The past chapters show us the boys’ desires and fears and they explain the motivation behind the boys’ actions. The little snippets into their lives allow us to understand a lot about the characters.

They also give Old Xian a way to write a BL without ever really going there.

Chinese censorship is strong. I don’t think we understand the extent of it from the outside. Some BL authors have been sent to jail. There’s a news story from Nov. 2020 that Mo Xiang Tong Xiu, author of the novel for The Untamed, has been sentenced to 3 years. The details of the case, if true, were not disclosed and we don’t know if they were found guilty or not. A woman who wrote a gay themed novel was sentenced to ten years, that one we know for a fact. China allegedly decided to pull The Untamed from streaming services and to halt production of shows that were being made based on BL books.

This is serious deal. Nothing even happens in those stories. The Untamed is based in a romance novel but it completely removed all explicit romance references for the show. Nothing happens it was still pulled! (after it was done! You make zero yuans by censoring a show that already exists. And yet…).

It really sounds like China is cracking down on content that goes against their morality code. Imagine you’re an artist there. Would you risk everything to make your characters date?

For Old Xian, their art is their livelihood. They make 19 days for the exposure and then use their official platforms to post ads that they draw through Mosspaca Advertising Company. If Old Xian explicitly drew the boys in relationships they’d be risking that platform and could even be putting themselves in danger. (Sometimes Old Xian draws relatively tame art and still deletes and reposts an even tamer version. Old Xian is impacted by censorship. The exposure they have doesn’t necessarily mean they’ll be safe. Imagine them drawing two explicit relationships.)

TL; DR:

Or, TL;DR: HT and JY leave before the boys have enough time to figure things out. The past gives Old Xian plenty of room to write a beautiful story without crossing censorship laws, and leave us to fill in the blanks about their future.

About how I think it happens, I answered earlier today about zhanyi. For tianshan, I think they get together without Mo ever confessing, exactly. In the future Mo has been aware of He Tian’s feeling for forever. Mo knows. I’ll die on this hill. He knows. When Mo really goes through puberty, really starts experiencing desire himself, I think all of his wants unavoidably circle back to HT. Mo would be somewhat aware of his own feelings for years. 

After HT comes back, one day Mo is just so tired of the frustration, the tension between them, He Tian’s years apart, everything, that Mo just kisses He Tian.

He Tian’s surprised for five seconds. 

Then he catches up. 

He pushes in until he has Mo pressed against a wall. Mo’s gasping, a filthy sound echoing low in the space between them, Mo’s fingers sink into He Tian’s hair for the trouble, pulling tight against He Tian’s scalp. It only spurs He Tian on, He Tian groans against Mo’s lips and presses in even harder- rest is history. Mo allows their dynamic to shift from there. 

I think the sexual part may be easier for Mo to deal with in the future than his own feelings. They stay in this kind of relationship for a long time. 

I imagine X many years into it Mo blurts out his love like it’s obvious, like they both have know about it for forever. I loved this text post. I imagine something like this, Mo says he loves He Tian while cursing He Tian out for whatever and saying a million other things. He Tian freezes in the doorway. He knew but still. Hearing it out loud makes his heart race in his chest. Mo loves him, Mo loves him, Mo loves him. He Tian would be whistling to himself the rest of the year. Mo would find it the most annoying thing ever.

(But, secretly, he’d like it. Mo would like being able to make He Tian feel this way, a warmth blossoming on Mo’s chest at the thought.)

[ephemerlskies]

the eighth hour | ot7

⇢ pairing: hoseok x reader

[other members - namjoon, seokjin, and jimin]

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

⇢ word count: 38.1k

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

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

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

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

8:00 - 10:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did I remember to pack the apple?” 

“Yes.”

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

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

“Okay, I’ll see you at four.”

“I’ll see you.”

“I love you, ___.”

“Love you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re delusional.” Jimin cut in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jealous, meathead?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Welcome back, Hoseok.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine! You got one!” 

“Can’t wait to see you again, babe.”

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

“Over the moon.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, you’ll hold it!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Something funny, kid?” 

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

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

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

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

“Seven.” 

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

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

“That’s what I said.” 

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

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

“Enough!” Dickson exclaimed.

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

“Watch your tone, kid.”

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

“Looks like the Is have it!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

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

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

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

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

“I never said you were a lowlife!”

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

“Are you ever going to stop talking?”

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

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

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

“Fuck off, Hoseok.”

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

“In your dreams.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bro, calm down!”

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

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

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

They never were.

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

“Hobi, don’t call him that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah why?”

“Tell us, Hoseok.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were sure of two things. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

 10:00 - 12:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really? Is that true, Seokjin?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you guys wanna do something actually fun?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I want you to stay here with me. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Ten years ago…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why the Andes Mountains?”

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

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

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

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

“Woah! Where?”

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

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

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

“You’re weird… I like you.”

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

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

The answer was clear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m Hoseok, by the way.”

“I’m ___.”

And the rest was history.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why would he do that to you? 

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

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

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

 Present day

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry, I didn't mean to pry.”

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

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

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

“Sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?”

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

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

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

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

“I just got chewed out by Dickhead.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 One week ago

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

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

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

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

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

Your reality. Alone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I need you.

“You smoke?”

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

“Li-”

“You-”

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

Was he nervous? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you want a hole in your neck?” 

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

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

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

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

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

Shit.

“I can explain! It wasn’t-”

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

“Looks like I’ll be seeing you this Saturday, princess.” He smirked. To you, it was a mockery and some sort of reprisal for taking his hand and his cigarette soon after. 

“Fuck you.” You turned away to walk a petty five or so yards away from him before some gravitational force pulled your head to turn back to him. To see if he was watching, perhaps waiting for you to walk back over to him but sure enough he’d kicked his leg over the seat of his motorcycle and started the engine long before you walked halfway towards where you were left to do nothing but watch him leave. He became smaller and smaller, hazier and hazier, and then unforeseeable in the fog.

You watched him leave, and you were almost sure you hated him.

 One week ago

[Hoseok’s POV]

It was enraging and inconvenient for the weather to fog up right as school let out. Hoseok had more trouble driving his motorcycle when there was too much clutter in the air that disoriented the view of the road. He rarely stayed on campus for longer than he needed to, but it looked like he needed to. On the brighter side of things, Hoseok didn’t have to return to his foster house that smelled of old, wet, rotting rags and sounded of strained but persistent screams of his foster parents. 

Even sitting in the fog, sucking in the burn of nicotine, was better than going back there. Days similar to these, days intruding his week more often than not, he found himself stuck between a place he wanted nothing to do with and a place he could envision through a pixelated glare that brought him warmth, quiet tranquility, fresh linen, and lemon. The arms that would meet his body and wrap him snug against another body, then the excited face of yours that met with his equally excited face. 

It was a shame he could only live out these delights through an array of distant artifacts far too old to expel the loneliness from his heart.

Monday was whirling him through a pool of memories he’d rather keep covered up; it was winter and there was no need to swim in such a pool unless he deemed the risk of freezing to death a tenable substitution for smoking cigarettes in the fog. But it was not a matter of whether he would willingly dive into the pool, rather it was whether or not he could keep himself from falling in or even being pushed in.

Hoseok hadn’t seen your face in nearly four years. Of course, he saw you around the campus, strolling the halls or sitting in the cafeteria. He hadn’t seen your face, however, the way he used to look at it before high school. When he was a child free to flagrantly admire what his heart fancied as beautiful, there was no remorse or guilt from the way his eyes brazenly printed the details of your face into his memory. The creases at the sides of your mouth, the ends of your eyes that were pushed closed by the force of your cheek, and the number of teeth visible when you would smile had been graphed out like a mathematical equation; he was of the few that could solve it between the interval of two seconds. He knew where the inner portion of your eyebrows began and how far down the tip of your nose rested on your face along with the lining of your hair scaling the top of your forehead better than he knew any geographical map studied in school.

Most importantly, he studied your eyes more meticulously than he had his own eyes. Not your arms, or hands, or even the support of your legs could carry as much as your eyes. Hoseok liked to look at them when you smiled because they held the softness of a blanket after a tiring day burdened by a snowstorm. He could see it so clearly, a vast cloth in your eyes made specifically to wrap around a body in need of warmth.

But when you were angry, they held the wildest fires that would burn down anything in their line of vision. No matter how difficult it was to look at your eyes when they were sad, he was familiar with the molting roses that made your tears look like wilting petals; it was unsurprising that even in sadness, you shed beauty from your eyes. 

To him, you were the most beautiful being he’d ever gotten the chance to see.

He loved seeing your face, even if the only way he could do so now was through the partially disfigured memories of his younger self. He was sad to say he had no current frame of reference to jar in his mental gallery of you. There was no way he could look at you on the will of his own because he was afraid to unsheathe the distance and repression set to protect you from him

There was no way, because he would have probably fallen in love with you all over again.

He was about to leave, but a gust of wind blew him towards the decision to smoke one more cigarette before surrendering to the house that smelled and felt quite the opposite of one place he truly considered his home. 

And then he saw you. Walking slowly, and you looked so frightened of him. In all fairness, there was no reason for you to look at him with anything other than repugnance and unease because he turned quite jagged over the years.

You, however, were a relic of the past. Like a highly revered piece of art in a museum of grandeur, with the flawlessly manicured, picturesque beauty that couldn’t be bothered with the touch of Hoseok’s calloused hands. He could only stare from behind the velvet roped boundary that kept his body from melting into the art of you.

“Hoseok.” Your voice doubled down on the apprehension that tensed your walk up to him. He pulled the cigarette from his lips, feeling it inappropriate to have such a foul thing in his mouth if he were to greet you. 

You looked so beautiful. So different from the thinly spread memories of your face; your cheeks had grown into maturation but still maintained a soft innocence. When he looked in your eyes, he did not see roses or raging fires or warming blankets, in fact, he could barely recognize them let alone see what they were holding. It hurt more than the smoke battering his lungs.

Get your shit together. Get away from ___. He reminded himself in an incriminating manner.

“Do you need something?” How he had the ability to keep his mind wrapped around you but spewed words forcing you away was beyond any comprehension. Nonetheless, he did it, simultaneously scolding and applauding himself for not reverting to the version of him that would have greeted you with a soft hug or loving smile.

“You smoke?” The disappointment packed into your voice put him at an odd with himself. 

Finding the frustration plowing through his chest, he processed these self-aggressions through a misdirection onto an unsuspecting victim. One he never thought deserving to be the target of his projected anger, but then again, it was the only way to hinder your warm hands from digging beneath his skin.

“No, I just like holding cigarettes in my mouth.” He exhaled relief, along with the rest of the smoke inhabiting his lungs, that you had rolled your eyes. His charade was fooling you into annoyance, keeping you just out of his reach where you belonged. 

“How are you?” Or maybe this act of his was not working as well as he thought, since you padded these questions down like you had nothing better to do. Hoseok began to feel worried, the brimming loneliness was about to unleash through the conversation you were, for some reason, trying to initiate.

If you were to go away, it would break me again. But, at least, it would keep my skin intact.

“I’d say I’m quite annoyed that someone decided to interrupt my peace and quiet.” He freed his cigarette from the ashes bunching at the end, hoping you would mimic this riddance. Maybe you would see he had burnt your body to an ash, and sooner or later the entire cigarette would fall away to black dust. If you saw that, would you finally have the sense to leave him?

He couldn’t stand looking at your eyes. To behold such beauty, suspended from any chance to have your body against his was nothing less that torture to him because he was so very cold, and you looked like you harbored enough warmth in your fingertips alone to cure him of it.

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

Hoseok bit down against the side of his cheek hard enough to steal a bit of blood from his gums and to keep him from asking what your eyes were holding today, and if you would be so kind as to give him a piece of it to feed his empty, starving eyes.

So, he settled on:

“What?”

“Oh just that,” Hoseok panicked in the span of your brief pause. Could you notice he was asking for a bit of your eyes and warmth? He was fucking everything up as usual, he thought. “Way back when, I remember the roles were reversed. You were the one interrupting my peace and quiet.”

The jig had not been up yet, thankfully.

“I distinctly remember saving your life.” 

“Okay, calm down, you saved me from getting sand in my hair and down my pants.” When you stepped close to him, the film of fear once guarding your walk was scraped clean which led to more silent punishment for letting his selfish indulgences of your company get the best of him. 

His muscles couldn’t resist the smile bubbling under the thick skin on his lips. Not even skin, or fog, could hide the smiles that never seemed to run short with you. 

And it was the step, or how miserably trapped in the purgatory he felt, or how he smelled fresh linen and lemon exuding from your hair and clothes that pushed him into the pool of memories he’d been walking around, but avoiding submergence. 

It was deathly freezing. Now, he was fully submerged in the fluid-filled vat of your memories, however. It wasn’t the bone chilling frigidity of the water that had him reaching his arm out and gasping for air, but the enticing warmth of your body that stood above him, as if you were waiting for him to reach to your aid, for you to fill his depraved lungs with linen and lemon tinted oxygen.

“Li-”

“You-”

“Oh, you go.” He believed it was better that you spoke.

“You shouldn't put that stuff in your body.” 

The broken levers and switches and pulleys which made up the inner mechanisms of his body found your banal suggestions as the only surge of kindness his old machinery had felt for a while. He’d heard it before; the Health Education segments, the anti-smoking adverts, the doctor’s orations tunneling out of his ears as quickly as they entered. But your words were caught like traffic in his head, so much that it blocked all entry of a fiery retort to pass through his mouth.

“Mm.” He mumbled because you were right. He shouldn’t be smoking; he shouldn’t be doing a lot of things but some of his actions felt out of his control at this point of his life.

Unprepared could not describe the intense degree of shock Hoseok felt when your fingers wrapped around his wrist so attentively. He was reaching his arm out, waiting to be removed from the cold and isolated pool he’d fallen into (or perhaps pushed into by you), but he never expected his hand to be met. He predicted he would spend eternity reaching to no avail, left to drown in this chilling pond of memories that rendered him frozen in the world of the past. Instead, his body reunited with the dryness of the air.

Hoseok hoped you couldn't feel the embarrassingly quick speed of his pulse with your thumb that rested right against his artery.

“Do you want a hole in your neck?”

He would have responded with: Could it be any worse than freezing to death?

“What are you doing?” His expressionless visage, one labored with hiding his worry, had fallen away from his face. 

The way the cigarette looked in your hands had him nearing a faint. To him, it felt like an accessory, like a bracelet or a belt, like it belonged in his hands. But when you held it, the small stick looked like it was going to leave permanent stains of corruption along your skin. It was absolutely abhorrent in your fingers. Any second, your entire body would be lurking with his repulsive residue and he thought it would kill him before it killed you.

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

That was the tipping point for him. The surge of tender nostalgia. The last bid of persuasion he needed to grab your wrist instead and press his mouth against yours, warm and wet and gentle. And he would have done exactly that, he would have kissed you and offered his last breath to your lungs if not for the unexpected saving grace that arrived in the form of a bitter vice principal.

“Hey!” Dickson’s approach was followed with the inevitability of detention. Hoseok only knew this to be true because even when he wasn’t smoking on campus or doing something that would elicit a detention, Dickson always found a way of weaving in reason to prosecute Hoseok. “No smoking on campus!”

“I can explain! It wasn't-” 

“Can it, ___! No excuses.” Hoseok was in his own world now, counting down the seconds until the pink slip of detention would be presented in front of him on a rusty silver platter. When Dickson walked away, he found it fitting to begin breathing once again.

“Looks like I’ll be seeing you this Saturday, princess.” The mischief in his smirk bred the annoyance back into your chest, which was his goal of course. Before he got the chance to enact his sinful deed to close the space between your lips and his, he hopped on his motorcycle and wheeled himself to a safe distance. 

Cold and lonely, but safe.

He had the rest of the week to figure out how in the hell he was going to spend an entire day with you without looking into your eyes and breaking through the already vulnerable skin. 

 12:00 - 2:00

“Are you okay?” 

“I don’t know. I don’t know anymore.”

About two minutes after Jimin’s head took a dive, landed against the solid wood of the table, and snapped back awake, he looked a bit confused and tried to reattach himself to reality.

“Does anyone know what time it is?” 

“Twelve ten.” You and Namjoon answered in unison like you had been keeping track of every minute that passed since eight o’clock. 

“Time isn’t real.” The still high and rosy cheeked Seokjin mumbled out through a cluster of thoughts bumping around the otherwise empty space in his brain.

“I’m going to punch you.” Hoseok said, feeling sensitive to irritation after the denigration he had just undergone courtesy of a washed-out vice principal.

“Hoseok.” Your tone was a punishing command that needn’t more than the one-worded sternness to make Hoseok huff lightly in adherence. 

“It’s been,” Jimin paused to count with his fingers, “four hours already? It honestly hasn’t felt like it’s been that long.”

“Well, you know what they say.” Namjoon commented this with no further explanation as if Jimin had any actual clue to what the other boy was referring to.

“What? What do they say?” Jimin responded, expectant for the explanation.

“I know. Is it that time isn’t real?” You tried not to laugh at Seokjin’s re-utterance of his thoughts that were polished over with an intoxicated glaze, knowing your approbation to him would further aggravate Hoseok into actually punching Seokjin.

“How are you still that high, Jin?” Namjoon said through a soft chuckle.

“I don’t know it’s kind of freaking me out now. Am I gonna be high for the rest of my life?” 

“No and no. It’s that time goes by faster when you’re having fun.”

“That’s rich.” Hoseok took it upon himself to point out the irony and wicked hypocrisy of the insinuation that Jimin was having, of all things, fun with the four of you.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jimin had almost forgotten Hoseok seemed to get the most satisfaction out of picking at Jimin specifically. 

Jimin wasn’t the easiest target since he was the furthest from a social pariah, Seokjin and Namjoon filled that slot, but he had both a namesake of being a star football player and a pyramidal structure of friends to lose from Hoseok’s unforgiving tongue. This made it much more satisfying to Hoseok.

“I just would have never guessed you would get off your high horse for a few hours to join the rest of us lowlifes. Consider me flattered.” This wasn’t the first or last sarcastic remark to whip tirelessly against Jimin however it was enough for Jimin to feel deserving of answers.

“Where do you keep getting this idea that I think of you guys as lowlifes?” 

“Oh, you wanna know?” Hoseok said, finding the clutter of denial Jimin had congregated around himself both ignorant and audacious. Even Namjoon and Seokjin found it astounding how gullible Jimin was towards his own refusal to admit an all too terrible truth.

“Please, enlighten me.” In the simplest terms, Jimin was in over his head to take on such a challenge with the amount of overzealous egoism in his voice. It felt like an affront, the ignorance shrouding him, to the experiences of the minnows that had to walk the halls with their heads hung low in order to avoid an unsolicited and traumatizing attack from the sharks of your school.

As much as Jimin didn’t want to acknowledge it, he was a shark, and the rest of you were minnows.

“Why don’t you tell everyone why you got detention?”

Jimin stiffened to a stone-like manner. It was petrifying to even move, let alone speak on behalf of his actions that led him here. He didn’t have his posse of dim-witted friends to protect him, nor the freedom of avoidance being trapped in the library. There was, for once, nowhere for Jimin to turn to other than the four faces of those deserving of his explanation.

“Well?” Hoseok coaxed.

“Damn, was it that bad?” Seokjin was worried he placed too much hope on Jimin’s shoulders. He wanted to believe Jimin was one of the good ones, or better ones at least. That out of his friends, Jimin would be the one to do the right thing because it would have been nothing short of betrayal if he relinquished himself to the cowardice of the ‘follow the leader’ mindset plaguing Jimin’s group of friends.

Perhaps it was the razing hues of the cheap fluorescent lights in the library, but there was a strange brightness illuminating this room in particular. Out in the halls, it was darker and easier to miss the faces of passing students. So dark that when you first stepped into the library, your eyes felt a slight burn and was forced to readjust to seeing with clarity for once in quite a long time. 

In the library, there was no way to miss their faces. Maybe if you closed your eyes it would have been easier and the burn of the lights infiltrating your retinas would be boiled down to a grazing sting but now wasn’t the time for closed eyes. The rarity of brightness and clarity was too good to return to the blindness of the halls and the fogged space of the world outside. It was safe to keep them open, just for now.

“Don’t tell me it was one of your dumb football friends who put you up to something.” You said as if you already knew this to be true. 

“They’re not dumb.” “What? Are you trying to defend them? Defend yourself?” Hoseok said and it was not caked in indifference or sarcasm. It was angry and driven by some demented sort of care for Jimin to take accountability for his actions; it was as if he knew Jimin was better than that but he wouldn’t admit this even with a gun to his head.

“No! It’s not that. It’s just…” Jimin had reached his breaking point. There was nothing left to hide. Not when the library was so damn bright that it singed his vision enough to well a few tears to collect at the base of his eyes. “They’re fucking cruel. I don’t think dumb people can be as cruel as them.” 

Jimin’s eyes were spaced out to the floor as if he had seen a ghost, or many ghosts in the form of the untracked amount of students that were swept into a relentless attack by those Jimin dared to call his friends. Those who he stood by, even if it cut through every moral instinct in his body. The most shameful ghosts were the ones sitting before him, listening attentively.

And the most haunting ghost of all was none other than himself. 

“Jimin, what did you do?” Namjoon, walking on eggshells or rather shards of glass, asked this of him apprehensively knowing how overwhelmingly displeased you all would be with his answer. 

“I didn’t have a choice! I-” The tears once held at bay on the bed of Jimin’s eyes had now been pushed over and down his cheeks from the guilt crowding the space where they once rested. “You know my friend Connor right? Well, I don’t know if I can call him a friend. Not anymore at least.”

The four silent nods didn’t give him enough time to construct the strong foundation of courage he needed to build upon this. However, Jimin had exhausted the last of his courage. All there was left for him, for all of you, was to be vulnerable. To be welcoming of his pain seemed to be the only source of strength to say what was needed to be said. What, for once, he felt like he could openly admit to. 

The library was bright. He began to feel seen because of it and the noiseless juncture gave him a chance to be heard.

“I, um, I made the mistake of leaving my phone out. God, I was so fucking stupid. I can’t believe I did that.” He took one deep breath to energize himself, “I, uh, I got a text from Kim Taehyung and,” 

Jimin had been instilling frequent pauses between what he was saying. Talking, especially to those whose opinions held a measurable importance to him, was the most difficult thing he had to do. Jimin spent over ten hours in the beating sun, extrapolated his muscles of their ability to move with the intensive workouts he had to do for training, ran over seven kilometers nearly every other day, and shoved an integral piece of his heart to a place of hateful and regretful shame for his whole life. But this, the uncomplicated act of talking had twisted into an unsolvable maze with Jimin placed right at the center.

“Connor looked. He- he fucking looked through my texts.”

The mention of Kim Taehyung, the only uncloseted person in your grade, had given you all the information needed to know why Connor looking through Jimin’s texts was not just an invasion of privacy but an infestation to the immunity Jimin built against how he loved; who he loved. The boundaries had been set and had been wrongly trespassed over, and to someone like Connor, that didn’t register as a violent act of homophobia. Jimin didn’t have to explain the contents of the texts for you all to know that it was far beyond platonic.

Suddenly, everything made sense to Hoseok. Being that he was the only one who knew what happened, but not as much to know the reasons behind it had him feeling almost as guilty as Jimin.

“You don’t have to explain yourself. I didn't know all that.” Hoseok had given Jimin an opt out, a shortcut to escape from the maze Jimin was still wandering through, which was his way of apologizing and clarifying he would never cross that boundary, the boundary that Connor ravaged with a hateful heart. 

Jimin turned it down. He turned down the shortcuts. This wasn’t a journey that would be accomplished by taking the easy way out. Sometimes, one must run right into the eye of the hurricane to be freed from the shackles of self-despair.

“No. I need to tell you guys. I don’t want you guys to think that...” Jimin pushed past the final wall, realizing the very mask meant to protect him was the thing that had been turning him into someone he couldn't recognize when he looked in the mirror. “I just… I want you guys to know.”

The low social status of the others in the room wasn’t why he felt like he could be honest. It wasn’t the fact that even if you all knew, it would have been diluted to an unverifiable and petty rumor because no one took what the delinquent, the loner, the nerd, and the freak said seriously. What motivated him, or more fittingly, what inspired him to be honest was your gift of listening, not just hearing to hear, but hearing to care and understand Jimin.

“I’m gay.” And he finally found the end of the maze. “I’ve never said it out loud before. It sounds weird coming out of my mouth.” What he expected was awkward silence, a few uncomfortable or disapproving grimaces, or a complete rejection of what he revealed himself to be. These expectations weren’t met, by the grace of God or more likely the grace of those who listened with care and understanding. And Jimin cried harder.

“I don’t think it sounds weird. I’m so happy you shared that with us.” You said in place of the expected rejection, and you smiled in the place of the expected turned back. “I’m proud of you for being so brave.”

“You are?” 

“We all are.” Namjoon added to the support.

No longer did Jimin feel the need to rely on the fractured confinement of the closet, but on the open, warm support of the four others and the brightness of the library. When he gathered the reactions for the four of you, the soft expressions directed towards him, he knew he was in a safe place. Even Hoseok, without outwardly smiling, gave him more acceptance than any of Jimin’s football teammates would have given him.

“No disrespect but what does that have to do with why you got detention?” Seokjin’s bluntness corralled Jimin back on topic, even if it wasn’t the most empathetic way of going about it.

“Oh yeah. Well, Connor started saying all this shit about telling everyone if I didn’t um…” It felt like the words coming from his throat weren’t hot air from his lungs, but jagged rocks scraping the sides of his windpipe, “If I didn’t beat Taehyung up then he’d tell everyone and leak our conversations.” 

“Would people finding out about you two be so bad?” Seokjin asked naively.

“You don’t understand. There weren’t just messages.” He had been fidgeting with the end of his shirt, engulfed by the regret of how he handled things. Though, his choices had made him a parcel between deciding on the lesser of two evils and this was never a fair advantage. “There- there were pictures too. He threatened to leak them and I… well, I thought I was protecting Taehyung from him, but I was being selfish. Weak. I was protecting myself.”

“Jimin, that’s not fair. Connor put you in such a fucked up position! God, how fucking dare he?” Your face was red with anger. Hoseok had been tracing the distress lines on your forehead and between your brows with reverence because it was too heartbreaking to look at the defeated expression tolling Jimin’s. “You know Connor also sent around my friend’s nudes after he was begging for them. He’s fucking vile.”

“There has to be something we can do to get him in trouble.” Namjoon had already been willing to risk having to voluntarily interact with Dickson to rat Connor out. However, Jimin objected strongly.

“No! Then word would get out. You don’t know half the shit my teammates say about gay people. There’s no way they would let me stay on the team. And my parents don’t have a clue. I have no idea how they’d react.” Jimin brought his forearm to wipe away the tears still spilling from his eyes. “I’m scared. I already lost the one person who I really cared about in this damn school because of that asshole. I can’t lose anything else.” 

“Why would you want to be on a team with people who hate gay people? Or be on the same team as the guy who literally blackmailed you into beating up your boyfriend.” Jimin didn’t take too kindly to Seokjin’s unthoughtful assertion. 

“You wouldn’t understand. I- I’ve built my life around football! I wouldn’t have any friends and my whole future is riding on my football career. God knows my grades aren’t enough to get me accepted into college let alone get a scholarship. You don’t understand the social pressure of not being a part of something.” Now, it was Jimin who made thoughtless assertions against Seokjin. “Someone like you just wouldn't understand.”

“Someone like me?”

“Do I have to say it?”

Internally, you pleaded with him not to say it. Namjoon already knew the hurtful assumptions Jimin had placed upon the four of you this whole time.

“Well, you're the one who brought it up.” Seokjin retorted.

“Say it, Jimin. Admit you think of yourself as better than us just because you're popular and on the football team.” Hoseok spat with a determined bite to his words.

“Fine! Someone like Seokjin is an outcast. It’s true, okay? It’s not my fault he doesn’t get the pressure that I’m under.” The admittance was torrid and vain but nonetheless true to Jimin’s prerogative. 

“Are you kidding me? You don't think all of us don't understand the social pressures of feeling like we don't belong?” He was never one to argue or get upset about things. He often felt like he had no place in ever standing up from the many instances when he’d been pushed to the ground for his entire life. 

Seokjin, and Namjoon too for that matter, have been casted as a sort of boot licker trapped in between the cogs of the social hierarchies in high school. Being at the very bottom, on the receiving end of the brute force from those who are lucky enough to be a part of something, hadn't been easy. They didn’t get the leverage to misstep or speak out, and their consequences had always been enforced with an expensive debt of hiding what was really on their minds. 

“You don’t think I see and hear the way people talk about me? I’m a freak, a low life, a joke. No one wants to be friends with someone like me. And yeah, I guess I am the joke of the school! The inside joke that everyone is a part of except for me. I've never had the fear of not belonging because that was a given ever since I started high school. At least you have something to lose. I never had that and I have to pretend like I’m okay with it all! I have to pretend that everything people say about me or make fun of me doesn't affect me. In fact, I feel like I have to constantly make a fool of myself because that’s the only way anyone pays attention to me! That's pathetic! If I didn’t, if I just shut up or if I-” His voice cut off momentarily from the lump impeding on his throat, “If I were to just disappear… or… if I were to die no one would care. And I have to pretend to be okay with that. But I’m not- I- I just hate it.” 

You didn’t have to look at his eyes to know he had also been crying. And he was right, everything he said. The way most people disregard him and when they do acknowledge Seokjin, it’s only to place hate or insults to titillate their sick amusement. It brought you to tears in the most gut-wrenching way, because part of you attuned to his loneliness. His feelings of unimportance, that if you were to fall off the face of the Earth one day, your tombstone would be just as undeclared and forgotten as your once beating hearts.

“Do you know how many death threats I’ve gotten in my locker? Yeah, they’re probably empty threats just to piss me off or scare me but they still affect me. I- I start to believe maybe I should be dead. I just… I just want to be seen.”

In some way, Jimin felt decided for just like Seokjin did. Decided by external forces that he should be manly, straight, and nothing beyond what had been expected of him. Though the oppression of heteronormativity chained around his neck was vastly different that the shackles that kept Seokjin at an arm's length away from ever making a true friend, there was a communion within the unwelcomed and pervasive loneliness.

And that kind of loneliness drives someone to a deep and unyielding kind of depression. The damaging isolation from having no one to tell you they love you when you feel unloved ricocheted against your insides, and it begins to feel like a hunger but a million times worse.

You couldn’t feed it on your own. You just have to wait for someone else to want to feed it, to want to love and accept you. But no one could wield such compassion when they were too occupied with fitting in, until now.

“I don’t think you’re a freak or a joke. I’d never make fun of you, and I would notice. If you left, Jin, I would notice.” Namjoon said to give Seokjin shelter and company in feeling out of place. He felt it too and it was heavy, crushingly heavy. 

“I think we’re all just pretending to be okay. Pretending that living and existing doesn't hurt and that every day doesn't leave a scar on our body in some way. Being alive when you are pretending is lonely because it isn’t you who’s living and existing. It’s the shell of you, and the real you has to watch from a distance. That distance is so lonely. And when you try to crawl back into that shell, and maybe become whole again, you just can’t. You’re stuck because you've been hurt too many times to feel safe in your own body. I’ve felt it, now I know Jimin and Seokjin feel it. Even ___ and Hoseok, I know you guys feel it too. I wish we could stop. I wish we didn’t have to pretend. If we could stay in this library, together, we wouldn’t have to. But the end of the day will come and we’ll all have to go back to pretending, won't we?”

A speechless agreement filled the air.

“I don’t. I don’t want to feel lonely anymore.” Seokjin said.

“Me neither, I don't want to go back to pretending. I want to be able to love who I want to love.” Jimin looked to Seokjin, scared and unsure of whether or not they could face the world again. Oddly enough, comfort surfed over fear and uncertainty because they were not alone anymore. To be in a state of apprehension with those who take time to understand one another lightened the load tenfold. If one can be lonely with other lonely people, then maybe they weren’t alone after all. 

In this library, bright and giving, they certainly weren't alone.

There was nothing to say or refute. Hoseok had in fact been pretending, his skin just as fake as the leather jacket covering him. Though now, unlike when he saw his portrait, he felt the absence of his skin to be freeing. He felt uncomfortable in his skin; he wanted it off completely. Being strong, pretending to be unhurt led him to come crashing down as hard as he did when he faced you again. You and all the mistakes he’d made and Dickson’s hostile attack in the halls. Perhaps weakness is a form of healing.

Letting the guard down just enough to let the kindness of another’s heart in. 

“Do you guys… to me, you guys are my friends.” Spoken with an intentional rephrase and delivered without an expectation that the four of you returned this projection of friendship, Seokjin felt less alone than he did in the dark of the hallways that, although physically narrow, were wide enough to have him walking through alone.

“You’re my friend.” You said this quickly, to not give any chance for silence to settle doubt. You were his friend, truly, more so than the friends you made to fill the Hoseok sized void in your life. “I don’t have a lot of friends either.”

“Me neither.” Namjoon said.

“I mean, I have a lot of friends, but I think it’s all bullshit. I think you guys are the only ones close to anything real.” Jimin said through a smile.

And though Hoseok had come to realize what it felt like to be seen, to have his bones exposed to the eyes of the understanding, there was still that adjustment period. Letting go of the habitual usage of rudeness and sarcasm as a defense mechanism against the rawness of being human with other people was not an easily dropped reflex.

“Wow, well this love fest was certainly something.” 

How could he do that? How could he reduce the trauma and bravery piled between the five of you to another crass, insensitive comment? 

“Oh, god. Can’t you just quit it already? Can’t you take anything seriously?” You were well beyond the brink of holding your tongue. Beyond the point of patience that was placating your owed explanation for Hoseok’s drastic change and unannounced desertion.

“No, that part of my brain died a long time ago. Sorry to burst your bubble, princess.”

“Oh, is that what your excuse is?”

The other boys sensed there was some unsaid history between the two of you which placed them as silent audience members, serving a watchful mediation to this long-awaited performance. 

“What’s your deal? Calm down, it was just a joke.” His insensitivity came from a place that grew used to pushing you away and stonewalling the idea of emotionality, yet another defense mechanism brandished to become second nature to him. And with the attentive eyes of the other three, there was no chance of loosening the skin and veered away from showing his bones. Hoseok knew exactly what ‘your deal’ was but he didn’t have the slightest idea of how much his feigned indifference packed more dirt in your wounds.

Or at least, you hoped he didn’t. It would have made it far worse to know he was aware of the way he hurt you. 

“What’s my deal? My deal is that you don’t care about anyone! You never cared about me and you made me believe that I could trust you. You’re just an asshole, when you get down to it. You have no heart.” You spat, feeling the heat rising just as quickly as your body which collected the strength to take a stand. 

He too stood up, facing you and it overspent the little energy he had to look into your eyes as you said these harsh things, unhidden in the library’s brightness. Of course, you didn't believe anything you just said. You knew he cared, or at least he did once, and that he had a heart, no matter how emptied of love it felt in his chest. His heart was there, beating slowly as if waiting to stop completely.

You were speaking through the frustrations of trying to reach out to someone who held their guard up stronger and mightier than a brick wall and seemed to want nothing to do with you. 

He didn’t know this. Hoseok was up to his neck in regret and guilt. He was tired, and his heart was weary from doing its job of maintaining his breath. A breath he didn’t feel worthy of harboring anymore. He had been tired for a while now and just wanted to be vulnerable, like the rest of you. However, no matter how many times he thought it over or talked himself into it, the skin just seemed to regenerate faster than it shed. 

He wanted to take you in his arms, never let go, tell you where it hurt and hoped you would love him there in the same way you would when you were young, and when his heart didn’t fully understand the hefty price of being the unwanted orphan who dragged misery into the lives of everyone associated with him. He wanted the sandbox, the Andes mountains, Marley and Me, the first grade, the aromas of linen and lemon, and you all over again. But he knew, he never stopped wanting that.

“You don’t know that, ___! You don’t know anything so how dare you make claims like that about me when you don't know half the shit I’ve been through!” He was screaming, though not so much in the literal sense. The high pitch of his voice was him trying to talk over the secrets that he kept from you. It seemed like the only thing that would drown out the loneliness itching to be liberated was his hurtful words. It sent you into a rage

“Then tell me! Let me help you or be there for you! Stop running away. For once in your life stop running!”

“Why would I tell you of all people?” The true meaning behind this was unclear through his spiteful tone and sandpaper skin. The one person he wanted the best for, he wanted to protect, wasn’t the person to dump all his problems on. Not you. Not your kind eyes and soft, warm hands and skin. He couldn't drag you under the bus with him and make you solve the unsolvable. To put you through that, it would have been better to drive a dull sword right through your chest. 

You wanted to slap him or shake him. Shake the secrets out of him and place him right under the bright lights of the library. You wanted to reach into his chest and pump the slowly dying organ with your own hand so he could keep on breathing.

“I hate you, Hobi. I fucking hate you.” You said this and you said his name. The name owned by your tongue that carried too much sentiment to mean anything of hatred. Both his name and your hatred flew through the thick fog surrounding Hoseok, but only one of those two met with his skin and melted it off his bones completely. 

“I hate me too.”

He couldn’t let you, or anyone see him cry. So he ran, just like always. Hoseok walked out of the library, right into the dark halls, but it was him running again. Running far away from you just like he did over three years ago.

It seemed like he didn’t reveal nearly as much as Seokjin and Jimin had. Even Namjoon, with the few words he’d offered on his place in the grips of loneliness seemed to be loads more than Hoseok gave.

But to you, it was enough. To you, his silence and grim avoidance told you everything you needed to know about Hoseok.

Dry eyes, dignity, skin, the defensive masks once mounded over your faces were nowhere in sight of this library. Becoming emotionally undone and disarmed was nothing more than becoming honest with yourselves and others. It came just in time before those mighty walls broke down to leave you all sitting ducks to the much harsher grasps of your peers’ judgements

It felt like symbiosis. The mutual giving and receiving between those who had been pretending, but were worn out by the last few hours of detention. To give the skin that covers and protects and hides the things unwanted by most of society. The things often put to shame or denial or negligence and root loneliness deeper into one’s body. And to receive a mindful ear that cares and listens, empathetically, to the words locked away, as well as a place where these insecurities and inner torments can be put to rest through the form of words.

No longer were these secrets kept. There was no one to shun or misunderstand or commit the crime of breaking the bones of those who stand out to fit in the mold of what was considered acceptable or worthwhile. 

Four out of five coats unworn, laying in the center of your circle, safe and understood.

The question remained, if and when the fifth one would be shed?

Namjoon broke the tense silence.

“Are you going to go after him?” 

If it was your freshman year, you would have been racing out of those doors before Namjoon had to ask. The you of the past would have climbed over the Andes mountains, the you of elementary school would have swam across the vast oceans to drag him back into your life. The you of the past, the one that had only a sandbox and Hoseok, would have gotten to the door before he had and blocked any exit from this room. 

But you were not in the past, and Hoseok was already gone. Namjoon had to ask whether or not you would go after him and that meant there was a chance you had given up, for good this time. There was a chance you wouldn’t go after him.

“I don’t know. I don’t know anymore.”

 Five years ago

For the better part of a year, Hoseok tumbled through life without any cadence for feelings and emotions. He was an adolescent boy, after all, and each week brought a new challenge to his plate that left little room to focus on the chaos of his life and guidance of his heartbeat. This week, he set his sights on getting you to race him on your scooters down the steepest hill in your neighborhood. 

Dusk was orange and warm, sending its hues along the streets and faces who were under it like an important message one must read with the utmost care. Hoseok liked this part of the day specifically because the end of the hour would take his tired body into your home to eat dinner with you and your mom. He saved that for later and for now, he and you were occupied with scraped knees and tired knuckles from gripping the handles of your scooters, and a hill rolling down so far it seemed like it would take a lifetime to reach the bottom of it.

“Come on! We’ve been practicing for hours! You can do it!” His scooter was edging to slip off the slope and down the hill in eagerness. Yours stationed a foot behind with your helmet strapped snug around your chin and a grip around the handles so tight, you left the divots of each finger on the rubber padding. 

“What if we die?” You looked at the back of his head soon turned to become his face as he peeled away his determined glare to a soft reassurance. Wheeling back to align the front of his scooter with the front of yours, he was left to subside to the beatings of his heart, fed by the sun placing itself on the crest of your helmet and the luminescent rays drizzling like a serene waterfall down your face and body. 

He never thought about beauty much, being that he was no older than thirteen years, but seeing you under the aging sun had put it at the forefront of his focus.

“If we die… then you’re mom’s gonna be mad. So, I won’t let that happen.” 

“Hobi!” You swung your arm that braised the bone of his shoulder not without a laugh at his rather playful response to your worries. 

“Trust me. We don’t die. And whoever gets to the bottom first wins.” Your laugh served as a catalyst that quickened the pace of his heart. Whatever it was trying to tell him in this moment, it was surely of sizable importance being that it sent waves of warmth through his cheeks and down to his legs. The challenge now hadn’t been the epic scootering down the hill but putting his heart aside long enough to last the rest of dusk.

“Wins what?” You asked with intrigue.

“I don’t know. A piggyback ride all the way home.” Tired legs and a heavy head convinced you this prize had been worth the risk of falling, akin to dying in your perspective. Your head turned to the hill, looming over the intersecting street at the base of it, notifying Hoseok that backing down was no longer an option.

“Alright. Ready, set, go!”

Opening your mouth didn’t come with the expected release of terrified screams but laughs of thrilled enjoyment. The wind was cut through by your body, now rocketing down the gradient that felt much less steep than it looked, and you commended Hoseok for convincing you to tackle this seemingly trifling challenge. 

“This is so fun!” Your yelp was lost in the rapid descent, but Hoseok, a few feet ahead of you, had been in range of your acclaim. 

It was then when the young adolescence in his brain was overtaken by the guidance of his heart. His own tired body became alive and light. When you said this, the joy in your voice made the decision for him to discreetly apply pressure to the metal brake of his scooter with his heel, to realize he couldn’t make you carry him home. 

Not because it was tiring for you, but he wanted to see the look on your face when you won. He needed that smile and the warm blanket of your eyes that would heal his aching muscles and tired body. And it was your open-mouthed smile and celebratory hops, along with the showering glints of sunlight and the end of dusk that turned his loss into an incredible win. His covert efforts to draw this joy from you came from a place none other than pure love.

“I won! Hobi, I won!” Without a second to spare, you ran and mounted his back with legs wrapped tight around his torso and your arms snug, but not quite choking, his neck. 

“Alright, fair is fair.” Though, it wasn't fair. Not in the slightest, and Hoseok made sure of that. 

The feeling of your soft, jaded breath against his neck was energizing, and every so often you would give his body a tight squeeze when he was struggling to trudge back up the hill, as if to thank him. And you were because you knew he let you win. You squeezed him in your arms, keeping firm to the memory of him and this triumph gifted to you. Though, it was not as great of a gift as Hoseok was to your life. 

“Thank you, Hobi.” Your soft whisper was followed by an even softer kiss on his cheek, damp from the sun and the hill and the piggy-back ride. Soft enough to communicate to him the gratitude in your heart, which translated and directly manifested into his lungs now fanned of all the burning once inflaming them; his face sporting quite a bashful smile too.

He was not tired, not when he was holding you because it felt more like you were holding him. Like you were always going to hold onto him.

The neatly lined houses had little to no variation. Individuality in this small, suburban town was like finding that needle in the haystack. To him, your house was that shiny little pin. Your house was a home, and he saw that through the partly uncurtained windows that gave him a view of the scene inside. Most of the time, you were already seated by the sill, waiting for him to arrive. 

You and Hoseok had arrived at the base of your driveway, staring up at the small incline that looked like it was taller than the Andes Mountains themselves to Hoseok.

“You know how I said we won't die?” You turned to his lightly blushed cheeks upon hearing this to see he was smiling. “Yeah, well, I think I’m going to die.” 

His pearly whites cemented with metal braces and strands of his unkept hair stuck in the sweat of his forehead were sightly. You began to laugh, looking at the goliath hill separating you and him from a home-cooked meal courtesy of your mom, then back at the odd, awkward boy who had yet to discover the wonders of deodorant and properly fitted clothing.

Hoseok wasn’t all too desirable in terms of the traditional realm of attractiveness. His arms were lanky, unable to place themselves naturally at his sides without looking uneven, and his posture did him no favors either. And you took in all five foot five of him, before he hit a spur of growth, and thought he was the loveliest little thirteen-year-old in your grade and in the whole world. 

“Come on, you know my mom won’t allow that. I got you, Hobi.” You weaved your hand through his, pulling with all the force your muscles could exert to haul him up the driveway. You made it to the top and your hand didn’t let go of him. Your mind was trying to deny the twists and turns of your stomach and the fast pumping of your heart any credence. 

When all else fails, you must listen to your heart.

Both you and Hoseok discovered in your very young, inexperienced lives that hills and driveways and scooters and all the other trivial barriers were no match to hearts. 

It was in first grade that he knew he was going to be your best friend. It was by eighth grade he knew he loved you. So much he’d carry you with bruised knees and broken arms to the ends of the earth. 

 2:00 - 4:00

Hoseok’s memories of you became sort of a mosaic. The little pieces of you were, singularly, a bit insignificant in the time they were being experienced. Often overlooked, and taken for granted, he couldn’t realize the beauty they captured until he stepped back. With distance, he saw the full picture, the ethereal mosaic had brought him a far and lonely appreciation for the past. 

All throughout the day, he didn’t want to look into your eyes like he did the day you convened with him in the parking lot where he was smoking. His fluency of your eyes had unraveled with time, leaving him feeling illiterate in the language of you and completely lost. When he felt lost, he wanted his heart to guide him again, but it would instruct him to return to you and replenish the deserted friendship. However, from what everyone told him, even Dickson, he wasn’t worth the effort. 

You had been staring at the door opened and closed by Hoseok, waiting to be opened and closed by you. As if there were a part of you deciding on letting him go, you tapped your hand against the table synchronically with the seconds ticking by on the clock. The door had eroded the rest of the library away, along with the three sets of eyes staring earnestly at you.

“So, are you gonna go or what? We have like two hours left and God knows whether he actually stayed on campus or not.” Seokjin sliced the wordless atmosphere with heavy hopes you would make any indication of your next move. 

“Seokjin, shut up! ___, don’t feel pressured to do anything.” This overlaid Jimin’s pounding urge to hoist you up himself and throw you into the wiles of the halls.

“What? ___ clearly wants to find him.” 

“Well, he clearly doesn’t want to be found. He’s such a child, honestly, I shouldn’t waste my time.” You knew you only said this to try and talk yourself out of the decision which had been established by your beating heart the minute Hoseok walked out. The obvious desire to follow him had been expressed through the discomfort you felt for tearing your eyes away from the door; you were guilty, above all else. 

Each tap of your hand could have been a prelude to your inevitable pursuit of the man who, in fact, did want to be found. It was effortful but insincere to attempt leveling the scale between the two options of chasing or letting go; the opportunity of Hoseok was a weightier one than the life without him, executed through repetitive, passionless motions. You were bored, repulsed by the way you had lived out each moment of your life just to wait for the next and the next until your life was over. 

“Come on, you know that’s not true.” Namjoon added, “We’ll cover for you if Dickson comes back. I really think you should go.”

“Yes, please. Go.” Seokjin placed his desires proudly once again. 

“In all honesty, I think you should go t-”

“Enough! I’ve already gone down that path. All I ever got from it was unheard voicemails and ignored texts.” You were still looking at the door, and still trying to talk yourself out of it - and still feeling guilty.

“Love is hard, I get it. But-” You didn’t let Namjoon finish his well-thought out life lesson that would have coerced you into going after him.

“What? I don’t love him.”

“Ooo, ___ and Hoseok? Fire and ice. Rain and sun. Winter and Sum-”

“Seokjin, don’t you have an essay to write?” You cut his words down as well, finding none of their entertainment in your inner psyche appropriate. They were placing themselves in your mind, but to them it wasn’t so much of a locked door than a door wide open with its secrets spilling out faster than the tick of the clock and the tap of your hand.

“Well, he clearly loves you. I don’t know him that well, but I can assure you he doesn’t get like that around just anyone.” Whatever ‘like that’ meant, you were annoyed that you knew exactly what Namjoon was implying. It didn’t stop you from perpetual, stubborn denial.

“He doesn’t love me.” 

“Oh… Are you being- Is ___…? Are- You’re stupid.” Seokjin’s words crumbled to near incoherency due to his complete astonishment for your lack of judgment. Perhaps if your belief that he didn’t love you was a genuine judgment, then his assessment would have been correct; you were being stupid.

“Well, fuck you too!”

“What he means to say,” Namjoon’s pause was to shoot Seokjin a disapproving glance, “is that it's really obvious you guys are into each other. I don’t know your history but there are definitely some unresolved feelings.”

“If you’re not gonna talk things out with him, at least tell him to come back so Dickson doesn’t get him into even more trouble.” Jimin’s addition only vegetated your inclination to find him again. 

It made sense. It was rational, reasonable, and therefore possible. You couldn’t let him get in trouble. You were just doing him that small favor. In your head, it caked over the real reason; to know he still cared or to see his eyes looking back at you, and figuring out what was the wedge that drove you and him apart. Maybe this would somehow re-cultivate the half of your heart still hanging by the thread that tethered you to him.

“I-” You stood up, walking towards the door that was about to be opened and closed, and looked back at the three boys now favoring much more satisfied and slightly smug looks on their faces, “Oh, shut up.”

Jimin held his hand, palm facing the ceiling, in front of Namjoon who greeted it with a victorious high five. Seokjin held his pencil up to signify you that he could now peacefully start his essay, to which you smiled warmly. You couldn’t thank them out loud, because you had nothing to ‘thank’, or so you thought.

You were just making sure Hoseok wouldn't get in trouble. That’s all it was. Then, you opened and closed the door and began the chase again. This time, however, the fog that once hurdled your vision was easy to sift through with the loud beats of your heart navigating you through the moors of the hallways.

You turned left, then stopped to ponder on turning back and going right instead. Hoseok didn’t make this easy and you wouldn’t have expected anything less from him. Eventually, you just let your body wander the many halls for about ten minutes before you decided on furthering your search to the roof of the main building. 

There was a new revenue of motivation that moved your legs forward. Before, they were struggling to keep up with everything life hurled at you. Now, it was far more determined and self-assured because you were moving towards a goal. You wanted to find him, and this time everything you had faced, all the loneliness, self-blame, forced smiles and friendships couldn’t keep up with you.

The stairs proved to be quite a test for your determination, and you passed with flying colors, heavy breaths, and inflamed hamstrings. You were lucky to push through the door and find him standing, staring off into the expanse of the fog. Towering over the haze had you realizing the entire school had been submerged, not just Hoseok and you and the library. Everything was under that sheet of blindness except for, as of now, you and Hoseok. The roof served as a platform to look upon the fog and stand safe from the numbing effect it debilitated on those in it. You knew he heard you. The perk of his ear as you ungracefully fell through the door to the open air told you he knew you were there. 

You stood a few feet behind him, and he offered only the view of his back facing you. There was a line to be crossed if you were to go towards him, place your hand on his shoulder, and ask him to face you. Whatever line that was, you knew it was Hoseok who set it and you wanted to know why.

“It’s cold out here.”

He said nothing, but did provide the tenuous gesture to turn his head, giving you a side profile of his face. In turn, wiring through your eyes was the stains of what could only be deduced as tears along his cheek. 

“Aren’t you cold? Let’s go back inside, Hobi.” 

Hoseok couldn’t look, doing so would only invite you to join him. It would plot his every desire along the pavement and undress how much he wanted to have and hold you. But you were no one’s, least of all his, to hold.

“Dickson could be back any minute.” Your footsteps towards him raised the clarity of your voice. You were doing a fine job at hiding the real reason you came up to get him, both from yourself and Hoseok. It pinched his weathered heart that you had just come up to warn him about Dickson. 

“Okay.” He answered curtly to bitter the atmosphere and showed no sign of leaving. 

“Well, I’m not leaving here until you get your ass down there, so, you’ll be getting me in trouble too.” You crossed the line which felt more like walking over a burned bridge, and placed yourself next to him with perfect access to see his face.

He was even more beautiful standing above the fog. 

You leaned your elbows next to his on the ledge of the building. His eyes, glistening from the tint of resisted tears, plowed over the treetops peeking through the top layers of mist. It was difficult to tell whether or not he was listening when his eyes were busy whispering secrets to everything in the far distance and the close proximities. To everything but you.

“Why?” Hoseok’s eyes were nudging towards the direction of you. He wanted so badly to look at you, to brave a glance but he was so cold out here that he had frozen over into ice. 

In this ice, he couldn’t move or even breathe for that matter. Looking at you and not being able to move towards you was an unnecessary torture of which he'd rather not look at you at all. So, he remained in his calcified state, eyes edging dangerously close to you.

“Why what?” Your eyes moved away from him, to the fog instead, trying to see the ground below. “You’re staying up here, aren’t you?” 

“Yeah.”

“Well, I’m staying with you.” Hoseok was shocked that you said this with such decisiveness; it was difficult to decipher whether this proposition came as easily as it was said. The lonely glades of mist were entrenched by a new plurality, like a double-edged sword ready to cut through the veil of secrets. The more you would push through Hoseok’s skin, the more it penetrated your own.

“God! Why can’t you just leave?” He removed himself from the ledge, pacing over to the space in the middle of the roof. Thinking this would suffice the desperation for distance was a gross miscalculation. You too pulled away from the ledge that overlooked the foggy plains and placed your steps consecutively with his. 

“Don’t you see I clearly don’t want you here?” That lie tasted much more sour when spoken out loud.

“I don't! Okay? I really don’t. I don't understand… I- Why did you leave? What the fuck did I do?” Your voice had matched in elevation with your frustration; you were not referring to him leaving the library, but to his cold departure from your life over three years ago. And with that, was the unending pursuit of him. 

“___, you just have better places to be. So go! Stop staying with me. Jesus fucking Christ! Look at me!” His hands angrily emphasized his sharp features that would surely draw blood if you came too close. “You shouldn't be hanging around with someone like me.”

“Is that what this has been all about?” You stood paralyzed; your body was stunned from this all too underwhelming reason. You were hoping that this wasn’t it, there was surely a much more redeeming explanation for how he ripped your heart right out of your chest. The thought that this was the reason for the cut tie had cornered you in a fiery rage. It made you furious. “Are you fucking kidding me, Hobi? That’s what this is about?”

What better place to be than right here, with you? You knew he would not be generous in giving any further explanation, so this question remained in your head.

“Yeah, actually, it is.” A shiver riddled its way under his jacket. He turned towards you, finding that revealing the truth which cemented him into a miserable, solitary life was not as climactic as he expected. Nor did he expect it to be revealed in the first place.

But it was, unceremoniously, rolled onto the roof. He had nothing to hide anymore so he looked at you. Your eyes, that he could finally see since you were above the fog, were close to tears. Years and years of denial and repression compounding against your heavy heart now alleviated, but it was not the least bit rewarding. You thought he was absolutely delusional to believe the gesture that his abandonment was rooted in the effort to protect you, when all it did was hurt you.

“No I-” You swiped your hand against your cheek, though it was useless as tears soon replaced themselves on your face, “That’s so stupid. That’s- You think I care? I don’t give a fuck about what you look like or what you do, Hobi. Don’t you understand I-”

“No, you don’t understand. I’m not good.” His voice wavered through his throat, releasing more as a cry for help than an assertion of truth. 

“How could you say that?” You did him the favor of taking the strides towards him. The initiative fell to you and your body moved through instinct to close that distance Hoseok kept trying to re-establish. His body was weak up close; when there was no space or fog and the jacket draped over his body could no longer keep his skin collected along his bones, he was weak and it was far more relieving to see him vulnerable. 

“You were the best thing to ever happen to me. You were the only little first grader that wanted to be my friend and not just that. You showed me that someone could actually want to be my friend. You gave me so many years of happiness that would have been dreadful without you. I would have hated life without you. And I do! I hate life without you, Hobi. I’m so lonely.” You were unsure how you came to finally reveal every message your heart pumped through your veins and up to your brain for all these years, but you were glad it happened.

It wasn’t Hoseok’s lack of effort that kept all the good things he’s done under the rug of unimportance. It was the mounds of contempt the world held for kids like him. The stigma of abandonment and undesirability that was clamping down on any part of him brave enough to reach out, making it difficult for any feelings to be shown without irreparable harm or discouragement.

“You don't mean that.”

“I don't mean that. That’s it? That’s all you can say?”

It was, for the moment, all he could say. The feelings of unworthiness facilitated utter shame of himself like congruent figures now inseparable from each other and had molded a cage of confinement around Hoseok. His body was trapped under the scrutiny of everyone who expected him to fail, and one day he was afraid your eyes would join. That one day, you would look upon him with nothing of warmth, love, or admiration. Nothing of the eyes populated with blankets and storms and bountiful roses. 

“You’re so fucking persistent!”

“Why are you pushing me away?”

“Because!”

“Tell me why! You know I deserve it.” The conversation metered out with a lot less organization and structure, which was the result of many untouched feelings released between the two of you. The blizzarding words were combative and destructive as well as reparative and conjoining, but most of all it was grievously uncivilized.

“Jesus Christ.”

“Three years. Three fucking years, Hoseok. I’ve wasted three years of my life blaming myself for losing you. Blaming myself for being lonely. God! I'm so mad at you! I'm so mad at myself for still loving you!”

And there it was. The last stroke of courage slipping from your mouth into the words spoken through an unfiltered and unrestrained heart. It was beating fast right now as if it had been unmoving in your chest for the past three years. Finally beating again, you felt all the blood return to your limbs in waves of pricks along the expanse of your skin.

Hoseok was not ready to be cast into the shallow, yet inescapable oasis of your testament. The remoteness of the past three years had him crawling through an emotionless desert, purged of any source of water or food or nourishments to keep his thick-skinned body functioning. The moment he was presented with a bit of the revitalizing water, Hoseok, like many starving people, dove into it too much, too fast.

He felt the atrophied muscles in his legs gain traction to glide towards you. The force was a savage agent of his tightly packed emotions which erupted the moment you said you loved him. He loved you, he knew that now, and his body wouldn’t allow him a second longer to sit desolate and starved. 

Without stopping him, his lips planted roughly and passionately against yours. You were wrapping your arms around his neck before the logical sense of what was happening had been granted permission into your conscience.

Your heart, his heart, were guiding and deepening the kiss, only tangling you tighter into your dedication for him as much as it was twisting the confusion and unanswered questions into a larger, messier knot.

His tongue slid against your lower lip, assuming an entrance to slip himself into your mouth. Your jaw hung slightly agape and gluttonous at the way his lips spilled such tender movements against yours. His hands were running along your back fervently, holding your body firmly in place, like he was trying to keep his own body from disassembling. 

Your lips were moving messily against his, though unchoreographed, they moved with a near perfect synchronicity. Refinement had seceded to your hunger to taste him. His mouth was sweet and hot, gentle and forceful, loving and angry, and the light pinch of his teeth that took your bottom lip between them had you moaning lightly into his mouth.

Then, everything once expounding into inexistence flooded back into reality. You divorced yourself from him as every empty promise claimed their demands to be fulfilled. The push against his chest was strong and it had to be in order to dissect that long awaited act of closeness. 

“What the hell?”

A long interval of silence tormented the rooftop since Hoseok could only explain himself through guilty looks directed at the concrete floor. The surface upholding him was solid, of course, so it was strange that he suddenly felt like he was sinking into the ground below. His hand ran through his hair, trying to bring himself to words. To say anything or do anything other than take you in his arms and hold onto you so that his body wouldn’t sink beneath the roof’s malleable surface.

“I’m sorry.” And that was not good enough for you. Not when he kissed you like he loved you and didn’t let you fill three years with desperate, lost hopes.

“Sorry for what? For kissing me or for giving up on our friendship? Or for breaking my heart? Or for making me feel like I did something wrong or wasn’t enough for you? Or for making me think that everything built between us was just my imagination?” The list could have lengthened into an unplanned admittance of all the pain he caused you, however, it wasn’t the time for you to speak. 

It was his turn.

“I guess I was just…” Afraid you wouldn’t want me anymore, “I guess I just didn't see it that way.”

“Stop lying.” You said and could only hope he wouldn’t revert to his evasive and insincere responses. Your hand came to rise and press against his chest. There was nothing to testify what came over you in this moment, but you wanted to feel his chest and know his heart was still beating. That, like yours, it still sent life throughout his body with its consecutive pumps. It was. 

Ever so harshly pounding away at his rib cage as if it were trying to break free.

“I never… I never had anyone care.”

“And?”

“And I didn’t wanna drag you into my shit.”

“What? What the hell are you talking about?” Your hand moved from his chest to his chin, holding it in place so he couldn’t get the chance to look anywhere but into your eyes.

“Don’t be stupid, ___. My life isn't exactly picture perfect. From the beginning, my parents didn’t even want me.” He felt like he was being held emotionally captive by the years of trauma he had endured. Of the cycle of abuse and repression that crushed his will to feel anything at all. He was trying to break free. Despite all these facets of struggle, he spoke gently to you and it made your heart bleed empathy for his pain.

“Listen, there’s always that kid that everyone knows is trouble. Everyone knows that they’ll end up in a bad place. You know what I mean... That was me. I was that kid. I didn’t wanna drag you in that shit with me. You think I wanted to push you away? I had no other choice!” To you, he did have another choice. He could have stayed with you, but of course, he had no idea. 

Hoseok looked at you so sadly, with eyes begging to be loved and a voice softened by his tender, bruised heart. He felt so isolated. The imminence of his downfall became prevalent ever since he began to pay attention to the judgmental whispers of teachers and parents on open house nights when he showed up parentless, or when he was the last one at extended day care when everyone else’s parents came to pick them up from school. Paying attention to detail was the wrench thrown into his life, unhinging the naivety, and drilling in its place the knowledge that society had ostracized him for being an orphan.

Maybe it was because you loved him so much, and it was blinding. You didn’t see much of the world outside of the lens of Hoseok, but you didn’t feel the need to see such a place. Your figment of him was always in a good light; you couldn’t fathom shedding darkness or disappointment or repulsion anywhere near him. So, when he said this, you were completely oblivious of that dehumanizing label many teachers, parents, and fellow students grouped him under.

“I don’t understand.” 

“Of course you don’t.” He jerked his head away with a scoff. Though to no avail, your hand still mounted onto his chin.

“No I mean,” Your head turned down, attempting to process this information into coherency, “I don’t understand how anyone could see you like that.”

“See, this is exactly why I can’t be around you. I’d ruin you! You see the best in me and that's the worst thing you could do.”

‘Ruin you’? You still didn’t know what that meant.

“Were people really that bothered that you were an orphan?”

He said nothing. He simply looked at you as if you had pointed out an observation so universally accepted that it went unneeded to be discussed. Like it was a given to cast someone like him off, or to repeat his worthlessness until it was purged from a tongue bored of belittlement and moved onto the next victim of verbal assault. He was simply one of the dominoes falling into place. Falling on top of each forgotten and neglected child.

“You wanna know what Dickson said to me?” He paused, not to wait for your permission but to prepare himself to recount the hurtful things still pronging against his open wounds, “He told me I’m unwanted. He told me that I was going to end up some loser not even worth considering a part of society. Basically, I’m damaged goods, ___, and you shouldn’t be hanging around me. You actually have a chance to make something out of yourself. Don’t waste that chance on me. I can’t let you do that.”

“You know that's not true.” Your hand moved to his cheek since he slipped too easily away from your grip of his chin. You held him in place, you held him with you.

“Why shouldn’t I believe it? ___, think about it. I am pathetic. My own parents didn’t even want me. And my foster parents told me I was just a financial asset. That my only worth was their monthly foster parent check.” 

It was crushingly difficult to hear such punishing words coming from Hoseok. That he not only had to endure the unfeigned demoralization of those who saw his worth to be instrumental but that he had come to believe them. He came to resent himself for a choice that was not his to be made but still suffered every waking day for it.

“And I guess I thought you were going to leave me behind like everyone else seemed to do. Like everyone eventually just wants to get rid of me.” 

“What?” The core pillar of your relationship with Hoseok relied on his permanence in your life, so hearing him fear what didn’t once cross your mind took you back as well as your hand. “Hobi, how could you think that?”

He shrugged distantly.

“Don’t. Don't you dare.” Almost out of nowhere, your soft cries were emulsified by the dryness of the air and turned into a heavy sob. But, it was not out of nowhere. It was from somewhere deeply upset that you let him think so lowly of himself all these years. That maybe, you hadn’t fulfilled your job as his best friend. “First of all, don’t you dare say that about yourself and second of all Dickson is a piece of shit.”

“___, please don’t cry.” He was urgent in his request. 

Not over me. Don’t waste your wilting petals of tears over my corpse.

“You thought I would leave you? You weren’t protecting me from whatever inferiority complex you’ve carried around your whole life. You were protecting yourself.” 

“It’s not like that.” He stepped towards you, trying to ignore the wince worthy pain when you dodged him as if he were a bullet. “___, I love you.”

You were astounded by the signals so contrasting of each other that they led you to a plight of hysterics. You had to let out a flustered chuckle at the way he told you he would be heading left then turned right when you were already walking on the opposite path.

“I love you.”

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“I love you.”

“You have a fucking horrible way of showing it.” Your arms folded over your chest and he realized it was his turn to keep your gaze locked with his. To chase you and to be put in the position that he forced you into three years ago. “I can’t understand you.”

“I was weak. If your hands were covered in blood would you walk up to something good and clean and force your stains on it? Would you leave disgusting prints of yourself on something so pure just because you were the only person in my life that didn’t see me as just an orphan?” Hoseok drowned himself in his words, but obtained and kept a soft hold on your cheeks with his hands.

 He was unable to register how distorted his perception of himself was in your eyes, feeling as though everything he said drowned his lungs with waters that almost choked him from speaking at all. 

There was a borderless delusion which fraught the comparison Hoseok just explained. It fell close to thoughtless and hollow, the way he reduced you to some virginal, helpless and unattainable prize on a pedestal; he subjected you to some paradigm of pristine stature that wouldn’t have the good nature to be anything less than empathetic for him. Though, you were not the image of purity or unmarred of pain and suffering; he was the reason for that.

“I'm not some little innocent kid. I know bad shit happens, but I’d never let that change the way I see you.” Filling the vacancy of your heart wasn't all too touching. You were distraught, distrustful, of everything in this world that led Hoseok to such a destructive mindset. To ruin the sweetest boy and subject him to undeserved misery. “You’re not just an orphan. You will not let that define you, you hear me? You are you. You are Jung Hoseok. To me, you will always be Hobi.”

The most frustrating part of this was tied between the fact that no real blame could be placed on one contender and the difficulty of understanding someone’s story when it went untold for far too long. Perhaps you had been pretending his pain didn’t exist because it was easier to see him as a stone-like, uncaring heathen. It was easier to cover your deep grief for losing him with hatred, but it did nothing to solve the division between you two; at the end of the day, you were still lonely and you still needed him. Wasting three years away to bitter resentment was nothing compared to knowing the truth of it all but having no power in redirecting yourself to compassion rather than anger.

“I should have been honest. I was scared.” He said. “I just thought I could never be enough for you.”

The fog was fully cleared. Your eyes panned from the edge of the roof to Hoseok’s needful gaze and down his addicting lips. All this time, he was just as alone and just as afraid, existing no less than a car ride away from you and still light years from ever being able to garnish his defeat with an admittance that he needed someone.

What more was there to say? Hoseok could have droned on about the way his foster parents stripped him of innocence and tossed him into the frigid hands of self-reliance or how he felt himself sinking into failure when the world of no mercy pulled him by the ankle and dragged his thrashing body through life without the guidance of someone who knew what was best for him. He could have explained how every unmet expectation put him against the world, in constant competition with not just everyone else but himself. Fighting against his need to be cradled and cared for with his resistance to tenderness enacted to thicken the skin on his body so the weaponry of an orphaned life, unearned glares of contempt and disapproval, and predisposed low regards wouldn’t dig as deeply. 

He could have relayed all his nights lost to wondering why he wasn’t worth keeping. Why a child without the slightest clue how to dress, or bathe, or speak, or trust was turned away by the very people who brought him into this world and had to figure out all these lessons on his own.

It was the depletion of his own self-worth that drove him to loosen his grips, and how that was not of apathy but instead caring too much to let himself get in the way of your opportunely life. Letting you go was a loss that came with a painful imminence.

He said none of this because you looked at his eyes and he looked at yours. Through the clean air, the ripe and unhazed space among reuniting stares, he saw what your eyes carried. It was an ocean. A place of immeasurable depth and complexity, never still and constantly giving the sand something to shelter and love. A wide body of life and water that replenished the seared collection of bones under the parched skin of Hoseok’s flesh.

In loving you, in gazing into you, he let the water diffuse his skin until he was skinless, fully bone.

“I never stopped.” You redacted the fact that you were referring to loving him, because the unsaid implications were communicated much more beautifully and accurately than what the entire collection of the English language could attribute.

“Me neither.” Hoseok paused, dropping his hands from your face to his sides knowing with full confidence you and your gaze would remain with him, “I don’t know what to do.”

“About what?”

“I hate living. It's terrible. Everything about my life is terrible and I hate it.” His face turned wet quickly. Seeing this brought a natural desire to hold him again and to cast off his despair with your loving touch.

“Am I terrible?” You asked, hoping your words would serve as that gentle caress.

“No, how- Why would you say that?”

“Because I’m a part of your life. You might have gotten rid of me once, but I’m here to stay. Am I so terrible?”

“No. You’re wonderful.”

“Can you look at me and tell me I’m wrong when I say I need you in my life just as much as you need me?” The stagnant exchange of undeterred eyes was a comforting overture. A beginning that was not quite new, but a dormant adventure ready to be reborn into fruition.

“No.”

“So, I’m going to tell you. Hoseok, I need you in my life because I love you. Because no matter what people may say, you’ve brought nothing but love and happiness into my life.” The words, like a needle and thread woven into him, stitched the fabric of his heart back to fullness.  “Do you understand? I believe in you. I will be there for you. That’s what friends are for.”

“You’re my friend.” It constituted both a question and an irrefutable statement.

“Yours.”

“Mine.” He smiled softly, a gentle disparity against his tears.

“Life won’t be so terrible. I promise. If we have each other. If we have people who care, life is not so terrible. You have me, Hobi, you have someone who cares.”

There was no profound revelation with what you said. Nothing that was original or unordinary; it was quite common to be told you were cared about. One could refine your words to about three, maybe four, with the same tact. But that is exactly what made it original and unordinary to Hoseok. Countless people said the words ‘I care about you’, trillions of times and in hundreds of different ways and languages. It was said over and over again but Hoseok was never familiar with the comfort of being on the receiving end. To be cared about, and to be told he was cared about was quite revolutionary, and a completely profound rarity to him. And to him, these words were invented by your caring tongue; the first utterance that transformed the radical concept of care into something plausible. 

Sometimes, that’s all one needs. To be told they are cared for. Sometimes it’s enough to clean the bone of its wretched, heavy skin.

“What’s going to happen now?” You and he had migrated to look out to the fog ejecting itself among the trees and stretching all the way to the horizon. The trees were sitting so close together yet far enough for fog to slide between them. You wondered if the trees knew that they weren’t alone. 

“At this point, it's up to you.”

Once again, it wasn’t said. The beautiful things were expressed through silence because it somehow fertilized the sincerity with greater effect. Verbalizing them would have tainted what was kept clean and loving inside the warmth and safety of your hearts. You never knew to have such a connection with someone where the most important things that should be said aloud were somehow louder when they weren’t. Somehow, with the gentle brush of his arms against your sides as he was embracing you from behind, it was louder than words.

There was a stillness encompassing every piece of this moment. A stillness of the air, of time, of the two bodies placed above the fog. You and Hoseok were arrested from reality, lounging in the freedom of each other’s presence. The bright orange sun permeated through the grey clouds, reflecting specks of light along the faces of you and him. Seeing your skin once again carrying soft ornaments of the sun’s rays returned him to the only place he felt like he belonged: your heart. Being taken away from the chaos of life, Hoseok felt that this Saturday fell within the bounds of eternity.

“Are we going to be okay?”

“Together, we will be. We have each other.”

You took his hand in yours, fingers sliding together. His attention was stolen by you, or maybe it had belonged to you this whole time and was simply being returned to its rightful owner, still soaking in the sweet rays of the sun. He had no facetious, obtuse comment to tack along the tenderness of the roof. For once, he was vulnerable. It felt euphoric, like his heart truly began to pump life blood into his body.

“Okay.” He readied himself for the new world he was about to embark on, though this time, it was hand in hand with you.

“Ready?” You took a few steps back, towards the stairwell, your arm pulling Hoseok along, “I got you, Hobi.”

He nodded, no longer afraid of the dark halls. His narrative was not a singular venture. There was a partnership, a force of love perhaps, that pushed him to step forward. 

Hoseok once feared no one would get to his bones; to see the skeleton of himself underneath the epidermal armor. After many years and many layers of skin, no one had attempted much less succeeded in exposing his bones that yearned to be seen by the eyes of someone brave enough to face this quagmire.

And by chance, by timing's watchful eye, you had done just that. Lovingly exfoliated each layer of skin, washing away the scars and bruises of everything they had endured, and held his bones bare in your hands. Standing in the glimmering ocean waves of your eyes, feeling his bones, purified of all grief, against the air and conflated four years’ worth of the lonely, blinding fog once surrounding him. 

Standing in the sandbox once again of double occupancy. 

“I love you.” The words cascaded off his tongue with the same grace and earnest of what being in love felt like. Hoseok couldn’t do a lot of things and had quite a bit of trouble expressing himself for these past few years, but his love for you was something that couldn’t be anything less than accurate and sincere to do his heart a bit of justice. 

“You said that already.”

“Are you going to say it back or not?” He pulled you in by your waist, leaving you no other option than to oblige the requests he flew into the air.

“I love you, Hobi. I do. I love you.” Your hands lifted to his face, and his cheeks were warm. Though soft skin covering it, you could feel his bones. They were being caressed, loved, touched by your hands. 

He closed his eyes, trying to remember the last time he felt this at home when he wasn’t in your home of linens and lemons. His face shifted to the side to press his lips into your palm.

“I love you.” He said again, seeping into skin, printing the words into your bones. Hoseok had to repeat it, just to hear you say it once more, to make sure it was all real. That it wasn’t just him that was melting into the art of you, but the art of you touching him, coalescing with him.

“I love you.” Tears of his face were brushed by your thumb and they didn’t feel like the sad ones shed before. They were a sweet and gentle ode to everything he’d ever wanted since the moment he asked to play with you in the sandbox.

You were crying as well, holding him in your hands. Holding him. You could not see the fog, the only thing rapturing every sense was Hoseok. Your lips pressed lightly against his, feeling him smile into the kiss, and that drowned out the crisp, punishing air that pricked chills against your cheeks. 

Hoseok knew he was going to be okay.

 The two of you made your way back to the library, greeted with three suspenseful eyes, trained against the doorway partly from apprehension that Dickson would return and partly from hoping you and Hoseok would make a swift return. They, too, cared and wanted to see if Hoseok’s skin had finally shed.

“Heeeeey.” Seokjin drew out his coy greeting to tease you and Hoseok for the all too noticeable gesture of holding hands. Jimin and Namjoon were captured in the physical intimacy that you two casually displayed as well.

“You two took your sweet time, didn’t you?” Namjoon said to the pair of smiling faces now returning to the table behind Jimin without further explanation. He was implying the long absence of you and Hoseok was not delayed through a reprimand from Dickson but by your own insatiable desires for each other. 

“I found this idiot on the roof. Took me a bit to convince him to come back down here, but I did it.” You turned over to Hoseok who was investing his efforts in rearranging himself back into an outwardly tough manner.

“Oh, I bet you had to do a lot of convincing, huh ___.” Seokjin’s comment was met with a light slap against his shoulder by your hand for his lewd teasing, and the way his fingers imitated quotation marks when he said the word ‘convincing’.

“Hey! I actually had to convince him. This man is very, very stubborn.”

“Yeah, ___ wouldn’t leave me alone so I didn’t have much of a choice.” He stared at his hand once being held in yours, trying to shovel over the smile simmering on his lips. Jimin shifted to face you and Hoseok, eyes squinting to slits from reading the overwhelmingly happy expressions on your faces.

“So, Dickson came back.” Jimin said, smiling widely.

“Oh shit. What did he say?”

“We all pretended that we could see you and he was the only one that couldn’t see you guys. It was hilarious, you should have seen his face.” Seokjin intervened with his own account of the story. Jimin turned to him and burst out laughing harder than when Dickson walked like a defeated soldier out of the library.

“He was like, ‘You kids need to learn respect. You mess with the bull, you get the horns’ whatever that means. But he didn’t even end up doing anything because he knew we wouldn’t snitch. But, damn, you should have seen his face.” Jimin’s hand covered his mouth during the process of him laughing and wedging in pieces of the story in between. 

“That sounds like the dumbest cover up ever, but I guess Dickson is somehow dumber than that.” The count of five smiles amounted to each of you hunching over with laughter at the vice principal’s idle reactions to the detentionees displaying a clear sign of insubordination. 

“He is. He really is that dumb.” Namjoon said during a pause from whatever he was drawing.

“Well, either way, I appreciate the effort. And Hobi does too, even though he won’t admit it.” His stubborn disavowal of expressing appreciation contrived through rolled eyes that then landed onto the four others accompanying his space. Though shadowed through his many apathetic modes of emoting, he found this Saturday detention not only bearable, but enjoyable. He found himself attached to other people after severing all ties from actual intimacy. Being connected and vulnerable was an easier way of going about his life. And, he didn’t realize it then, but he planned on keeping it that way. 

“Hey guys?” Seokjin tossed aside the Dickson debacle with this conversational prelude, “What’s gonna happen when we go back out there?”

“What do you mean?” You asked, absentmindedly reaching over to grab Hoseok’s hand at the mention of leaving the safe space of the library. He responded to you with a gentle, reassuring squeeze that eased the contraction of your worried muscles.

“We’re still gonna be friends, right?” The prospect fell into consideration as the five of you were moved to silence. After a few exchanges of ambivalent and uncertain glances, Namjoon worked in a soft smile to soothe the frightful thought of returning to the harsh reality. 

“Yeah. We are.” His confirmation spoke for the rest of your benevolent agreement. 

“Well, I better see you guys at all of my games.” Jimin set this expectation as a receival of the newly polished friendships, grooming quite a bit of fondness being that the four of you knew more about Jimin than his own parents. “And, we’ll be sure to go to Namjoon’s.... Art competitions?”

“Not quite, but I appreciate the thought.” Namjoon laughed. 

The commonalities that were once so obscured between you all had become clear by the arrival of the eighth hour. Though there were many obstacles placed to stint any form of connection between five polar adversaries, you all found a salve from the relentless feeling of loneliness through each other. Your essays were never written, finding Dickson’s call for another Saturday detention of probable cause. Even if you were to write an essay on what you did wrong and why it was wrong as well as why you were sorry, there would be no truth unveiled in it. You all found that living unapologetically had been a far more effective catalyst for growth and maturation than any half-hearted essay assigned by a man with no credentials to call himself a student administrator.  

There was that phrase, "down to the bone", that had hung over Hoseok's mind for quite a bit today. Some say it implies when you've spent all you had, and are left with the poverty of dry marrow. That, to him, was a mutilation of the phrase which he couldn't accept.

This colloquial, "down to the bone", could not be a reference to having nothing left. Not in his case at least. Not when he felt so full of safety with nothing but his bones under the home of your eyes and hands

Hoseok looked at you, then to the other three and knew things would be different. Eventually, things would get better, he just had to wait long enough for those better things to come.

You found each other, and that was all that mattered.

 A week later, you met up in the campus’ cafe with Jimin, Namjoon, Seokjin, and Hoseok discussing the rather insignificant topic of which contestant was going to be eliminated from the reality television show you had all been keeping up with. 

“Hey, did you guys ever actually write that essay Dickson told us to write?” Seokjin asked, knowing he had failed to do so.

“Nope.” Jimin said unregretfully, almost with a prideful twist.

“Of course not.” You replied.

“Well, I might have written something on behalf of all of us. It wasn’t an essay per say, more like a letter to Dickson.” Namjoon said smugly into the cup of his coffee.

“What? What did you write?” Jimin put forth the curiosity shared by the four of you.

“Oh nothing too special.” But, of course, if it was anything of Namjoon’s doing, it was something entirely special.

You decided not to further pry on the specifics of what was written, rather sipping your coffee and learning not to regret how the hot liquid burned your tongue. Those eight hours spent in the library gifted you with a wider perspective. Maybe you burned your tongue on this coffee, and tomorrow you might miss the bus to work. Or, sometime in the near future, there would be a new store in the mall that lured you away from the errands set to a schedule and you would have to rush back to work a few minutes late. You learned that these small misdirections in life happen, at the exact right time and the exact right place.

The grateful receive of every moment, deliberate or erroneous, was like a single grain of sand. One grain might pinch out some annoyance. Ten was too textured to ignore. Dozens and thousands padded down as a sandbox where two childhood friends could play. And millions of grains of sand, of gratefully received moments, cultivated a soft shoreline; a place where the deep blue tides had a comfortable bed to tumble onto when it was tired from the tempestuous ocean. Where the contents of the ocean could spill along the wet sand, and it would humbly the tired water’s offerings. A place where a mass of misty, opaque air could roll in, cover every inch of the ocean and would blind the eyes. 

But, never the heart. 

The hearts, joined since the first grade, were free of scars because of the plethora of love that continued to flourish even in your absence. Love always keeps the heart safe.

Timing was a fickle arbiter, always tearing you from one thing to the next and the next and the next, but somehow leading you to exactly where you were meant to be. It has a way about itself, inevitably delivering you into the lives of those you were meant to be with. 

With Jimin, with Namjoon, with Seokjin.

And once again with Hoseok.

-----

a/n: thank you so much for plowing through this long, angsty one shot! i am so happy to finally release this and hope you enjoyed reading it as much as i enjoyed creating it. as always, i would love to hear feedback from you lovely readers! 

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

Doggy Paddle, Doggy Style. Same Thing.

Summary- Starlord x Y/N. Peter Quill finally decides to visit Earth again. SMUT, Nsfw. Written for @official-and-unstable-satan​ fic off challenge. Challenged by @p8tn0lish​. Thanks Babes!

Word Count- 2.3k

“Lets talk about this plan of yours. I think its good. Except it sucks.” Peter told you, his very much tolerable girlfriend, whom at this point were just used to his blunt attitude, and his need for taking over plans. Your hands went to your hips when you decided to question him. 

“Whats wrong with visiting Zandar? Its nice, people are friendly, and just cause you cant seem to stay out of trouble there, that isnt my fault.” You happened to like the planet, even though Quill had a perchance to land into trouble, maybe it was the better option to let him chose where you two go. Rocket took Groot and Drax on a bit of a side quest, at your request and a big payout to Rockets account. You werent about to just blow this opportunity to zip around space, as you hoped the the fates, Peter wasnt about to suggest. 

“Earth” Peter shocked you, he rarely talked about Earth, and typically you all were all the way across the universe from the vividly blue and green planet. Peter was human, that was his home, but he hadnt been there since Yondu collected him. 

“You really want to go to Earth?” You questioned, clearly the hesitation in your voice. You had been asking him for years if he wanted to visit his home planet. And every time it was “No way babes, theres far better places to go” or “maybe after this job, cant pass this up.” and you all would zip to some far off corner as far away as possible.   

“Yup, in fact…. we be leaving right now, cause Im the captain.” Stealing a playful kiss, his hand grasping your chin and pulling you into him, his tongue danced over your lips and past your teeth to stroke a needy fucking whimper before smacking your ass, and falling into the seat at the controls, flipping them and a cocky grin was flashed at you as he stated. “How many jumps we got Sexy?” 

You to lick your lips after that kiss, it was one that you knew he would be playing off of for hours, little tickles here, nibbles in passing there. Quill was the best kind of frustrating man there was. “Uuuh… 10 jumps.” 

“Showtime baby!” With a push forward of a handle on the dash, the ship raced forward and prepared for the first jump. You settle in, feet up on the dash and you reach for a bag of snacks next to the seat, popping them in. “So, where we going on earth?” 

He typed in some coordinates and popped open his mouth for you to toss a morsel into, leaning back to catch it, and turned back to the screen. “Fountain Lake… my grandad used to take me there fishing after Mom got sick, give her some peace and quiet. He would bring an old radio along, and we would spend the day out there. Usually I was doing cannon balls off the side, but once in a while he get a pole in my hands.” 

You nod, letting his memories take shape in your imagination. You imagined Quill to be a curly haired boy, sun tanned freckles dotting his face and shoulders, much like they do now if you all happen to go to some planet with a bright sun. Maybe the corner of his mouth would flash up in a wide gaped toothy grin, having lost a front tooth. The idea of it made you smile to yourself, and you toss another piece of your snack at him. “You gonna teach me to swim? Cause I dont know how” 

“Oh baby, well you are looking at the master.” He winked, and unsnapping his belt, he reached over and collected you, tossing you over his shoulder and retreating to the back. “How about I give you a lesson in doggy style right now.” You two still had a couple hours till you arrived to earth, and Peter set you right on your shared bed, you tugging him down to kiss you, biting his lip with a growl. “Didnt we do doggy style last night? Didnt I pass?” 

He spanked your ass at that bite, and his hand grasped your waist, flipping you to your stomach, making you giggle. “Nope you didnt, why were doing this again baby, gotta know at least one technique before we land.” You arch your ass in the air wiggling it, biting your lip. “I think Im pretty good in several styles.” He moved to slide your shirt up your back and over your head, kissing up your spine and biting lightly on the back of your neck. “Well that you are, but its my duty to assure your saftety in knowing at least the most basic techniques after all.”

“Sure whatever you say Quill, if you INSIST” His fingers then hooked in the band of your pants, and slid them down to, you lifted one leg, and then switched to the other till they were off as well. His hands covered your ass cheeks, still a bit red from earlier and kneaded them. “Mmmhhh so pretty bent like this baby.” His teasing from earlier distracted as he admired you. Sliding a hand into the small of your back, he bent you down further till there was a distinct arch, all for him.  

You of course are more then ready to feel him slide into you, and you arch your ass back to press into his groin, taking the chance to look over your shoulder at him. “Sure am Starlord” You purr out and wiggle brows. He dips his head and takes a nip at your cheek, leaving teeth marks and making you squeal. Hands working at his belt and yanking his pants down to his ankles, a grasp to his cock slides between the folds, making you whimper feeling his thich head spreading your arousal and flick against your sensitive throbbing nerves, arching from it. “Call me that again.” 

“Okay, your such a fucken god damn tease, STARLORD.” You push back, the length of his cock filling between the folds, him rutting behind you, but he was holding back from entering you yet, his hands slid up your sides and around to grasp and fondle your breasts. Teasing, twisting, pulling, you groan in frustration at his cock teasing your folds, and the fact his fucking hands were playing you, you started to whine as he draped over your back, and kissed on your neck, his tongue lapping over the pulse and along your earlobe. “So so so pretty for Starlord, okay whiny baby.” 

His cock pushed against your entrance stretching around to accept him as he didnt toy you open earlier with his fingers. It was that tight and burning as he continued sliding into your wet entrance, you would have thrust back to bottom him right away, but he had moved up and grasped your hips to hold your still “Yea, Im well aware from yesterday how impatient you get.” Teasing as you fought for it, and all that wriggling your hips in his hold issued you another stinging swat, this time to your pussy after he finished filling you. Not that made you snap taunt, and your channel to flex around him, drawing the most guttered moan from above you. 

So you two both breathed through it, you still flexing and adjusting around him, that arch in your back, angling you Peter insisted on, well it changed the whole sensation. so much fuller then before, the fist time he dragged his cock through your channel to pull out, you moaned at how sensitive you were. His hand grasped your waist, and he started sharp snaps of his hips, and it pushed you right into the mattress, your face driven in and muffling your moans and gasps of his name, and it drove you mad. 

“Oh no sweetheart, what is my name?” 

Fucking Quill, he was all about driving you to calling out Starlord. His hand wrapped around your throat and tipped your head back, still thrusting into you enough to rock your body, fuck, could he go deeper? He leaned over your back, holding himself inside, the pressure built into maddening quantities, squeezing around him, two can play that game. Fuck, can he stay that seated in you. His hand around your neck, squeezed enough to cut off air, enough for you to see spots, and drive all those sensations further. 

“Starlord, STARLORD” 

“Good girl…” He muttered against your shoulder, and he released his hold. His fingers slipped between your thighs and pressured that bud, twirling, swirling, pressing as he rubbed, a fire spiraling along your limbs to pool in that nerve he toyed, until you were screaming, gushing yourself around him, and flying high as a mother fucking kite. His thrusts didnt slow any, and that hand he teased you with, he shoved those fingers in your mouth, leaving you to suck on them while he followed through with his own chase, just tasting yourself, fuck. HIs hips continuing to slam him against you, your arousal leaving you all over his groin, erratic and faster, your heightened senses left you gasping and lightly biting on his fingers. 

The sound of his balls slapping against your ass left him cursing and you pushed back to meet him, squeezing vice like, enough to drive him over the edge, and you gave the most filthiest satisfied moans, feeling him coat your walls, and push himself in deeper as he groaned against the back of your head. Your limbs started to shake underneath his weight, your words muffled and he slid his fingers from your mouth and rubbed down your side, tipping his head to kiss along your neck. “Quill, your crushing me… “ You mention, and he circles your hand around your waist and tips the two of you over, him the big spoon, curling around you, not slowing down as he massaged your hip and kissed up and down your shoulder before laying back slightly. You had to admit, feeling satisfied, and cocooned in his embrace, you were loathed to check on how many jumps you had left. 

“Its on an alarm, we will know when were close.” Just like he was reading your thoughts, he was quick to pick up on what you were thinking. 

“Good, cause im not ready to leave you.” you wrap his arm gracing your stomach and hold him there.

“Yea, same here Sweetness” And you can feel how hes still buried in you, his chest pressed against your back and his warm breaths against the back of your neck. You two stay like this for a while, drifting off and on till that alarm beeps. At some point he had rolled to his back, snoring softly, and you shift to the end of the bed, grabbing a pair of panties that were discarded earlier, and your shirt. Slipping it on as you walked to the control panel and silenced the alarm. Below you, taking up the main front of the ship was the sight of earth. 

Its beauty never failed to catch your breath, all that vivid blue, dotted with green and tan so scattered, small white wisps swirling in what appeared to be unusual patterns. One half brightly light, and the other, shadowed, seeming to hide from sight, and yet little fireflies of light scattered throughout in the cities. And so full of life, teeming with it, even though from here, you could see none of it short of the electricity scattered. You felt an arm wrap around you and Quill, unnaturally quiet stepped up beside you. 

“Beautiful, isnt it?” You say as you lean your hear against his shoulder. 

“Yes it is… Yondu never liked coming back here, and it slipped my mind what it looked like. When I left his ship, I was never ready to return.” 

“Well… how about we introduce Starlord to home?” 

“I would like that very much” His arm tightened around your shoulder and he kissed your temple “Lets begin the descent.”

“Aye aye Cap’n” you teased and the two of you got to work. 

The first step off the ship left you in bright sunshine, trees scattered along the edge, partially hiding the ship, the rest covered with a cloaking mechanism. Peter watched you with a smile as you leaned down and untied your shoes, kicking them off, a yank of the socks to push your feet into the grass. It tickled, but the cool blades that released an earthy sent when you pushed your feet to dig in. 

“Come on, lets actually swim doggy paddle this time.” He winked and taking your hand, led you down to the beach, careful as you walked against the pebbled shore, the two of you stripped down, with tosses of your clothes and he plunged right in. You on the other hand wadded in, arms over your chest and he swam up to your legs, tugging you to topple against him when he rose out of the water. 

“Quill! Your getting me all wet!” 

He smirked and holding you tight, started to sink the two of you into the water, till it was just your chins floating on top. “If your swimming, then its bound to get you all wet.” He pulled you out deeper till just your toes could scrap against the murkey bottom. 

Tapping your thighs, he kissed your lips, and muttered against them “Trust me, I got you, wrap your legs around me” And you let yourself float a bit, sliding your legs around his hip. “Ready to try that doggy paddle I taught you earlier?” He grinned, and you smacked at his chest lightly, laughing. 

God your boyfriend was an idiot on occasion.

@what-is-your-plan-today​

[my-brothers-corrupted]

My Brothers, Corrupted

Chapter 2 : Section 1 : Hello Again

Having brought Marvin under his control, exchanging him for the obedient new puppet “Blue,” Anti moves on to new goals in a new country, bringing everyone along with him. It’s only been a couple weeks since we’ve seen them, but some important changes have taken place, sending the boys spinning into a new section of their story.

Trigger warnings for major abuse, major injury, stabbing and blood, robbery, mentions of suicide and suicidal ideation, and some body horror.

Find Chapter One here.

Find Chapter Two here.

 Part One of Chapter Two: Hello Again

whydoilovesomanyvillians asked: What kinda changes did anti make

Your camera flickers to life. There’s a scared face above you, holding you close.

The ceiling is high, high, high up, patterned in intricate gold and brown patterns. Tall columns support it. It’s dark, but candlelight flickers softly around you.

Dapper sets you down on the floor. You’ve seen him looking this pale only once before, when Anti carried Blue’s body back to him.

“Hi,” he signs softly, huddling back against the wall. “Sorry to bother you. Long time no see… sorry.”

You hear footsteps passing close-by and he shudders away, curling around himself for a second, his eyes wide and paranoid.

The footsteps pass by. He sighs, rubbing at his blue-circled eyes.

“I got lost,” he confesses wearily, his hands shaking. “And now I’m too dizzy to get back up. Can you see if my brothers have their cameras with them? We’re going to get in trouble if we miss our appointment.”

Bitterness flickers over his face. “I hate this new place, it’s too crowded and miserably hot. Anti should never have brought us here. So… I guess that’s the first change around here.”

pixie-in-trebleland asked: YAY! YOU'RE BACK?

Dapper’s mouth curls up in a smile, so you’ve already succeeded in making him a little happier.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’ve been sleeping for a long time, I guess. And then things were kind of… chaotic, around here, so I think maybe Anti didn’t want you to see for a while there. But he gave me back a camera this morning. And look!”

He spreads his arms wide, but it makes him wince.

“I got to leave the house because Dok said I needed exercise and Blue and Red needed back-up. So look! There are perks to losing Anti’s love.”

whydoilovesomanyvillians asked: Losing antis love?

Dapper’s grin widens, a wild light burning in his eyes.

“Hell yeah,” he signs, and then giggles at his own boldness. “Well, sure feels that way anyway. Or at least his favoritism, for the time being.”

nikkilbook asked: He punished you for stabbing him on the beach, didn’t he?

“Ha!” Dapper claps his hands together, beaming. “Got it in one! My friend, I’m impressed. He told me very sweetly that he understood why I did what I did - but of course he can’t just let me go unpunished.”

The smile evaporates and for a moment he is far away from you, staring off into the distance with something very cold frozen in his eyes.

Anonymous asked: Wait, "losing Anti's love"? What happened?

“I think it was the point at which he slid the knife into my back that I understood I might not actually have ever had his love to begin with.”

The camera glitches slightly, red and black and harshly distorted.

Dapper grins wickedly. “We’ve been having some problems since then.”

the-weirdest-fan asked: You're okay with losing his love?

Dapper’s smile fades again and he sighs deeply.

“I’m trying to be. You know I tend to… come and go from myself, if you understand me.” He chews on his nails for a moment. “Some days I’m just desperate for him to hold me again, and I cried for a long time after he beat me. But lately I feel so much clearer, you know, mentally… I feel like I got a piece of myself back, that night on the beach. And I love - I have my own bed now! My own bed! And I’m not - ”

He sighs and shakes his hands, trying to find the right word. “I’m not suffocating anymore, you know? Some days are worse than others, but… yeah, you know, I’m okay. Except for this goddamn wound. I haven’t been so weak in a long time. But Doktor is taking good care of me. I think, in lieu of Trickshot, he needs someone else to distract him.”

nikkilbook asked: Doesn’t sound terribly sweet to me. Antifreeze tastes delicious. Doesn’t mean it isn’t poison.

Dapper regards you carefully for a moment.

“I still have to be careful what I say,” he says finally, and that is all.

Anonymous asked: What happened to trickshot? Is he okay?

Dapper’s face falls. He shakes his head, looking exhausted. “Please, let’s not talk about it, I need a break from being so scared for him. I don’t know why Anti won’t give him back to Doktor, but I can hear him crying through the walls.”

nikkilbook asked: What did he do to Trick?

“You know how my brothers talk sometimes about a ‘snap?’ When I lost control of my mind and couldn’t get it back for a long time?”

Dapper sighs and sinks in on himself.

“Anti says Trick had a snap.”

Like a rubber band.

“And who the fuck can blame him?”

pixie-in-trebleland asked: Where is everyone else then, Dap?

Dapper runs his stressed hands through his hair. “Blue and Red and I were sent out for an appointment, but it’s so packed around here, and I got distracted by a weird bird… I looked around and they were gone, and I was feeling so sick - ”

He tugs anxiously at his collar. He’s sweating enough that you can see the dampness of his fringe, but he’s still wearing a high-collared shirt and black dress pants.

“So I came in here for sanctuary. But I don’t know where they are. Red had the instructions. Nobody told me anything about where we’re going or what we’re doing.”

His eyes light up with a frantic smile and he straightens, puppet-like.

“Cause I’m the little baby,” he signs sweetly, and then sinks in on himself again, scowling and miserable, picking at his sweaty sleeves, but never unbuttoning them.

Anonymous asked: jameson, you are a strong independent man who dont need no demon dont ever forget that

Dapper tries not to smile at that, but then he’s dissolving into giggles over the camera, rubbing hard at his face.

He touches his pointer finger again and again - “aaaaaaaaaaaaa!”

“Don’t make me laugh at that,” he sighs, grinning. “I got to tell you, though, I have only one regret - after he explained that he had to punish me, I should have gone - ”

He covers his eyes with his hands for a second -

“I keep thinking, I should have said ‘what are you going to do, stab me?’“

His mustache shakes with laughter. “It’s so stupid, I know, but I keep thinking about it and it makes me laugh so hard - ow, ow.”

He grabs tenderly at his ribs, grimacing. “Maybe too hard.”

whydoilovesomanyvillians asked: Does anyone else have a camera

“I don’t know… back at the house I’m sure they do, but I really hope we don’t have to talk all the way back there. If Anti knows I got lost, the three of us might be in big trouble. Red, at least, will be whipped.”

anonymous asked: Red, Dapper is stuck somewhere alone.

Your audio comes back before your video.

“Are you sure it was beeping?”

“I’m sure I heard it! There’s finally a signal on there again. Get it on!”

“I can’t!”

“You can’t get it up?”

Someone snort-laughs. “Shut the fuck up!”

“You shut the fuck up!”

They’re laughing by the time your video flickers to life, neutralizing a little of the stress between them, and when Red reads your message, he nearly crumples from the relief, tumbling against Blue’s shoulder melodramatically.

“Thank God you can see him!” he shouts, loud enough that people walking past them give them confused looks. Blue bursts into giggles again and shoves at Red’s shoulder, trying to shut him up.

“See, I told you he’d be fine. He’s a goddamn adult.”

“Stuck, did you hear them say stuck? Thank you so much for telling me. I just about lost my mind when his hand slipped out of mine. I cannot express to you the punishment that would have been waiting for me if I had lost the puppy.”

His smile vanishes for a second, something fearful flashing through his face.

“Well, maybe you understand a little anyway. Please tell us where he is.”

Anonymous asked: How's blue? Is he, uh, doing alright?

Blue flashes a peace sign at you, smirking. “Right here, love. Doing great.”

He turns to Red with warm eyes, a fond smile filling up his mouth. “Right?”

Red meets his gaze, a twin grin breaking through his anxiety. “Doing great,” he repeats softly. “Or I will be as soon as we find our kid!”

Blue takes his hand, drawing him out of the street to stand in an alley, where there’s a little more privacy.

“Yeah. I’m doing great. I can’t remember the last time I was this happy.”

“You can’t remember anything,” teases Red, and then they burst into laughter again, knocking their heads together, shoulder-to-shoulder, beaming at each other in the hot equator sun.

Red’s still got his hoodie on over a t-shirt, but he wears basketball shorts and sturdy climbing shoes. Blue’s left his brown leather coat at home, but he has a nice football jersey and jeans down to his boots. He has new piercings in his ears and he’s coated in rings, earrings, and bracelets. They both look well, with good color in their cheeks, bright eyes, and less of the hollowness they shared before.

the-weirdest-fan asked: Why or when did he snap? Do you know? Are you sure it really even happened?

Dapper frowns. “Am I sure it happened? Pretty sure I’ve heard him screaming loud and clear, but hey, to be fair, we all just think what Anti wants us to think most of the time. It was after that night on the beach… Anti let us keep him for a few days, at least, and he would just sleep and sleep. He was pretty sick, but I just thought he’d got the flu. I guess Dok knew something was really wrong, though. He was stressed from the beginning. Really desperate to get Trick eating and walking around again. I think maybe he hid from Anti how bad it was, and Anti, for his part, was focused on Blue and Red, so by the time Anti noticed, Trick was…”

Dapper chews on his nail, his eyes distant. “Not… well.

“And I guess Dok was right to try and hide it from Anti, because now Anti won’t let him see his twin anymore.”

Anonymous asked: Can't remember anything? How is that funny

“What?” grumbles Blue, recoiling slightly. “You’ve never joked about the fucked up shit that’s happened to you? It’s called gallows humor. Newsflash, our memory is blank as fuck. You want me to cry about it?”

“Blue.” Red grabs his shoulder, trying to calm him. “Come on.”

“It’s funny because we share it,” says Blue, softer now, looking up at Red. “And because I’m tired of grieving it. Our memory’s gone, except these painful flashes of what used to be… we’d rather laugh about it than dwell on bullshit. Let us have that much.”

nikkilbook asked: The possession that night. It was too much for him, wasn’t it?

Dapper sinks in on himself, chewing on his nails. “It was a lot of things. Tense, tense, tense, long time, then - snap. That’s how it goes.”

pixie-in-trebleland asked: He's hiding somewhere. Where was the last place you guys were before he slipped out of your grip?

“Just on this road, I think.” Red glances around back at the main road. It’s absolutely packed - the street was not designed for cars but for people. Colorful, solemn, gorgeous buildings tower around them, most coated in heavy greenery. “That’s a good boy to hide. I’ll come get him.”

Anonymous asked: somewhere with columns, mosaics, and candles.

“Candles?” Blue glances out at the street. There are many tall buildings around. “Maybe a fancy restaurant?”

Anonymous asked: Pretty sure he's in a church somewhere, lovely color twins! He mentioned sanctuary? And it looks pretty tall, so maybe look for a steeple!

“A church.” Relieved, Red steps back onto the streets, pulling Blue with him. “That one over there, with all the tourists, is one of them - but there’s also a huge cathedral on the other side of the street. He must be in one of those. Can you ask him how big the space he’s in is?”

pixie-in-trebleland asked: He was saying that he went in there for sanctuary...? Does that mean anything to you guys?

“Dap’s always liked churches, he’s a little bit of a historian. I think he’s fond of some of those old buildings.” Marvin heads over to the closer church, pushing past crowds of tourists and natives alike. “And he doesn’t like crowds very much. Churches are quiet. Must feel like sanctuary to him.”

nikkilbook asked: Dap, are you in the old church or the touristy church? Red’s coming to get you! He was super scared when he lost you.

“They… ummm… they are both old.” He frowns, glancing around. “Everywhere they are images of a girl with roses in her hair. But lots of people are coming and going, and someone was selling prayer cards of the girl outside the door. They’re burning incense at the altar.”

He pulls you back into his corner. “I’m behind the pillar in the back, back right corner.” He glances up. “Beneath a picture of the girl.”

Anonymous asked: Do you still have your art materials, Dap? Have you been making any art? I'm sure we'd love to see it if you have. If not, it's okay.

He relaxes slightly, nodding. “Yes, the charcoals and the paper Trick brought me. Anti washed away all my paintings upstairs, but I still have that. Soon my paper will run out, though… I hope I’ll get something new for Christmas. But I don’t know, I haven’t been very good. I can always draw in the sand outside the house… If Anti keeps letting me outside…”

nikkilbook asked: He says it’s the one with the girl with roses in her hair. They’re burning incense and handing out cards. He’s way in the back, under a picture of the girl.

Marvin laughs. “Rose’s skull is in the cathedral, over here, but the church where she lived is this one here. Trust me - I been reading the tourist pamphlets all week. That being said, looks like he’s in the smaller church, where she lived, there’s more vendors outside.”

“Hurry up, then!” Red darts past him, heading up the stairs. Feeling a little under-dressed, he nevertheless pushes past the women in skirts and the men kneeling near the entrance and starts to stalk around the perimeter of the quiet church. The ceilings tower above him and incense wafts heavy into his nose - he doesn’t much like it. But it’s worth it when he catches a glance of his little brother, hiding in the dark in the corner, looking white.

A moment later, the three of them are re-united, kneeling on the floor beside him. Blue pulls him in for a hug, rubbing reassuringly at his back, and Dapper curls up against his shoulder while Red begins to reprimand him in a hushed whisper.

“Promise me you won’t run off like that again! What on earth were you thinking?”

“Didn’t mean to…”

“I felt you draw away from me!”

A faint blush creeps into Dapper’s falling face and he lifts his hands to speak, only for them to falter again.

“Red.” Blue brushes a damp curl from Dapper’s face. “Let it go. We found him again. That’s all that matters.”

Sighing, Dapper pushes into Blue’s shoulder, clinging to his hand for one warm moment and closing his eyes.

“Can’t get up,” he complains momentarily, looking wearily up at them.

“Ah, fuck,” mumbles Red. “Let big brother see.”

Dapper lifts up his shirt wearily, shielded from the crowds by Blue’s body as Red presses forward to examine his bandages.

“Dok pulls them so tight… you’re not bleeding though. We’ll take a quick break, okay? And then we’ll see if we can make it to our appointment. You can stay here if you need to, but we cannot miss this drop point, Anti would trash us. Dok needs this shit.”

Anonymous asked: How's the new house? Better than the last one?

The three of them exchange glances.

“In some ways, I suppose,” frowns Blue. “There are more rooms. And we get to wander more, because it’s open instead of a forest. But we have to go farther for water and it’s really hot… we’ll have to show you everything. It is okay, though. We’re sheltered and we have privacy to sleep. You should see how some of the people around us must live. Shacks and storage buildings for houses, with babies and children, even.”

pixie-in-trebleland asked: Are you all getting along okay?

Dapper lifts up his hands, but Red interrupts him.

“When everyone’s good, we get along just fine.”

Dapper scowls and crosses his arms over his chest. Blue slaps Red’s shoulder.

“Fine, sorry,” grumbles Red.

“It stresses Red out a little when he hears that little brother’s saying dangerous things,” says Blue carefully. “But the truth is, yes, we’ve been getting along… well, really well.”

Dapper softens, nodding slowly, his eyes thoughtful. “Better than we did before.”

“Cause Anti lets us see each other.” Red reaches down to bump against his shoulder and manages to draw a smile out of his little brother. “We sleep in one room, and Dok and Dapper sleep next to us, and in the daytime we can be together all day if we want. And I watch over them. All the time. It’s been really, really good.” He sighs and turns to grin at his twin. “That’s cause of Blue.”

He’s warm, and not just from the heat. He reaches out to touch Red’s shoulder.

“When you came, Anti let us be a family again,” says Red. “Cause you balance us out.”

It’s too much affection to bear at once, and Blue changes the subject.

“Well, I hope I can convince him to give us back Trickshot soon. That would be real family.”

Red sighs, nodding. “Yeah. Well, you know why Anti has to keep him. Once he’s better, he’ll give him right back. He’s taking care of him.”

“Yes,” agrees Blue immediately.

Dapper doesn’t look so sure.

Anonymous asked: Would Anti ever really give back Tricks? From what Dap mentioned it seems like he took his place

Blue and Red flinch in sync, but Dapper just grins wickedly up at you, that wild light flickering through his eyes again.

“Anti keeps Dap close for more than one reason,” Red explains hastily, looking like he wishes Dap wasn’t there. “I’m sure Anti wants him back under his wing as soon as possible. The reason he keeps one of us close at hand has nothing to do with favoritism, obviously. It’s whoever needs him the most. Right now, that’s Trick. He’s not well. He needs a lot of attention and supervision. But once he’s better, he’ll take Dapper back.”

He turns to his little brother, trying to be reassuring.

“And then everything will be okay again, right? He loves you very much.”

Dapper’s supposed to obey Red. He knows that. And anyway, he’s tired. They only flew in a few days ago, and it’s been two weeks since he was stabbed, and exhaustion sits as heavy upon him as the heat of the blazing sun. So he just nods.

Accepts the verdict.

pixie-in-trebleland asked: Do you really want to go back to Anti, Dap??

Dapper blushes hard and Red and Blue exchange surprised glances.

“Of course he does,” says Blue.

“It’s nice, being that close to Anti,” smiles Red.

“We got a week like that.” Blue claps his hands together, delighted. “It was great.”

“It was incredible,” agrees Red.

“He might let us back like that someday if we get hurt.”

“Yeah, I would take a bullet or two for that,” says Red, only halfway joking, and it makes Blue laugh.

Dapper puts his head in his hands and stares down at the floor, his face getting impossibly whiter.

Red checks a five-year-old phone before shoving it back in his pocket. “We should probably get going, though! Come on, troops! We got some drugs to steal.”

Anonymous asked: Ouch Red. Still, what are you guys gonna do if Anti doesn't stop? Just gonna roll over and accept it?

Red startles, staring at you.

“Um - ” Embarrassed, he glances between you and Blue. “I - it’s not - I accept what Anti tells me because I trust him.”

Regaining himself, he does his best to look angry instead, crossing his arms over his chest. “You don’t know anything about my family, you know. You don’t have the first fucking idea how many times Anti has kept us safe and alive. Dapper, tell them the story you told me, about the men who tried to shoot me!”

He turns eagerly to his little brother. Dapper sighs, shaking his head.

“Please?” begs Red. “I love that story.”

Dapper digs his chin down on his knees. “Once upon a time,” he tells you, swiftly, wearily. “Red got into a fight he couldn’t handle.”

“I don’t remember that, but I believe it, I would do that, honestly I kind of mess up a lot.”

“And they had guns, because they had been waiting for Red to come after them.”

“Like a hero, cause they were bad guys.”

“And they took a shot at J - Red.”

Blue and Red stare at him, confused, but he’s quick to cancel the sign out.

“But I turned back time and told Anti what would happen. Knowing he’d get shot, Anti put himself between the bullet and Red. Took it right to the chest. Nearly killed him. And Anti had to trust that Red and I would protect him.”

“He made himself vulnerable to save me,” Red bursts out, unable to let Dapper tell it any longer. “And if I had just listened to him in the first place and done what he had told me, I never would have been overwhelmed at all, and he wouldn’t have had to save me! But he didn’t leave me to die, he sacrificed himself for me. And I protected him, because that’s my job and that’s my little brother. Yes, what Anti tells me, I will do. That’s my duty.”

His chest is lifted with pride, his mouth knows ferocity. “So if Anti says he needs to keep protecting Trick by holding him in that little room, I trust him, I trust him. Don’t act like there’s shame in that. This is my family. I don’t always understand Anti, but I do always love him, and I know he’ll keep Trick safe.”

“Okay, okay, very moving,” teases Blue, getting to his feet. “Come on, superboy, let’s get going.”

Anonymous asked: (Is the little puppy finally finding his voice? You better be careful dapper, you’ve got to play the long game if you ever want to get out of this mess WITH your brothers. Stay strong! You’re doing great xx)

“Yeah, we’ll get out of here,” promises Red fondly, helping him to his feet.

Dapper’s eyes are fixed on you. His legs shake.

He does not nod or shake his head, but he’ll remember what you told him.

“Come on.”

Blue and Red head off towards the entrance.

Dapper clutches at the pillar, white washing over his vision. He tries to give a croak, but nothing comes out.

He stood up too fast. He’s going to faint.

Anonymous asked: RED catch JJ!!

To his credit, Red obeys without hesitation, whirling to set his eyes on his little brother and then swooping forward to grab him. Dapper staggers, clutches at his brother’s shirt, and then crumples like a sack of potatoes, his head thudding into Red’s chest, tugging them both towards the ground. Despite their position in the corner, this is enough to draw attention to them, and there are some gasps - a couple worried-looking women are edging forward - Blue whirls around with a dazzling performer’s smile, hands held wide, protective.

“Nothing to worry about, nothing to worry about,” he whispers, pushing away all looks of concern. “Just, uh… the Holy Spirit?”

“Way to cover for us, Blue,” hisses Red.

“Sorry, geez!”

“At least do it in Spanish!”

“Es el espíritu santo!” snaps Blue, very sarcastic and far too loud, and they start up a whispered fight over Dapper’s body, pulling him back towards the corner again.

nikkilbook asked: BOYS, EYES ON THE GENTLEMAN WITH A STAB WOUND, IF YOU PLEASE

“Right, right, sorry!”

Red snaps his attention back to Dap, quickly unbuttoning his tight collared shirt and fanning him, brushing sweat off Dapper’s face. “Buddy, can you hear me?”

Dapper is out cold. His eyes are not fully closed, but there is nothing but whites visible. A little spooked, Red pulls his eyelids closed. Dapper shivers limply, his mouth parting, his face distressed, like he’s nightmaring.

“Dapper,” murmurs Blue, standing over him, fear creeping onto his face.

“I didn’t realize he was so bad, I think the heat got to him…”

Blue nods distantly. His hands uncurl slowly, and then he is reaching down, a faint light on his fingers -

Red snatches his wrist out of the air, startling Blue back to attention.

“Blue!” he snaps. “We’ve talked about this! No. Fucking. Magic.”

Blue winces and draws back again, nodding rapidly.

“It’s just, I think I could help - ”

“No.” Red is not joking anymore, not laughing, not teasing. Red is the oldest brother. “No.”

Dapper’s hands twitch. He lets out a shuddering gasp.

“He’s dreaming,” says Blue. “He fainted right into a dream.”

Red pulls Dapper higher on his lap, trying to shake him awake.

Dreams are not a pleasant place for Dapper to be stuck.

pixie-in-trebleland asked: Should you guys skip the appointment and take him back to Anti?

“Oh, no, no, no, we can’t miss the appointment.” Red’s eyes are wide. “We’ve been here for four days and Anti only now found a truck route for us to hit, he’ll be pissed if we don’t get Dok what he needs.”

Anonymous asked: Maybe you guys should take him back to Dok? If he's out cold, you can't just carry around a limp brother to steal medicine.

“I wish we could,” sighs Blue. “We shouldn’t have taken him so far into the city anyway, he’s not been well.”

“Yeah, cause he has a freaking stab wound, dude.”

“Okay, Sherlock, thank you for that.”

“Just give him a second to wake up. He’ll be okay. He never stays down long, this is Dap we’re talking about. He’s resilient.”

“Strangely so,” mumbles Blue, patting his little brother’s cheek lightly. Dap coughs and shifts, a hand reaching up to rub gently at his face.

Anonymous asked: I don’t mean to complicate things, but it might be wise not to bring Dapper to the “appointment” especially if you’re going to steal stuff. There’s no way he’d be able to keep up in this state and he’d only be a liability. If possible do you think Blue could stay with dapper and then you can go get the stuff Dok needs?

“Don’t make me run a hit alone,” groans Red, tugging at Blue’s sleeve.

“Yeah, you’d get your ass arrested and then we’d be in big trouble.”

“Hey! Would not!”

“But we can’t take him with either…”

“Come on, yeah we can.” Red grins. “Anti’s taken him places in worse states, trust me. This is a kid who knows how to work under pressure, or are you forgetting that he rewinds time til it goes our way?”

Dapper signs something, his eyes fluttering dully open.

“What’s that, Dap? You okay?”

“Not a kid,” grumbles Dapper, rubbing at his face.

“I know,” says Red, gently. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

Dapper is already trying to get back to his feet over Blue’s protests, something scared and defensive in his eyes. He lets Blue wrap his arms around him and help hold him up straight, his mouth trembling.

“Let’s just get this over with. I want to go home.”

pixie-in-trebleland asked: Dapper, you gonna be okay?

Dapper is distant, shaky, exhausted. “Can’t stop having that dream,” his trembling hands whisper. “Can’t stop seeing him, over and over again…”

Blue and Red are leading him carefully along behind them. He squints his eyes against the sun as they head back into the street, a headache pounding against his brain.

“Scary.”

pixie-in-trebleland asked: What's the dream, Dap?

“Yeah, what are you on about back there?” asks Blue gently, turning to smile at him. “Everything okay, brother?”

Dapper wilts beneath his gaze and shakes his head, hurrying forward to be closer to him, allowing him to grip at his hand. He won’t talk about it with his brothers nearby.

reverseblackholeofwords asked: So what kind of supplies do you guys have to steal anyway? Won't that give you a hint of what might be up with Trick?

“Just around the corner here,” murmurs Red, drawing his brothers along. Down several alleys, they’ve escaped the heavy-populated streets into a quieter part of town, where business buildings and shops are lazy with the weekend heat. A bright, trouble-maker smile is growing on Red’s mouth, light flashing dangerously through his clear blue eyes.

“Nah, it won’t tell us what’s up with Trick.” Blue’s buoyed by his brother’s excitement, he smirks at the quiet alley around the corner, his eyes narrowing on a lone security guard chilling on the porch of one of the shops. “Cause we’re not just taking a bottle of Haldol out of a tiny-town pharmacy anymore. Time to get some real supplies.”

“Do try not to get in trouble,” sighs Dapper. “I haven’t the energy to repeat this too many times.”

“Okay, Dap,” concedes Red, in a show of respect - he has no obligation to grant any of his little brothers’ requests, but he does it anyway. Dapper smiles softly, warmed despite himself. “We’ll be careful.”

“Thank you.”

Red pauses to pull a couple golden coins out of his pocket, handing them over and pushing Dapper’s head away. “Go across the street,” he commands. “Get yourself a soda or something from that vendor over there. And sit down, you’ve done enough passing out for one day.”

“Yes, Red.”

“There’s a good soldier. We’ll be quick.”

“There’s the truck,” sings Blue, reaching for Red’s backpack and pulling out a white, unpainted deer mask. Dapper rolls his eyes and slouches off across the street, leaving them to their chores. He’s glad he doesn’t have to help with a shitty raid like this one. Not even anyone worth fighting off. Fuck, but he could go for a good fight one of these days. Long time since Anti let him get anywhere near to real danger…

Blue draws a thin blue scarf up to cover his mouth. Red draws his hoodie down low and pulls on his own mask, a black one that covers most of his face. A white van with no logo rattles down the alley in their side view, kicking up lazy dust, not expecting a thing.

Red smiles a little too wide for your liking.

On the other camera, Dapper is carefully crossing the street. “You don’t want to see that, do you?” he asks, carrying you along. “They’ll be back in a minute. Or you can watch them trash some innocent pharmaceutical workers. Anti never sends us good fights anymore. Used to be he’d take me out right into the belly of the beast, and we’d come home soaked all the way through in blood… guess I’m supposed to have forgotten that time, though. He found other attack dogs, so I get to be the little puppy instead.”

cest-mellow asked: can’t you guys leave dapper in the car or something? i think he’s a little bent out of shape, could use some R&R

“We take the bus,” says Dapper, putting you down for a moment so he can point at a churro on the vendor’s menu. “Anti was talking about getting Red a motorbike, though. I’m alright. I’m tough, you know. Really, I promise. Maybe no one else thinks so, but I am. Anyway, I’ll sit down here for a moment. It really is beautiful with all the great buildings and the mountains in the distance… when we go back home, I can show you the ocean…”

Some of the harshness falls away from him again as he exchanges his coins for some sugar and bread. His brown hair is golden in the sun and he whistles softly as he sinks down against an alley wall in the shade of a building, popping a piece of churro in his mouth. For a moment, he looks as happy as he did in a fish and chips shop in Norway, if only his face weren’t so exhausted.

Anonymous asked: When you wrote “Scary” all I could think of was Jack going “Fancyyyyy” lmao

Dapper pauses, smiling quizzically. For a moment, he lifts his hands to speak, and then he drops them again, shaking his head, confused.

“Odd, I almost feel like that’s familiar. Fancy!”

cest-mellow asked: do you wanna talk about your dream, hon? or was it not just about your brothers being around? maybe we can help!

Dapper sinks in on himself again, gaze sinking. “I haven’t told anyone about it… it’s… I don’t know. I don’t want to scare them. And I’ve dealt with nightmares before, I can take them! It’s only scary because - ”

Dapper clings to his hair for a second, shaking his head.

“Doesn’t feel like a dream,” confess his weary hands. “They feel real, but… the kind of real where I know I can still reverse it. Reality gets so twisted in on me, you know… sometimes I don’t feel like anything’s real, and though I remember more than my brothers, some days it just gets twisted and twisted and twisted and twisted and I don’t know what happened and what I undid and what I remember and what he planted in my head and all of it spins like the sun in the sky and I can’t - I can’t - !”

His hands flop to the earth. His churro dusts his dress pants in sugar. There is salt on his cheeks.

“I keep dreaming of Blue collapsing,” he tells you.

“He’s standing in water, his arm outstretched, and then his eyes roll back and blood goes running everywhere, everywhere… he crumples. Burns on his face beneath his mask.

“And Anti too, I see him, coated in blood… I’ve killed people, do you know that?”

There’s no guilt in his face. His eyes stare off into the distance.

“A lot of people. But the blood on his arms still scares me, after all I’ve seen. And it seems real, and I can hear Doktor crying, and I can feel Anti’s fury and his power.”

He tears gently at his bread. Places a piece in his mouth, trying to keep it together.

“I think something bad is coming,” he says. “But I don’t know what… or when… or how. Anti promised my brothers a little peace, but I can’t enjoy it, not now.”

pixie-in-trebleland asked: How about that dream, whole your brothers are busy? It might help you stay focused on other things while they are up to no good.

“No good, huh?”

Dapper grins and chuckles.

“Aw, it’s not so bad. We do what we have to do. Always have. Always will. It’s funny, I remember more and more often lately that some of the things my hands have done once made me terrified of myself.”

He chokes a little on his churro all of a sudden, remembering the danger that always hangs over his head. “M-maybe I shouldn’t be talking like this.”

cest-mellow asked: what’s the matter dapper?

He scratches at his head, face dark. “I’ve just been getting in trouble a lot, lately. And it’s not just Anti, it scares the others when I say things… I know I shouldn’t.”

He sighs, shaking his head. “Maybe I just need to shut the fuck up and go back to being a good puppy. Soon as Trick is feeling better, I’ll be back in there with my master, and it’s much more pleasant to be a good boy then.”

Anonymous asked: JJ be woke not broke. You're right and you should say it.

You made him laugh.

Anonymous asked: But you're not a puppy, Dap. You're a grown man.

“Mmh,” he sighs and smiles at you. “I don’t know. Some days are clear days, and I know I’m an adult. And then some days are pain days, and I forget everything but the collar around my throat, and my master’s hands in my hair.”

His smile has twisted nastily, like something is boiling in his mouth.

“Don’t bother appealing to my pride. I lost most of it a long fucking time ago.”

He shivers and stares down at his hands.

“I shouldn’t remember that. Don’t tell my master…”

cest-mellow asked: you don’t have to be anyone’s “puppy” dap. you’re your own person, you know. like you said, you’re tough! i think they underestimate you sometimes.

He blinks, unable to meet the eye of the lens. After a long time, he answers.

“Can I tell you something?�� whisper his pale fingers. “Anti’s never underestimated me. I used to believe he kept me close because I’m the baby, and I’m psychotic, and I need him because of that. But now he’s giving me a little freedom, and I realize I don’t need…”

That sentence is too scary to finish. He tries again.

“Anti never kept me close because he loved me.”

There are tears in his eyes.

“He’s just afraid I’ll turn against him. I’m not his favorite brother. I’m just his favorite weapon.”

Glitches explode across your screen and you hear Dapper gasp as a shock rockets up his hands from the camera. He drops both you and his churro and recoils away from the camera, slamming against the wall, his eyes wide with panic.

Angry colors burn across your screen. Your image is cutting out. Dapper’s mouth hangs open, his air coming far too fast.

Suddenly, he’s a lot less keen to get home.

Anonymous asked: Hey Anti, what's up with Chase? Is he okay?

Your third camera flickers, revealing a staticky image of Anti’s face, his eyes black and his mouth scowling. He’s barely bothering to keep Jack’s image together - his mouth is full of too many teeth and his eyes are abysses.

He starts slow-clapping.

“Twenty fucking minutes,” he spits. “Twenty fucking minutes I let you talk to my baby boy again, and this is what you give me? Am I a fucking joke to you? No, don’t answer that, you little shits. I’m going to beat that child til he forgets everybody’s name but mine. Will you be cheering then, when he’s spitting blood and Doktor is fucking crying for the fourteenth time today?”

The camera fizzles furiously. Anti stalks around in a circle, his eyes flashing different colors.

He’s kind of thin. He’s kind of white.

“Stupid baby brothers. I need to retrain Red, he used to be so savage with them. Trick and Dok were terrified of him. He needs to start slapping them around again. He could have Trick whimpering like a bitch for him back then. I don’t know where all this touchy-feely shit came from with him. Just cause I gave him Blue… I needed him reset, but the memory fuck-ups can be such a pain. Maybe I should start separating twins from twins again, Dok doesn’t need Red and Blue, but then someone has to watch Dap… could lock him up, but then with the way he gets… fuck, I need Trick functional again…”

And it is then that, in the bed behind him, you spot Trick himself, watching in silence with his knees drawn up to his chest, his face a solid slate-grey and his eyes dead.

Anonymous asked: God someone's insecurity is showing and I don't think it's Dapper's...

“You’re all fucking comedians. Shut the fuck up.”

Anti shoves the camera away, snarling to himself. Trick sighs and closes his eyes.

Anonymous asked: Oh geeze, looks like that touched a sore spot on someone.

Anti’s eyes are narrowed into slits - the pupils too.

Trick looks like he’s going to vomit. He lies down and pulls the pillows over his head. Anti glances over and his face slackens, chewing anxiously on his lip. He turns the camera off again. That’s enough for his Trick for now.

cest-mellow asked: oh god- i didn’t mean for that, maybe you should turn it back a few seconds ?? dapper i’m so sorry!! are you okay ?

“Maybe I should turn that back,” groans Dap, curling in on himself. “He’ll be positively incensed. And I really wanted a churro. I have the password, too, in case something were to go wrong with Red and Blue. But I’ll have to come up with a good excuse, and I expect I’ll have another faint. No strength these days.

“Oh, don’t apologize though! My friend, I was the one who spoke out of turn. Never be afraid of Anti. That’s our job, not yours.”

cest-mellow asked: oh god- i didn’t mean for that, maybe you should turn it back a few seconds ?? dapper i’m so sorry!! are you okay ?

“Maybe I should turn that back,” groans Dap, curling in on himself. “He’ll be positively incensed. And I really wanted a churro. I have the password, too, in case something were to go wrong with Red and Blue. But I’ll have to come up with a good excuse, and I expect I’ll have another faint. No strength these days.

“Oh, don’t apologize though! My friend, I was the one who spoke out of turn. Never be afraid of Anti. That’s our job, not yours.”

Anonymous asked: Dap, buddy, are you alright?

“I’m okay, but I don’t expect I will be when I get back home. Wonder what it’ll be this time. There’s a cattle prod what stings me just awful. It’s so rude! Cows deserve better than that! Do you think they shock the babies with things like that?”

He sighs, picking at the corners of his churro that didn’t touch the ground. “I love fluffy little cows. The ones with the curls… they’re so good…”

nikkilbook asked: You know, if it were me, I’d probably eat the thing anyway. Unless it fell in something nasty, I don’t think dirt’s gonna hurt you, and you deserve a heckin churro. I feel like “YOLO” fits this situation nicely.

“Haha! Okay, you have a point, but actually parts of this city are kind of gross. There are a lot of dogs around. Red threw a rock at one the other day for trying to bite me.

“Anyway, you know something? We’ve actually been eating better since we came here. We have an actual kitchen! The oven works and Blue built this little cooler into the ground so we kind of have a fridge. He’s been cooking real food, it’s incredible!”

He pauses, staring at his churro.

“That was tasty, though. And I don’t want to get beat again. I think maybe I… maybe I will change back…”

He looks up at you, nervous. “That’s… okay, right? Anti won’t know. I have the password. It’s been a really long time since I used this to protect myself instead of him. Maybe I shouldn’t.”

Anonymous asked: Dap we're not scared of Anti we're scared for y'all. You and Red and Blue and Trick and Doc. Even if nothing goes wrong please go back just so Anti won't hurt you.

“Okay. Okay.”

He sighs and buries his head against his knees.

“I need to be more careful though. Anti would want me to learn. Maybe I can punish myself instead of him coming after me.”

He looks up at you and smiles faintly, a light coming to his eyes.

“But in the meantime… hey, Anti’s not going to know about this. I’ll give you ten minutes before we change back so you can ask me anything, and Anti won’t even know it happened.”

His mustache wriggles with the mischief. He’s giggling, clutching carefully at his tummy.

Anonymous asked: Fluffy cows are amazing, that is a scientific fact.

“You’ve never been more right, little camera.”

Anonymous asked: I know the cows you're talking about! They're usually red and people like to give them little flower crowns. They're sooo cuute!!

“Cows with flower crowns… you’re killing me. I’m going to run away and become a dairy farmer with a dark and mysterious past who enchants a small-town shopkeeper and runs away with them into the night. That’s the dream.”

cest-mellow asked: cows are so great. i like cats though, in fact, i feed stray ones at my house! the kittens are so cute, i think you’d like them a lot! (if you like cats that is?)

“I absolutely adore kittens. I’d have a half-dozen if I could. I think I… maybe we used to have some? I miss having pets around.”

the-weirdest-fan asked: Uh, wanna talk about what you like about your brothers maybe? Positivity could be good?

“What I like about my brothers… wow, you’re sweet.”

He pauses, brushing his fingers soothingly against his lips, his eyes distant.

“It’s odd. I love them very much. But some days there are so few things I remember about them… I forget that he is anything but the man who gives me my medicine, or Anti’s right hand, or just the boy who watches over us from the windowsill, gun perched.

“But then, oh, you should see them as I dream of them.”

He takes a deep breath, his chest puffing up, his eyes bright.

“Like there’s so much more to them, so much goodness and courage and kindness, but I can’t even remember the half of it, and when I wake up with parts of my mind gone again, I feel I am looking at only pieces of the family we used to be…”

For a moment, his eyes grieve. But he collects himself again. Today, he is together. Today, he is strong.

“I still like a lot about them though. I like Red’s energy, ha. He’s always bounding around these days, and he’s so tough, nothing ever knocks Red down for long. I know he would protect me with his life. And Blue, Blue has been wonderful! I’m glad he’s with us! He takes good care of everyone, he always makes sure we’re eating and taking our medicine, and sometimes he can even calm Anti down when he’s angry. He is special and brave and he loves all of us the same. Doktor, well, Doktor has been my twin for the last couple weeks, and we get on very well indeed lately. He’s quieter than the others. I like to just sit with him. I know he’d take care of me if I ever got hurt or… snapped again. He was the one who gave me back to myself the first time, you know.

“And Trick - I just wish I could see him again. I think I remember… we were becoming friends? I know there was a time when the two of us were very close. Anti kept us together as twins for a time, and I think we were happy. I remember he was distressed when Anti gave him to Doktor for the first time, and put me away in my room…

“But I love Trick because even if he doesn’t always show it I know he cares about me and he’s good to talk to. We’re the little brothers. We have to look out for each other.”

pixie-in-trebleland asked: What do you do in your free time now, Dap?

“Well, things have just been busy since we came here. We’ve been setting up the house and I’ve been sleeping a great deal because of the wound. I hope that Anti will buy me more papers and maybe even a book. When I get better, he might let me play with brothers and keep going into town like this! I hope!”

the-weirdest-fan asked: Do you know why Anti doesn't like animals so much when they are actually the best things on this dumb planet?

Dapper’s face lights up with pure rebellion.

“I should NOT tell you that,” he says. “I should NOT. Anti would murder me and feed me to my siblings.”

He pauses, thinks.

“Okay, I’ll tell you what I know.

“He likes to wear his own version of animals, you’ve seen him, the dog especially, because he knows it is frightening to others and often convenient for him. But those changes do not touch his essence. They are more than illusions but less than possession. And possession… possession is where his trauma comes from.

“I don’t remember who he was fighting. He did not tell me the story - most of it I worked out for myself, back when he was less in control, and he would have these horrible screaming breakdowns. He would hurt me and hurt himself and say things he did not mean to say. So I know - from words which broke his voice in half - that Anti was once defeated.”

Something hard and angry and wistful all at once passes through Dapper’s eyes, the color of light on the ocean.

“He was weak. I think maybe he was dying. Something burned him right through to his essence. He could not keep a form. He was near to falling apart entirely, and scared, I expect, that he was die. He needed something to possess.

“He’d prefer a human body, of course. He’d always prefer a human body. But he hadn’t the strength to overpower anything sentient. So he possessed what he did have.

“I don’t know the animal that it was that night. I expect you could find out which one by which one terrifies him the most. But when he would lose himself and scream, he would scream about the feeling of ticks along his fur, and thick animal blood pumping through his over-rapid heart… the filthy water of the streets against his paws, every smell too strong, every sound too loud, the world dark and enormous around him.

“I think it was the greatest humiliation of his life. And you know my big brother by now. He hates to lose control. Someone forced him into an animal body, because he was too weak for anything else. He would wipe out every life on this earth before he ever let that happen again.

“But, for now, all he does is recoil, disgusted by everything with fur or scales or feathers, remembering the sensation of being an animal.”

Anonymous asked: Do you remember the day you were born?

“No. Anti says it was a painful day. I bled, I guess. He says my father wasn’t even there. Nobody wanted me but Anti.”

cest-mellow asked: okay okay! jameson, you remember that name right? can you tell us some sneaky things about anti, maybe things he doesn’t want us to know?

“What name? The word glitched out. I remember some names I shouldn’t though, haha! Anti would waterboard me if he found out. Some sneaky things about Anti, ha! What, are you going to mess with him some more? Don’t do anything to enrage him while he is with Trick. I do know something no one else does… sometimes I hear him groaning in his sleep, like his dreams hurt him. I think he nightmares, just like the rest of us. There are some things even he can’t control.”

Anonymous asked: Interesting...D, how many times have the others “snapped” and who does it the most?

“Oh, you must understand, we all have days where we are bad or sad or angry or hurting or melting down. But ‘snap’… this is only the third time my family’s used that word.

“I don’t remember it well, but Red snapped once, apparently, when it was just him and I and Anti. Anti said I was nearly killed because of it, but… I don’t know… I think I remember… Red’s face, and he was holding me, and he was a different person, and he was afraid…

“But he recovered just fine. After that Anti took us away from each other a little. I saw less of him.

“It’s been some time since what my brothers call my snap. I remember it. It was terrifying. I… I can’t go through that again. I hurt a lot of people. I was in a lot of pain. And terrified. Couldn’t tell what was happening, where I was, who anyone around me was. I thought something was controlling me, but it wasn’t Anti, and I heard… I - I - I’m just glad for my medicine, now. I lost so much control. I left scars on people I loved. Doktor says it’s not my fault, but that’s not the way it feels. And I know it could happen again someday, if my medicine stopped working or I didn’t have it.”

Okay for some reason tumblr does not tell me who submitted these pictures anymore? There’s only like two as I turned off submissions afterwards but yes there were a couple pictures from… someone. Sorry, you can tell me if you’re the one who sent them.

I bring friendly cow!!

Dapper bursts into laughter, touching the screen with a huge smile in his eyes, as though he could pet it if he just got close enough.

“Look at its fucking fringe, hahaha! I love her.”

whydoilovesomanyvillians asked: Do you have a favorite book dap

“Oh, a favorite book! Hm, I’m not sure! Do you know, though, I love Crime and Punishment, really. Maybe it’s a little of a sad story, a little horrible in some ways, but… I don’t know. He was so guilty, he really did such a horrible thing, but his friend still cared for him and forgave him and became his wife. And his big friend too! I love his big friend. And it’s so suspenseful! You spend the whole book sweating right there along Rodya! Is he going to get caught? Can he forgive himself? Does he deserve anybody’s forgiveness? Probably not, and yet… Tense. And the clever detective, knowing he’s guilty the whole time… good stuff! Who has the guts to tell a story like that? I used to read voraciously.”

musical-in-theory asked: Off topic, but Jameson, what does your happy place look like?

“Oh, my happy place, oh my…

“I think it’s a memory. But I don’t remember it.

It’s this forest. With great tall trees swaying in the wind, and the light filtering in through the leaves. It’s warm and quiet and the birds are crying, and if I go far enough, there’s water, a great river of clear cold water, and cool wet stones and fallen trees to make a bride of. Nobody’s with me, I’m allowed to roam, but I know, if I wanted to, I could return home in minutes alone, down a path I have walked a hundred times, but have no recollection of ever stepping down…”

Anonymous asked: Do you know the medicine that you take?

“Yeah, it’s called Haldol. Love that stuff. Tried some antidepressants first, they did nothing for me, but the Haldol makes me feel so much better. It’s great to have some of the hallucinations and delusions go away, of course, but what I really need is that it gets rid of a lot of the paranoia. When I’m out of control I get so freaked out of everything that I can’t feel safe or sleep or eat or trust anybody, anybody.”

He’s upsetting himself a little. He takes a couple deep breaths and smiles shakily at you.

“I should turn back soon. Just a couple minutes more. Red and Blue will be done soon.”

spicydanhowell asked: carver, do you think trick is suicidal? has he ever really hurt himself, or talked about it?

Dapper’s face falls. He cannot meet your eyes.

“He talks about it more than anyone would like. Anti usually tells me they’re jokes and then slaps Doktor and tells him to take better care of Trick. But not this time.

“Anti wouldn’t keep him with him if he wasn’t suicidal.”

Anonymous asked: Dapper, you ever think about taking up swearing?

“For fucking sure,” he says, and then bursts into laughter.

“I don’t think I used to, did I? I don’t know, at some point I started. I know Anti doesn’t like some of the signs I use. Keep it simple, he says. Don’t have time to read fancy words. Says it’s pretentious and annoying. I try not to be a freak.”

He pauses, thoughtful.

“I think often about how my brothers used to be different people. But it scares me a little, thinking about how I used to be someone different too. I don’t know how much of myself I lost… would I like the person I’ve become?”

He plays with his hands for a moment, expression downcast.

“Even the person I am today rarely likes who I am. But there’s no changing now. I can’t undo the things I’ve done. The person I’ve become. Maybe I had a choice once, but… not anymore.”

Anonymous asked: Do you think there's ever a chance for you to escape with your bothers? Away from Anti and his abuse, maybe ya'll could make a new life and he'll realize how much he needs and loves yall and won't be such a little shit.

“Oh, you mustn’t… you mustn’t call it abuse, I… how can I stay if it’s… he has anger problems, it’s not his fault, just…”

He digs his fingers into his scalp, panting through gritted teeth.

“He’ll realize that again soon enough, surely, surely… I wouldn’t stay if it was abuse, would I? I wouldn’t stay if… we can’t… it’s not his fault…”

Anonymous asked: I mean, to be fair Dap, your father not being there when you were born was less a matter of him not wanting you and more someone making sure he wasn't there. But that doesn't really matter in the grand scheme of things. It only matters if you want yourself. No one else's opinion means more.

“Well, I’m sure you’re right, what a positive mental attitude to take. Absolutely splendid. I don’t need him! I’m sure he had his reasons for not being there. You know, I think Anti takes some pleasure in it, though - he is a bit of a jealous personality, isn’t he? I’m glad I ended up with my brothers instead of somebody who didn’t want me.”

nikkilbook asked: Dipdap, do you remember who Jack is? Or rather, do you remember who it is Anti is so angry at?

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t quite catch that name. Who Anti is so angry at? Well, all of us, of course. We piss him off a lot, I’m sure you’ve noticed. But he talks often about people hunting for us, trying to take us from him. I don’t know who that is.”

reverseblackholeofwords asked: Do you ever wish you could bring those other versions of your brothers back? The versions in your dreams?

“I… well… maybe. But I know that was a different life. I love my brothers, my siblings, just where they are, or try to, anyway. Those people they were, they’re gone, because the things that have happened to us have changed us. And that’s okay, mostly. But I also know that… if we were still those people now, we couldn’t keep living the way that we do. I don’t know what would change, but I know nothing would be the same. So, sure, I’d love to see Red as free as he was back then, and Trick happier, and Doktor less afraid, and on and on, but - well. It’s not allowed. And… there must be a reason for that, right?”

His weary eyes fix bitterly on the earth.

“Or maybe we really are just puppets sanded clean and repainted.”

Anonymous asked: Have you ever thought about a life without Anti?

“Everybody thinks about a life without their family, right? But I’d be so lonely without Blue and Red and Dok and Trick! I could never go.”

He picks quietly at his sleeve for a moment.

“Anyway, I think… even when I’m angry at Anti, even when I think he’s… I don’t know, a bad person… I don’t think I could ever belong anywhere else.”

His eyes are shadowed as the sun descends behind the building under which he takes shelter.

“If I am a puppet, I’m quite carved up by now. Some things can’t be undone. Some stains don’t come out.

“I’m not a good person.”

Anonymous asked: People hunting for you and your brothers? If people were REALLY hunting you, wouldn’t Anti tell you who it is so you’d be able to protect yourself and stay safer?

“No, he wouldn’t. I’ve run from enemies before without knowing who they were. Why do I need to know? If I obey, I won’t be harmed, and that’s all that matters. Or so my master tells me. But the threats are not unfounded - trust me, I did not know who it was that shot Doktor that time they caught up with us, but the bullet in his side was as real as the chest I put the knife into.”

the-weirdest-fan asked: I'm going to guess it was a cat. Since it has paws it is probably a mammal and a cat would make sense due to it already having significance. (Then again, he doesn't seem to hate Blue much more than anyone else so i dunno...) What do you think, Dap? If you think it's safe to keep talking about it that is. Sorry for bringing it up in the first place.

“Maybe it was a cat. He doesn’t let Blue wear that mask he used to have. But I don’t know anything about it, really. Could have been anything.”

cest-mellow asked: do you think you ever would overtake anti? he seems to be a little scared of you, if he keeps you so close, you know? maybe you could beat him in one!

“When I’m feeling proud, I tell myself I could, but really, no. I’d have to go through the others first, and I could never do that. Scared of me? I can’t believe that. If he was scared of me, he wouldn’t…”

Dapper can’t finish. He touches his throat anxiously.

“I’m a powerful little weapon. But even without me, he’d still be Anti.”

the-weirdest-fan asked: You know, for Anti being your good rad cool brother, he really doesn't trust you guys much at all. You ever asked him about that?

Dapper bites hard on his lip.

“He has paranoia too. Sometimes I think we share our psychosis. Besides, we’ve given him good reason for it. Someone is waiting to steal us away from him, so he keeps us close. Cause he loves us. Sometimes. Some of us.”

cest-mellow asked: do you think that snap, for you and red, could have been from remembering too much and anti getting upset? you said red was a different person, and he was scared, right? maybe anti just wants to keep those memories away from you guys and calls it a “snap.”

Dapper sighs, glancing down.

“I think… I think there was definitely a time when Red refused to come to heel. He was tough. He would have fought Anti’s control if he still thought he was the bad guy back then, and hadn’t realized Anti was his brother. You may well be right. Maybe he had some memories back then and somehow thought his old master was good, or that he needed to get me away from Anti. Or he had just been reset and was confused. I’m always very confused after a reset. Maybe he was just trying to protect me, and got overwhelmed, and it’s easier for Anti to call it a snap.

“But, um. I don’t really like the word snap. Probably there’s something else we should be calling it. But I really did… lose it. I really needed help. Maybe I did remember too much, but it wasn’t helping me any. I’ve never been so scared in all my life. I was so sure I was going to die. I could see death in the corner of my vision. And my hands were all covered in blood - and - and - ”

He grips at his hair and chokes, curling in on himself.

Anonymous asked: Paranoia is a spooky thing. It's like a horrible all-seeing eye that's there even when you're alone, and wherever you are, you shouldn't be.

Dapper sighs, strangely comforted. “So you know, then. At the worst of it, I was convinced my stuffed pig was possessed, and I could hear it telling me over and over again that it was going to chew my heart up. One time it told me to c-cut my wrists open, and I was halfway to my knife before Trick woke up and stopped me… it was like my body wasn’t my own… I could have killed myself, but it was like I wasn’t even the one acting… I didn’t realize my body was my own again for days afterwards.”

Anonymous asked: has trick tried to hurt himself before, dap?

“He has a great white scar on one side of his head. I know what bullet wounds look like.”

cest-mellow asked: oh dapper i didn’t mean to upset you, i’m sorry. i’ll stop asking such questions, are you okay?

“Don’t worry, please. It’s oddly nice to talk about it. Nobody ever talks about it. Everyone thinks I will shatter like china. I’m glad they set boundaries to help me, but sometimes I feel like we’re just pretending it didn’t happen.”

Anonymous asked: what about "episode"? Instead of "snap"? i've heard that used sometimes!

“Oh, episode. Maybe I… I had an episode, yeah. A psychotic episode. It’s not like my brain snapped, I just had… an episode.”

He pauses, thinks, smiles. “Hm. Yeah.”

pixie-in-trebleland asked: If you had a life without Anti and still your other brothers, would that make you happy?

“That could never be.”

Anonymous asked: Your ‘old master’ did not abandon you. Anti did something bad to him. That is why he was able to get to you all.

Dapper draws away from you, startled. “What? That’s not true. That can’t be true.”

Anonymous asked: Is there anything you'd like to ask us, as well, Dap? Something you can learn and Anti won't know about it?

“Go back to that old master. Nobody talks about him. I remember many things in flashes and dreams, but never, never him. I think Anti wanted him gone more than anything else.”

Anonymous asked: Ah, but I feel like your father never got a chance to love you. Dapper have you ever read the story Rapunzel? It’s an old German fairy tale.

“Sure, I know that story. What, are you going to send me a prince? Make sure he’s good-looking. I don’t think I can grow my hair out that long, but I could try with the mustache. Yeah? Problems solved?”

Anonymous asked: Psssst Red, Blue, what’s taking so long??

They’re shoving supplies into their backpacks, chewing some gum they stole out of the driver’s pocket. He’s lying unconscious on the street, a big bruise forming on one side of his cheek.

“Sheesh, give us a few minutes, we’re robbing a whole supply van over here.”

“I got what I need,” says Blue, straightening up.

“Yeah? Just a second, Dok wants as much gauze as I can possibly fucking find. His words.”

the-weirdest-fan asked: Do you think he straight up hates any of you?

“Yeah, sometimes.”

He picks at his lip anxiously. “Me, for instance. Right now.”

Anonymous asked: Your creator is a really nice man, not perfect but he helps a lot of people when he can. He makes people smile and he helps them to be kinder to themselves. He would've loved you, and I think you would've loved him too.

“Oh.”

Dapper doesn’t know what to say to that. He stares at the earth.

“Well, I mean… if that’s true that’s all anyone could ever want, isn’t it? That’s… that’s everything.”

Anonymous asked: well, 'old master' isn't exactly accurate, but....if he's anything like the version of him we know, he's incredibly kind. He's very famous, but still humble. he raises huge amounts of money for charities he's passionate about. he tries his hardest to be good, but when he makes a mistake or accidentally hurts someone, he apologizes, thinks hard about it, and tries hard not to do it again. we all like him a lot :)

“This is crazy. That’s so sweet. But I really think you must all have something confused. I would know him if he was kind, wouldn’t I? We wouldn’t have to run from him.”

Anonymous asked: Well if you Just shAved off your mustaChe, I thinK you'd find you look a lot like him.

Dapper pauses, confused. “Great minds think alike, but that doesn’t mean much to me.

“Wait, I… I think I do remember that… that’s Red’s real name, isn’t it? Jack?”

florenceisfalling asked: dapper, you gotta hurry up the reversed time. the boys are gonna be back soon.

“Oh, damn. Well, I’ll turn back soon as I see them rounding the corner. Then they can help with the passing out and whatnot.”

cest-mellow asked: anti lies to you, a lot. your creator is so different than how anti makes him out to be, you know? he’s really someone special. you’d like him a lot.

Dapper chews anxiously on his nails.

“Well - well - if he was a good man he wouldn’t have fucking left me to this, would he? If he’s so special, where is he? Why can’t I talk, why is my brain so broken, why am I so weak, why am I just Anti’s little - his little - his little whore!”

And then he is recoiling from you, guilty, stressed, shaken.

“Oh, what am I thinking these days, what am I… maybe I am falling apart again, maybe Anti is right… I need to stop, I… what’s wrong with me?”

pixie-in-trebleland asked: Your new master and old master didn't get along, to put it nicely, Dap. You were stolen away.

“Thank you for answering my questions,” he stammers out. “Truly, truly. You’re all very good to me. But let’s talk about something else. I probably shouldn’t have done this. There are reasons we have rules, you know… I shouldn’t have done this…”

He grabs his clock.

Anonymous asked: It’s not so much about getting rid of the stains or the carving but learning to live with them. That’s what family is for anyways, they teach you that even your darkest corners aren’t so dark after all. Sure those dark spots can be a little ugly, but they’ll still love you for you, the way you’re supposed to be loved. I don’t want to trigger you so that is all I will say. Stay safe little buddy!

His eyes pause on this message. He chews his lip, rotating his clock in his hand.

Thinking.

nikkilbook asked: You stay for each other, Dap. Every single one of you made the choice to stay to keep each other safe. Anti has never done a single frackin thing to earn a drop of the devotion you show him other than hurt you so much you had to choose between death and loving a monster. And so you chose to stay alive and keep your real brothers safe, which I think is incredibly strong. And if I know anything about the man you used to be, he’d be proud of you too.

“We… we do. We stay for each other.”

He runs his thumb up and down the silver of his clock.

“I just… can’t remember anything without Anti…”

cest-mellow asked: have you ever thought about running away with your brothers? you know, away from anti? with a clear head and not having to step on eggshells everyday?

Dapper’s eyes go slightly distant.

“Mmh… we’d go somewhere nice. But I think I’d miss Anti… he used to be all there was… And wouldn’t somebody else just become like him? Red, probably. Red would just become the new Anti.”

Dapper pauses, side-tracked. “Wait, that’s an accidental reference or something. What am I thinking of? Oh, Orange is the New Black! I haven’t seen that.”

Anonymous asked: Have you ever thought of maybe destroying all of anti’s computers? What does he use those for anyways?

“Oh, to really tick him off? Haha! No, no, I need to stop laughing at the thought of making him mad… Dok says I distance myself too much from my own suffering sometimes, whatever the hell that means. But yeah, I don’t know exactly what he uses those for. Monitoring, I think. He and Red used to hack a lot of shit together, and I think he watches the cameras intermittently and keeps track of our money trail and makes sure no one is tracking us and such. Anti things. I don’t know anything about computers, not going to lie. You move the mouse and the clicker moves. And I think you can play games or make videos or something.”

Anonymous asked: You know, change is constant. Damage isn't forever. Growth can spring out of ashes. It's scary but you get through it and you HAVE gone through it. Probably more than we'll ever know. But your choices don't become you, especially if you're just being puppeted by someone else's actions.

Dapper sighs, staring down at his hands.

“I would really like to convince myself I was puppeted through some of the things I’ve done. But I can no longer tell. All I know is my hands were the ones pooling up with blood, and someone was making my mouth smile.”

Anonymous asked: Without you he is nothing. Why do you think he got to you so quickly? Without you he would have no safety. Without you he would surely make a mistake and end up doing something horrible to your brothers. Anti may be Anti but without you, he’d be terrified. You could undo all of his work so easily.

“He would feel unsafe without me, wouldn’t he?” mumbles Dapper, a little light in his eyes. “I don’t know about easily…”

Anonymous asked: If Anti really loved you he would learn from his mistakes, and stop hurting you all so much. He wouldn’t rename you and change you all. You always say it isn’t his fault, but whose fault is it really? You all just try and survive and do as he says but he still hurts you all. It is not love if you are afraid of him. It is not love if he apologizes and then makes no effort to change. It is not love if he erased who you truly are.

“Oh… no, the renames sort of just… happened, didn’t they?”

Dapper looks torn.

“Did he really do all that on purpose? N-no, wait, wait, let’s not… let’s not talk about it… this is who I am, right? I’m still… I don’t know… what if I’m not?”

Anonymous asked: Shit I just thought of something: if Anti sees that Dapper is close to passing out, Anti will get mad and beat on Red because Anti thinks that means he'd failed a few times and Dapper had to rewind

Dapper pauses, his eyes widening slightly.

“Um… you all knew that when you told me to reverse anyway, didn’t you?”

Anonymous asked: i think you should go back! it's only ten mutes, right? anti wouldn't notice!

“Bit of a Freudian slip there, huh?

“Yes, we’ve said much too much to not go back at this point. It’s turned into more like twenty minutes, haha. We talked quite a lot. Thank you for that.”

Anonymous asked: Wait dap don’t forget to reverse so Anti doesn’t get upset

Dapper closes his eyes, his hands curling around his little silver clock.

“Okay, ready? We’ll go back to when I got my snack, before I said anything stupid. Anti won’t have heard anything, won’t be mad, and I’ll just have to wait a few minutes for Blue and Red. Thank you for talking with me. I’ll remember this.”

He pauses, frowning slightly. His eyes are full of what little of the day’s light remains.

“I’ll try to, anyway.”

And he turns back t

As is usual to indicate a time reversal, I reblogged the following post with an addition.

cest-mellow asked: can’t you guys leave dapper in the car or something? i think he’s a little bent out of shape, could use some R&R

“We take the bus,” says Dapper, putting you down for a moment so he can point at a churro on the vendor’s menu. “Anti was talking about getting Red a motorbike, though. I’m alright. I’m tough, you know. Really, I promise. Maybe no one else thinks so, but I am. Anyway, I’ll sit down here for a moment. It really is beautiful with all the great buildings and the mountains in the distance… when we go back home, I can show you the ocean…”

Some of the harshness falls away from him again as he exchanges his coins for some sugar and bread. His brown hair is golden in the sun and he whistles softly as he sinks down against an alley wall in the shade of a building, popping a piece of churro in his mouth. For a moment, he looks as happy as he did in a fish and chips shop in Norway, if only his face weren’t so exhausted.

You’re returned to this moment with a jolt.

Dapper winks and grins and pops a piece of bread in his mouth, looking satisfied and happy, a little sugar in his mustache.

And then the dizziness hits him like a fucking car, and he grabs at his wrapped ribs as his face turns grey as a cloud of smoke. He slumps back against the wall of the building, his eyes a shining silver.

“Dap!” cries someone from across the street.

Anonymous asked: oH FUCK OH FUCK DID SOMETHING WENT WRONG DO WE HAVE A CAMERA

“Whoa, whoa, what’s going on?” cries Red, alarmed. “Did he have to reverse? We’re going to be in trouble if he did, bro. Or are you talking about back home?! Is everyone okay? Is Trick okay?”

immabethehero asked: Who says Anti has to know?

“Oh, he’ll know,” says Red.

They’re a few minutes back, so he’s back to shoving supplies in his bag. It feels like the first time to him.

“Dap’s eyes stay that color for quite a while. Blue, hit that guy again, I can hear him groaning.”

Anonymous asked: If you forget anything we’ve asked or told you remember this, You are Anti’s weakness. When the time comes you will be able to use that agasint him. Best of luck, Jamie. We believe in you!

Some of you are listening well.

Anonymous asked: Guys please keep an eye on your little brother! He’s unwell and you don’t want to lose him

“Fuck,” hisses Blue, alarmed. “Red, he must have had to turn something back.”

“Maybe he just fainted again. Um, normally, you know.”

“Great. Best case scenario.”

“Just go check on him, okay? I got this. All I really needed you for was helping me take the oafs out. Oh, and your backpack!”

“Glad to be your favorite packmule. Here, fill this up.”

“With as much fucking gauze I can possibly carry,” Red says, taking the backpack from him. “That’s what Dok told me, anyway.”

“And the rest of the list!”

“I remember everything! Go get Dap.”

Blue slams the door of the car and pulls out the unconscious driver - oh, there’s gum in his pocket! He steals the pack, shoves the driver out of sight, and then sprints off down the street, back towards his little brother, taking the camera with him.

pixie-in-trebleland asked: Dap, think about the animals. Maybe that will help you relax! The cows, the kittens and maybe even being a farmer! Think of all the sweet little things you could take care of.

Dap shifts gradually back towards consciousness, his eyes rolling a little. He catches sight of the camera and his lips part as he lets out a soft groan, trying to focus on cows or kittens or ducks or anything nicer than the blood trickling down his lip.

“Hey, honey, honey.”

Someone falls to their knees at his side, taking his heavy head into their hands, and he lets himself slump unceremoniously into Blue’s lap, clutching plaintively at his shirt for comfort. Blue leans down over him and presses their heads close together, hugging his shoulders to rock him, murmuring reassurances.

“Oh, Dapper, what happened? Poor thing, it’s okay. I’m right here. Something go wrong? Should I do something? You okay?”

“I’m sorry,” Dapper manages to sign, his eyes prickling with tears. “You’ll be in trouble now. It was my fault.”

Blue clucks his tongue and brushes his fingers through his hair. “Don’t you worry about that. You just do what you have to do and we’ll figure it out from there, okay? I’m sure you did your best. You have to look after yourself too. Yeah? Come on, don’t cry.”

But Dapper is overwhelmed. Anti never talks to him like this.

“I love you,” is all he can find to sign, and Blue smiles and repeats the sign back at him, humming something soft and reassuring.

“It’s okay. It’s okay.”

Anonymous asked: Red, Blue, it's just a little damage control. Just go with your gut, you did flawlessly the first time so don't second guess yourselves.

“Okay, okay,” sighs Blue, brushing his hands through Dapper’s hair. “Sounds like everything’s okay then, right, bud?”

“I don’t know… don’t want you to get in trouble…”

“We’ll figure it out at home. You just rest those silver eyes of yours. I can feel your magic from a block away, you’re like a little magnet.”

“And I smell, huh?”

Blue laughs, startled. “A little! Not bad, though! It’s like an antique shop. But also maybe flowers? And copper?”

“Blood,” corrects Dapper glumly, burying his face in his shirt. “Anti will smell it.”

“Alright, that’s alright. He’ll understand. He’s busy with Trick lately anyway. Think you can get to your feet? Yes? Powerful little brother. Come on, I want to get you sitting down on the bus.”

“Red?”

“Will be with us soon. That’s quite enough excitement for one day. Oh, shit, is that a churro? Don’t drop it, looks good.”

“You eat it,” sighs Dap. “Not hungry now.”

In the last few weeks, Blue has learned better than to turn down food, and he pops the last half of the bread in his mouth without protest. He’ll make him something easier on his stomach at home, anyway.

“Mmh, pretty fucking tasty. Come on, here we go.”

Probably submitted by immabethehero:

Maybe this can calm you down, Dapper. Hang in there!

“That’s a dog,” Dapper manages, smiling a little woozily as Blue helps him up. Blue chuckles.

“Astute.”

“It’s cute.”

“It is.”

He kisses the side of his little brother’s head and they start towards the bus stop down the street.

Anonymous asked: We can’t tell you what happened Red, sorry. It’d make Anti mad if you knew.

“Oh, leaving me out, are you?”

Red’s voice is good-humored as he starts up a go-pro camera to sit on his shoulder, just to make sure he keeps you close.

“Whatever. Not my business. Dapper does what he has to do. Dapper’s the one who keeps us all safe. I don’t question him - just have his back when he needs me.”

Anonymous asked: How's it coming, Red? Doing alright solo?

“I think I got everything I need! I look a little weird with two backpacks, but hey, better than that time I was limping down the streets of Italy soaked in blood. Anti laughs every time he tells me that story. He says I must have been determined to get back to him.”

Red beams. You can see the fine hairs of his dark, scratchy beard.

“I’ll catch up with them at the bus! Then we can finally get home. Today took too long! And I’m hungry.”

nikkilbook asked: Is there any way for us to swing it so that Anti thinks it’s just normal passing out? Because you did pass out once today, no rewind necessary. I know you did a rewind at least once without telling him, when he almost choked you. Are the eyes a guaranteed giveaway every time?

Dapper laughs breathlessly as Blue helps him sit down on a bench, avoiding the suspicious gazes of those around them.

“Only reason Anti didn’t notice I’d turned back time then is that he had no reason to check up on me. He always checks when I come back to the house, though. And every night and morning. And sometimes at random - though that was easier when he kept me close at hand. There are very few times I can do anything without his noticing.”

He pauses, considering.

“I could maybe pretend to pass out. But I think he’d smell it on me, and even if he didn’t he might hurt Red and Blue for letting me get so ill.” Dapper sours and glances away. “As if he isn’t the one who stabbed me.”

“Dapper,” warns Blue, lowly. “Remember who you belong to, pet.”

Dapper flushes and turns away, crossing his arms over his chest.

nikkilbook asked: That’s rich coming from you, Blue.

“I found my place,” answers Blue, immediately.

His eyes are fixed directly on the lens. His irises are lighted by more than the sun. His mouth does not smile.

“I found my place.”

nikkilbook asked: Ooh, wait—Dap, what if we tell Anti it was some kind of external situation? Like someone runs a red light and one of y’all gets hurt, so you turned back and waited for an extra fifteen seconds or something like that. Nobody’s fault. Just some rando driver causing problems.

“Nobody’s fault? Sounds like we should have been watching the street better, even if the light was red. Anti isn’t particularly discerning when it comes to me having to expend energy…”

pixie-in-trebleland asked: How long do you guys need to wait for the bus? You might have to keep Dap calm until then.

Red grins, turning his head to show you one of the city buses turning a corner.

“What do you think, guys? Can I beat the bus to my brothers?”

The camera blinks its eye on his shoulder.

“Yeah,” he grins. “I think that was a challenge.”

And Red is off like a shot.

Hoisted on his shoulder, you bounce along like a racecar driver, drawing startled gasps as Red leaps towards one of the shops on the streets and begins leaping up the building, his hands finding crevices and bricks to cling to as he all but flies up the side, pulling himself onto the roof and taking off towards the next building. He takes a flying jump and rolls as he lands on the next one, laughing aloud.

You think he might be showing off just a little. But it sure is faster than the streets.

“Aaaand hup!”

He jumps back down to ground, earning himself a couple angry yells, but all he does is pull his hood down lower and giggle, slipping off towards the bus stop and startling Blue by throwing himself into the seat beside him and tugging hard on his shirt. Blue gasps, his eyes flashing - and then he calms again, baring a mischievous smile at his twin.

“Don’t sneak up on me,” he snaps playfully, pushing at Red’s shoulder and showing his teeth. “I’ll put a hatchet through your spine.”

Red growls back, grinning and yanking at a strand of Blue’s hair. “I’ll break all your ribs and cook them up for barbecue.”

“I’ll tie you to your mattress and then set it on fire.”

“I’ll carry you to the top of the mountain, tie you up in barbed wire, and then - ”

Dapper whistles shrilly, irritated.

“Sorry, Dap,” they tell him in sync, trying not to giggle.

“No, really, sorry.” Red clears his throat and straightens up. “You’re not feeling well. Come on, let’s get you onto - there it is! Come here, brother, give me your arm. You can walk, right?”

Dapper sighs, clinging wearily to his ribs.

“A few steps more.”

“I’ll carry you back home if I have to.”

Mollified, Dapper manages a smile and reaches out to take Red’s arm.

“Let’s get you back to Dok. I think it’s your nap time.”

He pulls a pair of baseball caps out of his bag before he lets them get on and makes sure they both wear them, tugging his hood up and pulling down their caps - buses have cameras. Buses have eyes. But no one’s bothered them so far, and they’ve been in town with some less-than-legal activities for a few days now.

Dapper lets his head rest against the cool glass of the bus window and tries to relax. Blood wells gently against his bandages. Blue massages the back of his neck while Red sits by the aisle, watching, watching, watching over them all the way home.

 End Section One of Chapter Two.

Find the next section here.

[maandags]

Eidolon (Angel!Keith x Demon!reader) {part i}

OK HERE IT IS PLEA SE DONT KILL ME I DIDNT EVEN PROPERLY EDIT/REVISE BUT WE DIE LIKE MEN

---

Summary: Keith is an angel, and he’s completed mission after mission for the Upper Hand, the organisation controlling all of the Above. He’s only failed a mission once: when he was assigned to kill you, a surprisingly charismatic demon. He roamed Earth--Middle Ground--for years before he was caught by the Upper Hand again, and things quickly go south. 

Word count: 5.5K

Genre: Angst --  CW: emotional manipulation, hallucinations

Notes: masterlist -- {next} -- why do i keep hurting him i love Keith so much

-- -- --

go ahead and watch my heart burn 

with the fire that you started in me

~ &burn, Billie Eilish ft. Vince Staples

-- -- --

EIDOLON (NOUN):

-- a spectre; a ghost.

-- -- --

Keith almost doesn’t remember the last time he’d been back home.

A guard leads him to the Castle, and Keith feels the sudden need to straighten his spine and stick up his chin–ages and ages of training and manners and etiquette hammered into his very bones fluttering to the surface again. He is suddenly very aware of the state his hair and clothes are in and desperately tries to smooth them down in hopes of looking a little less like he just came rolling out a dumpster.

The guard notices and glances over his shoulder, his own suit immaculate and quite literally sparkling, his wings folded in and the tips just barely grazing the ground. Not that it mattered–the Castle’s floors were always perfectly clean. Keith’s steps echo in the halls, and he grows more uncomfortable by the second. There was a reason he’d avoided the Above for so long, after all.

The guard halts in front of a door Keith knows all too well. He looks down to the ground in annoyance and bites back a curse, feeling his back muscles tense and his wings puff up. The guard gestures vaguely to a backless stool that sits next to the door and says in a clear voice, “Wait there, please.” Keith plops down and folds his arms, sagging slightly in the seat. He pretends not to notice the way the guard purses his lips in disapproval.

“Do you know how long the wait’s gonna be?” he asks and flinches at the volume his voice takes in the empty halls.

The guard shoots him a cold look over his shoulder as he starts to walk away. “It’ll take as long as it does.” And he stalks away, hands clasped in front of him. Keith stares him down, glaring daggers into his back and blowing a lock of his black hair out of his face. This is exactly why he hates it up here, he thinks.

He waits for what feels like ages. There is a big clock on the wall opposite him, but the arms don’t move–they don’t ever move. The clocks are decoration only. Time passes differently up in the Above, and it leaves him disoriented every time. Keith bounces his knee, shaking out the stiffness in his wings and heaving a sigh. It’s too silent. The halls are too silent. He hates it.

It feels like hours have passed before the doors finally open.

Keith leaps up immediately, eyes widening. “Shiro.”

The man in the doorway sighs and beckons for him to come inside.

Keith hasn’t seen Shiro in years, and the first thing he notices is that he’s hiding his wings. Why would he do that? It’s a trick angels use down on Middle Ground, as to not scare the mortals shitless. Up in the Above, it’s pretty much useless; it’s an angel-only space. Despite everything, Keith can’t help but feel the small burst of warmth in his chest, merely an echo of the friendship they once had, but enough to make him feel slightly more at ease in this familiar yet so foreign environment.

Shiro’s office looks exactly like the last time he saw it. The wooden desk, its surface littered with trinkets of gold and silver, the paintings on the wall, the glass sculptures on the windowsills. Everything is in the exact same place as it was when he left. It’s like no time has passed at all and it’s unnerving.

Shiro sits down at his desk and gestures for Keith to take place in front of him. He does, albeit a feeling a little nervous. “It’s been a while,” he says, trying to alleviate the tension in the air.

Shiro looks up, his grey eyes stormy. “It has.” He frowns, folding his hands in front of him. “And nobody knew where you were.”

Keith flinches. That’s the whole reason he’s here, after all–if he could have, he’d avoided the Above for the rest of his life, but he’s immortal, and they were bound to find out his whereabouts sometime. He’s actually quite surprised that he held out this long. “I’m good at disappearing.”

Shiro purses his lips. “Evidently.” He sighs again. “The big guys weren’t happy with you, you know. I just managed to convince them to let it slide.” He doesn’t name them. That would be a bad idea, especially up here.

Keith looks up, surprised. “You talked to them?”

“Of course I did,” says Shiro with a glare his way. “I care about you. They were talking about banishment, Keith. I vouched for you.”

Keith sighs, slouching in his seat. “That was stupid of you, Shiro.”

Anger sparks in Shiro’s eyes–and for a second, it’s like they glow. “No. What was stupid was you running off to play Big Invincible Immortal, Keith. You could have gotten in serious trouble, and I would have been the one to clean up your mess.” He slams his hand on the desk, a gesture that causes Keith to jump. Shiro always knows how to keep his cool.

“Whoa, calm down. I knew what I was doing.”

“You were purposely avoiding the Above and its angels. I get it, okay? And you’ve had your fun. It’s time to grow up and be responsible for once.” He sounds tired, Keith thinks. He’s probably rehearsed this conversation in his head more times than he can count.

Keith opens his mouth, but Shiro’s eyes flicker dangerously again and he clamps his mouth back shut. “I saved you from banishment, not punishment. You’ll stay in the Above until one of the big guys says so. Understood?”

“So–like house arrest?” Keith says, upset. He feels the resistance seeping from his bones and shakes his limbs, desperately trying to keep some of the energy of Middle Ground in his system, but it’s no use. The Above has a way of draining people–and angels–of their energy, transforming them into empty shells to be used and manipulated by the Upper Hands. No! Keith thinks, setting his jaw. Not again! “But I–”

“No.”

“You’re not even going to let me defend myself?” Keith says, waving his arms around. “I can’t stay here. I’ll go crazy.”

Shiro sighs, lowering his face into his hands, visibly pained. “Sorry, Keith. But it’s for your own good.”

Keith wants to shout, but what good would it do? He doesn’t want to be here–but it’s not like banishment is such a better option. He’d lose his wings, his halo… He glances at the faintly glowing golden braided bracelet on his right wrist. He draws a shaky breath through his teeth, forcing his voice to stay level. “Do I have to wear this too?” he asks, showing his wrist.

Standing up, Shiro reaches down and touches the halo. It starts glowing and growing and soon he’s holding a full halo–a ring of pure golden light, thirty inches in diameter. Keith has to squint to see anything through the bright light. His shoulders sag as Shiro places the halo around his head, and his vision is blinded by the light. “That’s better.”

That’s better. The words roll around in Keith’s mind. He knows he’ll be able to find his way around just as well if he hadn’t worn his halo–he still hates it. He hates not being in control. That’s better. It’s not better. Keith feels the familiar numbness crawling under his skin again and he breathes a sad sigh, letting his head hang. Shiro takes place behind his desk again, folding his arms in front of him. Keith vaguely catches a shimmer of what could be the outlines of Shiro’s wings. The conversation is over.

For the next days, Keith behaves exactly as he should. He is where he has to be at the times he has to be there and doesn’t talk about the Middle Ground anymore. Truth be told, he doesn’t talk much at all.

He’s curled up in an alcove when he hears the unmistakable sound of someone approaching and cracks open an eye. An angel stands over him, brown skin standing out starkly against the white of his clothes and his wings out and shimmering a dark brown. They’re well-groomed, and suddenly Keith feels self-conscious of his own dirty and crooked ones, but everything about this angel seems well-groomed and clean, his shorts and white shirt crisp and almost reflecting the light from his halo. It makes Keith’s skin crawl.

“Who’re you?” he says dryly.

The angel scoffs and crosses his arms, and Keith notices that he’s not actually standing on the ground–he’s levitating over it, bare toes hovering just a couple of inches above the ground. Keith slumps down further in his alcove, casting a wary glance up.

“I’m Lance,” the angel says, “and I’ve been assigned to guard you.”

Keith almost falls out of his alcove. “I’m sorry?” he blurts.

Lance sticks out his bottom lip, rubbing his calf with one foot. “You heard me.”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Keith says indignantly, and he sits up, rubbing his hair out of his eyes.

Lance is unimpressed. “Upper Hand thinks you do, apparently.”

Shaking his head, Keith leaps up and tries to push past the other angel, muttering something under his breath about the Upper Hand he probably shouldn’t have, but he was so mad at that moment he found he didn’t really care. “Go away,” he yelled over his shoulder as he stalked off into the annoyingly perfect forest.

Lance frowned, stunned for merely a second before fluttering behind him, giving up the act of floating as he dropped to the ground and hurried after him. “No, but you–I have to guard you,” he stammers dumbly, obviously not having expected Keith to run off.

“I’d like to see you try.” Keith whacks a branch out of his face and grins to himself at the startled yelp Lance gives as he narrowly avoids it. “Don’t try and keep up. I’m good on my own.”

“The Upper Hand don’t trust you, you know,” Lance calls after him. Keith doesn’t turn around.

“Evidently, if they think they have to send a babysitter after me.”

Lance scoffs again. “They think you’ll run off again.”

This time Keith does turn around to give Lance the evil eye. “Well I can’t do that, can I? Wouldn’t wanna end up banished forever,” he says angrily.

“Listen, man, help me out here,” Lance pleads, struggling to follow Keith as he trudges deeper and deeper into the woods, slipping through the trees with a speed and an accuracy that can only mean that he’s done this before.

Keith whirls around, narrowing his eyes. “Help you out?”

Lance shrinks back. “I know, I know, I’m sorry, but I’m not about to go against direct orders from the Upper Hand. I don’t have to, like, stand by your side all stoic-like and in uniform all the time–we’re just two angels hanging out. I can even ask some friends over and we’ll just pretend like you don’t want to kill me, all right?”

Although that sounded like the last thing Keith actually wanted to do, he sighs and lets his shoulders sag, again. The Above was sapping all of his strength away and there was nothing he could do about it. Besides, he thinks wryly as he studied the other angel’s face a little closer, this guy looks so hopeful–even a little desperate, maybe–that he wants to help him.

It’s scary, getting your first assignment from the Above–and from the way this guy as handling it so far, Keith goes out on a limb and assumes it’s his first. He’d handled his fair share of them, and will never forget the first time he got sent down to Middle Ground armed with nothing but his black-bladed knife and the instructions still fresh in his mind, and an eagerness to please–to prove himself. He’s lost that desire since, feeling nothing but resentment towards the Upper Hand.

“Fine,” he finally says, rubbing a hand over his face. “Fine. Call your friends or whatever. I’ll just–I’ll stick around.”

Lance grins. “Cool. Thanks, man.”

Keith has to resist rolling his eyes, and he stuffs his hands in his jean’s pockets as he follows Lance out of the forest. “D’you know for how long you’ll need to ‘guard’ me?” he asks, air quoting the word “guard” with his fingers.

Lance looks over his shoulder and gives an apologetic shrug. “Sorry. They didn’t say.”

Scowling, Keith kicks a small rock out of his path. “Right. Of course they didn’t say,” he mutters.

Lance’s friends are, thankfully, less obnoxious and annoying than he is. An angel with soft golden-yellow wings introduces himself as Hunk, and a much smaller angel tells him her name is Pidge. They’re nice, albeit a bit loud, Keith thinks. He stays as much to the side as he can, dangling his legs over the platform they sit on and staring at the sky and twinkling stars that always seem present. He drowns out the conversation around him, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, allowing himself for the first time since he’s here to relax.

He realises the severity of his punishment. As much as they tried to, the Above wasn’t the paradise that people made it out to be. There were strict rules and punishments if you didn’t follow them–it had always felt more of a prison to Keith than anything.

But that was when he had been able to leave whenever he wanted. When it got too much, he could just leave to Middle Ground and clear his head while the familiar rush of energy lightens his very being and adds a spring to his step.

Now, as he sits there, dazedly staring at the eerily similar but yet so different world around him, he knows he’s not going to last long. He’s going to go crazy–and probably sooner than later. He takes a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut and lowering his face into his hands. Come on, man, keep your thoughts straight.

“Whoa–where do you think you’re going?” Lance’s voice pulls him back to the real world. Keith turns, only then realising his wings are out and he’s crouching as if he’s going to jump.

He manages to cover his surprise almost immediately and scowls. “I’m going to go to bed. Are you gonna watch me sleep, too?”

Lance hesitates, casting a look at his friends. Hunk gives Keith a sympathetic smile. “You’ll get used to it, don’t worry. Angels who’ve spent a while on Middle Ground are often a bit disoriented for the first few days they’re back.”

“Thanks,” Keith mutters. He spreads his wings.

“I’ll be there as soon as you wake up!” yells Lance cheerfully, and Keith shoots him a last glare before taking off.

Instead of going to the room he’s been assigned he seeks out a comfortable spot in the forest to rest. As he lies on his stomach on a thick branch high up, hidden by the canopy, he ponders the prospect of a life in the Above. The Upper Hand can’t keep him here forever, right? They’ll have to let him go sometime. Right? Keith has a vision of himself walking down the streets on Middle Ground with Lance, Pidge and Hunk by his sides like bodyguards. He shivers.

Besides, he’s managed to stay out of their vision long enough. He would have hidden for longer–but he made a stupid mistake, and it was that which had given the Upper Hand the ability to locate him.

The mistake had been you.

A rogue demon whom Keith had been supposed to kill–his last assignment. The only one he hadn’t completed.

A few run-ins and the same number of fights to the death with you had left Keith disoriented, bleeding and limping, retreating to his apartment with one single thought in his head: he couldn’t do it. He hadn’t been able to finish the job the first time and he wouldn’t be able to do it any other time, simply because you were you.

He’d killed demons before. Why should you be any different? He’d had countless opportunities to get rid of you, and yet he didn’t. It was infuriating.

It had been something in your eyes, Keith ponders as he rolls his head to the other side, gazing into the darkness of the forest below him. The night air had started to cool down drastically and nips at the bare flesh of his arms. He barely felt it. It had been something in your eyes that had radiated fear and anger and determination–he’d seen himself in those eyes the same way he’d seen himself in your fighting stance and the defiant snarl on your face.

Why hadn’t he killed you?

Maybe you reminded him too much of himself.

Whatever the case: he had hesitated and you had gotten away, and he’d spent his days wandering the cities and avoiding the Upper Hand ever since.

But he’d gotten curious, and he’d returned to where he saw you last and had taken to observing you whenever he could. It was like a magnet pulled him back to you at all times; as if he was walking in circles and you were at the centre of it all. He had stayed in one spot too long, grown careless in his attempts to catch glimpses of you wherever you went. For a demon, you didn’t seem to do very demon-like stuff, he remembers thinking.

He had always been taught that demons were–well, demons, in everything they did. Evil through and through. But the way you acted and led your life didn’t strike Keith as particularly demonic–in fact, you were nice to the people you encountered. You smiled. You looked everything opposite of what Keith had been led to believe his entire life, and maybe that’s why he’d been so intrigued by you.

It had resulted in his being tracked and coerced back to the Above (read: threatened, Keith thinks bitterly), of course. And here he was, thinking about the demon that had landed him in this very situation. He groans, covering his face and letting his wings droop down. Sleep, he commands himself. Sleep.

The next weeks are spent by Lance’s (and, inevitably, his friends’) side, and Keith seriously begins to regret having accepted to help out the guy with his assignment. It’s not so much the company itself he despises; it’s more the fact that none of them seems to be able to shut up.

“So I took little Marco flying for the first time and he was so wobbly and awkward, but it was so cute and he did so well! I remember when I flew for the first time I crashed, like, five times before I could pull a straight take-off,” Lance chirps, his hands buried in Hunk’s feathers as he picks out the little branches and leaves that got stuck there during their morning flight. Pidge had threatened to bite his fingers off if he tried to touch her wings and was awkwardly smoothing down her own feathers. Keith suppresses a smile. He likes Pidge.

She sees him look and frowns. Eyes widening, Keith quickly looks away, but he’s already got her attention and she flicks him with her wing. “Hey.”

He shifts so he sits cross-legged. “Hey.”

“I had a question,” she says, leaning forward, a spark in her brown eyes that promise nothing good.

Keith immediately has his guard up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ve been wondering why Lance was assigned to babysit you ever since I heard,” Pidge says, ignoring Keith’s scowl and grunt of “He’s guarding me”. “So I did some research of my own.”

Hunk visibly pales as she says this. “Pidge, you know that’s not a good idea–”

“And then I found out that you were the one who disappeared on Middle Ground,” Pidge finishes triumphantly and crosses her arms. “So what’s your deal? Why were you so important that you needed a personal babysitter?”

“Guard.”

“Whatever. I mean, if the Upper Hand’s got its eyes on you anyway, there’s no way you can leave the Above without them knowing. A personal guard just seems a bit much to me, you know?”

Keith stares at her for a minute. “Well,” he grunts, “it’s not like I had a choice.”

Lance frowns and throws up his arms. “Hey. You could have gotten way worse than me.”

“I’d rather have gotten no one at all.”

“But you got stuck with me, so deal with it.”

Pidge clears her throat. “You still haven’t answered my question.” She scoots forward until she’s sitting only inches away from his face, and Keith automatically recoils. “What makes you so special?”

Pushing her away, Keith fights down the flush creeping upon his cheeks. Lance and Hunk are looking at him too, now, and he’s not used to this kind of attention. He opens his mouth, ready to retort with some witty reply about the size of his private parts but refrains from it at the last second. What is it that makes him so special?

He just shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

Pidge huffs, blowing a piece of hair out of her face and cocking her head. Her brown eyes bore right through him, and he could see that she wasn’t convinced. Hunk shot them cautious looks, fiddling with his fingers. “Pidge, maybe–”

“I heard you befriended a demon.”

The silence that follows the words is thick enough to cut through with a knife. Hunk buries his face in his hands, and Lance hisses a startled “Pidge”. Keith can’t help the tensing of his muscles–as if his subconscious preparing himself for a fight. But Pidge doesn’t take the hint, and continues pressing.

“Is that why you need guarding every second of the day? Because you’re a traitor to the Above?”

Her voice resonates in his ears and he opens his mouth, but no words come out. All he manages to do is weakly shake his head. “That’s not–”

“They don’t want to let you out again because they’re afraid of you. Afraid of what you’ll do, afraid of you selling your brothers and sisters out to the Below. What’d they offer you? Gold, riches?” Pidge’s words each feel like a punch to the gut, one right after the other, and Keith unwillingly shrunk back. “You’re dangerous. They can’t trust you. Frankly, I’m surprised they even let you back here–”

“STOP!���

The word is ripped from his lips in a voice he doesn’t recognise. Pidge shuts her mouth immediately, recoiling at the sound. His breathing is laboured and whistles in his lungs, and he squeezes his eyes shut, head spinning. He takes a deep breath, trying to keep the thundering of his heartbeat out of his ears. A violet haze falls over his vision.

“I didn’t befriend a demon,” he says quietly, the low rumble of his voice startling even him. Pidge’s face has gone pale. She’s leaning away from him, eyes wide, and Keith realises it’s because she’s scared of him. Lance’s fists are balled, and Keith doesn’t understand why they’re so hostile towards him all of a sudden. They brought up the topic. They’re the ones that kept pressing him. They should have seen this coming.

He scrambles up and stumbles to the end of the platform, spreading his jet-black wings, ignoring Lance’s shout of “Wait!” as he jumps off.

He doesn’t know where he’s going, only focused on getting as far away from the others as possible. He shakes his head, trying to rid himself of the words, but they follow him as he zips through the trees, grateful for the coverage they give him. Traitor, a taunting voice whispers. They can’t trust you. You’re a danger; unreliable. Shut up, he yells back.

It’s funny how you can yell in your thoughts, shout your throat raw–the volume of them will never get any louder.

He flies deeper, deeper, deeper into the woods he’s ever been, and then he keeps going. He wants to be alone more than anything, and he promises himself he will keep flying until he’s outrun the wisps of thoughts still nagging at the end of his brain. He pushes himself faster than he’s ever flown.

A tear rolls down his cheek.

The deeper he dives into the forest, the denser the trees become, and after narrowly avoiding his left wing getting smacked against a thick trunk covered with lianas he’s forced to land and continue on foot, slipping out his knife and cutting his way through the brush, making himself a path to… where?

He doesn’t know. He hopes he finds something worth the journey.

As he walks he tries and banish every and all thought from his mind, focusing on the noises around him. Birds he’s never seen before zip past his ears, crooning their strange songs. Insects he’s only heard of float around his arms, curiously examining the halo he’s taken off and shrunk to its bracelet form again. It’s peaceful, he thinks, more peaceful than he’s ever experienced before. It’s almost too beautiful a place to exist in the Above.

For a while, the only sound to be heard is the crackling of branches as he forges himself a path through trees, bushes, other weird plants sticking up from the damp soil. His shoes are black with dirt and he stumbles every few minutes trying to keep up a fast pace. More and more animals gather around him and nudge him forward, beckoning him to keep going. Go on, they seem to whisper. Go ahead. Come with us. The light filters through the canopy in yellow-golden strips, illuminating just enough of his surroundings so that Keith can keep moving.

Soon the jungle grows too dense for him to continue and he finds himself getting tangled in vines left and right. He tries cutting them away–stomping them down into the ground–but they just keep coming, slithering around his wrists and ankles, pulling him in every direction at once and he can’t keep up. He tries to fight them off with a strangled scream, whacking them away with his wings. It does no good, and the vines wrap around his shoulders with terrifying speed, sticking his wings to his body.

The light dims, and the forest doesn’t seem so gorgeous anymore. The trees are covered with slimy leaves, rotting plants decaying on the forest bed, the soil blacker than a starless sky. The once-pretty insects come at every bit of exposed skin, nipping and stinging and biting until every inch of him feels like it’s being painted in flames. The birds’ songs don’t sound as enchanting anymore–but hauntingly morbid in an almost beautiful way.

The vines encase Keith’s legs, pulling at his arms. He loses his balance. Falls with a sickening crack and an arc of pain shoots up his entire right side, stemming from his wing. He screams. Absolute terror courses through his veins, his heartbeat racing.

White flowers sprout from the vines. In the back of his mind–the very small part of his brain that isn’t engulfed in paralysing fear–Keith thinks about how out of place these flowers are. He even recognises them, which is strange only in the sense that he’s positive he’s never seen them before, and certainly not in the Above. The white orchids bloom in seconds, wilting right afterwards, shrivelling up and falling off, only to be immediately replaced by another. They smell like everything flowers shouldn’t smell like. It’s suffocating, and Keith starts coughing when he feels something tickle at the back of his throat. He retches, managing to spit out the thing that almost choked him. It’s an orchid flower.

This one is black.

Keith wakes up with a scream, the memory of vines slowly strangling him fresh in his mind. It’s a scream of fear that almost immediately morphs into a scream of pain. His wing.

Twisting around, he awkwardly tries to examine the damage, but it’s dark and he can’t see a thing. He wipes at his forehead, hands trembling, and takes a shaky breath. He tries to move his wing and flinches: he can do it, but it’s stiff and painful. He’ll have to have someone look at it soon.

Then he notices the hard surface digging into his back and he jumps up, ignoring the pain shooting up from his wing. Stumbling back, he blinks frantically, forcing his eyes to adjust themselves to the darkness. His legs hit another one of the hard things and he tumbles back with a scream, narrowly managing to twist in midair so he doesn’t fall on his injured wing. He scrambles up again, the only thought in his head a mantra of Keep moving, keep moving, don’t stop, keep moving, keep running.

He zooms in on the thing he tripped on, running a hand along its surface. He still can’t see what it is, but he feels a roughness that can only be stone and carved lines swirling across it. It’s a slab of stone jutting out from the ground. He blinks again. In the split second his eyes are closed there’s a weird feeling in his stomach, like he just did a backflip–and when he opens them again light blares at him from every direction and he yanks his head back from the rock. It’s a gravestone. His gravestone, he realises with a mounting feeling of horror as he reads the inscription, strangely ironic words engraved in a swirly font. Keith Kogane, Traitor. Around him, gravestones pop up from the ground, all identical, until he finds himself standing the middle of a graveyard.

He turns, his feet already starting to carry him to a place far away from gravestones and chocking vines but he finds himself face to face with a door. He whips around again, but the gravestones are gone. He’s in a narrow corridor. Blue lights line the stark white walls. There are no doors except for the one behind him. The corridor seems to go on forever.

Breathing hard, Keith reaches for the doorknob, half expecting it to come alive and try to bite his hand off, but it’s a regular stainless steel knob mounted on a regular stainless steel door. It’s square, sure, a rather odd shape for a doorknob, but there’s nothing inherently special about it. It’s somewhat warm to the touch–as if someone else had used it not too long ago. Keith grabs the knob. Turns. It clicks, the door inching open and a stripe of sunlight enters the corridor.

“Keith.”

His bones turn to ash and his blood turns to ice, because he recognises the voice, and it’s not one he wants to hear right now. He spins around, tears flooding his eyes, clutching the doorknob because he’s thoroughly convinced it will disappear if he lets go of it.

You’re standing right there. Only feet away from him, basking in soft blue light. You’re dressed in cleaner clothes he’s ever seen you in, and your hair is soft and brushed and flicking around your face as if you’re standing in a gust of wind only you can feel. That should have been enough for Keith to stop and think Something isn’t right here.

But his thoughts are sluggish and he's completely and utterly mesmerised by your appearance and his grip is slackening on the doorknob because you’re right there and you’re looking so hopeful, your smile very nearly begging him to join you.

And then he looks up, into your eyes–pitch black and devoid of any emotion, and he starts. This isn’t them, he forces himself to think, grip tightening on the knob once more. Ignoring your call–you sob his name, pleading with him to stay, please, Keith, stay--he throws his full weight into the door and stumbles out into a place he knows all too well.

Lights flash from all around him, hundreds of people talking into their phones or to the person they’re with, milling all around him. Buildings rise up around him, encircling the huge square he finds himself in the middle of. It’s the early evening, and street lights are starting to get lit. Billboards stand out against the darkening sky, advertising their respective restaurant, or grocery store, or tattoo parlour. No one seems to notice his sudden appearance.

Something tugs on his sleeve. Keith looks down. A small kid gives him a toothed grin, pointing at the wings--one crooked and hanging awkwardly off his frame--which Keith had forgotten to conceal. “I like your costume! You’re, like, a fallen angel, right? What with the broken wing, and all. ”

Keith nods, dazed, his eyes scanning his surroundings for one particular building. The one your apartment hides behind. He finds it. His eyes lock on it. In that very moment, he’s absolutely positive that’s why he managed to get out of the Above and to this square, of all places, knowing that it’s you who guided him here. Who guided him home, a small voice whispers inside him. His heart starts beating just that little bit faster.

The kid grins. “That’s awesome, man.”

He’s back on Middle Ground.

[jungwoomusings]

barista!jungwoo

jungwoo has been working in his local small town cafe for a few months now

it’s his first job since starting college and he absolutely loves it

but the poor boy still can’t make a decent drink to save his life

he’s always mixing up recipes and measuring ingredients out wrong

one day a caramel macchiato is a caramel overload one sip and you get fifty cavities but the next day the coffee is so strong you’ll be up for days

his supervisor taeil always tries to teach him new drinks when business is slow

but everything he makes ends up tasting like burnt coffee grounds but he serves it with a wide smile so taeil always takes an extra sip and tries to be encouraging

taeyong hypes him up for not spilling anything this time and he just smiles so shyly at the ground

taeil makes sure he’s always on cashier duty for this reason

he always greets everyone with the warmest smile and draws cute doodles on the cups along with everyone’s names

always gives cute kids that come in a free cookie or treat but he makes sure it’s okay with the parents first in case of allergies or diet issues and the mom’s swoon

and everyone loves him too because he’s so genuine when asking the customers how their days are going and how they’re feeling

he’d probably want to find out their entire life story if doyoung wasn’t yelling from the back for him to keep the line moving

he always remembers the regulars names and recommends his favorite drinks to new customers

which is how you two meet

it’s a particularly slow saturday morning at the cafe and jungwoo has been banned from attempting to make drinks for the rest of the month after he accidentally spilled burning hot coffee all over his hand

he’s currently doodling all over the bandages covering said hand

when you walk in timid in your oversized hoodie and even bigger backpack

jungwoo takes in your slightly frazzled state and giggles to himself when he notices your bag is almost bigger than you are

you’re still scanning the menu when you step up to the counter so you don’t notice the boy with the bunny teeth smiling down at you until

“hELLO! my name’s jungwoo, what’s yours? what can i make for you? but don’t worry i won’t be the one making it!” :D

the voice is way too chipper for it being 7 am on a saturday and he definitely said more words than you could even manage before noon

you finally tilt your gaze down slightly and notice the giddy orange haired boy who looks as if he’s already had his daily caffeine intake

“uh” *clears throat* “yeah uhm can i have a sec please..?” you manage

“of course! you’re new here huh? i’ve never seen you here before and you’re definitely one i’d remember. what do you usually drink? we have all the basic stuff”

“oh well i actually don’t drink coffee... ever...”

jungwoo cannot believe his ears

he guffaws to which you shoot him an inquisitive (almost annoyed) look that has him thinking you’re actually serious

“so what are you doing in a cafe? where we sell yknow coffee?”

“ordering coffee?”

that’s when jungwoo remembers it’s finals season and that would explain the slew of new people around his age who have been coming in for the past week trying to hurriedly and confusedly order drinks they’ve never even heard of

“well what flavors do you like?”

“uhm, i dont think i can do straight black but i don’t like anything overly sweet?”

jungwoo’s smile never falters once while taking this in trying to find a drink that meets in the middle of these preferences

“do you want to try something with mocha? it’s chocolate so it’s not all just coffee but it’s a little more bitter?”

“sure?” you answer still second guessing the reason you even came in here in the first place

“great! i’ll have doyoung make that for you right now! can i have your name?”

jungwoo practically exclaims this, excited that he thought of something for you

“oh right it’s y/n” you mumble shyly, always finding it slightly awkward giving someone your name

jungwoo refrains from commenting how cute your shy exterior is and gets to work carefully writing out your name making sure to not misspell it

his writing is taking longer than it should and you’re scared he’s completely butchered your name but you can’t help but to smile at the look of concentration on his face

he has his tongue slightly poking out and eyes wide open as if he’s afraid of missing any details

“it’ll be ready in a couple minutes!” jungwoo exclaims, breaking you out of the trance you didn’t realize you were in

you quickly look down hoping he didn’t notice the way you were admiring his face

“how much do i owe you?” you ask trying regain your cool exterior

“oh i couldn’t charge you for this! you don’t even know if you like it yet!” jungwoo says not even missing a beat

“wait no i couldn’t i’ll feel bad” you say finally looking back up to meet his gaze, his eyes never once leaving your face

“ahh too late, cup’s already going” jungwoo says turning around quickly to call doyoung from the back before he says something embarrassing

like how he doesn’t actually give new customers a free first drink or how he thinks the way your nose scrunches when you’re thinking is cute

jungwoo hides beside doyoung the whole time he’s making your drink but quickly steals glances at you sitting at a nearby table every couple of seconds

he can already picture you sitting here every evening occupying a whole table with your study materials

he’s in the middle of wondering if you chew on your pen while concentrating when doyoung is shoving the hot cup into his hands

“dude next time you ignore me i’m spilling a whole pot of hot coffee down your pants” doyoung pouts casually turning to see what or who has his attention

“bring them their drink, and don’t spill it on them if you plan on taking them on a real date” doyoung sighs

jungwoo scoffs but doyoung is already behind the swinging door before he can come up with a retort

leaving him alone with you and a piping hot cup of coffee

jungwoo prays silently that he doesn’t trip while he makes his way over to where you’re stationed

you’re pretending to type on your phone as a distraction to keep you from looking at the rather cute cashier when a cup is being shoved into your face

“i hope you like it! i asked doyoung to go easy on all the syrups for you” jungwoo says feeling even shyer now that he doesn’t have a counter to hide behind

“thanks” you say timidly blowing on the cup before taking an even more timid sip

“it’s good?” you say surprised “i think? it might still be too hot to tell”

jungwoo is relieved that you don’t completely hate it because that means your chances of coming back again (hopefully soon) are a little more likely

“not too sweet?” jungwoo asks, the flutter in his voice matches the flutter in your heart

you take a moment staring at how his eyes shyly peak through his orangey bangs and how his teeth slightly dig into his plump bottom lip

“not too sweet” you muster, wondering if anything could ever be sweeter than the wide smile he gives you in return

jungwoo notices that you’re finally smiling and his heart starts to pump a little faster as if there’s caffeine already pumping through his system

you can’t tell if the warmth is coming from the steaming cup in your hands or the way jungwoo is looking down at you

so softly as if the two of you are in on some secret of your own, the kind only two strangers who are already comfortable with each other can have

your little world is invaded by the ding of the door opening letting in a man who already looks annoyed that there isn’t someone behind the counter immediately ready to take his order

“well the morning rush is about to start, i better get back there” jungwoo says, rubbing the back of his neck hoping the pout isn’t evident in his voice

“yeah i’ve got some studying to do so i better get going too..” you say wanting nothing more than to sit here and study this boy some more

“thanks for the drink” you offer finally standing up as jungwoo makes his way back to the counter “see you around”

jungwoo’s heart perks up a little bit at your last statement hoping that means what he thinks it means, but you’re already out the door before he can say anything

and he’s back behind the counter taking orders once again hoping to catch glimpses of you walking across the street before you get too far out of view, afraid he completely dreamed you up

and you’re outside braving the morning sun when you look down at all of the little hearts and smiley faces that decorate your name on the cup

you smile to yourself, maybe you do like coffee, but only if it’s coming from the sweeter than sweet orange haired barista

[maikatc]

Black Sun Tale | Bread and Water

Remember that this is only a first draft with minor edits, but have fun reading! Comments and reception is greatly appreciated! --- “What I came up with today? Uh…,” Flipped some pages, “I came up with two new characters earlier?”

The city streets screeched with traffic noise and crowds chattering, smoke surrounding the air with a bar across the avenue. 

“Gabriel’s story’s kinda sad. He killed this guy named Wren, but they were like brothers.”

Off between two aged buildings, an alleyway poked out with barely any notice.

“He hates Zero- or Hiro now though. He’s the reason why Wren went crazy.”

The interior of the alley carried a scattered mess of blankets, journals, calendars, along with other miscellaneous things. Though a single journal stuck to being held, firm by the grasps of a boy. 

His sickly pale skin complemented his unkempt and grimy black hair. While his twig body shivered by the gentle cold. His boney fingers pointed at drawings from his one of many journals towards the girl next to him. “That’s Gabe when he got mad at Dannie after finding out.” His voice rasped. 

Observing the girl’s reaction, her expression perked to something of confusion. “How did Wren and Gabe get to that situation though?”

He rolled his eyes to the side. “I haven’t gotten that much into the backstory. But all I know is that they both got into a mess like Evie or Lucia.” Blinked twice. “It’s just that while Evie was mad at becoming a slave, Gabriel was mad because his entire life’s purpose was taken away from him… and he’s in denial about it being kinda his fault too.”

Her cocoa hair blocked the faces she made from the boy’s slouched position on the ground. However, she chirped up quickly enough. “Ayu, I’m really digging Gabriel right now.”

“Really,” Ayu questioned, sitting back up a little the process. “I thought he was kinda basic.”

“Yeah,” she turned her floor seat towards him, revealing her fair complexion made out of light makeup. “From what you told me so far. I’m guessing he’s being ignorant of his past mistakes completely and letting out all his anger to someone else, right? At least from what I can tell in this picture.”

“I guess so?”

“Okay, I didn’t screw up on reading the comic panel,” making a small clap with her hands. “That can be realistic if you do it right, but you can also mix in a theme with that-”

“Annette. No,” Ayu interrupted her. “When you talk about ‘theme’ and that stuff, I get more of a headache than every other minute of life,” he groaned. 

“Do you want me to get you some ibuprofens?”

“I’m fine.”

Annette nodded. “Well other than that, I still feel bad for Hiro,” she pouted. 

Ayu lifted a brow and eyed her. “He’s the one who trapped ten kids in a death maze.”

“But he’s trying to get better!”

He scoffed, “He still did bad things, that’s why Evie treated him like shit afterwards.”

“You’re the one giving him a redemption arc though?”

“I’m just trying to stay close to the original idea.” Ayu closed the book and chuck it to the side. “Even if I don’t really believe in it.”

Annette’s lips twitched. “He’s just trying to be a better person than before…”

“He was still a dick. Out of anything, you should be feeling bad for Wren.”

“How so?”

Ayu set his arms back. “He was lied to for most of his life and he only got killed in the end for having a different opinion, pretty much.”

“So, he’s pretty much a pity party?” Annette eyed him. Ayu already knew what she was telling with her expression. 

“No. He just go fucked over too much because of both Gabriel and Zero.” 

Annette rolled a shoulder, pulling back her hair in the process. “I guess I like all of them, anyways. I’m just still hoping you can pull it off well.” Her lashes fluttered in the dim lights. “Did you come up with Gabriel and Wren from your dreams again?”

Ayu hummed. “Kinda. I had a random dream last night where a guy shoots another guy with an arrow but gets sad about it. That’s how I got Wren’s death.”

“Anything else from it?”

“There was a bit more, but it’s blurry.”

“Any others dream while I haven’t been here,” She asked. 

Ayu blinked. “I just have that, some girl screwing herself over and getting her friend dead, then nothing.” 

Annette hesitated with her words. “No dreams of Lillie?”

Ayu paused, seeing Annette flinch from her own question. He buried his hands in his hoodie pockets and looked down. “… None of those.”

She apologized with her eyes narrowed. The area went silent for the two. A minute? Two? Ayu couldn’t tell. He could barely count with patience. 

“How long have you been here?”

“Huh? About an hour, I think…” She brought her phone to her view, checking the time. “God, we spent a lot of time goofing off.”

“You have homework, don’t you? You should go home, school’s tomorrow anyways.” 

“… Right.” Annette stood up, her tall figure looming before Ayu. A second of standing still, she face-palmed herself. “Oh god, I have three projects to do.”

“Then get on to it,” Ayu joked. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Annette grabbed back her already cleaned up board game and binder. “I’ll see you another time then.”

Before taking a turn back home, a “Bye” could be heard quietly over a car honking. 

Ayu studied the outside of the alleyway in silence. Every second brought a new face passing by, and it brought the reminder that no one noticed him staring. A child, a couple, a group of teens, they all went their own ways, not even taking a glance of something that’s nonexistent for them. 

The boy groaned, turning back and plopping his head to a pillow, gifted by Annette. As he slammed his body to the ground, the rough concrete hit him back. He winced like every other day when he fell over from exhaustion. Though, the routine of his ‘home’ was redundant. 

He muttered in his own silence, “Ow.”

At least he had a pillow unlike the first two years of four when living in the alleyway. 

Laying down, still and blank, Ayu sighed and grabbed his journal from the side again. He flipped through the thin paper, skimming past the art he made, and stopped at the next blank page. He crawled to grab the pencil he left on the other side of the alley earlier in the day, and crawled back to his pillow to write:

October 21st 201X

Came up with new caracters today, dont know what to do

Did noting else today, like usuel

I got a litle mad at Annette, probly was a bad idea

No monsters, No Akeldama

As Ayu moved his arms to store the book away, a voice halted him. 

“Looks like you’ll be having an insipid time again.”

Ayu jumped, sitting immediately and twisting his head around. Finding nothing, he sighed, “Speak of the Devil…” He then crossed out the note of ‘No Akeldama’ for the day. 

“Did you miss me from last time?”

Ayu leaned back to the rigid wall, conversing with the voice ringing across his head. “Just tell me what the hell is going on,” he groaned. 

“Oh child, you won’t be getting that anytime soon for sure,” The voice mocked him. 

“You’ve been telling that to me for how long?”

“I don’t know in all honestly, I’ve lost track of time after my first hundred years.”

Ayu leered at nothing. “Four years, Akeldama. Four years.”

“Ah right, you’re twelve now, correct?”

“Yeah. Turned twelve last June.” 

“Well, aside from that, have you met any new people?”

Ayu sighed. “I haven’t, luckily.”

“What a pity,” Akeldama sneered, “You were the kid that pouted about being lonely, yet once you get a friend, you don’t even want another one anymore.”

“Shut up.”

“You’re just a greedy brat.”

“What do you want now Akeldama?” Ayu’s mind raced quickly, his heart beating rapidly. 

“I was simply here to check if you were the same as before, which you are by the way,” he muttered. “Though I’m also here for something else on the matter of you.”

“Dear god, what now?” 

“Funny calling me ‘god’,” he chuckled, “but I think you’ll soon meet somebody you’ll get along with.”

“Wait…,” Ayu murmured. His eyes widened. “Akeldama don’t tell me-”

“You’ll be having fun for the next few months. I promise,” he reassured him. 

“You fucker,” Ayu yelled, slamming his fists onto the hard ground. Though, he brought both of them up immediately from the pain, gasping at the impact of the floor cracking. He held both tightly against one another as they both burned. 

“God, damn it Akeldama…”

No reply.

Ayu placed his head down into his knees and closed his eyes. His boney joints pressed against his forehead. Two deep breaths, then hold. 

He pulled his head back after seconds, groaning, “Why did I decide to go through with this…?”

Ayu’s eyes flutter back open as his stomach made a painful growl. 

“Right…” He clicked against his chapped lips. “When was the last time I ate?” 

The growl reminded him of the stomach pain from recent days, aching as he puckered. The pain bothered him, but Annette already left to his dismay. 

“I need to get food now then,” he muttered to himself. 

He hopped up from his sitting position, his bone-thin legs freezing up from the cold. Exiting the alleyway, Ayu turned to the grocery store route. 

He pulled up his hoodie quickly, his tired eyes being protected from the soft light. And he ventured out to treat himself to food and water rations.

*

A jug of water and a bag of bread, Ayu repeated to himself multiple times. 

The shop held multiple items to Ayu’s attention. Aisles carried shiny toys, colorful pencils and journals, to junk food and candy. Ayu stared at the chips bar, slurping up the slight drool dripping out of him. He shook his head. Bread and water. Bread and water. 

How long had it been for the boy to have a nice meal? When was the last time he had the sweets he loved?

Bread and water. 

When was his last chip binge? His coloring book sessions and playtime?

Stop being a bitch and get what you need already. He scolded in his head. 

He dashed to an unfamiliar aisle so his mind wouldn’t get dragged elsewhere. Stacks and piles of paper towels and toilet paper surrounded him through his short walk to the bakery. His head bobbed in a sigh that he didn’t need anything of such thanks to shop bathrooms and recreation center showers.

However, as soon as he exited the aisle, aromas of pastries and baked goods filled his senses. He ignored it since the shop’s goods were usually too sweet for him despite his tooth. Walking down, he read through the brands of bread, squinted his eyes to spell and read out some words himself. It was only until his found a decent bag of bread rolls did he go off to the drinks section. 

The sodas and fizzy pops caught eyes of most, though Ayu’s tongue had more of a distaste for it. He turned from the bright and dazzling colors to the row of water jugs. His memory of measurements buzzed in his mind, though not enough to remember how much a liter was compared to a gallon. 

After staring, his mind boggling on which was which, Ayu gave up and choose which one seemed like the largest. 

Ayu ended up carrying the bread rolls in one hand and the three-gallon jug of water with the other by his stick arms. He walked out of the aisle, closing in on the exit. 

He stepped with hesitant feet. His head twisted and turned to assure nobody near him. A single bump from someone else and he could be done for the day. 

He swept through the cashiers. His scattered gaze wandered through all of them left and right. But in a single heartbeat, his body already went passed them unlike his mind. 

Ayu sighed and took a step towards the store exit. His guilt cultivated him like every other time he’s done this. It’s better for me. Even if I don’t actually need it-

A grip of a hand pulled him back from leaving. Ayu’s heart froze as his breath started to stutter immediately. He turned slowly, and echo of a voice ringing loudly to him. I’m fucked. 

“Hey…” He saw the face of the one who grabbed him by the arm. He was around the same age as him, younger maybe, but shorter for sure. “Hey…” His light brown skin shined by the store’s lights along with the freckles dotted around his nose and cheeks. While his soft green eyes glared at him in confusion. His dark red hair was also a first for Ayu to see-

“Hey!” the kid repeated himself. Ayu blinked spastically, his breathing still frigid. “What are you doing with that?”

---

Ten Dollars | Next>>>

[rogerina-yee-haw]

“at least I’m one”

chapter 2: “- the sadness & tenderness”

sd!gwilym lee x reader

[the goodbye] 

summary: you and gwil met ten months ago; and he offered you to be his sugar baby almost immediately. you agreed at that exact moment, not knowing where it would get you.

warnings: angst, cursing, a bit of smut idk??, author’s spelling and grammar errors

a/n: the feedback was fucking crazy, i love y’all so much!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i didn’t even expect someone to read “the goodbye” chapter,,,i’ve been sobbing for the whole day while reading your messages,,,y’all make me feel loved,,i dont deserve that lol hope you’ll enjoy this chapter as much as the previous one <3

p.s. you should know that the fic is heavily inspired by “just a little bit of your heart” by ariana grande..gotta leave you with this information now

don’t cringe too much pls!!!!!!

also - it’s pretty obvious but still needed to be said - those big parts of text in italics are flashbacks

this is a long ass chapter hsjskshshs

i do not own the gif, cr to the owner

“We’ll send you an invitation!” Alice practically pushes you out of Gwil’s apartment. You aren’t mad in any way; you understand. Gwil will be home in a couple hours, and Alice has to get ready. She’s his fiancée now, after all.

Your hand is already numb when you’re outside; the bag is too heavy for you to carry it on your own. It’s also the matter of you mental state – if everything was alright, you wouldn’t even feel the weight of this old bag with your stuff in it. You sight becomes blurry, all because of tears in your eyes; you feel like there is no more oxygen in your lungs – you can’t fucking breathe. You don’t know how you manage to walk to the nearest bench and sit down; you cover your face with hands and start weeping uncontrollably. He hurts you; every thought about him is hurting you.

And here, at this exact moment, you remember the day you met him ten months ago. When you first looked at him, you had no idea he would break your heart into million pieces; you didn’t know he would leave you completely shattered.

You lean back onto the bench and raise your head to the sky, still crying. Why couldn’t he tell you? Is it really that hard just to talk, to break the arrangement? If he was honest with you, if he told you about his engagement, you would have understood better. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt that much.

You wipe the tears away from your cheeks and close your eyes. You’re still panting, still trying to stop yourself from sobbing – but you just can’t. You are so in love with him that it completely and endlessly breaks your heart. You didn’t know happiness before Gwil; as well as you didn’t know heartbreak before him.

You see your hands shake crazily when you put the phone out of the pocket of your dress. This dress was one of those that you bought while shopping with Gwil – he said that you looked really good in it. He always told you how good you looked; no matter what you were wearing.

“I guess that’s in the past now”, you think while trying to call a cab. But you fail; your sight is still blurry and your hands shake impetuously. You try to calm yourself down; you breathe in and out slowly, until the heaviness in your breath fades away. You sigh deeply; you need to get out of this place before Gwilym comes back home. If he told Alice to speak to you, then it means that he doesn’t want to see you.

How simple. To throw you away when needed, to use you for fucking and to play with your feeling pretending to give a shit about you – how fucking simple is that? And then get engaged to the brattiest bitch in the whole world – a smart move for a serious man. You clench your jaw and close your eyes, taking another deep breath. You should have never expected him to end up with you. But you have always been dreaming too much; since you were a little girl you’ve imagined yourself having a happy life with the Prince Charming.

You let out a sad chuckle. Funny, isn’t it? You were so close. You were touching, kissing, loving the man of your dreams – but he never loved you back. You gave him everything; every little part of your body was his and his only. He knew you like no one else before him did.

And now all of it is gone. It’s turned to dust, with a snap of his fingers.

And you are destroyed as well.

You suddenly understand that the cab can’t take you home – you left your wallet at Gwil’s place. Your credit card and cash are in there; but there’s no way you’ll come back to this place. You’re shattered and broken, but you still have pride. You know you won’t be able to come through that humiliation one more time. Alice has seen enough of you crying; you couldn’t give her any more reason to make fun of you. You’d better leave this old wallet with the money and the photo of you and Gwil in it to Alice. She can do whatever she wants with it – she may throw it away, burn it, rip it apart – anything. But you will never come back to this apartment.

You may also never get to your own flat if you continue sitting on a bench in the middle of the street and keep crying. Your phone’s going to die soon, and you certainly won’t be able to carry the bag with all of the stuff on your own. You can’t call your sister or Janet; your mum and dad aren’t the best option either. So you decide to call Billy.

“Oi, Y/N”, he responds in a cheerful voice; you’re feeling guilty for bothering your best friend with your troubles. “What you’re doing?”

You are being silent for, at least, thirty seconds. Billy’s silent too.

“Are you alright?” he asks softly.

“Come pick me up”, you whisper. “Please”, you add it almost silently.

“Where are you?”

You tell him the name of the street and he promises to come as soon as possible before hanging up. You feel ashamed of yourself; Billy is the last person you want to drag into your mess of a life. But he is your best friend. You have been best friends since you were toddlers; and he has been your last hope.

Your phone buzzed. You looked at the screen to see the text from Janet. “Ready for tonight? xx”

Covering your eyes with one hand, you let out a fatigued sigh. You completely forgot about the party you were supposed to attend. “Sorry, Jan. I feel like shit. Can’t get up. I don’t think I will make it to the party”.

Your phone dies the second Janet sends another message; you sigh and put it away. You hope Billy will find you easily.

And he does.

His car stops right in front of you; Billy storms out of it and runs to you immediately.

“Jesus, Y/N, what happened?” he sits down on the bench near you. Your sight becomes blurry again; you clench your fists tightly making your nails dig into the soft skin of your palms – you do it to stop yourself from crying. It helps a bit.

Billy looks at you with concern in his eyes, but you don’t want to explain anything to him. He met Gwilym only once and it was just a brief acquaintance between your best friend and the man of your dreams. Billy once hinted that he didn’t quite like Gwil; but you didn’t pay attention. It wasn’t important to you when, for a scarcely perceptible moment, Prince Charming was yours.

But it is important to you now. You don’t want to tell Billy about what happened; you feel like his antipathy towards Gwilym will turn into pure hate.

“Nothing”, you stay quiet for a moment. “Just had a mental breakdown”. You weren’t lying to him, though. You just don’t tell him the reason for this breakdown.

“I’m sorry, Y/N”.

“Just take me home. Please”.

Billy nods and takes the bag from the ground. “What you need this heavy bag for?”

“Went to the laundromat”.

Billy furrows his brows; he can tell you are lying. But he doesn’t say anything and just silently follows you to the car.

                                     ╰╮✾╭╯✯╰╮✾╭╯

When you finally get to your flat, you both are greeted with your cat’s loud meowing.

“Hey, April”, Billy takes the cat into his arms and pets it gently; April purrs in pleasure, making Billy smile. The other day you would be giggling at it, but today was certainly different. You sit down on couch and tilt your head back, looking at the ceiling. Your eyes are dry now; it seems as if you don’t even feel anything. You only have the endless void inside of you.

“Y/N”, Billy’s voice is distant. “Do you need to talk about it?”

It? That’s how your relationship can be described?

Yes, that’s exactly how anyone should describe your fucked up relationship with Gwil – by using this simple pronoun. It. Just it. Just nothing.

You shake your head. “No”.

“You need to be alone, yuh?”

Billy always understands you without words. He always knows what you need. Loneliness is something you desire to have now.

“Yeah”.

He nods. “I’ll go then. Call me if you need anything”.

“Thanks”, you whisper, looking at him. Billy smiles softly; quietly closing the front door, he leaves your flat in mere seconds. And here you are – in your small flat, alone with your cat. Again.

April jumps on the couch, purring loudly; you scratch her behind her ear.

One single tear falls down from your eye right on April’s head; the cat’s taken aback by it, as she can’t understand what has just happened to her. The lost look in her hazel eyes is so funny, that you can’t but let out a laugh through your tears.

“You silly girl”, you sniffle. “Come here”, you take April in your hands; she’s usually everything but tender; but today she feels that you need her support. You lay down on the couch with April on your chest; she purrs and fawns while you’re petting her.

Five minutes April lies in your feet, and you curl up on your small, old couch and fall asleep immediately.

You have dreams this sunny afternoon. You’re dreaming about Gwil; as you always do.

                                    ╰╮✾╭╯✯╰╮✾╭╯

                                                 May.

“Feeling good?”

You opened your eyes slowly and saw Gwil standing in front of the bathtub with a soft smile on his face. You grinned back at him. He looked so good in that black suit; his shirt was half unbuttoned, and a prominent bulge in his pants was also drawing your attention to it.

“Yeah”.

He leaned in closer and kissed you on the forehead. “And looking good too. Bet it’s the best bubble bath you’ve ever had”.

You rolled your eyes at his words; you knew where this was going. Not that you had something against it; you just hated his stupid jokes sometimes. “Let me guess what you’re gonna say next”, you started. “It’s the best ‘cause it’s my bath”, you mocked his voice, and he raised his eyebrows in response.

“What was that?” his blue eyes were now dark and his voice was low and raspy; you felt a tight knot forming in your lower abdomen, because Gwil was looking at you like that.

“You’ve heard me”.

You were in the mood of teasing him. You were sure he deserved it – he left for work right in the middle of your morning make out session, and you were frustrated and annoyed since then. That was the reason for having a babble bath at four in the afternoon. You needed to calm down your arousal. And when you were almost satisfied, Gwil came back home. So you had the right to torture him for some time.

He licked his lips and hummed in response; you were watching him closely and had to keep yourself from moaning when he did that.

You were looking into each other’s eyes for some time, and when you bit your lip, Gwil knew he had enough of this staring competition.

He bent down and gripped you by the waist, roughly pulling you out of the bath. You let out a squall – as you didn’t expect him to do something like that. He threw you over his shoulder, not caring that you were soaking his expensive ass jacket.

“Gwil!” you panted as he was carrying you to the bedroom. “Stop it! I’m wet!”

“Oh, I bet you are, love”, he said and smacked your ass; you shrieked, but gave in – your attempts to stop him were useless. He set up his mind to fuck you senseless for your bratty behavior.

No matter how rough he would get, Gwil still needed you to feel comfortable; that was his ultimate goal, after all. This moment was no exception – when you reached your final destination, his bedroom, Gwilym gently put you down on the bed; you didn’t even have the time to breathe when he attacked your lips.

His kiss was needy, full of desire and passion; his hands were roaming about your body, squeezing your breasts and touching you everywhere.

“Being a bad girl, huh?” he mouthed, breaking the kiss. Your heart skipped a bit; his ocean blue eyes were looking right into your soul. You could’ve let him take the heart out of your chest and crush it in his hands – you would have let him do anything so that he just kept looking at you like that. You wanted to be his one, one and only. You wanted to intertwine your fingers with his, while he was looking at you as if you were his world; just like he did now. You needed him so much, in every way possible. You wanted him to be yours. But it wasn’t possible. You closed your eyes and sighed deeply, trying to hide from Gwil your sudden urge to cry.

He pressed a kiss on your eyelid and lightly touched your cheek with his fingers. “What is it, love?”

“Nothing”. You opened your eyes and faked a smile. You drew your fingertip down over his face; it seemed as if you tried to memorize every feature, every detail of his face – ‘cause you had this terrible feeling inside of you that one day all of it would be over. You were so scared to lose him.

A single tear fell down onto the bed from the corner of your eye. You were such a fool for letting your feelings get in the way. You shouldn’t have fallen for him. That was violation of the main rule that you’ve established in your head. And you broke it almost immediately.

Gwil cupped your cheeks and looked at you worriedly. “Y/N, what’s wrong? Did anyone hurt you?”

You swallowed hard and shook your head. You hated yourself for not controlling your emotions. You should have played your part better; you must have hidden your feelings from him. He couldn’t know.

“Did I hurt you?” No matter how much you wanted to escape his gaze, you couldn’t do it; it seemed as if he tried to hypnotize you. He needed the answer.

And when he looked at you so tenderly, so caringly – you knew you had to tell him the truth. You had to tell him about your feelings, about how much thoughts about him with Alice, Zoe or someone else hurt you. You needed to burst the truth out; you wanted to confess that you were always thinking about him – everywhere and all the time. You had to tell Gwil the only thing – he indeed hurt you all the time you spend apart. One simple confession with three words – that was all that had to be done to end your misery. “I love you”.

But you never said that. Instead you kissed him on the lips softly and smiled lightly. “You could never hurt me, Gwil”.

And here you were again – back to loving him silently. You still could have told him; but you weren’t able to find the words to say it out loud. You knew that, when you told him the truth, whatever you two had would be ruined. You had a little bit of his heart – just like Alice and Zoe did. And you were sure that this little love was better than none.

                                   ╰╮✾╭╯✯╰╮✾╭╯

“Call Y/N”, Gwilym says to Kiara. “Tell her about it. Also tell her that I’ll call her later. Do you understand?”

Kiara nods quickly. “I do, Mr. Lee. I’ll do everything you say”.

“Good”, he walks off to the elevator and presses the button. Tonight was supposed to be special. He arranged everything for it.

But his idiots of partners just had to fuck up everything with the deal in Dublin; and now he has to leave for a week. Gwilym doesn’t know if he’s able to fix the mess they’ve made. He has been working for two years to get that contract; and it took Ryan and John a day to ruin all of his hard work.

Gwil leans back onto the wall of the elevator and sighs deeply; how he would love to come home to you now. To kiss you slowly, while gripping your waist and grabbing your hips. To take your clothes off and leave a trail of kisses from your jaw to your stomach. To feel you. That’s the only thing Gwil wants now – to be with you.

But he doesn’t even have time to call you – he’s already being late for his flight. That’s why he asked Kiara to do it; if she screws up in any way, he’ll finally be able to fire her. Gwilym desperately needs you to know about him leaving, but he also wants Kiara to mess up really bad. So bad, that there would be no excuse for her to stay in this company.

“You look terrible, Gwilym”, his boss is greeting him “nicely” as usual; it takes Gwil everything to restrain himself from rolling his eyes. God, he hates this old prick.

“I haven’t eaten since morning, Mr. Smithers”, Gwil lies; that’s not the reason for his gloomy mood. He feels that something is wrong. But he doesn’t quite know what. The only thing that is clear to him is that he has to come home now, to you. To the only thing in his life that matters.

“You’ll eat in a plane”, the man says and sits down in the car. Gwil stands in front of the open door for a moment, still hesitating to go. Now it’s more than a feeling – he has to come home. He must leave this place and take a cab, and head to you. Because he knows something’s not right.

“How long do I have to wait for you, Gwilym?” Mr. Smithers voice makes Gwil clench his fists and roll his eyes. He can’t go home now. If he leaves, he’ll lose his job.

He hopes Kiara will call you. He hopes you’ll understand. He knows you’ll do. You always do.

When Gwil heads to his hotel room in Dublin after six hours of negotiations, you wake up in your flat in London.

Your eyes are dry and you can barely see anything; so you lay on the couch for ten minutes, silently looking at the ceiling. Memories of the day cross your mind and your eyes become watery again; but you know that you can’t cry anymore. If you stay sobbing on the couch, you’ll never recover. You think you may die if you don’t get up.

So you get up – slowly and with great difficulty. You feel like your head is going to explode from the throbbing pain; so you set a goal – to take aspirin. You head to the kitchen; you take a pack of aspirin from the box near the microwave. When you pour some water in the glass, your hands shake, and you spill a bit of water from the glass. You curse under your breath; everything’s a mess today. But you still manage to take the pill; you wince while swallowing – you have a sore throat and swallowing hurts a lot.

April meows loudly, making you turn around to her. You smile weakly. “You hungry, baby?”

She purrs in response; you put some food into her bowl and April wags her tail in pleasure. You slowly make your way to the bathroom – you need to wash this day off of you. You need every memory, every tear to go away. You hope taking a shower would help you.

You take your dress on the way; in the bathroom you’re just in your underwear. When you look in the mirror, you are a bit taken aback – you’re a mess. Your mascara is smudged all over your face, eyes are red, swollen lips are trembling as you see yourself in such an awful condition. You haven’t been such a mess since you broke up with Luke. You suddenly let out a laugh. Luke, for God’s sake, how much time has passed since you were angsting over him? That pain that he caused you is nothing now, compared to what happened today. Luke is nothing; the heartbreak that was after him doesn’t mean anything now.

You take off your underwear and toss it in a basket; when the stream of hot water hits your skin, you shiver. Hot showers were usually accompanied by Gwil’s hands around your waist and his tender kisses all over your neck. You clench your jaw at the sudden feeling of crying again; you turn the cold water fully on so that the memories of Gwilym would just go away.

You sit on the floor of your shower stall; you’re shivering uncontrollably and your teeth chatter while you’re trying to warm yourself up. You wrap your arms around yourself and close your eyes; the cold water isn’t bothering you anymore – you feel numb. “Please, make it stop”, you whisper, “Get him out of my head. Please”.

You don’t know whom you are praying to. You’ve had a lot of trouble with your faith recently, but now you don’t see any other option. Maybe for once – just for fucking once – the God will hear you. Maybe he will help you. Just now. Just once. 

Fifteen minutes later you put on a robe and wrap your hair in a towel; you don’t feel fresh and nice after the shower. You still are despondent; you don’t know what to do with that.

You sit down on the couch; maybe if you rip your heart out of your chest – maybe then it won’t hurt. You should have agreed to go that party with Janet. Maybe it’d have made you feel better.

“That’s a lot of “maybes”, you sigh.

You decide to check your voicemail; you remember that you sister was supposed to call you today. You turn the answering machine on. You have two missed calls. You press the button lightly.

“Y/N, hey. This is James. Look. Next week I’ll be in a London, so I was wondering, if… Y/N, would you like to grab a drink? We haven’t talked properly at your mum’s birthday, and I would really love to catch up with you. You know my number. Call me back”.

You rub your face; you have no desire to see James. He broke your heart, too. You are tired of men who play with your feelings.

You erase his message and press the button to listen to the second one.

“Miss Y/L/N, this is Damian Langford. I’m calling to inform you that your amount of work is doubled due to you taking a day off today. Please, do not forget about that”.

You roll your eyes. The fucking boss of yours never misses the opportunity to give you extra work; like you don’t feel like a shit already.

The inbox of your voicemail is empty; and here – again – comes the silence. It is so loud that you think it’ll make your eardrums bleed. You’ll go crazy tonight, for sure. You’ll go crazy in this emptiness and sadness.

And then your phone rings suddenly.

You hope it’s Gwil; you don’t know why, but you have this hopeless wish inside of you. Please, God. Let it be him. “Hello?”

“Y/N, for God’s sake!” you almost scream from desperation, when you hear your mother’s voice on the other side of the line. “I’ve been calling you for the past ten minutes!”

“Mum, what happened?”

“Becca’s water broke!” she shouted. “We’re in the hospital, and she has”, you hear your sister screeching like the police’s siren, “terrible contractions. She needs you here, sweetheart”.

“I’m on my way, mum”.

After learning at what hospital they are in, you quickly change into jeans and tee-shirt, not even bothering to wear a bra. You leave your apartment in mere seconds, your wet hair dripping your grey tee-shirt. You don’t care. Your sister needs you more than anybody.

When you storm into the hospital, you see your dad and your sister’s husband. For the first time during this day you’re not thinking about Gwilym; and that is exactly what you want.

_______________________________________________________

tell me whatyou think pls!!!

“alio” taglist:  @heartsarecompatible @all-my-friends-are-german @magicwithaknife @longing-hiraeth @thelondondreamer5 

[kweebtrash]

Practice Makes Perfect (M)

Pairing: Hui x Reader 

 Warnings:  First Time, awkwardness, bj’s, Hui being an absolute sweetie

Summary:  I’m still bad at writing fluff but I made a quick drabble thing about sucking Hui’s dick for the first time LMAO. Hope you like it, my sweet cupcake <3

I listened to the steady rhythm of Hui's heartbeat that coupled with the rise and fall of his chest. The same heartbeat that had lured me to sleep also coaxed me out of it. My body was a little tense from being smushed between his body and the back of the couch. We had somehow fallen asleep in the middle of watching some cheesy horror film that bordered on pornographic. Our laughs had turned into yawns and the warmth of the piles of blankets on us didn't help. I stretched a bit, feeling my shoulders and back crack into place. Hui stirred slightly, his plush lips buried in my hair as he tightened his arm around my shoulder. I loved having days with him like this. We hadnt been dating long and we rarely got time to even chill together. This was basically a miracle that opened within his schedule and the first thing he wanted to do was spend time with me. And of course we napped for half that time. It made me giggle to myself. To others we may have seemed boring but to us this was perfect. Warm blankets, a stupid movie, rain spattering on the windows, and tight cuddles.

I sighed softly, running my hands just under his shirt to feel the heat of his skin. My thumb traveled up and down the length of his abs, his perfect body never failing to make me blush. He shifted again, and i could tell he was teetering in and out of sleep. I returned my head to his chest, taking in the fading scent of his cologne as my hand dipped underneath the waistband of his pajama pants to rub at his v line. My eyes trailed down to where my hand rested and curious thoughts started floating to my head. I bit my lip mulling over if I should open up this chapter of our relationship. It was pretty hard to resist him honestly, even though i was a basket of nerves that was always too scared to go past making out. He never pushed me further either and was always a gentleman, always smiling when we stopped and resuming our previous activity as if it was nothing. He deserved so much.

My fingers moved a little lower, grazing over the slight bulge in his briefs. His hips slipped upward making me cup him in my palm. He sighed softly, his head falling to the side, exposing his neck. I kissed the newly revealed skin, trailing kisses up and down his jugular as my hand coaxed him to life. His soft sighs morphed into short groans as he finally stirred awake. “Hey…” he said huskily. He rubbed his eyes and looked down at my hand. “What are you doing?”

“I thought it might be nice to wake you up like this...is it ok?” i asked.

“Yeah...yeah, it is but...I didn't think you'd want to so soon.” He gave me a sweet kiss, pushing my hair back slightly.

“It's ok. I think I'd like doing this to you. Just dont laugh at me okay?”

“I would never. But um… it's a little better to stroke it when it’s wet.”

“Wet?” I nodded. “Oh...duh.”

Hui sat up a bit. “Dont force yourself, seriously.”

I ignored him and instead directed my attention to pushing up his shirt and laying kisses across his stomach. I wiggled myself down a little more, getting into a more comfortable position between his thighs. I avoiding looking up at him for now and kissed my way down to the waistband of his pj pants. I could feel him watching me as i pulled the fabric away from him and set my kisses on the outline of his cock through his briefs. My lips traveled the length of his shaft paying extra attention to his tip. I mouthed him softly as my hands stroked the expanse of his thighs around me. Hui set his head back against the armrest as he slid his pants and briefs down a little further, exposing himself fully to me. I didnt expect him to be as thick as he was nor did i expect my body to react to him instantly. It felt like i was suddenly craving to have him in my mouth. I swallowed back my fears and took him into my hand, guiding him to my lips.

The first lick earned me a gasp before Hui slapped his hand to his mouth to mask his sound. For a split second i thought something was wrong until i felt the pulse beneath my fingers. I repeated the soft kitten lick before wrapping my lips around the tip drawing short pulls from him. He kept his sounds muffled but continuous, giving me a little bit more confidence to take the entirety of his head down. It was a bit suffocating, filling my mouth almost completely. My fingers dug into his thigh as i focused on breathing through my nose. Suddenly his hips bucked and he pushed me back a bit. “T-teeth!”

“What?” I panicked.

“Teeth. Um...open your mouth a little wider so your teeth dont...um scratch me. It hurts.”

I covered my face instantly, instantly regretting my lack of knowledge and trying to showcase my pathetic skills. “I'm sorry!”

“N-no! Baby, it's okay. Seriously. There's a first time for everything!” He caressed my cheek gently, smiling down at me and making my face burn even brighter. “Can you keep going? Please?”

I looked down at him and nodded meekly, recapturing him in my mouth and resuming my slow sucks. I kept my mouth open a bit wider, guiding his shaft with my hand in to reach a bit deeper and forgo the impact of my teeth. He settled back again, nodding down at me to let me know it felt much better. I closed my eyes and sighed gently around him, getting used to the heavy heat in my mouth. My head bobbed and bounced, my tongue gaining more confidence to edge along the sides and trace the veins within him. Eventually his hips added a bit more force, shoving his cock towards the back of my throat. His hand cupped the back of my head, keeping me in a firm place. “Ahh...just like that.” He licked his plush lips and dug his fingers into my scalp slightly.

My hand fell between his thighs exploring the sensitivity of his balls with my thumb. I pressed into them, cupping them in my hand and giving them a lengthy squeeze. The moans he let out made me press my thighs together feeling myself get wetter with each one of his sensual sounds. Hui rocked his hips slowly though i could tell he was holding back. The head of his cock was just brushing against the back of my throat. I tried everything in my willpower to not gag around him, my eyes clenching shut as my toes dug into the couch. He was swelling now, filling my small mouth further. I let out a small whimper, squeezing his base with one hand while the other remained focused on massaging his balls.

“S-shit…” I heard him hiss out. “Babe, hold on.”

I pulled away again, curious as to what i was doing wrong. “Hmm?”

“I-i...uh...i wanted to stop you in case you didnt want to….um...swallow.” He bit his lip, his sweet puppy dog eyes dodging my gaze as his cheeks warmed up.

“Well were else are you gonna put it?” I cocked my head to the side, a puzzled look on my face.

“I mean...i can just...do it on myself.”

“What! No!” Now my cheeks were starting to burn. “I want to try it at least!”

“I didn't know! I just thought id let you know!” He covered his face and groaned. “Sorry, this isnt sexy.”

I smiled and moved myself up briefly to kiss at his hands before moving them away. “You're the absolute sweetest Hui.” I kissed him, humming softly in approval against his lips. “And you're always incredibly sexy. That's why i wanted to take care of you.”

“Ahh...well i-i'm glad you think so…” He let out a nervous chuckle before looking down between us. “I like watching you...the way your lips look around me. How cute you were trying to make sure i felt good...And maybe we can keep practicing?”

I nodded and shimmed down to my previous position, licking my lips before taking him in my mouth again. I pulled him back in deeper this time, making sure to draw the hot soft sighs and moans out of him again. I felt his thighs tensing beside me, his back arching slightly off the cushions as his hand got lost in my hair. He said my name over and over, mixed in with a few curses before i felt his release across my tongue. I swallowed back, gulping down a few times as it continued to flow. Slowly, the tension in his body released and he pulled away gently. I quickly wiped my mouth not wanting to make a mess everywhere and look like those gross ass pornos. I shuddered even at the thought.

I slid back between the back of the cushion and the warmth of my boyfriend, looking up at him longingly. He pulled me into a heated kiss, his taste shared between us. I clutched onto his shoulder as our tongues worked against one another, soft pants and moans echoing in the living room. His sucked my bottom lip between his teeth, nibbling slightly and leaving me practically breathless. “H-hui…” I mewled.

“That was the best way to wake up I have to admit.” he laughed. “But i'm thinking that maybe I can practice on you now?”

I buried my face in his chest, clutching onto his shirt and trying to hide. “I think i'd like that too. Practice makes perfect after all.”

[theolddarkmachine]

desert smoke & aries rising

There was something about weed and starlight that was inherently romantic to Keith. Maybe it was the way those very stars he looked up to seemed to burrow their way into the spaces between his ribs with each inhale. Maybe it was the combination of the constellations with the heady scent of musky floral.

Most likely, it was because if he was sitting on the roof, tracking the likes of Andromeda and Scorpius with a joint between his lips, he wasn’t alone.

“I wonder what everyone would say if they knew my supplier was the Takashi Shirogane,” he mused, each word carrying a cloud across his lips. It had never escaped Keith that the biggest joke of all was that the Garrison’s pride and joy was also the one with the best bud on campus.

It’s medicinal, Shiro had once said when Keith didn’t know better.

Medicinal, my ass, Keith had said, because he’d always known better.

Warnings: Rated T for Teen for making out and getting high.

Word count: 2k

AO3

A/N: I CAN NEITHER CONFIRM OR DENY MY OWN EXPERIENCES WITH MARY JANE. However, if I did so happen to have any, my favorite strain would probably be called Space Queen. This was partially inspired by @acatnamedskai ‘s smoky Sheiths ( x // x ) that originally got the idea of Sheith and weed stuck in my head. And also somehow partially inspired by a drive home from volunteering and shuffle hitting me with some Panic! at the Disco. yall i just dont even know either okay

*********************************

There was something about weed and starlight that was inherently romantic to Keith. Maybe it was the way those very stars he looked up to seemed to burrow their way into the spaces between his ribs with each inhale. Maybe it was the combination of the constellations with the heady scent of musky floral.

Most likely, it was because if he was sitting on the roof, tracking the likes of Andromeda and Scorpius with a joint between his lips, he wasn’t alone.

“I wonder what everyone would say if they knew my supplier was the Takashi Shirogane,” he mused, each word carrying a cloud across his lips. It had never escaped Keith that the biggest joke of all was that the Garrison’s pride and joy was also the one with the best bud on campus.

It’s medicinal, Shiro had once said when Keith didn’t know better.

Medicinal, my ass, Keith had said, because he’d always known better.

A shoulder pressed playfully into the meat of his arm as Shiro leaned in close, plucking the spliff easily from between his fingers as Keith marveled at the way the contact was interpreted through his skin as a gilded thrum. He would never admit that he was a quantifiable weed lightweight, but if he did, he would say that a couple hits was all he needed to turn simple touches into painted colors that left his mind reeling.

Good thing he wasn’t admitting it.

“No one would believe you, bad boy,” Shiro laughed darkly around the moniker before pinching the joint between his thumb and forefinger, bringing it carefully to his lips before he sucked in a deep breath. For a moment, Keith let himself get lost in the way his cheeks hollowed around the inhale.

For another, he recalled how Shiro’s cheeks had hollowed the same way earlier around a different kind of suck.

Seconds past as the older cadet let the smoke settle into his lungs, coating it with the earthy sour taste of their favorite bud. All the while he held Keith’s gaze, waiting until he knew good and well that he was truly seeing him before dropping a deadly wink.

Heat rose up from the forest fire in his chest and flooded to his cheeks, turning them a light pink that he’d be embarrassed about if he didn’t already feel the buzz of the smoke that shook all his other shames away.

“You make being a bad boy sound hot,” he hummed thoughtfully as he Shiro offered him the joint again. While he knew he probably shouldn’t, the bright shock of the cherry was oh so inviting.

Almost as inviting as the lips that had just kissed it with more life.

A smirk twitched at the corner of Shiro’s mouth before he exhaled a near opaque curtain of smoke that masked all but the sharp spark of his silver eyes.

“You are hot,” he said simply with a shrug as if it was the most natural and obvious thing. Of course, to Shiro, it probably was. Keith didn’t have any qualms about how his boyfriend felt about him. He knew, just as much as Shiro knew how he felt. They were vocal enough about it, and when words just weren’t enough to capture the way their veins burned with want, they translated it through touch.

That didn’t stop the way those three simple words made his stomach flip and his heart jolt.

Some would call it sappy.

Keith would call it love. With a side of some Space Queen.

“Shut up,” he said without heat before he pushed the filter between his teeth and knocked his shoulder against Shiro’s in soft retaliation. Dragging in another long breath of hazy burnt earth, he focused on the way it twisted and burned its way down his throat. It sent a rush to his head in the most satisfyingly dizzy way as he turned his eyes towards the sky, not missing the way the pinpricks of light dragged into lines before his vision could catch up.

They really were beautiful. Not that they weren’t always.

There had been two reasons why Keith had come to the Galaxy Garrison. The first being that he really didn’t have any other option. Iverson had plucked him from a holding cell in the local jail after he’d stolen the man’s hover bike and “shown him some of the best racing style he’d ever seen.”

Get in a simulator, and I’ll drop the charges, the man had said in a commanding voice. If anyone asked, Keith would have told them that it was nothing more than a good business decision.

Really, it was the second reason, which was the never ending stretch of stars that littered the desert sky each night.

There hadn’t been much that Keith could depend on in his life. Other people were always a letdown, and life always seemed to like to remind him of that, but the stars? They had always been there for him in a way that no one else had been and the Garrison stood like a shiny and chrome beacon trying to help him finally find a place amongst them.

Of course, then he’d been a dumb kid with a chip on his shoulder and some pointed, bony fists.

Now?

Well, now he was still a dumb kid with hard fists, but he’d also found someone as reliable as the inky night sky.

Takashi Shirogane. Noble silver. Just like the starlight they both shared a deep rooted love for. Keith hated to say it felt like fate.

But…

“The bud has you thoughtful tonight, babe,” Shiro’s voice was a purr at his ear as his nose brushed against the soft waves around it, sending a shock of neon tickles racing down his spine and eliciting a sharp laugh that expelled smoke upwards towards the heavens. Fingers brushed over the bow of his lips as they gently pulled the blunt from between them.

“No,” Keith said in a hush, violet gaze painting itself over the shape of Aries above them as he raised a hand to gesture to it. “It’s just—”

Words escaped him as he tried to string together the proper sentiments to explain to Shiro just how beautiful he thought it all was. Beautiful, gorgeous and devastatingly magnificent just didn’t seem to sum it up. If he could, he would just something about how the pinpricks of faraway light gave him the same feeling of awe as the bright polished silver of Shiro’s eyes and then maybe he would get it.

Only everything he wanted to say was a swirl of haze and lightning that ran through his body, unruly and unattainable.

“I know,” Shiro breathed, leaving a shock of heat burning across his cheek before he soothed it away with a gentle kiss. “We’re going to be up there one day.”

It was another simple statement that painted Keith’s insides bright yellow. We’re going to be up there one day. Simple and easy, and as obvious as the sky being up and the sea being down.

He could have said as much, but even the three letters of ‘yes’ stuck themselves to the inside of his throat. Instead, Keith turned his head quickly, capturing Shiro’s lips with his own. It was a sweet thing, tinged with the edge of sour smoke that still hung on their tongues. Without preamble, and without breaking the contact, Keith rolled over his hip, deftly crawling into Shiro’s lap and wrapping his arms around his neck.

The sweetness was quickly chased away by something much more sloppy, and much more natural as he opened into the kiss, pressing forward with his tongue and licking the back of Shiro’s teeth. He felt the steady slide of his boyfriend’s hands as the skimmed up and over his ribs, the soft poke of the joint still clutched in the v of his fingers drawing a ticklish line along the heat that spread with them.

“Keith.” His name was a moan that he swallowed as he ground his hips down, the sensation of it cracking his lips into a devilish smile. Behind his sternum, he could feel the expanding formation of a whole new universe that was sure to burn him alive if he wasn’t careful.

Gently, Keith pulled back.

“Baby,” Shiro said in a hush as he chased after him with half lidded eyes and peony petal lips. The sight of him pushed the solar flare closer to being as Keith pushed his fingers up the nape of his neck, catching the growing hair hair there between their spaces. He was always beautiful, but like this, he was stunning. A paragon of everything Keith could have ever hoped to dream for, except even then his dreams never did line up just right.

There was no way he could have ever been creative enough to come up with a dream like Shiro.

Holding his sterling gaze within the amethyst of his own, Keith reached his other hand towards his side to pull the still smoldering joint from Shiro’s fingers. It didn’t have much left, maybe a hit or two, but they had never been a pair to let anything go to waste. Silver turned molten as Shiro watched Keith take the shallow hit, trapping the smoke within his mouth before he pressed the cherry into the roof beside them, snuffing it out.

Gently tipping his head back with the tips of two fingers, Keith leant down, brushing his nose against Shiro’s in silent question. Recognition sparked as the older cadet parted his lips just as Keith exhaled, trapping the smoke in the minute space between them as Shiro breathed it in.

Then he was pushing forward, swallowing the tang of it and the small sound Keith made. Coated with the smooth brush of smoke, this kiss was slower. Gentler. It caressed every inch of his skin was the soft blushing glow of everything sweet.

Everything that Shiro was.

The world tilted as he slowly laid out beneath him, pulling Keith down on top of him with the grace of feigned sobriety. Catching his sigh on the tip of his tongue, Shiro returned it with a wet brush against his lips.

Keith’s body thrummed with the feathery weightlessness of the weed coursing through his veins until he was certain the only thing keeping him tethered to Earth was the halo of Shiro’s arms.

Pulling away slightly to catch his breath, he pushed one soft peck to the corner of his boyfriend’s mouth. Then another.

And then another.

It pulled a slow chuckle from deep within Shiro’s chest, which raised a warm balloon within his own as he finally rolled off him and nestled into his side. Cheek pressed to his shoulder and smile hooking his mouth upwards, Keith returned his slightly shaking gaze back up to the heavens that twinkled and winked above them.

“Shiro?” He said after he finally found his voice buried beneath the burning sun of happiness in his chest.

“Yeah?” The word rumbled against his skin as Shiro’s fingers began to track lines across the arm splayed across his waist. Each stroke left a shimmering hum that effused from the boundaries of each touch.

“We’re going to be up there one day,” Keith said slowly. Even with the way it slurred and swayed at the edges, the meaning of it stood open and bare between them.

I love you. As if he hadn’t said it before. But somehow, saying it this way seemed to get the point across better. Of course, maybe that was just the weed talking.

“Yeah, baby,” Shiro breathed before he dropped a soft kiss to the top of his crown, sending a shock of Northern Lights scattering down through his body and curling at the tips of his toes.

I love you, too.

“We sure are.”

*******************************

[memedokies]

(almost) every anon ask since fall 2016

if u havent noticed i am BAD at answering asks so here’s a Big Dump of most of the asks i’ve gotten in the past few months

ps; i’ve excluded pokemon suggestions bc i plan on getting to them at some point

Hihihi!!! What brushes do you use in fire alpaca??  i dont do much in firealpaca (esp not lately lol) but when i did use it a lot i just used the fill bucket and the standard/default brush to fill in gaps n such lol! i dont really draw in it, i used flash/adobe animate for the lineart and just fill in color in firealpaca :3

when did you start animating?   uhh when i was around 11 or 12 when i started digital art i guess? i just used photoshop for the longest time then got flash when i was like 15 or so

 How did you get flash?  i got the creative cloud dealie, its technically required for my school :—-0 

 hello!! what are you majoring in in vcu?? im thinking about going there for college  im in communication arts! omg cool lmk if u come here ill tell u where to get the best bubble tea

 how many fps do you use for your wiggly animations? i work at 24 fps in flash on twos but just end up using photoshop’s 0 second frame delay/ “no delay”?

 Hey love your animations! What do you animate with?  adobe animate 2017! (previously flash) 

You mentioned a YouTube channel but I can’t seem to find a link to it? Do you post processes on there? https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCovvoZxlQjFaIA7A3w_94Zw theres not much atm but i plan on posting a lot more, including process/speedpaints! 

i really like your art style gosh darn!!! everythings so fluid and stylized and nice aaa (also ur animations are goals) do u have any tips for someone still developing their artstyle????  WAH TYSM!!!!! compile art you already like and incorporate aspects from their styles into yours, BUT dont limit urself to one style! if u like something then try it out! do straight up copies (as PRACTICE, DONT CLAIM IT as your own ofc) of stuff you like to see how they work and what you’re clicking with. spending time on fundamentals is MEGA helpful so keep going back to that too! USE REFERENCES!!! draw …from ur soul…what makes u ..FEEL good

 how do you make that burn effect on your lineart? it makes it your pieces look sharper and even more interesting, it’s super cool!!  when i used to use flash for lineart and firealpaca for coloring a lot, setting the lineart layer on BURN with the coloring layer seeping a lil past the lineart would get this effect automatically 

(like on the whiskers. u can see it gets a brighter brown(?) and the warmer yellow on the ears)

but since then i’ve been using sai+photoshop more so i just do it manually! i’ll use this funny pic of me and my cat as an example lol

^i select the lineart/everything i want the funky color around

^slam that INCREMENT button a couple times

^make a new layer under the lineart

^fill that puppo with ur preferred color! something brighter works best, or even straight up white

that’ll give you something like this

then i open it in photoshop

and i mess with the pink line layer’s blending mode..color burn usually does the trick but depending on the Look you’re going for, saturation, multiply and overlay have some similar effects that look cool. 

i also usually get rid of the outermost edge of pink line that’s visible around the lineart, just so it looks a little cleaner? to do that you just select around your lineart, increment/expand selection, and delete/erase in the selection of the pink line layer

uhh yeah! lmk if anyone needs clarification on this, i have some other #TIPS on makin ur art look crusty and funky so…lemme know if you’re interested :—3

What do you use to animate? And, a more specific question, how do you make transparent animated gifs? adobe animate 2017! (previously flash) i export my animation from flash as a png sequence then open it in photoshop, where the background will be transparent and save it as a gif from there nyaaa

if anyone needs more clarification lmk and i’ll make a proper walkthrough :-0

 Hello!! Ur art is rlly pretty and so inspirational and nice to look at!! 💗💗 I was wonderin’ if ya had any tips on choosing shapes for characters? Like, when you draw shapes for a certain character, it looks rlly like it fits with the character’s personality n stuff!! ( e.g: Your Love Live! drawings!! The characters look so good in your style.) I’ve always admired how u did that n was hoping for some tips maybe?? Anyways, have a good day!!💛💖💟💜💝💞💖 HOOGA!! TYSM!!! and YEA you basically guessed it, i mainly just think about the character’s personality and translate that into a shape or Pheeling… 

especially for anime characters i look at the Very Subtle differences in the character’s original design..or possibly canon implications…for example kotori has slightly different eyes (it also says on her wiki page she has soft droopy eyes!) so i make sure to incorporate that Detãile

 anime wiki pages that have details like that is nice, for love live they have cute lil “charm points” which is really cool n helpful! listening to how a character is described in their world can give clues to what differentiates them which you can make more clear in your design

taking into account each characters context is good too, what they do/hobby/personality and how that could affect their appearance/posture/attitude

 YEAH its really fun to figure out certain characteristics and make it evident in their appearance! or. idk thats just what i do lol. hopefully this helps!

Have you ever seen the anime jojos bizarre adventure? alas i have not..i have some friends whom are into it so i’ll prob end up watching it sometime lol

sorry if this is obvious but!! are you the creator of Fork and Knife: Food Fighters?? your gif of fork is super cute btw!! yes i am!! wah tysm!!

Hey my little sister found your animation on an online art gallery and she really loved it! omg cool, thanks so much!!

Your style is so lovely!! OHG thanks!

your blog is so precious i love it a lot! your art is so cute too ^u^ waa thanks!!

Your art and animations art really cool! Keep up the good work! You are amazing!! aahg thank you!! :’333

 your art is fuckening amazing hh broe…tysm

 Oh my gee, I used to follow you on Deviant Art, and now here I am, finding you on accident. You’re still as talented as ever. =w= b hUIOpugh deviantart, my homeland..my origin.. thank you!!!

- O mg I love your art! 💕💕💕 thank you!! heart emojis!!! 💖💖💖

- your art and animations give me so much inspiration, thank you! everything about your style is so fun and it cheers me up omg this validates my top tier goal in life, im so glad!! thank you SO much!

Your style is so charming and adorable ;__; thank you!!

ur art is so gross in the best way possible this is the biggest compliment ive gotten thank u so much. i love making gross squishy awful drawings

IM SO HAPPY I FOUND YOU!!!! IVE BEEN LOOKING FOR YOU FOR AGES!!!!!!!!! I LIVE FOR YOUR BEAUTIFUL ART!!!!!!!!! THANK YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!! BHOLY CRAP THANK YOU!!!

 your art style is very cute ! 🌱 oohg thanks!! thanks for the little sprout emoji, i love her

GOOD ART!!!! good art good art good art EVERYWHERE I LOVE IT!!!!!!!!!!!!! OHHGG THANK YUO

how do ya draw such cutely its driving me nuts Nuts NUTS !!! I LOVE SPARKLES AND BRIGHT COLORS AND FUNNY ANIMALS..its my lifeblood..thank u.. 

You’re a really rad artist! I’m Glad there’s some cool artists that are local! Have a good time at VCU! oh wow thanks!! 

Ur shapes r so good thanks i LOVE a nice wholesome shape!

I rlly like ur art style my dude thanks!! 

hi! just wanted to let u know that you’re wonderful and i wish u well in everything u do this is making me bVERY HAPPY THANK YOU SO MUCH!!

 Im love You!! IM L OVE YIOU

that meowth boy is so good. i love him as he is my son THANK YUO i too, love meowth a Lot

 I love how your art is basically lines and curves, it’s very cute oo thanks! 

i love your art style so much!! it’s so zesty? i cant think of a better word to describe but its like. zesty & refreshing & rly rly cool !!! THATS A BEAUTIFUL ADJECTIVE I LOVE IT thank u so much!!!

You seem like you would watch Osomatsu-san. I could see you drawin dem bois in you hella rad art style. osomatsu was the wildest ride of my life. tho i dont think i could physically be able to sit down and draw them seriously ever… 

 Pls make more angry cat comics theyr so halarious plllls 👀 more are on the way!!!!!!

Have you done a meet the artist i sketched one when the meme was still poppin..is it too late lol? maybe i’ll still do it

[kcdiehl-art-writing-randomthings]

Chapter 20 Sometimes You Need a Little Magic in Your Life

Its finally here chapter 20 sorry it took so long; you all would not believe the writers block I had with this chapter.  Eric is a little OOC in this chapter and this chapter touches on some darker subjects but I dont thing its really that deep.

I sat in the center of the small cage my knees pulled to my chest trying to make myself as small as possible.  I was tired Eric had been gone for few hours now, my neck hurt from the shocks from the collar, and I had learned quickly he was good on his promise of torture.  I had tried protesting when he began to lay silver on Pam only to be shut down with volts of electricity.  I shivered as I heard Pam bite out a scream my hands clamping to my ears trying to block out the world around me.  

“How are you my dear?” I jumped banging my head on the side of the cage when the Magister appeared next to me.  “It’s your turn.”  He unlocked the cage in fast swift movements.  I scurried as far away from the door as I could in the small cage but I felt a cold boney hand on my ankle.  “Do not resist human or I will start breaking things.”   I felt my body go stiff as he squeezed my ankle in a bruising grip no emphasis his point; I let go if the bars and was dragged out of the cage my back scrapped against the concrete floor.  “That’s a good pet.”  The Magister then flung me across the room though I did not hit anything other than the floor the wind was still knocked out of me and I could feel the bruising start on my side.  I was gasping for air when I felt cold metal shackles latched on to my wrists and my arms were raised over my head abruptly as the Magister hooked the chain of the shackle to meat hook hanging from the ceiling; my feet now just skimmed the floor. I bit back a groan as my shoulders quickly began to burn.  “Let’s see how long you can last.  I made a promise to myself that I would not draw blood until after Northman has failed to come up with any evidence, but there are other things that I can do.”

Eric’s POV

‘Damn it!’ I came to a stop just past the border of Mississippi and Louisiana.  I had obliterated a tree with a single punch.  They were being tortured and I had brought it upon them.  I flexed my hand feeling my split knuckles heal. I had to find Bill-fucking-Compton and turn him over to the Magister if I had any hope of saving my girls.  I let a frustrated growl out before continuing my way to the King of Mississippi.

When I arrived at the edge of his property I was greeted by two large vampires that were part of the King’s security.  I raised my hands letting them know that I meant no harm.  They both garbed an arm and led me into the king’s home. We entered his home through two large doors “This isn’t really necessary.”  I told them with a sly chuckle, “I come in peace.”   I noticed the king’s lover when I entered the foyer.

“Hello.  Have we met?” His Grecian accent still strong after so many years of life.  Though my kind was excellent at hiding emotions I could see his desire for me, he was not being satisfied.  I smirked at that I could use his desperation for attention to my advantage.

“Eric Northman, sheriff, Louisiana Area five.  I’ve come to see the king.”

“Talbot, royal consort.” He introduced himself and with a flick of his hand he shewed away the henchmen.  “What brings you to our home?”  

“I have a problem in my area and the king may be of help.”  I explained as I moved closer to him, eyeing him like I desired him.  I could practically smell his need to fucked.  

“What seems to be the problem, Mr. Northman?” He asked eyeing me.

“A vampire in my area has gone missing and he is suspected of selling V.” I answered him.

“That does sound serious.  Who is the vampire?”

“To what do I own the pleasure of hosting the sheriff of area five? Eric Northman correct?  I am Russell Edgington king of the fine state of Louisiana.” Came the charismatic drawl of the king of Louisiana.

“Your majesty, it is an honor to finally meet you in person.”  I bowed my head showing my respect.  “I have a mater to discuss with you that pertains to a vampire that may have fled into your area.  And before pursing any action I have come to you first with such matters out of respect.”  I answered the king.

“That is quite the predicament, I appreciate your courtesy.  Come we will discuss over drinks.”  Russel beckoned me with a finger leading us into his dining room.  

Emilia’s POV

My breathes were coming out in muffled huffs as I tried to not think about the excruciating pain that was now radiating down the entirety of my back and legs.  The metal cuffs long ago cut of the circulation to my fingers and caused my wrist to become raw and chapped.  “How are you doing my dear?”  The Magister asked, I could hear the pleasure he took in my pain as he poked me in between my shoulder blades forcing me off my toes causing another chain reaction of me yelping in pain then being shocked for causing too much noise.  “Oh, you are a strong one like your friend Pam over there and just as hard to break; I can see why Northman likes you.  Just a few more minutes and I’ll put you back in the cage. That sound good to you?” He whispered in my ear.  “Tick tock, tick tock, just a few more seconds now.”  He whispered in my ear as he held his wrist watch in my line of sight. I felt his emaciated hands scratch up my spine “One more thing before I let you down.” The Magister’s fingers pushed on my right shoulder blade, I immediately let out a scream as my shoulder was popped out of its socket.  The pain from the dislocation was worse than the shock delivered to my neck for the scream. I had tears streaming down my face when I was removed from the hook and was thrown unceremoniously on to the floor of the cage.  “Now ladies this has been a wonderful couple of hours.  I think I am going to go to ground and we will get back to this wonderful bonding session tomorrow evening.”  I heard the latch and click of the lock of the cage before his leather wingtips made their way to Pam.  “Silver really is your color my dear. Now you two be good and have a nice nap.” With a blur, he was gone and Pam and I were plunged into darkness.

I laid there on the floor of the cage letting out ragged pants, my heart hammered in my ears.  I carefully tried to shift my body to find the least painful position with my wrist still cuffed together.  I couldn’t tell if my body was shaking from the cold or pain anymore, they were one in the same at this point.

“Hey Pixie?”  Pam called me, “Eric is going to come, I know it.  I’m sure you’ve seen it… the way he looks at you. He is going to find the information that we need and he is going to find Bill and he is going to get us out of this.” I listened to her; her words giving me some comfort.  “I know you are in pain.” I could her the pain she masked well though the silver that sizzle on her alabaster skin.  “So am I.  Try not to think about it, try to think about something else something that will help you get through the pain and see past this time.”  

I knew she was trying to tell me to focus on having a vison but I was in too much pain to force one to come: if I was going to have one, it was not going to be of my choice.  Though I would long for the sweet temporary relief to my mind wondering would give my body.

Eric’s POV

Frustration, anger, regret, agony were words that could not begin to describe what I was feeling at this point.  I was in a complete shit show and I was having trouble seeing a way out.  My child and lover were being tormented at the hands of a mad man who was turned during the inquisition; and though I have gained the backing of Russell he has me spending the night like some sort of slumber party. I could not feel their pain as intensely; I could still feel their fear but the Magister has taken a break while going to ground.   There were still some hours left in the day so I forced myself to sleep, I would be no use to them weakened by the bleeds.

That night I was spurred awake by pain from my bond.  Letting out a deep growl I threw a nearby vase across the room. “Fuck.”  Closing my eyes, I tried to suppress my rage, that would do them no good here.  I changed quickly into the new shirt Talbot had supplied to me before we retired for the morning.  I left my room and went in search of the king.

Emilia’s POV

I was scared awake when the Magister slammed opened the door to Eric’s dungeon “Good evening ladies.  How did you two sleep?  Well I hope?” His cheerfulness was disturbing.  I heard him approach me, “You my dear are lucky today I am just going to be focusing my attention on Pamala.  I have to be careful not to break you too much until you are mine.” There was the ever-present enjoyment in his voice that made my skin crawl.  

Eric’s POV

“Eric!” Sookie whispered yelled at me as I lead her up the stairs to the room she was being kept in.  “Let me go! We have to get Bill out of here.  That woman has done something to him!  You have to help me!”  She pleaded while trying to pry my cold fingers from her warm arm.  

I feral snarl escaped my lips as I grabbed her by her tan neck and slammed her into the wall.  “If you could shut up now that would be great.  I really do not give a flying fuck that Bill Compton has left you, I had nothing to do with it, you need to get over it he is obviously done with you.” I saw the start of tears form in the corners of her eyes.  “And I have my own shit to worry about.”  I hissed.  “Pam and Emilia are being held and tortured as we speak and I am stuck between a rock and hard place.”

“What do you mean Emilia is being tortured?”  Sookie stuttered out.  

“Eric hurry up we have a Queen to see.”  I heard Russell call from the front door.

“I do not have time for you.”  I whispered picking her up and running her to her room locking her in.

“Eric!!” She yelled banging on the door.

I was down the stairs and approaching the king with a slight bow, “Your Majesty, sorry for the wait.”  

“It is no trouble, humans can be so fickle.” He smirked.  “Tell me about your human why she is so important?” He drawled as we took to the sky.  

“She makes me feel something that I have not felt since I was still human.” I was treading in dangerous waters as I spoke with him.  “She has a few more things she wishes to experience as human and once those are done I am going to turn her.”  The lie came easily, I had no real intention of turning Emilia unless she asked to be to.    

“Ah young love, I remember when I first met Talbot. He was this exotic little Grecian boy, a poet.  His oral skills were quite renowned among a certain community if you catch my drift? There is sometimes I do miss a warm mouth around a hard cock.”  He gave a sly smirk.  “He too gave me that spark you mentioned, hold on to that Mr. Northman you don’t want to lose it.”

Emilia’s POV

I was sitting in the corner resting my left side against the bars of the cage, trying to drown out Pam’s screams and the stench of her skin burning. As I stared off into the darkness of this nightmare I felt the claws of a vision try to take hold of me; a part of me willed it to go away and part of me tried to make it surface the latter eventually won.  I had a feeling it was going to be about Eric, what about him I had yet to see.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath letting the pain and fear fade away the best I could before I opened my eyes to see myself, Pam, and Eric standing together staring at the Magister chained to the same table he had Pam on in the real time.  Next to him was a younger man than the Magister but older than Eric in at least in appearance who carried himself proudly.  My vision flickered like a dying light before I heard Pam’s muffled screams.  

I knew Eric was coming and I wish I could tell Pam she was right but I did not want to risk another volt to my neck it was already sore and it didn’t help that pain from my dislocated shoulder intensified everything.  Every part of me felt exposed and raw, my wrist we’re chaffed if had been hung up any longer I would have been bleeding.  And none of this pain could deter the increasing tightness in my stomach from lack of food and water.  I knew Eric was coming he was going to save Pam from the true death and me from actual death but I feared how close we were going to get.

“I had one of my underlings pick this up earlier.”  I heard him speaking to Pam as pulled out the recognizable powder teal blue box with the white ribbon.

“Now how’d you know I was a Tiffany’s girl?” Pam asked cheekily.

“A little birdy told me.  Now I see your ears are already pierced so I hope you don’t mind that I will have to pierce your eyelids.”  He said placing the box down with one silver earring in hand.

“Go for it.” Was all Pam said.

The Magister was leaning down to Pam about to pull her eyelid up when I heard the slamming open of doors “Enough!”  It was Eric he was back.

“Eric.” Pam sighed visible and I let out a small whimper as I turned to see him standing there with a slight look of fright.

“Mr. Northman. It’s only enough if Bill Compton is with you.”  The Magister had yet to move from Pam. “Is he?”

“No Magister the queen of Louisiana is.” At that moment, the woman I had a vision about a few days ago came walking down the stairs. “I’ll confess that you were correct before in suspecting me, but everything I did was at her behest.”  Eric gave a slight nod to Sophie Anna who had stepped out from behind him wearing a long white jumper and various necklaces; still something out of the 1920s/.

The Magister slowly walked towards Eric “You realize of course you are committing treason throwing your queen under the bus as you are.”

“But she is no longer my queen.”  Eric stated I raised a confused brow to him. “My loyalty is to Mississippi now.”  My eyes widened wonder what Eric’s plan was.

I heard the door open again, “And Mississippi’s proud to claim Mr. Northman as one of her own.”  A thin man with brunette hair came down the stairs now.  “Love the place, love the vibe, we must talk franchising later.” He looked at Eric.

The Magister chuckled “Russell Edgington.”  Not looking too pleased to see the man.

“You can call me king.” If words could be a bitch slap that would be it.

The Magister gave a slight nod before turning to the queen “Is it true what Northman says?”

“Yes, Magister.” She spoke softly like a small child that knew she was in trouble.

The Magister sighed “Then I’m afraid I’m going to have to arrest you.” He began to approach the queen, “By the powers invested in me by the Authority I hereby-“

“The Authority?” Russell laughed cutting off the vampire Miranda Rights “Are you serious? Who are the Authority?” Russell smiled tightly at the older man “What gave them the authority?”

I saw Eric go to Pam’s side “Are you okay?” He asked her.

Pam nodded, “Pixie isn’t.” She whispered.   I saw Eric’s eyes meet mine I could see the worry in them; unable to speak I nodded to him to help Pam first, I was in pain but I at least wasn’t being burned.  Eric reached for something to cover his hand so he could remove the silver from Pam.

“SHE STAYS ON THE TABLE!” The Magister snapped “And she” he pointed at me “Stays caged and collared.”  I could see Eric tenses has he fought the urge to rip of the man’s head.  After the quick outburst, Russell and the Magister returned to their discussion about the Authority.  It was clear that to me that even though I had only a vague idea of what the Authority; Russell was against it and the Magister was for it.   “I am forbidden to conduct any rights of alignment unless specifically authori-“

“Unless specifically authorized to do so by the Authority.”  Russell interrupted him, his hand miming a talking mouth. “Yes, well, perhaps you have not quite grasped the subtext of our earlier exchange, but there’s a new fucking Authority in town.” Russell snapped as the three of them stood over Pam who still laid on the table.

“I swear fealty now and always to the one true vampire Authority.”  The Magister began to recite like a pledge, however Russell was becoming quickly annoyed.  

I wasn’t even aware that Russell had removed me from the cage and switched Pam and the Magister around until I felt Eric’s cool arms round my waist.  I collapsed into him not eating or drinking anything for almost three days had finally taken its toll on me now that I was standing on my own.  I felt Eric’s icy fingers make quick work of removing the shackles and collar. I heard the clicking of Eric’s fangs and saw him biting his wrist before placing it to my lips, “Drink.” He whispered the command in my ear and I welcomed the warm copper taste.  His blood was soothing, refreshing almost.  As I drank from him and I wondered vampires always feel so cold but their blood was always warm.  “Good girl, that’s enough for now.”  I let out a whimper when I felt my shoulder slowly pop itself back into place.  Eric kept a firm arm around my waist keeping me up, his blood helped me feel better but I was still weak.

I turned to Pam and saw that the burns from the silver wear healing.  “Are you ok?” I asked lowly my voice still a little hoarse from the shock collar, though I was sure it would be fine in a few minutes after Eric’s blood had more time to work.  Her face grimaced before she gave me a small nod.  Eric placed a hand on the small of her back giving her some comfort.

I heard the Magister scream, I turned my head in time to see Russell pull the stake part of the Magister’s can from his shoulder.  “You can dish it out, but you sure can’t take it, can, Magister?” I smirked at her comment letting out a brief ‘ha.’

“Let’s see how this plays out, Pam, Emilia.” Eric stated not taking his eyes off what was happing in the room.  “You can always taunt later.”  He promised.

“Can we hurry this along? I’m getting cold feet.”  Sophie Anne complained as Russell made another hole in the vile man’s torso.

“Oh of course my little pudding.”  Russell smiled before turn back to his pray, “This could be so much less painful if you just said the fucking words!”  Russell spit in the Magister’s face.  The Magister once again started to recite his oath but stopped when the end of his can laid over his heart. “Ah, ah, ah.  Your call” Was all Russell had to say.

I could not help but smile a little when I saw how defeated Pam and I’s tormentor looked.  “I hereby pronounce you husband and wife.”

“Thank you.” The King of Mississippi removed the cane from its precarious position.

“Yes thanks, I am so happy I could bleed.”  Sarcasm dripped from the Queen’s lips.   The two monarchs sealed their nuptials a double cheek kiss.

“Congratulations, your Majesties.” Eric was first to speak.

“Yes, Congrats.” Pam clapped with fake enthusiasm.

Russel gave a flourish of a bow as Sophie Anne made her way to the stairs. “You do realize the authority will never recognize- “

“You see this is where you and I differ Magister.” Russell drawled.  “I truly believe they will and soon.” He bit out walking up to the man pointing the sharp end of the cane in his face. “Andalusia, the Iberian Peninsula. Later 9th century, no?” Russell asked him before shouting something in a language I did not understand. “Whatever, it’s a long enough time for you to have outgrown your blind allegiance to the Authority and their rule of law.  There is only one law: The law of nature the survival of the fittest.” He spat.  “And we need to take this world back from the humans,” my eyes widen realizing he was not too fond of my kind I pressed myself closer to Eric. “not placate them with billboards and PR campaigns while they destroy it. That is not authority that is abdicating authority.”

“Your Majesty, shall we?”  Eric raised a brow indicating they had something else to do.  

Russell looked bewildered for a moment before speaking “We shall.”  He started walking towards the stairs, Eric turned me in his arms gently pushing me up the steps with the other two female vamps following.  “Actually no.”  Russell proclaimed drawing are attention, “Say hello to the true death.”  He said extending the cane in his arm before he swung the cane chopping the Magisters head off like he was hitting a golf ball. We all watched it fly across the damp room before crashing to the ground like a water balloon his body soon followed in the same destruction.  “Now we shall.”  Was all Russell said until he passed Eric and I on the stairs.  “It was lovely meeting you Miss Emilia, I look forward to seeing you as one of us in due time.”

‘One of us? A vampire?’ I thought to myself before I forced myself to speak, “Yes it was a pleasure as well your Majesty.”

Russell looked from me then to Eric, “Tend to your human, but I expect to see you before sunset.”

“Of course, your Majesty.”  Eric bowed his head a little.

“Come pudding we have your things to collect.”  With that the two monarchs were gone in a gust of wind.

“What the fuck was that about?”  I asked as Eric started to lead me up the stairs again.

“I will discuss it later with you, first you need food then I am taking you home; where you will rest, and wait for me to return.”

“Eric I am not some princess you can lock away in a tower when things get dicey.”  I stopped turning to him.  

“You are when what I am about to do could very well endanger your life more than it already is.”  He scolded me like was a child.  

“What are you going to do?” I asked him worried.  “You’re not going to…”  My voice trailed off as my knees gave out and my world changed from the dark dungeon of Fangtasia to dimly lit office where I saw Eric with another vampire as they looked at trinkets in case behind the desk.  I watched as Eric stared at what looked like a golden crown. ‘Wait I recognize that.’   It was the same crown in that dream I had with Eric’s father. Then that meant this was the man who killed Eric’s family.

“It’s been a while, Talbot” I heard Eric whisper coyly looking at the other man.

“Since you’ve been with a man?” Asked the darker skinned vampire.

“Since I’ve been with a vampire.” I then watched as Eric turned the other vampire around before bending him over the desk, I was about to close my eyes when I heard a grotesque ripping sound and saw the man who Eric started to fuck pop like a bubble.

My vision flashed again and I found myself sitting laying on the couch in Eric’s office with him leaning over me.  I blinked a few times trying to right myself and make sure this was reality before asking, “Whose Talbot?  And why does he have your father’s crown.”

“Talbot showed me my father’s crown? Where?” Eric asked urgently.

“In some office, I don’t know where, I only know the vampire’s name because you said before you started fucking him then you ripped out his spine and he went pop.”  I answered quickly.

“Talbot is Russell’s lover, Talbot is too young to be the one that had my family slaughtered. That office we were in was more than likely Russell’s.  Did you see anything else?”  I shook my head, Eric took a moment to calculate the options he had in his hand.  “Change of plans you will stay here with Pam, I will go pick something up for you to eat and a new set of clothes before I take you somewhere more secure, before I return to Mississippi.”  He explained as he stood to his full height.  I stood up following him.

“Eric wait.  Where am I going to stay now?  Are you seriously going to fuck him?”  I was not fond of the idea of him fucking someone else.

Eric was in my face as the last words left my lips, his movements surprised me causing me to fall back on the couch.  “You are not going home now because Russell knows your scent and your importance to me, I am going to be taking you to that shifters place I am cashing in a favor he owes me.  You will be safer there he’ll be able to smell any of wears Russell has in his control coming and his equally pungent wet dog smell will mask yours.”  He let out a sound that was somewhere between a moan and a growl.  “I am so close to achieving something that I have been wanting for more than a thousand years. And I will be damned if I stop now this close.  I am putting you as far away from this danger I can.  If Godric was answering my calls I would have you with him but he is currently somewhere in the UK trying to find answers for you, for us.” Eric sighed heavily before resting his head on my shoulder “And no I will not fuck him, I’ll kill him before that even happens, you are the only one I fuck now.”  He nipped at my ear causing me to blush.  Vampires claimed that humans were so emotional but being with Eric is sometimes like playing Russian roulette.  “Now I will be gone no more than half an hour, I will have Pam bring you something to drink, get some rest.”

“Eric,” I whispered.  “One more thing, what did Russell mean… when he spoke to me?”

“I needed to convince him to come with me to save you and Pam.  He does not see humans as anything more than food.  So, I played on his emotions a little and likened our relationship to his with Talbot, telling him that once you were done completing a few more human things I would be turning you.”  He explained and he must have saw my worry in my face, “Don’t worry I will only turn you if you ask.  But it is something I do hope for now, especially after what we learned in Dallas but you’ve learned more than anyone that the future can be changed.” Eric pressed his cold lips to my forehead.  “I have to go, rest, I will be back shortly.”  With that he was gone in a gust of wind.

  I sat on the couch in Sam’s home as he and Eric talked on the porch.  I couldn’t make out their voices but I could see Sam fuming a little and Eric had his little smirk.  ‘He likes teasing too much.’  There was a brief lull before the two of them reentered the house.  “Sam will watch you until either myself or Pam comes to get you.  You have clothes and some of your things to keep you entertained I don’t know how long this will last; hopefully not loner than a day or two. You are to do what he says and stay either in this house or at the bar, do you understand?” Eric spoke firmly to me like a parent does a child who is going to a sleepover for the first time; I nodded feeling too tired to argue with him.  “Good girl, and when this is all done I will take you on a vacation to where ever you wish to go.”  Kissing my lips, he whispered “Behave and I will see you soon.”  And once again he was gone, at least this time I am not trapped in is his dungeon.

“Alright, you can take the bed you look about ready to drop.”  Sam said from the kitchenet as he pulled a beer out of the fridge.

“You don’t have to do that the couch is fine.”  I said patting the cushion next to me.

“Nah you take the bed it will be safer anyway farther way from the door and the window there are too small for any wolf to get in.  And besides I’m going to go out running for a few minutes to make sure your scent isn’t too strong.  It’ll be normal for it to be around here but I just want to make sure also I’ll be able to recognize any other new smell that may show up faster.”  He finished his beer quickly.  “Just let me change the sheets and then you can sleep all you want; bathroom is the last door on the right sorry for the mess.”  He was down the hall before I could say otherwise.