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blossom-hwa · 5 years ago

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Believe a Demon - JISUNG

two years of darkness is officially over and i’ve got another story! wow look at me being productive what a fucking miracle

@chenle you told me at some point you were looking forward to jisung’s, well here it is! this installment is dedicated to you and @renjunious - dude, i don’t think you know just how much your reblog inspired me for this story. i hadn’t been able to do much with it for like a month, but after i saw your comment, i wrote out the last few scenes i needed to complete this :) thank you so much! <3 <3

it’s a given but thanks again to @chenle for the idea of a guardian devil! the post that inspired this all is linked here, give it a read!

Pairing: Jisung x fem!reader

Genre: angst, fluff, angel/demon!au

Notes: reading “Trust a Demon” isn’t required to understand most of the story, but it might make some things less confusing.

Word Count: 6.3k

Believe a demon, for they tell no lies.

NCT Masterlist | Angels and Demons

Believe me, Y/N, I only ever wanted to see you smile.

. . . . .

Jisung is eleven. His birthday is in ten minutes.

He grasps the letter tightly, nearly crushing the envelope between his sweaty clutches. He’s afraid the sweat will stain the paper but he also doesn’t want to let go for fear that this will all turn out to be a dream and disappear.

Dimly he wonders where Taeyong is. He promised to come over to Jisung’s house to watch him open the letter. When Jisung first asked him to come over, Taeyong had laughed in surprise, asking why Jisung needed him to open a letter.

“Because if I get in, it’s only thanks to you,” the younger boy had said solemnly.

It hadn’t taken much longer for Taeyong to agree.

A short knock sounds on the door. Jisung answers it, white-faced, still clenching the unopened letter between his clammy fingers.

“Whoa, Sungie, you look really nervous.” Taeyong laughs, ruffling Jisung’s hair. “I’m sure you got in. I’ve known people who got in who were way worse than you and had less than half the work ethic.”

Jisung nods mutely, walking back to the couch.

The lights flicker once. Taeyong raises an eyebrow. “Better open it before the lights go out,” he jokes, but Jisung suddenly rips the envelope open with a vengeance. The letter slips onto the ground, still folded in thirds.

For a minute, both boys simply look at the crisp sheet of paper. Then Jisung opens his mouth, heart hammering in his chest.

“You read it,” he says. “Read it and tell me what it says.”

“You sure?” Taeyong picks up the paper, carefully keeping it closed. “Like, are you -”

“Yes.”

Without another word, the older boy flips the letter open and begins to read out loud.

“Congratulations -”

Jisung snatches the letter out of Taeyong’s hand.

“I got in,” he whispers, within seconds of reading the first line. “Taeyong, I got in!”

“Yeah, I know,” Taeyong says, looking slightly miffed. “I was going to tell you that, like you asked me too -”

His words are lost when Jisung attacks him in a gigantic hug. Slightly startled, he wavers for a bit, then wraps his arms around the younger boy as well.

“Thanks, Taeyong,” Jisung mumbles into the older boy’s jacket. A few tears drip onto the worn material.

Taeyong ruffles Jisung’s hair again and pulls the boy close. “Anything for you, Sungie. Happy birthday,” he whispers.

Taeyong remains with Jisung until the crack of dawn when he leaves the house with a last, long hug from Jisung. “See ya, Jisung,” he says before disappearing out the door.

Jisung doesn’t see Taeyong again.

~ ~ ~

Maybe that was the tipping point, the point where Jisung became paranoid that everyone was going to leave him. His parents were basically already gone, but then Taeyong left that day and just… never came back. Despite his promise that he would see Jisung off on his first day of school.

Taeyong had never broken a promise before.

It hurts, even as Jisung stands in front of the doors to the academy, wishing Taeyong were with him. But he knows the older boy must have had his reasons. Even if he doesn’t know them.

So he steels himself and walks through the open doors.

That morning, he makes a couple of friends. A short, bright-eyed art student named Lee Minhyun, and a taller, soft-spoken singer named Park Jung. Minhyun has been at the academy for a year, while Jung has been there for three.

And then he sees you walking down the halls of school in your graceful way, hair tied up, a slight, soft smile on your lips. He sees the way you greet everyone, the respect with which everyone treats you, feels your sweetness envelop him in warmth.

At the end of dance class, you plop next to him on the floor, taking a long drink from your water bottle. “Hey, I’m Y/N!” you chirp. “You’re the new guy, Jisung, right?”

Jisung nods silently, drinking from his own bottle. “Hi,” he ventures cautiously.

“You dance really well,” you say sweetly. “People say you haven’t had any formal training! You’re seriously amazing!”

Jisung dimly wonders who said that, how they found out, and why, but smiles a little shyly anyway. “Thanks. You’re really good too,” he says, gaining a little confidence.

And then the bell rings, signaling the end of the period. “Aw, man,” you say, shoving your bottle in your bag. “It was really nice meeting you, Jisung. You should give me tips on dance! Oh, what’s your next class? I can take you there, I know the school’s kind of confusing.”

“… History. Room 8B.” Jisung internally groans. He hates history.

“Hey, I have history too! I promise it isn’t that bad. Mrs. Park is a really good teacher. Or so I’ve heard,” you promise, picking up your bag. “Let’s go!”

A crush. It’s the first time Jisung has ever had a crush. The girls at his old elementary school were too clique-y, standoffish, or just plain horrible for him to ever really like any of them. But you? You’re sweet beyond words, and Jisung’s had so little sweetness in his short life that he just really wants to be with you as much as he can.

When Jisung waves at you in the hall next day, starry-eyed, Minhyun eyes him knowingly. “Everyone’s had a crush on Y/N at one time or another,” he says later in the cafeteria. “Everyone, Jisung.”

“Even the girls,” Jung quips. And then the three burst into laughter.

“What are you guys laughing about?” Suddenly, you’re standing by the table, lunch in hand, smiling your same wide smile. “Can I join?”

Minhyun responds first, his bright smile making another appearance. “Of course!” he chirps, moving around his things to make room for you. “We were just talking about how everyone loves you, even the girls.”

You snort a little, unpacking your lunch. “Shut up, Min.” The slight smirk on your lips hints at a mischief that Jisung hasn’t seen before but thinks he likes very much.

Conversation flows smoothly at the table, even though Jisung and Jung are a little stutter-y at first, but soon voices and laughs take over and Jisung is feeling a kind of happy that he hasn’t felt in a long time. The kind of happy that he felt when he was with Taeyong. The kind of happy that he felt when he was with friends.

And gazing into the warm, bright eyes of his newfound friends, he thinks to himself, I never want to leave this school.

I never want this to end.

~ ~ ~

Jisung celebrates his fifteenth birthday at Minhyun’s house. It’s nothing big. You and Jung are also present, and there’s dinner, cake, and lots of laughter. When it comes time for Jisung to leave, Minhyun’s mother notices him dragging his feet and offers for them all to have a sleepover.

Loud cheers follow her proposition.

The four of you build a blanket fort in the living room, despite the strange logistics of your gangly teenage bodies being packed into a small tent of blankets and pillows. It’s pretty uncomfortable – Jung’s foot is pressing into Minhyun’s ribs, you’re curled up at Jisung’s side, and Minhyun is squashed between you and Jung. And despite this, Jisung finds himself nearly crying with laughter with you and the other boys and for the first time in years he feels like a child again.

For hours the four of you talk, cry, laugh, and shove each other around in the sheets, talking about anything and everything, crying about how old you’re getting, laughing about teachers, and shoving each other because why not. Pretty soon, the fort is in shambles, and the four of you are crying tears of laughter as you try to untangle yourselves from the blankets.

Jisung catches a glimpse of Mrs. Kim smiling in exasperation before she disappears back into the kitchen, coming out with a few tubs of ice cream and setting them on the nearby coffee table. Jisung wishes Mrs. Kim was his mother.

It’s nearing two in the morning when the four of you finally tire out, gasps of laughter turning into breathless wheezing and playful shoves into soft hugs. Minhyun and Jung fall asleep first, tangled in blankets, and then it’s just you and Jisung and the lone lamp you’ve lit up for light.

“Had a good birthday, then?” you murmur. The light illuminates your face, making you seem almost ghostly.

Jisung nods. “The best.”

“That’s good.” There’s a beat of silence. “I have another gift for you, you know.”

“What?” You’ve already given him something, a leather necklace with a charm of a dancer dangling from it. “You don’t need to give me -”

“Let me finish, Jisung.” You shuffle around a little, and then you’re sitting, pressed right up against him.

His heart begins to beat faster.

“I don’t know if you’re going to like this gift,” you murmur. “But if you do, give me a sign.”

Your hands cup his cheeks slowly, your hands smooth against his skin. Jisung stares into your eyes, not really believing this is happening.

It can’t be, right? This is something he’s only ever dreamed about. You, with your horde of admirers, picking him? Poor, strange, him?

But then your lips press against his and Jisung’s eyes fall shut in bliss and he melts into your touch like it was made for him.

The kiss feels like it goes on for so long, but you finally break away. Jisung feels empty for a moment, but your eyes are uncertain and a tiny, shy smile is playing on your cheeks. “Sorry –” you start.

Then Jisung pulls you back in for another kiss. It’s even better than the first, now that he knows what to expect and knows he should cherish it.

“So you did like it,” you breathe when he finally breaks away. The smile is still there.

“I did,” Jisung mumbles. His cheeks are painted with red. It’s the first time he’s ever done something so bold.

But really, he would do it again and again, just for the intoxicating feeling of your lips on his. Pure, giddy joy has spread through his limbs, and he wants nothing more than to pull you in once more.

So he does.

At four in the morning, Jisung’s eyes finally shut in exhaustion. You stay awake a bit longer, and thank the universe you did.

“Don’t leave me.”

Jisung isn’t really awake when he says this, it’s more sleep-talking than anything. But hearing the soft murmur nearly breaks your heart.

You snuggle into the sheets, curling up next to him. “I won’t,” you murmur.

And then you fall asleep.

~ ~ ~

Every day that Jisung goes to school, it’s like a new flower blooms in his chest. He never particularly liked school before because of the run-down buildings, dark bathrooms, and the smell of cigarette smoke and weed haunting the halls, but the bright rooms and clear sunshine of the academy feel nothing like the public school back in his neighborhood.

Home. The word tastes strange in Jisung’s mouth. Is my house really home? he wonders, trying to pay attention to Minhyun’s rambling rant about some kid in his math class, but he can’t help but think.

No, he decides. Home isn’t his house. Home is where he feels like someone cares. Taeyong used to be home, he thinks, but now that he’s gone, you guys have taken his place.

You catch Jisung’s eye as he takes another bite of rice and smirk slightly in that mischievous way of yours before breaking into laughter at something Jung said. Having caught the end of the joke, Jisung joins in, too, feeling another few years of weight lift off his shoulders. You look over at him in adoration and press a quick kiss to his lips.

Minhyun and Jung yell, catching the attention of many others in the cafeteria, and normally Jisung would shy away and hide his face in your shoulder. But this time, he just laughs, then kisses you.

Hoots burst out in the tables around and he receives more than a few smiles and frowns, but even the lunch monitor coming over and telling you two to quit the PDA doesn’t ruin his mood.

And as he looks around at his friends, and they look back at him with equal happiness and care, he knows it is true.

You guys are his home.

~ ~ ~

“Jisung!” He turns around to see you running to him, hair flying out of your bun, waving around a piece of paper. “You should see this!”

The paper is blue. Your favorite shade of blue.

“Yeah, I know, I ran out of normal paper so I had to print the flyer on colored paper,” you say impatiently. “But read it! It’s a great opportunity for you!”

“But don’t I need to put together an audition tape?” he asks, looking up.

“Details, details.” You wave him off excitedly. “I know it’s a bit last minute, but we can record tomorrow at lunch in Kim’s room. We’ll use my phone, then we’ll set everything up and send it off! If all goes well, we can celebrate you getting past the first round on your birthday! That’s when the results come out, don’t they?”

Your excitement is infectious, and Jisung finds himself smiling. “Yeah,” he grins. “Thanks, Y/N.”

“Anything for you, Jisung!” And then you press a fleeting kiss to his lips before running off down the hall, and Jisung doesn’t see you for the rest of the day.

The hours pass, and finally Jisung is walking home from the bus stop, sweaty and tired from practice but glowing with excitement. He can’t wait for tomorrow.

This audition might be his chance to actually move out of the hole he lives in.

The sun begins to fall, and Jisung knows it’s a dangerous time. Despite his exhaustion, he tries to keep a sharp eye out for danger, even though he’s sure he has no enemies. He’d always been careful not to annoy anyone, not to piss anyone off, because where he lives… that could be detrimental.

Too bad that Jisung’s parents were never as cautious as their son.

It is dusk when he is cornered. It is dusk when he is shoved to the ground in front of a shady building, hauled upright, and forced to stare into the eyes of one of his neighbors. His initial struggle stops when he sees those who surround him.

Jisung always knew Hae Jinyoung was slightly unhinged. He had anger issues, possibly bipolar disorder, and long story short, Jisung always tried to be nice to Jinyoung. Nothing more, nothing less. Not friends, not enemies.

He never really thought that Jinyoung would corner him.

“Your parents owe mine money,” Jinyoung hisses.

Oh. That’s why.

“I -”

“Shut up!” Jinyoung’s fist flies into the side of the building and Jisung winces, feeling blood trickle down his skin.

When did Jinyoung get so strong?

“So where’s the money?”

Jisung has no idea. He tells Jinyoung that.

“Shut the fuck up!”

Jisung has a cold, sinking feeling that this is the end.

“You think you’re so much better than us, just because you could leave? Because you could get into that stupid art school? You thought you could leave, just like that?”

Jisung can’t decipher the swirling emotion in Jinyoung’s troubled eyes. He never will – at least, not when he is alive. His mind is woozy, and as Jinyoung shoves his head back into the wall again, Jisung feels something liquid trickle through his hair.

Someone rips his bag from his back, rifling through his school papers. Jinyoung snatches out the blue flyer you gave Jisung, and Jisung has just enough sense left to get a little more worried.

“School of the Arts Dance Competition?” Jinyoung reads, letting out a derisive laugh. He tears the flyer into pieces scattering them to the wind. Jisung slides down the side of the wall, unable to continue standing.

“Ten thousand dollars, a guaranteed admission to university?” He laughs harder, hysterically. “You thought you could actually leave?!”

Everything hurts. Jinyoung’s voice hurts. Jisung wonders if the painful throb in his temple will ever go away.

There’s a shout, and then a million others follow suit. Something hits his stomach, then his chest, then his head.

Thud.

Jisung groans. Blood drips down his face.

“You could never have left.” Jinyoung’s words move slowly through Jisung’s mind. His voice sounds sluggish, as though it’s coming through waves of water. “You can’t just leave.”

Jisung is trapped in his own sluggish mind, flickering in and out of consciousness. A low groan of pain escapes his lips but no one is around to hear him. Everyone has already gone.

Agony.

Your face flickers through Jisung’s mind. He can hear your laugh, see your smile, feel your breath against his skin and the warmth you bring wherever you go. He wants to get up, he wants so badly to stand and hobble home, but he can’t.

Don’t make me leave Y/N.

Don’t make that the last time she will see me.

He was the one that was terrified everyone else would leave. Now he’s the one that’s leaving. The thought makes him fight harder.

Don’t make me leave her.

Don’t make me leave any of them.

I don’t want to leave.

I don’t want to go.

Don’t make me go.

But the pain is making his brain fuzzy and he can feel his body shutting down on him.

I’m sorry.

Jung, Minhyun, I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

Y/N, I’m so sorry.

Please, don’t make me leave.

Let me see her smile one last time.

One last time.

God, your smile. Jisung pictures it with the last waning bits of his strength.

Your smile.

I’m so sorry.

Maybe it’s this internal struggle that keeps him alive for more than an hour. He knows he is dying but he doesn’t want to. He can’t bear to imagine the faces of his friends, the solemnity of his school once they hear of his death, but most of all, he can’t bear to imagine the pain on your face.

Please.

Your smile…

I’m sorry.

. . . . .

Believe me, Y/N, I never wanted anyone to leave, least of all me.

. . . . .

Jisung hates leaving. More accurately, he hates leaving people he loves, and he hates it when people leave him.

He isn’t sure which is worse.

First it was Taeyong. The older boy just disappeared from Jisung’s life, and Jisung never really stopped looking for him. Any time there was a rare knock at his door, he would eagerly peek from the window, hoping to see the tall, dark-eyed boy and his chiseled face. But it was never him.

At least Jisung somewhat reunited with Taeyong. The older boy was the one who collected Jisung’s soul when he died. Of all the things in the world, Jisung never thought Taeyong would be a messenger of the dead, but then again, he also never thought angels and demons were real entities.

After Taeyong, it was his parents. Even before Taeyong they had barely been present in his life, but their visits home became more and more infrequent until Jisung only saw them once every one or two weeks. No one ever knew because Jisung never said anything, but it still made a small hole in his heart.

True, his parents had never really shown him love, and Jisung isn’t sure that he even liked them. They just left him with debt and indirectly caused his death, since Jinyoung had found Jisung because of their debt. But still, they were his parents. And they’d never really done anything explicit to hurt him.

Despite what Jisung probably should have felt about it, their disappearance hurt.

Until then, it had only ever been other people leaving him. Jisung swore to himself he would never do the same.

And then he left, left for the first time – left the world of the living for a place among the dead, left loud cities and dirty neighborhoods for pristine walls and pure thoughts, left his friends on earth for angels in the clouds.

For years, he thinks that was the worst experience of his conscious mind. Chenle takes him back to earth once to see you one last time and he unconsciously chooses the day of his funeral. Seeing the tear-stained faces of his friends makes him freeze, and Chenle has to dig his nails into Jisung’s palm to get him to snap back to reality.

Then Jisung sees you, flanked on both sides by Minhyun and Jung, a blank expression on your face but tears still rolling down your cheeks. He wants to run up to you, to hug you, to kiss the tears away and make up for all the times he wasn’t there for you, but Chenle holds him back, a solemn expression in his eyes.

“She can’t see you, Jisung,” he says quietly. “Only some certain exceptions can, and she isn’t one of them.”

For years, he thinks that is the worst experience he has ever had – seeing you in so much pain, being the cause of said pain, and not being able to help you through it. His heart aches for you, but he knows the ache will only get worse if he tries to see you. He really could go to find you at any point, but he won’t allow himself to.

And then he leaves heaven.

Haechan has never had a love. Yes, Jisung knows he loves his friends, but he rarely says it and Jisung has always known Haechan ached for a romantic love. Someone to share his heart with in a way he can’t with his friends.

But by the stars, it seems Haechan won’t ever have a break. He falls in love with the girl he guards, a laughing, quick-witted girl with the same blue eyes as his.

Love between an angel and a human is prohibited. Forbidden.

Impure.

So Haechan is taken.

Tensions had been growing within Jisung’s group ever since Renjun’s best friend – probably girlfriend, but Renjun would never admit it – left him for the demons, with Jeno and Chenle remaining by his side while the other four, including Jisung, were more sympathetic to his friend. But the tensions were heavily veiled, always hidden by a cover of increasingly strained laughs and grins.

Haechan’s impending trial finally forces the decision.

It is Mark who comes up to Jisung three days before the trial and asks him if he truly believes in the angels’ cause. There is uncertainty in his eyes and he looks guarded, even scared, but he really has no reason to fear, Jisung thinks. Ten years have passed since he died, providing ample time to reflect, and Jisung needs only a few moments to think before giving Mark his answer.

Jisung thinks his death was unfair, and many would have thought it reasonable that he be staunchly on the side of the angels. After all, his own guardian angel had told him it was unfair that he had died so early in his life and even apologized for his failure, and those around had agreed. But if there is one thing Jisung has learned from his stint on earth and his years in heaven, it is that nothing is ever fair.

Was it fair that Jisung was born into such poverty while others were born into wealth and affluence? Absolutely not. Was it fair that Jisung died so early when he had done nothing wrong while rich and corrupt persons maintained their wealthy lives for so much longer? Absolutely not.

But was it also fair that Jisung had found Taeyong when he was young, Taeyong, who kept him from going the path Jinyoung had? Absolutely not. Was it fair that Jisung found his passion for dance so early on and subsequently had many more opportunities to break free from his poverty than those who did not know what they wanted? Absolutely not.

So his answer to Mark is no.

When Mark tells him that Jaemin has found a way to escape from heaven, a way to get to hell, a way for Haechan to escape without being cursed to live forever without companion, Jisung’s heart leaps. Eyes hopeful, he asks if the others are leaving as well – Renjun, Jeno, and Chenle.

And then Mark shakes his head slowly, says that Renjun, Jeno, and Chenle would never have agreed. Jisung wants to scream, to yell at Mark, to ask him whether he even questioned them, but deep down inside, he knows Mark is right. Renjun is still hung over his best friend leaving him for “the other place,” and Jeno is staunchly on his side.

As for Chenle, though he is not so antagonistic towards demons as the other two, he still believes in the angels’ cause. He explained it to Jisung more than once, and Jisung understood. But he could not fathom how Chenle’s beliefs would turn him against a friend so easily.

Perhaps he is a hypocrite. After all, his faith in the opposite of what Chenle believed was what led him to leave, to turn away from heaven and the angels.

Jisung thought that leaving you, then seeing you that last time would be the worst experience of his life, but a new contender for the position rises the day he, Mark, Jaemin, and Haechan leave heaven for hell.

Leaving you had been an involuntary act. It hurt so greatly because he didn’t want to leave, and he loved you so much. But leaving heaven was voluntary. And it hurt so greatly because despite his love for the three friends he left behind, he still wanted to leave.

Never in his life did Jisung think that he would want to leave his friends. But that day proved him wrong and his carefully structured view of himself shattered.

He comforts himself with the thought that he had been growing apart from his angel friends for a long time, anyway. He had never felt as close with them as he felt with you. His fellow demons are a different story, but mostly because he has been with them for so long.

Jisung knew you for so much less time, a mere five years compared to the nearing ten he has had with the demons. And yet the love hasn’t faded.

Even now, as Jisung sits, staring at his new tattoo, your name inked into the curve of his wrist, the love burns as bright as ever within his heart. He didn’t want to see you before, but now by some trick of fate, your old guardian nearly failed, and now he has you as one of his assignments.

No one knows the extent of his story except Chenle, and he hasn’t spoken to his old friend in years. And he isn’t about to tell anyone soon. So when Mark asks him why he has such a long face, he lets Haechan make a joke about it and then diverts the topic to something else.

But the tattoo serves as a reminder – a reminder of you, a reminder that you are still alive, a reminder of his love, a reminder of his love that is still alive.

And Jisung doesn’t know whether to love it or hate it.

~ ~ ~

The first time Jisung has to save you, he very nearly almost fails because he is so taken aback by how little you’ve changed. Sure, you’re a bit taller, a little skinnier, face slightly more chiseled, but Jisung still feels like he’s been blown back in time.

And then a loud honk sounds in his ears and he remembers what he’s there for, and just before you’re hit he shoves you out of the way, just enough that the car whizzes by and you’re safe.

“Suriel,” Lucifer says in his cold voice, and Jisung flinches at the use of his God-given name. He vaguely wonders why Lucifer still uses the God-given names when he is supposed to be God’s opposite, but he is pulled back to reality with the next words. “You must take care not to let your emotions get the better of you.”

Thankfully, it’s ruled that Jisung will not serve punishment, that the incident was not close enough to be considered a near failure. Still, Mark admonishes him when Jisung walks out of Lucifer’s throne room, looking shaken but still standing. And since Mark doesn’t know about everything that happened, Jisung doesn’t say anything back, just nods and takes it. He knows Mark only has his best interests at heart.

But by the stars, he wishes someone knew. Wishes someone could understand. And he wants to tell someone but he just can’t. So he goes on, keeping his thoughts to himself.

It’s torture. After seeing you for that split second when he pushed you away, Jisung is torn between wanting to see you again and wanting to keep his distance like usual. It’d be easier for him if he did the latter, but the pull of the former is strong.

So he coexists like this. You don’t get involved in near-fatal incidents nearly as much as some of the other people Jisung has and is guarding, but it’s often enough that he just wants to kiss you, pull you close, and tell you to be more careful.

And that’s also weird, because his feelings are clearly the same about you, but you’re older. You’ve changed. No longer does happy innocence dance in your eyes, no longer do you speak with such fervor, such cheer. Sadness has replaced the innocence, maturity has replaced the cheer.

It suits you. Jisung always knew you would mature into yourself, and he’s happy to see that he was right. But it doesn’t help the ache in his chest.

What wouldn’t he have given to watch you grow by your side and not from above?

It doesn’t help that every year, you go to his grave on his death anniversary and talk to him. He found out on accident – he was just walking the streets that day and happened to see you, and after a moment’s debate, he followed.

Seeing his grave is weird, even from a distance. There are some chips on it and his name is faded and little things are inked into the stone and Jisung feels like he’s violating some kind of code. Some kind of rule. He doesn’t get close enough to make out the words on the stone – he doesn’t want to see it.

You tell him about your day, about your week, about your year, and you ask questions that he answers with words you cannot hear because damn it all, you are not an exception, and Jisung wants to tear out his heart.

Because by the stars, he loves you. And your words just make it harder for him to let go.

~ ~ ~

Jisung would be thirty-two. It is exactly two weeks before his birthday, the same day he died.

Jisung is standing there when you visit his grave – off-schedule, he might add – to tell him that you’re finally getting married.

It doesn’t matter. You can’t see him anyway.

Jisung is standing there when you talk about this strange feeling of betrayal. It shouldn’t be there, you argue, because he’s been dead for nearly twenty years. And yet there’s still a small part of you that can’t move on. But this man you’ve met, this man you’re in love with, is willing to take that, because he loves you so much. And truly, you love him too.

Maybe it’s because you never got to say goodbye, you reason. Maybe it’s because it will always feel like things were unfinished between you two. There was no expectation that Jisung would die so early, so suddenly, so without warning.

And Jisung regrets that. But there isn’t anything he can do about it.

So he understands. After all these years, he can’t seem to let go of you either. He read somewhere that first love dies hard and now he knows that is the truth.

Just as he always did, he sends a curl of soft wind to wisp around your shoulders. It’s the only thing he can do, the only power he has to comfort you.

It’s all he can do to tell you it’s okay.

At times like this, Jisung sorely wishes you were an exception. Maybe you two could have continued things, made things work. After all, that’s what he sees Mark doing, though the elder demon is oblivious to Jisung’s knowledge. He’s seen how Mark’s eyes have softened since he got his latest assignment, how his words are less sharp and his face less pained.

Jisung wants that. He wants it so badly. Maybe, if you were an exception, things wouldn’t have ended so abruptly.

But somewhere, in the back of Jisung’s mind, he knows you weren’t destined for that. That he wasn’t destined for that. And it hurts, yes, but it is the truth.

Jisung watched a drama one time. It was when he was trying to learn Chinese, and one of his friends had to help translate for him. But though he doesn’t remember most of the drama, he remembers one phrase.

You yuan wu fen. Fate without destiny. A couple that was fated to come together, but not fated to stay together.

As Jisung stares at you, kneeling at his grave, he thinks that maybe that’s you and him.

When you leave, having placed the flowers before his grave, Jisung remains where he is, staring at the letters etched into the stone. It’s the first time he’s seen the tombstone up close.

Wonderful student, passionate dancer, and loving friend.

Underneath is his name, then his birthday and the day he died. Jisung swallows.

Scattered on the stone are a few other small messages that are clearly not supposed to be there but that Jisung greatly appreciates nonetheless.

I miss you already, Jisung. I’ll never forget you. – Jung

I’ll carry on your dream for you, Jisung. – Minhyun

You’ll always be my first love. There is no way I could ever forget you. And some part of me will still love you, forever and ever, no matter what. – Y/N

And finally:

We will miss you.

Signed beneath those four simple words are the names of every single member of his dance class.

Staring at the signatures, Jisung wonders. How many people from that class till remember him? How many can still recall his name, his face, his passion for dance? They all loved him, probably, in some way or another, and Jisung still loves them all, just as he loves you. Jisung still vividly remembers their faces, but the world of the living is different from the realm of the dead.

Maybe they have all moved on.

And as Jisung stares at the chipped stone that bears his name, he thinks maybe it is time he moved on as well.

~ ~ ~

Jisung watches your marriage. It’s the first time he’s allowed himself to watch a milestone in your life, and he’s glad he did. Jung and Minhyun are there as two of the groomsmen. Jisung’s surprised but happy you all stayed in touch for so long.

In your white dress, you are stunning. Jisung watches the groom as much as he watches you, though, and is satisfied to see the pure love and acceptance in his eyes as you walk down the aisle. Jisung has always been an intuitive person and his first instincts are typically right. His gut tells him that your fiancé is a good man.

It is only with the slightest bitterness that Jisung listens to you recite your vows, feels your joy when you say “I do,” watches your lips press against your husband’s. Slight bitterness because despite it all, he wishes you were kissing him, but he’s come to terms with the fact that that will never happen.

Jisung doesn’t stick around for much of the reception, just disappears and comes back in time to watch you have your first dance with your husband. And as your husband whisks you around the dance floor – well, more like you whisk him around, since you have the grace of a gazelle and he seems to have two left feet, but it doesn’t matter because fuck gender roles and you’re smiling and he’s smiling and you’re both so, so happy – he sees the pure calm and joy and love in your face and he knows you made the right choice.

After that, Jisung leaves, disappears into the shadows behind a tall column. He’s seen all he wanted to see, seen all that he needed to see.

He doesn’t reappear in hell, as he usually does. This time, he materializes on a quiet field of soft grass, moonlight illuminating patches of small white flowers. He sits down next to a clump and idly plucks one of them, twirling it around in his fingers.

The moonlight shining on his face gives him a sense of calm, a sense of peace that he hasn’t felt in all the years since he left the living world. It is as though a chunk of ice has melted behind his heart, or a huge weight has been lifted off of his back.

This is the feeling of letting go, Jisung realizes. Letting go of a love that was never resolved, letting go of a love that will never be resolved. He wonders for a moment why he doesn’t feel more bitter, more upset. He still loves you – the warm feeling in his heart hasn’t lessened.

He closes his eyes, then remembers the look of love on your face as you danced with your husband. That expression of joy fills his heart with indescribable happiness. And then it hits him.

As long as you’re happy, Jisung thinks, he will be happy also. He won’t stop loving you, but he’ll still be happy. And he’s okay with that.

With moonlight glowing on his face, Jisung smiles, the first genuine smile he’s worn since the day he died.

. . . . .

Believe me, Y/N, I’ll love you forever.

#nctwriters #smtownnetwork #nct #nct scenarios #nct dream #kpop #jisung #park jisung #fluff #angst #triggers #death #angel/demon!au #nct dream scenarios #nct jaemin scenarios #believe a demon #scriptura-delirus

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onceuponamirror · 8 years ago

Text

heart rise above

///// CHAPTER 2

summary: It wasn’t an experiment with freedom borne of some Americana fantasy; rather, a road trip of purely logistical intentions. The plan was simple. Drive from Boston to Chicago for his sister’s college graduation. That’s it.

Or, he drives a Ford Pickup Named Desire.

Mechanic!AU

fandom: riverdale

ship: betty x jughead

words: 7.5k

chapters: 2/?

[read from the beginning] [read the latest]

I saw my reflection in the snow-covered hills 'Til the landslide brought it down

Sailors tell stories of calms before hurricanes. The wind is mild, friendly even, tickling the sails with soft breezes. The waves are coaxing and gentle against the hull of the ship. The sun is bright and strong. And then—chaos.

These are the kinds of thing Betty thinks about in moments like this. Two screaming—or laughing? She’s never totally sure—children running circles around her, her hands too greasy to try to grab one of them, her hair falling in her face, the garage telephone ringing shrilly, and she just needs it all to stop.

“Kids!” She yells. “Guys, please! Aunt B needs to answer the phone!”

Her nephew jabs her forcefully in the knee. “No! Tag! You’re it!” Then her niece starts mimicking her brother and they both start chanting tag! tag! tag!

Trying to think of a reason why she ever agrees to babysit these two terrors, especially when she has to work, Betty tries to weave her way to the phone.

“Aunt B isn’t playing tag right now, Artie,” she sighs, quickly wiping her hands on the rag next to the big red telephone before making a grab for it. He pokes at her again just as she pulls the phone off the receiver. “Ow! Arthur, stop. Cooper Garage, Betty speaking.”

“How are the Terrible Two’s, then?” It’s Veronica, sounding far too smug for someone who spoils the twins just as much anyone. She and the twins’ other aunt, Cheryl, have been broken up for over a year, but given that it was an amicable split (or, as amicable as two girls equally prone to dramatics can be—hence, the breakup), Veronica has remained a strong presence in the kids’ lives all the same.

“Terrible,” Betty breathes. She wipes her hand across her forehead. “What’s up?”

“So, I should cover my mom’s shifts more often,” Veronica chirps, and Betty feels an inkling of frustration that she practically sprinted across the garage for another one of Veronica’s social calls.

“Oh?” Betty asks, using the moment to brush some loose locks of hair off her sweaty skin. “And why’s that, Ronnie?”

“Boys,” is Veronica’s simple response. “Riverdale is absolutely devoid of them—or any that I haven’t test driven yet—but I always forget that Pop’s gets a surprising number of people off the highway. Girls too, I’m sure, but tonight there were these—”

“Well, I’m sure Pop appreciates that business,” Betty interrupts distractedly, watching her niece wander dangerously close to a tool bench. “Rose! Don’t touch that. You know you don’t play with Aunt B’s tools. Can you go grab your brother and go play in my office, please? You can put on the tv.”

Rose shoots her an embarrassed, apologetic smile and pulls her brother to the back of the garage and into her office.

“Sorry,” Betty declares to Veronica, rubbing her forehead. “They got into my cookie stash again. They’re angels until they touch sugar. You were saying? Boys?”

“It’s fine,” Veronica replies in her typically amused voice. “I should probably get to the point. I know you’re closing soon, but I’m actually calling because I have a truck smoking in the parking lot of Pop’s, and I figure they might need a tow and an allen wrench, or something.”

Ah.

“Okay, don’t trust an allen wrench for anything other than IKEA. Hold on,” Betty chuckles, cradling the phone between her shoulder and neck to reach for her notepad. “Alright, I’m ready. Describe the situation for me.”

“Uh…it’s a truck. Looks kind of old. Actually a rather lovely sea foam color…might be the same palette Jil Sander used in her FW—”

Betty stops taking notes. “Veronica.”

“Right. Not relevant. Well, I saw these two guys get in the car, and after a few minutes, the whole engine started smoking. Seemed like maybe they were trying to get it started.” There’s a sound like blinds shuffling around, and she imagines Veronica is watching from the window. “One is waving smoke around like a maniac and the other has just been banging his head against his steering wheel for the past three minutes.”

Betty presses her lips together to suppress a giggle at the mental image. “It sounds like it overheated, but I won’t be able to diagnosis why without seeing it,” she concludes, glancing over her shoulder at the office window. “Hm. They probably need a tow to get it here, but I can’t leave the kids…or fit them, two guys, and me in the truck. And Jason and Polly have that thing tonight, or I’d make them come get them.”

“Why don’t you bring the kids and leave them with me? I’ll take them home, or bring them over to the garage at the end of my shift. Pop’s got enough colored pencils to keep them occupied.”

“That might work,” Betty muses. “Okay, sounds like a plan. Tell those guys not to touch anything, and that a tow is coming.”

“Sí,” Veronica replies. “And call me when you’re done with them, if I don’t see you first. I wanna talk about the boys, because one is trés cute. Try to find out if he’s single, would you?”

“If it comes up naturally, sure,” Betty sighs, thinking that Veronica gets more romantic mileage out of Betty’s livelihood than she herself does. “Alright, it’ll take me a minute to wrangle these demons. See you soon. Thanks, V.”

“De nada. Besitos!”

They both hang up, and Betty presses another number into the buttons. She’d call Polly, but she’s famously bad at answering her phone. Jason picks up after a ring. “Hello? Is everything okay?” Her brother-in-law sounds frantic. “Is anyone hurt?”

“Breathe, Jason,” she laughs. “Everyone is fine. I just have a little dilemma here at the garage. I need to go pick up a car at Pop’s, but can’t fit the kids with everyone in the tow truck on the way back. I’m gonna leave them with Veronica at the diner, and she’ll bring them home if this ends up going too long. That alright?”

“Oh. Sure, Betty. Sorry again for leaving them with you last minute. Wh—oh, sorry, I have to go, the charity auction is starting. Thanks for checking. Have a good night!” And then he’s gone. Betty sighs, and wipes her hands on her blue work jumpsuit. If the boys are as cute as Veronica said, she briefly wonders if she should put on a bit more mascara. But there’s not really time, and she’s got a job to do anyway. So she settles for retying her ponytail and washing any leftover grease from her face.

“Kids!” She calls, and they come scrambling out of her office. “Who wants to go for a ride in the tow truck?”

After a resounding chorus of “We do! We do!” and gathering all their things into their little backpacks, she corrals them into the truck and sets off for Pop’s. Like everything in Riverdale, it’s not a long drive, but Rose and Artie are shoving at each other and it’s distracting for the whole ride.

She exhales. She loves her family. She loves her family.

Pulling into the Pop’s parking lot, Betty immediately spots the purpose of her trip; a mint green Ford pickup is stalled in its spot, the remnants of smoke stacks lingering overhead. Veronica is leaning against a nearby car in a yellow Pop’s uniform, talking to a well-built redheaded guy, and there’s another person still sitting in the driver’s seat, his head slumped against the wheel.

At least he’s stopped hitting his head against it, Betty thinks. She parks right in front of him, so it’ll be easy to hook up later on.

She and the kids pile out of the tow truck, and they immediately race over to Veronica, who scoops up Rose in her arms. With the kids’ bright red hair next to the stranger’s own, they could be a little family themselves. She shakes her head and marches over to the Ford.

“Hi there!” She says, knocking lightly against the metal door frame. “Heard you needed a hand.”

The guy looks up, eyes narrowed. He has dark hair stuffed under a gray beanie, a handsome, angled face and a smattering of attractive freckles and moles. This must be the cute one, Betty thinks, though Veronica seems happily preoccupied with the other guy.

“So it would seem,” he says, after a long moment of sizing her up. “You the mechanic we were promised?”

If he’s going to be one of those guys who underestimates a blonde woman under the hood of a car, he doesn’t show it. “Yep,” she says brightly. “Mind if I take a look at what I’m working with?”

With an incredibly burdened sigh, he slips out of the driver’s seat. “Let’s get this over with,” he mutters darkly behind her. He doesn’t seem to be in the best mood, though it’s not like she can blame him. Then again, she rarely comes across a customer happy to get their car ripped apart to be fixed, so she’s used to the attitude.

“So is the truck yours? Wow, is this a F150 ‘76? Haven’t seen one of those in a while,” she says, trying to clear the air.

“’77,” He corrects, a bit defensively, though she’s not sure why. He shifts from one foot to another, looking uncomfortable. “She’s not much, but she’s mine. A dependable old girl. Usually.”

“She’s a beaut,” Betty assures him. Veronica was right; the color is very nice. She flashes him an excited and secretive kind of smile that he clearly looks like has no idea what to do with. “I always love the diagnosis period.”

She sticks her head under the popped hood. She makes a lot of hm's, and ah's, and oh's under her breath as she digs around the engine. There’s almost no compressor left on one of his cylinders, which is probably the source of the breakdown. It’s been almost fried completely through, but otherwise, the engine is in pretty good shape, though there are certainly a couple of dark spots on its horizon.

“You’ve taken pretty good care of this car,” she says, briefly poking her head around the hood.

The guy clears his throat, looking slightly pained. “Uh, that was mostly my dad. This was his truck and I think he still fiddles with it when I’m not looking. But probably hasn’t for…a while. I haven’t done much more than change the oil every now and then.”

Betty hums and turns back to the engine. “Well, he’s done a good job.” Then she straightens, and wipes her hands on the rag that hangs from her belt loop. “So are you a good news first, bad news second, kind of guy? Or a—”

“I’m a bad news first, more bad news inevitably second kind of guy,” he says wanly. “So level with me. How bad?”

“Honestly, it’s not!” She says quickly, though he looks suspicious. He passes a fleeting glance over at his friend, but he and Veronica are still talking a few cars away. The kids are running in circles around them. “Really. You’ve got no compression left on one of your cylinders, which is easy to fix. And your truck has got great bones. But…the whole is greater than the sum of its parts.”

He squints at her. “Are you making an Aristotle joke?”

“A bad one,” she sighs, smile fading. “Basically, I don’t have parts for a truck this old on hand right now. I just used up my last one a few days ago. And we’re the only garage in town. Now, I can order them, and they really shouldn’t take too long, but it could be a week before they arrive. Maybe sooner if my guy in Hudson hasn’t left for vacation yet. Once I get the part it’ll be done in a couple days. But…”

“But?”

Betty sighs. “But I don't know how far you’re planning on driving this car.”

He blinks. “We came from Boston, heading to Chicago and then back. Why?”

“I was worried you guys were on a road trip,” she says under her breath. “I'm not totally sure the truck can make it back from Chicago. It might, it definitely might, but you've got a couple of weak spots all over your engine that could cause another breakdown. Just a professional observation.”

The guy stares longingly at his truck. Something is working across his face.

“Some people might cut their losses here,” she wagers, taking a stab at what he’s thinking. He looks up sharply. “Might say that sinking money into a truck a over decade older than them is a waste.”

He doesn’t correct her, so Betty assumes she’s not far off. “But like I said, this truck has really great bones. It was built well before planned obsolescence, and all that. So I could do a quick fix of your compressor issue here and send you off, but honestly, your head gasket and one of your valves aren’t long for this world either. If I rebuilt about half your engine, it would run flawlessly for probably another ten years.”

The guy stares at her. “Don’t mechanics have a reputation for saying stuff just like that, to get you to spend more money?”

“Yes,” Betty agrees. “We do. But I know what I’m talking about. You can trust me.”

“That’s definitely what someone I couldn’t trust would say,” he murmurs apprehensively, running his tongue over his teeth. He blinks over at Pop’s, a sort of wistful look warring over his features. “I’m not saying yes, for the record. But let’s say, theoretically, I’m interested in my truck running for another ten years. Just how long would rebuilding an engine take?”

“Well, couple weeks, if I get the compressor within that window. I’ve got most of the things I’d need for the engine already. But I'd be able to get started right away.”

“So we’re talking, full picture, about three weeks,” he summarizes flatly. He appears thoughtful, rubbing his hand against his jaw. “That’s cutting it a little close. I have to be in Chicago in a month. And what the hell would we do for three weeks in some podunk farm town?”

Betty bristles; she’s not sure he meant to say that last part loud enough for her to hear it, but she sure as hell did.

“I’m sorry your truck broke down here, but I can assure you we have all the amenities of modern times here in Riverdale. Flushing water, even internet,” she says, in a perky voice that she knows belies her annoyance.

With the long day she’s had chasing two six year olds all over her garage and just the mounting exhaustion of the past year, she’s not in the mood to humor the snobbery of a stranger. And, maybe, just maybe, if she’s being honest with herself, she doesn’t disagree with him and it strikes a damn chord.

There isn’t much to do in Riverdale, a fact she’s been musing over her whole life. But it’s not like she has the option to leave, so she’s not really interested in sympathizing with his anguish over a three-week pit stop.

He seems to realize his mistake, as his ears redden. She adds pointedly, “We’re also on the MetroNorth line. So you can go down to New York City while I fix her up. Or you can head up the Hudson Valley. You’re not married to staying here.”

He looks embarrassed beyond his depth, but doesn’t apologize. He nibbles on his lips instead. “Yeah, okay. How much are we talking?”

She puts her hands on her hips and spares the engine another sigh. “Parts…hm, you don’t need everything…the head gasket is gonna run it up…compressors are about 120… So I’d say about 700 for all the parts. Labor for this kind of work is about 1500. I’ll bundle it and do it all for 2 grand.”

He pulls his hat from his head for the sole purpose of running his hands through his hair. She has a moment to appreciate his thick, dark curls before the hat is forcefully shoved back on. He looks frustrated, or maybe anguished, or maybe on the verge of a total mental breakdown. Or maybe all of the above.

He crosses his arms. “That seems low. What’s the catch?”

“It is low,” Betty exhales, half-forgiving him for his offense despite herself. She knows it’s not what her father would’ve done—but it’s her garage now. She can run it how she wants, including into the ground. Still, one of these days, she’d love to learn how to hold a grudge. “No catch. You just seem like you’re in a bit of a bind.”

He stares at her like she’s just touched down to Earth on a spaceship. Then, he shakes his head to clear his shocked expression, and thrusts his hand out. “Deal.”

She shakes his hand, and there’s a brief, but startling, moment where her skin sparks against his. It might just be static electricity, but he seems to notice it too, because he quickly pulls his hand away.

“Thanks, Betty,” he says quietly, much to her surprise. At her look, he gestures to the embroidered nametag over her heart. She glances down at it, having forgotten it was there. Forgot she was wearing this greasy, disgusting jumpsuit in the first place. “I’m Jughead, by the way. And no, that’s not the name on my driver’s license, which I guess you’ll see when I fill out whatever forms, so please just…call me Jughead.”

She raises an eyebrow, but it’s 2017 and she goes by Betty, so she’s not about to judge. “Gotcha. Okay, well I’m gonna load up your Ford to the tow. You’re my last call of the day, so how about I drop you at the local hotel and you can come by tomorrow to fill out the paperwork?”

Jughead opens his mouth, but Archie, Veronica, and the kids are making their way towards them and he promptly clams up.

“They’ve reminded me I promised them pie about fifty times now, so we’re going to head on in so I can deliver on that. A Lodge always keeps her word,” Veronica says, tossing her silky black hair over her shoulder.

Betty rolls her eyes, dropping into a squat so she’s eye-level with the twins. “Fine, but I’m not taking them back after you’ve pumped them with more sugar. Okay kiddos, say goodbye to me!”

“Bye!” They say in cheery unison, running into her open arms. They give her quick hugs and then dash into the diner, with Veronica crossing across the parking lot after them. She passes them a brief, delicate wave of her fingers and then disappears through Pop’s door.

Jughead’s friend stares after her like she’s water and he’s the desert. She isn’t surprised. Veronica tends to have that effect, even draped in polyester. Betty will have to double check which one her friend thinks is the cute one, because otherwise there might be tension on the horizon between the two boys.

But then, Betty realizes that Jughead hasn’t even spared Veronica a passing glance. Instead, he’s staring at his truck. He seems to sense her eyes on him, because then he looks her way, his face unreadable.

“So what’s happening?” The redhead asks, forcing his gaze away. “Did you get it fixed?”

“As if it’d be that simple, Archie,” Jughead sighs. “No, we’re definitely stuck here. Or, the truck is. For a couple weeks, while Betty here licks the wounds we’ve inflicted.”

His friend, Archie, seems to realize Betty is here for the first time. He hastily makes his introductions and then turns back to Jughead. “A couple of weeks? Aw, man. I had all these plans for our road trip.”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Jughead says, a bit tersely. “If you’d given me any time to prepare, I might’ve had the truck checked out before we left. Instead she didn’t even make it 400 miles.”

Archie frowns. “I’m sorry, dude, I just—”

But Jughead cuts him off with a noisy exhale, then shakes his head. “No, I’m sorry. I’m tired. Let’s just crash and figure it out in the morning.”

Betty slips away and starts unhooking her tow chains, deciding the two friends might need a moment to work it out. She’s a mechanic, but she often feels more like a bartender in a seedy TV procedural; the type of arguments she overhears picking people up from the side of the road could fill a book.

Archie and Jughead don’t seem as willing to fight, though there’s still clearly a bit of tension as she snaps the hood down and latches the Ford to her tow truck. While she’s fiddling under the carriage of Jughead’s truck, she overhears the last bit of their conversation.

“…just saying it might not be the worst place to stay for a little while,” Archie is murmuring wistfully, and Betty can imagine he’s staring after Veronica in the diner.

“I guess not,” Jughead replies, after a long, thoughtful moment. She can’t see his face, but there’s something markedly hidden in his voice. She inhales, unsure of the sudden prickling on her skin. “I guess not.”

#bughead fanfiction #bughead #betty x jughead #betty cooper #jughead jones #lalalalalalalsdjklfjpjdpsof #fics

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