#but I really love the concept of closing of friendship that you once cherished only to look back and realise that same person you loved

[imeriayapping]

1 ; 2 ; 3 ; 4

That press conference leaves him raw to his bones and since then it's been feeling like the muscles can't wrap back around them just right, something is constantly off.

Pedro goes through his days trying to focus on racing and what next track will bring but somewhere in the back of his mind the knowledge of his wrongs sits, waiting for him to lower his guard and hit him in the full force again. Instead, Pedro puts the music on max to drown his thoughts and gets ready for the free practice.

.

It doesn't even take that much for the guards to fall and the hit of realisation get to him in full force.

The punch of realisation goes through Pedro after the race. After getting his first MotoGP win. After getting his hair ruffled in parc ferme by the calloused hand that he instinctively knows is Fermin's because that's the motion that has happened a million times before. It's a bit different because the hand is bigger and he has a bit more hair than then but still. Pedro has no need to turn to know who it is congratulating him.

He doesn't even register when he gets on the podium, just finds himself with a trophy in his hand and a victorious scream ripping itself out of his throat. Pedro feels like a fucking superstar, standing on top of the world hearing all of the neverending cheers from the crowd that exists just for him. He finally did it. Sharp teeth finally sank into oh so desired prey, warm blood of the first win making him drunk. Pedro has always thought that he would never want to share this feeling with anyone, hoard it in depth of his heart till the day of his death but somehow he feels a strange pull from inside to hold someone, to shake them, to make them feel the same.

As Spanish anthem start's playing pedro moves his gaze from sea of people under podium, instead choosing to look at his right only to find Fermin beaming at him already.

Just like he always did.

Always because somehow they end up together on the podium each time one has a result so important it will be forever burned into their stories. It's time to open champagne and Pedro needs to fight his initial want to turn away from Fermin. Instead he purposefully sends drink spraying his way.

It feels strange and somewhat unusual like working a muscle that you only engage in specific action and didn't do that exercise in forever. It's tight and makes you aware of its existence by how strange the sensation is but at the same time familiar because of the routine that is worked into your bones with how much you’ve repeated it throughout years.

And Pedro knows, he remembers how it is to narrow his attention to a boy shining like a star whenever Pedro layed his eyes on him and how it is to see full attention flicker to him after the first few drops of celebratory drink hits Fermin skin.

But it still feels a bit unnatural now. Which is confusing and stacked on top of too many other emotions, it makes Pedro feel a headache that builds up in the back of his head, spreading bit by bit and disorienting him further.

Thankfully he doesn't stumble on his way from the podium and even manages to find a quiet spot somewhere in the maze of motorhomes, deserted and quiet, ideal to catch a breath and fight a headache that sticks to Pedro like prosecco that his leathers are still soaked in.

Paddock continues to buzz around his hiding spot but somehow his little bubble of close metal walls doesn't let through nearly as much sounds as he knows there is outside. Small space makes him feel less taxing and Pedro can take a deep breath or two before getting back into the midst of chaos.

His head spins with too much of everything at the same time and it's hard to grasp any of it.

Deep breath in.

Deep breath out.

Bring light floods Pedro's vision when he opens his eyes, not even noticing when they shut. Buzz is still going trumping every bone in his body but the typhoon got quieter, more like white noise. Each muscle feels tight and it takes deliberate effort to make himself relax, even a bit, just enough to be able to fall back on the wall behind him and loosen the grip of his hands.

Cold touch to his back helps to reduce the buzz while a light clink of glass makes Pedro focus on where it came from. He finds that in his hurry to get away he’s taken a bottle of prosecco with him and with how tight his fists were didn't even notice. Thankfully, he was already sitting so it didn't shatter from impact but now that he looks at it all his attention is zoned in just there.

Pedro only now realises that some of that dizziness probably comes from having alcohol on the podium, not that he cares. But what it leads to is him thinking about Fermin. Again.

It's strange, he saw Fermin from afar for all this time, in the corner of his vision going through paddock or a stray post of his when Pedro was scrolling Instagram to numb his brain. Now looking back he still was there at all times, even with all Pedro's effort to block him out he truly never left. This thought makes something warm spill inside him, gratefulness for Fermin staying somewhat close by even when he knew that Pedro won't reciprocate with the same kindness.

Suddenly his shoulder and hand starts tingling, the memory of the celebratory hug he’d received after winning his moto2 title making itself apparent, it was one of many that day but it was stored in a hidden corner of his brain without him even knowing that. Pedro didn't appreciate it at the time but now it's for sure going to be one of the memories he will cherish more.

And with that his mind continues wandering in that day reminding him that podium that day was one of the reasons why he needed to put effort into not turning his back on Fermi today. Small correction: why he needed to put effort into not turning his back on Fermi again.

He wants to smash his head against the wall. This makes Pedro feel so dumb, it makes him realise that he could get so many more shiny smiles sent his way in the last few years if only he hadn't closed off completely. But in the end that's what got him the title isn't it? So looking back he's truly not sure whether he would change anything.

And now all that is left for Pedro is to hope that Fermin didn't give up on seeing the person that he was before. He hopes that Fermin also still has that little boy that Pedro spent countless days with inside himself too.

[slashers-and-rats]

You know those kandi bracelets? Slashers being gifted these bracelets. I saw someone write about this once and it hasn’t left my brain since

rat chat: dude i love those bracelets!! if they didn’t distract me so much i’d wear them more often.

Slashers Receiving Kandi Bracelets from GN!Reader

featured slashers: billy lenz, jason vorhees, micheal myers

Billy Lenz :

i think this would be one of billy’s favourite gifts ever!!

you’d give him something chunky, with blue and green beads and little kitty charms, and maybe some squishy rubber bobbles thrown on too. for awhile, he’d just roll it around in his palms and not even wear it. he’d just feel up the textures and listen to the way it jingled in his hands. it’s really a stim thing for him, i think he’d really enjoy using it to fidget with.

he’s feral, he’d chew on it too. you’d catch him wearing the bracelet, gnawing on it without even thinking about it. whenever he’s focused on something, or you aren’t in the mood to be his chew toy, he’d use the bracelet instead.

he’d never take it off. it’s his now, why would he? plus YOU gave it to him. that makes it even more special. no, he’d always wear it, and when he doesn’t have it on, it would be tucked away into a pocket. he keeps it as close to him as possible.

billy would wanna make new ones too. it would become a little activity for you both to bond over. you’d buy cool beads and pieces, and bring them home, and watch him sort through them all and find the stuff he likes. and then you would make a bracelet for him, and he’d make a matching one for you.

he’d want you two to match. you’d have the same bracelet except in your favourite colours, or maybe with your initials on them. if you managed to get him out of the house, he’d make you wear it, so people knew you were all his.

Jason Vorhees :

jason would definitely see it as a craft for you two to do together. you’d bring up one day that you missed making friendship bracelets at summer camp, and that you’d bought all the stuff to make some. you two would sit for a bit, and once you’ve finished the one you made for him, he’d wear it everywhere.

jason loves seeing you happy he’s wearing it. that’s his favourite part. whenever he’s outside, cutting wood for your fire pit, and you see the big shiny beading sparkling in the sun, you get so excited. and he sees it. he’ll be watching from the corner of his eye, smiling underneath his mask, all proud that he’s making you so smily.

jason would tie it to his belt loop if he couldn’t wear it. maybe he’s working with power tools or the like, and can’t have loose things hanging off of his arms, so he’d connect it to his pants. he wants to keep it on him, since it’s a nice little reminder of you.

you catch him playing with it a lot. his bracelet has red and black beads, and charms that look like little hearts. you’d have put his initials on it too, and it took you awhile to make it fit his thick wrist right. you’d only make him one or two, since bracelets weren’t really his thing, but he’d appreciate them nevertheless.

he has more fun making them for you, actually. you’d have dozens from him. while you were out doing errands or work, he’d be at home making you little bracelets in his free time. you’d come home and they’d be lined up, all decorated in your favourite colours and charms. he just likes making you things, i think.

Micheal Myers :

very confused by the concept at first. micheal isn’t the biggest on jewellery, obviously, and tends to keep pretty plain in what he wears. when you suddenly give him something so chunky and bright, he’s a little off put.

at first, he doesn’t wear it. he’s not trying to insult you at all. you can see it in the breast pocket of his jumpsuit, and he always makes sure to take it out and put it on the nightstand beside the bed before he takes his things off for the night. he cherishes it, since it’s from you, but it’s harder for him to get used to.

once you make a matching bracelet, and start wearing it around so that he notices, he starts wearing it much more often. he never mentions it either. you just see him one day wearing it with you, and when you try to say something, he just covers your mouth and continues whatever he’s doing. he gets flustered when he’s called out on his sweeter actions.

the one you make for you both is navy blue and white, and has little skulls and knives hanging off of it. the beads spell out “y/n + micheal” in sparkly bubble letters. that’s his favourite part. he never really got that sweet teenage romance phase, so getting to do silly little things like this make his heart flutter.

i think he’d also use it as a fidget thing. i think when he’s anxious, maybe out running errands without his mask, he’d be rubbing at the charms in his pocket to keep himself calm. he’d like having a little reminder of you close to him, since you make him feel safe.

[fresiants]

everything you said in your post, yes! but i was referencing this particular article from wizardingworld (that - harry potter's official site?) that basically stated that snape being in love with lily was "vital" for the plot and even went as far as to describe that if he wasn't "in love" perhaps he wouldn't have done half of the things he did. as in the intensity of his devotion and care were only motivated by romantic feelings, nothing else, only friendship wouldn't have had any power on him to make him "change". it pissed me off. the whole concept of him ""pinning"" forever has only had people say awful things about him when he never regarded his feelings for lily (the nature of them) in the story, only r*wling ever did, and no matter what they try to counterpoint to demonize his feelings, aside from snapping at her with a bad term and lack of grace, his behavior towards her wasn't very out of pocket. he wasn't like the actual devil to her. she wasn't any better than him as a friend either so trying to antagonize him and then going "pwoor lily snape was So mean and controlling to her úwù!!1" like????? naaaahhhh

I think I found the article that you're talking about. Is it 'What if Snape had never been in love with Lily Potter?'

Without Snape falling for Lily, we doubt their friendship would have survived for as long as it did.

Keeping Lily on side wouldn’t have mattered as much to him – and she wouldn’t have been there as the conscience to keep him on track.

Oh boy... that was horrible. Who's this 'we' anyway, cuz that ain't me.

People need to remember that Severus came from a dysfunctional family and Lily Evans was the first person to genuinely care about him, something that even the Slytherin gangs weren't able to provide to him. Sure, they respected and (maybe) looked up to him, but they weren't exactly close like him and Lily. So even if Severus wasn't romantically interested in Lily (personally, I already thought his love for her was platonic but whatever), he would still cherish and care for her as a friend.

The only person besides Lily who had ever shown him kindness in his memory was Lucius. We saw Lucius welcoming Severus into Slytherin with open arms and later taking him as a protégé during their school years. The fact that Lucius was shown in his memory but not Mulciber made me believe that he was not as important to Severus. The only reason he hesitated to choose between Mulciber and Lily was because he was blinded by his interest in the Dark Arts and he knew that Mulciber was destined to be part of the group he would soon join.

Not once have we seen Mulciber protect Severus from Marauders' attacks. Where was he during SWM? If Severus was truly close with Mulciber, this would be a vital part of his life, and he would have included him in his memory. If he can include Lucius, then he could have included Mulciber as well.

One thing I have learned is to ignore whatever the fuck JK Rowling said after the book ended. Not only was she very inconsistent, but some of her statements also make no sense. In an interview, Rowling stated that Severus joined the Death Eaters to impress Lily.

He wanted Lily and he wanted Mulciber too. He never really understood Lily’s aversion; he was so blinded by his attraction to the dark side he thought she would find him impressive if he became a real Death Eater.

How does that even make sense? How would Lily be impressed with Severus joining a group that targeted people like her? The only plausible explanation for this is that Severus believed Lily was attracted to bad boys, which was somewhat confirmed by J.K. Rowling herself.

MA: How did they get together? She hated James, from what we’ve seen.

JKR: Did she really? You’re a woman, you know what I’m saying. [Laughter.]

But it still doesn't make any sense because joining a cult that targets the person you love is fundamentally different from bullying, and it's hard to imagine that Severus wouldn't have recognized that. I'm pretty sure he was smart enough to know that it wouldn't work.

Well moral of the story, just don't give a fuck about whatever Jk Rowling/the official website say. Besides, that article was based on personal opinions, not facts. "We doubt" is the key word here. These were all just assumptions.

[pluviophile-imagines]

Pro hero Bakugo Katsuki who, after over a quarter of a century of life, has long come to terms with the idea that he’ll never fall in love until it suddenly and inexplicably clicks with you.

Bakugo Katsuki who spent his hormone-fueled teenage years silently baffled by how easily his friends got crushes and how much they’d talk about sex, who graduated high school having rejected every poor soul who confessed to him, who stepped into the limelight of pro heroism brushing off the affections of models and socialites because they’ve never once interested him.

Bakugo Katsuki who never really went looking for love—who has friends, who has work, who has many more important things than dating around desperately to find the one—but who can’t help but to yearn for it, in abstract, despite it all; who reads romances and watches cheesy romcoms and listens intently when his friends seek dating advice (and gives good advice despite his lack of experience) but thinks, sadly though he’d never admit it, that such things aren’t within his grasp, and wants to be okay with that.

Bakugo Katsuki who meets you—maybe it’s pure chance at a coffee shop or on his morning run, maybe you’re a fellow pro hero who managed to shove your way into his close-knit circle, maybe you’re his manager or his secretary and you’re the only one skilled enough in your field to keep up with him—and you strike up a friendship. Bakugo Katsuki who slowly lets you in, slowly allows you past those prickly spines intended to keep annoying extras out, slowly comes to genuinely enjoy your company until you’re so much a staple in his life that he can’t imagine it without you anymore.

Bakugo Katsuki who, after literal years of friendship, suddenly starts feeling feverish when you’re around; who begins to feel his heart race when you smile at him and his breath hitch when you say his name, who has been perfectly content with—in fact come to cherish—a friendship with you for so long but now has to look away when he sees you wearing the sweatshirt he left at your place months ago and never bothered to demand back because you never have anything of the right weight anyway. Bakugo Katsuki who brings this up—casually, gruffly, bashfully—over drinks with Kirishima one night only to get an astonished laugh and a dude, I think you’re smitten in return.

Bakugo Katsuki who thinks his best friend is insane because he’s in his late twenties and he’s never so much as kissed anyone, because he doesn’t do anything for the hell of it and he’s never had the desire to kiss or be kissed. Bakugo Katsuki whose mind conjures up the traitorous thought of kissing you once he articulates that concept.

Bakugo Katsuki who can’t stop thinking about it afterwards, not when the moment he sees you again his mind goes foggy and he has to duck away before you see the reddened tips of his ears, and who is frankly more terrified about it than he’s ever been before in his life.

[lestwritewhilewaitingforajobcall]

Tamed Seas - Poseidon x Reader

(A/N)

This is the very first post I’m making on this equally new account and also the very first time I am ever using a second person POV for the reader. Let me know your thoughts!

The following story is just for shits and giggles. I do not own any of the characters, they are the property of Shinya Umemura and Takumi Fukui and Ajichika. I also do not own you, the reader.

Warning: Swearing from my disclaimer.

Tamed Seas

Poseidon x Reader

They were never allowed to stare.

If Poseidon never looked anyone in the eye, deeming them unworthy of even a simple gaze, then anyone other than himself were equally unworthy in looking at his wife.

Just before the meeting had started about a decision to be made on humanity’s fate, Poseidon had entered in his full regalia, his wife walking alongside him. Of course, such a prestigious couple deserved such a special entrance, as Hermes, per Zeus’ request too, played his violin most ceremoniously, a proud smirk on his face upon seeing the royal feet step perfectly on the red carpet he had immediately placed upon knowing of their arrival. Zeus’ older brother held a record of never attending meetings, much more any simple get-togethers unless they were of real utmost importance such as this one.

Shiva’s eyes grew at the sight of the couple. Even though Poseidon’s wife had originally been a mortal who had ascended to godhood, you were glowing and looked as ethereal as Aphrodite. Was he seeing things? He blinked and leaned forward in his seat. The last time he saw you was at the announcement of your wedding, then after the ceremony he never caught a glimpse of you ever again and only heard stories of your new and impressive conquests. Were you always this godlike?

As if reading his thoughts, he gulped upon finding himself at the receiving end of Poseidon’s cold and stoic stare. He shrugged his shoulders. Man, he had heard rumors of his sudden protectiveness towards his wife, but he never expected him to be this overly protective. He was merely trying to figure out if his wife was always glowing like this or not. Both figuratively and literally.

Alright, maybe he was checking you out a little bit.

Unlike the god of the seas, his wife greeted Zeus, and all the familiar gods with a warm smile. It had been ages since you had seen them all together, and the sight brought a sense of nostalgia to the days where you had first earned their favor, then their respect, and then their friendship. Although your story might not be as mighty (and as physically taxing) as Hercules’ was, you considered those ‘young’ days to also be one of your best apart from getting married to the man god who you had given your heart for and will continue to love and cherish for the rest of your life. Since you became Poseidon’s wife, you had not had much time to do leisure outside the palace, and correspondingly after heralding the title of ‘queen of the seas,’ you had taken it upon yourself to help your husband in matters concerning his own kingdom and the vast seas themselves.

“Master Zeus—” Zeus threw you a knowing look. “My apologies, Zeus, it’s such a pleasure to see you again!”

“Same here, little lady! Judging by the frequent calmness of the Atlantic Ocean, I trust you and my brother are faring along quite well?” The father of all gods chuckled, then wiggled his gray eyebrows. “Why, I must say, me and most of the other Olympians have been waiting for some new gods and goddesses to rule alongside us, if you know what I mean! Ehe he~”

Characteristic of your husband, Poseidon simply scoffed before muttering how gods such as themselves need not gossip. Blue eyes never left the Hindu god however, and unbeknownst to his wife, he lingered closer to you than usual whenever the both of you were in public.

This time, Shiva had had enough. He was sure he only looked at the direction of Poseidon’s wife only once, and admired you only once as well, yet he was being skewered by the god’s gaze for longer than what he had intentionally allowed. As if he had openly claimed you as his! He was the god of destruction for heaven’s sake, and would not allow this sacrilegious act, regardless of whoever he had to settle the score with. If it was with another prominent deity, then it would be a lot more fun. Golden eyes narrowed daringly, an equally challenging aura oozing from his form and startling the nearby gods.

“Lord Shiva, are you okay—”

“(Name). How many times do I have to repeat myself? You have no need to refer to other gods with honorifics.” Your attention whipped to your husband, who to your surprise, held a familiar, challenging stance. Unbeknownst to you but the other gods especially Aphrodite, Poseidon simply matched the challenge of the Hindu god. “You are the wife of the seas. All the other gods are beneath you, as they are beneath me as well.”

Upon hearing this, Shiva gripped his concrete armrests too greatly and it crumbled to dust under his strength. Pumped at where this interaction seemed to be heading−the thought of fighting, he stood up, arms on the ready to cause destruction. Despite being in the middle of the crowd and quite far away from the center of the stadium where the couple stood, he caught glimpse of the famous trident he would never be caught dead wielding. Now this was getting interesting!

“My rules are simple: you disrespect me, you die,” He pointed at Poseidon, which the latter found disgusting enough to scrunch up his nose.

“Should we put a stop to this, Lord Zeus?” Hermes asked behind a white gloved hand. Not exceeding any expectations, Zeus laughed after a stroke of his beard and clapped. He always was one to find entertainment in alike situations, especially after the fact that this was the only time, he and all the other gods had really felt Poseidon riled up. The expression on the god of the seas’ face remained calm but it was betrayed by the suffocating, dominating presence he emitted from where he stood.

“And after you die, your wife would become firsthand witness of realizing how your title betrays your strength,” Shiva stretched, but halfway through noticed Poseidon’s quick work of his trident. He took a stance and prepared for the parrying move.

Amidst the unexpected battle that was soon to happen, to everyone’s surprise, a whistling sound echoed along the tension-filled stadium. It was a tune most foreign to the gods, all except one. From your lips, a beautiful melody poured out as a soft gentle breeze seemed to have begun to blow. It was an old tune you had learned from one of your many lifetimes in the mortal world,

And the very same one you had sung to Poseidon that had sustained him in trying moments.

Poseidon came to a full stop, his muscles unmoving as he listened and slowly, put his trident down. What was he thinking? He should not have been swayed by a foolish taunt committed by a foolish god. He was perfection incarnate. His wife would never fall for a foolish antic, so why did he? Now he was both angry and confused with himself. How could he have allowed himself for even a moment, for others to see him angry over this? What even was this?

Without the need to look at you, relishing in your fine tunes reminded him of the initial catalyst to his reaction and an answer to his question. Whenever matters concerned his wife, his emotions, which he learned were out of his control, seemed to defy all rational logic, which, even at the very beginning of your courtship, bypassed his ego. Of course, despite these strong feelings, the one thing Poseidon had control over were his actions. Therefore, he had always had a grip on how he presented himself. Although it was still a slow progress to figuring out this foreign feeling with his wife, the only other being he deemed truly worthy to allow into his life, anyone else will never have a chance of being privy to this side of him−a sentiment that thankfully, his wife shared. Though he never admitted it, he was confused and left mulling over for some time when you had also told him before that you had meant a different thing.

“…Foolish. Gods have no need for wars, we are perfect beings ourselves. You are not the reason for my presence here and are not worthy of my time and attention.” Another long silence fell, finally broken by Poseidon, ignoring the mix of surprised and fearful stares. His legs started carrying him towards the direction of one of the high stage boxes in the stadium. “Come, (Name).”

Shiva, who had his fists out and ready to fight, blinked twice in confusion before grunting, scratching the back of his ear violently in frustration. “You Greek gods have always been boring! And here I thought I’d finally be able to cause some destruction again, this time in Valhalla…”

Other than the Hindu god himself, none would ever understand if he had riled up the Greek god on purpose for the sake of his own entertainment or, perhaps, for something more personal. Zeus, meanwhile, followed the sight of his older brother walking quietly alongside his wife. Aphrodite nodded her head in his direction, affirming his suspicions. He would never fully understand the concept of love, but hey, he did get the message that all would be damned if so much as a single hair went missing on (Name)’s hair. And it seems he was not alone in this thought, as despite Shiva’s aggressive taunting, he also managed to peak into the gravity of the god of seas’ feelings towards his wife.

After Shiva had been calmed down and more gods piled in along with the Valkyries, Zeus set his meeting in motion. From the stands, Poseidon and his wife occupied the two seats that closely resembled their thrones. Eagerly sitting beside the god, (Name) grinned. Every day she had to sit close to her husband or even at times on his lap, she always felt like her body fit snugly against his.

Blue eyes stared uninterested at the spectacle.

“Dearest?” Poseidon turned his head and met your gaze. Any dark smudges had disappeared beneath his eyes, and his mouth that was carved into a seemingly permanent frown softened. His lips went from a thin line to a gentle curve.

“Thank you.”

No more words needed to be said. Poseidon knew what you were thanking him for, and he responded by closing his eyes as though he was swallowing every ounce of serenity that emitted from you. And the taste was sweet…

Above the angry retaliation of the gods regarding the verdict of Ragnarok, Poseidon enjoyed an elusive peace. Even if it was just a simple moment like this, he set his features in calm lines and his shoulders sank−a truly rare sight, a special secret between himself and his wife.

“I don’t care about this. I am eager to go home.” Poseidon whispered under his breath.

A chuckle left his wife’s lips. “We’re going home soon, don’t fret.”

[cherrynojutsu]

Title: Like Silver

Summary: A companion series for Like Gold.

Sakura misses him so much. She misses the faint smell of woodsmoke and sage, and mismatched eyes captivating in their intensity and unfathomable depths. The Rinnegan is beautiful, soft lavender ringed by hypnotizing layers of circle and tomoe, but flecks of silver dance in his right, tiny asterisms bewitching in nature, if one gets close enough; she’d first noticed it when they were children at the Academy. She knows they're Itachi's now, a slightly different scattering of luminaries aglow in the deep pitch of obsidian, but they're still as enthralling to her as they had been back then. She dreams of that silver sometimes, recalls it any time she sees something similar in color or reflet.

Blank period, canon-compliant, Sakura-centric, some expanded plot points from Like Gold, fluff and pining, eventually becomes a smut fest with feelings.

Disclaimer: I did not write Naruto. This is a fan-made piece solely created for entertainment purposes.

Rating: M (eventual nsfw-ness)

AO3 Link - FF.net Link - includes beginning/ending author's notes

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Chapter 1/?: An Introduction to Electrocardiography

Sakura gazes out the window of her office, a pile of paperwork set aside for a poetic sort of procrastination, trying to indulge for once in a Konoha spring, though she's finding it arduous.

As pretty as it is this time of year, all she can manage to feel is wistful.

Hanami has come and gone already for the most part, though there are a few stubborn cherry blossom trees lingering at the tail end of their blooming. She can see one here from her window, up on the hillside that slopes towards Hokage Rock, clinging to the uneven land. She’s sure its roots have to be all twisted, a labyrinth of gnarled wood clinging to any scrap of land it can wind itself around as its branches and petals try against all odds to reach upwards into the open sky that she can’t take her eyes off of.

There’s a metaphor in there somewhere, but it’s one she doesn’t care to unpack.

This year was her twentieth viewing of her namesake, though Sakura obviously doesn't remember the first few. Her parents take great pride in the retelling of tales from those first few years of her life, the ones she was too little to remember. The highlights come up annually on her birthday without fail, how she grasped at the petals like they were something precious, clutched in her sticky little hands the entire day.

A framed photograph is perched on one of the built-in shelves of her parents' living room, of her and her father on her first birthday. He was holding her up on unsteady legs, ridiculously proud and pointing towards the camera where her mother had been trying to get her to look. Her short pink hair was flying absolutely everywhere, matching the fluttering petals and in-bloom cherry blossom tree in the background, chubby hands grasping upwards. Strawberry cake and frosting were smeared all over her cheeks. They’d had a picnic for her, at the park nearest to their house.

“We came home and cleaned you up, and then your father helped you water your tree for the first time, in the little pink watering pail you unwrapped earlier. You were so cute.” That’s what her mom says every year. Sakura has the sentence memorized at this point, could recite it on cue, if she needed to.

Her parents had planted a cherry blossom sapling in their backyard a few days after they brought her home from the hospital as a newborn, so the tree is around the same age she is. She used to spend time under it often, as a kid, and some of her earliest memories involve sprawling beneath it to study the heavens while her mother gardened. She would also sneak berries from the patch when her back was turned. Sometimes her dad would join in her pilferage, and they would sit beneath the tree like a couple of bandits with stained lips, though those first few years she can remember he barely fit underneath it, as tall as he is. Many a tickle fight had been had, shaded by those branches. She would read books there on nice afternoons, when she was a little older.

The tree is fully grown now, also on the final cusp of its blooming for the year, floriferous wood expanded outwards to drape her childhood stomping grounds in a sea of soft pink. They have a picnic under it every year, in her family’s backyard, when they celebrate her birthday together. Her actual birthday has come and gone, but her birthday dinner is two days from now. Her parents swung by her apartment on Sunday afternoon for a bit with outlandishly large cupcakes, but her mom had mentioned they’d do dinner and a gift on their usual night, Thursday, since it works so well with their schedules every other week.

“We have to have your picnic, under your tree, like always. It’s a tradition! My beautiful girl. I can’t believe you’re twenty. It seems like just yesterday you were only yay high,” her dad had told her, gesturing below his knees before hugging her too tightly, ruffling the hair she'd inherited from him before they left. The cupcakes were strawberry with cream cheese frosting, one of her favorite treats. They’d left her with four extra to enjoy between then and Thursday, one for each day if she wanted it, turning her birthday into more of a week-long affair than a one-day celebration.

She and Ino had demolished two of them while watching some of the terrible movies they love to hate together, later that evening. It had been a smorgasbord of strawberries, really, because they'd washed them down with strawberry daiquiris, sugary sweetness topped with ridiculous amounts of whipped cream. They'd sat on her balcony, after, sipping a little tipsily and just looking.

"You should try to enjoy your namesake more this year, Forehead. You're so busy that I'm not sure you've realized, but you've really grown into it," Ino had said, beckoning vaguely towards a Konoha beginning to bloom, renewed with a warm breeze, spring ushered in by a fluttering of pink petals. Ino likes to give compliments in roundabout ways, she’s learned over the course of their friendship; crass as the blonde can be, she does have her moments. Her words meant a lot to Sakura, so she’s trying to take them to heart, to stop and smell the cherry blossoms, so to speak. It won’t be long before Konoha crescendos into the sweltering heat of the summer.

She loves her parents and her friends. She really does.

But birthdays are weird, Sakura thinks.

Last year, Sasuke had sent her a letter on her birthday. She’s reread it so many times that she has it more than memorized; it’s stitched into the muscle tissue of her heart at this point, or maybe scarred into the lining of her aortic valve, sempiternal markings adorning the tunnels that sustain her, causing her breath to catch every time.

Sakura,

Hanami has come to the wilderness in the Land of Honey. Bees are awakening and foraging for the first pollen of the season, with which to begin again. Cherry blossom petals are everywhere, lining the pathways and floating on the water.

Happy birthday.

-Sasuke

It had been short, simple, and even a little poetic; she had cherished it, as she does all of his other letters. She’d cherished the pressed flower with it just as much; a cherry blossom, neatly flattened with a precision that screamed Sasuke, near exactly the same shade of pink as her hair.

Sakura had started crying when she unfolded the paper to reveal it sitting atop his words. His hawk had waited patiently at her office window for a response to be written and tied to its leg, perched atop the windowsill and watching the goings-on of the village below, absolutely no concept in its predator brain of how much she delights in seeing it fly, a graceful tether to the boy - now man - she has been in love with for ages.

Cherry blossom petals are everywhere. Is there a hidden meaning there, or is she making a mountain out of a molehill?

She’s tried not to read too much into the letters. She's not sure if he sends any to Naruto or not; she's too afraid to ask, because she'll either get a heart-pounding hope if he doesn't get them, or a soul-crushing disappointment if he does. She can't imagine him sending a yellow flower to Naruto, but he may very well have sent him a different gift for his birthday.

Maybe he just thought she would like a flower, which she did - it’s pressed for safekeeping, along with all of his other correspondence to her, sporadically and chronologically throughout a book she keeps on her nightstand, An Introduction to Electrocardiography. It is her take on an album of small things she holds close to her own heart, things she wishes she could read in his. Sakura didn’t want to buy an actual album for such a thing; that felt too formal, for something as ambiguous as her ties to Sasuke, overflowing on her end as they may be. So she’d settled on a book about deciphering the heart’s tells based on science only, electrical impulses and repolarization, the sizes and positions of the chambers, how to diagnose conditions utilizing one’s findings. It’s one she doesn’t need access to anymore, extremely familiar with EKGs after years of study. She’d wanted it to be something no-nonsense, all hard facts and data on how to read activity plotted over time.

Evidence-based. Are letters evidence, though? She’s not sure that would hold up as empirical proof in any of the scholarly journals she’s studied or submitted work to since beginning her research. She thinks wryly, though, based on what she has witnessed get published, that scientific verification doesn’t always matter if you know the right people.

She’s thought many times sifting through it that perhaps it is too optimistic, too hopeful of a book subject for such a thing. Sakura has agonized over it, frankly, wondering whether it was an inappropriate choice.

...But now that they’re in there, it might ache worse to move them somewhere else.

It’s the last day of March now, and she didn’t get a letter this month, which is unusual, because she’s gotten one near each month in the time that he’s been away. She’s paged through the book a few times over the past several days, rereading and admiring the preserved sakura blossom, frozen in suspended animation indefinitely on a page about precordial leads.

Sakura hadn’t really expected anything from him for her birthday, other than a monthly letter like he usually sends... but this year she didn’t even get that. She’s trying really hard to not be disappointed. She has so much to be thankful for, in the grand scheme of things...

...But the petals of the cherry blossom from last year have faded over time, she’d evaluated yesterday, sitting in her bedroom. It might be like her, always pressed in a book, fading whilst stuck indefinitely between the boundless teeth of academia. There is always more data to record, more evidence, with which one can prove or disprove their findings.

No letter this month, though. Nothing to record, no new evidence.

It might be time to move the letters somewhere else, she thinks pensively. Maybe a place where she’s not tempted to look at them all the time; their placement in the book, small scraps of paper that stick out in only a couple of places, makes it easy to go back and reread them. She’s pretty sure she has an empty shoebox in her closet that she could move them to, in a pile rather than catalogued between pages rife with information and a fragile sort of hope. Maybe she’ll do it tonight, put it up in the far right corner of the upper shelf, shoved towards the back so she can’t reach it without the stool, so she’s not tempted whenever the next bout of heartsickness slams into her like one of Tsunade-shishou’s fists used to. She needs to go by the library after work first, to return some things, but maybe when she gets home, she’ll do it. She could eat a cupcake, too; that might make it a little easier.

Sakura misses him so much. She misses the faint smell of woodsmoke and sage, and mismatched eyes captivating in their intensity and unfathomable depths. The Rinnegan is beautiful, soft lavender ringed by hypnotizing layers of circle and tomoe, but flecks of silver dance in his right, tiny asterisms bewitching in nature, if one gets close enough; she’d first noticed it when they were children at the Academy. She knows they're Itachi's now, a slightly different scattering of luminaries aglow in the deep pitch of obsidian, but they're still as enthralling to her as they had been back then.

She dreams of that silver sometimes, recalls it any time she sees something similar in color or reflet. There’s an extremely unique necklace in an antique shop she visits with Ino and Sai from time to time, and occasionally on her own, over on the northeast side of town. It’s a salt-and-pepper diamond, dark grey with inclusions, dainty and set in what must be a hand-fabricated setting. It hangs from a silver chain, towards the back of a display case filled with other vintage and distinctive pieces, but it’s the only one she ever finds herself drawn to. It is so similar to his right eye, dark smoke near black, speckled with beguiling silver startling in its clarity. The bevel cut reveals new flecks dependent on the angle at which you view it.

Sakura studies it closely on each visit, because it is so hauntingly breathtaking and it reminds her of him.

Ino has said it’s not her color, and that she should stick to warm tones and gold, for which she is better suited; Sakura has not confessed to her why it catches her eye so much. Sai has agreed with his girlfriend on the coloring note, sensitive as he is to such things, but the way he studies her every time she tears herself away from it makes her suspect he knows exactly why it captivates her so. It’s been sitting there for years at this point; she has to mentally talk herself out of buying it on each visit. It’s beautiful, but she would spend far too much time gawking at it, and it might hurt more with extended study than the gentle tugging at her heart she experiences when she’s in that old building throughout tiny fragments of lackadaisical afternoons.

Sasuke has been gone for a long time. She hopes he's finding the peace he's been seeking, that he's seeing the world with new eyes just as he'd imagined. She thinks of him every day, sends out little orisons like petals in the breeze in the hopes that they’ll find him, wherever he is.

I wonder where he is now.

Try as she does to enjoy the breath of spring Konoha is right now, and her namesake as Ino said, all she can seem to do is shift her vision to the sky, hoping against hope for a glimpse of a familiar bird-of-prey that will stay an ample amount of time for her to craft a response, before it abvolates away for another month.

Sakura smiles, then, close to laughing at the absurdity of it all, because she is so predictable. She loves this village despite its many flaws and challenges, despite the things about it she and Naruto and Kakashi-sensei and Ino and even Tsunade-shishou, off in the Land of Wind, are trying to change, but even after so many years, she’s still pining for something beyond it, something in the wilds of the sky just beyond her reach.

There’s always next year, she supposes, pupils drawn again towards the outstretched branches of the cherry blossom tree on the hill, before trailing her eyes along further. She can grow a little more to try to reach him. When she was little, she had wanted to grow tall so she could try to touch a star, like the branches of the tree in her backyard did when she and her father laid beneath them on balmy summer nights. He would tell her ridiculous stories about all of the constellations, things she knew had to be untrue, even at the ripe age of five. Precocious, he’d always called her, but in the loving, joking manner he had.

Her gaze follows the horizon, leisurely taking in the rest of her home. It really is a lovely day, despite her yearning. Spring is here again, and today's is a gentle sunset, one last little bit of sunlight with which to conclude March. The temperature is already spiking, unusually warm for early spring, but summers in the Land of Fire are always hot. She really should finish her paperwork, but it’s hard to find the motivation just yet.

Something possesses her, then, to turn her neck more, take in more of the skyline's continuation. She wants to see all of it.

And then Sakura’s eyes fall on an achingly familiar figure cloaked all in black, perched only a roof away and observing her, and she thinks she must have nodded off, because she has to be dreaming.

She subtly pinches herself in the millisecond of time that follows, but she is very much awake.

The words are blooming out of her throat before she can even process what’s happening, exultation sinking into her every vein. “Sasuke-kun!” She moves to crank her window open the rest of the way, and he hops from the neighboring roof down into her office, all nimble legerity that she still thinks has to be a mere mirage conjured from her memories. When he straightens to his full height, she muses that he has to have grown taller. The mere sound of his footsteps on the tile flooring, as familiar a refrain to her as if he’d just walked out of the village yesterday, are a treasure beyond price.

“Sakura.” His voice is a rich timbre that she has desperately felt the absence of; hearing him say her name almost makes her want to cry. She smiles wider instead, to the extent that it almost hurts, and her gaze latches hungrily onto the very eye she was just daydreaming about. A storm of soot and silver, beveled into countless fragments like some kind of dark, rustic diamond, and so staggeringly beautiful that she’s pretty sure she’s blushing just from beholding it. Gods, it's not fair for someone to be so handsome.

“When did you get back?” She asks, utterly overcome with joy. This is better than a letter or any birthday gift she could have received, brighter than any star she’s beheld.

“Just now.” He’s smiling, a small and subtle upturn of lips that is so characteristic of him. Then his words hit her, and her face must be getting redder.

Just now? As in…

“I’m sorry I missed your birthday,” he adds before she can simmer on that for too long, and she has to blink in bewilderment, because that is the absolute last thing she expected him to say. Sakura wonders how much heat can creep into one’s face before they spontaneously combust.

Then she realizes she should probably respond, as humans tend to do in conversations. “Oh! Um… it’s okay.” She folds her hands in front of her shyly, grinning like an idiot. “Thank you for remembering.”

There is a lengthy moment in which she just soaks him in, hoping he can read in her eyes how much she’s missed him. He is still so beautiful, prized eyes and aristocratic angles that have solidified a bit more into the face of a man in the time that’s passed. His hair is different now, covering his Rinnegan eye. His cloak is a little more threadbare, too. He’s tall.

His expression, normally unreadable, is calm. Content, even.

There’s a question nagging at her that she knows she needs to ask. She tries not to bite her lip as she asks it, braces herself for the possibility of not liking the answer.

“Are you… just back for a little while?”

Did you find what you were searching for?

He gazes at her for so long that she thinks he may be glimpsing her soul, peeking into her ventricles to see his own words immortalized there, seared into her core to be felt each time her blood pumps.

“...For more than a while.” And she smiles the biggest she ever has. Oh, this is so much better than a letter or a gift.

“Well, welcome back, Sasuke-kun. It’s… very good to see you again.” It feels as if a piece of her heart has been returned to her, something of the divine stitched back into her chest and full to bursting in omneity.

There is a pause, and then he’s reaching his hand out towards hers, initiating physical contact with a touch that is feather light, so gentle she thinks she is going to start sobbing.

She can’t help it; she pulls him into a hug, tinged with elation. She hopes he doesn’t mind too much; he stiffens for a brief moment, but then settles, wrapping his arm around her and settling his head atop of hers, and she could die happy right there, embracing him with feelings momentarily set free from where they’ve been whelved into her chest.

He smells faintly like sage and smoked cedar, just as she remembered. She can hear his heart thumping, a strong cadence, and it grounds her. Oh, she’s missed him.

“...I’m home, Sakura.” Soft words float above her head, and she can feel the vibration of them through his chest, right by her ear.

Oh, she’s crying.

Sasuke lets her embrace him for a long time, for which she is so grateful. She knows he’s not one for physical contact; it’s a privilege to be allowed into his space even for a single second, let alone for an extended period.

She draws back eventually, glancing up at him again through the tears still collecting in her eyes. Her face blazes when he reaches to wipe them away tenderly with a calloused hand, careful and with a lenity that she’s always known was there, hidden under the surface.

She could just stare at him for hours, she thinks as he lowers his hand. He’s still looking down at her with one of the softest expressions she has ever seen him wear. She really hopes she’s not dreaming.

It’s tremendously hard to get it together, but she tries, because she doesn’t want to spend the entire time crying, not when he's finally back. There are so many questions she’d like to ask him that she’s finding it a challenge to pick one with which to lead.

He surprises her by speaking first, quietly. “I… had something made for you.”

It takes a moment for the words to compute.

Made for me?

Her processing speed must be exceptionally slow, stuck in the utter mush her insides have become, because he adds, “...For your birthday.”

Sakura blinks, and furrows her brows in confusion. “Made… for me?”

He nods. “...I’m sorry it’s late.” The way he speaks it is cryptic, like the apology weighs more than one needed for a tardy gift. Doesn’t he know she doesn’t care? He could have showed up in July with something for her, and it still would have made her knees weak and her heart thump furiously in her chest.

Made for me? She’s still stuck on that sentiment as he breaks eye contact and turns to rummage through his satchel, beneath his cloak.

Sasuke pulls out a medium-sized flat box, a simple white, and she doesn’t know what she expected, but it wasn’t that. Something that comes in a box is a lot more formal than a pressed cherry blossom, something more… permanent.

She reaches out to take it on autopilot, and is stupidly distracted by the way his hand brushes against hers, a small spark that makes something in her quake. She wonders if he felt it, too.

Sakura clutches the box with both hands like her life depends on it, murmuring softly, “Thank you, Sasuke-kun.” She’ll wait until later to open it, after he’s left; whatever it is, she doesn’t want to embarrass him, and she also isn’t sure she can tear her eyes away from him just yet, anyways.

Is it just the lighting in her office, or are his ears a little flushed? She didn’t notice that before; maybe he’s had a drawn-out journey back. She wonders how much ground he covered today, if he’s still winded. He might need to rest.

But then he mumbles, voice husky with what she assumes is disuse, “...You should open it.”

His words echo in her head again. I… had something made for you.

“Okay,” she answers in a hushed voice, so she doesn’t scare him away, shifting slightly to set the box on her desk carefully. Suddenly she is very nervous, anticipation settling into her gut.

When she lifts the lid, she swears her heart ceases beating.

The most exquisitely intricate uchiwa fan she has ever laid eyes upon is placed in the box before her.

It’s carved into a likeness of a cherry blossom tree, branches twisting lissomely into bamboo framework, impossibly fine. A different set of words is reverberating in her head now.

You should try to enjoy your namesake more this year, Forehead. You're so busy that I'm not sure you've realized, but you've really grown into it.

Made for me?

“O-oh.” Sakura is not sure what she expected, but it wasn’t this. She fights back the tears, biting her lip and wide eyes soaking it all in, enjoying her namesake in a way that is entirely unprecedented in its sheer severity. The amount of time it would have taken for someone to sculpt and bind and sew is unimaginable; every detail is finely wrought, flawless down to the silk and stitching, lacquered and carved pale wood shifting effortlessly into eighty slivers of bamboo, intricately webbing silk together with the lithe grace of gossamer. It’s a cherry blossom tree, petals and all, pearlescent thread shifting slightly, gorgeously in the light, unimaginable detail. She has stitched people back together countless times over the course of years, but even her expert dexterity would look like a child’s first embroidery stitching in comparison. The stamen within the petals are nearly more detailed and finely milled than an actual, real life cherry blossom, plexure sutured in a fashion so baronial that it’s impossible to believe human hands were even responsible for it.

The silk. Oh, the silk. The color shift bears a striking resemblance to the Uchiha insignia. This is not a gift one gives to a teammate.

Oh, she's crying.

This has to be a dream, some kind of paracosm her heart thought up to give her brain the high of a lifetime. Hope burgeons and unfolds in her chest cavity, bleeding into her extremities like the pale pink shifting into red before her eyes. She’s never, ever going to forget this, not even if she lives to be one hundred years old.

Made for me?

She picks it up with disbelieving hands, grasping it more carefully than she’s ever held anything in her entire life, as if she’s going to wake up at any moment and it will dissolve into synapse, lost in the hazy juncture of morning the way one tends to lose awareness of the contents of a dream upon coming to lucidity. To her absolute bewilderment, it stays solid in her hands, a finery made even more unbelievable by touch. The grooves of the carving are as gentle as his hand had been on hers earlier. She thinks it would have had to be commissioned at least a few months in advance, outlandishly expensive. She’s never seen silk like this. She doesn't know; she's smart, but she's no artisan. Maybe she should ask Sai. She's crying.

She adores it.

Tears won’t stop welling in her eyes; she thinks they may be escaping from a tender spot inside her chest that’s been reserved for him since she was a child, a leak in a metaphorical dam. She takes a steadying breath, blinks, almost has them conquered. Get a grip, Sakura.

Then Sasuke’s hand is on hers, gently turning the handle over.

Her name is carved into the pale wood, on the back in formal calligraphy, Sakura daintier and more perfect than she could ever write it, as if it had just been uncovered in one of the inner layers rather than whittled there manually. Sasuke presses her fingers to it before loosening his grip, and in that second it feels as though his lost hand is in the wood, caressing her from split atoms in the grooves from the other side.

The tears spill over her cheeks - she admits defeat - intricacy of the entire thing blurring out of focus but still somehow burned into her retinas for all eternity.

Made for me, made for me, made for me-

Her voice finds her after a few more tears fall. “It’s beautiful.” Her voice is barely above a whisper, overwhelmed with complete and utter awe, trying desperately to choke down a sob. “Thank you, Sasuke-kun. I… I’ll treasure it. Always.” She cradles the fan closer to her chest, her heart - maybe An Introduction to Electrocardiography wasn’t a poorly-chosen book, after all; there is much to be read from something this precious - and regards him with watery eyes. She wishes she wasn’t crying; the distortion of the tears is making it hard to see the silver she’s loved and missed so much.

His hand lifts to her face after a moment, and to her surprise, he wipes away her tears again. She barely catches the something-more in his eyes, then, through the waterworks, precious metal flashing and pouring into the words scarred into her ventricles to live there forever, fortified in silver, but he is looking at her so -

“...Always,” he agrees, voice a little breathless, sparking scintilla near hypnotizing her in their luster, and he seems so happy -

Then he leans down to press his lips gently to hers, and this is better than her heart stopping, like when she opened the box. This time, her heart soars, and she touches a star she’s been dreaming of for eons.

[roselen-mylady]

the game

"First one to kiss Thor wins." Wanda suggested. Y/n tried to hide her scoff but judging by Nat's elbow in her ribs, she hadn't been successful. "Come on, Y/n!" Wanda groaned, rubbing her forehead in frustration. 

"Oh, you come on! What? Are we going to play 'would you rather' after?" Y/n joked, earning yet another jab from Nat. The two red heads glared at her annoyed but Y/n didn't care as she took a sip of champagne.

Pepper had convinced Tony to hold another party in hopes of boosting the team's morale and while it wasn't the first time he'd done it, the parties were still enjoyable. Y/n couldn't help the enthusiasm and joy that came with drinking, dancing and mingling. Everyone came, at least everyone she knew, along with a hundred other people Tony knew. Even Peter had started to attend the last few parties, granted Tony only made him a frequent attendee once he'd reached 18.

The parties were fun, yes, but still being the drama and excitement addicts they were, Y/n and her closest friends craved the thrill of their little games. They played them at every party. The first was a simple game of truth or dare and the second had been the cliche spin the bottle. But with each gathering their dares and games grew more and more risky. And Y/n loved it. They all did.

But tonight was different.

Tonight was boring.

"You're just upset that Bucky didn't want to make out in the closet with you last time we played." Nat accused. A deep frown settled on Y/n's lips from the stab at her pride but she quickly waved off Nat's insult with a dismissing hand.

"That's because he knew I was drunk off my ass. I didn't really wanna make out with him either, he's my friend. You know what alcohol does to me." She argued, getting a short disbelieving nod from Wanda in return.

"Uh huh. Or maybe cause he knows you're into his best friend." Nat suggested, sipping her own drink with a smirk as she narrowly dodged Y/n's threatening hand. Wanda giggled at the interaction, knowing there was truth behind Nat's words. She had seen into Y/n's mind and her fondness toward Steve practically screamed back at her.

"I'm not into Steve. The man is too self righteous for his own good and you know I'm into bad boys." Y/n shrugged, her attempt at hiding her feelings becoming transparent in her friends' eyes.

Yet before either of them could argue further and perhaps bring up the kiss she almost shared with Steve during spin the bottle, Sam and Bucky arrived. "Who's into bad boys? You've come to the right place ladies, I'm the baddest of them all." Sam flashed a charming smile to which they all rolled their eyes.

"I'm sorry, Sam, but I think Bucky has you beat on bad boys." Y/n challenged, sending a playful wink toward the soldier. Sam gasped, mocking hurt while Bucky rolled his eyes rather unamused with the discussion.

"That's right, weren't you the second shooter in the JFK assassination? That's gotta be as bad as it gets." Nat commented causing a dark flush on Bucky's face. A short flash of guilt appeared on his face but he instantly brushed the comment off deciding not to dig into his cloudy memory for the truth. The second shooter was just a conspiracy theory anyways. But then again, so was the Winter Solider...

"What are you, a cop?" Bucky let out a strained chuckle, bringing his drink to his lips subtly trying to pull himself from the conversation. Y/n offered an apologetic smile and he returned it gratefully before she turned her gaze away.

Despite his closed off nature she'd actually become a sort of friend to Bucky and while at first it was rocky, she rather enjoyed her friendship with him. Through Bucky she heard stories about Steve when they were growing up and she saw another side of him that she wished she'd known.

"You ladies up to another game?" Sam questioned suddenly. Nat nodded sharing a look with Wanda but Y/n's focus had been drawn away. While lost in her thoughts about him, her gaze had drifted to the man of her fantasies and she shamelessly watched as he talked with Tony and another man she didn't care to remember.

He was smiling, a sight that she cherished even if he'd never notice. The blue of his eyes seemed to shine brighter than any fireworks she'd ever seen and her heart skipped a beat just looking at them. His blonde locks had grown out while she had been snapped away but not enough to make him appear drastically changed. In fact she wasn't sure if anyone else had really noticed. Maybe she was just a stalker.

"Well, we were going to play one but Y/n thinks it's not big enough." Wanda replied, giving Y/n a glare as she turned back to the group.

"Well, it wasn't. I feel like everyone's used to our shenanigans so there's no challenge." Y/n shrugged, peering at the others with a bored stare. Sam shook his head, refusing to let the tradition die.

"What did you guys have in mind?" He asked, looking over the three women as they glanced around the party.

"Wanda suggested a competition to see who could kiss Thor first." Nat explained. Bucky scrunched his nose in disdain at the dare, exchanging a exasperated look with Y/n.

"Thor would do anything, if you asked him." Sam sighed, drinking whatever liquor he had requested. Y/n remembered him saying something about woman being attracted to a man who can handle hard liquor but she had chosen to ignore him. Though she did have to admit it must've been hard for him to compete with both of his best friends being able to drink without the effects of the alcohol they consumed.

"That's what I thought! Thor would gladly abide anything if it made us happy. He's too kind for his own good." Y/n playfully rolled her eyes as they looked over to said god. He had slimmed down significantly during his time with the guardians and Y/n could almost swear that there wasn't an ounce of body fat left on the man. His hair had been cut as well, returning to his signature length and his beard had been trimmed down to a reasonable length. In other words, the Asgardian had almost every girl swooning once more.

But Y/n was swooning for another.

The same man she had for years.

"We could make it more of a challenge." Nat proposed. The group turned to her with interested eyes, the only one who hadn't seemed to match their intrigue being a very grumpy Bucky. "We could expand the dare to all Avengers. Unless you guys wanna be pussys and limit it only to men." Nat winked.

Wanda's face flushed at the suggestion and quickly shook her head. "I have a hard enough time kissing the people I've known for years let alone all the new Avengers." She squeaked. Sam chuckled nodding in agreement.

"Yeah, not that you guys are pussys I'm just saying that is a lot of people. That'll take forever. Let's just stick with Avengers pre-snap." Sam's laughter grew at Y/n and Nat's disappointed expressions, having reaped them of the extra challenge they'd been searching for.

"How about this?" He began realizing without a catch the game wouldn't be that much fun for any of them. "You have to get them to kiss you but only using cheesy ass pick up lines." Sam explained, looking rather proud of his game plan.

"What type of kiss?" Y/n questioned suspiciously.

"Any." A buzz of laughter and eagerness flooded over the girls and Y/n smirked knowing she'd been born for this challenge. "Are we all in agreement?" Sam asked looking to each for affirmations. Once everyone was on board they put their hands in the middle, a sort of ritual they had developed as a way to insure everyone's commitment.

But another presence had been added to their usual group and they turned to Bucky to see what he would do. He had never been on the scheming side of the games and usually was a victim but now he had a choice. Though he'd rather be removed from the plan all together he figured he'd might as well get it over with while he still knew what was happening.

"Yeah, alright but I'm not doing make outs. You guys do your lines or whatever, get your kiss, then I'm out." Bucky told them, putting his vibranium arm into the middle along with the rest. With childish grins on their faces they let their hands fall as Sam stepped forward.

"As per tradition, you all start off with a good luck kiss from moi." Sam explained, putting a dramatic hand over his chest as he turned to Wanda. She scoffed at his attempt at charm allowing him to peck her lips with a teasing smirk. Turning to Nat, he hesitated allowing her to quickly kiss him, learning the hard way that coming onto her was an easy way to get a black eye. The smack of her lipstick made Bucky shake his head, his 40s mindset unable to grasp how easily they'd all accepted the concept.

Sam then turned to Y/n, noticing the way she subtly glanced in the direction of Steve as his arm came around her waist. "Looking for someone? Cause your prince charming is right here." Sam flirted earning an eye roll from the woman before him.

"I thought we were supposed to do the crappy pick up lines." Y/n raised a brow, keeping a hand on his chest to get some distance.

"I said cheesy not crappy. I'm offended." He frowned playfully only to have it wiped off his face by the soft peck of her lips. She pulled away just as quick, slipping out of his hold and shaking her head.

"Oh, how will you ever recover?" She replied sarcastically, making the girls laugh quietly beside her. He smirked turning to Bucky.

"Alright, Buck. Let's get this show on the road." Sam announced patting Bucky's shoulder roughly as he urged him forward. Surprisingly Bucky seemed more nervous than he did annoyed so Y/n decided to take the lead this time, stepping closer to the brunette.

Deciding to keep it simple for Bucky's sake she trailed her fingers along his forearm, giving him a gentle smile. "Hey, can I borrow a kiss? I promise I'll give it back." She spoke smoothly. Sam cackled behind them but Y/n paid no mind instead smiling back at Bucky as he chuckled softly, grateful she hadn't used one of the dirty lines he was sure she had.

Shaking his head he leaned down, placing a gentle kiss to the corner of her lips. Though he made it seem like he was annoyed by the games he was forced into every party, he found Y/n made them more enjoyable, being one of his only friends.

"Go on. You better win since it's your fault I'm a part of this." He grumbled and Y/n laughed, nodding before running off to claim more lips.

On the other side of the room a certain blonde had caught sight of her, his eyes narrowing slightly in interest as Tony leaned closer to him. "I think Y/n's playing another one of those games. I swear that girl is going to be the death of me. Let's just hope Morgan stays innocent." Tony mumbled, bringing his glass to his lips as he surveyed Steve's expression.

"Yeah." Steve replied dully, his focus directed at the only girl in the room he couldn't keep his eyes off of. Tony smirked knowingly, deciding he'd allow Steve to ignore him just this once.

•••

Y/n had this in the bag.

Thanks to Sam she had a wide range of pick up lines to try out and she planned to use the right one with each.

The first person she recognized in the crowd was T'Challa and she made her way to him slyly, his gaze falling on her as the crowd parted. "Ah, Ms. Y/n. To what do I owe the pleasure?" He questioned, a bit of mistrust in his eyes when he recognized the smirk on her face.

"Just seeing how my favorite pussy cat is." Y/n replied with an innocent shrug. He squinted suspecting her ulterior motives. He'd been to enough of Tony's parties to know that she along with Nat and Wanda usually had some kind of game and while he was entertained by it he also knew he needed to maintain decency being a King.

"He is very happy you're here to make things interesting. He was just telling me about how boring this party was. Also he was telling me he should ask you when you're going to bring Peter to Wakanda, that boy won't get off my back." Shuri spoke up, stepping closer to the pair with a pleased smirk. T'Challa didn't seem to share her amusement but knew most of what she had said was true.

"Well, you'll be happy to know that I have to be in Wakanda next week, I'll see if he's free to tag along." Y/n replied, turning her gaze to the spider boy. He still seemed to follow Tony around like a lost puppy but Y/n hoped maybe their field trip to Wakanda would break him out of his shell.

"Would it be wishful thinking if I hoped your visit to our kingdom is the only reason for your presence now?" T'Challa questioned. Shuri and Y/n laughed answering his question. There was another game going on. "What's the challenge now? Let me guess, I should be expecting Ms. Romanoff and Ms. Maximoff next?"

"More than likely. But there's a twist this time." Y/n explained, noticing the bit of curiosity in his eye as she sipped her drink. "If you like my pick up line, you have to give me a kiss."

Shuri giggled next to them excited to hear whatever line Y/n had planned. The young princess was always up for some mischief especially if her brother was the victim and this was what made her adore Y/n so much.

"And what if I don't?"

"I'll just have to try again, I suppose. You know how persistent I am." Y/n winked. T'Challa shook his head, catching sight of Wanda across the room having already collected her kiss from Thor. With a silent sigh, he turned back to Y/n figuring he'd best not hold her up any longer.

"Fine." Y/n smiled, locking eyes with Shuri for a moment before turning back to T'Challa. She stepped forward, the soft click of her heels sending a chill down his spine as she put a hand on his upper arm. Her lips curved into a smile and he braced himself for the line that seemed to bring her so much pride.

"Meow you doin'?" Y/n smirked, her voice smooth as velvet as her eyes stared into his. Laughter erupted from his sister and he turned to her as Y/n burst out into her own fit of giggles.

"I don't get it." T'Challa told them, dumbly trying to use the little bit of context he was given to understand the joke.

"Oh, brother! As soon as we return home we are watching Friends! Now give her a kiss so that she may have a chance at winning!" Shuri spoke through laughs. T'Challa shook his head but lifted Y/n's hand nonetheless and placed a soft kiss to her knuckles.

"I feel cheated." He grumbled but the laughter from both girls was enough to take his mind off the pick up line that went straight over his head.

"Pleasure doing business with you, King T'Challa." Y/n curtsied before turning away to find her next victim, leaving T'Challa and Shuri with entertained smiles.

Next on her list was Bruce Banner, the most lost out of all of the men who had experienced the game. The first time they decided to target just one person, he had been the focus and while he enjoyed Nat's kiss, Y/n and Wanda following in the act seemed to put him in a daze for a week.

"You got T'Challa right off that bat? Sometimes I hate how good you are at this." Nat's voice cut into Y/n's thoughts as the two stood together surveying Bruce.

"There's nothing to it, my friend. Give a line, get a kiss. It's science. Did you already get Clint?" Y/n questioned, trying to see where she was at as far as the competition went.

Nat shook her head softly, glancing over at the other men they'd still needed to kiss. "No. He's not here. He says he wants us to take his retirement seriously so until then he won't be at the parties, I guess." She explained and Y/n nodded quietly. One less guy to convince, she reasoned.

"You know I'll never get used to his transformation thing." Y/n commented, gesturing toward Bruce with a nod. Nat followed her gaze, leaning into Y/n to see past the crowd of people in front of her.

"Yeah, me either." She replied. Y/n's eyes narrowed suspiciously as she glanced at Nat through the corner of her eye but ultimately decided it wasn't something she really desired to question further.

"You better save your best pick up line for Steve." Nat warned, the smile on her lips all too knowing for Y/n's liking. Her mouth ran dry and the familiar rush upon hearing his name coursed through her making her face burn.

"For the last time, I'm not into-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Too bad though. He's been watching you ever since the game started." Nat whispered, turning Y/n's head in his direction with a poke to her chin.

The red on Y/n's face grew darker at the sight of Steve looking back at her, his eyes locking with hers over the rim on his glass. A soft shade of pink settled on his cheeks to match her own and his gaze faltered before returning to the man he'd been talking to.

"Save the best for last." Nat teased softly as Y/n turned back to her. She tried to brush off Nat's words as she stalked off toward Bruce but she couldn't get the image of Steve out of her mind.

Had he ever looked at her like that before? Was she losing her mind?

A long sigh escaped her as she tried desperately to focus on racking her brain for any science puns she had.

"Y/n! Hey, long time no see!" He cheered, pulling her into a side hug. The laughter that bubbled out of her chest was involuntary as she practically disappeared under his good arm.

"It's nice to see you too, Bruce. How's the arm?" Y/n questioned gesturing to the cast that seemed to be permanent on the larger than life limb. Bruce offered a tentative shrug, looking down at it.

"Tony and I aren't sure if it's ever going to heal. He's been looking at the possibility of getting a prosthetic but I don't really mind it. We beat Thanos, that's all that really matters to me." He replied. Y/n smiled kindly at him, putting her hand on the cast as her fingers trailed Steve's signature. She couldn't help the racing of her heart when she realized he'd signed right below her own.

"So, Nat tells me you guys are doing another game. Why do you guys do that anyways? Don't you get embarrassed?" He asked, genuinely interested. Whatever Nat had told him seemed to make him more aware and Y/n found herself open to his questions.

"I don't know. I trust everyone on the team so kissing them isn't a big deal. If anything I think it makes us more open to one another. Not to mention half of us are touch starved and probably need a kiss every so often." She laughed thinking back to her poor Bucky.

Bruce laughed too, "Well, maybe next party you'll find a way to get everyone to play. That'll be a sight." He chuckled imagining everyone competing against one another in some intimate game. Y/n nodded perhaps taking the suggestion maybe a bit too seriously.

"Maybe...I've gotta win this game first though. I'm sure you know the rules." She raised a playful brow and crossed her arms. He nodded remembering Nat's line with a loving smile. "Good. Let's see."

Her hand rose to her chin, staring up at the ceiling for a moment as she thought. Bruce watched with a entertained smile as her eyes lit up before looking back at him.

"Hey, baby. If you were an enzyme I'd be a DNA synthase so I could unzip your genes." She nudged Bruce's side making him laugh.

"That was the worst." He chuckled and Y/n laughed as well, nodding in agreement.

"Yeah, but you laughed so..." He nodded wrapping his free arm around her shoulders and leaning down to press a kiss to the top of her head, the most accessible spot from his outrageous height.

"I'm gonna remember that one." Bruce told her, his head bobbing unconsciously as he already began practicing the line in his head. Y/n bowed proudly before disappearing into the crowd once more.

"Who's next?" She mumbled to herself, running her hands along her dress, absentmindedly flatting the bunching in the fabric. The dress had been her favorite, hugging her perfectly as many of the tailored clothes Pepper sent her did. But this one was different.

This one was blue. But not just any blue. It was the same dark navy Steve wore on every mission. A color she found herself buying more often, whether it be on a folder or on a dress. She was almost attracted to it as much as she was to Steve and while it seemed a little silly, it made her happy knowing she could express her hidden feelings through little things such as that. She truly was head over heels but she could never tell him that. She could never risk the rejection she feared she'd be met with if she dared make a move.

So she loved him from afar.

•••

"Oh no. Not pick up lines." Tony groaned next to Steve, his eyes nearly disappearing into the back of his head as he rolled them. Sam chuckled, nodding his head.

"It's true. Everyone is going to get hit on in the most undesired way possible tonight." He grinned, his lips still buzzing from the kisses he'd recieved.

"Yeah, you have bird brain here to thank for that." Bucky grumbled from Steve's left. Sam frowned, glaring at the semi stable hundred year old man.

"That's not what you said when you kissed Y/n." He retorted.

Steve tried to fight the jealousy that boiled in his gut but Bucky had already noticed the frown that reached his best friend's face.

"Only because I want her to win. She's my friend." Bucky explained, hoping his emphasize on 'friend' would put Steve at ease but the super soldier would never truly be at ease unless he had her in his arms.

He'd lost so much over the years including her and now that he had it all back-had her back, it felt wrong that they weren't together like he hoped. But he couldn't just tell her. What if she didn't feel the same way? What if he lost her in a way that no infinity stones could reverse?

"Personally I'm rooting for Wanda. That girl's smile would make you wanna kiss her. Not to mention her mind control stuff." Sam argued, using his hand to mimick Wanda's powers.

"Is this going to happen at every party?" Fury remarked from behind them making them turn to him, some with annoyed glances.

"You're not allowed to say anything about this, 'Mr. Off-Limits'." Sam proclaimed, feeling a tad responsible for keeping Fury out of the games. Especially after what happened last time.

"I won't be forced to partake in childish games like that. Y/n had it coming." Fury explained, any remorse he might've felt long gone.

Steve crossed his arms, his shirt tightening around his arms as he tried to bite his tongue. "You nearly broke her arm." He suddenly spoke up. Sam's suggestive smirk made him regret it instantly but thankfully Sam chose not to say anything.

"Gotta admit. Her resolve is pretty firm. It's actually pretty hot." Sam wiggled a brow at Steve. The poor blonde wanted to curl up and die in shame but Sam wasn't wrong.

Perhaps it was her determination and strong will that had attracted him. They were characteristics he was known for as Captain America but yet somehow her will was more powerful than his own.

It was one of the many things that he had loved her for. And one of the things that kept him going during the five years without her.

"Ugh. Can we please not talk about my niece like this?" Tony groaned, hating the idea of them sexualizing the girl he'd practically raised since she was a teen. Steve agreed, unsure how much longer he'd be able to stand them talking about her.

"Ooo, look. She's onto Thor now." Peter piped up pointing a finger toward Y/n as she made her way to the golden haired god. Yet the warning glare he received from Tony was enough to make him quiet again and he silently sunk back into the crowd behind them.

"I've got too many kids."

•••

"Thor!" Y/n cheered. Upon hearing his name, the Asgardian turned returning her smile with a brilliant grin. The flask in his hand was opened yet there was no flush to his face signaling he was either only mildly buzzed or close to it.

"Lady Y/n. I was beginning to wonder when you'd come around. I do cherish our time together." Thor's smile was kind and radiant but she couldn't help but think there was still one smile that could outshine even that of a god's.

"Oh, you know I'd never miss a kiss from you." Y/n returned the charm, allowing his arm to come around her waist, resting at a comfortable distance from her hips. Thor had been the most accepting of their games and never seemed to go through the confusion that the rest did. Or maybe that was just her.

"I was just telling Valkyrie of your little games. She finds them truly amusing. Perhaps I'll convince you to accept her into the tournament." Thor explained, gesturing the hand holding his flask toward Valkyrie.

"Well, it's not exactly a tournament, just a little fun to keep things interesting. You're welcome to join if you're up for it." Y/n smiled, offering a small nod of acceptance toward the warrior woman.

"A competition among women where men are the victims? Sounds like my kind of crowd." Valkyrie replied, an excited smile landing on her lips as the two woman shared a look of mutual approval.

"Wonderful." Thor praised, the joy in his tone seeming to radiate off of him, infecting Y/n with each passing second she was in his grasp. "Now Lady Wanda spoke of this night's challenge. I believe you have a suggestive comment in which to lift me yes?" He spoke, looking down at Y/n as she began to giggle uncontrollably.

"Yes, Thor. In return for the pick up line, I get a kiss. But only if you enjoy it." She recited the rules earning a heartfelt smile from him in return.

"If it is spoken by you I'm bound to enjoy it." He told her earnestly. There was something in the way he would speak that made a girl's knees weak and while Y/n was able to withstand it better than most, she wondered if he was striving for that reaction from her.

Y/n shook her head at him, giving him a half-hearted glare as she looked up at him. "Alright, here it goes." She warned him, taking his attentive gaze as a confirmation to continue.

"Hey, gorgeous. Was your father a thief? Cause someone stole the stars from the sky and put them in your eyes." Before Y/n could even offer a wink or a smirk, thunderous laughter sounded from the man beside her, drawing the attention of everyone around them.

A flush of pink bloomed on her face, slightly embarrassed under the eyes of so many, especially Steve, yet she wasn't able to dwell on it for long as she was swept up into the air. Ever the enthusiast, Thor had excitedly boosted her into the air and spun her before allowing her feet to reach the ground again, a little unsteadily from how fast he'd acted.

"You've certainly lifted me, Lady Y/n." Thor told her, bringing her smile back as she regained her balance. "Are you ready for your kiss now?" He inquired, his hand resting comfortably on her waist as he insured she was still willing to welcome a kiss.

With a small nod she leaned up accepting his lips in a teasing yet modest kiss not unlike the one they'd shared before. They pulled away a moment later, smiling at each other as Thor's hand easily slipped away from her waist.

"I'm afraid I must send you off in order for you to return victorious." Thor said, a hint of reluctance in his tone yet in a taunting way similar to friendly banter.

"And that I shall. I'm the best, you know." Y/n declared. Valkyrie laughed beside her, lifting her own glass toward Y/n in a sort of cheers.

"For now. We'll see next time who's the best." Y/n clinked her empty glass with Valkyrie's nodding respectfully as she made a note to get more champagne.

"May the best woman win." Y/n smirked, oblivious to the eyes on her as she walked off toward the bar.

Part Two

[tsukkisbean]

never cold | third year boyfriend!tsukishima x gn!reader

genre: fluff and angst

warnings: jealousy, poor communication

word count: 4.0k

summary:  you’ve always loved valentine’s day and believed it was a holiday worth  celebrating and this year you have tsukishima to spend it with.  however, much to your disappointment he tells you that he thinks the  holiday is a waste of time and doesn’t understand why people even  bother. so what happens when your secret admirer takes their chance to  tell you how they feel?

a/n: i’m sorry this turned out kind of lame but nonetheless i hope you like it!!! ty for requesting!! also this is a repost bc tumblr is picking a fight :)

original request here

Every year, each class is assigned to run a holiday event for the school. So, when the school president notifies you that your class will be in charge of the Valentine’s Day event this year, you’re over the moon.

You’re determined to pull off an amazing event not only because your pride as class representative is on the line, but simply because you love the concept of Valentine’s Day.

During your break between classes you rack your brain, trying to think of an idea that will blow the entire school away.

“What about a kissing booth?”

You turn to look at your friend, nose scrunching in distaste, “Really? A kissing booth? I think that’s overdone and quite frankly, disgusting, Yachi.”

Embarrassment is written all over her face and you can’t help but feel bad at your small outburst, “Sorry Yachi, that was rude of me. I do appreciate you trying to help me though.”

Her messy blonde hair sways side to side as she shakes her head, “No, you’re right. I’d feel sorry for whoever has to kiss hundreds of random strangers.” A giggle escapes your lips when you see the way she gags at the thought.

“Hey, Y/N are you planning to do something with Tsukishima for Valentine’s?”

The question catches you off guard. You’ve been dating for just about a year now and you know he wasn’t exactly into these sorts of things but surely, he at least had something planned, right? Just as you’re about to respond, the school bell goes off, signalling the start of your third period.

For the rest of the day, your mind is preoccupied with brainstorming. Love telegrams? Serenades? Chocolates? No, although traditional, it was all too boring to you.

It’s only the when the ring of your cellphone brings you back to reality. Your face lights up at the caller ID, your finger quickly swiping across the screen.

“Kei! Where have you been?”

When you hear your boyfriend’s voice for the first time today, your worries seem to fade away. “Yamaguchi, Hinata and Kageyama kept pestering me to practice with them during all our breaks today.” You can just imagine the scowl he has plastered on his face.

“Well it can’t be helped. After all, interhighs will be here before you know it. You’ve got to set a good example for all your juniors.” You hear him sigh on the other end, “Yeah I guess but, that means we won’t be able to see each other as much.”

The corner of your lips lifts upward into a wide smile. Tsukishima has never been the type to be so forward when expressing his affection towards you, so you always cherish these types of moments.

You’re suddenly reminded of what Yachi asked you earlier in the day and you ponder whether or not you should bring it up with him.

“Hey, Kei?”

“Hm?”

“Do you have anything planned for Valentine’s Day?” You can barely make it out, but you definitely hear him scoff.

“Probably not. I don’t really understand why people go crazy over it. It’s so corny and unnecessarily expensive, it’s just a waste of a day.”

You nod your head, even though he can’t see you, “I see. Well I have homework to do, I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight, Kei.”

Before he can respond, you end the call, throwing your phone on the bed.

Why were you so upset? You know that your boyfriend was like this; you understand that he isn’t fond of big theatrics when it came to love. You like him and he likes you, that’s all that should matter. Yet, for some reason, you can’t get rid of the tight feeling building in your chest.

When you wake up the next day, your heart still feels heavy.  Last night’s conversation still lingers in your mind, maybe because you know there’s some truth to what he said. Or maybe, it’s because you secretly hoped he’d take advantage of the holiday to show you how much he cared for you.

Pushing your thoughts away, you busy yourself with getting ready for another day of school.

When you arrive, you easily spot your boyfriend, his tall frame towering over most of the other students. One of his friends catches your eye, before giving your boyfriend a gentle a nudge, pointing towards you. Tsukishima turns to look at you momentarily before quickly walking off in the direction of his classroom.

Automatically, your lips turn into a frown. He must be upset because you abruptly hung up on him last night. You let out a sigh; maybe you’d buy him a slice of his favourite strawberry shortcake and surprise him after his practice.

During class your mind is anywhere but the lesson, your focus drifting between the Valentine’s event and Tsukishima avoiding you.

“Y/N”

“Y/N!”

Your seatmate gives you a sharp nudge to the side, bringing your attention to the front of the room.

“I believe you have an announcement for the class?”

You scramble out of your seat, smoothing out the wrinkles in your uniform as you make your way to the front of the classroom, “This year our class has been chosen to run the Valentine’s day event.” A mixture of groans and excited whispers fill the classroom, “If you would like to participate in the planning process please let me know. Those who do not partake in the planning are required to participate in the execution of the event.”

During lunch, much to your relief, a number of students approach you to offer their help. As a group, you exchange ideas back and forth and by the end of lunch break you’ve collected a wide variety of ideas. All that was left was to actually decide on one.

Happiness and excitement settles in your chest, and you can barely sit still for the rest of the day.  When the final bell goes off, those helping with the event hurriedly crowd around your desk to continue the conversation from earlier.

“Okay well we definitely have to have flowers and chocolate! How can you have Valentine’s Day without those?”

“Singing attracts way too much attention. I would literally die of embarrassment if I got serenaded in front of the whole class.”

“Telegrams are so overdone, but I also think they’re romantic, they definitely fit the vibe.”

“What if we set up an event based on the red string of fate?” Once you hear the idea your heart falls in love.

“Watanabe, that’s a great idea! Students can send in their profiles and whether  they’re looking for love or friendship. Then we’ll match them based on preferences. On Valentines Day, we’ll separate students onto two sides of the sports field.  They’ll find the card with their names and put on their string before they set off to find their match!”

Excited chatter erupts among the group, everyone adding in their two cents. The next while is spent delegating tasks to everyone, from promotion to design to operations. By the time you wrap up it’s already close to 7pm.

Grabbing your belongings, you quickly throw them into your bag. Tsukishima should be wrapping up practice soon, and unless his teammates ask him to stay the two of you could walk home together.

Quickly, you make your way to the gym to find your boyfriend. From quite a distance away you can clearly hear Hinata and Kageyama shouting at each other as usual. When you arrive at the door, you’re greeted by a chorus of “hellos” from the volleyball club.

Your boyfriend jogs over to you, stopping just shy of the door. Upon further inspection, you can see the beads of sweat forming on his nose and forehead and you can’t help but smile, knowing how hard he must be working to make it to nationals this year.

“Y/N? What are you doing here still?” there’s a hint of standishoffness in his voice but you brush it aside, “My class was assigned to the Valentine’s Day event, so I stayed behind with some classmates to do some planning. I thought that we could walk home together?”

Tsukishima’s lips press into a thin line. Was he still angry with you?

“Sorry, but we’re still practicing.”

A voice chimes in from behind, “What are you talking about? You just said-”

The tall male whips around, you can’t see his expression but by the way Hinata reacts, you can tell he’s glaring at him.

“You know what, forget it. You obviously don’t want to walk home with me and I’m an adult so I can walk myself home.” Turning on your heels, you storm away from the gym, ignoring your boyfriend as he calls your name.

The next couple of weeks fly by as you’re busy preparing for the Valentine’s event.  Applications flow in every day, and although you’re glad the event is a hit you can’t help but feel exhausted.

The fact that you and Tsukishima haven’t spoken properly since your outburst doesn’t help either. Your text messages are short and infrequent; a simple “good morning” and “good night”, and sometimes the occasional “have a good day”.

Before you know it, Valentine’s Day arrives. As you step onto the field, your heart is racing uncontrollably. You’ve spent the past month alongside your classmates working out every single kink to ensure everything would be perfect for today.

You raise your arm into the air, the red flag in your hand dancing in the cold winter breeze. Taking in a deep breath, you call out as loud as you can, “Ready... set.... go!”

Laughter fills the air as you watch your school mates stumble between each other trying to find their other half for the day through the sea of red.

“Pull on your string, you might be my match!”

“Quit pushing me!”

“Hey, stop trying to tangle my string!!”

“You guys are totally matched together, you’re literally the same person.”

Your cheeks start to ache from smiling so hard, but you can’t help yourself. Watching as everyone slowly finds the end of the red string creates a warmth in your chest. You haven’t felt this way since... well since the day Tsukishima confessed to you.

It had happened last winter. The two of you were walking home together after his volleyball practice. You’re not sure what came over you at the time but you thought it would be a good idea to throw a snowball at him. The look on his face when the cold white powder hit him square in his chest was absolutely priceless. But the moment didn’t last long when he made a much much much larger snowball.

You screamed at the top of your lungs as he chased after you, determined to get back at you. After a few minutes, your lungs started to give out and so you turned around, hands held up in the air, “I give up, I’m sorry.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, snowball still in his hands ready to throw it at you if need be, “What are you sorry for?”

You tried to stifle your laughter, for someone who acted so cool all the time, seeing that side of him was honestly quite refreshing, “I’m sorry for throwing a snowball at you. You must be cold.”

“No.” In three swift strides, Tsukishima is standing in front of you, “I never feel cold when I’m with you, Y/N.”

A distant voice snaps you out of your daydream. When you come back to your senses, you realize everyone has found their match and is waiting for your closing remarks. Grabbing the microphone you quickly thank everyone for participating, sending them off with well wishes.

Once the majority of the students leave the field, you round up your classmates, thanking them for all the hard work they put into the event.

As you head back inside, a familiar voice calls your name, “Y/N!”

“Watanabe, thank you for the amazing idea. There’s no way I would have been able to think of something as creative as this.”

They quickly shake their head, “No way, I should be the one thanking you. You had so many more ideas to add on that really brought it to life. This event was totally a hit, I heard a lot of people saying they want to do this again next year.”

A comfortable silence settles between the two of you as you head back to your classroom to grab your things.

“Hey, Y/N...?”

“Yes?”

“Are you doing anything tonight?” Your head snaps towards them, the surprise evident on your face.

“Ah sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I was just wondering since you always seem so excited to talk about Valentine’s Day.”

You reach out, giving their shoulder a gentle pat, “That’s okay, I don’t mind,” you pause momentarily, “I don’t think I’m doing anything.”

Watanabe nods their head, clearly thinking about whether or not they should puruse the current topic. When they choose to let it go, you silently thank them, not wanting to be reminded of the fact that you and your boyfriend were still on bad terms on the supposed most romantic day of the year.

When you arrive at home, you try to distract yourself with your homework. Hours pass by, not a single message, or phone call. Even if Tsukishima didn’t like the holiday didn’t he at least have the heart to tell you “happy Valentine’s Day? Pulling out your phone, you open up your chat with your boyfriend. But before you can start typing, the familiar typing bubble pops up and you quickly exit out. You watch your screen expectantly, jumping when your phone chimes.

[10:43pm] ♥kei♥: good night.

Immediately, your shoulders deflate. That was it? Another simple goodnight? Throwing your phone in the corner, you climb into bed and shut your eyes. Maybe in your dreams you’d meet Tsukishima in a world where he truly cared.

Your body feels sluggish in the morning as you make your way to your cubby. Instead of sweet dreams, you tossed and turned all night unable to get Tsukishima off your mind. Pulling your indoor shoes out of their slot, you drop them to the floor with a thunk. You slip off your outdoor shoes, and just as you’re about to put them away, a red envelope catches your eye.

You look around to see if anybody is watching you, but everyone around you is absorbed in their own conversations. Quickly, you stuff your shoes away, before tearing the red packaging open.  

Dearest Y/N,

Where do I begin? When I first laid eyes on you, I knew you were an angel sent from the heavens. Seeing you smile at me sends my heart into a frenzy, and quite frankly, I’m not sure if I’ve even recovered from the last time you looked at me with those eyes. Those beautiful eyes that I could get lost in forever.

If only you were mine, I’d make you happy.

Love,

Your Secret Admirer

You were at a loss for words. From the way they addressed you, it was obvious it wasn’t your boyfriend. Yet, you couldn’t think of a single person that could have written you this letter.

The warning bell goes off and you shove the letter into your bag, rushing off to homeroom.

As the week continues on, so did the letters. No matter how hard you looked, you couldn’t figure out who was leaving them for you.

At your wits end, you decide to confide in Yachi. If you couldn’t catch sight of your secret admirer, maybe she could, “I’m telling you Yachi, it’s definitely not Kei. I have no idea who it could be and I have no idea how they keep slipping me these notes without me noticing!”

As you ramble on about your secret admirer, you fail to notice how silent Yachi has become. When you finally realize, you notice how stiff she’s become; the colour has drained from her face and she’s not looking at you, but past you.

Slowly you turn around, only to be met with a cold pair of eyes. The grip around your wrist is tight as you’re dragged down the hallway.

“Kei, you’re hurting me. Let go!” Your complaints are dismissed as the two of you continue on, stopping only when you reach the gym used by the boys’ volleyball club. Your body is shoved into the supply room, Tsukishima slamming the door shut behind the two of you.

Click

“Why have you been ignoring me?”

Your mouth hangs open, completely lost for words, “Kei you can’t be serious.”

The way his gaze pierces through you tells you he’s dead serious.

“Is it because of the letters you’ve been receiving? Who are they from? Do you like them?” His questions come rushing at you so fast, you can barely catch everything he’s saying.

But the longer he goes on, the angrier you feel yourself become. You can hear the blood rushing in your ears, your body trembles with anger, you even think you might be seeing red.

“Do you want to break up with me?”

It’s like something inside you snaps and you can’t bear to listen to his rambling any longer, “Tsukishima Kei,” your voice rings loud and clear in the small room. For a moment even you’re stunned at yourself.

You open your mouth to speak again, but the only thing that comes out of your mouth is a weak sob. You lean over, resting your hands on your knees as the tears build in your eyes. It only takes a moment for them to start streaming down your face.

“Kei you’re so stupid, you’re so fucking stupid.” When you feel his fingers graze your skin, you immediately step away, your back hitting the layer of gym mats.

He takes a step towards you, “Y/N...please tell me what I did wrong. Please.” His voice is soft, barely a whisper.

When you look up at him, he looks just as ruined as you do. The area around his eyes is bright red, tears brimming his eyes.

"I wish you loved me more.” The words are bitter in your mouth, but there’s truth in them.

But when you see the look on his face, you’re instantly filled with regret, “Kei I didn’t-” but he cuts off you off before you can continue, “Is this because I said I wasn’t planning anything for Valentine’s Day?”

You say nothing, but your silence tells him everything he needs to know. Running his fingers through his hair, he lets out a frustrated sigh, “Maybe if you weren’t hanging out with Watanabe or any of those other people.”

“We were working on the Valentine’s Day event, and you know that.” you spit back at him, anger brewing in your chest once again.

He steps towards you again, arms trapping you between his body and the mats behind you, “I bet one of them is the one sending you the letters.”

When you don’t respond, he starts to make his way out of the supply room stopping momentarily to look back at you, “Y/N, I don’t need a shitty holiday to express how much I love being with you, when I do it everyday. Or at least that’s what I thought.”

With that, he leaves you, his footsteps heavy against the hardwood floors of the gym.

Over the weekend, you try to distract yourself from thinking about Tsukishima. But no matter what you do, everything always seems to lead right back to him.

Like the hoodie you’re wearing that he (reluctantly) gave you when you snuck out past midnight that one time. Or when your parents bring home the strawberry cake that the two of you would sometimes share at the bakery near your house.

While you drown in your feelings you ignore the knock on the door. But it comes again, and again, and again. Forcing yourself up from your bed, you make your way downstairs.

Swinging the front door open, you’re greeted by nothing but the emptiness of your front yard. Just as you’re about to shut the door, a flash of red catches your eye.

On the ground is a card and attached is a piece of long red string. The string passes your front gate but that’s as far as you can see. Cautiously you pick up the card, your name written clearly on the front. You don’t recognize the writing and so you debate with yourself for a few moments.

You shout to your parents that you’ll be back, not bothering to tell them why you were running off so late at night.

As you follow the red string you pass a number of familiar places. Your favourite bakery, the record store that has all the albums of your favourite artists, and the book store you like to hide in on rainy days.

At last, the string leads you to the park. Your eyes follows the string to where it disappears behind a nearby tree. Slowly you approach, your feet crunching against the snow.

Just before you can identify the person at the end of the string, a ball of white is hurled towards your chest.

You look down, the icy crystals already melting into the fabric of your hoodie. The sound of footsteps catch your attention, the culprit walking out with his signature smirk plastered across his face.

“What the hell was that for?”

Suddenly, you’re pulled into a hug. It’s warm and familiar, the feeling has you melting into his arms.

His hands grab fistfuls of your hoodie, pushing you closer to his body, holding you as if you were going to melt away just like the snow. Part of you is still angry at him for lashing out at you, but the other part of you knows that you were also in the wrong. So you stay, you stay in his arms because when you’re together like this, your heart knows that it’s home.

The two of you continue to stand there, breathing in sync, hearts beating as if they were one. 

“Y/N I’m sorry.” His voice breaks the silence between the two of you.

One of his arms wraps itself securely around your waist, the other rising to cup your cheek, “I shouldn’t have gotten angry at you like that, it’s not your fault you were getting those letters.”

You shake your head furiously, wanting to tell him he’d done nothing wrong but when you look into his golden eyes. It’s a look you’ve never once seen before. It’s almost as if they’re pleading for you to listen, just for now. So desperate yet so full of love.

“I should have realized how important Valentine’s Day is to you. When you hung up on me, I should have realized. When I saw you the next day I shouldn’t have run from you. Being away from you hurt me, and I know it hurt you just as much. It wasn’t fair of me.”

There are a million thoughts running through your mind, but there’s one that you can see clearly.

“Kei, I love you.”

Maybe it was the winter chill, or maybe you’ve finally managed to fluster him, but nonetheless his ears burn a bright red.

“I didn’t mean what I said the other day - about wishing you loved me more. I know you do. I know you don’t say it often, but everything you do for me shows me you do.”

You ramble on, listing every action of love, big or small, that you can recall. Your speech is cut short when your boyfriend captures your lips in a chaste kiss.

His lips are cold against yours, yet when he pulls away, your mouth feels like they’ve been set aflame, “Y/N, I love you. If you want, I’ll make you feel as if Valentine’s Day is everyday.”

Your heart flip flops at those three words but all you can say is, “Kei you’re cold.”

Gently, he knocks his forehead against yours, “I’m never cold. Not when I’m with you.”

[sykilik101]

Tender

Cradling a bowl of water in one arm and a small towel in hand, Ash eased the flap of the tent open. Stepping inside, his gaze landed on his red-headed friend lying on her side, eyes closed and breathing softly. Beside her lay Pikachu, who shared both her pillow and blanket. Her hand rested on the small mouse, fingers wrapped around his back as if to pull him closer.

Tip-toeing towards the pair Ash knelt down, resting the bowl and cloth besides them. The evening rays peered through the tent, casting shadows of swaying branches over the sleeping duo. Misty’s eyelids tensed and her mouth pursed for a moment, her head adjusting before going still once more. Ash leaned forward silently, pressing the back of his fingers against her forehead. Her temperature was normal, the way it should be.

Were anyone else to take a look at her, they’d never even guess she’d felt sick in the first place.

Leaning back to sit on the ground, a swell of pride ballooned in Ash’s chest as he admired Pikachu’s sleeping form. Anytime someone in the group felt ill, Pikachu stayed by their side while the other two tended to them and the campsite. He had thought that he was the only one Pikachu would fall asleep with; however, Misty had clearly earned that privilege at some point.

And, if Misty’s hand on him was any indication, the feeling was mutual.

Following her hand up her arm and to her face, he studied the way her lips moved the tiniest bit with each breath. She almost didn’t resemble the girl who’d usually chastise him over every mistake, or argue with him whenever she was convinced she was right. A joyful calm wafted through him, replaying the concept of her as one of his best friends in his mind. It wasn’t just in the way they’d shared numerous experiences together and bonded over them, but in how she took the closeness he’d offered her and not only returned it to him, but to his best Pokémon partner.

His gaze ran back down to her hand, fond of the way her fingers rested among Pikachu’s fur. Pokémon were amazing at being in tune with how people felt; it was one of the many things he loved about them. The fact that Pikachu had so readily attached himself to Misty in the first few days of their journey stuck with him even to this day, though he wouldn’t so easily admit it. Ash’s friendships with Pikachu and Misty individually were obvious, but it was in moments like these that he was able to see their own friendship for himself.

When his hand moved to rest itself on Misty’s, he justified it to himself by saying that in doing so, it was as if he and Misty were caring for Pikachu together. In reality, though, his thoughts quickly turned to the warmth and softness of her skin. He’d held it before, as various darkened caves and foggy woods were witness to. In spite of that, he’d never taken a second to really notice how much he liked his thumb absentmindedly running over her knuckles.

Misty let out a hum, and the sudden, inexplicable thought that he’d caused it pulled at his heart. He smirked to himself at the way he’d expected to find her smiling, but he was willing to settle for the tint of rosiness on her cheeks. It was likely the effects of her still feeling unwell, but the color there sent some pink to his own. Pulling his hand from hers, the backs of his fingers trailed the softness of her jawline. His heartbeat began picking up, and as he ran his fingers in millimeters across her skin-

She’s pretty.

He gulped, strangely unafraid of the emotions starting to bubble up from his chest. His hand was frozen, but a curiosity took hold of him. It was hazy for a moment, but as he watched her the image of holding her cheek in his palm materialized in his head. She seemed so tired, in need of rest, in need of nurture. He placed the pads of his fingers against her cheek, his palm inching closer and closer-

Misty hummed again, her eyelids tightening as her lips pressed together. Ash snatched his hand away, his blood running cold in momentary fear. Everything else faded into the background as he watched her, his breath bated as he waited to see whether she’d wake up or not. Seconds inched by as Misty eventually relaxed, returning to her stillness. Ash heaved a small sigh of relief, his palm landing on his chest.

“Ash, food’s almost done!”

Brock’s distant voice stole his attention, turning his gaze to the flap of the tent. The evening’s dinner had been made with Misty’s sickness in mind, so a stew awaited them by the campfire. Though, in Misty’s condition, he’d probably end up having to help feed her, seeing as the food would be hot.

“Here you go. Don’t burn yourself.”

Memories of Stun Spore sickness, Salveyo weed tea, and a tender voice flashed through his mind. It was the first time Misty had really been the one to care for him in his time of illness. She’d done it a few more times since then, and he was always grateful for the care and kindness she’d show him.

“Don’t get used to it!”

He held back a chuckle, recalling that snippy tone and how opposite it was from the previous tenderness. His lips pursed as he dwelled on her words. If nothing else, she had been right. It was true that he wasn’t used to that behavior from her, but deep down he knew that when he really needed her, she’d be there to take care of him.

And to the best of his abilities, he’d always be there for her, too.

Bracing himself for any potential snappiness, he gently shook her shoulder. “Misty, wake up, dinner time.”

It only took four shakes before Misty scrunched up, a groan escaping her as her eyes slowly opened. Her brain hadn’t caught up to her hand on Pikachu right away, tenderly gripping his fur before reflexively easing up. This was enough to wake him, and seconds later he was sitting up and rubbing at his eyes. Something indescribable swelled in Ash’s chest at seeing their post-sleep faces, but he opted to scratch Pikachu behind the ears in lieu of trying to decipher it.

“Hey, buddy. Thanks for watching over Misty. Do you mind telling Brock we’ll be out in a sec?”

“Pi-ka,” he nodded, giving himself a shake before leaping through the flap.

Ash smiled before scooting closer to Misty, finally placing the towel in the bowl. “How are you feeling?” he asked, wringing out the excess water.

She turned to lay on her back, putting the back of her hand against her forehead. “I still feel a little under the weather, but I should be fine by tomorrow.”

Ash nodded, folding the cloth into a small square. Nudging her hand out of the way he wiped at her face, strongly aware that he was using the same gentleness he’d used before. “That’s good to hear. Dinner should be done in a bit.”

“I can do this myself,” she mumbled drowsily, though she made no effort to stop him.

“I know.”

A few more wipes and another wringing of water later, the cloth rested on her forehead. She eased her gaze to his, growing a weary smile. “Thanks for taking care of me.”

In line with his previous impulses, his hand made its way into her hair. It was a bit more intimate than their normal friendship allowed, but she didn’t seem to mind. He wanted to call back to that feeling of nurture, of wanting to care for her, but his habits were strong and he instead just smirked. “I’ll wait until you feel better before I tell you not to get used to it.”

She closed her eyes, huffing with a smile before shaking her head. Ash didn’t know for certain, but maybe she felt the way he did; whenever they needed each other, they’d be there. They’d almost never brought it up aloud, but then, it didn’t seem necessary. It was kind of a given at this point, and he cherished that from the bottom of his heart.

When Misty’s hand landed on his, his body jolted the smallest bit. Her eyes stayed closed, though her smile remained. “Can you keep your hand there, just for a minute longer?”

Though a hoarse voice tried to disguise it, that former tenderness of hers returned. It tickled his ears in a way that brought about nostalgia and a deeper feeling he couldn’t describe that warmed his cheeks. It was the care he’d wanted to show her, but softer, kinder, harder to put into words. The way Misty eased into his touch, however, was a perfect translation to explain the moment to him, and he smiled.

“Sure, Misty.”

This is a gift for @miyatoriaka, since I’ve been a fan of hers for a gazillion years. It was also based on one of her drawings; if you wanna see the image that inspired it, behold: bit.ly/3sfWjHV

[johnkrrasinski]

𝐄𝐱𝐢𝐥𝐞

Chapter 2: Those Eyes Add Insult to Injury

full masterlist // series masterlist // commission open // support my work

Pairings: Dark!Steve Rogers (in future chapters) x Reader

Word Count: 2,554

Summary: Steve Rogers; a Hollywood A-lister and your clandestine occasional hookup. Best friends since childhood, but people change and friendships fall out. Now you were merely strangers with benefits. What happens when one day you stopped being his doormat to be a better man’s queen? The selfish Steve Rogers would not like it. How far is he willing to go to get his favorite possession back?

Warnings: smut, non-con/dub-con, dark Steve (in later chapter), angst, Steve Rogers is an asshole in this one, no redeeming qualities. (MUST BE 18+)

A/N: this series is dedicated to the lovely @belovedcherry​​ who commissioned this story and developed the concept. thank you for being a friend when i truly needed it. i’m really glad that you trusted me to write this story for you. with all my heart, i sincerely hope you like it. this series will be updated everyday, there will be 4 more chapters ahead.

Several years had passed since you graduated. You and Wanda remained close despite the bustle of life would get in the way sometimes. She got accepted in Yale University and she chose to study Psychology. Maybe that’s why she and you got along so well. You both were humanitarians at hearts.

College was a lot more fun than high school but that also meant the bigger pressure would come along in one package. Nothing that you didn’t expect. You went into social study major to groom yourself for the future you had set for yourself. Life went along as methodically as you originally designed.

But fate was a comical thing sometimes. When it has settled its decision to place two people who have such a rich history in their past together, it would be inevitable and inescapable one way or another.

The past couple of years of high school, you and Steve were practically strangers who went to the same school. He never greeted or talked to you anymore in class and he abandoned every ritual you had in the good old days. He stopped calling or texting, he stopped answering and he stopped coming over.

He just… stopped knowing you.

There wasn’t a day that passed by without you pondering about where did it all go wrong? How did the fair-headed friendship that bloomed like the flowers in spring slip away as briskly as a bottle of wine? A million questions rushed through your nostalgic head and as the season changed, the gap between you and Steve kept extending wider and wider.

You didn’t even know whether he really went to college or not. Or perhaps, he decided to go straight into auditions and found himself a good agent who was willing to manage his career. You still remember when he was so eager to do whatever it takes to study in NYU but you assumed that things had changed since then. He was a different person, after all, maybe he had new plans to pursue his dreams. But of course, life deprecated its surprises being spoiled.

Who would’ve warned you that you would get accepted to New York University as well as Steve?

You didn’t know until you ran into him at a sorority party that you were reluctant to go at first because you were never that much of a party gal, but your roommate, Natasha coerced you to.

Natasha was a kind person but she could also be a little bold than you were used to. You were grateful that she was your roommate though, you were a little worried that you might have to live with someone who was mean or untidy, everything that Natasha was not. You could imagine the relief when you learned how organized and sensible Natasha was. You had a feeling that the friendship you and Natasha had was going to last a lifetime.

“My sweet girl, y/n, I love you but you really gotta put yourself out there, okay? Forget that motherfucker Steve Rogers. He ain’t shit. If you go to the party with me, you might actually find yourself a decent guy who’s a lot cuter than him and who will treat you right. Because if he doesn’t then I’m gonna kick his ass and he will think twice before cheating on you.”

“I’m not looking for a boyfriend, Nat. Besides, I don’t care about Steve anymore,” you lied. “It’s not even about him, I’m just simply not much of a partier.”

“Bullshit. You are now. Let’s go. I won’t hear any more excuses.”

So you had no other choice but to put on a simple dress and went to the party with Nat. There was no saying no to her when she had made up her mind. Plus, you thought it would be a good idea to familiarize yourself with the vicinity and your potential classmates.

You also wrote a new resolution in your invisible diary that you were going to expand your connection in college and socialize more. You were only really friends with Wanda back in high school. You also shared a few classes with Pete Parker who was nice and smart, despite being a little gauche sometimes and you would often talk to him but that was it.

You also lost your childhood best friend who knew you better than anyone else before Wanda did. It truly deteriorated your trust issues and that’s why it was difficult for you to insert yourself in social situations and just effortlessly talk with any stranger.

You stood in the corner with a red plastic cup in your hand that was still almost full of beer. You didn’t drink either so you had no idea why you even bothered holding it. Maybe it gave you a sense of comfort that you wouldn’t be totally alone in this party.

Natasha had asked you to dance but you knew you’d look like an untrained clown at a circus, so you refused to join her. Natasha was currently lost in the music, dancing with a guy named Clint. You had no idea who the hell he was but he seemed nice, and you knew that if Clint had bad intentions with Natasha, he wouldn’t stand a chance and you wouldn’t let him so you assigned yourself the job to watch over Natasha and bring her home safely in case she chugs down a little too much alcohol.

Your eyes wandered around the room, trying to recognize and learn some faces. It felt like you were the only lonely person in the room as the exuberant music faded into the background. Everything felt slow and steady until the person who just walked through the door made your heart stop.

It was Steve. Steve Rogers.

The person you had incessantly wondered about. You hadn’t seen him in over a year even during the gap between graduating and starting your freshman year in college. You were too occupied in moving out, spending as many time as possible with Wanda and your family and filling out college requirements. Steve would emerge in your mind every once in a while but you tried to erase him away as quickly as possible when it happens because you didn’t want to waste your time missing a ghost and someone who probably never spared a second of his life thinking about you too when you are surrounded with your loved ones for the last time.

You didn’t know when you were going to be able to see Wanda again. She was going to New Haven and that means, it would take at least at two hours drive to visit her so you cherished the last moments that you had with her. She was like a sister to you. You still talked to Wanda nearly every day through texts but you also didn’t want to intrude her study too much. Besides, you had your own duties too as a college student now.

So why did it feel like your lungs stopped functioning when you saw his gorgeous face and those familiar pair of cerulean blue eyes? He had a grin on his face as he walked in with five other college boys. You didn’t know who they were but you assumed they were his new group of nitwit friends. Steve was wearing a brown leather jacket with a black shirt underneath.

He walked to where the kegs were with the boys trailing him along like they were his security team. They joked with each other boisterously as if they owned the place. Typical. Nothing you hadn’t seen in high school. But you couldn’t avert your sights from Steve. You were too riveted by the fact that Steve was here, at a sorority party of NYU.

It couldn’t really be him, right? I mean, is this serious? You two really attended the same university? This must be a joke.

Your thoughts were quickly interrupted when Nat pat your shoulder with her energy still blazing from the dance floor. “Whew, that was fun but I need some drink now.”

You didn’t respond as your lips were still agape, not knowing what you were supposed to say to her.

“Y/N? You alright? You look like you saw a ghost.” 

“He’s here.”

“What? Who?”

“Steve Rogers. The guy that I told you about.”

“Where?!”

You pointed in his direction where he was surrounded by a bunch of pretty girls in skimpy dresses now. One of them was groping his bicep shamelessly and Steve had his arm around her waist. She threw her head back as she laughed cheerfully at something he just said.

“You gotta talk to him! Have some closure.”

“What? What the hell am I supposed to say to him?”

“Tell him that you and him are through and maybe, throw a drink at him afterwards. That scumbag deserves it.”

“Nat, no! Are you insane? I don’t wanna cause a scene.”

“But you can’t just let him get away with whatever he wants, y/n!”

“No, let’s just go home and forget it, okay?”

“Alright, if you’re not gonna talk to him, then I will.”

“No, Nat! Stop! What are you doing?! ” But she was already approaching him with ardent footsteps and fire in her guts as she brazenly inserted herself into the middle of the scene.

“Excuse me,” she sarcastically greeted the group. “Yeah, hi, I just need a minute. Are you Steve Rogers?”

You followed behind her but you stood just a few feet away from the incident so that Steve wouldn’t see you. But you could see from over Nat’s shoulder that Steve had a perplexed look on his face. His eyebrows were furrowed and all the girls around him were staring at Nat like she was a crazy person who just randomly popped up uninvited.

“…yeah.” He answered.

“Oh, so you’re the asshole that my roommate has been talking about. Man, she really didn’t lie.”

“Excuse me?” The puzzled look on his face turned into an offended one.

“Yeah, my roommate y/n. Does that ring a bell?”

He was aghasted at the mention of your name. Before he was given a chance to answer, Natasha filled his silence with more of her venomous words. “You really have the audacity to show your face here, huh? I swear to you, the next time I see your irritable face again, I will make you regret for ever breathing in my direction, but for now, I think this will do.” She threw the beer in her cup onto his face, humiliating him in front of everyone who was entertained by the drama.

Steve wiped his face with his hand and he was too stupefied by the information that had just been dumped on him like a cold water. Well, it wasn’t entirely figurative though.

Before Natasha walked away, she sneered with a sly smirk on her face, “enjoy your party.” She shoved the empty cup to one of the girl’s chest as she reflexively caught it, with a flummoxed expression, her eyes didn’t stray from Natasha.

She walked away vauntingly from the flock towards you, “let’s go, y/n.” as she kept walking towards the entrance. You were still frozen in your spot as she was already going for the door. But before you could follow her, your eyes landed on Steve’s doused face as his eyes were already fixated on you.

For a moment there, there were only you and Steve and the intimacy of unspoken farewells and muted longing that were encapsulated in one bubble of silence that comes when two people understand each other. It was like the drawer of Steve’s things that he left with the memories and he never asked you to return came hurdling back like ocean waves and everything just evaporated in the ticking time.

There was no need for words because your eyes delivered more than both of your lips had in the past couple of years.

“Y/N?” He uttered your name. That was perhaps the first time he had called you in years. And with that, it was like every broken piece you had intensively woven back together ruptured and there was no safety net that would prepare you for this fallout.  

He was bewildered by seeing you here and you had no clue what you were supposed to say. So you threw him a poignant smile, forcing yourself to put on an impassive facade in front of him. You were good at that, you had years of practice from all those times you found Steve making out with Janet in the parking lot. You wonder if they were still together?

You wordlessly walked away and joined Natasha to the front porch. Steve watched you turn your back on him, not knowing whether he should call your name again, follow you or he should just let you go. You on your way back home were filled with so many thoughts. You couldn't help but wonder, what would’ve happened if you had stayed and talked to him at the party? What would he say to you? Would he even care at all?

But on the other hand, you were relieved. It’s like, you truly got the closure Natasha said you deserved. Never in a million years, you would ever dream about standing up to Steve like that. Hell, you weren’t even brave enough to tell him how you feel back when you were younger. But may God bless Natasha and her parents for creating her, she defended you in a way that you could never do. And she showed you that maybe, it’s time you hold on to your promise that you vowed to yourself, that you were finally going to move on and bury him into your memory dump.

You were in college now. You had no time to wallow in sadness and heartbreak caused by a douche like Steve Rogers. So you made peace with the fact that it was probably the last time you were ever going to see him. You might run into him around college but you weren’t going to let it shake your ground. You unlocked the door of your dorm with a contented smile on your face as you sat on your bed.

Natasha instantly went for the small closet to change into her pyjamas but was briefly delayed by your mumble. “Thank you.”

“Pardon?” Natasha turned her head into your direction.

“Thank you. For doing that… At the party.” You smiled at her. You sincerely meant every word.

“I’d never let a man walk over a good woman like you, y/n.”

You nodded as she carried on with what she was doing. She went into the bathroom to wash herself off and you laid in your bed, feeling lighter than you had ever felt in years. Maybe she was right. It was time you realize your worth. You spent too many years doubting yourself just because Steve was too much of a reprobate to cherish you.

You closed your eyes, relishing in the comfort of your bed without fearing a ghost looming in your sweet dreams anymore now.

Letting tomorrow surprise you with whatever it has in store. Sometimes it involves a charming devil standing on the other side of your door with flowers in his hands and a wicked scheme to accomplish.

[qvid-pro-qvo]

it’s your day (and i’m here for it)

happy valentine’s day, everyone. penelope garcia x emily prentiss. 

word count: 2345

rating: e for everyone! based on this tweet that i found that made me want to write something about halloween and valentine’s day falling in love. hope it makes somewhat sense, and of course i hope you all enjoy a foray into something a little different than a reader fic (tw: food mentions and food eating at the end). 

-

She sits with her legs crossed, the files spread out before her. Her eyes scan each file, and when she presses her fingers to one she can't help her little sigh.

Jason Gideon. Aaron Hotchner. Derek Morgan. Spencer Reid. Jennifer Jareau.

She feels it. The connection. The "red strings of fate." The analogy makes her smile, a little twist of her lips. They're connected, so intertwined that it's difficult to sparse apart the individuals.

She thought long and hard before even opening these files. There was another there, wrapped around each one of them, her protection... brilliant. Bold. And bright.

Her rules were pretty simple. Her loner status was well known, just because she liked the ability to roam, go where she pleased. Her reach wasn't too wide after all, but where it did span she had a  tight grip.

But this. This was different. There was an attraction here, a draw. She presses her fingers to Spencer again, feels his devotion like a drug, one that allows her to sink into that feeling for a second before pulling herself back out.

She likes roaming. She does. But the temptation of settling... it overwhelms her all at once.

She pushes the other files aside. Her eyes scan the manila folder before pushing it open carefully. She has to lean back, almost, but once it falls open the smiling face that looks up at her seems to settle her soul.

Penelope Garcia.

When she presses her fingers to the file, she can't help but laugh. The pink resume. Bold, but, the humans tended to overlook the obvious when they could. Even profilers.

She sits back on her haunches. Looks once more into the eyes of every face open to her, and nods. She'll be safe here. Comfortable here.

After all... if one can settle among the drabble for the long haul... what's the harm in another?  

-

She doesn't recall the last time she crossed paths with Garcia, when the last time their realms overlapped. She tries to think, dredges up what memories she can, but as always, when she limits herself in a strictly physical form, it exhausts her.

Garcia. It's what she has to take to calling her, because Penelope feels too... human. Of course, Garcia takes to calling her "Emily" right off. Gives her a glowing smile, tilts her head, pushes her chin forward.

"It's a pleasure!" she chirps. Offers her hand, and the world goes a bit hazy at the edges when she takes it, shakes, once, twice.

"Emily" watches her earrings dangle for a moment before she pulls her fingers back.

Garcia doesn't seem to notice the shift. Just keeps smiling, though there's a light in her eyes that can't be missed. "Emily" is a little lost in it, but lets it play as a new person in a new unit in the Bureau, not as the collision of two beings who have no business being in the same room, let alone shaking hands.

"Of course," she offers, instead of something more traditional. "I'm happy to be here."

"What you did in there, it was pretty, uh, massively mindblowing," Garcia says. The light has faded, just a little, as her hands once again wrap around files and she cocks her hip. "Do you always stun the socks off of everyone you come across or -"

"Only the ones I like."

It comes out of nowhere, out of "Emily." The little joke. But Garcia loves it, giggles, and bids her a farewell before going back to her office, leaving "Emily" there to watch her go. Feeling a little lighter as she does.

-

She radiates joy.

She watches Garcia with interest, as she settles into settling. Into going into work every day, a 9-5 that works like on-call. Watches her walk with confidence, lift her chin, let her hair down and then put it up again.

October is long gone, and February apporaches with blinding speed. It seems to hurtle toward all of them, like Garcia is willing the days forward, like she's the reason that the sun sets. And as each day passes, Emily gets those blinding smiles, gets little stops by her desk, moments here and there where she gives her love so freely.

She bakes. She laughs. She jokes. She flirts with Morgan and blows kisses to Reid and Emily gets to sit there and take some, too. 

The drabble. Emily supposes they’re her friends, now. It’s an odd feeling, after being masked for so long. After pretending friendship, romance, love for so long, feeling it so keenly. From all of them, not just Penelope. 

Penelope. 

At some point she stops becoming Garcia. Emily knows her real name is still out of reach, but Penelope works just fine. Penelope gets her a smile. 

-

The problem with the Halloween is that there's light and dark. So... much... dark.

Penelope brings out the photo as a joke, as a tease first and foremost and only, and Emily looks at it with a smile and a laugh and the embarassment she should. But she sees the style, and can't help but wince.

“You edited this,” she accuses immediately, but Penelope just shakes her head, laughs.

“Nope,” she says, with a pop of her lips. “That hair is alllll you.” 

So much dark.

It’s come and gone this year, Halloween, and the winter is in full swing. January sends Virginia into a bitter cold, but when Emily sees that picture it feels like it’s soaked into her, settled in her bones, and she’s reminded of the worst of October. There was a reason that year was particularly brutal for her, why her exterior showed so much of what she encompasses. 

Some Halloweens are just worst than other Halloweens, and she finds herself lost in that thought as the day wears on, as a case comes and throughout. 

She supposes Penelope must catch it. Why else would she come by after they land and the BAU is back with an apology, a small smile, a new cup of coffee in a mug that has to be her own? It makes Emily smile, too, when she takes it. The bullpen is empty, it’s just the two of them and Hotch up the stairs, and she can’t help but cherish the way Pen leans on her desk, sits on it like she belongs. 

“I didn’t think about what it must feel like, October 31st,” the analyst offers, kicking the ground a little. “I kinda lose myself a little this time of year, I should’ve thought -”

“It’s okay, Garcia,” Emily says, but immediately rights herself with a small smile and tilt of her head. “Penelope. Really. Some years are just different. I’m sure you understand that.” 

Penelope nods, but she still seems uncertain, biting her lip. “I know, but, still. I should’ve known that it was something more than -” 

“A hilarious yearbook photo?” Emily counters, and holds up the picture again, still on her desk from when before they left. Immediately she twists her smile to match the photo, and Penelope takes one look and snorts. It’s such a vibrant sound that Emily laughs, too, and the two of them giggle the rest of the night, Penelope sticking around to walk Emily out, their hands grazing on an elevator that feels warmer than any chill. 

“If it makes you feel any better, you rocked that look,” Penelope says, and her eyes, bright even in the dim of the parking garage, make Emily’s cheeks feel red. “I mean, you’re always stunning, but... I don’t know. I like that little peek into what’s really in you, Emily Prentiss.” 

Emily thinks about that a lot. About the way her instinct is to reach out for Penelope’s hand and squeeze it, wonder if this year she’ll have a valentine.

“I’m an open book for you, Penelope.” 

-

There's a lot of love when Valentine's goes down, but the lonely hearts are out there, too. And Penelope feels all of them as the day approaches, that home stretch before the new Valentine. Emily sees her feel first hand, watches her hands tremble as the evening comes and her follows unload on her. There's unending love on Valentine's, but not all of it is requited, and Emily is there to hold Pen close as she takes it all and feels it so she can spread the love all year long.

"It makes me h-happy," she says with a sniffle, looking at Emily as she wipes her face under her glasses, appropriately heart-shaped. "The day. Of course. And tomorrow w-will be better, that first day of recharge, but - but the few nights before you taste the heartbreak as much as all the love."

"What does it taste like?" Emily can't help but ask. Heartbreak. She knows the concept, but... the thought of that in her mouth... lingering... Penelope swallows, shrugging her cardigan back on her shoulders.

"Well, uh, not good, if that's the question," Pen starts, and says it with enough bite and verve that it startles a laugh out of Emily. Earns her a little smile, one still so lovely even with the tears down her face.

Emily takes a moment to brush one off of a blush-stained cheek. Uses her thumb to push it aside, and Pen leans into the touch, sighs a little at the affection. Before smiling

"It smells like rotten flowers, and it - it tastes like too dark chocolate," she murmurs. "Sour grapes. And... salt. Lots and lots of salt."  

"Tears," Emily realizes, and when Penelope nods that's enough to make the next move easy. To pull her close, tight against her, holding her close as she lets out another shaky sob.

The heartbreak will fade. And Emily knows what she'll see. Penelope Garcia will come into work the next day with a spring in her step, bouncing on her toes, hair in perfect ringlets. She'll smile with a bright lip and wave to all with delight. Derek will tease her about having a good night, and she'll say how much she doesn't kiss and tell. But Emily sees what she sees tonight, and holds Pen close, and wishes for a moment that she tasted the salt, too. If only so she could say she understood, and give that as the comfort that Penelope needed.

But she's there. And that must count for something. Because Penelope doesn't ask her to go, and Emily is all too happy to stay. To offer her drink after drink after drink of water, to get the bitter taste off of her lips as best she can.

She knows it's useless, ultimately. It's part of the penance. After all, asking that taste to fade is like asking the chill of Halloween night to be fixed with a blanket and something hot to eat, for the shivers to stop with a well-placed heating pad and a prayer.

But she knows if Penelope offered any and all of that on the evening of October 31st... well.

She wouldn't say no.

So she offers herself to Pen, those days leading up to Valentine’s. Offers to spend the night and give what she can, sweet things she can make with well-worded instructions and a toaster oven or a microwave rather than an oven. Anything to attempt to wash away the taste of lovers’ quarrels and heartache and the salty sting of tears on cheeks. Comes over every night, holding hands and holding her and pressing a kiss or two to her temple on the particular bad waves. 

“Thank you for being here,” Penelope tells her. 

“Thank you for letting me be,” Emily says back. One more kiss, on the cheek for good measure. 

And then the day comes. 

That morning, Emily wakes up on Penelope’s couch to the most brilliant smell in the world. Fresh coffee on the table in front of her, cinnamon rolls on a wire rack. The icing is perfectly melted on the outside, dripping down it, and Penelope looks absolutely radiant. There are strawberries and raspberries and chocolate for dipping them in, and the perfect amount of oat milk in a latte that Emily could only dream of tasting for the first time again.

“Good morning, my valentine!” she calls, and her cheeks are flushed a brilliant red from the heat of the oven. “I hope you’re hungry because I made... well, way too much.” 

“You did not have to do this,” Emily immediately says. Feels like an intrusion, her own energy, dark and dreary and all Hallow’s eve, when this home is so obviously warm and close to bursting with love. But then she’s wrapped up in arms that hold her tight, and she’s blinking at the feeling of all of Penelope against all of her, energy against energy, mixing and melding. 

“No talk like that today, Em, I forbid it,” she teases. She’s pulled back now, and her glasses are red hearts and her dress is so many shades of pink. In her heels their heights are equal, and Emily hasn’t even showered yet. “I believe on my day I can do whatever I please. So get ready to eat up, and the rest we can take in to the team.” 

So much love in one look. In one smile. In one brilliant, incredible woman. 

“I’m your valentine?” she asks, a little breathless, and Pen’s smile goes shy. “You want that?” 

“I - I mean, yes. If you’d like.” Her voice is gentle, and her arms are still around Emily’s neck, where she had gripped her for the hug. They loosen the slighest bit, and Emily realizes that the bright shine of the apartment has weakened a bit, that Pen looks a little panicked. “Is that - is that okay? Because I can absolutely backtrack, the train does not have to leave any station that it is not ready for -” 

Emily is Penelope’s Valentine. Emily dares to lean in and kiss her Valentine, her brilliant, bright, and absolutely mind-blowing Valentine. 

And Penelope tastes no tears on the 14th, only bright red apples and something sweet like Halloween candy. 

[peachy-beomie]

Yellow <TAEGYU>

Genre: Light Angst

Pairings: Taegyu (Kang Taehyun x Choi Beomgyu)

Word Count: 1,829

Warnings: None!

Synopsis: In a world where you cant see color until you meet your soulmate, Kang Taehyun lives his life in monochrome. He’s never experienced color. But one particular boy makes him realize that maybe color isn’t all about what you see.

A/N: This is one of my FAVORITE ideas I’ve ever come up with. It was intended to be much longer but I struggled to write the whole thing and this actually turned out really good! I might write a second part so maybe be on the lookout for that 👀

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29409198

Taehyun’s POV

People tend to take for granted that which they have no fear of losing. Things so constant and ordinary in life, like hope and freedom. But some people are not blessed with the luxuries of consistency, and even those who are can learn just how quickly things can be ripped away. In this world of soulmates and colorless lives, people learn very quickly to cherish what they have.

Color, a word which here means: varying pigments and shades; is a concept unknown to me, as it is to many others. Everyone has a soulmate, our ‘perfect match’ or ‘other half’, the person who will complete us. It’s said that when you and your soulmate first lock eyes, the world explodes with colors, vibrant and dazzling. My parents used to tell me stories of blazing sunsets that would leave them breathless, and of endless fields filled to the brim with flowers who’s hues outmatch the very sun. They talked on and on about colors, and they’d always tell me: “One day, you’ll see them too, with someone you’ll love more than life itself.” 

As a kid, I’d dream of meeting the person who’d make my world come alive with countless tones and hues. But as I grew up, I began to worry less about finding my soulmate, though I never stopped dreaming of a world beyond the monochrome I’m all too familiar with. 

And as I’m sitting at my desk at 3 am, nose buried deep in the history texts I’m memorizing, color, soulmates, and all their mystery are the last thing on my mind. 

Nonetheless, my thoughts are interrupted by the pale white light of my screen revealing a text from Choi Beomgyu, my best friend.

3:48 a.m.

gyu the annoying hyung

are you awake?

i can’t sleep

baehyun

why?

gyu the annoying hyung

just thinking too much. you?

baehyun

homework. are you ok?

gyu the annoying hyung

it’s nothin hyunnie-bunny don’t worry your pretty lil head about it :)

Ignoring the slight flutter of my stomach at the nickname (and the fact he called me pretty), I continue to mull over Beomgyu’s texts. Despite his protests, I can’t help but worry a little bit. Beomgyu is the least sad person I’ve ever met, always full of ear splitting grins and melodious giggles. It’s what makes him so endearing. The warmth of his smile, and the brightness in his eyes, it’s unmatched in its beauty and splendor. I have never met anyone as refreshingly themself. Beomgyu lives as though he has nothing to hide, and no shame to carry.

baehyun

you cannot stop me, i will worry if i want to.

gyu the annoying hyung

well if you’re going to worry anyway, can you at least come over?

please?

I can practically see Beomgyu’s pouty face and puppy eyes through the screen. I sigh almost defeatedly, knowing instantly I’ll never be able to say no to the charming boy.

baehyun

you’re lucky we’re friends

gyu the annoying hyung

love you toooooo <3

I groan lightly as I grab my coat and exit the building. It’s not like his apartment is too far away, only about a 10-minute walk from my own. I quite enjoy the serenity of the streets at 4 am. It’s quiet, save the soft bustling of stray cars, the cool air wafts towards me in light bursts. I take in the city and all its wonders, giving into the quiet mystery.

It should be odd that I gave into Beomgyu’s requests so easily, but truthfully this is just habitual at this point. Even though we’ve only known each other a couple months, we’ve fallen into an easy routine. Friendship with Beomgyu is just that: easy. He makes me feel comfortable

My phone buzzes sharply in my pocket.

gyu the annoying hyung

hurry uppppp >:(

I giggle quietly at his impatience but quicken my pace all the same.

Upon arriving at Beomgyu’s door I only get to knock once before Beomgyu appears before me, grabs my hand, and walks pointedly out the door with me in tow.

“Beomgyu wha-” I try to ask as I’m dragged to the stairs. I’m met with no answer .as we trudge up the narrow stairway to the roof. As we burst through the door, the crisp night air envelops us. Beomgyu calmly walks towards a desolate corner of the wide expanse of roof and motions for me to follow.

“Come stargaze with me,” he says as he lays down to look at the sky. I take my place beside him and stare at the stars. I’ve never been good at astrology but I can spot a few constellations. Andromeda, Orion, and Cassiopeia smile down at me from their perch up in the boundless night. It’s calming, finding the constellations. Knowing each star has a purpose, instead of just being placed in the sky at random. I imagine I’m one of those stars, lost in the infinite infinity of space. I think about how I too will find my constellation, my purpose, my home, and I’m placated by this knowledge. 

Beomgyu and I sit like this for what feels like hours, comfortably silent; aware of each other’s presence without really acknowledging it. This is one of the best things about Beomgyu and me: though we talk consistently, we don’t need to say or do anything to feel comfortable with each other. 

Beomgyu is the first to break our silence. 

“The stars remind me a lot of my soulmate.” I turn my head sharply to face him, ignoring the way my stomach sinks at this news.

“You’ve found your soulmate?” Beomgyu nods quietly.

“Yeah, a long time ago. His name was Zhong Chenle. He loved astronomy and he’d always make me come out to view the stars with him,” Beomgyu smiles slightly at the memory. “I met him when we were kids. He was so bright and energetic, he used to bounce around a lot because he just couldn’t sit still. He made the whole world seem less dull. Not only because I could see colors, but his existence simply made me happier. He was like the sun in my universe. But then-” Beomgyu hesitates, tears falling silently from dejected eyes onto tanned cheeks. I grab his hand and give it a light squeeze, trying my best to let him know that I’m here and it’s okay. He stutters a bit before continuing, “It didn’t happen all at once, but the colors just began fading. First the yellows, then reds, each one dissipated until I was only left with black and white. I tried calling his house for hours but got no response. Finally, his mom called me, in tears, saying that he and his father had been in a car accident. His father sustained a lot of injuries, but Chenle died before they even arrived at the hospital.” Tears are now streaming down Beomgyu’s cheeks. He closes his eyes tightly as if it’s all too much. My thumb rubs soothing circles on the back of his hand.

“The worst part,” he says suddenly. “...is that later I realized his favorite colors were the first to go, as if his soul had died before his body even gave out.” Beomgyu looks at me, and my heart just breaks. He looks so empty. I open my arms for him and he all but jumps into them, burying his head in my chest. I feel his tears soaking through the fabric.

The quiet returns after that, but this time it’s far less comfortable. I try my best to comfort Beomgyu as he sobs into my chest. I feel each light gasp he takes as he struggles for air. His body shakes like a leaf and his fists curl tightly in the fabric of my black sweater.

I eventually hear his breathing steady and I pull away to look at his face. His cheeks shine from leftover tears, but his eyes shine brightly in the dim starlight. A strange warm feeling nestles itself in my chest, and I find myself at a complete loss for words. 

Beomgyu pulls away and returns his gaze to the stars. My mouth opens and closes like a fish as I continue to struggle for words.

“I’m sorry.” I blurt out because it seems like the only fitting thing to say. Beomgyu smiles at me, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes like it usually does.

“It’s okay. I miss him, and I’ll always love him, but I have you now. You make life brighter, despite the greys and blacks. You make me happier than you could ever know.” I look down, hoping he won’t notice the blush on my cheeks.

“You do the same for me you know,” I meet his eyes. “You make me happy too. I’ve never met someone who can make me laugh like you can.” He smiles again, a little wider this time, and it makes my heart flutter.

“Do you miss seeing color?” I ask suddenly.

Beomgyu shakes his head almost immediately. “Not really. Colors were cool and all, but they’re just superficial. I think the world can be beautiful in black and white, you just need to look for the hidden wonder.”

“Did you have a favorite?” Beomgyu chuckles.

“Yellow,” He states simply. But noticing my confusion. “It’s a lighter color, the color of the sun actually. But to me, it means warmth and safety. Yellow is like laughter and smiles with friends or a happy ending. Yellow is simply: happiness and light.” 

I spend the rest of the night pondering Beomgyu’s words. They resonate within me as we return to our comfortable silence. They continue to fill my brain even as I hug Beomgyu goodbye at 5 am, they remain while I walk home, and they’re still bouncing around in my head as I climb into bed back at my apartment.

I’m still thinking them over when I hear my phone buzz on my bedside table.

gyu the annoying hyung

thank you for being here with me. you’re truly a blessing kim taehyun, i hope you know that.

That simply text ignites a new and unfamiliar feeling in my body, one I couldn’t begin to describe. It starts in my toes and gradually moves up until each part of my body is engrossed with this strange new sensation. It wraps my bones in warmth and slithers it’s way into my stomach making butterflies erupt inside of me. It continues to my heart making it beat slightly faster in the best way possible. It fills my lungs with air much fresher than any I’ve ever inhaled. When it finally reaches the top of my head, my body is relishing in this amazing feeling. My senses are alive with wonder and lust and I just keep wanting more and more and more and more. I try and try to think of what this feeling is but all I can think of is: yellow.

TAEGYU PIC OF THE DAY:

The only taegyu pic ever 😌✨

[wherevermyway]

bittersweet lullabies // binchan // oneshot // 16+

❄ part of yuki’s favourites! ❄

pairing: bang chan x seo changbin rating: mature! 16+ warnings/tags: angst, friends-to-enemies, enemies-to-lovers, symphony AU, implied sexual content (seriously, it’s barely even there and probably very easily missable), alcohol, referenced underage drinking, past seo changbin x jung wooyoung (ateez). word count: 15,000 also on AO3

originally posted: 07 february 2021

Several years ago, Bang Chan and Seo Changbin were best friends in middle school. They quickly became rivals in high school, starting not long after Changbin got the lead first chair for the viola section, something Chan had also been vying for. When Changbin became valedictorian, they got into a heated argument and Changbin swore he would never talk to Chan again.

After university, they both received offers to work in the same symphonic orchestra. When they run into each other for the first time in four years, conflicting emotions bloom, tensions arise, and it all comes to an apex when Changbin storms off into the Seattle rain, and Chan can’t let him go, not after the guilt he had after all of these years.

disclaimer: this is a work of fiction! any reference to persons in this work of fiction are purely coincidental. the characters referenced from Stray Kids are  interpretations loosely based on their personalities in the group and do  not represent the real people behind the personas. if this, or any of  the content included in the warnings above make you uncomfortable,  please stop reading now.

“I earned this, Chan!” A voice shouted in a cold, empty hallway. “Do you understand how many sleepless nights I pulled to get here? The sacrifices I’ve made?” There was a loud clattering against metal lockers that echoed against the linoleum flooring and the bland drywall. Papers fell, scattering about the floor as the overhead lighting flickered, illuminating two young men dangerously close to one another.

A scoff came from the slightly taller, blonde man. “Do you think I didn’t work hard?” He slapped his hand against the metal locker behind the brunette man leaning up against them. “I tried so hard, had the same grades as you, the same SAT score, and yet you somehow got valedictorian? What’s your secret, Changbin?”

“Can you leave me alone, dude?” The smaller man gave the blonde a shove, and attempted to storm away, before he was tugged back by the wrist. “Come on, man, they could only pick one person for valedictorian. You still get a speech, now let me leave. I’ve got stuff to take care of.”

Chan, the blonde, shook his head, looking down to the floor. “You really think I only want a stupid fucking speech? I didn’t want to be salutatorian; I don’t want to play second fiddle to you for one more goddamned thing.” He looked back up to the brunette, Changbin, and his eyes were glistening and tinted red. “I just wanted this one thing, to be better than you at something for once. You got lead first chair for orchestra. You got lead tenor for All-State. You’ve always been better than me, and this just proves it and it hurts.”

The two of them exchanged a painful glance, but said nothing. Changbin tugged his arm away, glaring at the other man, pity hidden behind his stare. If this were some sort of coming-of-age, poorly-written Hollywood dramedy, this would be the part where they would make out against the lockers. He would ruffle his hands through Chan’s hair, tell him some cheesy line, like “fuck what everyone else thinks, I may be valedictorian, but you’re the top of the class in my heart”.

However, this was real life. Nothing worked like the movies.

“What’s done is done, Chan,” the brunette sighed, rubbing his wrist. “Grow up and get over it. I’m tired of doing this shit with you every time I earn something and you throw a fucking fit and get jealous.” Changbin turned away, stepping on some of the discarded papers as he quickly walked away, down the corridor. “Don’t ever talk to me again,” he shouted, his voice firm and bouncing against the hard surfaces, echoing loudly in the emptiness.

Chan shook his head and let a tear slide down his face. “I miss the old us.” He remorsefully whispered to himself, dropping to his knees and collecting up the papers he dropped when he shoved the younger man into the lockers. He missed his former best friend, lamenting over how much he let his competitive nature ruin their friendship, the only friendship that really mattered to him.

Four years after Chan and Changbin graduated high school, they still found themselves thinking about each other as they graduated from university. Changbin had somehow completed a bachelor’s degree and a master’s degree in four years during his time at Yale, and Chan finally got his coveted valedictorian title at Dartmouth. They may have hated each other, not speaking at all in four years, but they were polite enough to give each other half-hearted congratulatory messages on social media for university graduation.

Everyone did it, right? It was the thing to do for birthdays and graduations, like some unspoken rule. Perhaps it would bring them closer, start the path of building up the bridge back to friendship that they had burned years ago. It was unlikely, but he’d never know if he never tried.

Chan wondered how much Changbin had changed in the previous four years. He had typed up an apology that spanned several pages of text, had it saved in his message drafts for weeks, but never built up the courage to send it. The overwhelming guilt and shame for treating his former best friend so poorly would never allow him to send that message.

Changbin appeared to be happy for once, losing himself in his studies and performances, happy and in love with his fiancé Jung Wooyoung, a classmate of theirs that also ended up at Yale. Everything seemed to be going well for him; Changbin had just accepted a job with some renowned symphonic orchestra that he was moving cross-country for.

Perhaps they would never mend, and this was fate telling Chan to move on.

Changbin saw Chan’s polite “congrats, man” timeline post, and couldn’t help but scoff at how insincere it came off to him. He had stalked Chan’s profile for the entire four years they didn’t speak to each other, seeing some bad drunken frat party photos, reading interesting concepts he proposed about the transformational theories in music, and watched a couple of short-lived relationships bloom and subsequently fizzle out within only a couple of months. Chan was always chaotic, and Changbin kind of missed that unpredictable nature about him. Someday he’d reach out, he figured, but that day wasn’t today.

It had been a couple of months since graduation. Changbin had a stressful time planning a move cross-country that his now former fiancé didn’t support. Fuck it, he figured, a career with the symphonic orchestra in Seattle was worth it. It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, something that was incredibly selective, that he was invited to be a part of, and he deserved it. Wooyoung was halfway out of the door, anyway. They were always picture-perfect online, but Wooyoung stopped putting in any effort into the relationship well over a year ago, something about “focusing” on some technical project that he’d likely never complete.

Wooyoung never completed anything, and when Changbin broke off their engagement, the younger man simply shrugged it off.

It didn’t matter. Out with the old, in with the new. Whatever it took to convince Changbin to stay sane, to feel like he hadn’t wasted three years on someone not worth his time. He didn’t resent Wooyoung, but their relationship felt like it was lacking from beginning to end. Maybe he would find someone that would light a spark within him on the other side of the continent.

From the week he spent in Seattle during his interview and audition, Changbin deemed that Seattle was far superior to Connecticut, anyways: something about its dreamy, rainy, “chronically sipping lukewarm earl grey tea while listening to chill synthwave” vibe excited him. It was something completely different than what he was used to, and it was going to be drastically different than the uptight nature that the east coast gave off.

Connecticut was vivacissimo. Seattle was andante . It was time for something calming and slow paced for once in his life.

It only took Changbin an hour to bring in everything from his car and settle into his new apartment. The human resources team was kind enough to help him find a cozy, furnished apartment that was a short walk away from work. It was nestled in the bustling Capitol Hill neighbourhood, and he knew he was going to love sitting inside and watching people scurry about from his third-floor balcony. He had a few days to settle in before he would show up for orientation, and he couldn’t wait to explore the area.

For now, though, he would unpack a bit, then sleep. A week and a half of driving cross-country, while beautiful, was exhausting. Three thousand miles. Constant playlist shuffling. Talk radio while driving through Illinois and Wisconsin to hear asinine political commentary. Getting carsick and vomiting where I-90 met I-35 in Minnesota. Nearly breaking down close to Mount Rushmore in South Dakota. Almost hitting a coyote in Montana. Seeing the sunrise as he drove over a mountain pass as he approached the Idaho state border. The thrill of finally approaching Seattle and getting lost as he made a wrong turn, somehow ending up in Tacoma. It was an adventurous trip, but it sapped the life from him.

There was one thing, however, he could rely upon to restore his drained energy: his viola.

He took his prized, cherished viola out of its well-maintained case, running his thumb over the chip under his chin rest, and Changbin felt like he could finally breathe a sigh of relief. This viola got him through so many hard times in life, keeping him grounded and sane regardless of how hectic his schedule was from the last half of high school and all throughout university. If he was stressed, he would simply take the viola out of its case and let something flow from him.

As he brought the viola up to his chin, strategically placing his fingers at the end of his bow, he looked out the window taking in the view of the sunset, and aimlessly started playing something. It somehow slowly blended into his part from Lament, which was a duet that he and Chan had performed their junior year of high school.

Perhaps it was because Chan had been invading his thoughts lately, but his improvised practices always turned into Lament . It was a beautiful duet; they had won first place at the state competition for it, earning a perfect score, which was something that was incredibly rare; it helped them pad their resumes to get into Ivy League universities. They practiced for months, starting the summer before their junior year, because they wanted to actually take home an award for it. “We’ll show them,” Chan arrogantly smirked as he puffed out his chest. “We’re better than just some deeper violins stuck in the middle of the orchestra. That’ll teach them all for making fun of us.”

Changbin remembered being nervous about it. The sweat beading on his palms as they waited in the wings of the stage prior to their performance, the pounding of his heart against his ribcage, the sound of the blood rushing between his ears. He was so nervous that he would trip, or he would drop his viola, maybe that everything would go impossibly wrong. However, the minute he and Chan looked at each other as they prepared to start their duet, a sense of calm overtook him, and he lost himself within the music.

Somehow, they managed to make it through the entire performance without faltering. As soon as they were hidden behind the black curtains of the stage, Chan gave Changbin the closest, warmest hug he had ever received in his life.

“I told you we’d do it, man!” Chan excitedly whispered into Changbin’s ear. “You fucking killed it!”

“You did really well, too,” Changbin had shyly whispered back, offering a couple of nervous pats in between Chan’s shoulder blades. He remembered feeling lucky that the backstage area was so dark, because it was very obviously apparent that he was blushing.

He pulled himself from the memory, unable to finish playing his part from the duet, the notes sounding correct, yet feeling dissonant in his heart as he played. His shoulders drooped as he stared off into the skyscrapers far off in the distance. Sure, the relationship he had with Wooyoung was tumultuous, but Changbin wasn’t entirely innocent, either, often daydreaming about Chan during the most inopportune times.

When Wooyoung would dance his fingers against Changbin’s bare flesh in the darkness of their room, he was guilty of letting his mind wander to the what-ifs: what if Chan were there? Would Chan nip at Changbin’s neck with the same passion? How warm would Chan’s breath feel against his earlobe as his teeth dug into the tender flesh? Would he take Changbin in his arms and pepper his skin with soft kisses and haphazard ‘I love you’s as they tangled themselves up in each other?

It was insufferably suffocating, being weighed down by the ghosts of his past as he tried to move forward with his life.

For a long time, Changbin was infatuated with Chan. Starting in seventh grade, he wanted to spend time with only Chan; they would spend their weekends and summer vacations together, text each other until they fell asleep, and they were a part of all of the same extracurricular activities. To most people, all the way up until their junior year, they were essentially brothers that weren’t related by blood.

Nobody could have been closer than them.

One night, not long after they received the results that they had gotten a perfect score on their duet, Chan invited Changbin to a party at their friend’s house. Changbin, being the shy introvert that he was, would have said no otherwise, but he couldn’t bring himself to say no to Chan. There was nothing special or memorable about the house party itself, not until they both drunkenly stumbled into an empty bed together.

They had slept next to each other several times, but this was different. Changbin wrapped his arm around Chan’s chest, tucking his head underneath the elder’s chin, letting himself get lost in the warmth of their embrace. The alcohol convinced him it was a great time to be honest — perhaps a bit too honest.

“Chan,” Changbin had slurred out in a near-whisper. “Can I, uh, tell you something?”

“What’s up, dude?” Chan responded, sleepily rubbing his eyes.

Changbin took in a deep breath, and sat up, staring down at Chan in the dark. “I think…” his voice trailed off and he swallowed audibly, “I think I kinda like you?”

Chan just laughed, patting Changbin’s thigh. “I like you too, dude. It’s why we’re friends.”

“Nah,” the brunette huffed, smelling the stale, cheap beer on his breath and shuddering as he shook his head. “Not like that.”

“What do you mean, then?”

“Like,” a moment passed and Changbin recoiled into himself. “I like you, dude. I wanna take this to the next level. I dunno, man, this shit’s awkward and hard to admit.”

The two of them sat in silence for a while, until Chan sat up and leaned in close to Changbin. “Bin,” he sighed, firmly gripping his junior’s thigh, “I like you, too, but I don’t know. We could, like, seriously fuck up our friendship. I mean, you saw what Seonghwa did to Hongjoong when they went from friends to boyfriends.” He hiccupped and awkwardly chuckled to ease the tension blooming between them. “I don’t wanna ruin what we’ve got, since we’re basically brothers and shit.”

Changbin shook his head. It really was stupid, after all. The alcohol, however, gave him confidence that he didn’t ask for and didn’t need right now. He batted his eyelashes and brought his face in, up close to Chan. “Can I at least kiss you to see how it feels?”

Chan giggled, likely out of nervousness and drunkenness. “I mean, I don’t see why not. But neither you nor I have kissed anyone, ’s probably gonna be weird.”

“I don’t care.” The words left Changbin’s lips as he boldly reached up to Chan’s neck, pulling them closer to each other. It was awkward, painfully obvious that they really didn’t know what they were doing. Their lips were a little too dry for it to feel as magical as Changbin expected. Still, they continued; a tiny spark igniting between the two of them. It may have been awkward, but it didn’t feel wrong.

Chan brought his hand up to Changbin’s soft, brown hair, letting his fingers grip the strands gently. He brought his other hand up to the small of the brunette’s back, pulling him in. They couldn’t quite figure out which side their noses should be on, and when they opened their mouths to let their tongues adventure around, they clashed their teeth together one too many times, causing pain to echo throughout their heads.

Regardless of the awkward nature of their kiss, it was perfect for them. It felt like they kissed each other for hours, eventually rolling around the sheets, fingers skirting around on warm, flushed skin. Changbin didn’t even remember falling asleep, just the comfort of losing himself in Chan’s touch.

The next morning, however, was far from perfect. They were both grossly hungover, and Chan was oddly distant. “I dunno, dude,” he had sleepily grumbled, avoiding looking at Changbin at all, “I still don’t know if this is right.”

Chan was going to say more, but Changbin waved him off in a panic with feigned confidence. “Nah, dude, it was just us being drunk.” He let out a nervous laugh. “Sorry for being weird, I guess I was just a little too curious to have a kiss. Shame our first kisses were while we were drunk, huh?”

“Yeah,” Chan awkwardly smiled, “little weird, but whatever.”

Unsurprisingly, they started having problems not long after that. Chan had started getting irritated with Changbin putting more and more focus into his studies, starting to surpass him academically. Then, Changbin got first chair for the violas in orchestra. He beat out two seniors, and Chan was right behind him. Chan was always right behind him in everything. They were so close, they were like minor seconds in a chord: just two notes right next to each other that sounded uncomfortably dissonant when played together.

When Changbin got stressed, he focused. Conversely, when Chan stressed, he brooded.

“Come on, man,” Chan had whined right after practice one day, “you and I both got that perfect score on our duet. How’d you get lead first chair over me?”

The annoyance of Chan’s constant negative behaviour was draining on Changbin, causing the younger man to grow more and more irritated by the second. “I don’t fucking know, okay?” He snapped while opening his viola’s case. “Someone had to get it, and it was me. Stop taking out your shit on me, man, it’s exhausting.”

Chan frowned in response. “I’m not taking it out on you,” he huffed, “you’re just getting a lot of good shit lately, and it’s not fair.”

“You should have fucking tried harder, then!” Changbin shouted, taking a step towards Chan, clutching the neck of his viola tightly. “You know what’s not fair? What’s not fair is the fact that you’re being a broody sack of shit at me because you’re just not practicing as hard or studying as hard and that’s not my goddamned fault! You need to grow the fuck up, dude.”

Chan scowled and shoved Changbin back in anger, harder than he anticipated. He didn’t expect it to be such a rough shove, but Changbin didn’t always have a good sense of balance. The younger man tumbled backwards, and his viola hit the ground with a thud, a discordant twang coming from the delicate instrument and echoing throughout the room.

The silence that followed the scuffle was deafening. Chan tried to apologize, knowing just how important Changbin’s viola was to him, but he just incoherently sputtered and panicked. Changbin stared up at Chan in horror, blinking away tears that were budding up in his eyelids.

“How could you?”

It was the last thing that Changbin said to Chan for months.

The memories flooding up in Changbin’s head caused a gnawing pain to bloom within his stomach as he stared out the window, the sky now a deep shade of indigo. He sighed, then put his viola back into its case. He thought playing it would make him happy, more comfortable in his new apartment in a new town, but it just made him feel cold and alone. It felt like there was nothing but dissonant chords reverberating inside of him.

Changbin stared down at his viola, hesitating to close the case. The chip from the day it collided against the ground was still there, glaringly obvious as the memory burned itself into his head. He recalled that the musician that repaired his viola offered to fix it up, even though it was just a surface blemish and wouldn’t cause any musical problems. “No,” Changbin had told the man, “it’s right under the chin rest, so I’ll see it every time I go to play it. It’ll remind me to be more cautious.”

Cautious of his instrument, that’s probably what it sounded like to the musician. What Changbin really meant, however, was how he’d be cautious of letting anyone close to him in the future, no matter who it was.

Uncertainty rushed over him, but Changbin was certain of one thing: he needed to get Chan out of his head. Sooner, rather than later. He couldn’t afford to be distracted when he started with the symphony.

Maybe he’d be alone forever.

Monday came quickly, and Changbin was running early. He had left far too early, showing up nearly an hour before he needed to be at the practice hall. He shrugged the nervousness from his shoulders as he made his way to a nearby cafe to grab something caffeinated to help perk him up. Seven in the morning was far too early for his schedule after all of this time off from university.

It was a brief walk, maybe only a couple of minutes to the cafe down the street. Changbin opened the door, inanely scrolling through his emails as he walked through the front door and got in line. There was one email from the conductor, Lee Minho, sent out to everyone earlier that morning, welcoming the new members of the orchestra. Names, ages, instruments, and where they were from.

“What can I get for you?” The barista at the counter politely asked, causing Changbin to look up from his phone, his face flushing in embarrassment.

“Oh, sorry,” he whispered, locking his phone, sliding it into his pocket. “I’ll take a shot in the dark, medium, three shots, please.”

“Your name?”

“Changbin.” He was curious to see how terribly the barista would butcher his name as he tapped his card against the payment terminal. A minute later, he stepped off to the side, grabbing his phone to scroll through the email again. Since he was early, he might as well try and learn who was who and where they sat, what they played.

The wind and brass instruments were first. A new French horn player, a new trombonist, a new bassoonist, a new flautist. He was about to scroll through the percussion and string players when the second barista mumbled something that sounded kind of like his name. He walked up and grabbed the paper cup that was placed on the countertop, eyeing the scribble on the cup that barely resembled his name, rolling his eyes at the attempt.

Changbin took a cautious sip of the hot liquid as he made his way towards the front of the cafe, taking a seat at the window bar, placing his viola case down on the ground and his cup on the table, looking through his email. He didn’t care about the percussion section, but when he got to the strings, he perked up a bit. Two new violinists, two new violists, and a new cellist.

There was another new violist along with him, and Changbin bit his lip in excitement. He wondered who they were, where they were from. Then he saw the name, right under his. He stopped tapping his toes in excitement and his jaw dropped. If he was holding his coffee cup, he would have dropped it in shock.

Viola: Changbin S., 22, Connecticut. B.A., M.M., Music: Yale University.

Viola: Chan B., 23, New Hampshire. B.A., Music Performance: Dartmouth University.

“Holy shit,” Changbin whispered as all of the colour drained from his face. He had to have been hallucinating. There was no way that Chan was actually in Seattle. There had to have been another Chan from Dartmouth that was coming all the way here, right? That it wasn't just some crazy fever dream that Changbin was having?

He sat and stared at the email on his phone until the screen automatically turned off from inactivity. If Chan was seriously going to be in the symphonic orchestra with him, right next to him, what was he going to do? The two of them hadn't said anything more than polite passing phrases over their birthdays or for their graduations over social media, for fuck's sake. What the hell was going to happen when — no, if, it had to stay as an if — the two of them met?

The soft bell of the front door opening made Changbin shake his head, crashing back to reality. He turned his phone over, putting it down on the counter so he didn't have to look at it, and brought his cup back up to his lips. The coffee in the cup was nice, a bit more mellow and mild compared to the coffee he was used to on the east coast, like this was brewed with care and love, not in a hurry for someone just trying to get their fix.

“That's the third symphony,” a quiet voice came up behind Changbin, his ears twitching a bit as he heard something related to music. Perhaps this person was another musician, part of the orchestra? Letting his curiosity get the better of him, he turned his head over his shoulder and actually dropped his cup, spilling the warm liquid all over the table and into his lap. In a rush, he grabbed his phone as he stood and let out a crisp, sharp interjection.

As the coffee cooled in his lap and the barista from earlier approached him with a towel, his brain caught up to the realization that his former best friend-turned-rival, Chan, was right behind him. Before he could fully process what that meant, Changbin found himself madly dashing back to his apartment, phone in one hand, viola case in the other. Reality hit him in the face and burned as much as his scorched legs as he collided into the door of his apartment.

This wasn't a dream.

Changbin was thankful that he was always early to things. After rushing to apply some burn cream to his legs and change into a fresh outfit, he had somehow made it back to the concert hall with fifteen minutes to spare. He gripped the handle to his viola's case tightly, palms sweating as he tried so hard not to panic. Beyond the doors of the practice hall, he knew that Chan was going to be there. Nothing he did could prepare him for that, and he knew it.

He took in a deep breath, and let off a quick exhale as he pushed the door open. The crowd of other players was massive — there had to be nearly a hundred people crowded up in small circles. The newer people were very obvious, awkwardly off to the side in their respective sections. Some people were off in random seats, tuning their instruments. Then, in the middle of the room, he saw someone seated, alone, anxiously scrolling through his phone. It was the same brassy blonde that was in the cafe.

Chan.

Almost as if the energy in the room cooled as Changbin entered, Chan shifted in his seat and aimlessly scanned the room, looking at the other members, until his eyes landed on Changbin, and his lips parted. They stared at each other, seemingly like they were frozen in space and time, that there was no one else around. A conflicting rush of warmth, excitement, and terror washed over Changbin all at once as he stared at his former best friend.

Changbin shook his head, letting his eyes fall to the floor for a moment. “This is going to be fine,” he quietly reassured himself as he walked towards the middle of the room. “You two don't have to look at each other, speak to each other, just be civil. If you're lucky, you won't even have to interact much. Hopefully.”

That was a boldfaced lie, but it helped reassure Changbin in the slightest way possible.

“Hi,” Chan awkwardly whispered as Changbin got close. “Long time, no see, huh?”

He simply couldn't resist looking up at Chan and somehow wrinkling his face up into an uncomfortable grin. “Hi, Chan.” His tone was a bit cold, but what else could he do? They left each other on horrible terms, not even speaking to each other during their high school graduation ceremony. Changbin had given his valedictorian speech, and remembered Chan walking up to the podium, giving him a pitiful expression as they crossed paths.

“Looks like your assigned seat is right next to me.” There's a tapping noise as Chan's fingernail repeatedly strikes the plastic seat next to him. A large, black binder sat atop the chair, with "Changbin S., Viola’ emblazoned on the top of it in silver, serif lettering.

Fate was a cruel bastard.

Changbin stifled a sigh under his breath, placing his viola's case underneath the chair as he grabbed the binder. He sat down in his seat, pretending to rifle through the paperwork. There was simply no way that he could focus, knowing that Chan was right next to him. It was completely awkward and uncomfortable. Changbin could practically feel the warmth of the blonde sitting next to him, even though they were about a foot away from each other.

“We're gonna pretend like all that time together never happened, huh?” Chan's voice was cold, and he tsked as he brought his phone back up to his face. “I really thought four years would've changed you, Bin.”

Changbin slammed the binder shut and leaned into Chan's face. His eyes darted around, knowing that he was getting some strange glances from people that weren't preoccupied, but it didn't matter. “You're the one that refused to grow up and handle things responsibly like an adult. I don't want to hear another fucking passive aggressive word about this from you.” His tone was hushed, but venomous and seething. “You had all this time to apologize, but you never did. I sincerely hope we don't have to interact much, because this two year contract is going to be hell on me if you're here.”

Chan scoffed. “Whatever, dude,” he shook his head and looked back to his phone. “I just wanted to try and be civil, but if you wanna play that game, then you can. Go right ahead.”

This was outrageous. Changbin opened his mouth to say something, but a man with a calm demeanour walked into the room, his presence demanding attention from everyone as they scattered to their seats.

“Good morning, everyone,” his voice boomed throughout the corridor. It was soft, inviting. “Welcome to your first day of the season. If you would kindly find your seats, we'll get started in a few moments.”

Changbin awkwardly fumbled with his binder, resting it on the music stand in front of him, then bent down to pick up his viola's case. He undid the latches, and pulled out the instrument, his eyes fixated on that damned chip under the chin rest. Naturally, after he stared at the chip for longer than necessary, he lifted his eyes up to Chan, who was rubbing his bow against the brick of resin in his hand.

Chan was always delicate with his instrument. He put in so much love when he polished his viola prior to competitions and performances, always lovingly eyed the hairs of his bow as he carefully watched the resin coat each strand. Typically, he would hum some inane melody to himself as he got lost in the process, in the care of what he did.

Today, Chan wasn't humming.

It felt like the energy around him had gone from its usual bright cheerfulness, and turned into a dark, gloomy cloud.

“Please,” the instructor spoke yet again, looking up from his stack of paperwork on the podium, “if you haven't done so, begin tuning your instruments. Hopefully they're all tuned up, but I'm sure some of you have been slacking since we last practiced together, hmm?”

Changbin didn't need to tune his viola, since he tuned it last night in anticipation, but he went along and pretended to tune it with his plastic electric tuner. The light shone green as he kept strumming against the C string. Changbin tried to stare at the light, but he couldn't take his eyes off of Chan. While he wasn't humming, the elder still put in so much tender energy while he cared for his viola.

It had been all this time, but Changbin still felt his abdomen and chest light up with fire when he saw Chan, no matter how much it hurt. It was apparent that Changbin was still so madly in love with him, even after all of these years and all of the emotional torment they had put each other through.

This man was going to be the death of him.

The beginning of the first day with the symphony wasn't eventful. There were some warm-ups and some scales practice, but that was simply to get everyone prepared for the performance season. After all of that, the conductor, Minho, went through each section and asked the new members to introduce themselves. Percussion went first, then woodwinds, brass, strings. Second-to-last was the viola group, and Chan went first.

“Chan,” he said with a smile, his dimple prominently on display, “I'm 23, originally from New York, but I've been in New Hampshire for the past four years thanks to university. I recently graduated, with honours, top of my class, from the music performance faculty at Dartmouth. I hope we all get along well and you'll treat me kindly. Let's have a great season!” He sat down, and his smile faded as Changbin rose.

“Yeah, uh, hello,” Changbin awkwardly stuttered, folding his hands together behind his back. “I'm Changbin, 22, also originally from New York, but I've been in Connecticut for the last four years where I matriculated at Yale. I have a bachelor's and master's in music, specifically: music performance for viola and piano. I've been playing the viola for most of my life, and I hope I will serve everyone well here. Uh,” he paused, awkwardly scratching the back of his head. “Thanks.”

There were a couple of polite chuckles as Changbin sat down. Despite having a penchant for giving well-manicured speeches, he hated giving unprepared introductions. He felt tense enough already, knowing that Chan was right next to him, making him all the more uncomfortable.

The new violinists introduced themselves, and Minho clapped once. “Excellent,” he praised. “Now that introductions are out of the way, please split off into your respective subsections until I'm able to get to each individual group and assess your skills for placements. Those of you that have finished by your lunch break are welcome to leave, unless your principal seat deems otherwise.”

A couple of musicians groaned.

“It's nearly autumn,” Minho said with a soft smile as he adjusted his necktie, “you all know that placement seats, other than principal seats, aren't guaranteed.”

Changbin nervously swallowed. He knew that placements were, yet again, going to be a source of contention for both of them. Chan was top of his class at Dartmouth; Changbin was top of his class at Yale. Both of them were going to be a force to be reckoned with, especially up against other top-class talent.

This orchestra recorded for multiple high-budget films and would perform in the pits of renowned theatrical performances. There were just over a hundred seats in the orchestra, but thousands applied for open spots after contracts ended and spots opened up. It was nerve-wracking, and Changbin wasn't confident that he, for the first time since high school, would be placed in one of the first viola chairs.

“Hey,” a voice perked up as everyone started to shift around and break off into their own groups. “I'm Seungmin,” a young man stood in front of Chan and Changbin, probably about the same age as them. “I'm the principal chair for the viola section. Changbin and Chan, right?” Both of them silently nodded once in affirmation. “Nice, Ivy Leaguers like me. Cornell, graduated last year. Anyway, don't worry too much about placements. Not much you can do until you actually have to perform, and Minho is pretty great about making you feel comfortable if you're nervous. Why not come meet everyone in the section?”

There were polite greetings and less-formal introductions shared, a couple of people made jokes to ease the tension, as to be expected. Seungmin discussed the projected schedule for the season, going over some of the pieces that they would need to practice together and individually. They went over all of the general housekeeping, discussed the placement procedures, and that they were free to go after they were done, since there was no real point in sticking around for the rest of the day.

“Alright, well,” Seungmin stood up as his alarm went off, “lunch starts now, so I'm gonna head off. See ya in an hour; just meet up here and don't be late. For strings, the violin section goes first, then us.”

Changbin looked down to the floor, an uneasy pit growing in his stomach. Part of him knew he should stay and practice, just to get his mind in the right order, but he couldn't pull himself away from the fact that Chan was still there, right next to him.

“Get up,” Chan muttered, lightly tapping Changbin's chair with his foot, startling the brunette to attention. “Look, dude,” he tucked his hands into his pockets and huffed with discontent, “I know we haven't spoken in years, but there's some things I wanna talk to you about before we go in and compete against each other for yet another stupid thing. Come grab lunch with me, alright?”

“I'm not hungry.” Changbin's eyes darted to the side, furrowing his brows in frustration. He just wanted to focus on practicing his piece for placements; there was no time to worry about eating at a time like this.

“No,” an exasperated sigh came from Chan as he folded his arms and rolled his eyes. “You're just nervous and you don't wanna talk to me. Unless you've drastically changed, you do this shit before performances, too. Just come on, it's not gonna be that bad, I promise.”

Changbin wasn't sure why he agreed to this. The two of them sat at a table in the hipster pho shop next to the cafe, awkwardly poking at their warm bowls of noodles and broth as they sat in silence for at least a good five minutes. “So,” the younger man sighed, “what did you want to talk about?”

The blonde sucked his lips in between his teeth and chewed on them for a second before he set his chopsticks down into the bowl and looked up, meeting Changbin's gaze with a hint of nervousness behind his eyes. “Changbin,” he huffed, tilting his head to the side, “all those years ago, I was horrible to you.”

“I know.” The brunette abruptly cut him off, seething through his teeth while he sat back in his chair.

“Bin,” the older man shook his head, his eyes wincing with pain, “dude, I had this big ass draft saved in my messages that I wanted to send to you after we graduated.” He brought an elbow to the table and nestled his head into his palm. “For some reason, I couldn't bring myself to ever send it. I don't know why; it was probably out of embarrassment and cowardice. The way I treated you all that time, over some stupid competitive shit, I'm sorry, Changbin. Honestly, I'm so sorry.”

A tsk left Changbin's lips as he rolled his eyes away, looking at the wall to his side, just for a moment. He leaned in, pressing his arm into the table, mere inches away from Chan. “Yeah, you did a lot of shit, and yeah, I know you’re sorry or whatever. But you know what hurts me the most, Chan?”

Chan nervously swallowed and bit his lip.

“You did all of this shit to me after I kissed you. None of this started until then.” Changbin shook his head in disappointment. “I'm not upset about the way you reacted, not really, at least, but I am upset over the fact that you kissed me back so hard, like you actually wanted me as more than a friend. After all that, you started treating me so horribly, like you had to prove that you were better than me. Like our years of friendship suddenly didn’t matter anymore.”

“Changbin, I just couldn’t—” Chan started, but Changbin sat back and shook his head, speaking up and cutting off the blonde.

“You hurt me.” There were tears budding up in the brunette's eyes. “It's taken you four and a half years to apologize. Chan, I’ve waited for fucking years for this. I wish you would have sent me some bullshit, half-assed stupid text message apology that summer. It would have hurt less than this. All of this time, I thought you hated me. That my best friend wanted nothing to do with me. Nothing else hurts more than that, to have your favourite person in the entire world suddenly hate you, and it’s all because you thought he had feelings for you, too, but he just threw them back in your face and laughed at your pain.”

Changbin stood up and grabbed his phone from off of the table. “I'm not ready to forgive you, Chan. Not after all of this shit. So, please,” a couple of tears rolled down his face as he bit his bottom lip, “just respect me enough to leave me alone for a little while. I need to think about this, about us.”

He stormed off before Chan could attempt to stop him. An overwhelming fear of nervousness took over: partially due to the unsteady ground their relationship was on, and partially due to the fact that his placement exam was going to take place soon, and Changbin was nowhere near the right mental capacity for that.

“Shouldn’t have done this,” Changbin whispered to himself as he wiped the tears from his face, his footsteps hard and heavy against the concrete sidewalk. “Fuck you, Chan.”

“Capriccio,” Minho smiled, his face relaxed and expression warm. He held his clipboard in hand as Changbin eyed the sheets of music in front of him. “Composed by Vieuxtemps. I picked this as the sight reading for today’s placement exams.” The conductor was welcoming enough, but his calm demeanour didn’t ease the nervousness vibrating throughout Changbin’s body.

All those years ago, I was horrible to you. Chan’s apology still sounded so clear in his head, Changbin constantly replaying the memory unwillingly as the notes on the sheet music danced around, tangling itself up into an unintelligible mess.

“Changbin?”

I’m so sorry, Changbin. He was so angry: at Chan, at himself, at the fact that he ran away, that he couldn’t concentrate on the important task at hand in front of him.

“Hey,” Minho’s voice was layered with concern as it pulled Changbin from his thoughts. “Are you feeling alright? It’s just a standard placement exam, nothing to be too nervous over.”

Changbin stood in the empty office, viola carefully cradled in his hands as he blinked his way back into focus, the sheet music suddenly becoming clear and normal. “Sorry,” he shook his head, trying to rid Chan’s voice from the depths of his ears, “I guess I’m just nervous.” Capriccio. It was a piece Changbin had heard, but he had never played it before, as to be expected for sight reading, but the anxiousness in his stomach blossomed like a large black lily of doubt, poking its petals at his ribcage. “How long do I have to look at this?”

“I’ll give you two minutes to look over it,” Minho leaned against the back of his chair and rubbed his chin with his thumb. “Once you’re ready to start playing, I’ll take notes. We’ll do the scales exercise before that, as well as a piece of your choosing. Are you sure you’re ready, Changbin?”

“I’ll be fine,” Changbin huffed, trying to calm the nerves inside of him as he readied his viola. He had to be fine, he had to beat out Chan with this. “Let’s do the scales, then.”

Changbin kept telling himself that had to beat Chan, but he didn’t know exactly why.

“Hey, man!” Seungmin said with excitement as he patted Changbin on the back, right outside of the practice room. “How'd it go?”

Changbin groaned and rolled his eyes, gripping the neck of his viola a bit tighter. “It was alright,” he grumbled, walking to where his case laid on his chair. Chan had gone before him, and was deliberately looking away from Changbin as he approached. As soon as he started shuffling with his case, Chan got up with an exasperated sigh and walked away.

“Are you two,” Seungmin pressed, lowering his voice as he approached Changbin, “do you know each other or something? I'm getting some weird vibes from you both.”

The brunette gritted his teeth as his bottom eyelid twitched. “We were classmates, yeah,” he admits, “back in high school.”

“Oh! That's exciting!”

“No,” Changbin sighed, “I wish it was more interesting than that, but we stopped talking after we both got into different universities”. It wasn't a complete lie, yet it wasn't a complete truth, either. Changbin quickly weighed the options of being honest with Seungmin about how strained their relationship was, and chose to just fake it for the greater morale of the group. They were both too new to start something so petty so early on in the season.

Seungmin grinned as Changbin turned around. “Well, hey,” he bopped his head back and forth to the side, humming a bit, “it's kinda cool when you've got people that know each other and work well together in the same group. Maybe the violas will be a bit stronger this year.”

“We'll see,” Changbin said with a fake smile. Whether he was talking about the group or about his relationship with Chan was uncertain.

It was nearly a full day until placement results were revealed. Both Changbin and Chan got first chair, but they were at the bottom of five. What stung the most, however, was that Chan had beaten Changbin, likely due to nerves.

Changbin was at the bottom of something for the first time in his life, and he didn't know how to handle the whirlwind of emotions raging inside of him.

“Sorry,” Chan whispered as they both stared at the sheet. “At least we're both first chairs, not second, though, yeah?”

He shouldn't have been upset, because these were some of the best performers in the entire country, but Changbin was seething. Fists clenched, teeth gritting, and he was sweating with how infuriated he was at being in the bottom for the first time. Ever. Seos were never anything but first, and this was going to eat at him from the inside out for a long time, especially since he was beaten out by Chan of all people.

“Hey, guys,” Seungmin leaned up against the wall, causing them both to break their gaze at the sheet of paper for a moment. “Congratulations on getting first chairs during your first contract year. Not many people get that.”

Changbin didn't care if “many people” got first chair or not, he was still fixated on the fact that he got beaten out by Chan. He wanted the assistant principal seat, but wasn’t even remotely close to it. So, he determined he’d have to work harder, to set his eyes on the principal seat when placements opened. This step backwards could cost him that opportunity when it came up in the spring, and he hated it.

Chan elbowed Changbin in the side, causing the brunette to snap back to reality.

“What?” The younger man bit back, viscerally reacting as his eyes widened and he bared his teeth. He wanted so desperately to throw Chan up against the wall and yell at him for distracting him right before his placement exam, when he knew he should have just stayed back and practiced. Chan broke his routine and all Changbin could think about during the exam was how angry he was at his former best friend.

“Chill out,” Chan sighed, eyes widening for a brief moment in shock. “Seungmin just asked if the two of us had any plans after practice.”

Seungmin shook his head. “It's cool if you do,” he smiled awkwardly, sensing the tension blooming around them, “a bunch of us, including most of the newbies, are all going out to Vivace. It’s that little bar down the street. Could be a good chance for everyone to get to know each other a bit better. Seems like you two have a head start on that, but now it's time for us to get to know you.”

His voice was sickeningly optimistic. Changbin gritted his teeth together under pursed lips and was about to decline, until Chan spoke up for both of them. “Yeah,” he said in a fake pleasant voice, “Changbin and I are down for that.”

“Don't speak for me,” Changbin said through his teeth, but Chan turned to look at him and frowned.

“Team morale. Be a good player, dude.”

Brooding. Failure. Fucking failure.

Changbin never was one to brood, but he was never one to fail, either. Today was a day of firsts, none of them good. He frowned as he leaned over his glass of warmed cognac, staring down into it in disgust at his reflection. The entire group was bonding with each other, smiling and laughing without a care in the world, and he was being the awkward loner in the corner again, silent and reserved.

“That didn't seriously happen,” a young man with short platinum blonde hair drunkenly giggled. Felix, probably. That's the name that Changbin thought he heard him mention when they all introduced themselves. He was the new French horn player. “Hyunjin, dude, you've gotta stop it with picking up random people in clubs.”

“It's Cap Hill, baby,” the man with long, black hair half-heartedly whined, martini against his lips. Hyunjin. Second chair cellist. “Sometimes you see someone hot, and you just gotta take them home, y’know? Of course you don’t, you’re too prudish to get fucking laid.”

A laugh bubbled up from the group, but both Chan and Changbin were staying relatively quiet. “Hey,” Chan said in a low voice, leaning against the table that Changbin was resting his elbows on. “You should come participate with everyone.”

“Why?” Changbin rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Nobody here really cares about each other. It's all polite bullshit anyways.”

“Seriously, would you just fucking stop with this mopey shit, dude?” Chan tried to keep his voice down, setting his pint of stout on the table. “Come on, you're not a kid anymore.”

Changbin tilted his head back and sighed. “I never lose, man,” he brought his head back upright, staring down Chan as the alcohol loosened his lips. “You know I've never come in second, much less last, for anything. Let me just be down for once.”

As Chan opened his mouth to retort, another short, young man came up to the table. Jisung, the lead second chair violinist slammed his lager on the table with a wide grin. “What’s up, newbies? We're doing shots. Team bonding, yeah?”

Changbin's lip curled up in disgust, already annoyed by how chipper the other man was. “I don't do shots,” he grumbled.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jisung dismissively waved his hand in the air and scoffed. “We get it, you’re pretentious and better than us or whatever. You're doing a shot with us anyways, a'ight? If you're drinking, it ain't optional.”

Seungmin, Felix, and a quiet brunette carried a few small glasses of amber liquid, setting the tiny shot glasses down on the table. “I don't know why you recommended Fireball for this, dude,” Hyunjin grumbled as he shook his head, taking a shot glass from the table and stepping right behind Jisung.

“It's good!” The smaller black-haired man shouted with a wide smile. “I've met nobody that doesn't like this stuff.”

“I hate it,” Changbin grumbled in protest, vaguely recalling memories of getting hammered on the foul liquid during a house party his sophomore year of college. A layer of regret gripped at his ribcage, thinking of the way Wooyoung’s boozy breath lingered on his lips as they made out on the patio of some stranger’s house. The regret clawed at him while he recalled how he looked up at the stars and wished that it was Chan there instead of Wooyoung. “I hate it a lot,” he repeated, unsure if he was still talking about the liquor or if he was talking about the memory creeping into his head.

His quip earned him a finger in the face from the loud young man, pulling him from his lamenting. “Not tonight, you don't. You can hate it after our fifth shot of it. Hate it tomorrow morning. Yeah?”

Everyone grabbed a shot glass, several reaching out in reluctance, and Seungmin puffed his chest out. “Alright,” he proudly said with a triumphant grin, holding his glass in the air, “we're gonna have a great year. Newbies and violists may be outcasts, but we're all a family. Yeah?”

The group let out an affirmative, albeit jumbled, noise.

“On three,” Jisung said with a smirk, then counted to three. All of the men lifted their glasses to their lips and chugged down the cloyingly sweet and uncomfortably spicy cinnamon-flavoured liquor.

“Oh, that's horrid,” Changbin shuddered, nearly dropping the shot glass as he recoiled. Chan nodded his head as he hissed, while Seungmin and Felix scrunched their faces in discomfort.

“You're disgusting, Ji. Let's get more!” The brunette from earlier perked up, the first time Changbin caught him speaking during the gathering. “It's not a good night unless someone pukes before we leave, yeah?”

Jisung slapped his hand on the table and collected the empty glasses from everyone. “Hell yeah, Jeongin, that's my dude!”

It wasn’t until the cool, late summer breeze hit Changbin as he stumbled outside that he realized that that fifth shot of Fireball that Jisung convinced everyone to take was, in fact, not a good idea. He groaned to himself as the cool air gradually revitalized him. “That shit was horrible.”

“Yeah,” Chan's aching voice slurred up from behind him. “You gonna be good getting home, Bin?”

Changbin wouldn't have responded if he was sober. He would have, and should have, just walked away, waved Chan off with an insincerely polite farewell, but the alcohol gave him a slight boost of confidence. He shrugged and sighed. “Probably. I live just down the street, uh,” he brought one hand to his temple as he blinked, eyeing his surroundings, eventually slinging his right arm up and pointed lazily towards the right, “that way. Somewhere.”

“You've never been a good drunk, have you?” Chan sighed, walking up to Changbin and interlocking his arm with the younger man’s, gently pulling him towards the direction he pointed in.

The brunette shook his head a few times and whined. “What're you doing?”

“Making sure you get home in one piece.”

“You dunno where I live, man.”

Chan tugged Changbin’s arm a bit and sighed. “You said this way, so I'm making sure you go that way. Besides, I live over here, too. It's on the way.”

“The Bushnell Apartments.”

The blonde stopped in his tracks and stared down at his drunken compatriot in shock. “How'd you know?”

“What?” The younger man lazily lifted his head up and knitted his brows together in confusion.

“That's where I live, dude.”

“No,” Changbin scoffed, “you big dummy, that's where I live.”

“Wait a minute,” Chan chuckled inwardly, “you live in the same complex as me?”

“Sounds like it, yeah,” Changbin nodded once, bringing his free arm up to rub the back of his neck, “third floor, room 325.”

“Holy shit. I'm in 324. I wondered who was playing music a few weeks ago when I was moving my stuff in.”

Changbin laughed nervously as the realization that Chan lived so close to him, not only in the same apartment complex, but right next door to him, slapped him in the face. “Fate's a real bastard, innit?”

“What?”

As much as Changbin wanted to say something, a look of discomfort quickly washed over his face. “Oh shit,” came out instead of the quip he was planning on, and he quickly, awkwardly dashed to the curb of the sidewalk, violently emptying the contents of his stomach all over the pavement instead.

A drunken laugh came up from behind him as Chan cackled maniacally. “I knew you were a lightweight.”

The next morning, Changbin woke up and even the most ambient of sounds were painfully louder, every light was uncomfortably brighter. He let out a weak whimper, and curled into himself as the world spun around him. “Goddammit,” he grumbled. “Fuck Jisung and fuck last night. I'm never drinking again.”

As if fate was teasing him, taunting him with how unfair it truly was, there was a knock against the door, the faint rapping pulling him out of his daze. He sighed heavily, rolling over onto his back, coming to terms with the fact that he was going to have to get up in a moment. “Be there in a sec,” he attempted to shout in the most decent, cognizant way possible.

It took Changbin a few moments to reorient himself as the walls spun around him. He stumbled his way through his bedroom, out to the front door, not bothering to look through the peephole. Changbin fumbled with his deadbolt for a moment, scolding himself as he realized he forgot to do the chain-link before he passed out at some point earlier that morning. He pulled the door open, instantly regretting leaving his bed as he saw the man at his door.

“Chan?” He rubbed his eyes and grumbled. “How'd you find out where I live?”

“You told me last night, dude.” The taller man offered a plastic bag around his finger, almost as if it were some sort of physical apology. “Figured you could use some of this, especially since you don't remember all of last night, do you?”

Changbin stepped back, opening his door wide. There was no way he had the energy to yell at Chan, not when the man had brought him food as a peace offering. “I'm still upset with you, you know.”

“You told me last night,” Chan shook his head, tutting in feigned irritation as he took a couple of steps into Changbin’s apartment. “Several times, actually.”

The two of them sat on the couch in awkward silence as they ate their lukewarm, greasy diner takeout. Changbin curled up into a ball, clutching his sports drink to his chest as he rolled his face into the couch cushion. “God, I feel like shit,” he whined. “How are you so okay after all of that? You ended up drinking more than me.”

Chan chuckled. “I was part of a frat, dude,” he took a sip of water from his glass, then set it back down on the table. “Beer was an acceptable substitute for water in Sig Ep. Practically its own food group. Ah,” he stuck a finger in the air and his face turned stoic, “unofficially, of course.”

In all honesty, Changbin never realized that Chan had become such a different person after he went to university. He was still caring and kind, but to picture him as a typical frat boy was jarring. “You still got honours and valedictorian after all that shit?”

“Yep,” the older man clasped his hands together, bringing them behind his head as he leaned back into the couch. “Don't know how I did it, though. Talent probably got me far enough.”

“You were always really good at playing the viola, dude.” The compliment was sincere, Changbin rolling his eyes up to catch the profile of his best friend, staring longer than he should’ve.

Chan turned slightly, sucking in some air through his teeth as he looked at Changbin. “Never as good as you.” His voice was low, like there was something hidden deep under his words.

The two of them were quiet again. Changbin couldn’t help but ruminate on Chan’s words, memories of their constant rivalries and the night of their drunken kiss violently replaying over and over in his head. Chan always wanted to beat Changbin out on one thing, and Changbin was afraid it would cause Chan to look down on him as somehow lesser than.

Oh.

A sour, queasy feeling rolled up the back of Changbin’s neck as he realized he had probably treated Chan poorly in everything they competed for when he beat him out. How could he have treated his childhood friend so terribly for something so petty and trivial? Changbin had no other friends, not since he and Wooyoung split up, and the loneliness he felt bubbled up in his chest, commingling with how horrible he felt for the way he had treated Chan after all this time.

He should have apologized, too.

“Hey, Bin,” Chan leaned further into the back of the couch, drawing his arm out against the frame and he stared down at his sickly junior. “If I had reached out to you and apologized, do you think you would’ve forgiven me? We said some horrible shit to each other and, honestly, I never thought we’d see each other again. I’m glad we got to see each other after all this time, but I can’t help but think we’d never talk to each other otherwise.”

Changbin couldn’t help but look away, staring off into the tiny chip on his wall next to his calendar. He chewed on his teeth, unable to resist thinking about all of the stupid, petulant rage he felt over their trivial fights. He brought his thumbnail to his teeth and anxiously nibbled at it, honestly unsure if he would’ve forgiven Chan if they didn’t end up in Seattle together after all this time. “I dunno,” he muttered, words coming out with a slight lisp against his nail. “I think you’re probably right. I mean, we hadn’t talked in four years, why start now? What’s the point of resurfacing old wounds just to tear into them?”

A heavy sigh came from Chan as he looked up towards the ceiling. “I guess you’re right. I figured you had everything going perfectly for you. You graduated with a bachelor’s and a master’s degree, were happily engaged, and had just accepted some prestigious job somewhere. You were succeeding and surpassing me in so many ways yet again, and I couldn’t even come to terms with the fact that I—” Chan quickly cut himself off.

Changbin lifted one of his eyebrows at the sudden silence, turning to look at Chan in confusion. “The fact that you what?”

The blonde shook his head, quickly standing up and brushing his shirt off. “I-it’s nothing.”

“Wait,” Changbin reached out to grab Chan’s arm without thinking, loosely grasping at his thin wrist. “Chan, I know it’s been years, but you can tell me anything.”

“No,” Chan shook his head, refusing to look at Changbin. “I promise, it’s not that important right now.” Almost as if he could sense Changbin opening his mouth to protest, Chan spoke up again. “Look, eat the rest of your food and drink a lot of fluids. We can talk about this all later, I just,” Chan offered a quick smile over his shoulder before he tugged his wrist free of Changbin’s grasp and made his way towards the door, “I can’t talk about it right now. Sorry, man.”

Changbin cursed himself for drinking so much the night prior, his hangover preventing him from chasing after Chan. As much as he wanted to know what Chan was about to say, he figured he would just drop it for now, then press for more information later.

Chan’s ‘talk about all of this later’ turned into a lot longer than Changbin expected.

It should have been days, weeks at the most. However, the end of summer resigned itself to Seattle’s torrential autumn rains, the symphony’s first performance of the season came and went, they all worked through their planned Thanksgiving break to finish recording a score for a film with an unbelievably large budget. All of that came and went, and there was still no conversation broader than casual discussion between the two of them.

Every time they passed each other, Changbin’s eyes lingered on the blonde. What was Chan thinking? What was he going to say that caused the energy between them to shift so drastically?

There were polite conversations in passing between Chan and Changbin off and on. Occasionally, they would walk to the practice hall together, but it was by sheer accident, only because they had left their apartments at the same time. Every interaction between them seemed accidental, too pleasantly sterile for what had to have been harbouring beneath the surface.

Autumn bled into winter. Rain turned to sleet, which morphed into snow a few times during January and February. February blended into March. March blossomed into April. More performances, more anxiety, more productions, more nervousness, more expectations, more, more, more. More from the symphony, and less, less, less from Chan.

The sleepless nights brought on by extensive late-night practices were tolerable; tired mornings after these were easily remedied with a few cups of coffee. Conversely, the few times Changbin had gone to bed at a reasonable hour, he found himself tossing and turning, restlessly thinking about Chan, unable to sleep. His heart pounded with nervousness, Changbin swearing he could hear his heartbeat echoing against the beige drywall of his bedroom. He reached his fingertips up and brushed them against the wall behind him, where he assumed Chan was laying on the opposite side, peacefully slumbering away.

So close. So far away. Chan was always right there, but so far out of reach.

I couldn’t even come to terms with the fact that I—

What exactly was Chan going to say on that day? Months had passed, but Changbin could still hear every syllable that came from Chan’s lips, the way that his tongue punctuated each hard consonant with a staccato against his teeth, haunting his dreams. He could picture the moment that Chan’s expression changed, shifted from ease to uncertainty, how his eyelashes twitched when his eyes went wide with fear.

Late one sleepless April night, Changbin had found himself staring upwards yet again, lost in the grooves and valleys of stucco against his ceiling. His nervousness of the upcoming principal seat exam weighed him down, forcing him to sink further and further into his mattress, heavy with doubt. Earlier that day, Chan stepped back, saying he wasn’t interested in fighting for the position, which Changbin read as neither truth nor fiction.

“I just want you to have the best chance possible,” Chan had told him with a seemingly fake smile. “You’re so incredibly talented, Bin. You’ve got the leadership skills, and I support you all the way.”

No. Something about that wasn’t right.

Changbin frowned, knitting his eyebrows together as he bit down on his lips. He tried to recall exactly what the expression was on Chan’s face while he said those words with a layer of insincerity. The insincerity was juxtaposed with honesty and pain, so many conflicting and contrasting things said without words.

Then, it hit him.

You’re so incredibly talented. It sounded so familiar, the layered pain and genuine jealousy.

Never as good as you.

It had been months since Chan told him that, when they were sitting on the couch nursing their hangovers at the beginning of the season. Months had passed, but the words were suddenly so crisp and clear, as if Changbin was right in that moment again.

It wasn’t jealousy. No, it was never jealousy.

In a near panic, Changbin reached out for his phone on his nightstand, bringing it up to his face. The bright light burned his retinas, but it didn’t matter. He started scrolling through Chan’s social media page, down countless months and years, endless photos that started with him in various spots in Seattle, then to his graduation, followed by various frat gatherings and university happenings.

It was like Changbin was travelling backwards in time, seeing several familiar names and faces pop up, partially reliving the moments he had spent over the years angrily scrolling through his timeline on the nights he where Wooyoung was sleeping soundly next to him. Names that caused Changbin’s stomach to tense with varying degrees of jealousy started popping up with each season he travelled through.

Senior year: Son Chaeyoung, five months.

Junior year: Minatozaki Sana, seven months.

Sophomore year: Im Naeyon, three months. Hirai Momo, two months.

Freshman year: Park Jihyo, two months. Yoo Jeongyeon, two months.

Changbin recalled all of the people — all of them women — that Chan had dated, how none of them really seemed like they were serious relationships, that they were maybe friends with benefits at most. The photos Chan had taken with them were all stiff and felt rushed, like he was putting on a show that he was happy with them, when he clearly wasn’t genuinely happy.

It wasn’t jealousy. Of course it wasn’t jealousy.

Chan was hiding something, and Changbin’s heart sunk into his stomach as he found himself staring at the ceiling yet again. All he could find himself thinking about now was a single word ruminating, burning into his head.

Why?

Changbin made sure to leave well in advance prior to the start of the day. He didn’t want to risk running into Chan, not when the principal seat exam was today. He had spent too much time ruminating and worrying over Chan and the what-ifs the night prior, his lack of sleep apparent as his limbs ached with fatigue.

The walk to the practice hall was uneventful; drizzle had languidly fallen from the sky, embedding itself into Changbin’s jacket, temporarily turning the crimson fabric just a few shades darker. After several months, Changbin had gotten used to the nonstop Seattle rain, varying from drizzle to torrential downpours with occasional reprieves of sunshine peppered in throughout the year.

In a way, it was oddly calming. The rain kept people from lingering in the streets too long to chatter, but there was also a stubborn resiliency as people just accepted the downpours. Umbrellas and ponchos were only seen with tourists, people that seemed afraid that the slightest bit of drizzle would cause them to melt. There was an influx of tourists in March, when the cheap cruises up along the coast to Alaska started. With the influx of tourists, there were more and more performances that were crammed into Changbin’s schedule.

Honestly, the transition from March to April seemed so minute, like the drizzle turning to heavy droplets of rain, the rainstorm he constantly found himself in. It was a beautiful time of year, and Changbin hadn’t ever truly appreciated the fact that there were so many varying shades of grey along the spectrum of white to black.

The transition from August to April seemed to be so subtle, too. Within a few months, the barista at the cafe got better with his name, eventually able to speak it with confidence at about February. Changbin assumed she was flirting with him a few times when she passed his cup to him with various doodles and scribbles on them, but he shrugged it off.

Today’s cup holding his shot in the dark had a heart next nestled up to his name. Perhaps it would bring good luck for the principal seat exam.

Practice was uneventful, since the entire group was only together for the first half of the day. As the group disbanded into its respective sections for individualized practice, nerves bubbled up in Changbin’s veins as he steeled himself in preparation for the principal seat exam. Seungmin had wished him the most polite “good luck, man,” he could muster, even though they were both competing against each other.

Changbin had been in the middle of practicing his solo piece when a familiar voice pulled him from his concentration.

“Fantasia Cromatica?” The voice was layered with nervousness and anticipation.

The brunette sighed, trying to bite back his irritation at the loss of his focus. “Yeah,” he turned his head over his shoulder, eyeing the man that approached him. “Surprised you recognized it, Chan.”

Chan’s hand twitched as he lifted it for a brief second, like he was about to reach out to Changbin. “I’ve eyed that piece several times,” he brought his hand up to the back of his neck, awkwardly chuckling as he stood a respectable distance away from the brunette, “it’s intimidating, but it’s such a well-known viola solo. I guess I’m not surprised you picked something without accompaniment with how independent you are.”

It was supposed to be a compliment, but Chan’s words struck a sour chord within Changbin. The younger man shook his head once, eyeing the floor before he turned to look at the blonde. “I’m trying to practice,” his voice came off harsher than he had meant it to. Chan’s expression fell from nervously optimistic to slightly hurt, and Changbin rolled his eyes with a huff as he tried to pedal backwards. “Look,” he started, making awkward eye contact with Chan for a brief moment, “after I’m done with all of this, can we talk? I’ve got some stuff on my mind I wanna discuss with you.”

Chan looked excited for a moment as he nodded rapidly. “Sure,” he bit back a smile, “yeah, I’ll be here.”

“Thanks,” Changbin half-smiled as he turned back to his sheet music.

“Good luck, Changbin,” Chan brought his hand up to the brunette’s shoulder, offering a quick, warm squeeze that didn’t last nearly long enough. The slight touch caused Changbin’s breath to hitch in his throat, all of the air around him turning cool as Chan left.

Somehow, the younger man felt revitalized with the well wishes of his friend still lingering on his shoulder and dancing in his ears.

“So,” Minho greeted Changbin with a warm smile as the brunette entered the room. “You’ve decided to audition for the principal viola seat. After the initial chair placements, I didn’t think you would try, in all honesty.” The auburn-haired man smiled, tipping his wire-rimmed frames down his nose slightly, red pen in his hand.

Shit. Nerves lit up all over Changbin as he started to doubt himself, like he wasn’t supposed to be here.

“I’m glad you did.” Almost as if he could sense Changbin’s nervousness, Minho offered kind words in his usual soft, gentle voice. “Listen, I should be clear about something. I specifically sought out both you and Chan, as well as a few others, for this year’s contract placements. I don’t think you recognized me during the interview process, and I’m surprised you didn’t notice after the season started.”

“What?” The brunette cocked his head to the side, eyelids squinting upward in confusion.

Minho set the clipboard down on his desk, leaning forward as he rested his elbows on the table. He interlaced his fingers together and rested his chin on the backs of his hands. “I used to live on the east coast. I was in New Jersey for a while until I moved to Seattle a couple of years ago for this job. You and Chan performed Lament at the state competition in New York a few years ago. I believe you were both juniors back then, correct?”

Changbin’s throat went dry as he recognized Minho from so long ago, feeling somewhat dumb for not realizing it sooner. All those years ago, he was sitting in between two other judges, wearing the same wire-rimmed glasses as he wore today. “Y-yeah,” he stuttered. “That’s right.”

A smile crept up Minho’s face. “You both earned a perfect score, which was a rarity in and of itself, but what really captured me was how well both of you worked, the way you both blended together so naturally, beaming with raw, unadulterated talent. Such balance can’t be taught, only naturally weaved together by fate.”

Uneasiness came over Changbin in waves, like he was about to be judged far more critically than he anticipated.

“Anyway,” Minho brought his hands to his desk and sat back a bit. “The details of it all aren’t important. Just know that I’m happy that you’re both here. I’ll admit, however, that I was disappointed when Chan told me that he wasn’t interested in auditioning for the principal seat.”

A jolt surged up against the length of Changbin’s spine. “What?” He pressed, taken aback, unsure if what he just heard was accurate. “Chan told you he wasn’t interested?”

Minho nodded once. “He told me that, if given the opportunity, you deserved it more than he did, that he believed you were more talented and had the right leadership skills for the position.”

Changbin knitted his brows together. Nervousness had been replaced with a rush of anger. He initially found it odd that Chan wasn’t going to audition for the seat placement, sure, but the fact that he deliberately told Minho that Changbin was more talented and deserved it? That they didn’t even get to have a fair chance of competition between the two of them?

He felt strangely hurt, like Chan had somehow betrayed him. All for what, a seat placement? Something so trivial, after all these years?

His eyes looked down at his viola, eyeing that familiar chip one more time. The familiar word that echoed against Changbin’s head the night prior was so loud yet again.

Why?

Chan was pacing in the hallway when Changbin emerged from Minho’s office. “Hey!” He perked up with a smile on his face. “How’d it go, dude?”

Changbin shook his head, unable to look at Chan. A scowl curled up his lips as he bared his teeth, briskly walking to where his viola’s case rested. Practice was supposed to be for another hour, but he couldn’t bear another minute of being under the same roof as Chan, in the same claustrophobic space as him, not when he was seething with anger.

“Changbin?” Chan’s voice was closer, but quieter than before. “Was it that bad?”

The brunette’s fingers trembled as he shakily rested his viola in its case, eyeing the chip one last time before he slammed his case shut. He didn’t say anything as he made his way over to the instrument lockers, deciding to leave his viola in the practice hall overnight. Chan trailed behind him, his voice growing more and more concerned as Changbin paced away.

“Dude,” Chan pressed, reaching out to grab Changbin’s wrist as he slammed his locker door shut. “What the hell happened? Are you okay?”

“Why?” Changbin wanted to say so much more, but the single syllable was all he could muster.

Chan winced, shaking his head in confusion. “What are you talking—”

“Why didn’t you audition for the principal seat?” His voice was terse, yet was still draped in a layer of fragility. “No, why did you tell Minho you didn’t deserve it? We’re supposed to be rivals, right? Push each other and make ourselves better, like when we were kids. What the fuck happened?”

“Changbin,” the blonde’s composure dropped with his shoulders, a look of pity washing over his face. “I didn’t mean for it to be like that. I just… I didn’t want you to worry about it.”

“Tch, typical. You know, Chan,” the younger man scoffed, rolling his eyes before he stared down the blonde, “I don’t understand you. I’m not some fragile thing that needs to be protected, not by anyone, not by you. I deserved a fair shot at the principal seat placement, I deserved to compete against you, and you just insult me like I had no chance if you competed.”

Chan curled into himself slightly, hurt by Changbin’s words. “I didn’t realize—”

“Of course you didn’t.” Changbin shook his head and spun on his heel, padding off towards the exit in anger.

After a moment, Chan heard the downpour come through the door as Changbin ran off. He rushed to his locker, grabbing his jacket and his umbrella. “Changbin, wait!”

Seattle rain was never forgiving, especially during spring. The precipitation clattered against the ground at near-torrential speeds, the heavy noise only amplified as it reverberated against the concrete and the walls of nearby buildings.

“Changbin, please,” Chan shouted as the younger man stormed out of the practice hall and into the downpour that enveloped Capitol Hill in a dark haze. He took a few long strides as he chased after the seething brunette.

Changbin spun on his heel, shouting at the top of his lungs as he stared down Chan with wild eyes, his voice barely carrying along the heavy pattering of rain against concrete. “I don’t understand why you keep hiding, Chan! Why did you turn me down all those years ago?”

Chan shook his head, avoiding eye contact as he motioned for Changbin to come back. “Come here, Changbin, get under my umbrella before you get sick.”

“No!” Changbin shrieked in anger, tears streaming down his face as all of the emotions he had bottled up over the years suddenly erupted all at once. “Do you not understand how much I’ve loved you all these years? Ever since we were kids?”

“Bin, please, I—” The blonde’s shoulders sunk down as he recoiled into himself, eyes darting around as he was frozen in place.

“Everything! Everything I did was because of you, Chan!” The words burned as they came up from Changbin’s chest, the black lily of nervousness entangling its petals in between the empty spaces of his ribcage. “I put myself through hell to distract me from you, to get all of these thoughts out of my head, to stop fucking thinking about you for once!”

Chan was quiet, lips parted as he stared at Changbin in disbelief, tears unknowingly spilling from his eyelids.

The brunette refused to relent, shouting over the Seattle rain. “You were the only person that believed in me. You pushed us to do that duet, even though I thought it was stupid. You’re the reason we got the perfect score. You keep saying that I’m so much more talented than you, that you’d never be as good at me, but you’ve always been the one that’s naturally better at all of this.”

A beat passed between them before Changbin let out an anguished, angry shout. He was so tired of all of the pain and anguish he had felt over the years, and letting it all finally explode after so long, like a rubber band wound up too tightly, felt unnaturally liberating. Regardless of how Chan felt about Changbin after all of these years, he could finally let go of his agony, which was equal parts terrifying and relieving.

“Why? Why the fuck did you never apologize to your best friend, Chan? I have been in absolute fucking misery since you and I kissed so long ago and I don’t think you understand how much I wanted you to be there. How you kept creeping into my thoughts, even after all of these years, all I could think about was you.”

The blonde advanced, his face pulled into a downward scowl as his footsteps were heavy against the slick concrete. “It’s because I didn’t want to admit something,” Chan spoke in as low of a voice as he could while he pulled Changbin to his chest. “When you kissed me all those years ago, I was terrified about all of the what-ifs that started rushing around in my head. Like, what if I ruin my friendship? What if you’re not actually into me? What happens when I’m not good enough for you? What if I was actually straight and I was going to cause you nothing but pain after all this time?”

“Chan, stop.” Changbin shook his head, bringing his damp hands to Chan’s clammy face, rubbing away the tears that started spilled over, down his chilled cheeks. “You’re always good enough for me. You’re the only one that’s good enough for me; the only one I ever wanted.”

“What?”

“Listen,” the brunette sighed heavily, trying to ease the tension in his shoulders. “Don’t get me wrong, I loved Wooyoung, but, the thing is…”

Chan watched the expressions on Changbin’s face cross a spectrum from confusion, to anguish, to regret.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you, as horrible as it sounds. Sure, we were drunk when we had that one kiss, but it was the best kiss of my life. Hell,” he hiccuped, trying to swallow back tears, “I thought I lost my chance with you forever after high school. So, I settled. Wooyoung was the only other friend I had, and he was interested in me. I took a shot with him and, yeah, we were fine, but it wasn’t anything spectacular. I was ready to settle for a life of mediocrity until he decided he didn’t want to come to Seattle with me. I was finally free of both of you when I got here. I could leave you both behind.”

Changbin brought his forehead down to Chan’s wet shoulder, the fabric squishing against his skin as he rolled around and sighed. “It’s horrible,” he dropped his hands and clutched at the lapels of the blonde’s jacket, pulling himself closer into the older man’s embrace. “I was so glad to be free of both Wooyoung and the ghost of you. So, when I saw you that day at the cafe, it was like all hell had broken loose; everything came rushing back and I was overwhelmed by the weight of my past. I was forced to reconcile with the one person I hurt the most, the one who hurt me the most, and the one I never thought I would be able to forgive.”

A soft chuckle echoed around Chan’s chest as he rested his cheekbone against Changbin’s sopping wet brown hair. “We can’t escape each other.”

“I guess not,” Changbin quietly relented, releasing Chan’s jacket from his grasp, his arms languidly falling to his side in exhaustion. He was tired of being angry for so long, for harbouring such a deep-seated resentment against his best friend, for being mad at himself for never forgiving Chan after all this time over something so minor. So fucking tired. “I’m sorry, Chan. For all of this shit.”

The tapping of Seattle rain against Chan’s umbrella seemed so muted as the men stood up against each other, lost in their little bubble as the world disappeared around them. Nothing else mattered but being warmed by each other. Chan dropped his hand from Changbin’s back for a moment, then brought his fingers up to the underside of Changbin’s chin.

“Changbin,” his voice was timid as he tilted the younger man’s chin upward, both of them making awkward eye contact for a moment. A few drops of rain fell from Changbin’s hair, mingling against the tears that were rolling down his face, the droplets joining to become something greater, a small river down the valley of his cheek. “Even if you don’t forgive me after all this time, I forgive you. We were both idiots back then. What matters is that we’re here now. We can leave everything behind and move forward — together.”

“Together.” Changbin repeated, his voice cracking in between the syllables. He hated feeling so weak, but he couldn’t help it. All of the emotions from the past few years coming up, burning in his chest as the realization that what he yearned for all this time settled. After all this time, he was finally where he felt comfortable, secure, happy, with no strings attached.

Chan.

His arms were warm, a shelter to protect him from the weakness he was feeling. The happiness in his eyes and the bright smile on his face was Changbin’s sunshine during the overcast, dreary Seattle days.

Chan was home. His home.

The pattering of rain against Chan’s umbrella was suddenly so quiet, a rush of warmth blossomed up from Changbin’s cheeks to the tips of his ears. The black lily of anxiety that rested in between the spaces of his ribcage blossomed from black, to crimson, to a vibrant pink. All of his feelings for Chan became crystal clear, and he couldn’t hold them back any longer.

There was nothing left to lose.

“I love you. Still, after all of this time. I love you so much, Chan.” The words left his lips before he crashed them against Chan’s, much less awkwardly than their kiss so many years ago. His hands reached up to Chan’s blonde locks with a sudden renewed, yearning energy, grasping at the strands and tugging at them as if he would sink into the ground if he let go.

Rain came pouring down all around them as Chan dropped his umbrella, bringing one of his hands down to the small of Changbin’s back, the other hand softly cupping the younger man’s face. “I love you too, Changbin,” he whispered breathlessly as he pulled back for just a split second. Chan brought the brunette closer into his grasp, droplets of rain falling between them, rolling down their faces and in between their lips.

Like Connecticut, Changbin was vivacissimo, as wild as the hustle and bustle of the east coast. Like Seattle, Chan was andante, languid and calming.

Chan was his home, where Changbin belonged all along.

[detective-with-one-arm]

♛ Hurt someone out of jealousy

✿ Refuse someone’s kindness or affection

☢ Kill someone close to them for the greater good

Vanilla!Rachel

♛ Hurt someone out of jealousy

Not on purpose. While she doesn’t really get jealous, there is the smallest sharp prick in her chest. But she keeps that shit to herself and supports her friends and loved ones no matter what. She would honestly rather die than let her jealousy leak out and affect her relationships.

✿ Refuse someone’s kindness or affection

Most of the time, no. She’s generally a very affectionate, patient, and kind person and is typically the one who initiates it. But if something has happened and she’s been hurt by someone, she’ll need some time away on her own before she’ll accept anything from them and if it comes across as hollow and selfish, then she will reject it.

☢ Kill someone close to them for the greater good

I was hoping someone would ask this.

Because the thing is...she would. She wouldn’t want to. She would do absolutely everything in her power not to. It is the last thing in the world she would ever want to live with doing. But if there is no other choice and no other way out and if either they or someone holding them captive was so dangerous and was causing so much harm to people that the only way to stop them was to either kill or allow them to kill someone close to her...she would do it.

And it would haunt her for the rest of her life.

It would destroy her.

Siren!Rachel

♛ Hurt someone out of jealousy

She more just gets really clingy and sad. Like, she would never hurt someone out of jealousy, but she might make them feel kinda guilty. Not on purpose, but she’s been alone for pretty much her whole life and once she has friends, she tends to get really attached to them really quickly. Even more so if she finds a mate. So she’ll more do the whole ‘you don’t want me anymore...?’ sorta thing. But this is nothing some soft reassurance can’t cure. She’s just lonely and insecure and doesn’t really know better.

✿ Refuse someone’s kindness or affection

Never. She cherishes her friendships that she gains and would never take their affections or kindnesses for granted. This does make her a bit naïve and too trusting and forgiving for her own good, but she doesn’t really know better. All she knows is that she wants her friends to stay.

☢ Kill someone close to them for the greater good

She would literally rather die.

Sea Naga!Rachel

♛ Hurt someone out of jealousy

Oh, definitely. She doesn’t really attach herself much to someone emotionally. But when she does, she can definitely have a selfish streak. If that person seems to prefer someone else’s company to hers, she’ll be rather irritable towards her chosen partner and will do just about everything to keep them to herself. And if they somehow separate from her, she’ll probably end up hurting the person getting more of her partner’s attention.

✿ Refuse someone’s kindness or affection

She wouldn’t...refuse it, exactly. She would more just be confused by it. Not that she’s particularly soft or anything, she would just be baffled as to why anyone would show her kindness. It’s neither a negative or positive feeling, it’s just confusing as shit.

☢ Kill someone close to them for the greater good

She doesn’t really...care about a greater good. She just exists in a state of self-indulgence. That being said, if someone did manage to get close to her, she would never want them dead. She might hurt them if they do something that genuinely angers or pisses her off, but she would never kill them.

Ichthyocentaur!Rachel

♛ Hurt someone out of jealousy

No. She would never hurt someone out of jealousy, but she doesn’t get as clingy as Siren!Rachel probably would. Maybe a little dejected, but she would let her partner or friend do whatever they’d like. She would just sort of sit on the sidelines and wait for them to come back and give her attention. She’s already shy and tends to keep her distance, but once she actually makes a connection with someone, she’ll be around them more, but she won’t really hold onto them if they’d rather maintain their distance. She’d feel too shy to say anything.

✿ Refuse someone’s kindness or affection

She’s already hesitant to approach people as is, so she would be hesitant to accept anything from anyone. But if someone she knows and it decently familiar shows her kindness and affection, she would accept it reluctantly.

☢ Kill someone close to them for the greater good

She would probably run away rather than have to make the choice. She doesn’t really have a concept of ‘greater good’ and more just is concerned about immediate self-preservation. She’s not really a fighter or a hunter, so she would probably run away first. If someone close to her died because of this, it would probably upset and devastate her for a good while.

Pirate!Rachel

♛ Hurt someone out of jealousy

She definitely has a bit more of a jealous streak, but she wouldn’t do anything to someone else out of jealousy. After all, she earned her position as captain not by being a spiteful bitch but genuinely gaining the camaraderie of the crew and then culling down the former captain that inspired mutiny and skullduggery within the crew. She’s become quite the diplomat growing up with the scurvy crew, so she’d know how to communicate with her partner how she feels and if she trusts them, so long as they’re honest and she knows they aren’t afraid of being honest, her jealousy isn’t something to worry about. In fact, she finds something kind of attractive about a partner who likes making her pay attention to them. It’s kinda hot to her. At least, so long as her partner knows that’s what they’re doing.

✿ Refuse someone’s kindness or affection

While she’s figuring or sussing someone out, yeah, probably. Despite how tightly knit she is with her own crew, even she has a healthy amount of skepticism towards them and takes things offered to her with the utmost caution. With someone she doesn’t know too well, that increases by tenfold. But once she’s absolutely sure about someone, she actually enjoys it, not that she’ll let it show in front of her crew. She may be about fun and adventure and revelry and camaraderie, but she doesn’t let them think she’s soft.

☢ Kill someone close to them for the greater good

The most ‘greater good’ she really cares about is her crew and her ship. Maybe even some of the towns she’s stopped at that she really likes and is on good terms with. With her history and her having to usurp the previous captain, she would not hesitate to take someone out if someone she’s invested her resources and trust in became a threat. She would put them down in an instant and make an example of what happens when you abuse her trust and her generosity.

Putting the rest of these under a cut because this post is already long and it’s gonna be even longer.

Vanilla!Howard/Collector!Howard

♛ Hurt someone out of jealousy

Most definitely. And he would do it in a really sneaky and underhanded way. This man is really good at manipulation and getting right to the emotional wound that will sting the most to ward someone away from his object of obsession affection, including gaslighting.

✿ Refuse someone’s kindness or affection

I wouldn’t say he would refuse someone’s kindness. Affection, definitely. He’s not really an affectionate or intimate person, but he won’t refuse kindnesses shown to him. But accepting them means absolutely nothing to him.

☢ Kill someone close to them for the greater good

He does not care about a ‘greater good’ nor does he really consider anyone ‘close’ to him, but there are no lengths he won’t sink to to further his own goals.

Siren!Howard

♛ Hurt someone out of jealousy

Oh, yes. He most certainly would. If his catch somehow has someone else that would either be looking for them or they somehow manage to escape to, Howard will not hesitate to make sure his catch knows that they’re his and that that’s not changing. Though, he might not just hurt or kill the other. He might just be tempted on capturing them, too, and depositing his brood in them, too, and force his initial catch to watch. Just to make a point.

You and everything you have is his.

✿ Refuse someone’s kindness or affection

He doesn’t really care about either of these things. That being said, if his catch was doing kindnesses and being affectionate towards him, even if it was against their will or out of fear, he won’t refuse it. He takes great pleasure from it and it boosts his ego.

☢ Kill someone close to them for the greater good

Once again, he does not give a shit about a ‘greater good’ or even has a ‘greater good’ to care about. He operates entirely out of self-interest. However, if someone were to harm (at least from his perspective) his catch, he wouldn’t hesitate to put them down.

Ichthyocentaur!Howard

♛ Hurt someone out of jealousy

He will stomp them to death with his hooves. Nobody touches or even goes near his catch.

✿ Refuse someone’s kindness or affection

When he puts on the whole ‘charming steed’ act, he definitely won’t. But once he’s caught his victim, anybody else who tries will promptly be met with violence.

☢ Kill someone close to them for the greater good

More or less the same answer as Siren!Howard, but it’s less ‘I won’t let you harm my mate’ and more ‘don’t fucking touch them or I will reduce your bodies to piles of flattened gore.”

Vanilla!Serena

♛ Hurt someone out of jealousy

Under ordinary circumstances, she won’t get close enough to someone to feel jealousy. But if she does, she will probably punish them in some way. She doesn’t know how to handle her emotions very well, especially in a relationship and she doesn’t know how to express them in a healthy or productive way.

✿ Refuse someone’s kindness or affection

Oh, all the fucking time. She might pretend to for the sake of keeping her act up long enough for her to trap her victim, but she does not give a shit or want it. Well, okay, secretly she does but she’s not gonna make that known. That being said, if she does end up getting close to someone, she will do so. Very very very reluctantly and hesitantly and with a decent amount of convincing, but she will do it.

☢ Kill someone close to them for the greater good

Technically speaking, she’s convinced herself that all her killings are ‘for the greater good.’ Even though she’s operating entirely on selfish interests, she does believe all in all that what she’s doing is ‘for the greater good.’ She doesn’t want to let anyone get close to her, but if she does, she would really only do it if she was convinced they were somehow different. If they prove her wrong, she won’t hesitate to sentence them to the same fate as her other victims.

Siren!Serena/Ichthyocentaur!Serena

♛ Hurt someone out of jealousy

She can’t be jealous over something she has no interest in having. She only cares about one thing and that’s killing and devouring people.

✿ Refuse someone’s kindness or affection

No, but only because she’s trying to lure them into their watery doom.

☢ Kill someone close to them for the greater good

There’s no such thing as ‘close to’ or ‘greater good.’ She just kills and eats people.

Vanilla!Nathan/Marine Biologist!Nathan

♛ Hurt someone out of jealousy

Nathan doesn’t get jealous. At all. So, no chance of harm coming to someone if he did. And even if he did, he would never want to hurt anyone regardless.

✿ Refuse someone’s kindness or affection

Not on purpose. A lot of the time, he gets so enraptured in something that he forgets to acknowledge some things, but he does really appreciate the kindnesses and gifts people show him. Y’know, once he makes close connections outside of his scientific pursuits.

☢ Kill someone close to them for the greater good

No. Not under any circumstances.

Mer!Nathan

♛ Hurt someone out of jealousy

Nathan is absolutely fascinated by humans. So if he discovered one was equally fascinated with him, he would be ecstatic! So if they were to spend more time away from him with someone else, he might get a little possessive and jealous, but he would never want to hurt anybody.

✿ Refuse someone’s kindness or affection

He might be a little averse to affection, at least until he gets close with someone, but any positive and kind attention given to him from humans is accepted. It allows him to be closer and understand them better.

☢ Kill someone close to them for the greater good

The closest thing to ‘greater good’ to him would be a threat to someone he cared about. If he saw that they were in immediate danger, he would absolutely kill someone to protect them.

[robertdowneyjjr]

thoughts on endgame

if you haven’t seen endgame yet please turn away now because this is full of spoilers.

seriously spoiler nation here. turn back now while you still have the chance.

are you still here?

okay then.

here i go.

it’s gonna get long.

it’s been about seven hours since i got out of the movie theatre and overall? i’m upset. and i’m fucking pissed.

also, if you don’t know this by now, i’m a tony stan. my thoughts are biased. sue me.

listen. it’s not an awful movie. overall it’s an okay film. the shots were beautiful. the actors were all excellent. there was lots of fan service and there were tons of moments where it felt really fun. we laughed. we cried. we cheered. but as much as the filmmakers would like to insist that the film is satisfying, i just don’t agree, mainly because of how they decided to end the story.

the good and the mediocre

to start off, rdj’s acting is great. of course it is. it’s rdj. he did amazing with what he had to work with and most of my crying was because of him.

tony and nebula on the ship was great. he was already so fatherly with her, teaching her how to play paper football and encouraging her. and she was looking after him too. there was so much mutual care there that i loved, and i wish that we got more interaction between the two of them throughout the movie.

that little tear he shed when he closed his eyes to go to sleep on the benatar after recording his message for pepper killed me.

when joe russo said that the film was cathartic and evans said that it’s satisfying i can only apply these words to the one scene where tony finally gets to have his outburst and tell the others off for not believing him when he said a threat was coming. he deserved that moment. his anger was completely justified. and when he called steve out specifically, saying that he said that they’d lose together but they ended up not even doing that? when he called steve a liar? that was cathartic.

nat talking about how she used to have nothing and then she got this job, got this family. when she was crying over clint and what he was doing as ronin. that hurt.

MORGAN STARK. oh my god she is a cutie and all of her interactions with tony are just the best. this is the most valid part of the entire movie and that’s that on that. tony is so soft with her and it’s clear just how much he loves her and cherishes the family that he’s managed to have despite the tragedy that happened five years ago. this relationship is perfect and instead of the rest of the movie we should have just gotten three hours of tony and morgan’s father/daughter shenanigans.

tony being domestic and doing the dishes is all i ever wanted

doctor hulk was an interesting concept and i’m glad that bruce finally managed to find a balance between bruce and hulk and melded the two together. but there were times i do feel like he was played off as a joke too much.

the stevetony content is okay, i guess. i honestly wish we got more between steve and tony settling their differences beyond tony just handing the shield back and letting steve know that he figured out the issue with time travel that they’d been having. i wish we had more of them talking and working out their differences from the past. it jumped from tony telling steve that the trust is gone to him asking steve if he trusts him a little too soon without anything ever being discussed.

like really for a film that was marketed to basically be a stevetony event it didn’t really end up with that many interactions between them so it was disappointing.

i love that in the five years since the snap the remaining heroes managed to become friends. nebula and rhodey is an especially great one. and carol and rhodey’s brief interaction at the start of the film got my carolrhodey heart fluttering.

i do like the team interactions we got, even though there weren’t as many as i expected. it does feel like they’re finally seeing each other as a team again for the first time since the party scene in aou. i especially liked when they were working together to figure out when to travel back to in order to find the infinity stones, and that scene with tony, nat, and bruce together on the conference table. i wish we got more of the tony and nat friendship throughout the mcu.

the entire travel back to 2012 new york sequence was a trip. getting to see these characters interacting for the first time again was great. to see the aftermath of the battle was fun -- how they all got drinks from tony’s bar together. they seemed immediately comfortable with each other which was nice. all of them getting into the elevator together but telling the hulk to take the stairs. and speaking of hulk, bruce pretending to be 2012!hulk and smashing things halfheartedly was kinda hilarious.

the blatant ogling of steve’s ass. oh, sorry. america’s ass. that was great. thank you for servicing the stevetony shippers. and steve’s own comment about it after he got in a fistfight with his past self was funny too.

the excessive use of the word “shit” was a great callback to aou and i enjoyed it immensely.

mark 85 is sleek af and i love a shiny gold thotty boy

the cap scenes in 2012 were nice fan service. steve getting into that elevator with the strike team -- everyone thought it was going to be a reenactment of the scene from tws. but the fact that steve said “hail hydra” instead to throw them off was genius. he looked so proud of himself for that.

i like the rhodey and nebula team up. their dynamic is really great and rhodey has some of the best lines in the movie tbh. i love him.

i’m iffy on this but i don’t like that they validated howard stark’s shitty parenting. call him abusive and leave it at that. sure, he admitted that he didn’t want to turn out like his dad, but uhh i guess he did because look how his relationship with tony turned out. but i mean i’m happy for tony that he sort of got the closure he needed?? idk. i’m not sure about this.

it was really touching getting to see thor be able to talk to his mother again. i love frigga.

tony’s version of the gauntlet is fucking badass. it’s ten times sleeker than thanos’ gauntlet and just cool as hell. and dude! think about it. thanos had to travel to nidavellir to get a gauntlet made that could harness the power of the infinity stones. tony didn’t need to do that. he made his own gauntlet with his own tech and he didn’t need to go to any other planet for that. i love one genius.

steve wielding mjolnir was amazing in that moment. it was super cool, you know. he seemed so natural with it and he was even able to call lightning with it. awesome! but once we got to the ending i was like 😒 was he really that worthy. i’m really salty, okay.

the scene when all the undusted come back, and the other heroes scattered around the world join in, and they appear at the compound for that final battle -- it was incredible and very moving. thanos thought he was gonna win but nah!!! avengers assemble!! dope.

RESCUE. we waited so long and finally we were fed.

peter and tony’s hug got me bawling like a baby. i’m so distraught.

that scene with carol coming in and getting the gauntlet from peter, and all the women coming together and saying, “she has help”?? i nutted. that was amazing.

the bad and the ugly

THE SUPREME LACK OF TONY AND RHODEY CONTENT, WHAT THE FUCK. when they landed back on earth and rhodey didn’t get a chance to hug tony...hm. did not like that! let these best friends hug, ffs. and why didn’t we get to see rhodey interacting with morgan?? this is fake as hell.

it was kinda shitty that steve and co. had to show up right when tony was having a good time with his daughter to deliver the news about the quantum tunnel and time travel to tony. because of course tony would never sit idly by when there’s a problem he can solve. especially not when he’s reminded that he lost peter in that awful decimation five years ago. it’s not in his nature to not help. so that’s what he does. he solves a problem and he goes to suit up again because he would never forgive himself if he didn’t even try.

thor......they really turned him into a depressed alcoholic that’s just playing fortnite at home instead of a ruler looking after himself and the people he was supposed to protect.....they really just erased all his development from ragnarok huh. i’m mad.

also, a lack of tony and bruce interaction?? where are my science bro moments?? they were supposed to be the two biggest brains of the team working on mechanics of time travel but we really couldn’t have seen even a brief montage of them working together to science things out? wow fake!

also now that i think about it, where were dum-e and u?? where???? where were the best bots in the world?????

idk why clint and nat were the ones to go to vormir. definitely was not expecting this at all, but fuck. okay. this is where the anger really starts. okay. i get it. i get that nat sacrificed herself so that clint would have the chance to reunite with his family after this shitshow was all over. but nat had family too. she said it herself. she found her family with the avengers. but they really decided to throw another woman off the cliff to fuel more man pain. great! just great!!

seriously, nat deserved better.

they really. they really fucking killed off tony. they really did that and they had tony sacrifice himself. and all for what? shock factor? it wasn’t necessary. they didn’t need to kill him to end his arc. he could have been permanently injured instead, to the point where he wouldn’t be able to suit up again. he would have happily accepted this as his last mission. his priority was always to get home to his wife and daughter. despite the trauma he went through over the last ten years, the ptsd he came away with after sending a nuke through a wormhole, his team’s falling out, watching his best friend fall from the sky, being betrayed by someone he thought was a friend, getting stabbed by his own weapon on an alien planet, and losing a kid that he treated like his own, he managed to find a sliver of happiness with pepper and morgan. he had a happy ending. the happy ending he had wanted for the last several years. but the filmmakers took that away from him. they took away his happiness, and not just that. they took away a woman’s husband. they took away a little girl’s father. it was unnecessarily cruel and it sends a shitty message. it’s a disservice to tony, a disservice to the iron family, and a disservice to the fans that have stuck with the mcu from the very beginning, when iron man first came out and we decided to hop on for the ride.

tony deserved better.

also, rhodey should have been able to say something to tony before he drifted off for the last time. i was glad that he was the first to find tony, but they should have had their moment. this man had been with tony through thick and thin and he deserved to say his proper goodbyes.

or at the very least, they should have had a moment during tony’s funeral where the important people delivered their eulogies and spoke the words that needed to be said about tony. an explicit acknowledgement from the characters about how much tony had done, how integral he was to their success and survival, and how he made the ultimate sacrifice to get rid of their biggest threat so that the world could be put back together.

the only consolation i get from this is that tony made that sacrifice and died on the battlefield where the rest of the team could see. that the undusted and the living both are aware of how selfless tony is (and has always been), and he gave up his happy ending to make sure that the rest of them got theirs.

well his “i am iron man” was badass too so i’m glad he got to go out with that.

TONY DESERVED BETTER.

MORGAN DESERVED BETTER.

IRON FAMILY DESERVED BETTER.

(cheeseburgers broke me)

speaking of happy endings, lmfao what the fuck @ steve? i’m pissed at this ending. that was honestly the most selfish thing that steve could have done, all because the russos have always had a permanent boner for steve’s story with peggy. it’s just so sad. they won’t let him move on. his character development is stifled. it’s so backwards. peggy had a family and lived a full life without steve, but after seeing her for thirty seconds while he was in the past, he really decided that he needed to go back and spend the rest of his life with her. he threw away everything he worked for in the present -- his teammates, an unfrozen and recovered bucky, his running buddy and overall great guy sam -- for a relationship with a woman that he shared one single kiss with and that he knew for, what, like two or three years? jesus. let him move on! let him find happiness in the present! he never gave love another chance just because he thought he thought he met the love of his life 70 years ago. who’s to say he wouldn’t have found love in the present, huh??

they did him dirty. they did peggy dirty. and tbh they did sharon dirty from the very beginning. but that’s salt for another day.

so here we have tony, dead at 53 who really only experienced true happiness for five years with the woman he had been in love with for over a decade. then we have steve, who was on this earth for 105 years, then went back in time and got another 40 or so odd years of happiness with a woman he had only known for a few short years.

sure. that sounds fair. totally fair.

fuck no, it’s not. it’s a terrible fucking ending.

that’s just shit storytelling and if this was done all for the shock factor to make sure that we couldn’t guess what happens to these characters then it was a poor decision and it completely ruins tony and steve’s story arcs.

what kind of shit ending is this.

i didn’t like it.

[merrysithmas]

you may have talked about this before but do you believe boris already knew he was queer and first approached theo bc he liked him or that he started crushing after they developed a close friendship and theo was what made him question his sexuality? i think theres reasons to believe either side- boris being bold enough to cuddle him in bed seems like he was making a move but him suddenly “loving” kotku seems like an impulsive move out of fear bc he realized he might like a boy. oof idk

I think Boris knew he was attracted to boys — which is evident by his playful, charming, almost teenaged-desperate pursuit of Theo. I think he probably inherently knew this about himself for a long time. I think Boris has always been physically attracted to boys since he’s entered puberty and since he’s still a young teen it is kind of a fun, funny, interesting, enlivening thing for him.

He’s never had a stable life and despite being all over the world he’s led an extremely sheltered existence in a certain way with only one terrible person as his constant (Vladimir). Boris lets it slip to Theo that everywhere the miners go they are hated — this includes Boris. Boris is hated by the public everywhere they go. So long as he is part of their unit, he is hated. That is mortifying to intelligent good-natured Boris. That is why he learns to slip out and around, to be so personable and friendly. His world travels have not been so glorious but probably rather extremely lonely and isolating (as with Judy in Canada), hurtful, and damaging. That is why Bami and Judy (and eventually, Theo) stand out to him so much — people who were kind to him in a childhood of isolated misery and directionlessness. Boris has no moral hang ups about his same-sex attraction - why should he? This directionlessness in his key developmental years is also a good thing: He never grew up around any sort of organized belief systems or stayed bound within an orthodox culture for too long for it to indoctrinate him as its own.

I think people really underestimate how incredibly remote and friendless Boris’ life must have been. Boris is a cheerful boy who Theo says is often plagued by black moods and sullen attitudes. He is an abused and secluded child dragged from location to location with literally no love or stability and constantly brutally beaten to the point where it does not even phase him. Boris actually equates love with that abuse — and nonchalantly claims his father loves him. That is painful to read, that amount of damage.

Living with a bunch of derelict miners whose leader was HIS FATHER (so surely then mostly assholes) and who are “hated everywhere they go” Boris has probably seen any NUMBER of things a conservative-minded person would (likely often erroneously) see as “morally unacceptable” — it’s like Boris is traveling the world with a crew of pirates. He’s probably seen drinking, all kinds of drugs commonly used in front of his face. He has esoteric knowledge about drug use that a child of his age should not — so he was taught by the miners: roll like this, dont include the stems, never mix this, tuck snuff like this, you can get this kind of drug here here and here, it isn’t safe if it doesn’t look like this. His young child’s mind eager to learn sucked up this black information from men who probably didn’t have a second thought to a child or what his developmental needs were. He’s probably first hand witnessed sex workers copulating with his father’s crew (how else would be have learned about the opportunity to lose his virginity in an Alaskan parking lot to a sex worker?), definitely thievery, and said he saw his father murder a man in the mine once and cover it up. Boris’ mind is full of a lifetime of this morally shadowed behavior being presented as normal, or at least secret but common.

I think he understands his attraction to boys in this same way. I think he feels it isn’t “appropriate” to share with Outsiders but it is something that Happens, something that is no one’s business but his own, and something that brings him pleasure and happiness and therefore something he will look for. However he knows it isn’t common or visible or “appropriate” to be showy about it in front of others — especially not people who could judge him (kids at school), kick him out (society), or hurt him (his father). Boris treats his attraction to Theo like his other vices and “bad” habits - barrels head first — but secret: deep dive into happy drug use (but don’t show his dad), steals everything he ever needs (but don’t let them see, put it in my coat), lies when it suits him (lies to Xandra and Larry and his father and Theo too), happily sleeps with Theo and has sex with him (but this is between you-and-me).

He knows other people might have a problem with his actions — but he does not. So that’s his hangup there. He is aware of and ever-vigilant of his surroundings. School: a safe place isolated from his father. He is free and happy to do what he wants at school — including crush on and go after Theo who he clearly likes. He thinks Theo is cute, flirts with him, tries to get him to notice him, talks to him after class, sits next to him on the bus, begs him to come over his house, tries to impress him with far-flung stories, gives him alcohol because it’s what he’s seen his father’s men do in pursuit of romantic partners or as a bonding ritual with one another.

Theo’s house is also a safe place. So safe in fact that Boris starts to leave behind some of the maladjusted development of his childhood and become more of a happy, clear-minded person. Boris and Theo suffer from arrested development and one of themes of the book is childhood lost. They are forced to mimic adults either knowingly or unknowingly, and act in ways that children should not have to in order to survive this Adult World alone. With one another they begin to heal from their traumas, their affection for one another the catalyst. Theo cooks for him, talks to a babbling eager-to-talk Boris (imagine how few people have listened to or understood the ideas of a smart boy like Boris, often surrounded by oafish alcoholics, his violent father where he is expected to keep quiet, or cultures where he does not speak the language), Theo sleeps next to him willingly, he likes Boris, a boy from New York (the top of the world!) he think Boris is funny and smart and worldly, shares his dog with him, hangs on his words, becomes his companion, cares for him if he drinks too much, tried to tend his wounds, welcomes him gratefully into his broken family, watches his favorite movies with him, celebrates holidays with him, inherently values him — and so starts to mend Boris’ broken heart.

A lot of things and viewpoints Boris has are clearly repetitions of things he has heard his father or the miners say — “Christmas is for children” (of course they’d say that to a tiny Boris longing for the magic of Christmas as a child stuck in a mining camp watching the peripheral joy of children around him and coming back to bleak hunger and a dark home), or “god yes I loved having sex with her” (about his hooker in the parking lot — Boris then says he knew she didn’t enjoy it and never shows enjoyment but rather avoidance towards women and girls in any genuine way afterwards, yet covets Theo’s physical company).

Theo on the other hand, who for a short while and then so painfully ripped from him, grew up with love. His natural disposition in Vegas comes from a place of being so recently loved and cherished by his mother and he here, in this lonely place, turns the focus of this disposition onto the one person who is kind and protective towards him: Boris — his one light in a life that has turned very dark. This is like an alien world to Boris. Lonesome and neglected Boris is touched and startled and soon changed by this kindness. So much so that Theo, unknowingly, alters the rest of Boris’ life (Boris feels Theo saved his life).

So that is why I believe the Kotku Gay Panic came about. After their climactic Vegas pool scene where their abuse and trauma is opened to one another (their wounds from their fathers, from fire, literally pouring into the purifying chlorine of the watery womb - mother - pool as they try to drown one another, angry at their attraction to one another, but then cling to and save one another instead) Boris begins to not just have fun and have sex and have freedom with Theo (all okay things by Boris’ standards as long as it is secret) — after that scene and they sleep together and Boris satisfies that teenaged human sexual need... they continue to hookup and be at bliss for a very long, happy time where they both begin to psychologically heal— Boris doesn’t just have sex and fun with Theo, he realizes he starts to love Theo.

Love - an extremely foreign concept to Boris who literally freaks the fuck out because he has no baseline for it. It isn’t the type of “love” that his father gives him (violent, untrustworthy), it isn’t the type of “love” the men who grew up around valued (cheap parking lot sex), it isn’t the kind of “love” his idol Larry has with Xandra (Larry lies to Xandra all the time), it isn’t the kind of “love” Boris has seen in his favorite movies (men and women over and over). No, this love with Theo is very very scary to him. Very perhaps dangerous. He doesn’t know.

I think Boris accepts his physical attraction to men as nbd. I think he probably feels most people feel such attractions or some other harmless private desires that certain people may see as an aberrant from “normal” for whatever reason (either typical kinks and silly hush hush sex shop porno stuff - or other far more despicable things he’s witnessed his father’s men do) and so thinks nothing of his own innocent, consensual goodtime-centered desires. Boris, who likely grew up with little exposure to healthy LGBTQ representation and has a very isolated POV in some ways, likely to some degree at the Vegas point in his life (however casually self-accepting he is) equates same-sex attraction with hush hush taboo sex activities — nothing to be ashamed of, but you’re not going to tell your dad.

As long as it is a personal thing, for him only, Boris embraces it. But it is the emotionality, the healing, the care, the love that freaks Boris out and makes him make a run for it to Kotku — only to recede to what he knows and repeat the exact kind of fake “love” he was taught by his father: unbelievable exclamations of devotion (Boris’ dad sobbing and telling him he loves him + “I love her I love her! She’s beautiful and perfect!”) coupled with the black truth (Boris’ dad beating the shit out of him + Boris beating Kotku).

Boris knows he likes boys but when he starts to love one — that’s when he runs away. Because that means something totally different: societally and personally.