#but I like the last few lines enough to be pretty proud of the outcome

[bexstevie]

NEXT GEN EPISODE 5 - LIVE FINALE

STEVIE PARK performing starry dream. featuring: jueun, hyunki, touma, hangyeol. special mentors: sarang, seojun ( visual inspiration, line distribution, song + demo choreography )

it feels like he’s standing on the edge of a cliff and awaiting a free fall.

stevie’s not sure if it’s a good thing or a bad thing though. probably good– because he’s going to find out if all this work was for naught or not. the weeks leading up to the finale feel bittersweet. he’s going to miss the grind, especially if he doesn’t make the final placements. but also…it’ll be nice to see how far he improved. stevie’s proud of himself for making it this far. this is more than he could ever hope and ask for, really. it’s crazy. his redemption era– who would have thought!

the song choice is nice. stevie doesn’t mind it– even if it makes him think a lot more. they go back and forth on ideas, things to better make it them. there’s an intro that they decide whether or not to scrap. it’s a bit corny of an idea, one that gets him thinking far too deeply about everything. the song itself is something that makes his mind wander– but having to have a heart to heart with himself to figure it out feels too daunting to him. it takes him forever to write out something comprehensible– only to have the production team reject it. to the scrap it went. decided for him– thank god for that! 

afterwards, he spends a lot of his time not thinking. simply using his time practicing. the dance he knocks out first– simple as it is, memorable enough that stevie catches onto the choreo rather quickly. added time with hangyeol and touma also make it easier to perfect. and once the dance isn’t at the forefront of his mind, stevie moves onto singing. jueun’s help and reassurance makes him push a bit more. more of his allotted free time is focused on fine-tuning his voice. it’s go big or go home this time around (quite literally!). 

as the days tick closer and closer to the finale, stevie finds himself growing not as nervous. practice seems to be going well, not that they’ve settled into just personifying the song themselves. group practice goes as smooth as it can– coaches easily approachable. sarang talks him down a bit about overthinking those first few days, seojun offers familiar comfort. 

he’s all smiles the day of. greets the staff and other contestants he sees with a happy wave or a clap to the shoulder. in the meantime, he glances around– suddenly feeling nostalgic. “the last hurrah,” he says to himself, absentmindedly. “let’s do this.” he reaches out to pat himself on the shoulder once– and follows through with the staff’s instructions. not much longer until they perform, and stevie’s ready to give it his all.

as they gear up for the stage, stevie fiddles with his outfit absentmindedly. he follows his team, smiling easily at everyone. there might even be a skip to his step he won’t admit. he’s pretty happy, all things considered. he’d even say excited! worries are there, for sure– but stevie means it when he says he’s satisfied. he’ll give it his all here, and be happy no matter the outcome. 

the music is dreamy as it starts, stevie relaxing into his position. he’s up right after jueun, so he fluidly moves into position. “even if I reach out, i can’t touch it, they ask–’where are you going like this?’” he lifts his arm gracefully into the air and then down, easily sliding out of the way for touma. 

it’s a song that builds a bit for the chorus to drop– and he lets muscle memory take him through the parts. stevie uses everything he’s learned thus far; eases the expressions on his face when the music turns light and airy, and then the beat kicks in, sharpen it. from smooth to quick and sharp, then back to fluid and easy. 

in these intensifying waves thoughts that will stop me, no way

his arm moves with the motion of a wave unable to help the curve to his smile at the thought. it’s fitting of a line, given to him– the resident surfer. it makes him nostalgic for a whole other thing. reminds him of dreams and the whole focus of their song. their song. stevie’s dreams and how to reach them– even if overall, his dream is to achieve happiness. 

and this makes him happy. at least for now. 

when everything started? is not important

to think, as well– this is only the stepping stone to everything else. a taste of the future, of a whole different level of grind that stevie is growing used to. but that’s progress– before, he couldn’t stand it. but he’s here again! trying! with a whole different mindset. and soon– dreams will come true. he’s sure of it. 

a brilliant picture, i want to meet your eyes.

and for once, stevie doesn’t want to wince at the sound of his voice. and maybe his senses have just become numb, having to hear it over and over again until he couldn’t anymore. and he can’t help but feel better after that, more at ease. his movements more fluid and focus more on his expressions. the bridge is steadily approaching, and stevie fixes himself for quick movements and decisions. 

the lift is exciting. stevie steps up with the others not at the forefront to do the lift, focusing on not dropping and keeping his weight even until they’re safely back down. he steadily moves into his brief part, preparing himself for his next part. 

if I reach out my hand a little more somehow I think I can reach it

his hand lifts a bit with the reaching line, before dropping and he moves back into next position so jueun can come forward. 

it feels like smooth sailing after that.

[libitinalarvaia]

Kink Talk: Lightning Round

I've not really been sure what to write on just yet since I already hit my big ones so if someone wants to ask about something on the list they're curious about well: https://www.f-list.net/c/ladylibido/

And in the meantime I'm gonna cover a few kinks that really only need a sentence to a paragraph to explain. But on the off chance there's something here someone might think is worth elaborating further on, you could always message me or use my Retrospring to ask for more.

Clit-Stim: Like with any 'sex act' I feel like I shouldn't have to explain it more than 'IT JUST FEEL GOOD'. I really, really enjoy direct clitoral stimulation. That's literally it. If anything the reason why I highlight it is because of how little it is used. Over the last 10 years there's been a huge uptick in just mere acknowledgment the clit exists, but it's still difficult to find content that focuses or even recognizes or acknowledges how strong a sensation it is, any of the content that does exist it largely swings towards masturbation or a brief flick or touch as though that's supposed to do anything. (honestly, the bad representation of clit play is something I could write a full rant about)

Faceless Things/Digitegrade Legs: This is purely aesthetic. I do not experience primary sexual attraction so I don't even find these things sexually arousing on their own, I find them aesthetically pleasing. My kinks and my aesthetics don't have to line up, it's just really nice when it does.

Non-Humans: Related to the above, it's largely aesthetic. The rest is my sociological and physiological fascination with what goes into beings of wildly different cultural backgrounds finding solace in one another. That romanticism of similarities in our differences.

Weird Genitals: Boils down to basic carnal want. If it looks like it'll feel good, I want it in me.

Restraint: I'm submissive. Waddidya expect? But also because it's to save me from myself.. also my partner. I've kinda injured him a few times and he's pretty darn proud of that, but also he doesn't like that I kinda kick him away in the process thus, preventing him from being able to continue overstimulating me lol. But I don't find shibari that interesting. I also don't like total restraint/encasement, total immobility is terrifying and sets off claustrophobia issues.

Size Difference: Another extension of being submissive due to being smaller and thus, easier to be overpowered. There is of course, also a comfort in someone bigger than you, over you. At least for me when I'm completely gone in my own head, there's still a shield in someone just being naturally bigger than me able to obscure or otherwise protect me in that time.

Improvised/Natural Restraint: When I say improvised restraint I mean anything that is used for restraint that might not have been brought for that intent. Belts, ripped clothes and jackets, any of the surrounding landscape. I find that ravenous, carnal 'just gotta pin them down with something' really provocative, and much more interesting than planned restraint. Natural restraint in so much that someone's own power or size is good enough to act as a restraint.

Protective/Possessive Partners: Look, I spend so dang much of my life protecting and doing things for others, it's nice to have someone have that same motivation towards me. (but without being controlling/restricting/over-protective) While it's also still a submissive subset, it's nice to be wanted enough for the partner to be protective, and also understanding the anxieties and fears of someone to want to protect that.

Public Risk: A protective extension. I'm not exactly into exhibitionism, I prefer intimacy, but I am into risky settings that calls on the dominate partner to protect and soothe the submissive in a setting they would otherwise be anxious about and that in the end while it gets risky or close to a negative outcome, nothing actually happens and the dominate did a good job of both protecting the submissive and belaying their fears.

Breeding: Related to having a possessive, covetous partner, and just the carnal, aggressive sex that comes with the drive of wanting or needing to impregnate their partner. Especially if pleasure focused cus the whole 'gotta make it pleasurable for the female cus it makes her more receptive to implanting', cus I want those multiple/forced orgasms. That being said, I actually have no interest in the actual pregnancy part of it, only the action.

Anonymous Sex: One of my big anxieties after someone finds out I'm submissive that they assume somehow that attribute is a detriment to my personality or that my forward facing personality is somehow 'false' and treat me accordingly. Being anonymous, having sex with people that both I don't know and who don't know me or who I am, gives me this sense of freedom that I can turn on or off my sexuality at any time, and it won't come to roost in my personal life.

Power Play: Vying for power and fight sex where it starts rough before being overwhelmed and rendered submissive by sexual stimulation. It's allegorical to my own fight with my own struggles with allowing myself to let go.

Praise: Huge, huge kink. Both tied to my inability to let go, and my need to be 'on' and Doing something All The Time. I'm selfishly enjoying something and you're still telling me I'm good? I don't have to do anything?? To deserve praise??? Just myself, as I am, is valuable???? it's like giving me permission to enjoy it, to be selfish, and that it's enough.

[everyneji]

Reading your last reply makes me want to add my take on Neji's battle mindset (mini?Meta in the ask box!)

Referencing the panel of pyrrhic victory, I think Neji was the type who would give up when the opponent is clearly stronger than him. If he were to battle Gaara who (most probably) would use Shukaku (like he did against Sauce), Neji would raise his hand to withdraw. It wasn't an empty taunt when he suggested Hinata or Naruto to give up. He would've done the same in their position. He's proud, but to him, resistance against an obvious outcome is pointless and foolish.

Naruto raised after being beaten by Neji countless times. But when Naruto punched Neji and Neji fell, he instantly admitted his loss because he realized Naruto was clearly stronger. Still, Naruto gave Neji hope to believe in his innate strength so he's indebted to him. He later processed the lesson and vocalized his goal for the first time (to be stronger than anyone).

Against Kidomaru, if it were pre-TnJ Neji, he would've thought "this is the end" and the battle outcome would've been set. But Neji kept thinking of a way to WIN even when the opponent is clearly stronger (inspired by Naruto), that's how he got the idea to take the arrow head on.

Him saying "I'm not dying so easily" is an extension to this mindset. Finding a reason to take risk against odds doesn't mean he'd want to throw his life away. I think he preferred stubbornly clinging to life rather than dying a heroic death.

But the situation where he died was... Well...

I have my own headcanon to cope bc It feels absurd to think he had no other ways to... hell, carry them, use a replacement jutsu and escape (screw Kishimoto's forced scenario and reasoning. If Neji's Kaiten can't deflect fast projectiles then it can't do crap!)

Whenever I see the panel my immediate thought is that he plainly body-shielded because Hinata did it. He paid respect to Hinata's preparedness to give her life away by showing that he has the same resolve. It could be a mix of his gratefulness, guilt, gentlemanliness, a still-hammered-into-brain formal respect towards "Hinata-sama", a subconscious action that is culmination of it all.

Just my headcanon though.

(Uuf it's a pretty long ask excuse me for this 😩)

Yes, I definitely agree with what you're laying out! Don't feel bad for the long ask, I enjoyed reading it. 😊

I think it's difficult to tell where the line blurs, that is, what is Naruto-induced inspiration and what was the result of logical deduction. The fight with Kidōmaru is about two smart people trying to outthink each other. His victory is clearly meant to echo Naruto's against his, tactics winning against a stronger opponent, but at the same time, his brains did not come from Naruto, and perhaps not (wholly) his desire to survive.

When we skip forward a few years, I think the sad truth (or at least, what Kishimoto intended) was that Neji was not operating at peak capacity. He was exhausted. It wasn't that long before his death that he was laid up, unable to move and apparently legally blind. Though I'll cape for his stamina + chakra stores + fact he can normally spin up when a projectile is an inch from his face, he was at the end of his rope. It's stated twice their techniques can't keep up. His injuries also evoke the ones he receives in the fight against Kidōmaru: his back is struck, his most vulnerable area. In other words, he thematically left himself open.

(My personal headcanon is a great deal more, um, complex and tragic and explores the lasting effects of suicidal ideation, but I save that for my sandbox.)

What I think is funny is imagining it going something like this: Neji sees the projectiles headed for Naruto, goes, "Well, he's a tank with an OP self-heal so this is fine," and then Hinata jumped in front of Naruto and he just went, "Oh, fuck it, fine ...." and by that point he really didn't have enough time to work.

Jokes aside, wrt his motivation I think Hinata being involved no doubt reinforced his decision, but notably his last words are entirely about and for Naruto. Effectively, he would have done the same thing if only Naruto was in danger (as I wish it had been written, because his history with Hinata is so complicated it muddies things.) Think of it this way: all our talk about Neji being practical and knowing when to sit back, and Neji going from this:

to:

So yes, he is showing the same resolve as Hinata, and I think it's a broader culmination of him coming to understand why Hinata would make the choices she did. Notably Naruto was a linchpin to saving the day in both scenarios, so the decision to prioritize Naruto's life is never really the question, which, hmm. Anyway, It's an interesting evolution to a character that was otherwise quite settled by the end of Part I.

[wtf-yoongi]

Softie. / MYG

pairing | yoongi x reader

summary | just a morning with min yoongi 🥺

prompts | “i love you more than coffee.” *distant gasps* + “every morning you kiss my forehead before i leave for work, why was it my lips today?” from this prompt list.

genre/warnings | disgustingly fluffy + very domestic

words | 1,990

note | i wanted to write something like this and then it fitted the prompt someone requested two ages ago and it became way too long for a timestamp and here we are

Very rarely does something beat the smell of black tea in the morning. Not any black tea, but this one in particular.

Forget it, nothing beats it.

The earthy tones coming from the leaves are enough to get you excited about your day and you’re careful not to scoop too much from the fancy, squared, tin box. It is, after all, precious and expensive — it seems like it gets pricier and pricier every time you restock it, almost to the point you’re begging the clerk for a discount.

You know it’s too much and you should stop spending money with that, the same money that could buy you enough tea for a whole year, but this is exactly the way luxury items go. Just above average, pretty packaging, minimalistic logo and a warm feeling in your heart from doing something special for yourself.

Like a ritual, you twirl the spoon and breathe in the steam coming from the pot before closing the lid. The instructions say you should brew it for three minutes and you’re proud to say you haven’t got that wrong once — not even on the day of your sister’s wedding, when she called saying she burned her ring finger, accidentally saw her fiancée and there was a real possibility of them not moving forward with the ceremony that day.

Even though she married with the ring on her middle finger, since the other one was bandaged, everything worked out. A little bit like a sitcom from the 90’s, but it did — in the end, it always did. That’s why you spend way too much money on that tea, because something about it makes things just work somehow. It’s unexplainable, quite magical and, to be honest, a little childish, but you love it.

Naturally, your hands start moving while the three minutes pass, refilling the kettle with water when you hear the shower stop running like you do every single day. In between the tea being served on a mug and his lazy morning footsteps, there’s only enough time for you to eat your peach yogurt.

“Hmm,” he hums and you can hear him getting closer as he speaks. “Treating yourself today, huh?”

You guess Yoongi can smell the black tea as well.

As you’re focused on adding the perfect amount of honey to your mug, there’s no time to turn or even look up at him coming into the kitchen with a sleepy and sweet look on his face. In such a small room, it only takes a heartbeat for him to stand next to you, leaving a quick kiss on your temple and short squeeze on the curve of your hips.

“Any special occasion I should know of?”

“Not really.” You shrug and, for a moment, Yoongi’s aftershave replaces the smell of tea completely. It’s fresh, clean and light, like most things he enjoys without noticing. “I just wanted something different.”

“I’m jealous, I want something fancy too,” he says without any weight to his voice, reaching for the coffee beans placed at the farthest corner of the pantry — the ones he also saves for very few mornings. “Did you sleep well?”

You nod quickly and excitedly, turning ninety degrees to open the refrigerator in search of milk. “I had to. There’s this big presentation today I’ve been preparing for five…”

“So there is something special going on.”

You stop in your tracks to look at Yoongi’s knowing smile, coffee grinder in front of him rumbling and doing its job while he waits.

“You’re a creature of habit, you know that, right? You wouldn’t drink this specific tea if something wasn’t going on.”

You smile at him, finally moving again to add a dash of milk to the mug and mixing it to check if it was enough. “If you weren’t so emotionless, I’d say that’s romantic.”

“Oh, you want romantic?” Yoongi’s tone goes up an octave, mocking you a little. “Fine. How about I love you more than coffee. In fact, I love you more than the smell of freshly ground beans in the morning and you know I love that very much. How about that, huh?”

It’s your turn to mock his words. “Oh, wow,” you gasp, raising a hand to the center of your chest. “How am I going to move on from this? I better email them saying I won’t be able to make it today. After this? Woof! No way I’ll be presenting anything but fifty slides of my favorite Yoongi pick-up lines.”

“That would be a satisfied client, don’t you think?” He plays along, adding the coffee to a French press and topping it with the water you just boiled. “Oh, do you want some toast? I feel like eating toast for some reason.”

And just like that, with Yoongi reaching for the toaster above your head, you’re both interested in something else. He pinches your side with his free hand and you take a step to your left, giving him enough space to place the appliance on top of the marble counter.

“You do have time for toast, right?” Yoongi asks as he turns it on and starts looking for bread. “I don’t want to make you late, the first two can be yours.”

“The tea is still a little too hot, I have time.”

“Good.” He nods shortly. “Sit down. These will be done in no time.”

You watch as Yoongi reaches for plates, knives, butter, strawberry jam and places all of them on the small kitchen table. Meanwhile, you sip the tea slowly, quietly enjoying it and, deep down, wishing for it to work its magic once again.

“Are you nervous about the presentation?” Yoongi asks just as he places two perfectly toasted slices of bread in front of you. He soon moves back to set two more on the toaster and turns to you again, waiting for an answer.

“I’m okay. It’s been worse.” You shrug, focusing on the butter as it melts when it meets the warm toast. “This client is nice. Even if they don’t agree with something, it’s not like…”

“Don’t bring Mr. Moon up again,” Yoongi warns you, slightly uncomfortable and somewhat ready to politely offend Mr. Moon if he ever showed up in front of him. “I’m still not over that. Who does he think he is to mistreat everyone because of a grammar mistake?”

You laugh at the way he seems so bothered by that. “It was a good thing, though, don’t you think? We kicked him out because we didn’t need his business if it meant we had to deal with that.”

“Serves him right,” he huffs. “He was being an ass for a long time, the grammar incident was just the tipping point.”

“And you don’t even know about the emails he sent to the junior analysts. He would literally…”

“Please,” Yoongi interrupts with a tight smile and warm eyes, nothing but light humor in his words. “Don’t make me hate him more. This is bad for myself, I have to be the better person.”

“You’re right,” you agree with a smile, taking a bite and adding a few words in a muffled voice. “He’s a problem of the past. And a solved one, thank God.”

You swallow just as Yoongi sits in front of you with perfectly done toasts for himself. He adds butter and strawberry jam to both of them before speaking again. “I’m glad you’re not nervous about this stuff anymore.”

“I’m glad too,” you admit and take a sip of the magical tea before continuing. “Shaky hands are also a problem of the past.”

“I want you to know I’m very proud of you. This sort of thing is not easy to overcome.” 

You giggle. “Yoon, you’re getting soft again.”

“When am I not?” He takes a bite and soon covers his mouth, not being able to stop a smile from forming. “I am a softie, this is who I am.”

“No, but you’re particularly soft today, I think. It all started when you were whining about me leaving the bed,” you say while getting up to place your plate in the sink. When you turn around, Yoongi is looking at you with what you can only describe as adoring eyes. “See? This is what I mean. Do you have a mirror? Look at yourself, there’s nothing not soft about you today.”

He’s the one giggling now, motioning for you to move with the hand that’s not busy with a toast. “Go finish getting ready, you’re going to be late!”

You hurry out of the kitchen with a smile, soon entering the bathroom to brush your teeth. It’s still kind of foggy, nothing but the perfume of Yoongi’s shower gel everywhere, and you have to wipe the mirror with a towel to see yourself properly.

The nervousness could be worse, yes, but it’s still there a little — well, today is the day you’ve been preparing for the last five weeks and there’s a lot at stake. You inhale and exhale deeply, concentrating on the goal rather than the challenge. What happens, happens, but you’re pretty sure you’ve done everything you could and that’s enough to leave you satisfied no matter the outcome.

“Yoongi, I’m leaving!” You call out, fixing a strap on your shoulder and immediately feeling the weight of the laptop and the heavy (but pretty) leather notebook you bought last fall — another one of the luxury items you treated yourself with. When you look up, the man is standing with another one of his knowing smiles and a thermos in hand.

“Were you really not going to drink every single drop of the tea you spend way too much money on?” He raises an eyebrow, extending his arm so you can take the travel mug from him. “I know you’re good and don’t need the magic from the tea, but…”

“Shut up,” you say jokingly, slapping his hand in the process. “And thank you.”

“Come here.”

Yoongi slowly takes a step to meet you halfway, hug awkward given the weight on your shoulder, but you couldn’t care less. He’s warm, inviting and has a comforting hand on your back while the other moves to cradle your jaw.

“I told you you’re particularly soft today,” you say just as he creates enough space to look into your eyes. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Yoongi mumbles before pressing a kiss on your lips. You barely have time to register what is going on or close your eyes and it’s already over.

“Are you sure? Because every morning you kiss my forehead before I leave for work,” you point out, one eyebrow raised in doubt, but eyes as soft as his. “Why was it my lips today?”

“You may not notice, but the taste of black tea and honey on your lips…” He hums, closing his eyes to show just how much he likes it. “So good.”

“But I brushed my teeth.”

He leans in again and, this time, stays for a while longer — not barely enough for you, but you’d take anything with a smile.

Yoongi shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. Still there.” He turns both your bodies, getting them closer and closer to the door. “Do you think this happens because the tea is that good and strong? Or maybe it’s because you don’t really do a good job brushing your teeth…”

“Ah, Yoongi!"

Before you know it, Yoongi is simultaneously opening the door, leaving another kiss on the corner of your mouth and pushing your body out. It seems like only a second has passed, but you find yourself right in front of the door when Yoongi is inside with only his head peeking through. 

“Don’t just stand there, you’re going to be late! Call me when the presentation is over and you have a yes, okay?”

He closes the door, but you can still hear him giggle on the inside.

Read more ›› masterlist

[kaiparker-avengerssmut]

Their Doll 2

Backing Up 

B.Barnes x Reader, S.Rogers x Stark!Reader

series synopsis: y/n Stark, all records of her non existent, and yet Hydra still find her. When she is kidnapped by a certain super-soldier and no one believes her, she finds herself searching for unexpected familiarity in her not-so-distant past.

Series Warnings: smut, violence, torture, swearing

Chapter summery: just some backstory really

warnings: none

A/n: The timeline in this has been altered, as there I things I wanted to include but I also wanted this fic to follow the storyline/timeline of Winter Soldier and Civil war.So for purposes of this fanfic, Peter Parker was discovered by Tony at a much younger age - when he was bitten - and has been an intern with him since, almost like a protégée.(For the purposes of this story Peter was bitten much younger too - more like when he was 9 or ten rather than 14/15)

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

THEY nodded along to the music, head bopping side to side, up and down, along with the beat. Back in Black by AC/DC blared through the workshop, bouncing off the walls and rattling about the various parts left lying around - ready to be used at some point.

Y/n's head was bowed, eyes trained to her hands as she mindlessly picked at her nails, flicking a bit of dirt away and sparing a bored glance over to where her dad and Peter sat, laughs echoing from them in a sickening, unaware torment. Or maybe they were aware, and simple didn't care that y/n sat on her own with nothing to do, no one to talk to yet nowhere else to go every minute of every day.

The laughter haunted her, kept her awake at night. Y/n's soul was crushed over and over with every realisation that her own dad preferred his stupid protege - a boy just younger than her that happened to be bitten by  a radioactive spider - to his own daughter, her.

It made her hate the boy, it really did. Y/n was constantly left out, never included in 'family' meals, never taught anything in the workshop and certainly never given any gifts unless it was Christmas or her birthday, but even then Peter's gifts would greatly outweigh her own in price, size and value.

It was infuriating, to say the least. At the age of 11, most girls are close with their fathers - spending quality time with them, going shopping or ice skating or going to the cinema. And if their dad was busy they'd have a mother who would coddle them and love them enough for both of them.

But that was the other thing that made y/n's life so much harder, and, her neglect acne so much more heartbreaking.

She was adopted.

Tony paid to have her, and yet he spent more time with some boy he'd know for barely a year. Y/n wasn't stupid though, she knew exactly why this was. Peter had superpowers, something to develop and be proud of, and she was plain old boring normal.

There was nothing special about her, to put it simply. She wasn't inhumanly strong, she couldn't shoot lasers out her eyes and nor could she climb walls and swing from building-to-building. And on top on this, she was neither insanely pretty like most of the girls she saw around her dad's house nor was she extremely intelligent like her father. It was crushing, really, to be so average in a house of the remarkable.

So when HYDRA took her, the whole bloody world was shocked.

And yet no one came looking for her. Since she had been taken, she had heard of zero attempts at rescuing her. You could say that this was the reason she barely put up a fight anymore, simply obeyed.

Her old life still played through the girl's mind, of course. How much her life had changed - and was it really much worse now?

No. That was unfair. Being neglected was no match for what HYDRA put her through. They had taken her from her own home when Tony and Peter were working on something, chained her wrists up in shackles and gagged her with a mostly old cloth found on the floor of their quinjet. Then they were off, taking her to some remote HYDRA base in a country she didn't recognise with people she didn't know.

The painful part was the testing, though. That was the tough part. It took them months to figure out what they were doing, and when the last doctor finally stepped in, they got it.

She was an attempt at another supersoldier, to put it simply.

But it wasn't simple, not at all. No, they had altered her in ways she realised not even they expected, being unfamiliar with the technology and all. So now here she was, yet another ruthless killing machine - programmed so dangerously even her voice could kill.

Literally.

The closet thing she could be described as is a siren. With her voice, she could bring down armies, but the second she lost that, she was simply the girl forgotten by Tony Stark. Her voice enchanted, at least that's what they told her. In reality, it was explosive.

Again, literally.

The pitches in her voice created some sort of deadly wave, so when it reached the ears of her victims it exploded their brain. Sometimes.

Other times, she could control it - a certain pitch had a certain outcome. So most of the time, her power became mind control, so the sound would infiltrated the minds of others and she could make them do as she pleased.

That's how she found herself where she currently was, eyes wide as they took in the best of a man that was staring back at her, mouth incarcerated by the band of metal that stretched over it and around the back of her head, the technology designed specially to keep her fro  using her powers on the HYDRA agents and scientists.

The was a big man, with bulging muscles and shaggy dark brown hair. His eyes were blue - a strange blue that seemed to change daily. A gritty stubble lined his jaw and framed his surprisingly pink lips. He was always clad in leather - apart from his right arm, with wasn't flesh. It was metal, with a red star adorning the side. She also knew his screams to be heart wrenching.

When not in use, her and the Winter soldier were kept in bulletproof glass cells. He was strapped down by vibranium restraints to a metal chair whilst y/n was kept mute by her vibranium band. The two had often sought comfort in the sight of each other - something familiar about seeing the same person every time they returned seemed to calm both of the assassins.

Whenever y/n was in her cell and the soldier was not there, she felt lonely and vulnerable. With his cerulean eyes watching over her she often felt safe, protected. After a full year being HYDRA's personal slave y/n still feared them - the idea that she was enhanced and they still pulled her strings a sickeningly terrifying thought. Especially for a 15 year old with barely a grip on the world.

She yearned to learn more about the Winter Soldier. Why he never seemed to age. Why he could completely change with the uttering of a few simple words. Why he had a metal arm. There were so many things she didn't know, and yet his mere presence was enough to calm the girl and bring her back down to earth, no matter how scared she was.

But one day, everything changed.

[darkacademicfrom2021]

The Dark Team (part 13)

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(Taglist: @lucywrites02, @louieboo87, @the-departed-potato, @jesuswasnotawhiteman, @idontknow296, @beksib, @spythoschei, @geekwritersworld, @whatafuckingdumbass, @mysticunicorn7 @shadowolf993 @toe-vind-ek-jou @joscelyn02, @t00-pi, @irwxnhugsx )

Warnings: creepy man, hungover (alcohol mentions), abduction mentions.

Chirping birds woke you up as the light hit your face. It was a slightly sunny morning, you could see. A cold one, too. Your head ached; yesterday’s wine was stronger than you’d think. You remembered very little, and the hangover weighed on your feet as you tried to stand up. Soon, that weight redistributed up to your head, dizziness almost throwing you back in bed.

With much more effort than before, you got up and walked slowly to the kitchen, glancing around. Last night, a sticky kid fell asleep on the doorframe. You chuckled and decided to not wake him up. Loki was nowhere to be found; must be sleeping in his own room, if he had one by then.

An ibuprofen and some cold water later, you checked the time. It was so early; six in the morning. You decided to get working already; maybe someone on the team was awake. If not, you could at least take things off your to-do list for the day and get time free at noon to play videogames with Peter, or help him with that Lego Stark Tower he has been trying to build for almost two weeks now. A nice walk in the park to get some fresh air until some coffee shop opened; that’s what you needed.

The streets were emptier than you’d imagine, and then you realized it was saturday. Peeping in, a coffee shop next block was already opening, and people were lining up to get in. You made sure to have brought money and a laptop with you, and as you reached your pockets you realized you had your suit on, under normal clothes. Well, at least I’m prepared for anything now. Even a sunday morning in a lovely coffee shop, you thought, laughing to yourself. If Tony saw you like this, he’d recall that word he says you inherited from him. Paranoid. But no, Stark, I’m just hungover. Good to know your first instinct once you get up off bed is to suit up. Tony'd be proud. And a little disappointed, too.

You got a table far from the window, wall behind your back making sure nobody could eye your laptop. Once you were settled in and your coffee was getting cold, you started working. You were so glad you were out of the public eye, so you could afford yourself all of these outside activities. Sounded stupid, but if you were to have dinner with Sam, or Steve, or Thor, you’d have to also deal with paparazzis all night long. Actually, in dining out with Thor, paparazzis would be the least of your problems.

“Hey”, greeted Bucky from the other line. “It’s so early, what are you doing up?”.

“Buck, it’s already ten”.

“Oh”, he said, and you heard a sliding curtain by his side. “Oh, there it is. Sunlight”.

“Why are your times all twisted?”.

“We stayed up until five”.

“Doing what?”.

“Let’s say the mini bar was not so mini”.

“Oh my God”, you laughed, and checked for your work on the laptop. “At this point, I think the only one who didn’t get drunk last night is Spidey. Ah. Listen, I’ve arranged today’s plan, and it has to go right or else you can get abducted again. And we don’t want that, okay?”.

“I’m not sure what we’re supposed to do now. Didn’t we already get the stick?”.

“That’s the point, there’s more… you know, bottles hanging around” you lowered your voice. The coffee shop was almost empty, but just in case, you kept it under your breath. “That’s why you gotta get into Hydra’s last base again. Do not go alone”.

You instructed Bucky and then he tried his best to put you on speaker to the rest of the team, but failed. None of them could actually figure out how to do it; Steve was even less familiar with cell phones, and Thor… well, not even elaborating on him. The only Asgardian who seemed familiar enough with Midgard’s technologies was sleeping soundly on the compound. You had to explain the plan thoroughly another two times individually, and then finally hung up and got to work, sending them coordinates and turning off Hydra’s hacked security cameras.

Once they were already in, you had not much more to do. At least for a few hours, they’d be completely submerged in there, and your help wasn’t needed anymore. You still planned for some outcomes and didn’t even notice the man standing in front of you.

“Excus…”.

“OH... my God”, you gasped, taking yourself off your hyper focused state. The man chuckled. His teeth, yellow, seemed like he didn’t know anything about dental hygiene. His clothes were perfectly cleaned, though, in a tidy office-type suit; but his hair was hidden by a peaked cap that barely let you see his eye expressions. Very weird looking. Hard to read. Just now unemployed? Dressed like that to get attention? You frowned and closed all tabs, opening a fake account of email and some cheap online magazine. “What do you need?”.

“Can I sit here?”.

“No”.

He smiled weirdly and manspreaded in the chair you told him not to sit in. You sighed and rolled your eyes.

“What are you doing?”, he asked.

You ignore him and keep pretending to read your mails, eyeing how many people were in there too. It was getting fuller than before. If he wanted to steal your laptop he’d have to do it in front of all of these people, and cross the whole coffee shop. He wasn’t planning on stealing. You made a security copy of all the files anyways.

“You have pretty eyes”.

You ignored him again, but now understood his intentions. God, people could be so shameless sometimes. You literally told him to go away. You’ll repeat it, just in case he would actually listen this time.

“Go away”.

He chuckled and stayed in place.

“I just want to talk, sweetie”.

“Sure. I’m not interested”.

“You have a boyfriend?”.

“I have a very strong fist”.

He got closer, leaning on the table, and lowering his voice said “You’re working on the supersoldiers mission, yes?”.

You froze. Suddenly, the creepy man was a bigger threat than you’d anticipated. Your hand hovered over the gun in your pocket, holding strong eye contact with him.

“Who are you?”.

“What do you have in your pocket?”, he teased.

“Wanna find out?”, you threatened.

Looking over his shoulder, an all-too-familiar fifteen year old hid behind a pile of coffee cups from the bar counter, holding his breath to not laugh. You sighed and broke the tension.

“Funny. Very funny. I almost shoot you, you know”.

“That’s not a very good instinct”.

“Not an instinct, I truly wanted to shoot you”.

“You sure were, pancake”, he said as he transformed back into himself, still in those ugly clothes covering half his face. As he looked down to himself, he frowned and changed his clothes to an Asgardian armor. “But your mortal bullets would be no more than a caress to my skin”.

“Let’s give it a try, shall we?”, you cocked your gun, joking. He laughed, and Peter got increasingly nervous as you played with your toys in a public and safe place, surrounded by civilians. “Don’t worry, Pete, it’s fake”.

Peter sighed in relief as you clarified and put it back in your pocket, and Loki smirked, knowing perfectly well you just lied.

“Why don’t we get something to drink, too, mr. Loki?”.

“Yeah, whatever you want, kid”.

“Not a kid”.

“Apologies. Actually, can you order it? I’m afraid Midgardians don’t usually take kindly to my presence”, he asked. Peter nodded.

“I do, mr. Loki”.

"What?".

"Take it kindky".

Loki smiled and raised his eyebrows, a bit confused. Muttered an “I’m glad” and instructed him to get an americano, while you packed your laptop in the backpack.

"How's the incognito working out for you in your shiny armor?"

"Better than before. At least now I'm comfortable while getting the same bad looks I always get anyways".

"Shapeshifter can't manage to hide, how ironic", you said, giving him one of the new earbuds, with an attachable mic. "Since you have good strategy plans and you sort of know what you're doing, work with me".

"I thought we were already working together. You know, in this stupid thing called The Dark...".

"Yeah", you interrupted him, rolling your eyes once again. "From behind the scenes, I mean. This is so you can listen to whatever my earbud hears. Don't bite your tongue if you have any inputs, I'm running out of solutions".

Your phone rang again as you were getting up.

“Yes?”.

“It’s all gone to trash, y/n. We need a new plan, I can’t find Buck anywhere. What’s your backup?”, rushed Steve’s voice. It sounded like it was from a public service phone, and the static didn’t let you hear Steve’s surroundings. Loki looked at the floor, concentrating. He didn't find anything either, and was too far away to read his mind.

“Wait. What do you mean you can’t find him? You were supposed to keep an eye on him so he doesn’t get kidnapped again”, you said, opening your laptop again and looking for Bucky’s location. He didn’t have it on him.

“Yeah, that’s what I meant with ‘it’s all gone to trash’”.

“Okay, don’t freak out. Where are you?”.

“Hydra’s last base, top of the buil…”.

“Hold up, I have another incoming call”. You put him on hold and see who’s calling. It was Bucky, this time. You sigh out of relief. Peter watched you two concerned while approaching you with two coffee cups. You gestured to him to not talk, and Loki had started to type things in your computer. “Buck, where are you? What happened?”.

On the other side of the line, you didn’t get a specific answer. You heard muffled noises that you still couldn’t quite figure out what they meant, and more than one person behind the phone.

“Buck, you there?”, you asked once again. Bucky’s voice filled the silence with a heartrending scream of agony. You almost dropped your phone, and your heart beated to the speed of light. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. They have him. “Buck!”.

“Three hours”, called someone, probably one of the Hydra butchers. “You have three hours”.

“Three hours for what?!”, you tried to hold them on the line while tracing the call. It was from a specific coordinate, nobody could get there unless they teleported. Luckily, you had the perfect person for the job. Loki looked at you quizzically.

"Do we not have better people on it? Can't Stark go?".

You returned to Steve’s call, while thinking about some other alternative than taking you three there (including Peter). “They have Bucky. Location’s very far away from where we all are, so you try to get out of there and go to Asgard with Thor; they’ll try to kidnap you too, and Hydra’s resources are global. No, don’t argue, you screw up, now you do exactly as I say”.

“Do you think they’re the same that hijacked the ship on the first part of the mission?”, asked Loki once you cut the call.

“They might. We have to go get him, there's no other way. The rest of the team comes back tomorrow and they can't leave”.

“No, I have to go”, said Loki. “But I’m supposed to stay with you two and make sure you’re not endangered, and I’m sure if I leave you here all alone, you’ll try to come by your own means”.

“Which means”, you added, “if you take us with you, you can make sure we don’t endanger ourselves”.

“This is a terrible idea”.

“But the only one so far”, you convinced him. “Pete, feeling like going on a dangerous mission?”.

“Hell yeah!”, he said eagerly. Loki was not very fond of his enthusiasm.

“I can do this”, you assured him. “Do you trust me?”.

“Yes”. He didn’t hesitate. “But I don’t trust them. You two will stay behind me facing the danger, alright? Nothing of wanting to play heroes”.

“Got it. Let’s suit up, fellas. Bucky’s waiting”.

[ribcage-rodents]

Dick Grayson had a coffee journal, baking journal, cooking journal (along w others like car/bike journal (he built his own motorcycle for fun then taught himself how to ride)). He always had to be busy and bettering himself so eventually he tried learning how to cook and bake and be a barista. He would do research on how to make something write tons of recipes and equations down to pop every single kernel or perfectly aerate the milk to get the right texture.Then take notes about the process and outcome in his journal until he perfected it and moved on to the next subject.

Every morning Bruce would wake up drink black coffee and eat a breakfast prepared by Alfred. Dick was definitely the most independent out of all the Robins, he dictated everything in his own schedule and while he did have a few routines he mostly did whatever he wanted. He graduated valedictorian with perfect attendance at 14 because he hacked the attendance records. He was apart of debate, math-let’s, drama, gymnastics, yearbook, prom, student council, and he was cheer captain. He never showed up to class or practices, only meets, championships, games, and tests. Somehow always winning or getting the highest score and always completing homework. He also tutored on fridays.

One routine Dick almost always stuck to was his morning routine, he didn’t like sleeping bc nightmares and the fear of being unconscious kept him awake as long as he could stand. Around five he would go to his personal gym and start on stretches, then go to gymnastics, around 6:30 he would go for a run and get a smoothie bowl from his favorite shop then head home. He would then do aerial ballet and practice hand to hand combat, then weapons mainly things like knife throwing, baterang aim, staff, and escrima sticks, then cool down with ballet. Around 7 Bruce would wake up. After training Dick would start on missions.

When Bruce would go to work there’d be sticky notes on his desk something from Dick along the lines of, “Hi B! Today I made a wet cappuccino, I gave you four shots of espresso with two pumps of vanilla flavoring. Cappuccinos are different than the latte I made last week because you aerate the milk longer to make more foam. This cappuccino is wet because I left the steamed milk in, instead of a dry one which I’m gonna make next!” His drink would be sitting in a thermos still warm and steaming.

He didn’t get one everyday, only when Dick felt his drinks were good enough for B to try. And to be fair it wasn’t always all that tasty.

Dick also made B lunch everyday. At first some of his employees laughed bc “a billionaire eating a sack lunch!?” It was usually just like a small salad (Dick was actually very proud of learning how to make a basic salad), some type of sandwich (as time went on, sometimes they’d be grilled and fancy like a panini), and something like grapes, and finally usually some type of pastry Alfred made. These sack lunches always came with at least one note stuck on the outside of the bag w something like “Hi B! Good morning and afternoon! I made you a PB&J and I got the sweet purple grapes and also Alfred made a really good peach tart! I had one with my smoothie this morning it’s very good! I also wanted to make you kettle corn because that was one of my favorite foods when I was younger but I’m still working on it:(. And then usually a sign off with a tiny bird or heart.

On days when there were two notes in the bag were always B favorite. Sometimes it meant Dick made something he felt was good enough for B. And much like the coffee notes would describe what the food was and how he made it. Other times it was just useless additional information like, “I tried to make toast for breakfast today so I did research last night and completed the equations and it came out beautifully golden and crunchy but not too crunchy. But then after like twenty seconds I was holding it and it just burst into flame…. And then the toaster also burst into flame. Don’t tell Alfred (I’m pretty sure he already knows)

Bruce kept every single one of these notes. He still has each one carefully laminated and stuck in a shoe box in his closet. Sometimes when he fights w the younger ones or if he bonds w the younger ones or if he just plain misses his first (and favorite) son, he’ll open the box and read through them logging the date and remembering how old Dick was, what he did that month. Did he go to Dick’s cheer tournament? No he never did. Dick won a trophy for that gymnastics routine later that day right? He should go check the trophy room to make sure.

Sometimes he’ll stare at his phone hovering over the call button. He never does, he’s always been horrible at talking about feelings but Dick never was. And when he visits home, Bruce knows it’s only for the other kids, because Tim’s been struggling, because Cass wants to dance and watch Disney movies or she has a new fantasy book but she’d rather he read it (she does this w Jason too but he’s rarely around so Dick stepped in he tries to justice to J’s story telling), or it’s waffle Wednesday w steph (she’ll discuss everything they’re gonna do and talk about it all week bragging really and b can’t blame her for having pride in a loving happy family, he’d prideful too), or Damian wanted Dick to come over instead of visiting him at Wally’s apartment because “Pennyworth (the cat) misses you that is all”, or he’s dragging Jason back for a nice family dinner. And Bruce knows he’s here for them, that Dick would never come home just for Bruce. But then Dick comes over with a fancy home brewed coffee with fancy cream art and smile at him like he’s still just a tiny little kid, and Bruce is reminded that yes he made mistakes but Dick will always view him as his father and will always love him. And Bruce knows that even though he can’t articulate or show his pride and admiration and limitless love Dick knows.

[wincore]

sour tangerine | huang renjun

pairing: keyboardist!renjun x songwriter!reader

words: 15.3k

summary:  ‘i gave up on that sort of music,’ he’d said. but not like this. not when you’re there to grab his wrist and drag him into your ridiculous notions about music that make him want to tear all his hair out. huang renjun falls in love with two words that escape your lips, and now he has to pretend his cheeks aren’t caked in a blush as red as donghyuck’s guitar. maybe he shouldn’t have agreed to joining this band of idiots just for an incredibly cute songwriter.

themes: rock band!au, fluff, (mostly existential) angst, comedy-ish

warnings: making out, alcohol, college kids being college kids

song recs: hello sunshine - wetter // how to love - day6 // today - nell // rooftop - n.flying // what can i do - day6 // red - the rose // i loved you - day6 // leave it - n.flying // baby - the rose

a/n: nct dream 00 line rock band. that’s it. who wants to join my renjun cover literally any song by day6 agenda. if you think this is like a kdrama compressed into a fic i am so sorry but you are correct hsdksh also i do not know what it’s like to major in music or make music so... please bear with me.

special thanks to @insomni-writing​ for beta reading this ilysm!! and @cinanamon​ because your support made me actually finish this ily dude <3

With hair dyed blond and a stream of colourful words ready at the tip of his tongue, no one assumes Huang Renjun majors in classical music. Not when he’s threatening Lee Donghyuck by the vending machine, not when he’s pulling an arrogant half-smile by the semester-end results and certainly not when he’s hardly ever seen near an instrument as elegant as the grand piano.

If they heard him play it just once, they’d forget the rest.

He strikes the keys gently, and then all at once in a motion so very unique to him—and you know this, not because you were stalking him, but because you happened to get a very rare ticket to the national level performing arts concert (which you didn’t scam out of someone that time, you swear). Looking pristine in a clean tuxedo and with then dark hair swept to the side, Huang Renjun looked very much like an alien, like the words leaving his mouth and the things he’d do would be so unpredictable. 

You were right. 

Huang Renjun plays the piano like he’s not of this world. 

He plays soft rock tunes even better—which, this time, you know because you were, in fact, stalking him while he spent extra hours in the practice room. From the lazy smile on his face to the way he let himself loose (for once) in a hot pink hoodie he kept trying to cover with his bag all day, you knew he was perfect.

Out of all the miserably planned (and timed) situations you’ve pulled yourself into, this might just hit top 3. 

You’re going to convince Renjun to join your band.

Which is easier said than done, because Renjun is just as stubborn as you are, if not more. You’ve never wanted to smack someone so bad and neither have you ever contemplated the outcome of spontaneous fistfights as much. But as frustrated as he leaves you, you know you need him, or your picture-perfect plan will fall apart before you’ve even started to paint.

The first time you’d nudged him in class, he’d sent you a glare as soon as the question left your lips. You’d fought a pout, the warmth on your cheeks popping like firecrackers. But you’re not easily discouraged, no, not really, not ever. 

The second time, you’d spread your arms in front of him to get him to stop walking off, looking more of a lunatic than a college student (sometimes, what’s the difference?) and Renjun had pursed his lips and furrowed his brows in an expression more than annoyed. 

“Please!” you yelled, catching the attention of fellow students.

Renjun eyed your palms flat against each other, elbows raised in a most comical prayer and announced a “No” just as loudly before briskly walking away.

The third time, you’d sent Donghyuck, your lead guitarist, who you really shouldn’t have expected to perform better than you did. You know they’re friends, so that should have worked better, right? Wrong. Renjun had returned a pouting Donghyuck, complaining nonstop for two whole days afterwards and with a message from Renjun to “in the best of words, fuck off”.

You sigh, glancing at the time on your watch. This is your last time to book him for your ragtag rock band (still unnamed) and you’re going to leave him with no choice. You can do this. 

You tiptoe from one side of the corridor to the other, the large windows drenching you in an uncomfortable amount of sunlight. But you are quiet—you know how to be sneaky and you’d be lying if you said you’re not at least a little bit proud of it. Renjun stays at the senior practice room well into late afternoon and if the door was closed fully, you’d be hearing nothing of it.

The old model of electronic keyboards in the practice room, which made you wonder if electric instruments ever rust, now plays ringing clear. It’s not just the fondness with which your school’s beloved pianist plays it but the added charm of his structure, straightened enough to focus but relaxed just as much.

A few minutes pass by in quiet contemplation, as you run through your plan again. First, approach him with a friendly gesture, offer him your strawberry milk or something. Second, block every exit he might seek once you’ve cornered him. Third, spew that long speech you prepared—a pretty pile of words ought to move him. Right? If all else fails, you’re going to call in Jaemin as your secret weapon. The boy can charm a rock, and you hate to be doing that to anyone (even Renjun), but drastic situations call for drastic measures. You take a sharp breath.

Oh, he’s singing now?

You misstep over the marble flooring and the door creaks open a little too loud.

Shit.

The music stops. You take a good second to swear at yourself, well and full, before breathing in and entering the practice room with as much confidence as you can gather.

“Renjun!” you say, grinning wide and arms stretched as if you’re there to welcome him.

Renjun looks at you, surprise smeared across his face. He quickly picks up his bag, shaking his head at you as he makes his way towards the door.

“You- “

Instead of all your brilliant planning, you resort to pulling a disgruntled Renjun into a lonesome corner before he can leave. It would seem more of a threat than an invitation to join, you’ll admit, but right now, you need Renjun to not glare at you with a scowl so obvious. It’s not that his face makes you nervous, it’s the outcome of today’s attempt. The bright afternoon sun reaches his hair and the left side of his face, a warm hue over eyes that look at you with more than just mild annoyance. He wears a grungy dark jacket over his lightly coloured T-shirt and has the audacity to claim he doesn’t do rock.

“Are you trying to kidnap me or something?” he asks, adjusting the strap of his bag.

You quickly smack the wall so your arm blocks his way, though the impact of it makes you wince.

“Join me,” you say, looking at him, determination across your face though the sentence comes off more cult-ish than you’d want. 

Renjun takes a step back to look up and take a sharp breath.

“I already told you,” he says, raising his voice, “I don’t do that sort of music anymore.”

“Anymore?”

Renjun groans, lips shaped in perfect annoyance. “Just how long are you going to keep this up?”

He tries to escape you but you take a hasty step closer, his back hitting the wall with a thud. It’s not all that fun, getting people to join your band. It’s even less fun when Renjun’s cologne is a tad too minty for your tastes.

“I’ll do anything!” you say, pressing your lips tight as the pleading grows in your eyes.

“Anything?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes!” You jolt up straighter.

“Then leave me alone forever for the rest of my life.”

Renjun crosses his arms and you frown, a sigh lacing your lips till you bring yourself to look him in the eye again. It’s not yet time to pull out Jaemin, you’re not even sure if that will work, but you might just have something else. 

“Lee Chaerim!” you suddenly yell. “You like her, don’t you?”

It’s a long shot but if it works… 

Renjun’s cheeks dust pink and he takes a step back, furrowing his eyebrows at you. Bullseye. You fight a snort before he can catch you. Gods, he’s so obvious.

“Wh-what gave you that idea?” he retorts, pitch shooting higher before he recomposes himself. “She’s a classmate, idiot. And don’t yell her name!”

“Star pianist Lee Chaerim,” you wave your hand about. “Who wouldn’t have a crush on her? I mean you’re a close second though.”

Renjun raises his eyebrows in disbelief. “It’s really not…”

“I’ll score you a date with her!” you declare, grinning like a maniac. “If you join my band.”

Renjun sighs, shoulders sagging. “You’re really not going to drop this, are you?”

“Nope.” You shrug, popping the ‘p’ in a helplessly obnoxious manner. 

Renjun leans back against the wall, head tilting to look you in the eye as the frown grows prominent over his lips.

“And you think scoring me a date will make me want to join your…band?” Renjun snorts.

You shift your eyes awkwardly. “Well, I didn’t really paint you as the Romeo type either but hey, I don’t judge a book by its cover.”

“(name)?”

“Yes?”

“You’re the most annoying person I’ve ever met.”

“Oh. That’s actually the sweetest thing I’ve heard from you,” you muse before quickly returning to the subject at hand. “Ah, come on. Just give it a chance, please? 

“I major in classical music.”

You raise an eyebrow, a smirk crawling over your lips. “And yet you’re more than decent at Queen on the keys.”

Renjun straightens, the crease between his eyebrows deepening. “You’re stalking me?!”

“No, I’m scouting you. All the big companies hire people to do that.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Er, it’s called extraordinary.”

“Extraordinarily annoying.”

“Stop arguing with me!” You stomp your foot.

Renjun mimics you in a rather aggressive tone, the tip of his nose almost touching yours. You pull a face, throwing a soft punch at his shoulder to which he responds with a sharp cry and a glare. 

“Fine!” Renjun says, massaging his shoulder. “I’ll give you one week to prove to me this band’s worth my time.”

You feel something akin to surprise before his words register. Worth his time? He's just about as arrogant as you expected. 

“Deal,” you say, shooting him a forced smile.

From the light periwinkle of his T-shirt to the blond strands astray against his forehead, there’s a sort of halo surrounding him. You press your lips together before you can laugh at his supposed angelic qualities, before he somehow starts to look as pretty as your friends describe. 

“Starting today, I’m your lyricist and composer!” you grin, extending your hand towards him.

“I...You…” 

Renjun hesitates before taking your hand in a firm shake, but not before pursing his lips in doubt. Perhaps you could have warned him before grabbing his wrist and so unceremoniously dragging him here. 

“I didn’t even join,” he mutters.

“I’m giving you the full trial!” you defend.

Renjun stays quiet before suddenly clearing his throat. “You can- You can let go of the wall now.”

Your eyes trail to your hand and you immediately retract it with an “ah”. There’s barely any distance between your chests, and you suppose you were successful in cornering him—a little too effectively. Renjun shakes his head, quickly walking past you with no gesture of goodbye.

“You’re going to be disappointed, (name),” he says quietly before leaving.

You blink in confusion at his disappearing figure. 

Whatever. When have you ever paid attention to words of warning? You glance at the back of Renjun’s head from the second floor’s handrail as he rushes down the stairs, albeit a sort of grace to his movement, and sigh. 

Donghyuck owes you twenty. You’re going to be rubbing it in his smug face that you’ve recruited, er, almost recruited the unreachable Huang Renjun. And for a date? He must be far more romantic than you thought. You don’t think you’ll ever understand him.

You take a slow, deep breath reaching all the way to your belly. 

Your plan is working out. It’s going to work out—soon you can be writing songs to a rhythm and melody of your choice, for people who can hear the words and dance to it. The world’s gonna sing along to your songs, to the chorus to your ambitions. 

“Renjun?!”

Between Donghyuck’s agape mouth and Renjun’s defensive stance, you really don’t know who to approach first. This place was apparently the only room in all of Seoul a bunch of college kids could rent out and while all of you dished out a remarkable chunk from your earnings, it was worth every penny. From the ugly orange wallpaper to the stinky couch, you wouldn’t trade a thing in this room, except for maybe Jeno’s withering plant in exchange for a new one. Poor thing’s been dead for as long as you can remember (courtesy of Jaemin).

“(name) actually convinced you?” Donghyuck asks, exaggerated surprise in his voice before he drops it lower. “You can tell me if you were threatened or something, promise I’ll get you out of this.”

Renjun rolls his eyes, a smile making on to his face anyway. “It’s just for a w—mph!”

You slap a hand over Renjun’s mouth, stepping in to grin victoriously at Donghyuck. “See, Hyuck? I told you I’d make it work. Now, pay up.”

“You bet on this?” 

The curtains are drawn shut but the room lights are bright in a strange sort of way, like someone in the sixteenth century discovered electricity early and decided to reinvent candlelight out of it. Late afternoon isn’t as gentle as it is in winter, but you’d rather have patches of sunlight decorating the room instead of the garish yellow lights. The lavender air freshener you sprayed a few minutes ago has already settled in, the previous scent of instant noodles, though delicious, finally gone. You should’ve brought the coffee mix, you think with regret. A productive day needs a productive start, as you’ve always been told. (You might have messed up, but it’s never too late, right?)

You think you should have anticipated a little adjustment trouble after all.

Jeno walks headfirst into the mess—with Renjun choking Donghyuck under his arm while you try to not drop the pile of records from the small coffee table and onto the Dorito dust-covered wooden floor. The recorder is safe, a good few feet away from your mayhem.

“Oh, hey Renjun, didn’t know you’re a part of this,” Jeno says, raising an eyebrow at the boy.

“Yeah, I didn’t either,” Renjun mutters in response, loosing up on Donghyuck.

You narrow your eyes. “Wait, you guys know each other?”

“Yeah, we’re in the same dorm,” Jeno answers, shrugging before he drops his bag onto the couch. 

You gasp. “You could’ve just asked him all this time?!”

“Uh,” Jeno drawls out before coughing forcefully. There’s a slight change of air, and your inability to read situations, for the first time, is a major help.

“Hello, trouble children,” Jaemin announces as he enters, his bag thrown in Jeno’s direction, who seems relieved for the interruption.

“Oh, hi Renjun!” 

“You know him too?” You’re almost offended at this point. 

Jaemin stares blankly in confusion. “Yeah, we’re…all…in the same dorm.”

You throw up your head in exasperation, an annoyed huff leaving your parted lips. “And none of you thought of asking him to join?!”

“We didn’t think he’d ever agree,” Jaemin says, glancing at Renjun discreetly. 

Renjun stays quiet, shrugging before he plops down on the couch. “Anyone wanna tell me what we’re supposed to do today? Apart from killing Donghyuck?”

“It’s not my fault you’re so bad at rock, paper, scissors,” Donghyuck retorts quietly. 

“You cheated!” Renjun sits up straight, glaring.

You raise your palms like the peaceful negotiator you are, and honestly, all they had to do was decide the lead vocal for the new song, which Renjun vehemently rejected. 

Donghyuck gasps. “Renjun isn’t half as innocent as he looks. Watch out (name)—oof.”

Renjun elbows him in the stomach, the resulting expression on Donghyuck making you wonder just how much strength Renjun really has.

“Renjun, Donghyuck. You’re both lead,” you say, finalizing.

“What?!” 

The two of them look at you, one with betrayal and the other with an emotion very close to murder. It wasn’t easy coming to the decision, sure, but for this song, you’ll be needing Renjun a little bit more. Is it treacherous of you to have picked out the song most suited to him? You have your reasons, however. You’re not letting Renjun leave without experiencing the wonders of performing at a local pub, and in general, you’re a little iffy about letting him leave at all. You need the keys and you need a chance. You have something to prove.

“Just this song, Hyuck,” you sigh. “You know we switch up things every time.”

“Fine,” he grumbles. “The show's coming Saturday, right?”

You nod when Renjun interrupts.

“Show?!” he blurts.

“We’re performing,” you answer, shrugging. “You know Odd Fruit? In Hongdae?”

Renjun wrinkles his nose, shifting back. “No? Isn’t that a dive bar?”

“Best place for us,” Jaemin grins, resting his elbows against the headrest beside Renjun. “Saturdays are for rock.”

Renjun sighs. “I don’t- I don’t sing rock.”

Jeno raises an eyebrow. “I wasn’t peeping or anything but wasn’t that you in the shower? What were you singing again—”

“Okay, okay!” Renjun sits up straight, heaving a sigh, his shoulders moving with it. “I sing Disney songs in the shower, it doesn’t mean anything…”

“We can do that sort of music too.” You grin, tilting your head. “We can do any music!”

“Yeah,” Jeno encourages thoughtfully, “Even idol music!”

“No,” everyone says in unison. 

Jeno mutters something under his breath, sulking as he sinks into the couch and crosses his arms after adjusting his bright red baseball cap.

Renjun shakes his head, recomposing himself. “You want me to perform next Saturday?! That wasn’t in the deal!”

You furrow your brows. “I told you it’s a full trial!”

“That’s over a week!” He throws up his hands in exasperation.

“The trial week ends on Friday and Saturday’s just a bonus,” you reason, crossing your arms. 

You don't break the gaze just in case it determines your stand. It’s probably a full minute of glaring at each other before your humble audience intervenes, Donghyuck bursting into laughter and the other two following. You share a puzzled look with Renjun, looking around for an explanation.

“We’re gonna have a blast this Saturday,” Donghyuck says, wiping a tear from his eye. “I can’t wait.”

“We’ll get to practise,” Jaemin says, resting his palm on Renjun’s shoulder reassuringly. “You’re gonna have fun, trust me.”

“I hope so,” Renjun mutters.

That’s all you need to hear.

Renjun isn’t half as disagreeable when he’s focused. His brow line is straight, lips parted gently and eyes almost hazed over as if his fingers over the keys have eyes of their own. 

Renjun is also fantastic at perfecting your notes. You always thought he’d be too prissy to work with you, but he doesn’t seem to care about that anymore. With flushed knuckles and long fingers, part of hands that were meant to play the piano—you’d say Renun lives up to the musical prodigy title. The short demo you’d played for him somehow swirled and twined into music so him and yet still you, rock undertones with light blues. You haven’t met anyone who can play with melody like that, besides Donghyuck.

Rock means hope. Undone to be done.

And maybe, part of you is a little disappointed at how well he handles the pre-performance stress. You would love to see a hint of jitters in him for once. Saturday wastes no time in creeping up and while you wish you could say you feel what your band looks like, you don’t. The pre-performance stress is very, very different for you. 

Let’s say, you’re not too sure about reviving rock music in Seoul. It’s not very popular and still considered underground, but hey, at least it’s easy on the ears and it is honest, if nothing else. And an honest sound wins, right?

You lock eyes with Renjun, before they're ushered to the centre. There's not much to be said. You smile with a determined nod, holding up both of your thumbs to the boys. This will work out. It will.

And at the very least, you're getting two shots of whiskey on the house.

The place is shabby, but not too shabby for a dive bar. There’s a giant mural… thing of what seems to be the hybrid of a peach, apricot and dragonfruit. You’re not too sure, actually. Just as crowded as you expected, the lights glow dim and the smell of musk and lime keep in check the other foul smells that could possibly emanate from the human body. Lovely. Your fingers play against your lips as they stretch into a smile. It’s the perfect place to play your song, but maybe the jitters have a purpose after all.

There are foreign faces around, quite literally, and it makes you nervous. You settle by the bar, your last words of encouragement drifted off further from you to whatever that excuse of a stage is. 

Renjun looks calm as ever. The confidence in him is not what you'd expected, though a bubbling feeling in you suggests it's even better this way.

“You finally got someone on the keys,” a familiar voice calls from behind the countertop.

You turn your head to find Doyoung, arms resting on the table and holding what seems to be a bottle of vodka so tenderly, you’d think it was either his child or an explosive.

“Huang Renjun,” you respond, smiling. “Like the best pianist in our year. Or maybe second best.”

Doyoung laughs. “You kids could be as good as us some day. Need more practice.”

“Hey, old man, it’s not your time anymore,” you say, raising an eyebrow with a cheeky grin. “Maybe you were the best keyboardist back then but…”

You lean in to emphasize as you point at a Renjun furrowing his brows at all the wiring. “That guy’s going to outsing you. It’s the new era now. Etcetera, etcetera.”

“You talk like I’m from a different generation.” Doyoung scoffs, though the corner of his lips twitch. “Still dreaming of making your boyband? Do you guys even have a name?”

You pout. “It’s not a boyband! Okay… technically, it is a boyband. And no, we don’t have a name.”

You sulk for a moment or two at the way Doyoung had called your life’s work a boyband in that uninterested tone. Nothing’s wrong with a boyband. You sigh.

“At least we’re getting free alcohol, eh?” you nudge Doyoung, him being the reason you’re getting to play here anyway. What does a graduated music performance major do in his free time? Bartending, apparently. You haven’t ever really questioned his life choices and you’re not going to start now. Never question your seniors.

“I’m not serving you kids alcohol,” he says, furrowing his eyebrows in disbelief.

“We’re legal,” you argue, crossing your arms.

“Hard to believe.”

You see the smile lines crease on Doyoung’s face and before you can retort, a hum of strings resounds through the place, loud enough for the two of you to catch.

“Sorry,” Donghyuck mouths sheepishly to the two of you, Doyoung responding with an eye roll.

“I didn’t know that demon could get nervous,” he mutters and you laugh at the comedic duo the two of them make. 

Donghyuck clears his throat into the mic and you cringe, but not before holding back your laughter at the terror in his eyes. Right then, the keys are struck, and suddenly, music is into motion.

You absentmindedly hum along, smiling to yourself before it strikes you to monitor the crowd. You gulp, a crease in your brows as you look around with the determination of a child at a pet shop scanning for a puppy to adopt.

You give up after a minute or so, the feeling weighing heavy. Reading facial expressions has never really been your thing, especially under lights that don’t acknowledge the purpose of their existence. (You’re not saying this because you have bad eyesight.) Fun varies. Everyone in this place is in a crowd of their own, and if not a crowd, in a dream. Some nod along, some smile but you, you know the song better than anyone else in this room. It has to be worth something.

You sigh. Your desperation gets a notch crueler each drawing year, and yet, the questions still arise. Do you have to be someone? A smiling face at a dive bar is more than enough to be, you think.

You mouth the lyrics, nodding your head along to the baseline you helped make. You think Doyoung chuckles beside you, something about taking self-love too seriously but you can’t hear him over the sound of the band. 

Bass. Drums. Keys.

Suddenly, in the moment between heartbeats, your eyes meet Renjun’s.

He sings into the mic full of self-assurance, teeth occasionally making an appearance in a chaotic smile. It's always the little things that make the person. Eyes peering down at the keys, barely keeping open at certain parts and yet you think you see a hint of exhilaration in them. 

The riff of the second song starts out loud. This is Donghyuck’s song and this time, it turns heads. You’re not sure in a good way or bad, but it wouldn’t be the first time people have wanted to beat him up in a bar. You snicker to yourself but just then, two guys cheer from the crowd, a red-faced Donghyuck flashing them a grin.

“Ah, Jaehyun and Taeil are here too,” Doyoung notes. You’ve never actually met the two but you’ve heard of them so many times you think you could replace Doyoung as their lead singer. 

The song is called Cheers and for good reason.

Donghyuck smiles into the mic, and with a highly anticipated breath, you realize, Renjun is smiling too. Little by little, the night grows more optimistic and into the palms of your youth. Even in this tiny, crowded place. Even in a room full of people you can’t read.

The song ends in time, but not enough for Donghyuck to actually convince Doyoung to give him drinks. It’s not a Saturday night without their fights, and despite that, the atmosphere is warm with spoken words. You think you catch Renjun beam at Doyoung’s compliment, suppressing your own smile at the two..

Clink, splash, clink.

“You know, for someone as excited about whiskey, I thought you’d be better with liquor,” Renjun says, sighing as his hesitant finger pokes you in the forehead.

Your eyes open so suddenly, Renjun flinches and you ease into a smile. “I’m not that drunk. The next shot, maybe.”

That’s not entirely true because you’re sure the previous one just needs a little more time to settle into your gut. Renjun, on the other hand, seems to be better at dealing with alcohol. The peach hue across his cheeks make you want to pinch them and you’ll give it twenty minutes before you lose control and actually do.

The two songs were only three and a half minutes each but they seemed to stretch long enough for you to be pleased with them. You’re not sure about the rest.

“I almost messed up the beat there,” Jeno mutters, resting his head against the bar table. Jaemin shrugs beside him, taking another shot. The two of them can hold their liquor, at least. Donghyuck cannot.

“Was it that bad?” Donghyuck asks, adjusting the red bomber jacket he was so sure made him look cool. “I don’t think it was bad. I mean, we all do embarrassing things once in a while—”

“Does he not shut up?” Renjun wails before looking at you accusingly. “Don’t end up like that.” 

“I don’t mope, Renjun,” you snap, your finger unsteady as it points at him. “You better remember that about me.”

Renjun rolls his eyes. “And you’re gone too.”

“Tell me,” you say, your lips tugged into a lazy smile, “you enjoyed it, didn’t you? I saw you smiling.”

Even under the wash of blue light, you can see his cheeks tinge with colour. Is Huang Renjun purple now? Not the crystal clear jewel you’d expected, but these hues are so much nicer on him. He doesn’t always have to be under golden spotlight—he can just bask in the mulberry shades of a nearly sketchy club once in a while.

“Renjun,” a loud whine erupts from beside you, Donghyuck immediately wobbling up. “I can’t believe you actually agreed to play with us. C’mere, let me give you a smooch.”

Renjun curls his lips, desperately trying to fight off Donghyuck clinging onto him for life, and you hear a grunt of pain from Renjun in a pitch you didn’t think was humanly possible. You laugh, clutching your stomach and hear a few strained words from Renjun about how no one ever helps him. Who would help him when he’s providing you the funniest event of the weekend?

Jeno is the knight in shining armour tonight, pulling Donghyuck off but not before the boy lands a kiss on Renjun’s neck, in turn getting smacked in the lips a little too hard. Donghyuck places his hand over his mouth, keeling over with eyes shut in pain and Renjun mutters about how he deserved that. He fits in just fine, you think.

“You wanna… not do that?” 

Renjun pulls the shot glass away from you, and you frown at him.

“So tell me,” he says, leaning in a little closer to be heard over the song. “Why did you want me to join your band so desperately you forgot your own dignity? I’m not saying you had any to begin with but…”

“Look, Renjun, I don’t give away embarrassing secrets when I’m drunk,” you warn, poking him right between the ribs. “Even if it’s not embarrassing. Or a secret.”

“Right. You’d do that sober,” he sighs, arms a polite distance from you when you try to stand up.

“Now you tell me—”

“You didn’t even answer me.”

“—did you have fun?”

Renjun pauses, taking a moment or two as he scans your face. The light dances across his features, gentle eyes and parted lips, across the dark jacket over a white shirt that has turned fluorescent under the lighting. You forgot how fun this place got beyond midnight, when they play beats to dance to for a crowd that seeks nothing more than fun.

“Yes. Yes, I did.”

Renjun might be trying very hard to stop the smile over his lips but you can see it in his eyes. And perhaps, people are only seen when they are true to themselves.

“Huang Renjun!” you yell all of a sudden, voice still drowned out in the delicate discordance. 

Unfortunately for Renjun, you yell directly into his ear and he responds with a violent recoil, hand flying to his ear involuntarily. He probably cries out too but the music is deafening, something you enjoy rightly so. Or is it the alcohol? Should you have stayed sober for Renjun’s sake? Right now, you don’t even mind the strong minty scent wafting from Renjun—in fact, it’s welcoming, even.

You wobble onto his chest before tentatively pushing yourself away. You curse at yourself. You weren’t supposed to get hammered. How much did you drink? You can’t even bear to look at the bill right now.

“You know what? I’m not having fun right now,” Renjun speaks into your ear and you jump. There’s a hint of a smile on his face. 

You sit back down on the bar stool, pouting at the fuzz blooming inside your head. No more words for tonight. In all honesty, why doesn’t anyone ever let you dance?

“Oh no, you don’t.” Doyoung pulls the bottle of whatever-alcoholic-beverage out of your reach. “Do you even know how expensive that is? You’re going to have to pay.”

You think you sober up a little, sitting straight. “Oh no. I don’t have money. I’m not cleaning the place again.”

A sort of unspoken arrangement passes between Doyoung and Renjun, who you’re sure have never met before. You know Jaemin’s dragged Donghyuck home, the same way you’d drag your pet cat away from the kitchen and Jeno is the only one with a driver’s license and Doyoung’s trust (hence, designated driver). Which leaves the two of you. 

Renjun heaves a sigh, pulling you up by the shoulders. “You’re going home. Or whatever dumpster you came from.”

He proceeds to mutter something about Jeno being late but in the moment, you flash him a grin, walking perfectly away (at least, you think you do) and out into the night. Renjun follows, flustered by your absolute lack of restraint as he somehow manages to stop you from tripping over the sidewalk.

“You didn’t dance,” you complain, looking at him. 

“You didn’t let me,” he retorts. “Look at you. You’re as bad as Donghyuck. Babysitting him is difficult enough.”

You grumble before agreeing. “Okay, fair. Next time, no drinking. Unless it’s free.”

What college student would have the audacity to turn down free drinks? Huang Renjun should not have been this good at holding his liquor. Needlessly, your thoughts are incoherent—not too good for a songwriter, right?

Huang Renjun has a lighter touch than you thought. He has a polite hold over your shoulder, in a way friends do most often, and you might feel like you could have been friends with him forever, but you can never tell what he thinks. Sometimes, Renjun really is extraterrestrial. In the way he talks, in the way he looks at things and in the way you almost believe he’s going to do something unspeakably outrageous someday. 

You feel a certain sprout of warmth in your chest as he sits quietly beside you in the noisy car Jeno loves to drive. Must be the alcohol, of course. Of course.

And sometimes, you come up with words fit for a song. To fall asleep in last night’s clothes and wake up with tomorrow’s dreams—all part of the grand plan, part of the crusades of youth, nothing more and nothing less. That sounds like something you’d love telling your family when you’re old and grey. You laugh to yourself, pulling the covers over your head, not knowing how you even ended up here. 

It smells minty. 

With that one fleeting thought, you doze off in your unwashed bed sheets and faintly lemon-scented pillows, shades of plums and oranges and cherries of the night twisting into midnight black.

Playing at Odd Fruit is now a thing. Your thing. The band’s thing.  

As if you needed any more reasons to stay over at the bandroom, now that Donghyuck and Renjun bickering keeps everyone up all night. You’re not blaming them, of course, when you join in the fun too. The day Renjun’s nostrils stop flaring and his eyebrows don’t furrow into an oddly adorable expression will be the day he’s finally set free from your ‘ill-treatment’.

Tap, scratch, tap.

Donghyuck fiddles with the strings of his guitar, while the rest lay slumped in any clean bit of space they could find, like runners after a marathon. Which is funny, really, considering you were the one running errands and cleaning up the damn place and it’s yet still somehow trashed. You could be having a little more energy, you always could. 

However, the lengthened nights have left you in a state you’re rather afraid to be in. Your eyes don’t grow any more determined when it’s time for end semester tests, you don’t grow any happier at the thought of graduating. There are so many tunes to find, so many words to scribble—just how will you catch up?

Fun is a perfectly valid reason to do things but it’s only so long before the rest of your feelings each grip you by the limbs. 

“We need to do something more,” you say, pacing the room. “Something that’s a little more eye-catching, you know?”

There’s a pause.

“Make Jeno play the drums shirtless,” Donghyuck suggests.

Jeno sighs, still not having figured out how to respond every time a scandalizing proposition escapes the boy’s mouth. At this point, most of you have considered duct taping him over the mouth but it’d never work. Renjun’s tried.

“Why do we even need it?” Renjun asks, eyes on the ceiling as he lies back on the couch.

“To improve!” you say, shoulders hunching.

“I don’t need improving,” he mutters, neck angled to the side in contemplation.

“Yeah, you should see Renjun at the dorms,” Donghyuck snorts. “I don’t think he can get any better.”

Renjun furrows his brows. “What?”

“You play the keys in your sleep, Renjun,” Donghyuck says, almost distastefully. “You keep tapping and tapping against the study desk. How the hell do you not wake yourself up?”

“And you snore,” Renjun mumbles, glaring at him. “How the hell do you not wake yourself up?”

“Guys,” you interrupt. Your lack of sleep throughout the exam season has not left you any better than this. “More important matters at hand.”

“Why are we so stressed anyway?” Renjun sighs.

There’s another pause in the quiet afternoon. You’d think it’s comforting even to have the same fear lingering beneath each of your noses, that same existential grasp ready to pounce—all within the comfort of the same room you share. All those late nights sharing ramen have meaning after all, as do the utter messes all of you make on Friday evenings as the boys try to practise, as does every Saturday night performance and every Sunday afternoon spent trying to watch the same movie on a tiny phone screen.

“How about we each look for inspiration?” Jaemin pipes up, eyes still a little lost.

Everyone turns to him and he straightens ever so slightly. “Me and Jeno can come up with a beat, (name) and Renjun can look for a melody and Donghyuck��”

“Can fuck off?” Renjun suggests helpfully.

Donghyuck pouts, crossing his arms. “Hey I’m—”

“Yeah, maybe Donghyuck can fuck off,” Jaemin says, fighting a smile. You raise an eyebrow, wondering which one of Donghyuck’s antics finally got on Jaemin’s nerves.

“This is harassment,” Donghyuck mutters before sinking into the couch beside Renjun. “Well, good for me! I get a day off—”

“No, you don’t,” Jaemin disproves. “You’re cleaning up this place.” 

Donghyuck lets out a gasp. “All by myself?”

“Well, you trashed the place all by yourself,” Jeno reasons.

You tune out the bickering for a few moments. There are important matters at hand and no one seems to be listening to you. You play with your fingers absentmindedly when the thought arrives that maybe you should declare your secret little project. The song you wrote with Renjun in mind, that is. You should admit that it’s really just a nicer way of saying you wrote a song for him. 

Astounding, isn’t it? This should be the part where you feel your pulse quicken. It’s just a song and the nights spent with him on the keyboards, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes has given you a head full of rhythm and song. It’s just a song.

You’d do anything for a good song.

But first, you need your audio converter fixed. The damn thing’s been generating noise all on its own, when it’s clearly your job.

“I need to go to Yongsan,” you say, picking up your bag. “We can find inspiration along the way, can’t we Renjun?”

“Why do we need to go—”

“Oh, get me some replacement strings for my guitar,” Donghyuck chirps.

“And a new pair of drumsticks,” Jeno says, awkwardly scratching the back of his head. You sigh. He really needs to stop breaking those. Where do drummers get such unparalleled rage on a drum set?

You walk over to the door before turning back and sending a pointed look at Renjun.

“I… have to?” he asks, and the look in his eyes almost makes you pity him. If anything, he’s having it worse than the rest of you are, with balancing the weekly gigs and practising for his piano recitals, though he never studies like the rest. You feel sorry but clearly, not enough.

“Yes,” you reply hurriedly. “Quick, get up, come on, we’re wasting time.”

“Okay, okay! Don’t pull my shirt!”

It’s so easy to get Renjun to do things these days. You bite back a smile as he fixes his collar, features still disgruntled by your (over)enthusiasm. His bag is cuter than you thought for someone who dresses punk (“It’s not punk,” he’d snapped, after re-dyeing his hair yet again.), with three different moomin keychains hanging against a baby blue hue. 

You should know better than to let yourself think about someone so much.

The subway is absolutely lovable when it isn’t rush hour.

Skyscrapers nearly aren’t as looming as they are on rainy days, but you make your way through a still busy city, the heart of it beating like a snare drum with each passing moment.  A little rain cannot stop Seoul. 

Renjun walks beside you explaining how you should really look into this new underground artist you’ve already listened to three times this week because of him. He never seems to understand that you are, in fact, capable of remembering the things he says.

“I wrote a song about you,” you say abruptly.

Very smooth.

Renjun raises an eyebrow. “Like as a gift? A fan song? I’m so flatter—”

“No, stupid,” you interrupt, shifting your eyes upon irrelevant surrounding details. “It’s not about you. I just thought you’d like it.”

You pause.

“Yeah, it’s a little bit about you. A gift for joining. You can sing it to yourself in the shower or something.”

“You know, I feel really offended when you call me stupid.”

You glare at him. His ears are tinged red but right now, you’re a little more than done with his insults. Sure, you make mistakes—like dropping a full open can of soda on your own lap or submitting the wrong assignment to the wrong professor—but at least you’re not cynical Huang Renjun, incapable of making mistakes at all. It would be much more infuriating if you hadn’t seen Renjun drooling in his sleep or vigorously wipe at his nose after having snacks too spicy for his own good. You suppress a retort.

You reach the subway entrance taking slower steps than usual; but time is not a constraint here.

“It’s not a diss track, is it?” Renjun asks, suddenly doubtful. 

You can’t help your laugh (and horrifically, snorts), in turn evoking a smile in Renjun.

“No, it isn’t,” you assure, before grabbing his wrist and skipping down the steps, Renjun’s panicked voice yelling at you to slow down. 

“Can you not do that?” he complains, massaging his wrist at the subway platform.

“You made it through without tripping,” you reason, sticking your tongue out at him.

He reaches out to flick your forehead but you cover it just in time, a grin blooming across both your faces at this childish playfight. The train arrives with an almost soundless screech and you hop on slowly with anticipation in your footsteps.

“So what is it about?” Renjun asks, leaning forward to rest his elbows against his knees.

“You,” you respond, nonchalant.

“Very informative.”

The noise of the trains keeps the moment engaged, chuffing throughout as busy as they are.

Renjun lets out a barely audible gasp. “It’s not a- It’s not a love song, is it?”

You laugh, amused.

“Renjun, I knew you were arrogant but not this arrogant,” you tease.

He flushes hotly, and there’s that feeling again—that maybe you’re wrong. Maybe you don’t have anything else to hang on to and music is the only ledge left. 

You wrinkle your nose before shaking yourself off the feeling. Rainy days always do this.

“Besides,” you say, “I’m still going to score you that hot date with star pianist number one, aren’t I?”

“Not number one,” he begins before hesitating. “That’s… not necessary but thanks.”

You punch him swiftly and he responds with an oof, clutching the ball of his shoulder.

“Don’t be shy,” you complain. “That’s not fun.”

“Well, I’m not fun,” he retorts. “I don’t need to be. I like having a working brain.”

You send him an exaggerated hurt look, hand reaching to pull at his cheek before it gets swatted away. Somehow, in this exact moment, you find a new tune and it doesn’t seem to be the end of your search. You contemplate saving it in your voice memos but you figure a noisy subway train is the last place to record. Besides, you don’t want to lose the look in Renjun’s eyes when he’s talking about how impressive the new relocated concert hall is.

“It’s called Not Feeling Spring,” you say when the train doors open to your station.

Renjun raises an eyebrow, somewhat disbelieving, although you’re not sure of what. 

“You’ve definitely packed some insults in there,” he accuses.

You look at him, defeated. “Trust me.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

Step, step, splash. 

“Ew,” Renjun says, shaking his foot after landing on a particularly damp part of the sidewalk. They really should have evened out the path when laying the pavement. But unfortunately for Renjun, he’s already stepped onto rainwater in bright yellow converse.

It’s not just his shoes that look like daisies could bloom over them either—there’s paint over his denim jacket in pictures you’re aware that Renjun himself painted. A nice little touch, but not a very smart choice for a garment. How unlike him, you think to yourself when you hear him sigh and complain about the weather.

“So this is your famous shop?” Renjun asks, eyeing the discoloured walls of the store by the shop.

“You’re doing your thing again,” you reply, face souring.

He looks baffled. “What thing?”

“Your thing. The one where you act all cynical.”

“I’m not cynical.” He crosses his arms.

“Great, you’re even cynical about being cynical.”

Inside is, of course, as warm as ever. The walls are vibrant red, in stark contrast with the exterior and you think you see Renjun’s face grow pinkish. You smile at the man behind the counter, in his late fifties and smile still somehow as bright as yours.

“What’s the problem, dear?” he asks, glancing at your laptop. “You know I can’t help with software issues.”

“I know,” you say, “But I’ve tried every guide on the internet and there’s still unnecessary noise.”

He clicks around your screen for a few seconds.

“Have you tried getting a better mic?”

“Uh.”

Renjun snickers beside you before promptly apologizing at the two pairs of eyes on him. You didn’t bring him here just to embarrass yourself in front of him. Your cheeks flush as you tell the man you’ll come another day with your mic, before heading to the supplements aisle. Renjun follows you quietly, silent laughter yet still etched over his face and he looks away when you glare at him.

“Are you sure you wanna buy the wooden drumsticks?” Renjun asks, picking up the carbon fibre ones instead.

“Jeno loves the wooden ones,” you defend. “And you really think those are within my budget?”

Renjun shrugs, keeping them back in place. 

“Feels like I’m shopping for babies,” he mutters.

There’s a second’s pause before he straightens, a particular discomfort in his being. “Not- Not like my babies or something. I- I meant—”

“I know what you meant,” you say, trying very hard to hold in your laughter. 

“I don’t like that face you’re making.”

“You don’t always have to explain yourself,” you smile before heading to the counter.

The scent of rain makes you nostalgic. You step outside with Renjun and into the sound of rain against pavement. It’s wet and damp, and your hair clings to your skin in that horrific discomfort of humidity, truly one of the worst cruelties of rain. You make a face but an idea strikes you smack across the forehead.

You gasp.

“This can be our stage!” you declare, spreading your arms.

Renjun pulls your arms down. “Don’t block the sidewalk!”

“Sorry.”

You shove your bag onto Renjun, bewildering him even further. The sleeves of the jacket he rolled up, fall into place again as he raises an eyebrow at you.

“This,” you say, waving your arms about, “Should be a stage.”

“Huh?”

Renjun looks unconvinced at your flailing and you sigh. 

“The rain!” you say, trying to sound as enthusiastic as you can. “Isn’t it romantic? You’ve never thought what it would be like playing in the rain?”

“Uh, inconvenient?”

You groan. “Come on! Picture it for a second.”

You give it a moment before showing him what you mean. Renjun bursts into laughter at your air guitar performance, suddenly unaware of the pit-a-pat. 

“It would be nice,” he says, his teeth poking against his lips. He places the bags under the shaded entrance of the store before stepping into the drizzle.

Pitter, patter.

Renjun flashes you a goofy smile, shaking the water out of his hair only for the rain to come in stronger. With raindrops caught on eyelashes, you can only think of the soft, rising melodies that come in movie scenes like these, except it’s a lot more uncomfortable than they show it to be. You smoothen your hair, getting slightly frizzy due to the raindrops. You’ve always wanted to do things out of line and out of regularity and it’s not just because of the price sticker spelling ‘youth’ that clings to your back—but now, is it selfish to just want to stay under the rain? 

In a way it feels just the same as ever; like singing barefoot on an asphalt road, cooling rains and people around, without a care each. You tell Renjun about the time you were stranded by the bus stop under heavy downpour for so long, you decided to walk home with pneumonia a step behind you and he tells you that you’re an idiot. It’s nothing unusual but it makes you smile when he laughs at you. 

The rain slows again before you can start to shiver, chest rising and falling with each breath that fills your lungs. 

“I have a song!” you declare, eyes shining. “A love song. We’ve never done a love song.”

“A love song?” Renjun asks, laughing almost. “You want to write a radio love song? Why?”

“Because, Huang Renjun, there’s not a thing in the world that isn’t made for love.”

Renjun pauses before wrinkling his nose. “Don’t preach me.”

The clap of thunder startles the two of you out of calm. It’s not so much the screams that left your mouths simultaneously as the looks you get from passersby. Renjun looks at you the same time as you look at him, his ears red and eyes nervous.

“Lightning doesn’t- Lightning doesn’t strike in the middle of the city, does it?” Renjun asks, eyebrows furrowed and lips parted, like a hare stranded in the middle of a busy road.

“I don’t know!” You respond, pulling him by the sleeve to the nearest cover. “I don’t want to know.”

Renjun grabs your hand and you realize with a thump in your heart the effect of it. He pulls you to the side, saving your jeans from the fate of getting splashed by muddy water courtesy of an oncoming car.

“Ooh, quick reflex,” you say, despite the clanging of cymbals inside your ribcage.

He shrugs, picking up the bags and shoving yours to your chest.

“Ow?”

“Don’t look at me like that. You know why.”

“You know, you’re not as grumpy as I thought you were. You’re still petty, though.”

“Thanks.”

When you’re back to the bandroom, you find Donghyuck snoring on the couch with an even more worn out Jaemin sitting cross legged on the floor and his head against Donghyuck's knee. Jeno looks like he’s in a world of his own, tapping away at his phone in a game he seems to be losing at.

“Why are you guys wet?” Jaemin asks, cracking an eye open. “Had some life-changing experience?”

“Not really.” You shrug. “Why do you guys look dead?”

“I am dead,” Donghyuck mumbles in his sleep to which Jaemin shakes his head.

“He didn’t even do the entire cleaning…”

You hope the skip in your steps isn’t too obvious. You have a song and this time, it feels pure in a way that you haven’t made before.

“I hope you guys came up with a beat,” you call.

“Uh, about that—”

“I have a new song!” you announce bouncing on the balls of your feet.

Your declaration is met with a bunch of smiles. Soon enough, everyone in the room is up and to their positions in a matter of minutes. 

Music isn’t about being eye-catching, considering the eyes have nothing to do with it anyway. You signal Renjun who in turn, clears his throat.

A strum of guitar string. Four notes on the keys. Bass. A beat on the drums.

“One. Two. Ah, one, two, three, four!”

The cafeteria is jam packed at three a.m so it’s a good thing you brought Renjun here an hour early. So, your top secret, full resistance, avant-garde mission? Your new song and the one for Renjun, of course. 

“So this is top secret,” you whisper when he sits down from across you.

“I’m sure it is,” he snickers.

You pass your notebook to him, scribbles neater than usual. (That’s only because you rewrote the song in a new page.) You start your laptop, waiting for the screen to load as Renjun goes over the lines.

“My dreams and I don’t get along,” Renjun reads aloud before furrowing his brows.

Ah, I hate people.

I hate my friends too.

And I love saying that which isn’t true.

“Oh, very funny, (name),” Renjun scorns, crossing his arms. “Is that what you think of me?”

You chuckle to yourself. Maybe it was a little petty, but you love the look on Renjun’s face when he’s annoyed, nerves a second away from being completely fried. Just for fun. This was just for fun. 

Somewhere along, however, you can’t deny the essence of him you’d so hopelessly wanted to capture in the melody, in rhythm and timbre, orchestral almost. It’s each note of the piano he plays to himself late at night in the bandroom, each featherlight hit on the cymbal and the song you hum to yourself on the bus ride to classes every morning.

It’s a love song. 

You break into a sudden coughing fit at the thought, Renjun flinching before offering you his bottle of water. Somehow, the gentle hand on your back trying to ease you gives you yet another reason to support your unwanted epiphany. That’s just ridiculous. It’s something natural between friends, isn’t it? Yet, you’d gag at the idea of writing Donghyuck into a song. 

You calm down and meet Renjun’s eyes, the glint of something familiar making you pause. 

“Water?” he offers, and you straighten.

“I had the stupidest thought,” you say, trying to laugh it off.

You can’t do it. You can’t make light of it with him.

“When do you not?” he says, a soft smile on his face.

You smile awkwardly in response, avoiding his eyes as you rub circles on the soft flesh between your thumb and forefinger. 

It’s quiet, much more than not, distant buzzing of the 3 a.m. university cafeteria crowds drifting through the space between you and him.

“Do you ever- Do you ever think about doing it?” Renjun asks.

You blink before feeling warmth on your cheeks. 

“Doing what, Renjun? That’s a little too private to ask. I mean, I could answer, of c—”

It doesn’t take long for him to burn bright vermillion at the cheeks. 

“I- I didn’t say that,” he defends, stuttering over the words. “I was talking about making music. Do you ever think about it or do you just do it?”

“Oh,” you respond intelligently, the embarrassment making you flush harder. Funny, you used to laugh the loudest at these sorts of mistakes. “I don’t- I don’t know. I think about it after I’ve… made it?”

You scratch the back of your head awkwardly. 

“You… do like it, don’t you?” he asks, something akin to worry in his eyes. 

You hum, smiling. “Of course I like it, Renjun.”

No. The truth is, you don’t even know how it makes you feel. The truth is, you do feel sick listening to your own song over and over again. Have you run far enough? Do you have to be running for this?

You seem scared. Is that what he wanted to tell you? You can’t be that easy to see through, you resist. When he held your hand earlier, could he feel it shake?

You’re so afraid that all of this is for naught that you can’t feel it anymore. You hardly make music for yourself, for no one else to hear. Is that what you wanted? When you wrote Not Feeling Spring, were you searching for something you desperately wanted or something you lost? You’re only twenty and you’re aging.

You snap yourself out of the whirlpool of questions to a drowsy Renjun playing with the bracelet around his wrist, lost in his own circle of thoughts. 

“I wanted to give up on this,” he whispers suddenly. “I wanted to give up on music.”

You hold your breath till he looks at you, a strange sense of vulnerability that makes you want to reach over the table and share some of the warmth your palm offers.

You’ve already drawn the conclusion.

“You’re not alone,” you say, leaning in with the widest grin. 

Renjun rolls his eyes. “Are you saying that to comfort me? It barely has any effect. Thanks, th—”

You shake your head, standing up abruptly and scrambling onto the tabletop. It’s the perfect time to be a little ridiculous. Renjun looks around, alarmed, tugging at you to get down which, unfortunately, draws even more attention. 

“Raise your hand if you’ve ever wanted to give up on music!”

There’s a moment of pause before laughter erupts, followed by a few cheers and almost as many raised hands as you’d expected. Some of them tell you to get back to your date, or focus on completing overdue assignments—friends and friends of friends. They are music students, after all.

Renjun looks around the place, rosy hued in the face, though he isn’t as angry as you thought he’d be.

“I almost never started,” you say, giggling as you resume in your seat. “Giving up came so much later.”

Renjun laughs. You don’t even have to make music out of it.

“I tried to give up the piano,” he admits, still flushed. “But I couldn’t break the habit of playing against my desk. Even then.”

You smile, resting your chin against your palm. “That sounds just like you. Now tell me, when did you discover flumpool?”

Renjun frowns and you feel an uncharacteristic thump in your chest. You want to draw your finger against his cheeks and the space between his brows, against the strained lines—the thought of it much more scandalous than the action itself.

“I didn’t- My parents didn’t- ugh.” He hesitates. “Look, everyone hated my style of music. My parents, the neighbours, their dogs. 

Your eyes soften as you sit up. “I’m sure they didn’t hate it—”

“No, trust me on this one.”

Suddenly the honey tint of his voice is dripping a dangerously low baritone. It doesn’t sound like him and it sends a shiver down your spine, a certain coldness you never thought would seep into you. It is the loneliness of curbed dreams, after all.  

“I thought I should’ve given up on music altogether. Became, what, a doctor? A lawyer?” Renjun sighs. “Whatever I do, it shouldn’t be music, right?”

He heaves a sigh in sync with you. There’s a passing moment in between where you can clearly see the apple of his eye, shining a daunting amber and a warmth you can only feel over coffee tables in university cafeterias at midnight. 

“But you’re here now because this is the closest you can be to music?” you offer, your smile sheepish.

Renjun laughs, your eyebrows furrowing as he tries to stop. “No. No, classical music was the last option on their list—but it was on the list.”

You smile, although it is small and gentle. And—unlike anything you’ve felt since you jumped onto the adulthood train.

“They like it now, though,” he beams, shoulders relaxing as if rid of a burden.“I mean- They said- They said they’re proud of me.”

When someone decides to confide their happiness to you, it is just as precious.

You look up, eyes bright as you finally get to ruffle his hair. “Well, I’m proud of you too!”

Renjun coughs indiscreetly, shaking his head before facing you. “Th-Thanks. It’s… good to hear.”

“Say it back,” you demand, making Renjun laugh.

“I’m… proud of you,” he says with rose-tinted cheeks.

The midnight chatter grows louder when the two of you pause. A symphony of voices through the area, higher pitches and lower, baritones and trebles. You wonder what people talk about most when you are quiet. You have friends—it’s not like you’re alone, per se. But everyone seems to be running, away from something or towards something. Your bones feel heavy for a second as you stir the coffee. Is it selfish to just want to get to know someone? Neither of you moving a muscle, with laughter that isn’t carried away by the wind.

“I didn’t think I’d be good at anything apart from classical,” he says, reluctance in his mouth. “Sorry about all that ruckus I caused when you asked me to join.”

You raise an eyebrow, nose wrinkling at the apology. “Renjun. It sucks when you apologize.”

He groans. “You’re really annoying, you know that? I was being nice.”

“I know,” you say, grinning. “It was all forgiven a long time ago. Can’t believe you had to say it out loud.”

“Oh, pardon me,” he says, voice rising. “I was taking into consideration your below average understanding of social cues.”

“You’re going to get smacked.”

That night, when you leave Renjun at the intersection to your respective dorms, you have yet another unwanted epiphany. He waves you goodbye with a smile, pale blue T-shirt hanging loose on his shoulders and you wave back as ardently as you can against your prominent heartbeat. Huang Renjun has the kindest eyes you’ve ever seen.

Some days, you take the bus together to and from classes. It’s not like the dorms are far but walks are considerably less fun when you’ve barely rubbed the sleep dust out of your eyes and class started ten minutes ago. Besides, you’re not letting the student bus pass go to waste.

Rattle. Rattle. Woosh.

You yawn and it quickly spreads to Renjun beside you. Classes are over and there’s no practice today. You can hear a popular song play through his earphones and tilt your head to look at him, a suppressed smile on your face. Renjun does a double take when he notices you, a little flustered as he quietly offers the other earbud and you put it on with a short word of thanks.

It is a track by one of Seoul’s favourite bands and you’re not going to lie, say you haven’t fallen prey to its charms. A catchy baseline, engaging drums and attractive vocals—you stop yourself. When was the last time you enjoyed a song without deconstructing it piece by piece? You sigh and Renjun shifts beside you, though no words part from his lips.

Absentmindedly, you find your head drawing nearer to his till they bump once and you startle away, only to laugh at each other. Is this another useless epiphany of yours? That Renjun has a lovely laugh—these are getting out of hand.

You look out the window instead, skyscrapers shiny and metallic as always and with little to offer. Unwittingly, a pout climbs onto your face at the prospect of feelings bubbling up right when you’re setting Renjun up on a date. He doesn’t know, of course. It’s meant to be a surprise and somehow, the little voice in your head won’t stop yelling at maximum volume inside your head about how wrong this is. Is it selfish? To an extent—nothing ever is purely selfless and you haven’t lived long enough to question. So why are you even bothering with this whole surprise?

Because you don’t want to think about the feelings. As if they’re things to be thought about. As if you can throw them away into the trash bin like a crumpled piece of paper.

An elderly couple boards the bus, sharing a large shopping bag as they take slow, careful steps over the aisle. Renjun responds almost at the same time you do, getting up so quickly Renjun has to hold on to the strap so as to not trip over you. The couple thanks you and you nod politely, trying not to bring attention to the earphones tangled around your necks.

You take a step closer in an attempt to separate the wires but it only makes you lose balance, Renjun clutching the cloth at your back so you don’t faceplant right into him. The other hand hangs overhead on the strap, grasping so tight his skin has turned red. 

He glances at the old couple once, blood rushing to his cheeks at something and he turns his focus back to you. 

“The- The wires- We should—”

Young love isn’t what this is. How silly. There’s enough of that all around.

“That’s what I was trying,” you interrupt. “Wait.”

You use your hands to pull the bud from your ear, trying to figure out how the loop even coiled this way. Renjun’s hand pushes against your waist at the sudden jerk, your soul almost leaving your body at the unexpected feeling of falling down. You breathe out, cheeks getting warmer. This isn’t quite uncomfortable, though.

When you look up to meet Renjun’s eyes, you feel something faint, a hint of something you can’t quite put your finger on.

“There,” you say, the wires all out of their miserable twining. 

Renjun barely nods, the music still blasting loud and clear through the buds. His hand still holds the strap for balance, and the other still holds you, for reasons private. 

There’s a warm flush over his face when he mumbles about crowded buses and the afternoon heat, eyes averted to every corner but you.

You laugh. Renjun is adorable when he least expects to be. And when you least expect him to be, he’s even terribly attractive. You swear by the way he’s looking at you, if you leaned in a little further, he’d let you kiss him. 

Wait, what?

You sober up quickly, in a moment of clarity you do not wish to have. You’ve never felt the weight of the feelings this intense. Yours isn’t the name he should be calling out so affectionately. Her. Anyone else. You were so sure of it. Huang Renjun’s fleeting interest in romance doesn’t involve you—cannot involve you.

That’s why you’re doing him (and yourself) a favour. Besides, you promised it anyway, didn’t you? 

You gulp. 

When did you start explaining yourself for everything you do?

Step, screech, step.

“Where the fuck are you even  taking me?” Renjun complains from behind you, light on his foot. “You said it’s not too far away.”

“It’s a surprise!” You stop walking to cross your arms.

“I hate it when you say that.”

How would he react? You think he’ll get a little angry, maybe scowl at you or even yell a little. You haven’t been able to look him in the eye longer than two seconds for about a week now. 

“Ta-da!” 

You stretch your arms to point towards the new cafe in town. Renjun looks at you and then the cafe and back again.

“You’re taking me on a coffee date?”

You choke on air, coughing before you can clear your throat and clarify.

“Not- Not me. Remember I promised you a date with—”

“No.”

“Yes! Wait, is that disbelieving no or are you saying you’re not going to go?”

Renjun closes his eyes and sighs, as if dealing with a toddler. “I’m not going. Why didn’t you say anything? I’m not prepared or anything!”

Something takes a tumble and falls inside your chest. You smile at him nevertheless.

“Don’t be shy now. She’s waiting, come on.”

Renjun shifts his weight from foot to foot, but it seems equally uncomfortable on each. He peers intently at you, looking up and down your face before pressing his lips together.

“Have fun,” you wish.

You push Renjun towards the door and he hesitates, some part of you expecting a little more resistance. He shrugs, although he seems to be holding back a smile. This isn’t the time, you tell yourself.

You turn on your heel before you lose your final excuse to be able to say that you are not completely enamored with Huang Renjun.

The afternoon would be more peaceful if it weren’t for Donghyuck and Renjun yelling at each other. This time, you’re not to blame.

“That’s not how you tie a bow tie!” Donghyuck complains, though Renjun won’t let him anywhere near.

“I know you’re trying to get back at me for drawing on your face last Saturday,” Renjun yells back. “But this is the pre-annual concert. You’re not fucking anything up.”

Donghyuck grumbles before settling down. Four music performance majors and yet none of them know how to do a bow tie—if it weren’t for you, Renjun might have ended up with his usual askew one. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking, and you’d just rather not look at him too long anyway. 

Formal white shirt, a much debated black bow tie and polished black dress shoes on Renjun aren’t strange to look at—in fact, they quite suit him when, despite its striking colour, his hair is parted neatly to the side. But they’re all so out of place in the bandroom, monochrome against messes, that you start to wonder if you simply think too much about him. That all of his colours and melodies are just there for you to notice.

It’s not true, of course.

But when did you become a cynic? 

“I’m going out,” Donghyuck says, huffing, “Why are they taking so long to buy ramen?”

Oh no. No, no, no. You try to mask your panic. Is one person enough to check up on Jaemin and Jeno? Would it be weird if you left too? Before you can answer those questions, you and Renjun are the only ones left in the room. You stand awkwardly by the couch, Renjun a few feet away, smoothing out the creases on his shirt.

You clear your throat, bringing his attention to you.

Nice going.

“So how was your date?”

You had to ask that, didn’t you?

The voice in your head has never been so loud before. When your question goes unanswered, you look up from the highly interesting floorboards to Renjun trying very hard to fight a snort.

“We talked about the recitals, extra lessons. Joked about you being an idiot.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “What?”

“Chaerim’s not interested in guys.” Renjun laughs. “I thought you knew!”

There’s a pause.

“Wait, you were serious about setting me up with her?”

You stare a little too intensely at the space between your feet. Why would you choose now of all times to be coy? You keep yourself from swearing out loud.

“I- I didn’t know, okay?”

You feel the heat over your cheeks, the sound of everything other than your own heartbeat drowning out. A few more seconds pass and you worry more. 

“Don’t set me up on dates,” Renjun says, a sigh leaving his lips. “It’ll never work out.”

“What? Why?”

Renjun falters only to cover it up. “I- I… Why do you keep avoiding me?”

You can’t answer that.

“Setting me up on a date, never looking at me when you talk to me—are you going by the book or something?”

You hold your breath. He’s not misunderstanding and it only makes matters worse.

“All that because you don’t want to be in love with me?”

“Renjun, that’s not—”

“So what is it?”

You look up from your restless fingers and regret it almost immediately. The way Renjun looks at you, it damn near breaks your heart. His nose is a pale shade of red, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down with undecided words.

“Am I- Am I dreaming everything up? Just tell me you don’t like me. I thought I made myself obvious.”

You can feel your pulse against your eardrums, ready to burst open any second.

“Renjun. It’s not about this,” you say, voice strangely low. “It’s about music—It’s always about music. I can’t risk anything.”

“Risk? What risk? You’re afraid you’re going to stop making music when you’re with me?”

“No—”

“You just want your songs on the Billboard charts? 

“And what if I do? I just want to be heard—”

You can barely breathe at the lack of distance between the two of you. Renjun looks straight into your eyes and you remember why your heart has been hammering in the first place.

“So it isn’t about music.”

You fall silent. It’s not wrong to want to succeed. But it’s never been about that. You were preparing yourself for a race while you repeated your love for it that was never there. Music is not a race and so, it is not the race you love.

“I didn’t want to be rich or famous,” Renjun says, voice lower than usual. “I don’t want to be rich or famous.”

But a musician does not want to be forgotten, does he?

For once, Renjun is fearless and you are not.

“There are worse things,” Renjun says, breath against your cheek and a rapid pulsing in your wrists. You look from his eyes to lips before breathing out slowly, eyelids growing heavy despite yourself.

The sudden bang makes the two of you jump away from each other.

Donghyuck kicks the door open, hands occupied with steaming instant ramen cups and Jeno walks in with the sprite. 

“Jaemin’s paying and we forgot our wallets,” Jeno offers an explanation when you raise an eyebrow.

You clear your throat awkwardly as the two scrutinize you with eyes you’re not yet ready to meet. You know you’ll never hear the end of this and better yet, you can pretend it never happened.

“Aren’t you supposed to get going?” Jeno asks, struggling to balance this month’s entire supply of ramen while Donghyuck holds the top of the pile.

Renjun responds with a soft ‘yeah’, eyes glancing at you once before he grabs his coat.

“I’ll see you for practice then.”

With that, the sounds inside your chest draw to a deafening close.

You’d think Doyoung would perform with his own band at his brother’s wedding.

(“I don’t want to work on the day my brother gets married.”

“I thought you work as a bartender?”

“Oh, dear.”)

You’re not complaining, of course. The longer you spend in the bandroom, the more suffocated you feel. You can’t meet Renjun’s eyes and neither can he meet yours. You rejected him, for fuck’s sake. It cannot get any more awkward than that. Any distraction will do.

This might be the first time you’ve been to a wedding on a Thursday night. At the very least, you’re happy about it being an outdoor wedding, the cool night air refreshing you the moment you step into the garden. It’s fairly large and you know Doyoung’s brother is an actor, but it never really struck you how wealthy that meant.

“There’s a chocolate fountain?!” Donghyuck gasps, walking towards it before Jaemin grabs him by the collar.

“Stage. We’re being called.”

Donghyuck massages his neck before he decides to give everyone an unnecessary pep talk.

“Look, Renjun, you better sing like that’s your ex, who you’re still in love with, getting married,” Donghyuck turns to advise a deadpanning Renjun.

“I- what? You should do that yourself.”

You smile at them encouragingly, smacking Donghyuck a little too hard on the back (you need payback for him “borrowing” your lunch on Monday) and stand at the sidelines. Donghyuck’s guitar seems to be the brightest thing in the venue, followed by Renjun’s hair. Unfortunately for Jeno, they couldn’t get the whole drum set in and the puppy dog look on his face when he sees the box-shaped cajón might have affected you some other day. 

They perform as usual, if not more enthusiastic to be in front of a crowd that isn’t drunk or worn out or both. The love songs you wrote came to be useful, after all. The muse of them, however, stands out even now.

This time, your heart skips a beat to meet Renjun’s eyes. And he doesn’t take them off you the entire performance.

The soft vibrato of his voice doesn’t fade easy, the crowd clapping along to the song with encouraging laughter. You move to the drinks table—it’s a good thing the wedding has a no kids rule because there’s alcohol you haven’t heard of at the bar table. Or maybe it isn’t a good thing. You’d love to see the look on Doyoung’s face when some rebellious twelve year-old chugs a shot of vodka. The thought makes you giggle.

You keep your word, even if you were drunk when you’d said it. You didn’t drink at any of the gigs, mostly because Doyoung wouldn’t offer anything for free, but a deal’s a deal. This doesn’t count, does it? 

You take the shot after a few moments of contemplation. You’d ordered it on impulse and whatever dare of whim you have left in you.

Unbeknownst to you, the songs had stopped about five minutes ago, enough time for Renjun and the rest to appear at your side. 

“Doyoung never said there’d be alcohol,” Donghyuck says, not trying very hard to hide the sparkles in his eyes.

Renjun doesn’t say a word, not even at the obvious flush over your cheeks from the drinks.

“I need to go to the washroom,” you say, wobbling as you stand.

“Woah, (name),” Jaemin says, steadying you. “Take someone with you.”

“I’ll go.”

You avoid Renjun’s eyes, even now. Looks like shame isn’t as easy to wash away as it seems.

You can’t hear anything apart from your pulse, a rather disarming thing to have to listen to when it’s for long enough. You walk wordlessly to the building, locating the washroom after a few twists and turns and Renjun waits patiently for you outside.

It’s always bizarre to see yourself in the mirror of a public washroom, especially with alcohol in your system and a flush over your cheeks that you think makes you look cute. You rinse your face and dry it before you exit.

Renjun leans back against the wall, eyes glazed over in thoughts he spills only occasionally. He looks gentle in the fairly lit hallway, under lemon-coloured lights. 

“Renjun,” you call absentmindedly.

He straightens immediately and for the first time in a while, you stare at each other for longer than four seconds.

“I don’t want you to feel awkward around me,” you begin. “I didn’t- I didn’t mean—”

“Cut it out.”

You feel a drop in your heart at the harshness in his tone. Even so, you don’t feel any less drawn to him.

“Don’t be like that,” you say, voice nearing a whine. “You know I’m not any good at this. I… I have so much work to do.”

“Are you so insecure that you can't trust yourself?” he hisses, and somehow the truth of it doesn’t lessen the euphoria of proximity with him.

“You have pretty eyes, Renjun,” you say, but his eyes are not what you’re looking at.

Renjun looks down, sighing out heavily. “Stop this, (name). Don’t play.”

You smile. “This isn’t a drama, you know?”

It really isn’t, but the touch you're craving has been collecting, drip drip drip, and now it’s ready to boil over in a climax befitting any stupid drama. There should be a soundtrack to go with it, right? Renjun’s face so near to yours, lips full and pink, and heartbeat erratic under dim lights. Temptation has never been a sin to you. Then, what are you afraid of?

For a moment, Arctic Monkey’s Snap Out of It loops in your head.

“Can I kiss you?” you ask, the last shred of your senses fallen apart.

He falls silent, at a loss for words you don’t want to hear.

You can’t blame the alcohol. It’s not that you wouldn’t do this sober—it’s that you would definitely do this sober, and all would be ruined just like that. So now, while you’re under the thinly veiled excuse of being drunk, you might as well say it.

“I want to kiss you,” you repeat, bolder.

Oh, sudden proximity can make you aware of so many things. For instance, Renjun has changed his cologne, less minty and more citrus. You aren’t even looking at him when you lean closer, pressing your lips softly and yet carelessly against his. You feel returned pressure and for a moment, the wash of numbness.

Renjun pulls you away by the shoulder, eyes wide in panic. 

“I- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Why are you apologizing? God, I hate you. I could listen to you speaking forever.”

You bury your face in Renjun’s neck and breathe in. He gives in almost too soon, a hand gently resting against the back of your head while his arm wraps around your waist.

“Let’s get you home,” he whispers. 

You feel him shift, the rhythm of his pulse loud in his jugular, and somehow it makes you breathe a sigh of relief. The night fades little by little into the chatter of crowds, to the the hum of a car engine and finally, to the inevitable quiet of your own bedroom.

It’s a Friday. They’re supposed to be nice.

Of course, it would be were it not for a list of things. One: your fading hangover. Two: the vague regret of a drunk kiss. Three: your friends you can’t tell a word to. You might just die of shame before the autumnal existential dread settles in.

“Do you guys have any idea whose number this is?” Donghyuck asks, holding the handkerchief open for the rest of you to see. “I don’t want to be accidentally related to Doyoung hyung.”

The night is bleeding into the evening outside as Jaemin stands up to flip the light switches. You stay curled up at one side of the couch, Renjun by the keys as he tries to figure out a tune and a state of calm that would be perfect if you weren’t falling apart inside. The bandroom always made you feel at ease, but it doesn't seem to be working its charm now.

“You drink too much,” Jaemin states. “You would’ve remembered if you didn’t have an entire bottle of soju.”

“I wasn’t the only one,” he defends, sending you a pointed look. You roll your eyes. Donghyuck never did learn to take the blame.

“Didn’t Renjun and (name) leave early?” Jeno asks innocently. “What were you guys doing for so long by the washroom?”

Renjun presses on several of the keys at a force too hard, the haphazard symphony bringing everyone’s attention to him.

He awkwardly clears his throat. “Home—the dorms, er. We went back. Taeil hyung drove us.”

You don’t know about the atmosphere, but you could definitely cut something with a knife right now. Your eyes shift from person to person, nothing unusual about them except for the two of you.

“Does anyone want to come get ramen? I’m hungry,” Jaemin suggests quietly.

Jeno shrugs, getting up.

“I just had a cup of ramen,” Donghyuck begins before breaking into a smile. “Too much ramen can never hurt.”

“I’ll pass,” you say, ready to fall asleep any moment, if it somehow alleviates the messy scribbles in your head.

“Me too,” Renjun says, back to playing out the tunes softly.

Your fingers tap against the armrest of the couch, occasionally scratching it out of boredom. The atmosphere is still just as thick but you can't say much about it hanging there.

“You’re not sleeping,” Renjun says suddenly, more of a statement than a question. “You look tired.”

“Yeah.” It’s all you can manage. 

“Is your hangover gone?”

You cough when you try to answer, getting more nervous with each passing moment.

Renjun slowly walks towards the coffee table, picking up the bottle of water to offer it to you. You utter a short ‘thanks’ and before he can get back, you tug at his sleeve. Your breathing is sharp but you don’t react much when he sits beside you, legs outstretched in front of him.

“Your roots are showing,” you note, hand involuntarily reaching out before you stop yourself.

Renjun sighs. “What’s wrong? You don’t- You don’t have to—”

He clears his throat.

“—You don’t have to pretend around me.”

There’s a rustle of cloth as he shifts to turn to you, eyes concerned when they look over.

“I’m just...sad,” you admit, the feeling weighing down when you do. “What, you never have days like these?”

Everyone does, don’t they? The truth is, sometimes you get a little sick listening to your songs. If you don’t hate it at least once, is it worth it at all?

The monthly breakdowns have taken a hard turn now that you don’t have much to do. No exams, no more weekly gigs due to Odd Fruit’s renovation and most importantly, hardly any inspiration. You don’t know how to do things unless you’re on the run. It’s so stupid.

You speak of dreams and yet, yours feel void.

“I do. A lot, some weeks.”

Renjun hesitates. You know he’s dying to talk about last night, he’s never been the sort to let feelings rot inside his stomach. But how do you tell him that despite knowing life’s full of ups and downs, no one’s bothered to explain to you which is which? You’ve never lived life with clarity. 

Sometimes life hands you tangerines instead of lemons. Sometimes they’re still as sour.

You look back at Renjun, heart churning with feelings you don’t understand. From wide eyes to his full lips, there’s a way you can’t help but stare. It wasn’t the alcohol—you still want to kiss him. Maybe you should start with an apology, maybe those are meant to be said out loud sometimes.

“I’m sorry I… I ‘m sorry I kissed you,” you say, finally. “Without warning.”

You wonder how you turned into this. Head over heels for something that might not even be real. 

“I’m not mad,” he mumbles, “Just don’t go around kissing strangers.”

You let out a short laugh, rubbing your arm. It’s not like you to explain yourself but for him, you’d spill every single thought that crosses your head. Does he know that? You’d never let him but now—you can’t say you mind.

Quiet.

“I- I may not always know what I’m doing, Renjun,” you start. “I want things and I don’t know how to get them. Sometimes I don’t even know what I truly want.”

There’s a short pause when Renjun draws nearer.

“You want to make music,” he says with certainty, gaze trailing over your eyes, then nose, then lips. “You want to have fun…”

Your heartbeat quickens despite everything.

“...And right now, you want to kiss me.”

It’s partly the confidence, and partly the fact that his lips are less than three inches from yours, that you close the gap without hesitation. 

It’s different—of course, it’s different this time. There’s no goddamn alcohol and the amount of clarity you can taste with your mouths pressed together is more than you’ve ever had. All the sounds in the world fall silent, replaced by the rhythm of your lips moving against his. Renjun’s hair is soft and he hums when you run your fingers through them, not song enough but still full of melody.

You pull apart after a few minutes, breathing heavily before you push your lips against him again, rising to keep your leg on either side of him. For a moment, there’s a sinking feeling and then a soaring one, and it evens out to the mellow drumming of your heart against your chest as Renjun holds your waist with the same delicate desire as ever. 

The second time you pull apart, Renjun breaks into the widest smile you’ve ever seen on him. You can’t help but reciprocate, burying your head against his shoulder.

“I think you should get off me.”

You pull back, frowning severely. 

“Oh, that’s very romantic,” you huff, eyebrows furrowed as you move to sit beside him, crossing your arms. 

“Hey.”

You look at him and he takes your hand in his, thumb rubbing over the back. Somehow, the gesture calms a part of you down, a part that hasn’t been calm for a very long time. You smile without realizing, leaning in for another kiss when the door slams open.

You yelp, clutching Renjun’s hand harder with just about the same force he does. 

“Jeno.”

You turn around to see Jaemin glaring at Jeno on his knee, Donghyuck fallen over his leg and both of their faces scrunched in pain. Jaemin shoots the two of you an embarrassed smile, scratching the back of his head.

“Did you guys know this room isn’t all that soundproof? I can’t believe the neighbours didn’t complain.”

The tip of Renjun’s ears flare red, and he points an accusing finger at the three of them.

“You were spying on us!”

Jaemin clears his throat but Donghyuck snorts before he can say anything.

“You’re still holding hands, lover boy.”

The statement flusters Renjun further but he doesn’t let go.

“Look, did the two of you think we’re stupid?” Donghyuck continues. “God, we thought your pining romance would, like, break up our band or something.”

You flush deeper, averting your eyes. 

“You cry at romantic comedies,” Renjun provokes.

Donghyuck stutters something incomprehensive before crossing his arms indignantly.

“We’re glad you’re dating now!” Jaemin butts in. “Ah, I can’t wait for all the love songs. The two of you do great on those!”

Renjun turns a brighter shade of red. You’re not going to be the one to tell Jaemin that he’s not helping at all but you sigh instead, resting your forehead against Renjun’s shoulder. 

“Ugh,” Donghyuck makes a gagging sound. “Does this mean you’re going to be all heart eyes in here? Right in front of my innocent eyes?” 

He shuts up when he receives four glares all at once, the air turning dry.

“I’m guessing you guys didn’t buy any ramen,” Renjun says, sighing.

“Shall we go?” you ask, looking at him.

He nods, smiling at you.

“You guys don’t mind us crashing your date, do you?” Jaemin says, wrapping an arm each around the two of you.

“I’m not complaining.” You shrug.

“I heard there’s a new flavour. Tastes like crap apparently,” Renjun says.

There’s collective laughter and Renjun beams, walking over to the door with you in tow. Every once in a while, you don’t mind peeling off the layers of a tangerine, especially since winter is near. 

You were right, Renjun did change his perfume to something more citrus-y. It’s the little things that build up in simplicity and it’s the little things that give everything flavour, from songs to journeys. 

Crackle. Shrrk. Rustle. 

“Dream,” you say, the noodles slipping through the chopsticks. 

The others look at you quizzically, as if you’d suggested the most ridiculous thing ever.

“That’s the name. Our band!” 

Under the convenience store lights, it somehow makes sense—and that’s one of the only moments of clarity you need.

[writingsbychlo]

smoke and fire (04b)

word count; 7050

summary; you wait hours for news on the young boy, and when the results are finally in, it looks like a breakthrough with thomas might be on the horizon.

notes; this is the second half of part four since it got so long, hope you guys enjoy!

warnings; reference to injury.

Trying to make yourself a little calmer, and distract yourself from how you were feeling, you peeled the gloves from your hands, dropping them in the nearest trash can and searching to find some toilets. The mirror did not offer you a reflection you were proud to see, tear-stained cheeks that cut through sweat-caked dust in tracks, messy hair and red eyes; like picturesque misery. 

There was blood on the clean fabric of your button-up shirt, and your medical bag held little that would be able to help, but you were sure you could at least make a start. Holding your hand under the dispenser for soap, the soft humming made by the machine as it deposited a small pile of foam into your hand was enough to break the rigid silence, and you let out a slow breath. Logically, you knew it wasn’t your fault that he was injured, the boy was almost an adult, he was old enough to make his own decisions, and yet you’d let yourself become attached, you’d tried to offer him advice that had backfired, and so you couldn't help but feel partly responsible. 

The water ran pink as your skin was cleared, before shaky fingers were coming up to undo the buttons along your top. The long-sleeve top worn underneath wasn’t the warmest of items, but it was better than sitting in a blood-soaked shirt, and so you folded the crisp white uniform up carefully, tucking it into your bag and letting out a sigh. With hands cupped under the cold water tap, you let your palms fill, before leaning over the sink and splashing your face carefully with the water, rubbing away the grime and salt present on your skin until it felt fresh and clean once again. 

Your eyes were still lined with red and your throat was still raw, but both of those would begin to fade as you finally began to get a hold of yourself once again. Your head was hurting, both inside and outside, the tight ponytail your hair was pulled up into made your scalp ache as you released it, and you rubbed your fingers gently through the strands to try and soothe that pain, making a note to find some water for your oncoming headache soon. 

Finally, it was enough, hair flailing loose around your shoulders once again and skin clean, at least feeling a little more comfortable than you had, and as you patted down the pockets of your bag, you found your phone again, grateful that Newt must’ve tucked it in there when he’d gone back to the van for you, because you were sure you’d left it on the dash. There was a text from Newt, just having arrived back at the station, saying that he'd spoken to Vince and everything was cleared up, while Brenda had also left a text saying she was hoping that both you and the boy were okay. 

A voice cleared in front of you, snapping your attention away from where you were trying to think of how to reply, clicking your phone off and looking away to find the source of the disturbance. Allison was standing before you, a gown on her body and a scrub cap on her head, but she’d shed the mask and gloves, for now, smiling a little as she began to undo the ties behind her back and neck. 

“I came to give you a little update about what’s going on.”

“Already? It’s only been, what, forty minutes?” Panic flared up inside of you once again at the speed at which she was emerging, but the soft smile and a chuckle she gave to you was reassurance enough. 

“Don’t worry, the kid is doing alright. Doctor Hale is great at his job, and it’s all going smoothly.” You rubbed your hands down along your pants, clearing sweaty palms and standing up to be the same height as her. “He’ll be going into the ICU after this, so why don’t you walk with me now and I’ll take you up to that waiting room, it's a little more comfortable and private than the corridors.”

“He’s going to be alright, then?”

“He’s going to be just fine.” She confirmed, waiting a second for you to grab your bag and swing it onto a shoulder, before she was setting off through the halls again, guiding you as she made her way towards the elevator. “He lost a fair amount of blood, but we’ve got him on some bags now, and his levels are steadying again, he’s starting to get some colour back, so we’re happy with that process, and his heartbeat is stronger.”

You watched as she pressed the button to signal the machine, silver doors reflecting back at you, and you felt positively exhausted as you slumped upon hearing the good news, tensions and adrenaline finally being able to slip away. “What about his legs?”

“Well, we won’t know much about any of it until he wakes up, and we can test his response to stimulus when the drugs in his system wear off and we can replace the anaesthetic with general medication, but the shattered leg has been set and is due to be wrapped in a cast, it’s all we can do, but it isn’t looking the best on the outcome.”

You winced, knowing there was nothing more you could have done, but you still hated to know what the repercussions might be. The elevator ride was silent, as was the walk to the waiting room, and yet none of it was uncomfortable, she was simply a companion at your side who had brought you a little peace, and when you were of a more stable and clear mindset next time, you’d thank her properly for being so kind to you, and make a better effort to get to know the nurses here, but right now, you didn’t have the right headspace for anything other than taking it ten minutes at a time. 

“There’s not much more we can do now, it’s all about recovery, really. You did some great work out there, we’ve cleaned and applied new stitches to his wounds, I did it myself, and I promise they won’t burst any time soon.” You nodded your head, trying to absorb all the information that you could, but your mind was spinning, only focusing on the fact that he was going to be okay. “We’ll keep him in the hospital for a while, and check on him, his head has been patched up, luckily it was a crack and it hadn't splintered, so we’re happy with that.”

“When he comes out, will I be able to see him?”

“Yes, you can.” She turned to smile at you now, holding the doors open to a much nicer, and empty waiting room, you being the only person here, nobody flying past busily, phones ringing and conversations being had, it was calm and serene, and exactly what you needed. “Doctor Hale is going to come and talk to you more comprehensively himself while they get him all set up, and it shouldn’t take too long for the anaesthetic to wear off. As soon as he wakes up, we can get him started on some real painkillers that won’t knock him out.”

“Excellent.” You sighed, brushing yourself off for invisible dirt a story anxiety took over, before looking back to her. “Thank you so much, I can’t even tell you how much it all means to me.”

“It’s no trouble, truly.” She placed a comforting hand on your arm, squeezing lightly. “You’re one of our own. Derek, uh, Doctor Hale, he feels like he really owes the fire department, so he would do pretty much anything for you all. House ‘21 was one of the firehouses involved in saving his family when there was a house fire. He has a big family, and he almost lost them a few years ago, this is the least he can do, he feels.”

You had no idea, you’d never been anywhere long enough to reap the seeds of good acts so far down the line, but you felt proud just to be able to associate yourself with the team, to be a member of Firehouse ‘21, even if you hadn't been there for that event. They were a great team, a wonderful group of people, and you were proud to be associated with them. You weren’t sure how long it would last, but for the first time in a long time, your first thought wasn’t the next immediate escape route. 

“I’m going to head back in there, now. It shouldn't be much longer.”

You nodded, watching as she walked away, and leaving you alone in the peacefulness of the waiting room. There was a table, stacked up with magazines and a water machine in the corner, chilled and humming slowly, and you made your way over towards that firstly. Taking one of the flimsy little cups, you held it under the nozzle, pushing on the button of the cold water, and watching as it filled up, the temperature making your fingers cool as it moved toward the top. 

Taking it back over to one row of chairs, they were much more comfortable than the others, the hard plastic being replaced for soft cushioning, warm and inviting, and you slumped down into it. Shuffling through your bag, you were grateful to find the half-used try of painkillers you'd hidden in there for personal use, thanking a past version of yourself for thinking ahead, and popping two of the small tablets out, placed on your tongue and reaching for the cup. Several swigs of the water, until the cup was empty, washing them down and enjoying the cool feeling washing along your throat and soothing the burn, and you felt a little more refreshed immediately. 

This time, as you filled it up, you took a moment to observe the room you were in. A small, ornamental water fountain sat on one of the counters, soft sounds of trickling water as you neared it, and it was relaxing just to be around, stacks of little pebbles to create a water fountain, and blue lights to make the pool of water seem clearer, you lips flicking up at the sides. There was a radio, it wasn’t turned on and you didn’t intend to do so, but you admired its place here, the room filled with things all around so that there was something to calm and relax every type of person, no matter what their comfort was, and as you settled back down into the seats, you found you weren't quite so stressed anymore. 

Producing your phone from your pocket once again, you sipped at your water, the headache you had finally beginning to recede, and you replied to Brenda, a thumb swiping rapidly across the screen as you thanked her for her concern, and gave her an update that he was due out of surgery any time now. You replied to Newt too, once again thanking him profusely, as yet another batch of unrelated guilt began to make itself known, surfacing as you realised you’d just abandoned your partner to do all the work. 

Neither of them replied, both messages being left on ‘read’, and you simply hoped that they were having fun with the team, getting to relax and destress after a long day, and they weren’t torturing themselves in the same way that you were. 

The elevator chimed, not too far away, the other end of the corridor, and you paused. Following it, there was the sound of wheels, moving along the corridor, squeaking a little as a bed rattled, before fading away, and your heart leapt in your chest as you resisted the urge to stand up and look out, staying sat where you were. Your suspicions were confirmed, however, when the doors opened up, the doctor who you’d seen only a couple of hours ago appearing once again, and you pushed yourself up to your feet as fast as you could, meeting the doctor, who looked a little frazzled and worn out, but optimistic nonetheless. 

“Doctor Hale, hi.” 

He smiled a little, ducking his head. “You can call me Derek. I’m not your doctor.” Your cheeks heated a little bit, mumbling his name as you grew used to the feel of it in your mouth, and he cleared his throat. “So, you ready for that update?”

“Absolutely.” You confirmed, and he turned his body, placing a hand on your lower back and guiding you back towards the doors. 

“How about I tell you on the way to the coffee machine, because I’m desperate for a double espresso, three times over.” You grinned, laughing lightly as you agreed, just the thought of such a drink making your mouth water, and you grabbed at your bag, swinging it onto one arm and letting it dangle as you followed behind him. He held the door open for you, guiding you through the halls, and you followed after him, falling into a comfortable pace beside one another. “First of all, do you happen to know his name? We can’t get anything up on file, and we can’t put him on medications until we know if he has allergies.”

“All I know is that he’s called Aaron, I think. He’s been here before, though, should be on file. I brought him in a couple of weeks ago for the injuries on his stomach.”

The man beside you nodded, taking the pen from his pocket and writing down the name on the back of his hand. “Alright, well, I’m pretty optimistic about how Aaron is doing. He’s all set up in an ICU room now, and as soon as he starts to come around, we can let you in to visit him. While you’re in there, we need you to try and get some contact details, his parents, anything like that, so we can try and get him on file, if we can’t find him in the system, but we have a lot of Aarons’.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“His leg is now in a cast, we set it as best we could, but there was more damage along his spine, so I’m not overly optimistic about that. I don’t know how bad the paralysis will be, but there’s definitely going to be some loss of movement there, he won’t make a full recovery, not from a fall like that with his injuries.” It wasn’t a surprise, you had been anticipating the worst, and so far, everything beyond being told he didn’t make it was just a blessing. Stopping before the coffee machine beside a nurses desk, the screen flashed to life as he swiped his card through the holder, greeting him with his ID on screen, and he began to program a selection of shots and syrups into the blend. “What are you having?”

“Oh, I don’t have a-”

“My treat, let me buy you a coffee. I get a doctor discount on it anyway.” You couldn't resist the charming smile he gave you, shrugging a little and laughing under your breath. “Alright, Derek, surprise me. I’m not that fussy.”

“I take that as a challenge.” He confirmed, setting to work on making your brew, and as the machine hummed to life, he returned to the topic of your patient. “We pumped his stomach, we ran a few tests and flushed his system out. You might not like me too much when I tell you this, but with the contents of his stomach and the harm he got into as a minor, with nobody here to explain it, I have contacted the police and child authorities.”

“I don’t blame you, Doc. I really don’t. All I want for this kid is the best in life, I encouraged him to get out of that whole gang-lifestyle, I feel responsible for him even being here, and I-” You cut yourself off as you realised you were rambling, your lips pursing shut, and the coffee maker beside you beeped. He grinned, picking up the second coffee and handing it over to you, but only after pressing a plastic lid onto the top of the coffee cup. Bringing it up to your nose, the sweet smell of delicate spices and warm coffee filled your nose, and you hummed happily at the delicious blend. “Thank you.”

“Just so you know, you saved that kid’s life. You brought him here and he’s safe, you’ve done the best you can, and you did great.” You sighed, blowing at the steam on your coffee and taking a moment, a few deep breaths, settling yourself in the moment. “When he wakes up and starts to surface, we’ll let you know. If you give me your details, I’ll keep you updated on how he does.”

“Sounds like you’re asking me for my number there, Doctor Hale?”

“I thought I told you to call me Derek.” He beamed, both of you knowing it was only a joke, before he was holding the pen from the pocket of his coat out for you and grabbing a piece of paper from the nurses stand. Placing down your coffee, you wrote down your name and number, handing it back over to him, and he looked at it for a moment, repeating your name, before putting it into his pocket. “You can head on back to the waiting room, and I’ll come and get you in a little while when he’s awake, and we’ve got him on something to keep the pain off.”

The device on his belt beeped, calling him away to another case, and he was leaving, a wave on his fingers as he picked up his coffee, and you were left to try and navigate your way back to the waiting room alone. 

There were signs up along the walls, but every turn you took felt more confusing, muted coloured walls and total silence feeling more like your new norm as you navigate the maze of pathways, letting out a relieved sigh as you finally caught sight of the same doors you’d come through earlier. There was movement behind them, your heart sinking a little as you realised the peaceful loneliness you had was broken, but you knew other people would be here to visit their families. 

Your bag would still be laying on the floor, where you’d left it before leaving to find coffee, and as you made you way back along, the people behind the glass became a little clearer. Blond hair, brown hair, strawberry and jet black. Pushing the door open, your jaw dropped a little as you looked across the group, all eyes turning to face you, and your heart raced in your chest. 

“What are you guys doing here?”

“We’re pausing movie night!” Chuck was almost yelling, his enthusiasm getting the better of him, and several members of the team shushed him, while others snickered. “Sorry. We’re pausing movie night.”

“I see that, but, uh, why?”

A few looks were shared among the team, and Newt sighed, standing to his feet from where he’d been lounging in your chair. “Because we’re your team, and we care about you. You’re here for the kid, and we’re here for you.”

He took your coffee from your hands, sniffling it, and winking a little before raising it up to take a sip. His eyes widened a little, before he was gulping down another mouthful, and you snatched it back with a protesting noise.

“That’s good coffee. Where can I get one of those?”

“Doctors only.” You mumbled, a sweet smile on your lips as you took a sip, and he stared at you for a second. 

“Are you telling me you made a friend other than me? You really are getting comfortable here.”

You shook your head, pressing it back into his hands after another mouthful of coffee, gifting it to him. Brenda was holding her arms out to you, a sweet smile on her face as you paused for only a second, before falling into her arms and letting her wrap you up tightly. The moment you squeezed her back, there was another body wrapping around you, making the pair of you giggle as Chuck joined the hug, and you whined at the overwhelming heat that was encasing you when Newt joined in too. 

Elbowing yourself free, you wriggled out, popping free and finding the rest of the team still wearing sweet smiles, all standing around and waiting patiently. “Thanks for coming, you guys, it really means a lot to me.”

Settling down with the company of your team, Newt slumped beside you, a backpack of his own on the floor, and he picked it up, roping it down on your lap, and the weight of it winded you a little. 

“What was that for?”

“I brought you the clothes from your locker.” You raised a single brow, opening the bag and finding your hoodie and leggings inside, as well as your more comfortable trainers than the ones you wore to work, a little sigh leaving you. “Figured you’d want to be comfy, and you smell a little bit musty and bloody.”

Lifting the edge of your top to your nose, you took a whiff, faint traces being picked up, nothing overwhelming, but it certainly was present. Everybody else had changed their clothes as they left their kit at work, or went home to shower, but no matter what, you appreciated it all. 

“So, you gonna’ give us a little update on the kid?”

“Oh, yeah.” You wiped at your nose, feeling yourself get a little emotions, before pulling one leg up under yourself and turning to face him. “So, he’s doing alright. They’re worried about his legs, and they pumped his stomach, but they’re confident about his recovery and they’ve put a cast on his leg. He’s out of surgery now, they’re waiting for him to wake up.”

“What about his parents? They got in touch with them, right?”

“They haven’t got any information on him yet.” You sighed, rubbing at your forehead. “They want me to go in and ask him to give up his information as soon as he wakes up.”

“Well, look alive, because here comes a white coat with determination. A good looking one at that, dark hair, tall, I would be all over that if-” 

“Newt!” You hissed, the door opening, and he laughed himself into silence as he brought the coffee to his lips. Standing up, you gave him the bag back, making sure to drop it into his lap with equal the force he’d dropped onto yours, and he spluttered a little, glaring at you and kicking his leg out at you as you walked to meet the doctor. “He’s awake?”

“Yes, he is.” Derek spun on his heel, the two of you walking away towards the main doors, and you turned over your shoulder to scowl at your partner for the kick, a sugary-sweet and sly grin on his lips as you scoffed. “A lot of your friends have shown up, huh?”

“They’re my team, they came to support me.”

“Hey, I think it’s sweet.” He shrugged, guiding you along the halls. “So, he’s in a little pain, nothing awful yet as he’s still waking up, so he’s a sort of woozy. Focus on asking him his last name, if we can pull up his account we can see his allergies and get him some meds, but if he doesn't want to give it up, we need to know about the medicines.”

“What do I tell him when he starts asking questions?”

“We’re going to test his reflexes as soon as we get his medicine sorted but before it kicks in, though they may not be fully comprehensive on the total movement and reflex he can get back.” He stopped outside of the door, and peering in through the glass, you could see the young boy. The hair from the top of his head was shaved away, around the sides too, black locks were gone and bandaging wrapping his head. He was clad in a gown, and the blankets were tucked up around his body, staring up at the rod as he frowned, looking entirely displaced. “Press the button on the side of his bed when you’re ready for us to come in, I’ll wait at the nurses’ station.”

“Thanks, Derek.”

He dipped his head in a nod, taking a step back, and you entered the room. He lifted his head slowly, confusion on his features for a second as you clicked the door shut, before he was huffing again. 

“Hey, kiddo, how you feelin’?”

“I don’t know.” He mumbled, words a little slurred, and you took a seat beside his bed, pulling the chair over, and his head rolled from one side to the other, cheek pressing to the pillow to look at you, but his gaze was unfocused. “My arm is itchy.”

“That’s just your drip line for meds, you’ll be fine.” He made a shocked face, as though you’d reveal the secrets of the universe to him, before his face was screwing up again.

“I hurt a bit too. Everywhere.”

“I know, and we can get you some meds, alright?” He nodded his head, silence falling around you both again, and he was using one hand to scratch at the bedding, toying with the loose thread in the beige blanket, and sighed. “You gonna’ tell me your last name, so we can get you registered and checked in on the system?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’ll call my foster parents.” Your heart stopped for a moment in your chest, and just when you thought it couldn't get any worse for him, you found out the poor kid was in the system, no wonder he’d turned to family wherever he could get it. “I don’t want them to know.”

“Don’t you think they’re worried? You’re going to be here for a while.”

“They’ll be disappointed in me.” He whispered, and you reached out, taking the young boy’s hand in your own, and squeezing lightly. “They’ll bring my little sister, she thinks I’m brave and strong.”

“And she’ll still think that!” He huffed, rolling his eye sin denial and tuning to stare back up at the ceiling. “I get how it feels to not want to let someone down, and to feel alone. I have moved between so many firehouses to find my home, and I’m still looking. I have, like, no friends outside of work.”

“What about your blond friend?”

“He’s a work friend, that doesn't count.” You teased, and he turned to look at you again.

“Do you hang out outside of work?” You paused, thinking on the people who were filling the waiting room right now, simply to support you, and you wondered if that counted, but the boy seemed to be going on anyway; “See, outside friends.”

“Alright, smart ass, the point is that I understand how you feel, and you should let me call your parents, so that you can have people who love you here with you. What do you say?” He was quiet, the moment dragging on, and as the cogs in the clock ticked loudly, the ‘second’ hand moving around, and as the third minute of silence passed you by, you gave up on any hope, You wondered if he’d fallen asleep, his eyes having slipped shut, and you squeezed his hand a little, his hand squeezing back after a few moments, signalling he was awake. 

“Edge.”

“Huh?” You perked up a little, your elbow having been resting on the bed to support your head on your fist, before you were moving to look up at him. 

“My name is Aaron Edge. I’m already in the system, I had asthma as a kid.” You cheered a little, reaching around for the handle instantly and pressing the button for the nurse’s desk. 

“I’m so proud of you, kiddo.” The door opened a second later, a short red-head nurse escorting Doctor Hale, his brows raising a little as they came in, and you gave him a subtle nod. “This is Aaron Edge, and he’d love some painkillers now.”

“We’ll get that sorted out. This is nurse Martin, she’ll be looking after you, Mr Edge.” She left the room a second later, heading away to get it sorted out, and the doctor took a step closer to the bed. “How are you feeling, big guy? You gave us a scare there, but you're brave, and I know you’re going to be just fine.”

“I have a headache, and I feel itchy. Is that just my nerves?”

He tried to push himself up a little in the bed, his arms giving way under the pressure, and you moved, helping him sit up so you could position his pillows behind him to help him sit up. “Well, actually, that’s the beginning of the withdrawal. It’s not going to be great, but you’re young. We can get you in a great rehab program, and whatever you were on we can get you off. You’re young, you still have prospects ahead of you. It’ll be a tough road, you think you can do it?”

His hand tightened around yours once again, and he turned, vulnerability written on his face. You gave him a nod, and he stared at you for a second longer, before returning to give those same gestures to the doctor. 

“Now, I just need to run a final test, alright?” Producing the pen from his pocket, he lifted up the blanket to reveal both of the boy’s feet, and held the end to the pen, never popping the button to reveal the inked tip. “Relax your foot for me.”

He did so and he dragged the tip of the pen up along the sensitive underfoot, everything still for a second, before his toes twitched, and you let out a little cheer, the boy in the bed jumping in shock. “What?”

“You still have movement in that foot?”

“Did I not before?” He panicked, sitting up further to peer down at his legs, and it seemed that in his drowsy state, he was only just becoming aware of the cast wrapped around his leg. “What about the other one?”

The cast sealed over most of his foot, but Derek reached down with the pen, dragging it along the space under his toes, and there was no movement. He did it again, still no reaction, and you nibbled on your lower lip. “Tell me when you feel something?”

Moving the blanket from his body, his leg was exposed, the cast ending just below his knee. He poked at the knee cap, then a rough inch further up, moving in inch segments as you waited, before his leg finally flinched just after the pen pressed over his mid-thigh. 

“Well, we can get you into some physical therapy, and see how the healing of your leg goes, and what happens after that.”

Tucking the pen back away, the red-headed nurse entered the room once again, a needle and a small glass jar in her hand, and she was ready to add some medicine to the bag for him. “I’ve called your family, and they’re on their way. I’ve got some medicine for you now.” You squeezed his hand again lightly, letting go as the nurse moved to start setting him up a new line for his medicine, and Derek was busy filling out details on the chart that sat at the end of his bed. 

“I’m going to go back to my team now, alright?” The kid turned to look at you, nodding his head slowly. “You keep your promise this time, alright? I believe in you, do it for your little sister. Be better.”

“Thank you for helping me.”

“You’re welcome, kiddo.” 

You ran your hand over his cheek, giving him a gentle smile. As the medicine began to kick in, nurse Martin began to talk to Aaron about his family, and what had been said on the phone, and for the third time tonight, you were navigating the ICU wing halls. Stepping back into the waiting room, all eyes turned to you again, brows raising, and you nodded, shoulders slumping in relief. 

“He’s going to be okay, and his family is on the way.”

A chorus of cheers took up around the room, and you nodded your head watching as they all began to get to their feet, coming over to offer their congratulations and comforts about how worried you’d been, and how much better you must be feeling, which was completely true. 

Newt cupped your face, pressing a large and wet kiss to your forehead, and you scowled, wiping the mark on your skin. “I think you need a drink, love.”

“Kenny’s Bar?” Gally offered, and a series of acknowledgements and agreements going up around the room. You’d heard them talking about that bar before, it seemed to be a house favourite but you’d never been along with them before, and it felt like some kind of initiation ritual or rite of passage. 

“You should go and change first. Get comfy, I’ll wait for you.”

“Actually, if you guys go on ahead, I’ll wait.” Thomas stood to the side, scratching at the back of his neck as he met your eye, shrugging a little before looking around the small group gathered around you, who seemed equally as shocked as you were. “Seriously, I mean it. We have some things to talk about.”

“We do?” You questioned dumbly, and he fixed you with a pointed look, before you nodded your head. “Right, sure, yeah, okay. I can work with that, I guess. I mean, if you don’t see me in the next twelve hours, you know who I was with last.”

“Uh-huh.” Newt eyes his friend sceptically, the two seeming to have a silent conversation all with that eye contact, before Newt was rounding everyone up. “Go get changed, don’t take too long, we’ll see you soon.”

He hugged you gently, before guiding the rest of the team out of the building, pats on your arm and squeezes of your hand as they all passed by and discussed who would be designated drivers and drop everyone else at home, each discussing driving their cars home and coming along to collect them as they went. You waved Newt’s bag at Thomas a little, jabbing a thumb over your shoulder, and he nodded his head, tension forming between you both as you slipped away to find the bathrooms. 

You were already learning your way around the halls of this building well, locating them easily enough, and stepping inside. Pulling out the contents of the beg, you sealed yourself inside one of the cubicles, putting the lid down and taking a seat on top of it. Toeing off your shoes and leaving them on the floor, you were wiggling out of your crisp uniform trousers, slipping into your leggings, bouncing as you tugged them up your legs and wiggling as you got comfortable. With some simple sneakers and your hoodie on, you were feeling much more relaxed and comfortable. 

Stuffing everything else inside of the bag, you zipped it up, heading back to the waiting room, and finding Thomas with his hands shoved into his pockets, your bag on his shoulder, and he offered you what looked only mildly like a forced smile as you made your presence known. 

“Ready to go?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” He nodded his head, letting you go through the door first as you stepped into the halls and back towards the elevator, total silence sitting in the space between you both. As he pressed the button, it was almost immediately ready for you, and you stood on opposite sides of the box as you waited for the doors to close again and sink back to the lobby. “So is this the part where you decide the hatred is too much, and actually kill me?”

He laughed, a lightweight and short, but genuine, laugh. Looking up to you, he shook his head a little, amusement still sparking in his eyes. “I don’t hate you. I mean, I don’t necessarily like you, but that's because I don’t know you, and I didn’t really give myself the chance. We got off on the wrong foot, and that's partially my fault.”

“It’s mostly your fault.”

“It’s, like, fifty percent my fault!” He argued, and you clicked your tongue, shaking your head. 

“Ninety.”

“Seventy-five.”

“Fine.” You huffed, surrendering to the deal again, and he gave a toothy grin. “Go on with what you were saying.”

The doors chimed as they opened up, and you fell into step beside him as the two of you began to head towards the doors to the building, letting him guide you as he headed towards his car, trying to form his words, and you waited patiently. “Look, the point is, I know you’ve been a good partner to Newt. Especially today. You went down there to look after that kid because you knew Newt couldn't take it, and while he’d never admit that to either of us, we both know it’s true.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. We flipped a coin, and I lost.”

“Do you always flip winning sides over to take a loss?” He questioned, clicking his keys as the sleek black car came into view, and your face flushed with warmth, not having known anyone else had seen that. “Exactly my point. I know I’ve given you a hard time. I have my reasons, okay? It fucking sucks, and no, I don’t want to talk about it. Maybe you understand, maybe you don’t, but I’m trying to apologise, okay?”

He held the door open for you, the passenger seat readily available, and you dropped your bag into the footwell, standing in the way but not taking a seat as you stared up at him. “Okay. I forgive you. I probably shouldn't have been so uptight, but I was hurt too, and I didn’t take that well, so I guess this is me apologising as well.”

“So, we’re cool, now?”

“Sure.” 

He nodded, the two of you staring at each other for a moment longer, and that same dreadfully awkward tension settled over the part of you as neither of you knew quite what to say. Just because you’d called a ceasefire, didn’t mean that there was a sudden connection, it didn't mean that pain and resentment were gone immediately, it just meant that you had agreed to process and move on from it together, instead of dwelling and letting it fester. “Her name was Teresa.”

“What?”

Your eyes snapped back up to his face, but he was staring at the ground, arms resting on top of the door, and he was picking at his nails. “The last paramedic, the reason I was so mad.”

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it?”

“I owe you an explanation, so I guess I’m forcing myself to.” He sighed, running a hand through already messy hair. “She was.. a wildcard. Passionate and funny and just this real source of energy, you know? Kinda’ like you. She skipped out on us all of a sudden before shift one day, a better offer somewhere else, she didn’t tell us, but she just up and left. I was hurt, I thought I meant something to her.”

“I’m sorry, Thomas..”

“No, I am. Because all my suffering was emotional. She was Newt’s partner, he had to try and handle a case on his own because we couldn't get a replacement in before a call came, and that's the day he injured his leg. He fell through a couple of burning floors, top to bottom of the building, shattered his leg like that kid. Nobody knew where he was, he had no partner to call it in. Minho found him, unconscious from smoke inhalation and carried him out.” He let out a shaky breath, and you dared to reach out, placing a hand over his as they sat joined, and squeezing lightly. “I don’t blame myself for the accident, it had nothing to do with me. But, for whatever your own reasons are, I know you’ve jumped between houses a lot, and I was worried about Newt again. He’s my best friend.”

“I promise you, I won’t ever do that.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t think Teresa would either, but then a better offer came along.” He sighed, lifting a thumb to rest over one of your fingers and stroke lightly as he sought his one comfort from your touch, and you squeezed his hands once again. “I shouldn't have compared you to her, and I’m sorry. It was unfair, I don’t even know you.”

Quit consumed you both once again, and there was nothing else to be said, only the weight of his confession hanging in the air, before you were perking up a little, realising how to gently move on and bring his mood back up. “You any good at pool?”

“Uh, what?”

“You know, pool. In bars. Does this bar have one?” You encouraged, his eyes meeting yours again and brows furrowing with confusion. 

“Yeah, it does.”

“Well, you said you didn’t know anything about me. First thing to learn is that I’m amazing at pool.” He stood up a little more, smiling softly as he took your bait to move on from the conversation, and there was a slight twinkle of mischief in those honey-brown eyes. “Winner buys drinks?”

“Alright, I’ll take that deal, but only if we play darts afterwards. At which I will kick your ass, because I am fucking great at it.”

“You’re on, Thomas.” He chuckled, letting you step into the car and shutting the door behind you, the conversation being stored away for now, to think about when you were alone and process the details, but for now, you had bonding to do, with your teammates; for the first time yet, you genuinely considered the possibility of setting up roots somewhere, and making real friends that would last. 

[flooffybits]

Slow Down

Idol: Jeon Heejin

Part 2 of Where You At

A/n: this was so long ago damn. sorry for the wait but i hope you guys enjoy!

☕buy me a coffee☕

“What did Y/n say?” Hyunjin’s soft voice had cut in through her friend’s train of thought and the other looked away from her phone, letting out a deep breath as she turned the device off and set it down. “They haven’t replied yet, but last time, they said they would look for a free schedule.”

You were understandably busy. Your group was gaining popularity all over and the amount of interviews and performances you had lined up would mean meeting up was going to have to be scheduled at a later date.

The girls were pretty much busy, as well, prepping for their newest album and having a few interviews every now and then. Haseul was also coming back and, though she is happy to have their leader back, she can’t help the anxiety with having your meetup delayed even further than she had hoped.

What if you were purposefully avoiding her?

She shook her head, brushing the thought off. She had to be rational, and even if you were, she had no right getting upset about it. Though, maybe it was disappointing that you had said that you could talk and then left her hanging.

“I’m sure they’ll text you, some time, soon. They’re still doing promotions.” Hyunjin reminded her and she nodded her head absentmindedly. “Yeah...”

Setting her phone aside, she saw Yeojin coming closer after she finished her part in the recording room. “Unnie, it’s your turn.” She called out and Heejin smiled lightly, nodding as she stood up and went back to work, Hyunjin staring after her with a slight frown on her face.

..

Heejin has been busying herself with so much work lately, just doing anything to keep her mind off of you. She was currently finishing up the edit of her vlog when she heard her phone go off in her pocket.

Mindlessly picking it up and answering, she failed to see who had called her until your voice registered into her head.

"I'm sorry for the sudden call, but I was wondering if you were free tomorrow?" You ask her. "We get a bit of a break for the afternoon, so I thought you'd like to meet up, then." You tell her, making her eyes widen as she sat up straighter and put the stylus down so she could focus on you.

She glanced at the calendar that was hung on the wall and saw that there was nothing planned for her after lunch. "I'm free from two, onwards." She informs you, a bit of hope sparking inside her. "That's good. I'll see you, maybe around three. Wherever you want to meet is fine." You say softly. "I know that your company is kind of strict."

Something about the thought of you knowing about her company and the rules set for her group somehow made her heart skip a beat, but she quickly shook that thought away as she went to answer you. "That's fine."

She takes in a deep breath. "I'll... uh, send you the address of the place." She sees Hyunjin come into the room, pausing when their eyes meet. "Okay. See you then." After saying goodbye, she hangs up while Hyunjin walks over to her.

"Was that-"

"Y/n. I'm meeting them tomorrow." She answers quickly, staring at her phone as she tries to think of a place that you might want to go to, feeling as though she was dreaming and everything that was happening was just a figment of her imagination.

Hyunjin sat down beside her best friend and looked over everything that she was doing. When she shifted to glance at her phone, she quickly looked away when she saw that she was actually texting the address she had decided on.

"Where are you meeting up?" She can't help but ask, taking the stylus to fiddle with it instead of just sitting there and awkwardly looking around.

Her friend stared at her unfinished work when she finally put her phone down and let out a deep breath. "There's this cafe we used to go to. I remember that Y/n liked the food there and maybe they haven't gone there in a while, so-" Hyunjin quickly stopped her from rambling and placed her hand over the latter's, effectively quieting her down and letting her take a breath.

"You're there to talk. It's not a date."

Though Hyunjin doesn't mean to sound so harsh, she needed to remind her friend the reason she was really meeting you.

You had only agreed to listen to whatever it was the girl had to say and whether you decided to agree to keep in contact or not, she had to accept that.

But that didn't stop her from hoping.

"I know that there's still something in there that's wishing you could go back to normal, I do too, but before you think too far ahead, start with fixing your friendship." Hyunjin stated softly when she glanced at the few pictures Heejin had scattered on her desk. One of them was a photo she had taken of the two of you together during one of your walks. You were both so stuck in your own world and she admitted that the moment was too cute to not take a picture, so she did.

"I know." Heejin mumbled when she leaned back against her seat and nibbled on her lower lip. "But they've agreed to talk, at least. I'm taking it as a sign that they don't outright hate me." She muttered as Hyunjin gave her a small pat on the arm. "You know Y/n could never. No matter how stupid you could be, they would always be there to understand you."

Heejin smiled a bit at that fact and nodded lightly. "Yeah. I guess that's true."

.. 

"Hey, sorry, I'm late!" You apologize when you reach the table and Heejin shook her head while smiling to reassure you that it was alright. "Relax, I just got here a few minutes ago."

Even though she was really half an hour early because of her nerves, the latter didn't want to make you feel bad right off that bat with your time together.

She only hopes it could be longer than a simple chat.

Watching as you took a seat in front of her, Heejin pushed your favorite drink in front of you before both her hands wrap around her own drink just to soothe her nerves and you blink before quietly thanking her as you take a sip.

Judging with how you fiddle with the tissue wrapped around the cup, she can tell that you’re probably just as nervous as she was.

“So…”

You clear your throat awkwardly before looking up to briefly meet the girl’s eyes and then drop your gaze back to the cup in your hands and Heejin bites her lip before sucking in a deep breath. “How are you doing lately?” She tries, just to ease both of you into a steady conversation. “Promotions are still ongoing for you guys.” She attempts with a smile and you nod your head. “Yeah, but we’ll be wrapping up in a few days, so I think everything will calm down by then.” You explain and Heejin hums, leaving an awkward silence to hang over you as you fiddle with the straw of your drink.

“Congratulations, by the way.” She suddenly says, and you take a peek to see her smiling at you. “I forgot that I didn’t get to properly congratulate you for your award, but I wanted to say that I’m really proud of you.” The words come out without thinking and you both stare at each other before you let out a soft sigh.

“Heejin…”

“I’m sorry.”

Her voice is quiet, but it was enough to stop you from further speaking, and she takes that as a sign to continue, sucking in a deep breath, because it was now or never. Whatever she wanted to say - what she had to say, it had to be now. And whatever the outcome of this would be, she would accept it either way.

“What I did… it was selfish. And I know you said it was fine, but it’s really not. The day I left… I wanted to turn around and take everything back but…” She bit her lip and you look at her with understanding in your own eyes.

You let your hands rest on your lap before you let out a quiet breath. “It’s okay to be selfish, Heejin. We were both young and we had so much at stake, your career had just started and you made the right decision.” You assure her, but she stubbornly shakes her head when tears begin to build up in her eyes.

“The right decision didn’t have to cost so much.”

You purse your lips at the look on her face before reaching forward, taking her hand in yours and giving it a light squeeze. “Heejin, I know that it hurts, more than anyone else. But we both needed it. We were drifting apart no matter how much we wanted to keep our relationship together. We were only going to end up hurting each other if we kept going.”

“But I didn’t want to lose you.” She argues and you feel as her hand trembles in your grip. “Maybe I was hurt at the time, but you will always have a place in my heart. You’re never going to lose me forever.”

Your words caused a lone tear to trail down her cheek and she quickly wipes it away with her free hand, the other holding on to you in an attempt to make her believe that she still had you.

The situation you were in now, you could see just where this conversation was headed. With the regret and guilt on Heejin’s face, along with how she clung to your hand, it was clear as day.

And it would be a lie if you said you didn’t want her back, too.

Maybe you would, if the circumstances were different, but at the moment, it seemed that the tables have turned and you were the one who had to let go of her. “Look, I know, it’s hard and I want to go back to how we used to.”

The whimper she tries to suppress is heartbreaking, but you had to be stronger this time. She knows, and it didn’t make things easier. “But I can’t be in a relationship right now. My group has just started and our dating ban isn’t going to lift until another year and a half. I can’t ask you to-”

“I’ll wait for you.”

You frown at her words, shaking your head in response. “I can’t ask you to do that. That would be giving both of us false hope.” You point out, and as she tries to argue, you beat her to it. “Even if you tell me, that’s still a long time. Things can change. My feelings might go away, yours might go away. I don’t want either of us holding on to something that isn’t certain. The future is unpredictable.”

But Heejin wasn’t going to back down, not when she knew she had a chance. She wasn’t the same person when she had walked away all those years ago.

“Then you don’t have to hope, because I swear that I’m going to be waiting. I wasn’t sure when we were away from each other, but now I know. And even if your feelings do fade away by then, I’ll make you fall for me again, whatever it takes.” You could see the determination in her eyes, and you knew that no matter how much you tried to convince her, she wouldn’t listen.

Sighing in defeat, you let out a chuckle and shake your head. “You really are something, Miss Jeon.” And she shoots you a smile of her own. “If taking the risk is what it takes, then it’s worth it.”

You can’t stay for long, and she’s aware of that, but at least when you part ways, her shoulders aren’t sagged and she doesn’t feel the weight of insecurity on them. In fact, she’s able to get a hug right before you leave.

She may have left without you, but she’s made it clear.

She’ll count the days until she can finally come back to you, fully. If fate allowed it, then one day, she can find the comfort of your arms around her again.

[jaskiers-sweetkiss]

Of Blushes and Butterflies

Pairing: Reggie Peters x Luke Patterson

Word Count: 1.8K 

Warnings: None? 

A/N: Happy holidays @penguin-writes-books! I’m your secret santa for the @jatpdaily Secret Santa event! I present you with a Ruke (with slight background willex) alive!au featuring Smart Reggie and a little bit of background Proud Dad Ray Molina. I really hope you like it!! <3

___

Luke knew he shouldn’t have left all his homework for the day after the band’s Orpheum showcase. His whole body felt ablaze with energy but none of it could be channeled towards his physics. Fortunately, he knew a certain green-eyed, dark-haired boy who was great at physics and would certainly help him out. So, he pulled out his phone and texted Reggie.

At the last second, Luke pulled his thumb away from the screen before pressing send on the message. Instead navigating to the call button. He faltered only briefly before pressing it, his breath catching in his throat as he waited to hear the boy’s soft and smooth voice.

“Hey Luke, what’s up?” Reggie asked cheerfully, picking up the phone after the first ring.

“Hey, Reg,” Luke responded, trying to fight back the heat in his cheeks just from hearing his friend’s voice.

He wasn’t entirely sure when the bassist had started making him feel so flustered all the time, normally Luke was cool, calm, and collected and Reggie was one of his oldest friends. Now suddenly he was finding himself at a loss for words in his presence, tongue tied and tripping over himself for the boy’s approval.

He blamed it on the chemistry incident. He never should’ve taken the guy’s bait while they waited for Julie to arrive for practice that day. They all knew that there was nothing but friendship between Luke and Julie and yet when Reggie and Alex had taunted him about their on-stage chemistry, Luke just had to prove them wrong. That’s how he had ended up staring deep into one of his oldest friend’s eyes, wondering how he’d never noticed the little flecks of gold and brown in them or all the tiny freckles dotting his nose and his cheeks.

“I, uh, might’ve put off my physics homework and need some help,” he answered sheepishly and he hear Reggie chuckle quietly on the other end, likely unsurprised. “D’you think you could come over?”

“I’ll be there in a few,’ Reggie responded before hanging up.

Luke flopped back onto his bed with a sigh, staring up at the ceiling dopily at the thought of the green-eyed boy on his way to him. Boy was he whipped.

___

Reggie was pretty sure Luke was going to be the death of him, but what a way to go.

He had spent his Sunday afternoon after their spectacular showcase at the Orpheum pressed side-by-side with the brunet, their backs pressed against Luke’s headboard while Reggie played physics tutor.  

He didn’t mind it. He knew everyone perceived him as the “dumb” one of the group and he understood why. He was usually the last one to catch on to social cues and he wasn’t the most observant of the group. However, Reggie was great at school and it was something he was really proud of. Science and math especially came really easy to him, enough so that he was on the advanced track for both at their high school. Ray had even started hanging his test grades up on the fridge with Carlos and Julie’s, the family practically adopting him when they learned about his poor home life. So no, he didn’t mind playing tutor to his friends. He actually really liked it, especially when it meant an afternoon spent pressed against a certain floppy-haired guitarist who only wore cutoffs.

He blamed Luke and his stupid, confident, mic-sharing chemistry for the butterflies that now swarmed in his stomach every time he saw the boy, though he wouldn’t trade that moment for the world. Their lips so close it took Reggie’s break away, and then the guy had the audacity to kiss his fingers and press them to Reggie’s lips with that cocky smirk as if Reggie wasn’t already aware he was bi.

It was with thoughts of how Luke’s actual lips might feel pressed against his own or how it might feel to thread his fingers through Luke’s hair that Reggie entered their Monday afternoon practice with running through his mind.  

Luke had traded the t-shirt he’d worn to school for one of his signature cut-offs (it was a shame the school dress code prohibited sleeveless shirts but it was probably better for Reggie’s grades this way) and his flexing biceps were on full display as he tuned his guitar. Reggie gulped before pressing forward into the studio, picking up his bass and fiddling with the tuning pegs as well, trying to keep his gaze away from his best friend’s arms. Fortunately, practice went off without a hitch, Reggie to focused on the music to be ogling Luke. It wasn’t until after practice that his brain decided to betray him.

“So, are we hanging out for a bit?” Luke asked flopping down on the couch after they’d put away all their instruments.

“Flynn is coming over in a bit so you guys are welcome to stay,” Julie shrugged, taking a seat in one of the arm chairs while Alex sat across from her.

“Is it alright if I invite Willie?” He asked, already pulling out his phone to send a text to his boyfriend.

“Go ahead,” Julie responded with a knowing smirk as Alex grinned down at his phone.

“So what’re we gonna do?” Luke asked excitedly and Reggie raised his brow at the bot.

“You have a physics lab due,” Reggie said, eyes flicking between Luke and his backpack.

“Not until Wednesday!” Luke protested and Reggie tilted his head as if to say ‘come on, man.’

“You should start working on it now, babe,” Reggie said, staring pointedly at Luke, only realizing too late what he’d let slip out.

“Did you just call me ‘babe’?” Luke asked turning to stare wide-eyed at him, both boys trying desperately to fight off the color rising to their cheeks.

“I, uh, I was just trying it out,” Reggie stammered, trying to hide the slip-up.

“I like it,” Luke smiled sheepishly and Reggie thought for sure that the butterflies in his stomach would burst out of him with how frantically they were fluttering.

“O-okay,” he responded, plopping down on the other side of the couch and burying his face in his notes to try to hide his red cheeks.

Despite sitting on the opposite side of the couch, somewhere along the line Reggie had migrated over to Luke, as if being pulled by a magnet, until they were pressed side-by-side once again. At some point Willie and Flynn arrived, the latter arriving first and forcing Alex and Willie to share the remaining armchair (though they didn’t seem to mind), but Reggie couldn’t have said when, too focused on trying to focus on his AP physics assignment and not the smell of Luke’s hair.

___

Luke was amazed that he’d been able to get any of his physics homework done with his thigh pressed right up against Reggie’s and their shoulders constantly bumping as they both scribbled down answers. He was pretty sure his mind had turned to goo, especially with how Reggie would stop working to peer at Luke’s paper when the boy stalled, unable to come up with the proper equation or solution, and would lean somehow closer to help him work it out. He was starting to wonder if he had died and was now being tortured in hell.

Reggie had just leaned forward again, giving Luke a whiff of his cologne? Body wash? Deodorant? He wasn’t sure what it was but it smelled amazing and he was trying to subtly bask in it while also listening to Reggie explaining something to him when Flynn’s phone rang.

She gasped loudly, slipping into her manager voice when she demanded, “Everyone stop what you’re doing right now.”

Luke froze, pencil slipping out of his hand and clattering onto the floor as Flynn took the call. Everybody in the room seemed afraid to even breathe as Flynn stood from her chair, beginning to pace in front of the band setup. Luke was trying to listen intently, hoping to glean any amount of information about the call from Flynn’s side of the conversation, but at some point Reggie had gripped Luke’s hand in his own and the contact was just about all he could focus on. Reggie was holding his hand.

When Flynn finally ended the call the rest of the group stood up to meet her with baited breath as she walked back towards the furniture. Even when they stood Reggie still kept ahold of Luke, their entwined hands now dangling between them.

“What was that about?” Julie finally broke the silence, giving her best friend a hopeful look.

“That was Andi Parker from Destiny Management and she wants to produce your first album!” Flynn announced and the studio erupted into surprised shouts.

The band of high school seniors had been steadily growing in popularity since it’s conception a few years back and they’d be lying if they hadn’t been hoping for this outcome after their Orpheum showcase.

“But wait, there’s more!” Flynn exclaimed. She paused momentarily, letting them anticipate her next words in silence before yelling, “Julie and the Phantoms are going on tour!”

If their reaction to the record deal was an eruption, this was an explosion of shouts and cheers as they celebrated. Luke was partially aware of Julie and Flynn embracing and Alex literally jumping into Willie’s arms but he wasn’t paying them much attention, his eyes flicking between Reggie and the boy’s hand still firmly intertwined with his. Even in the excitement of the moment neither had even thought about letting go. Luke was suddenly filled with a surge of emotion and before he knew what he was doing he had grasped Reggie’s face in his hands, pressing their lips together firmly.

It took a moment for Reggie’s brain to stop short-circuiting and remember to kiss back but when he did he did it with fervor, hoping to make up for the lost time. He brought his hand (the one that was not still firmly grasped in Luke’s) up to tangle itself in the brunet’s hair just as he had daydreamed about earlier. No. It was better than he had ever daydreamed. Nothing could compare to kissing Luke Patterson.

They only broke away when their friends erupted into cheers and wolf whistles, the two boy immediately reminded of the fact that they weren’t alone.

“Finally!” Flynn called as they pulled apart, faces flushed red. Luke started to pull his hand away but Reggie only gripped it tighter, silently assuring him that it was okay.

“Yeah, uh, I guess it has been a long time coming, huh Reg?” Luke said sheepishly, glancing shyly up at the boy.

Between the kiss, the hand-holding, and the hopeful look in Luke’s eyes, Reggie found himself at a complete loss for words, only able to nod feverishly in response. Thankfully it seemed to be enough for Luke, who grinned before asking,

“Be my boyfriend?”

Though it seemed an impossible feat, Reggie managed to croak out a “Yeah” before they were kissing again, their friends whooping and hollering in the background once more.

An album, a tour, and Luke and Reggie finally getting together. It was shaping up to be a pretty spectacular Monday.

[wiypt-writes]

Stark Spangled Forever

One Shot: Wings

Intro: They say that once you’ve been inked, it kinda becomes an addiction…

Warnings: Bad language.

Pairings: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

A/N: CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR STARK SPANGLED BANNER

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Stark Spangled Forever Masterlist // Main Masterlist

 “Jamie, ”Katie sighed exasperatedly as her 9 year old looked up from where he was sprawled on the rug of the den, piecing his newest lego kit that Sam and Bucky had bought him for his birthday “You need to get your stuff for school.” “Don’t wanna.” he pouted.

“Tough.”

“I don’t feel well.”

“Oh no, really?” Katie bent down, feeling his head. “Hmmmm. You do feel warm. What’s wrong?” “Sort throat.” “Oh, well… that means no soccer practice tomorrow then…and you should go straight back to bed until I can take you to the doctors later today…”

Jamie paused and looked up at her and she raised an eyebrow “Nice try Pal.”  

“Mommmm”

“Don’t make me shout your father.” she used her ace card.

Jamie gave an exaggerated sigh and stood up, rolling his eyes. Katie bit her lip to stop herself laughing at the utter indignation on his face.

“It’s Friday dude.” she smiled at him. “You got all weekend to play legos if that’s what you wanna do.”

“Does that mean I can stay up late tonight to work on it?” he asked hopefully.

“Define late.” Katie looked at him.

“11?”

“Hmmmm, I dunno.” she said playfully.

“Please?”

“I’ll speak to your dad.” she said and he smiled at her, the pair of them both knowing full well that Steve was a soft touch when it came to stuff like that. He’d probably be there helping him out with it anyway.

“Ok Mom. Can you make sure Harry doesn’t touch it whilst I’m at school?”

“I’ll keep this door shut, I promise.”  Katie assured him.

He left the room and true to her word Katie shut the door to the den and watched him head up the stairs, passing Aurora who was on her way down with her rucksack, Steve right behind her with their youngest placed on his hip.

“Hi mammamama!” Harry babbled at her and she grinned, taking him off Steve and planting a kiss to his cheek.

“Hi baby!” she grinned as his hand instantly went to grab the chain of her necklace.

“Jamie not planning on going to school today?” Steve asked her with a grin as Rori headed off to find her shoes.

“Tried telling me he was sick so he could stay home and play legos.” she snorted “Soon decided he was ok when I told him that meant no soccer practice tomorrow morning.” Steve shook his head, smiling to himself.

“Daddy?” Rori tugged on his trouser leg and he turned his attention to her.

“What’s up Princess?”

“I can’t find my sneakers.”

“Where did you leave them?” he asked, his hand gently dropping to the back of her head.

“Erm…” she pondered for a moment, before she looked up at her mom bashfully.

“Somebody left them in the middle of the lounge…” Katie looked at her. “So the Fairies put them away.”

“Sorry…” Rori wrinkled her nose and blinked up at her mom.

“It’s ok. They’re on the shoe rack sweetie.” Katie nodded to the kitchen in the direction of the utility room located at the back of the house.  

“Thanks momma.” she said, running off to retrieve them.

“What time does Emmy’s train get in?” Steve looked at Katie.

“Just after twelve.” Katie said, blowing a raspberry on Harry’s cheek. “I’ll meet her and then take her straight to get inked…” Steve let out a breath from his nose. All Emmy had talked about since turning 21st was a tattoo. Steve wasn’t particularly sure he approved but then what could he do? She was an adult now. Katie hadn’t been bothered, but then as she’d pointed out, she had a big enough one on her thigh so it would be fairly hypocritical if she had. Emmy had won Steve over though when she’d asked him to draw it for her. She’d described what she wanted, a small Phoenix type bird that would sit just above her ankle. So after a few designs and sketches she’d finally settled on something she wanted and after a consultation she was having it done this afternoon.  

“You staying with her?” Steve looked at Katie, concern etched across his face. Katie gave a soft laugh.

“She’s a big girl now Steve but yeah, I’m gonna stay.” she said, tugging on his beard playfully.

“Good.” he nodded, jerking his head out of reach. “Do you need me to pick the kids up later or…”

“No, by the time their afterschool clubs are done we’ll have finished so I’ll do it.” she smiled as Rori came back, sneakers in her hand. She sat on the bottom step and proceeded to push her feet into the pink converse, Steve crouching down on one knee to tie her shoelaces for her.

“Thanks daddy.”

“You’re welcome sweetheart.” he said, dropping a kiss to her head before he turned to look up the stairs “Jamie! Come on!”

“I’m coming…” came the surly reply, and no sooner had they heard it he appeared at the top of the steps, rucksack in hand.

“Drop the attitude.” Steve said sternly as Jamie trudged down the stairs, scowling. Steve looked at Katie, raising his eyebrow as their eldest son stalked past them, heading to the door, Rori running behind him.

“Wait for me Jay…” she called, her small feet slapping on the tiles of the hallway as she went.

“Told you…” Katie said, smirking “He’s a mini you…”

“That filthy look he had on his face? That is a Stark expression.” Steve said, looking back at her as he picked Rori’s rucksack up.

“Is not.” Katie laughed “That’s the face you make whenever someone’s pissing you off.”

Steve gave a snort before he dropped a soft kiss to her lips, making Harry shriek.

“Kissy!” he laughed.

“See you later.” Steve smiled against her mouth “Love you.” “You too” she said, and with a last peck and a ruffle of Harry’s hair he headed after Jamie and Rori, barking out an instruction for them to quit their squabble over who was sitting in the front seat.

“Easy solution…” Katie heard Steve say loudly “You can both get in the back. End of discussion.”

Their protest’s died as the door snapped shut.

Katie chuckled to herself and looked at Harry “Shall we get you ready to go too baby boy?”

“Go!” he nodded, grinning. 

*******

Katie’s morning was reasonably easy. A meeting and a manuscript to review which she’d managed to do by half 11. Changing out of her office clothes into a loose pair of sweats, trainers and a hoody she headed out and made her way to Grand Central.

She spotted Emmy emerging into the main terminal and swept her daughter up into a hug.

“Hey mom.” Emmy said, squeezing her back.

“Ready to go get inked?” Katie asked, Emmy grinned and slung her satchel over one shoulder, linking her arm through her mom’s.

“You eaten?” Katie asked as they walked out into the early April sun.

“Yeah, followed the instructions.” Emmy nodded.

“Good.” Katie said. “Nervous?”

“A little.” Emmy shrugged “It’s gonna hurt right?”

“It’s not so bad.” Katie shrugged, “Some places hurt more apparently but…most important thing to remember is if you need a break just ask.”

“Ok.”

The two women walked a few blocks, catching up. It had been a couple of weeks since Emmy was home, fast approaching the last few weeks of the semester at Harvard before her exams started. All of her marks so far had been sky high, leaving her parents immensely proud, although both had taken great pains to tell her that they didn’t care what the outcome was, as long as she tried her best.

Eventually they reached the place and Emmy opened the door, stepping in. David, the man that had done the consultation a few weeks back beckoned them both through.

“Ok, so…” he said, tilting the screen to show Emmy the picture of her design he’d scanned “I gotta say I’m excited about this one, it’s pretty unique.”

“My dad drew it.” Emmy beamed.

“It’s phenomenal.” David smiled “I had to sharpen some of the lines up but there’s no major changes. Are you happy with it?”

Emmy nodded.

“Ok, and yours Mrs Rogers…” David clicked and the imaged changed. “The touches we’re adding to your thigh are fairly straight forward but this one…this is what I think it is right?”

Katie nodded.

“Awesome…” David smiled, and hit print and stood up to collect both the prints.

“Have you told Dad?” Emmy looked at her. Katie smirked and shook her head.

“Nope.” she popped the p on the word “Thought it would be a nice surprise when he gets to see it later.” “I’m not sure if I should be grossed out by that thought or not.” Emmy mumbled and Katie simply laughed.

Just over 2 and a half hours later they were done, leaving the parlour with strict after care instructions. Emmy had hardly flinched through hers, whereas Katie’s new one had been slightly uncomfortable due to the placing.

“Think that earned us a beer…” Katie said checking her watch. “Come on, we got time before we need to collect the heathens.”

***** “Show me! Show me!”  Rori demanded.

“You can’t see it yet short stuff.” Emmy said fondly “It’s still wrapped up.”

“When can you unwrap it?” Jamie asked.

“Another hour or so yet.” Katie answered “So quit bugging your sister and go put your school bags away.”

“Emmy do you wanna watch Sponge Bob with me?” Rori asked. 

“Only if we can sing the special song…” Emmy grinned, holding her hand out for a hi-five. Rori giggled, and slapped her smaller palm against her sister’s.

“What special song?” Katie looked at her.

“Oh just a variation on the theme tune we made up.” Emmy said, grinning mischievously 

“I dread to think.” Katie muttered, watching Jamie and Rori head up stairs to deposit their rucksacks in their room.

Katie bustled around making dinner, simple spaghetti and meatballs as requested by all 4 kids…well, the elder 3…Harry merely clapped his hands and yelled “getty” in agreement. She was stood stirring the sauce when she heard Steve walk through the door an toss his keys onto the table in the hall little under an hour later. 

“Daddy’s home!” she heard Rori shriek and a moment later Steve chuckled.

“Hey…” he said, sweeping her up and placing a kiss on her cheek. He carried her through to the kitchen where he greeted Harry with a ruffle of the hair as he sat by the table doodling on a pad with Emmy.

“Hi sweetie.” Steve said, as Emmy stood up to give him a hug. “How was the tattooing?”

“Good.” she nodded, “Oh, actually, mom….should I unwrap it now?”

“Errr, yeah.” Katie said, turning the heat down on the stove and accepting the kiss Steve offered. “Can you watch these 2. I’ll go help Emmy out…”

“Sure.” Steve said, “Where’s Jamie?”

“2 guesses” Katie grinned at him and Steve shook his head, smiling, knowing full well that meant he was nose deep in lego.

Katie and Emmy bounded up the stairs and returned about 15 minutes later, Emmy proudly showing off the design on her right ankle. Steve had to admit, it did look pretty good, but then he would say that, he drew it after all.

They dragged Jamie out of the den for dinner, where the boy managed 2 helpings before he ran off again, almost having a meltdown when Katie told him he had to share the den as Rori wanted to watch Cartoons. One stern look from Steve nipped the tantrum in the bud and the 4 kids departed once dishes had been deposited in the sink, Katie waving away Emmy’s offer to help, telling her to go spend some time with her siblings. It didn’t take her and Steve long to clear down and they were heading towards the living room to collapse onto the sofa together, but the shriek and cheers coming from the den made them both stop in their tracks.

“What on Earth are they watching?”  Steve looked at his wife.

“Sponge Bob, apparently…” Katie said. The two looked at one another, before they headed back towards the den and peeked through the door which was open a crack.

Emmy was stood, swaying with Harry held on her hip, the pair of them laughing, whilst Jamie was doing some kind of strange running man dance as Rori bounced up and down on the sofa as the opening credits began to roll. Emmy opened her mouth and started singing along to the opening theme tune in a pirate voice.

Only she wasn’t singing the theme tune. They were completely different words.

“Who lived as a Capsicle under the sea?” Emmy paused to look at Jamie and Rori who both yelled back in chorus, Harry mimicking them as best he could whilst clapping his hands.

“CAPTAIN ROGERS!”

Steve blinked, looked at Katie, his mouth dropping open as she burst out laughing at the look of utter confusion and perplexment on his face. She pushed the door open further and all the kids turned to see their parents watching them. But instead of stopping, they continued to sing even louder at Steve as he folded his arms and leaned against the door frame.

“Saluting a hello and killing Nazis…” Emmy continued

“CAPTAIN ROGERS!”

“If patriotism be something you wish…”

“CAPTAIN ROGERS!”

By this point Katie was laughing that hard she couldn’t breathe. She doubled over, tears pouring from her face as the kids continued their relentless serenade to their father.

“Then throw a big shield and punch with your fist…”

“CAPTAIN ROGERS!”

That was it. Steve couldn’t keep his face straight any longer and he too started to laugh, grinning as Rori ran over to him and pulled on his hands dragging him into the room to make him twirl her round.

Eventually the song stopped and the room was simply filled with laughter which died down. Steve wiped his eyes and looked at his kids before he crossed his arms.

“You’re all grounded.” he smirked, and then ran as they started pelting him with throw cushions.

****

Later that night, as always, Steve couldn’t stop his eyes from roving his wife’s body as she walked out of the en-suite and into the bedroom, dressed in one of his shirts and a pair of sleep shorts ready for bed. As he lounged on top of the duvet, back propped up against the headboard, his gaze travelled down the lines of her body and he frowned as he spotted something on her thigh that looked different.

Suddenly it dawned on him what it was.

“Is that…is that a new tattoo?” Steve sat up, looking at her leg then to her face, and back again.

“Technically it’s an addition to an existing one.” Katie grinned as she made her way to the bed and knelt up in front of Steve. His hands gently fell to her hips as he examined the new ink. The area surrounding one of the 4 stars that formed part of the original tattoo had been shaded with red and gold in a water colour effect. He didn’t need her to explain, but she did anyway.

“That’s for Tony.” she said softly, “And these…” she pointed out 4 additional stars she’d had placed within the existing design “One for each of the kids.”

“Not one for me?” he eventually pouted playfully, looking back up at her.

She bit her lip and grinning slightly, pulled his shirt over her head leaving her top half naked, and she turned her torso slightly the left, holding her arm over her breasts so he could see. His eyes widened as he saw the design that was now etched onto her skin just underneath her left breast on her rib cage.

It was his wings. The wings he had worn on his helmet. The wings adopted by the Howlies as their symbol in the war. And above that sat a star that was the same as the others on her thigh.

“That’s for you…” she said softly.

Steve was struggling for words. There was something he was finding outrageously sexy about the fact she’d had that placed somewhere that no one would really see other than him. And something ridiculously sentimental about the design she had chosen.

“Do you like it Soldier?” she asked softly, biting her lip.

He looked up at her, smiling as his hands gripped her bare waist and he pulled her down with him so she was led on top of him. “I love it.”

“I love you…” she grinned, melting into his arms as his hands ran up her bare back, her nose nudging his softly.

“Back at ya pretty girl.” he smirked, before his lips claimed hers in a heated kiss.

 **Original Posting**

[honeypwark]

[ Riverside ]

  ↳ Gone Days era

       ↳ Xiang interrupts Chan and Jisung. She and Chan take a walk. She finally tells someone.

Note: Maybe reread Quitter and Turbulence before reading?

TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains a detailed explanation of how Xiang developed and lived with her eating disorder. Please do not read if this is triggering for you.

m.list

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Chan sits at his desk with Jisung beside him, explaining how different chords in the same spot will change the feel of the song and he should choose based on what vibe he wants the song to have.

“I kind of want it to not just cut off. Like it’s leading to more even after the song’s ended.”

“G7 might work better then.”

“G7...?”

Chan plays the chord on the keyboard to his left.

“Oh, got it.”

“As opposed to G.” He plays said chord.

“Alright. And for the second verse I wanted to-“

There’s a soft knock on the door, “Chris?”

Chan turns in his desk chair, his attention immediately going to the girl that walks into the room.

“Hey, Sophie.”

It’s been three days since Xiang’s breakdown in the bathroom at four in the morning. The next morning, Xiang had promised she’d talk to Chan about what caused it but she’d need time. He gave her time, not even mentioning what had happened. Of course, without any kind of explanation, Chan has been left to worry about every little thing and see all the worst case scenarios for the last few days.

“Do you wanna go for a walk?”

“What? Is he your dog or something?”

Xiang’s eyes land on Jisung, who she hadn’t noticed when she’d entered, too tunnel visioned on finally growing a pair and talking about her issues. It took her nearly an hour to knock on Chan’s door and ask to go somewhere to talk privately. Her momentary false bravery crumbles visibly on her face as she realizes Chan is busy.

“Oh, sorry. You’re busy.”

“No, it’s fine,” Chan says quickly, stopping her from leaving. He turns to Jisung, “We’ll finish later, alright?”

Jisung is confused but nods slowly, “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

Jisung watches as his leader saves everything on his computer without his usual attention to detail, scrambling out of his chair after Xiang as she walks back out of the room. He blinks after him confusedly, rolling his eyes before packing up his laptop to return to his own bedroom.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

After taking a bus to Han River and walking along the riverside for about five minutes in silence, Xiang is still struggling with beginning to lay it all out for Chan. She squeezes the linings of her jacket pockets, the joints of her fingers aching from the strength behind it.

“Do you want to sit?” Chan asks, pointing toward a bench they’re approaching.

“Not really.”

“Okay.”

Xiang takes a deep breath in. She breathes it out slowly. She relaxes her hands in her pockets.

“I have an eating disorder.”

Chan wishes he could say that her admitting that makes everything fall into place. That he can say he’s noticed her acting strange. That he can admit he’s been worried about her weight loss. But he can’t. Because he didn’t notice those things. He’s aware of her weight loss (she‘s trended on Naver a few times because of her light weight) but he never thought of it as the outcome of something terrible. Dammit, he should have.

“Y-You do?” he stammers.

“Yeah. It probably started when our manager told me the company wanted me to lose weight. I don’t blame him, I really don’t. He was just doing his job. But... it got me thinking and I decided to eat less and work out more and that’s where it all started. It wasn’t that bad to begin with. I had control of what I was doing and it was like being in a diet. I’ve never been the most mentally sound person; I have clinically diagnosed anxiety, depression, and depersonalization but that’s a whole other can of worms.”

Now that she’s started, it’s easier to lay it all out.

“After I decided to eat less, I started skipping meals. In my mind it made sense. To lose weight, eat less. So I did. I started lying to you and the others about eating, saying I had when I hadn’t or that I wasn’t hungry when I was. It went on like that for a while, just not eating and working out a lot more. But I felt so guilty when I did eat. When I couldn’t avoid it.

“So I started making myself throw up. It all piled on top of each other and I barely ever ate and kept it down. I probably started eating a meal or two every three or four days. For a while that’s what I did. I lost so much weight. It was so unhealthy. I weighed myself before we left for tour in America and I was 37.6 kilograms.

“I felt like I was going to pass out during the entire performance in New York. I only woke up at six in the evening the next day. I was scared that the next time I went to sleep, I wouldn’t wake up. That my body would just give out on me. So I went and ate pizza with the younger boys. I started eating at least once a day because I had to do my job. I still didn’t eat enough but... it was something.

“And that should have been good. I should have been proud of myself for starting to take care of myself but I wasn’t. I hated myself for eating. I started gaining weight. I realized one night that what I thought I had control of I didn’t because I can’t control how much I hate myself.

“I went out with Yeosu one night and I ate more than I had in such a long time. I felt so guilty and I started rambling to her about my problems. But I ran away before she could even respond. I tried to stop on my own because Yeosu is so amazing and so famous and she’s mentally fine. And I got a little better. But then the company asked for an update on our weights and they told me not to get heavy again.

“It felt like doing what was best for me wasn’t what I needed to do. Like maybe this is the cost of being who I am and doing what we do. I just spiraled and I got worse than I’d ever been. That’s when you found me. I hadn’t eaten in two days and I was so hungry but I couldn’t make myself keep what I’d eaten down. I don't know how to stop doing this to myself and I want to stop but I just can't.”

Xiang takes a breath, closing her eyes for a moment.

Chan is impressed with how well Xiang has handled her emotions while explaining everything to him. Simultaneously, his heart is aching from the story she has told him and how well she’s handled her emotions. Chan can’t help but wonder how many times she has felt like the world is crashing down around her and he was none the wiser.

“When did this start? When did our manager- When did the company say you should lose weight?”

“... Late June?”

Nine months. Nine months Xiang has been dealing with her eating disorder. And before that, anxiety, depression, and personalization. Chan has his own qualms with anxiety and depression occasionally but he’s not even sure what depersonalization is. But as Xiang said, that’s a whole other can of worms.

“It’s just-,” Xiang looks for the right words to continue. “I’ve developed so much self-hatred. I never feel good enough. I never feel pretty or talented. Even with the mess my mentality has always been, I used to be able to be content with the music I make or the performances I give. Now, I just hate everything about myself. I wish I could just deal with this on my own and I'm sorry I've dragged you into this mess. But believe me I won't hold it against you if you want to back out now-"

"Sophie.”

Chan steps in front of Xiang to face her.

“I don't know how to prove to you that I will always be here for you.”

It hurts more than he would have thought when she lets out a tiny, humorless breath of a laugh, disbelieving. She takes a deep breath and looks up at the overcast sky.

“I‘m so tired of everything.”

She closes her eyes.

“I just want it to stop.”

“It will,” Chan says. “And you’re not going to deal with this alone anymore.  Know why?"

When Xiang lowers her head, Chan can see she’s barely holding back tears. She gives a minuscule shake of her head.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Nearly two and a half years ago, Xiang stood in front of Chan in a recording studio. She’d come to tell Chan she should leave the group. He’d called her a quitter and wouldn’t let her walk out on the group.

“Why can’t you just let me do this?” she asked, not understanding how Chan can’t see the problems she’s causing.

“Because I’m not giving up on you,” he responded.

Xiang swallowed, trying not to let her emotions get the better of her. Chan stood and wrapped her in a hug.

“And I’m not gonna let you give up on me.”

Xiang hesitated but looped her arms around Chan.

“We’re in this together, understand?”

Xiang smiled and let her head rest on his shoulder.

“I understand.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“Because I'm not giving up on you."

At the riverside, Chan pulls Xiang into a hug, wrapping his arms securely around her shoulders.

“And I’m not letting you give up on me. We’re in this together, understand?”

Over two years later, Chan has kept his word. Before she’d started starving herself, before her mental state depleted further than it had ever been, he’d told her that they are a team and he won’t let her quit on him. And he’s kept to that.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

On the plane ride home to South Korea from America, Chan had comforted Xiang when she’d been anxious and fearful during turbulence. She’d thought about Chan. What he’d done for her and how he’d treated her.

Despite her self-loathing and her anxiety. And the way she’s convinced herself she’ll never be good enough. Or how she can only ever feel pretty on an empty stomach, hunger clawing at her insides in a painful way she’s grown fond of. Amidst it all, being next to Chan makes her feel safe.  Chan makes her feel safe.  Safety is something Xiang has been having a hard time finding for months now.

She realizes that if she could, she would never leave his side.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Here, beside Han River in Chan’s arms, she feels safe. She feels... loved. And the idea- the fact that Chan cares for her and has been by her side, even unknowingly, through all of this brings her to tears.

Xiang buries her face in Chan’s shoulder and wraps her arms tightly around him, crying hard into the material of his jacket. And Chan lets her. He holds her tighter against him and lets her cry, a hand coming to cradle the back of her head comfortingly. She’s safe here. She’s safe with Chan.

And she realizes that if she could, she would never leave his side.

[snakeboistan]

A Wish In A Jar

Pairing: Sugino and Nagisa (gen)

“Sugino,” The captain of Tomohito’s high school baseball team drawled from his perch on a changing room bench, “are you aware that there will be a hole on the floor from your pacing. Like, seriously dude, you’re worrying so loud that I can literally hear thoughts.”

“This is the fall tournament, Takahashi,” Tomohito said, nerves all tangled up into an anxiety-ridden amalgamation and hands wringing frantically, “winning this qualifies us for the Spring Koshien. Losing it w-”

“We’re not going to lose, Sugino,” their vice-captain, Nakajima, clapped him on the shoulder and shot him a friendly smile, “we’ve all been practically eating, sleeping and breathing baseball for the past few weeks so why don’t you sit down and try to calm down alright.”

“Yeah, dude,” another teammate voiced his concern, “you look like you’re about to keel over. I don’t see any reason why you should though - your fastball’s gotten pretty good.”

That didn’t really do much to soothe his apprehension but with a resigning sigh he did drop down onto a free bench. Anyone and everyone that knew Sugino Tomohito, or at least had a five minute conversation with him, knew that baseball was his passion, no competition (like, no joke, he even got sent to E-Class because he was too into it - but then again his year in 3-E was by far the best time he’s ever had so he’s counting that as a win) and that his dream since elementary school was to make it to the Koshien High School Baseball, and then get scouted and meet Arita and make it to the Japanese Professional Baseball League, and then play in the Nippon Series and then play for Major League Baseball in the World Series (hey, he’s got high hopes, sue him). Anyway, the idea is that baseball was his life and this game really means a lot to him so if he messes up even once then he can kiss his hopes and dreams goodbye as he buries himself under his bed covers with a bucket of fried chicken and hibernate there until he dies. Well, maybe he won’t be that dramatic but he really really wants to win and not disappoint his other hardworking teammates when they’ve already come so far. His dream was so close he could almost taste it. Or maybe that was his sense of impending doom. Who knows?

“Hey, Sugino, listen,” his captain said, “at least you’re still a first year. Even if something happens - which won’t by the way - then you’ve got all of the summer and next year to try again, and then the year after that.”

“Yeah, I know, but-”

Then, cutting through his thoughts like a professional pitch through the air, was a voice that Tomohito could recognise with his eyes closed, a voice that he’s known since Junior High would always be able to lift his spirits up.

“Sugino! Sugi-Sugino!” 

And just like he expected, a flash of blue caught his vision before the person he was expecting stood by the door of the changing rooms, a hand gripping onto the door frame. He looked just as he sounded, out of breath and like he had ran a marathon. He was breathing deeply, the apples of his cheeks tinted red and the drawstring shoelaces at the center of his hoodie askew, but the moment he locked eyes with Tomohito, his face had physically brightened.

“Nagisa,” Tomohito said with a disbelieving laugh, “wha-how?”

“Oh, thank god you’re here,” their second baseman placed an arm around the blunette’s shoulder with a dramatic sigh akin to a priest whispering his thanks at the altar. He jerked his head in Sugino’s direction, “that one could use some cheering up. He’s acting like Cap did before he confessed to Naho-chan.”

Nagisa ducked instinctively when he saw an empty plastic bottle soar towards the other boy’s head and hit him square on the temple, the captain glowering at his teammate, “Oi, shut the f*ck up, Hagiwara.”

Tomohito watched with mild interest as his teammates began to undergo their usual routine of pre-game bickering before he felt a presence by his side and looked down to meet Nagisa’s shy gaze, “uh, hey?”

Nagisa giggled slightly at his (sorta lame) greeting, “hey, Sugino. Just came to check up on you, you know. See if you’re okay.”

“Why are you speaking like you didn’t spend an hour last night hyping me up on the phone and then sent me an essay over text about how I’m amazing and how much you believe in me,” Tomohito raised an amused eyebrow, muffling his laughter at Nagisa’s bashful smile. He vaguely registered someone whispering ‘gotta get me a bro like that’.

“I’m-I’m just trying to be a supportive friend,” the shorter boy defended himself, “I know how much this means for you okay, I just want you to know that I’m here for you.”

“Dude, I’ve never once had to question whether or not you’re there for me,” Tomohito punched the other lightly on his shoulder, “I like to think I know you well enough to know that I can always count on you to be by my side.”

“Always,” Nagisa nodded, “and hopefully that means you know me well enough to know that even if you don’t win - which is honestly the least likely outcome - I’ll still be proud of you because I know you well enough to know that you gave it your best.”

Tomohito swallowed, “I just wish that we do win.”

At that Nagisa smiled like he did when he had just won a game or had figured out a particularly difficult question, “Well, I think that I might have something that might help with that.”

At Tomohito’s furrowed brows and confused head tilt, the blunette turned and reached inside his shoulder bag that Tomohito had just realised was dangling near his hips. He placed both of his hands inside and then pushed something cold and solid into his chest. Tomohito glanced down before flicking his vision back at Nagisa’s meek face and then looking back down again. Slowly, he gripped onto the sides of whatever it was Nagisa had thrust towards him. Aware of the hushed whispers and gasps of awe, he held it out in front of him. The object appeared to be a medium sized mason jar which held hundreds upon hundreds of tiny little pieces of multicoloured papers, all folded into really small … paper cranes.

“A thousand paper cranes,” Nagisa said, looking at the floor and playing with the hairbands on his wrist, “Now if my memory serves me correctly, I believe that this should grant you one wish. You-you don’t have to use that now and I’m more than confident in your skills but, you know, if you need some form of divine intervention, which unfortunately I can’t give you, then…”

You’d think that being best friends with Shiota Nagisa since he was fourteen would make him immune to being surprised with just how much of an unbelievable person he was, but time has no impact whatsoever because the short little brunette with stuttering words and cautious hands always somehow seems to do yet another thing that completely throws him off his axis.

“When-when did you even have the time to do this?” he managed to stutter out, 

Nagisa shrugged noncommittally, flashing one his signature shy smiles, “I have my ways. Plus, origami’s been a hobby of mine for years.”

“I-this is,” Tomohito choked, “Nagisa, thank you.”

“No problem,” Nagisa beamed. A few feet away, some of Tomohito’s teammates placed hands on their hearts whilst one pretended to faint. 

“Would Keisetsu Daigaku Fuzoku High really mind if we keep you here?” One of his teammates asked Nagisa, “like seriously, have you ever considered transferring?” 

“You’ve asked me that like twenty times,” Nagisa pointed out. 

“Twenty-one,” Tomohito muttered. To say that Nagisa had some sort of charm would be an understatement. Even though Tomohito and Nagisa no longer went to the same school, they still made a habit to walk home together. Thankfully, their schools were within walking distance from each other and Tomohito’s after-school practices with his team lasted long enough for Nagisa to be able to make it to his school’s playing field at least five minutes before packing up. After two and a half weeks of Nagisa waiting for him by the gates of the field, his teammates demanded to be introduced and one thing led to another and now they all love him. Well, to be honest, how can anyone not? He wasn’t named ‘Class 3-E’s resident cinnamon roll/sunshine boy’ for nothing (Nakamura’s words, not his). Nagisa said that it was because of his unnecessary boasting that another school’s sport’s team would invite him over for baseball club sleepovers but Tomohito just laughed and said that there was a reason Fuwa had once told him that he could take over the world.

“I’d best get going to the stands,” Nagisa turned to his ex-classmate, “You brother’s saved a seat for me next to him and I don’t want to cause any problems. Oh and I’ve got to warn you - some of our old classmates are here and they’ve brought banners.”

Tomohito blushed, face-palming with a groan, “Seriously?”

“I tried,” Nagisa smiled sheepishly, “Fuwa wanted to bring a megaphone but I managed to negotiate her down to a noisemaker.”

“Whyy?” Tomohito despaired into his hand whilst Nagisa’s eyes shone with amusement at his clear suffering. Doesn’t he get enough embarrassment from his family?!

“I’m sure that they just want to show their support just as I do. And don’t worry, Isogai and I are here to keep them in line.”

“Thank the gods.”

The other gave him one last ‘good luck’ shoulder punch before adjusting his bag’s strap.

“Don’t forget what you told our sensei back in Junior High,” Nagisa said as he made his way, “‘I don’t want to just put up a fight. I want to win’.” The shorter boy then turned his head and looked directly into his eyes, a small smile gracing his face, “so go out there and give them hell.”

And with that, he left, leaving the ensemble of sportsmen staring at the door in his wake. 

“That’s a good friend you’ve got there,” Yamato Akane, the team’s short-stop, observed. 

“That was so sweet,” Hagiwara started swooning, stars in his eyes as he draped himself backwards onto a locker, “Oh if only someone would wish me luck like that. Hopefully a cute girl - who would come to me before the game and blush as she hands over a bouquet of flowers-”

“Shut the eff up, dumb*ss, no one wants to hear your stupid fantasies.”

“Ugh, rude.”

Tomohito dodged the stray jersey that was sent flying in the other boy’s direction, clutching onto the jar like it was his first born child. His entire body was on fire.

Let’s show them.

[seijurosempress]

@shoichee​ I hope this meets your expectations✨ (Bc I refuse to tolerate any more bullying today. Also- Matchup under the cut)

First, I just want to say- I’m sorry. (but not really). I know our love for Hayama runs deep but the moment you choose violence with him, that’s it for you. RIP. It was nice knowing you 😔 But, remember when we first spoke and I asked you if you shipped yourself with Imayoshi and you refused to answer my question? Well- [Insert ‘Surprise shawty’ tik tok audio]

Best Match: Imayoshi Shoichi

Your subconscious knew what it was doing when you picked out your URL. The moment you said you related to Dazai and then proceeded to talk about socioeconomic issues revolving around globalization while we simultaneously talked about dumb stuff I knew there were only a few guys that could handle your energy and Imayoshi hands down tops that list

Even though Hanamiya out of all people might say Imayoshi doesn’t have the best personality, I actually think you two can balance each other out and understand each other in a way other people may not be able to

Honestly, right off the bat, y’all will probably bond over some form of teasing. Whether it’s making some remark aimed directly at the other, or one of you takes a jab at someone else and the other happens to overhear, it will be the start of a beautiful relationship

Gemini and Leo’s have really good chemistry so it’s no surprise you’ll manage to get along, regardless of your- argumentative natures.

You two are like the two sides of the same coin. While he presents himself as a kind and easy going person, speaking politely to others- until he inevitable shows them his real personality- you, on the other hand, can come off a little cold and critical, scaring people off when you first meet them even though you’re genuinely kind and easy going once you start to talk to them

If you guys meet purely by chance, maybe you’re in the same class, you’re introduced because of a mutual friend, or because one of you overheard the other, the moment you hear how the other carries themselves in a conversation will automatically peek your interest. 

Have you ever seen that meme where they’re like “oh you wanna kiss me so bad”? yea, that’s you two. I can see you getting into the most amusing squabble, just trying to throw the other one off, Imayoshi smirking if and when one of his comments goes right over your head

You’re both pretty smart (I spent a solid hour trying to double check this and still failed but I’m like 80% sure his IQ is pretty up there) so I can see you two meeting because of that too

Scenario: 

Imayoshi is just minding his business, checking the updated class rankings posted in the hall across your classroom. Why? He doesn’t know, if he’s being honest. It’s not like anyone could ever surpass him, he’s been at the top of his class each time since his firs- What’s this? He got bumped down? Who the hell are you? Wait no, he knows who you are. He’s heard your name before countless times, mostly followed by your voice as it traveled throughout the hallways, your laugh bubbling out of your small frame soon after in reply to whichever friend had just made a funny remark. Funny. You didn’t seem all that smart at first glance, could he have actually... made a mistake? His gaze flickers to the other side of the hall where he immediately found you, eyes wide and a small smile adorning your features as you listened to your classmate speak. A low hum escapes him as he analyzes your appearance once more. He notices the way your makeup highlighted your already attractive features, the small accessories added to your uniform making you look put together and stylish. Maybe he had underestimated you, he though as he saw you take your turn to speak, your answer leaving your classmate open mouthed with a baffled expression. He felt the slight tug on his lips, the beginning of a small smirk forming on his face as you smiled widely at the response you had gotten.  However, the amusement only lasted a split second, his features falling in disbelief when you turned around, tripping over your own feet and falling face first into the open classroom door. “What are you staring at?” Someone, probably Sato, asks as he strolls up beside him. “Nothing” he sighs, adjusting his glasses on his face. Is it really nothing though? a small voice inside him asks just as a series of curse words and noises fall from your lips, eliciting his own to quirk up into an amused, lopsided smile. Even if it is “nothing” for now, don’t be surprised when both of you “coincidentally” find yourselves bumping into each other more often from now on as he tries to figure you out.

I can see him realizing he has feelings for you while you two are hanging out. Maybe you two will be studying after you asked him to tutor you in math since it’s his best subject, or well, attempting to study at least as you’re nearing half an hour of your 5 minute snack break. He’ll probably be doodling in his notebook while you scroll through Instagram, and it’s not until he looks up to see you so focused on whatever was on the other side of the screen, your fingers quickly tapping away as a smile pulled at your lips that he asks what you’re doing. Without a second thought, you absentmindedly tell him about whatever argument you’re getting into in the comments section under a random photo you came across before you’re back to focusing on the matter at hand. 

His whole trademark is that he’s good at analyzing people, and as a Gemini, he is not an exception to his own skills. He’ll suddenly come to the realization that, while he enjoys pushing people’s buttons, he enjoys the thought of you two being a team even more. While you can be loud and social, making and laughing at jokes, you also know when to get serious and get stuff done, something that that he would appreciate considering he likes respectful and considerate girls.

The problem now is- he may be aware of his feelings...but are you?

He’ll probably try out multiple ways to hint at his feelings towards you but they’ll just go right over your head. In your mind, you can’t see anyone having any romantic feelings towards you and sure he may be acting a little weird, but you’d probably just shrug it off as it being all in your imagination.

Meanwhile the whole time Imayoshi is just standing there like- Is she serious? No one can be this oblivious???? but yet  ✨here you are✨

Now it’s his turn to be frustrated by your conversations because you’re just not getting it? So he decides to try something more straight forward. Girls like pickup lines, right?

He could literally see the moment your brain stopped working. Your face flushed red as a nervous giggle bubbled out of you. All common sense left your body as you made finger guns at him, giving him a slight nod before turning around and walking quickly out the room

it would take you a few minutes to collect yourself, strolling back in the room 30 minutes later, leaning against the same spot you left him moments prior and giving him a pickup line of your own. *queue Imayoshi’s mischievous smirk* “Oh? Is that so?” (he’s such a little shit he’ll probably pretend like he didn’t say anything first to get back at you)

I can see this going back and forth for a while until he finally asks you out on a date, but this time he’ll make sure to do it in a way that will prevent you from escaping and leaving him alone and confused again

Your PDA is most likely kept to a minimum, partly because of your Venus in Virgo and partly because he doesn’t like spontaneity. Your outward relationship will consist of hand holding and pecks but that doesn’t mean your private life remains the same, just because you’re dating now doesn’t mean you’re suddenly immune to his habits or him to yours

You say you want to spend some quality time together? “How about a movie night?” he asks, his smile deceiving you long enough to trap you in his arms as a scary movie plays in his blacked out bedroom. “I don’t like scary movies” you whine, your body pressing into his and a pout pulling at your lips as he “innocently” chuckles, “Oh really? I must have forgotten”

You say you’re a bit cynical about relationships but I think it’s because your Neptune, Pluto and Lilith are ruled by air signs. This means you enjoy spontaneity and creativity in what you do and therefore always gravitate to doing things in which your outcome depends on yourself and not other people. Imayoshi is the kind of person that respects other people’s needs as we can see when he allows Aomine to skip practice if that’s what works for him. This will help you maintain a healthy balance in your relationship, allowing you to be able to feel more at ease and not trapped or like you have to be a certain way with one another

You decide to keep pursuing dancing? He’s proud of you, and will not hesitate to show off and boast about your achievements to the rest of the team

You had a rough week and you want to spend the whole day gaming with headphones on? It’s fine he’ll take the opportunity to relax and go fishing

On the other hand, you want to go shopping? Suddenly he’ll find himself walking hand in hand with you as you and his sister stop at every single store only to leave with more bags that you can carry. 

At first, you would insist you could both take care of yourselves at the mall, but he soon found out that you two should not be left alone. She might be his sister but she’s younger and impressionable and she looks up to you? And you can be a bit scatterbrained so you lose track of her time so you always end up bringing her back really late, along with an armful of shopping bags that he’ll only have to go back and return within the week because being hasty runs in his family and his sister didn’t pay much attention to how much money she was spending

Overall- I think that what really makes you a good match is your ability to communicate with one another. Both of you are pretty honest and straightforward (although your executions are vastly different) which will help you navigate through any obstacles in your relationship

You keep each other on your toes and bring fun into your relationship while also settling down, talking about serious stuff and getting genuine advice from one another when you need it the most. The balance you maintain allowing a stable foundation for the relationship to grow and blossom. He did something hasty? It’s okay, you know exactly what to do to fix it. Someone keeps hitting on you insistently? He’s already walked over to intimidate him to go away. You want to spend quality time together but he wants to go fishing? There you are by his side, scribbling in your notebook and reciting your poetry to him as he listens carefully with a small smile on his face that you’ll definitely not tease him about later. You need help with your math again? he’ll tutor you in exchange for you making him a bento with his favorite meal. Until he learns that you somehow burned half the rice and left the other half uncooked. Perfect balance of give and take. 

Bonus: Takao Kazunari

You are literally the girl version of Takao omg. (I literally JUST got your message about being the new Takao too smh I know I’m slow but let me finish this first)

You two are so alike and you would make the most chaotic duo but as much as I want to ship you two, I can just see you two being really good friends so I feel the need to include him in this

Midorima would be so done with your shit, he’d probably see you two together and immediately turn around and start walking the other way because he just KNOWS you’re bound to gang up and bully him

The first time you saw is lucky item you probably burst out laughing and thought he was joking until you saw his face flush red

After that, every time you ask about it he just grumbles out his answer, still salty about your initial reaction

Takao never fails to remind you either, trying to hold back his laugh whenever you try to make it up to Midorima but he ends up ignoring you, or you somehow just manage to make it worse

When it’s just you and Takao, you could be minding your business when suddenly one of you makes ONE singular little comment and that just sets off the other, adding onto it until both of you are crying with laughter

Honestly, the only time I can see you taking one another seriously is when you’re having discourse

He’s an optimistic person while you’re a realist which can set off some very interesting discussions between the two of you, your argumentative nature leading both of you to talk about anything and everything as you challenge the other’s ideologies

If you decide to try out a relationship, it’ll be filled with excitement and adrenaline, both of you needing very little persuasion to try out new things

You’ll be his partner in crime and he’ll be yours. You want to mess a bit with your younger neighbors? Why not? You want to go check out the new mall a few town’s over because they have a store you’ve been wanting to check out for months? He’s your man.

While the relationship is fun, you both can get a little ahead of yourselves, going with the flow and getting sucked into your own world; you’ll need someone to ground you

Usually, this role can be plaid by Midorima but it proves to be a bit problematic when he’s nowhere in sight

The amount of times you two have lost track of time or gotten caught up in something because you ran into some friends or even met new people and got lost in conversation, by this point Midorima has probably given up trying to keep track of your whereabouts when you’re together

I wouldn’t be surprised if you two ended up making your own language. He’s good with kids and bad at being quiet while you enjoy making new words and trying out sound effects which he would without a doubt find amusing. You’d probably go as far as to make children believe they’re actual words, could you imagine Midorima’s face when he goes over to Takao’s house and his younger sister starts talking to him in the made up words you taught her

Ultimately while your personalities are very alike, you tend to clash at the wrong points and it would take you working together to compromise to make a romantic relationship work

Both of you surround yourself by others, often finding yourself in the middle of everything, your personality constantly making other people gravitate towards you. This can prove conflicting when you’re together as now you’d have to learn how to share the spotlight, so to say

While you love fashion and makeup and shopping, the poor man just wants to enjoy his trading cards

Although you should use it to your advantage and make him drive you around in Princess Mia’s Midorima’s carriage.

Your might also find yourself more often than not at a crossroads, your realist point of view conflicting with his positivity which can lead to arguments between you two

Overall- a relationship with you would be exciting. There would never be a dull moment and you’d constantly encourage the other to have new experiences and make the most of your time. But moving into a more romantic territory would mean that you’d have to learn how to prioritize things in your life, knowing when to buckle down and get things down and how to successfully come to terms with and work out your differences. 

Sidenote: I meant to make these a little longer but my brain cell only has so much KNB knowledge stored in her small little filing cabinet that may or may not be a single folder covered in dust and stuffed in some corner

[thephantomofthe-internet]

Read Into Me Chapter Two: The Importance of Being Earnest

Steve Harrington x Reader

Catch up on the series HERE

Word Count: 2,030

Warnings: Swearing, death illusion

Author’s Note: This chapter is a bit shorter than I’d like, but I promise that the next one is longer! Also, some of the tags aren’t working for some users, so I’m so sorry if you aren’t getting notifications for this series! If you know how to fix this lemme know!

Tags: @divinity-deos @thecaptainsgingersnap​  @wolfish-willow @scoopsohboi @herre-gud-nej​ @clockworkballerina​ @maddie1504​ @i-am-trash-so-much-its-scary​ @banjino-in-the-whole @buckysarge​ @wildcvltre​ @stanleyyelnatsiii​ @t0rment0 @10blurredsmoke10 @unussuallchild10 @n3wtscaseofniffler5​ @alwaysstressedout @peterparxour @linkispink1995​ @asharpknife @a-big-ball-of-idk​ @used-avocado​ @mochminnie​ @sledgy14​ @lilmissperfectlyimperfect​

Steve was so very fucked. He’d been sat at his desk since he got home from school and could not think of a single fucking thing to write. He’d had his notebook open, his typewriter loaded with paper, pen uncapped and waiting to be used, and the most work he’d done was chew on its blue cap. He just couldn’t think.

Writing was not his thing. Reading was not his thing. School was not his thing. He had lines of trophies on his nearly empty shelf-swim meet, track and field, basketball, and baseball for one summer in fifth grade. He could understand how to play a sport. That was competitive, improvisational, and had a core outcome-you won, lost, or tied. The same three outcomes with a million ways to do it, a million variables to get in the way. Math and science were the same, he could swing Cs and Bs in those classes, but English was the opposite. There were too many opinions. Too many options. When he managed to read one of the assigned books for class and not merely the Cliff’s Notes, he found he had nothing to say about it. Everything the author said felt true, even when his teachers were telling him to look for specific things in the narrative. Sure, if someone told him that the conch shell in Lord of the Flies meant something, but if you asked him what he wouldn’t know. And he would believe you if you said that the conch shell didn’t mean anything. His essays were all crap.

He thought about calling Nancy. Nancy would know exactly how to help him, she always did. But Nancy was with Jonathan now and he wasn’t confident that they were still friends at all. If they were ever friends. He didn’t think that they were. They weren’t really friends before they dated. Still, his hand hovered over the egg shell white rotary phone on his desk, a gift from his eleventh birthday. He lifted the phone off its hook, dialling the number off by heart. It took three rings for someone to pick up.

“Eleven?” Mike Wheeler’s frantic voice came through the other end. Steve couldn’t help but roll his eyes, the boy was far too attached to that girl, it was honestly concerning.

“Nah dude it’s Steve, your sister around?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.

“She’s out with Jonathan.” Mike’s voice dropped into one of boredom. “You know, her boyfriend?” he was such a little shit sometimes.

“Yeah, I know dipshit, you wanna tell her I called when she gets back?” Steve huffed back.

“If I remember.” With that, the call went dead. Steve groaned, rolling his eyes as he slammed the receiver back onto the hook. What a fucking waste of time. He’d never hear back now, that kid didn’t like him from the start and would do whatever he could to keep them from being friends.

What was to be done now? He didn’t have anything to say about his spring break! Mr. Lawrence was a bastard for even asking him to write about it. Nothing happened! His parents went to Miami Beach to rekindle their marriage for the hundredth time and left Steve at home alone. He tried to throw a party but almost got busted by the cops with a fake ID at the Pick n’ Save and Tommy’s brother wouldn’t give them any weed to supplement what would’ve been a pretty dry party. He cancelled the party after that and sat at home alone. Nothing much to tell about and definitely wouldn’t fill a page, even if he used the longest words he knew.

Steve stood from his desk, looking through his shelf till he found the heavy yellow pages he’d put on the bottom of his shelf to weigh the sucker down so it wouldn’t fall over as fast. He flipped it open, searching through the numbers till he found what he was looking for, lifting the receiver off its hook again.

Across the street, you were sprawled out on your rose printed bedspread, your head in your hands with Samantha sat on your desk chair, laughing at your pain. “You know it’s not that bad, right? You could’ve gotten stuck with someone way worse.” She said, mindlessly digging through the black jewellery box sat dusty in the corner of your desk. Your mother had sent it from Spain and had filled it with different things she found across Europe. You didn’t care much for the stuff yourself but you kept it on your desk to show that you used it, not that she was ever home to seemed to notice.

Your bedroom was clean and stark white. It used to be pink, to match the rest of your white iron rod and pink padded furniture. You didn’t like the pink that much, and you didn’t adore the white, but you could hide it behind the art you tacked to the wall. Every portrait, still life, and landscape painting you’d been proud of hung proudly in your home gallery. You’d done recreations of your favourite album covers, and splatter art with balloons, and a few charcoal drawings of your grandparents and your father. You’d painted clouds and stars on your ceiling when you were in middle school, and while they had a lot of room for improvement, you left them above your head as a comfort to you. Your father had helped you scrape the popcorn ceiling down flat and helped paint the ceiling sky blue. It was your last project together.

“Oh yeah totally…” you said through your hands, refusing to look at her, focusing instead on the yellow sun spots floating under your eyelids.

“I mean, you could’ve gotten stuck with Tracy Lords again, she’s in that class.” Samantha replied easily, pulling out a green sea glass bangle from the top drawer, running her fingers over the red velvet interior of the box. Tracy Lords was a menace to productivity, at least she was according to Samantha. They had issues, which meant that you did too by association, but she’d done nothing to you except glare and pop her gum at you.

“At least she does her work!” you sat up, letting your feet dangle over your bed. “I don’t think he’s ever done his work on time, he’s always late with stuff!”

“That’s not your problem; as long as you do your work then Lawrence won’t care.” She flashed the bangle in front of your face “You should wear this more it’s nice.”

You shrugged “You can have it if you want.” You didn’t really care about what your mother sent you, it didn’t change the fact that she didn’t care enough about you to be home for more than a month out of the year. Besides, where on earth were you supposed to wear any of it? Your mother loved to spend your father’s riches on random, useless crap and you hated the idea of showing off the money your father died for. It wasn’t anything to brag about.

“Nah, not my style, it won’t match any of my stuff.” She put the bracelet back, closing the box with a metallic thump. “But anyway, you’ll be fine. Steve’s completely harmless.” You weren’t exactly sure if you believed her.

The phone on your desk blared loudly. You begrudgingly jumped off the bed, pulling it off the hook. Your grandmother was still at the hair salon and if you didn’t answer, one of her little friends from the old folk’s home might think that she died again.

“Hello?” you asked, motioning for Samantha to move over a bit, closing your white curtains closed again, your eyes scanning the streets with a bored expression.

“Hey is this Y/N?” Steve asked cautiously. He couldn’t quite remember your voice but he had double checked your last name in the year book and the phone book.

“Yeah, who is this?” dread filled your stomach the second he spoke, you were hoping against hope that it wasn’t Steve. You could see him pacing his window from across the street.

“Hey it’s Steve from English?” Fucking hell. You wanted to slam the damn receiver onto its hook. But if you did that, Samantha would think that you were crazy and you didn’t want to seem like such a baby.

“Oh hey what’s up?” you asked cautiously. Samantha was pulling at your sleeve, mouthing ‘Who is it?’ at you. You pulled your arm away, pushing her chair away from you with your foot.

“Oh nothing much, I was just wondering how your paper’s going?” Steve didn’t really know why he called you, he wasn’t certain that you’d even help him if he asked. He hardly knew you, he couldn’t name two things about you. But you seemed smart, you could be of some help if he had the balls to ask for it.

“Oh um…it’s fine. How’s yours going?” your hand came to the back of your neck, rubbing it awkwardly. You wanted to run away, to utterly disappear into another dimension. You didn’t like strangers, especially the whole small talk part. You didn’t feel like you had anything interesting to say about yourself and you hated silence. Your mind just didn’t come up with questions to ask.

Steve’s face burned. He couldn’t admit that he was stupid now; he was hoping that he wasn’t the only idiot in the class. “Oh um it’s good! I’m almost done.” He said, mentally cursing himself for saying that he was anywhere near finished.

“Oh cool. Do-do you want to switch them off tomorrow?” Now you had no idea what this phone call was even about. In the back of your mind, you assumed that he just had a question about the essay, but now you had nothing to grab onto.

“Yeah sure, that works for me.” He said, looking to his empty paper.  He was so totally screwed now. He couldn’t admit that he was an idiot to you, not when you already had everything so clearly understood. You spoke so confidently, it made him feel small and pointless.

“Okay…I’ll see you in class then.” You said. Steve bid an awkward goodbye and you both hung up unsure what the hell had just happened.

Samantha was on her feet, jumping on your mattress “Did Steve Harrington just call you?!?” she cried, following it was it a giddy scream. You hushed her, rolling your eyes.

“It’s nothing to freak out about, you weirdo!” you countered, turning to face her fully with a sullen expression. Your heart was still pounding hard in your chest, adrenalin pumping through your veins.

Samantha landed on her knees, looking up at you incredulously “What? He’s cool! That’s cool! Boys never call you!”

“Way to rub that one in.” you scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. Talking to people wasn’t your strong suit, and while for the most part you were okay with not having many friends, you lack of experience with relationships made you very insecure. “You crushed one of your spikes on my ceiling.”

Samantha reached up and touched each individual black spike with the tips of her finger, finding the dented one at the top of her head. “It’s true! God, I’ve got more guys calling me and I’m a lesbian.” She lowered her voice at the mention of her sexuality. You both knew that your grandparents wouldn’t be kind to her if they knew, their homophobia a mark of their small mindedness.

“Yeah, well, the guys at this school are all idiots.” You looked back to your paper, pulling your red pen out from behind your ear and crossing out a word on your essay.

“You didn’t think Jonathan Byers was an idiot.” Samantha replied. You cheeks flashed cherry red. It wasn’t fair of her to even mention him. He was a dickhead and Samantha knew it.

“Yeah, well now I know that he’s just as big of an idiot as everyone else is.” You muttered, pulling your desk chair over and taking a seat once again.  You didn’t have the time for stupid boys, anyways. You had work to do.