#but the summer is almost here and after exams im locking myself in a room for a week for nothing but bg3 and drawing/writing

[kawareo]

Hi I just want to say I LOVE strike so much, he’s such a funny little guy. Well I just saw your post about how strike and Sarevok view each other and now I’m curious as to how Strike dealt with the murder tribunal once he and the tadfools got to the city! I can only imagine what a bitch Sarevok was to him when he realized strike was still alive tbh

So glad you like Strike that much!! Have a weirdly soft sketchbook Sarevok :)

Important thing to mention is that on my first playthrough, I completely missed the Murder tribunal and therefore, Sarevok, and I have only met him a few weeks ago, so I've since updated the way him and Strike interracted

Kind of. Strike feels the same way about Sarevok as he did before; he does not like him, but still, Sarevok is the closest thing to a male role model figure he's had in his life (that isn't Bhaal but yknow thats a god so he doesn't really count). Sarevok hated him at first because Strike's existance makes it clear that Bhaal never believed in Sarevok's bloodline.

But, Strike is really good at what he does! And imo Sarevok is sexist as hell so he does warm up to him over Orin over time. So when Strike returns from the dead, Sarevok sees this as if the entire thing was just a test from Bhaal and that Strike has passed it, because he did return, and here he is; no memory of who he is, yet his unholy blood brought him back to where he belongs. Sarevok basically sees him as a younger version of himself who now, that he is 'over his rebellious teenage phase', has realized the true gift of Bhaal and returned to put an end to Orin's girlish ways and lead the temple to its rightful glory.

None of this means post-tadpol Strike agrees with him or becomes the Chosen again, by the way. But yeah, Sarevok is genuinely happy for Strike to be there, and it would honestly fuck Strike up way more than if he was met with hate - that's his family, after all. And they treat him as part of it, whether he likes it or not.

[sunflowersunshinevol6]

Adore You [H.S]

Summary: Harry meets Lily in the summer of 1965, after graduating Uni he flies to the states to work as a photographer. It's at one of his boss's house parties that they meet and sparks fly.

But when Harry is asked to go to Viatnam and photograph the horrors happening there, will the distance tear them apart? And what about the darkness surrounding him when he returns? Will she be able to heal him.

And she...she's not the same either.

Taking in the beauty of the sixties, this is a love story that spans years and culminates in one final admission. Harry will always adore her.

Chapter One:

"And we drink our coffee and pretend not to look at each other." Charles Baudelaire

The party was in full swing when Lily arrived, nervously walking up the path to her old friend's home. People lingered outside as music thumped from inside. It reminded her very much of the parties they attended at Berkely only three years ago. It was amazing how time could fly and people could change.

"Lily!" The first person she sees is dear old Louis Tomlinson. The two of them had dated in college, albeit briefly, but that hadn't gotten in the way of their friendship. Lily rushed into his open arms, laughing as her friend embraced her warmly. "Let me get a good look at ya love," she smiled, not realizing how much she had actually missed his accent. He had come from overseas. England to be exact, a town called Doncaster. She loved his heavy accent.

He took in her outfit. Lily wore a creamed colored skirt and white blouse tucked into it. She wore a pair of black ballet flats and had a few gold bracelets on her wrists, not one for jewelry, she decided to skip the rings and a necklace, fearing if she got to drunk she may actually lose them.

"You look lovely as eva," he praised, causing her to blush slightly.

"I could say the same about you," she complimented back, almost shouting in his ear. Louis wore a white button down shirt and grey slacks. He would look good in a paper bag. Lily thought jealously. He was always so effortlessly cool looking. "Have you seen Marie around? She invited me and I never got the chance to thank her." Louis shrugged, bringing his beer to his lips.

"Not since the party started actually. She's been a proper host." The music changes, The Beatles 'Love Me Do' begins to play. "Fancy a dance love?" Louis shouted over the music. Lily nodded, taking her friend's hand as he set down his beer.

They made their way through the crowded living room, Louis pulling her in front of him as they begin to dance. Louis was never good at it, jerking and playfully teasing Lily with his moves. She couldn't help but laugh out loud at just how silly she was.

"I never realized how much I missed you." She said as he pulled her close after spinning her out. She can feel him grin against the top of her head.

"Missed you too, Love." The sound of a motorcycle pulling up outside stops their conversation. Heads turn towards the door as the music dies down and people look to see who's got the bike.

With the front doors of Marie's house open, Lily can just see a glint of black metal under the street lights outside her home. A shadowy figure getting off the bike and walking up the path towards the house. People begin to disperse, the momentary curiosity lapsing as they go back to their conversations and alcohol. But Lily looks on, curious.

"I thought she said she didn't invite him." She heard Louis say behind her. His voice slightly strained.

"I'm sorry, who?" She asks. She watches Louis swallow hard before explaining.

"His name is Harry. He's a photographer, it's rumored he does a lot of boudoir and naughty pictures, no one knows for sure. He's sort of a bad boy mystery." Lily watched as the man took off his helmet, shaking out thick curly locks that she instinctively wanted to run her fingers through.

"Oh." She said nearly breathless. He looks up, hooking his helmet under his arm. Lily feels her heart skips a beat when he locked eyes with her. His eyes were green, so light and pretty, she had to look away before she got lost in them. "I better go find Marie. She is the reason I came tonight." Lily said, clearing her throat.

"Right." Louis said, reaching out to hug her. He could see Harry was watching them, a blank expression on his face as Louis pulled away. "I'll talk to you soon...and Lily," he reached for her hand before she walked away. "Stay away from 'im please. I don't know what I'd do if you eva got hurt." Lily gave him a sweet smile before walking off to find Marie.

Harry didn't usually come to these things. He perfered to keep to himself, stay at home and catch up on some reading or work on some pictures he'd taken. But Marie was his boss and she'd been nothing but kind to him since he started working for her. It was almost a dream really, right out of Uni he had gotten the call. Someone in the States had seen his portfolio and really admired his work. It had all gone from there. So if anything he was grateful for the opportunity she had given him.

Everyone had stared at him when he pulled up on his bike. It was still a work in progress, but he hadn't thought it looked that shitty. He avoided the stares and questioning looks as he entered the party, hoping to only say hello to Marie and then leave.

It was when he had taken off his helmet and felt someone staring at him that he saw her.

She stood in the corner of the living room, right by the record player, eyes locking with his intensely. Her dark hair fell down around her shoulders in simple, loose curls, brown eyes gazing at him with curiosity. She looked away too soon.

Lily never ended up finding Marie. She pushed her way through the crowded house and out into the fresh night air. There were a few couples scattered about here and there but everyone was mostly inside, the party was kicking up a notch and that was her cue to head home.

She thought about the man. Harry, as she kicked pebbles with her shoes, arms crossed against her chest as the cool breeze swept through her hair. She should have brought a jacket maybe. But it had been warmer earlier so she hadn't thought to. It was close to midnight and she could feel exhaustion seeping into her bones as she walked the three blocks to her apartment.

The rumble of a motorcycle behind her startled her, causing her to cry out and nearly stumble. She turned to see the head light of the bikes nearly blinding her as it came to a stop beside her.

"Hey," the driver pulled his helmet off and she felt her heart jump into her stomach. It was him. "Need a ride?" He asked. Lily opened her mouth to reply but thought about Louis's warning.

"No thanks. My apartment is close."

"It's a little late to be walking home alone don't you think?"

"I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself." Harry grinned, she was quick. He shut off his motorcycle, climbing off of it and steering it towards the curb. He let up the kick stand and walked back over to Lily, shimmying out of his jacket.

"Here," he offered, holding out his coat. Lily was taken aback by his demeanor. He spoke to her so easily, as if they were friends and hadn't just met. "I noticed your arms. A bit nippy out tonight yeah?" Wordlessly Lily takes the leather jacket, it's heavy, but warm from his body heat as she wraps it around herself.

"Thank you." She managed.

"No problem....please. Let me walk you home. I can't leave without knowin' ya made it. Would weigh heavy on my conscience." Lily laughed softly at his words, he seemed so formal, almost stiff.

"I suppose. As long as you don't plan on stalking me." He smirked, coming to walk beside her.

"Course not. My mum raised a gentleman."

"How did you find me anyway?" She asked. He shrugged, shoving his hands into the pockets of his Jean's.

"Was goin' home myself an saw you. Couldn't jus let you go off alone." She nodded.

They walked in silence for a bit, Lily didn't know what to say really. She was surprised and impressed by his kindness. But Harry's growling stomach ended up speaking for both of them.

"Sorry." He said shyly, patting his belly. "Haven' are in a while."

"There's a diner around the corner from my place....if you wanted to stop and grab something really quick?"

"You sure that's alright?" He asked her.

"Sure. I'll buy, pay you back for your chivalry." He chuckled, shaking his head.

"No need to do that love."

Frankie's was a 24 hour dinner. Lily came there many a night during college to cram for exams and drink enough black coffee to kill her. It was her place, but it felt a little weird bringing Harry there. She only just met him.

"Hey Martha." Lily said as they slid into a booth by the window. The older woman had walked over almost immediately, throwing Lily a kind smile.

"Who's this handsome young man you've brought with you?" Martha winked at Harry. He smiled, unable to contain his laughter.

"'m Harry. Nice to meet you." He held out his hand.

"My what a gentleman." Martha said, dramatically crossing her hand over her heart before shaking his. "What can I get you kids?"

"I'll have a chocolate milkshake and a burger, everything on it." Harry raised his eyebrows slightly. Lily was a little girl, he hadn't expected that.

"And you?" Martha asked.

"I'll have wha' she's havin' sounds good." Martha scribbled the order down before walking away. Lily cleared her throat, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"So your accent? You're british?" Harry nodded.

"Proudly."

"What brought you to the states?"

"I always wanted to be a professional photographer. Went to Uni for it. When I was getting ready to graduate we had to set up our portfolios. Marie saw mine and liked it. Offered me a job almost a week after I graduated. So I took the time to get the paper work done and now I'm here on a work visa." Martha brought out the milkshakes. Lily took a long sip of hers, savoring the chocolate taste on her tongue.

"So that's how you know Marie."

"How do you know her?"

"We were roomies in college. We went to Berkely together. She was into all the marketing and stuff. I went for Women's studies and Philosophy."

"I'm impressed."

"Don't be. It's not that great."

They chattered a bit more before their food came. Lily learned that Harry had one older sister and two older step siblings. The way he spoke about his mother and his sister, you'd have thought they hung the moon and threw the stars into the sky. Lily found herself listening closely, palm on her chin as she focused on his words and the calm slow cadence of his voice.

"Tha' was delicious." Harry said, licking his fingers. Lily laughed dipping the last fry into ketchup. She started to fish out her wallet, only for Harry to hold up his hand.

"I said I got it Harry."

"At least let me split it."

"Fine." They split the bill and each leave a little tip, waving good bye to Martha as they left the diner, it was later now, nearly two in the morning and Lily could feel the exhaustion catching up to her.

"How much further from your flat are we?" Harry asked. He reached out, taking her hand in his as she led him down the street towards her apartment.

"Right here," she said, turning towards a painted white door, surrounded by a wrought iron fence and bricks. Harry walked her up to the door, taking his jacket back as she shrugged it off her shoulders.

"I'm glad you decided to walk me home." She acknowledged, a small and sleepy smile on her face.

"I'm glad you let me." They stared at each other for a moment more, electricity vibrating between them as they locked eyes. Harry swallowed hard, leaning forward to kiss her cheek.

"G'night Miss. Lily."

[vanchlo]

The Assistant / Chapter Thirty-Three, “If It Kills Me”

A story about what happens when she can’t be just his assistant anymore, and he can no longer be only her boss. Now, can they be happy with being just friends?

Read this story from the beginning here! :-) 

Inspo tag here!

*NEW* Spotify playlist in the works can be found here, songs that inspire me for the story and have significance in the story c: 

Warnings: one brief mention of vomiting, and some mild language.

                                   SNEAKY PEEEEEEEEEEEK

“And Becky’s face consumes my thoughts, much like it’s been captivating my conscience as of recent. Rather unsurprisingly. 

There it remains for days, much like it has been. It follows me through the air as I stare out the window, floating above the clouds. It crops into my conversations, leeching any enjoyment gathered from them. I even see it in a crowd of people inside the walls of the courtroom before I deliver my closing statement. When I look a second time, I’m disappointed to find the eyes of a stranger. 

I only find a respite from longing for her face when I turn my phone off, trying to stop wondering why she won’t return my texts. That thought only sticks to all of my others during the coming week with more ignored texts, craving her voice, and sufficing for browsing her Instagram. Her face. That smile. The smell that sat in the corner of her neck. I miss all of it.”

Song Inspiration: If It Kills Me by Jason Mraz (click to listen)

            “It’s like before it’s gonna storm, you know? You can’t see it, but you can feel it, like this, uh electricity, you know?” - Steve Harrington, Stranger Things 

The warm rays hit my cheeks as my sandals pound on the pavement. I wonder how I could ever be unhappy given the May sun shining down on me, and walking from my favorite restaurant. Without fail, the blissful idea is stolen away by a swarm of thoughts dosed in reality. And a particular one that reminds me of what I need to do, despite the dread I’ve been feeling. Not even the former respite of Asher’s hug after our shared lunch can keep them away. 

Pulling my phone from my pocket, I swipe through my apps until I find the right one. Stopping in front of my gray car, I lean against the door with a huff. My thumbs hover across the screen nervously, followed by a curse under my breath. Quickly, they flit across the screen composing words in front of my eyes. Sliding into my driver seat, I stare at the screen for a moment longer before hitting send. 

I wait for the chime to come, telling me I have a new message, from him. Nervousness coats my limbs and only grows worse as the minutes tick by driving home. Waiting. But when I check my phone after walking in the door, my lock screen showing my dad and I’s smiling faces is blank. 

No new messages. 

Sliding off my black sandals, I pad through the shared living room and kitchen area before reaching my bedroom. My laptop beckons for me across the room on my desk, and I sit down before it. I hope that maybe if I don’t procrastinate this specific thing, maybe things will turn out a little better. But as I’m opening a study guide for Family Law’s final exam, I’m proven wrong. 

The chime grabs my attention immediately, making my fingers still on the keyboard. Flitting my eyes to the lavender Speck phone case, I grow antsy at wondering who the text is from. And what it says. Inhaling nervously, I pick it up and wake up the screen. The few words of a preview I see of the text cues a sour anxiousness to grow in my stomach. Bringing my knees up onto my chair, I pull them against my chest as I open the text. 

Me

Hey I’m so sorry I’ve been terrible at texting back, finals these next two weeks are getting to me. Speaking of that I realized that I have to take a final at the time we’re supposed to get lunch in a few days. I’m really sorry but can we reschedule . . . again? I was thinking in two weeks when I’m finally free from the clutches of uni????? :( 

Harry 

sorry cant love. im in edinburgh all that week for a case. lets talk about it when im back. good luck w finals xx

Sighing, I type up a short response, agreeing to that. With guilt casting a shadow over me, I return my attention to the lengthy study guide. The gross feeling in my stomach remains, and with its arrival, my excitement for our lunch date is replaced with disappointment. I’ve been looking forward to it for weeks since we rescheduled it the first time, due to me messing up the dates, again. Peeking my eyes at my phone, I turn away and slump against my chair. 

It’s been a month since I saw him last, and although we’ve sent a handful of texts, they haven’t been enough for me. Skye, of course, told me that there’s nothing stopping me from showing up at his office door, but she’s wrong. I don’t know his schedule anymore, and for all I know, I’d be waiting around for him. Plus, my appearance would just yell ‘desperate!’ Sometimes, I wonder what little world Skye is tucked away into that’s far simpler, not realizing I still have to work during the day, especially more so this summer. 

But as the days drag on with chemo and radiation appointments, and lectures upon lectures, I think maybe Skye has the right idea being so optimistic. Maybe. 

+

Over the next few weeks, I see him at almost every corner I turn, and it hurts more than it should after all these weeks. The ignored texts shouldn’t feel like a fresh stab wound when I see that Scrabble box in the family room, get on that very same lift, or walk past the nurse’s station I found him leaning against that morning. Nothing compares to the piano and the pang I feel in my chest at the sight of it. It comes every time I walk through those doors and am reminded of the intimacy held on those keys. No, it didn’t get easier after the first time being back there with my dad, or the fifth time. Avoiding that gray sofa like the plague only reminded me of the texts I sent him that went unanswered. I can’t blame him though, because like a bitch, I took a week sometimes to reply to him. 

The tight feeling in my chest only feels heavier as I sit on the plaid couch in my childhood living room. I can’t even enjoy watching FRIENDS like I used to be able to, as their faces bring forth the sound of his laugh. It pains me to turn down their voices as I dig my phone out from under the cushions. I try not to let it get to me when I, once again, find no new text messages. My attempt is futile and it only causes me to take longer to open the phone app. By now, I know his number by heart, but my shaky hands cause me to mess up a few times. 

Pressing the phone to my ear, all I can hear is its ringing and the pounding of my heart. As the seconds drag on, I’m almost certain I’ll hear the voicemail next. But then I’m pleasantly surprised, although the bitterness in my stomach blossoms. 

“Hullo?” His gravelly voice pulls my lips into an instant smile. Rubbing the back of my neck anxiously, the words fall from my lips hurriedly. 

“Hi, Harry.”

“Hey, how’s it goin’?” he responds curtly, a clattering noise heard in the background before he mutters a ‘shit.’

“I’m sorry, did I call at a bad time?” I ask quickly, regret filling my veins. 

“No, yer fine. ‘m jus’ makin’ dinna.”

“Oh um, nice. What are you cooking?” I inquire, twirling the braided silver ring on my pointer finger. Swallowing, I wait to hear his molasses drawl again, like music to my ears. 

“Jus’ a stir fry. So . . . why’d ya ring?” Harry responds, a coolness hugging his voice. 

“Um, I haven’t heard from you in a while and wanted to say hi.”

“Hi,” he hums awkwardly, followed by the sound of a door closing. Squeezing my eyes shut, uneasiness falls over me in a wave. Oddly, I wonder if all of a sudden I can’t call to say hi. “Ya, we’ve both been busy. Cases fer me, an’ prolly uni an’ yer dad’s treatments fer you.”

“Yeah,” I agree aloud, my chin falling to rest in my palm. But it leaves a second later to lose my fingers in my hair. “I wanted to tell you that I finished my finals last week, so now I just have clinical left in the fall. Oh, and my dad got to ring the bell today. He’s all done with chemo and radiation after his scans all looked good. It’s hard to believe that he’s cancer-free. His doctors will, of course, have to keep an eye on him in the future to make sure it doesn’t come back, but I couldn’t be happier.” 

“Tha’s wonderful, love,” Harry coos into my ear, the first notes of happiness heard in his voice. It begins to put me at ease, and cause me to think maybe something isn’t off after all. “‘m really glad t’ hear that- well both o’ those things.”

Unbeknownst to me, I find myself nodding along with his words as if I needed his confirmation. But his words stop there, and the sickening feeling that something is wrong settles back in. A small ‘yeah’ stumbles off my lips as my fingers form into a fist in my lap, debating what to say next. Or if I should ask what I’ve been wanting to say the entire time. 

“We weren’t able to get ahold of each other a few weeks ago to reschedule lunch. Would you still like to?” Going out on a limb, I let the words fly. 

I watch for them apprehensively, uncertain if they’ll take flight. The loud sound from his side, the subsequent shuffling, and a voice saying his name shoots them down hastily. 

“‘m sorry, I gotta go. ‘ll text ya ‘bout gettin’ lunch,” Harry remarks, his words stringing together swiftly. I barely have the chance to say an ‘okay’ before he abruptly hangs up, sewing together an unwanted thought for me. 

Tossing my phone to the other end of the couch, I fall back against the cushions. Turning up the volume of the telly, I avert my gaze back to the make-believe world I’ve always taken comfort in. As the phone call gnaws away at my insides, planting insecurities every few steps, I let the characters whisk me away. Even if their faces and familiar jokes will now never stop reminding me of him, and something I let go of that I didn’t know I had. I only feel worse when I realize that I knew then that he’d never send that text, and I think he knew that, too.

+

“Staring at it isn’t going to make it ring, y’know,” somebody states, pulling me from my webs of thoughts. 

Lifting my attention away from the black screen in my hand, I catch Myles looking at me impatiently. 

“Wha- ‘m sorry. I was listenin’.”

“Then what’d I just say?” he requests, the hand propped against his chin rising in a silent question. 

My lips fall apart to welcome my voice, but nothing comes out. Shrugging, he receives his answer and replies with a disapproving glare. 

“Hare, this is important stuff. We’re leaving for Edinburgh tomorrow for the case, it’s a huge one.”

“I know, My. Jus’ repeat what ya said, please,” I huff, batting a hand at him. His eyes roll into the back of his head when he leans back in his leather chair. 

“I swear to God, Harry, I-.”

“Stop,” I retort, growing annoyed. 

He plays with the point of his quiffed blonde hair before clearing his throat. Although I try to listen the second time around, my gaze is lulled back to my laptop screen. My fingers itch to touch the keys and type up words, and when Myles begrudgingly answers his ringing phone, I find my chance. Sliding my silent phone into my pocket, I click on the blue thought bubble, only to be met with disappointment. Brushing it away, my fingers fly across the keys and my words are sent with a soft hum. Soon, Myles hangs up the phone with a perturbed sigh and resumes the conversation we were having. Again, I try to return to the bubble we share and the words that occupy it, but my mind is consumed with the anticipation of that coveted ding. And with Becky’s face, much like it’s been captivating my thoughts as of recent. Rather unsurprisingly. 

There it remains for days, much like it has been. It follows me through the air as I stare out the window, floating above the clouds. It crops into my conversations, leeching any enjoyment gathered from them. I even see it in a crowd of people inside the walls of the courtroom before I deliver my closing statement. When I look a second time, I’m disappointed to find the eyes of a stranger. 

It crowds my mind when I wait for the boarding call, tapping my fingers along the screen and watching the words be sent off. I only find a respite from longing for her face when I turn my phone off, trying to stop wondering why she won’t return my texts. That thought only sticks to all of my others during the coming week with more ignored texts, craving her voice, and sufficing for browsing her Instagram. Her face. That smile. The smell that sat in the corner of her neck. All of it. I miss all of it. It gnawed away at me slowly, and terribly, burying doubts beneath my defenses. They sprang up when I least expected them, and when I thought about sending just one more text. A few words wouldn’t hurt anything, I thought, but at the same time, I distrust the ultimate impact they could have. 

The pounding jars me from my reverie, bringing me to my feet slowly. Padding past the television and kitchen area, a yawn jumps from my lips. Another pound lands on the door, dragging my brow into a knot. 

“Oh, shuddup!” I exclaim in disbelief, wrapping my fingers around the smooth metal of the door. Yanking it open, I find the grinning bearded face of my mate standing on my stoop. “‘m not goin’, Rore, I already told ya this.”

“C’mon, Harry, I’ll look like a right idiot being there all alone,” Rory responds, his steps telling me he’s following me inside once I turn around. “Help a mate out here.” 

“Ya, ‘coz ya were so helpful tha otha day when I asked ya t’ consult with me fer the Starkey case.” Scoffing, his words pause between his lips as I fill a glass of water from the attachment on the fridge. “Why’re ya goin’ anyways, since it sounds like sumthin’ yer dreadin’? And since when d’ya even go t’ these sorta things? Last place I thought ‘d see you at, Rore.”

“I don’t, but it’s for me sister’s showing. I can’t miss it, she’s me baby sister. I’d hear about it from me mum for weeks.”

Snorting, I have to pull the glass of water away from my lips. 

“Hope ya bloody choke on that water, mate,” Rory scoffs, only making me laugh harder. Water flies from my lips as I’ve forgotten the glass on the marbled countertop. “Are ya coming or not, Harry? Ya know it’s a good place to pick up chicks, too. They blooming love these art gallery places.”

Recovering from my fit of giggles, I turn my head to find Rory waiting with the question in his eyes. He huffs and riffles a hand through his tousled blonde hair a few shades lighter than that which covers his face. Shaking his head, he wiggles his head at me. 

“I’ll consult with you on the next case, or even give ya first pick,” he whines, folding his hands together under his chin, as if he’s praying. 

“‘m yer bloody boss, I always get first picks,” I murmur, a smile cracking at the end of my words. 

“Oh, fuck off, would you?” he spits, pushing at a chair in front of the seated bar attached to the kitchen island. Clucking his tongue, he messes with the collar of his navy blue blazer thrown over a bloody Zeppelin shirt. Yeah, you sure look artsy there, Rore. But with the next words that fly from his sailor’s mouth, he pins me down. “What’re ya gonna do here anyways, sit and watch the bleeding telly all in your lonesome when ya could be with me getting damn a date?”

Biting my lip, my house slippers come into my view and when Rory’s eyes find them, a laugh explodes from his lips. “Go hurry up and bloody change before you’re too far gone, mate. I’ll be in the car,” he titters before his voice falls with a delighted sigh. Delight found in my pain. 

“Two cases, Rore. Any two cases I want, ya consult with me on. Ya got it?” I argue, following on his footsteps. 

“Whatever makes ya feel better, mate. I know you'll be thanking me later tonight.” 

“Doubt it,” I mutter, watching him open the door, sure there’s a sly grin covering his face. 

I turn to jog up the stairs until I arrive in my bedroom. Quickly, I toss on skinny jeans, a Keith Haring shirt, and a mustard button up smattered with faded white flowers. I look rather artsy, I reckon, I decide as I look at myself in my bathroom mirror. It’s an easy feat when you’re standing next to wannabe Rory over there, though. After taming my hair and finding a pair of shoes, I pad down the stairs. 

“Alexa, turn off all o’ my lights,” I announce, slipping my wallet and phone into my pocket as my hous darkens around me. 

“Take fucking long enough?” Rory groans when I slide into the passenger seat of his silver Sentra. 

“Shuddup and drive, will you? So we can get this ova with.”

“If you’re gonna be an ass tonight, then just go back inside,” he almost laughs, beginning to back away from the towering walls of my house. 

“Talking ‘bout yerself, are ya now?” I quip, bringing my phone from my tight pockets, tapping in my passcode. 

“I’ve noticed, y’know,” he mumbles, barely loud enough for me to hear him. Looking up from the bright screen, his eyes don’t stray from the road. “There’s a girl, isn’t there? Or there was?” he continues, a man I’ve come to love over the last three years he’s worked with me. And somehow I thought I had fooled him, but it turns out, I haven’t. I can’t even fool myself.

“Sumthin’ like that,” I whisper, my attention straying back to the conversation lit on my screen. Another day of the ball being in her court, and she just leaves it in the bloody corner, neglecting it. “I see why ya wanted me t’ come now . . . jus’ don’ try t’ set me up with yer bloody sista. She’s like twenty.”

His hearty chuckle fills the space around us, the words of a song from Death Cab for Cutie lurking in the background. “I won’t, but y’know she’s not gonna let ya out of her sight, mate. She’s had the hots for you from day one.”

“Oh God, Rore, what’d I let ya drag me into here?” I joke, my lips curling into a nervous smile. But the smile feels good, and it feels even better when her name disappears from my screen, and I forget my phone in my pocket. 

+

“What happened to making me dinner?” I whine from the couch, crossing my left leg over the other under the comfort of my blanket. 

“That was when you were busy, and well, the other day when I was feeling generous. Not today, missy,” Skye scoffs, the sound of the fridge shutting marking her words. Something lands in my lap with a plop, startling me. 

“Wow, how gourmet. Why thank you, I definitely don’t need to make dinner now,” I joke, picking up the wrapped piece of string cheese. 

“I know you’re still going to eat it. Just eat cereal or something, you hobo. I’m going to bed at a decent time, unlike somebody.”

“Hey, it’s a Friday!” I argue, pressing the page down button on the remote, waiting for something to catch my eye on Netflix. 

“Yeah, and some of us still have a job on Saturdays!” she calls from her journey down the hall. 

“Party pooper!” 

She remains silent on the defensive line, and so does the list of boring content on the television screen. Relenting, I click over to My Stuff and press play on the next episode of FRIENDS. Relaxing into the cushions, I unwrap the cheese and slowly eat it in strings. Giggles flow from my lips watching the scene unravel in front of me, and some eye-rolls because of Ross or Monica. After a while, my legs stray to the fridge, and I return to the tan sectional with a bowl of Cheerios. The milk threatens to spill over the side when I sit up suddenly, almost yelping in laughter at the scene when Monica and Rachel lose their apartment to Chandler and Joey. The sugary Cheerios soon disappear, and the milk follows them as the episode nears the end. 

Placing my bowl and spoon in the dishwasher, I hurry back to the sofa to catch a Phoebe scene. My cheeks warm with a smile, but they soon grow cold when my thoughts have to interrupt with a memory of his face. That god awfully sweet smile adorned with his cherry lips and precious dimples. Without knowing what I’m doing, the cartoon looking app appears under my nose, and pictures fill my feed. I take a second look at a few of them that catch my attention, the angry voices of Rachel and Monica tickling at my ears. 

Soon, the search bar materializes and although it feels wrong, I type in letter after letter to create his name. I can’t remember the last time I glanced at his profile, just to catch a hint of him. Finding the profile I’ve become familiar with, I tap on his picture and wait for his profile to load. Glancing away, the tv captures my attention once more as I scratch at an itch on my leg. Yawning, I rub at my eye before it falls back to the blindingly bright screen. Blinking hard to clear the haze from my vision, I scroll down to see what new pictures he’s posted, although they’re usually few and far between. 

I find the most recent picture I recognize and tap through them. Picturesque shots from high in the clouds. His unbelievably adorable niece. Food-grams. A picture of a homemade pizza is making my mouth water and is still stuck in my mind when I happen upon the next photo, and the most recent one. The moisture in my mouth is wicked away, suddenly bone dry when the image in front of my eyes slowly registers with me. But I can’t believe it, even though I’m seeing it. I don’t want to see it, or believe it. The moisture reappears in the corners of my eyes quickly as a sourness quickly knits together in my gut. The image shakes in my hands and then blurs in my eyes, accented by the thrashing of my heart inside of my chest. 

“Skye!” I shout, the words leaping from my lips with little success. 

My lip wobbles and I feel my entire face collapse from pain, disbelief, the whole shebang. The sob screaming from my lips is muffled by my fingers coming to my mouth. 

“No, no, no, no, no,” I mutter, inhaling fast and feeling the tears in my throat. Because I can feel it everywhere in my body - the pain. In my eyes, my stomach, my hands, and my chest. The sight of Harry’s lips touching that of another girl’s sends knives into my heart, and my stomach roiling. “T-this can’t . . . ,” but my words escape me, because the multitudes of feelings punished with anguish and despair course through me. 

“Skye!” I yell again, not realizing that I’ve gotten to my feet. I stumble at first, feeling the weakness reach my legs. Her name leaves my lips wet with tears as I run past the kitchen and down the hall. 

Pushing open her door, darkness meets my eyes, and I swear in that moment it swallowed me. Hitting me, I grab the doorframe and feel my forehead fall against it. Leaning there for support, the sobs roll through me, the very reason still clutched in my hand. 

“Whaaaaat?” she groans tiredly from her bed across the room. 

But I only reply with a sob of her name, hiccups havocking my chest. My hands claw at the wall, darkness coating my eyelids. 

“Ree?” Skye asks groggily, the click of her lamp following her words. “What happened? Are you alright?” she hurries, the pillowy patting of her covers being thrown back meeting my ears. 

Her arms wrapping around me are almost numbing, and do nothing. And feel like nothing. But when I feel my head meet her chest, the slowed-down world I lived in for those few seconds vanishes. 

“Skye, I-. . . ,” I attempt, once again falling up short as tears suffocate my voice, much like they’re making me feel. Shakily, I press my phone into her hand as I try to find safety in her arms. 

I wait and then am rewarded with her intake of breath followed by a sigh. “Holy fuck,” she whispers, and retaliates by pulling me closer against her. “Come here, Ree.”

She walks me over to her bed and helps me under the covers until I’m surrounded by them, and her arms. 

“Who i-is she?” I demand sloppily, searching for something to hold onto and to anchor myself with. I’m compensated with the smooth fabric of her shirt that I cling to the back of, my head falling into her hair. The mundane scent of strawberries wafting from her body tries to relax me, but to no avail. 

“Ree-,” she begins, but I don’t let her start, let alone finish. 

“I want to kn- I need to know,” I respond, sniffling against the warm expanse of her neck. There’s shuffling next to me before she sighs, and I sense the light of my phone. Tapping prods at my hearing as I try to form coherent thoughts. 

I’m met with images of him. Harry. His dark curls, the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs, and the high-pitched giggle that accompanied my tickling as well as his own. The intruding memories rack my body with shaking sobs, pressing my lips together as new tears gush over them. My belly contracts with each sob, and I don’t even register the cramping in my hands from holding on so tightly. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Skye hums warily from above, pulling my head into her neck, leaving her arm there to shield me from her words. Or the image that I can’t remove from my mind even if I tried. It’s burned there indefinitely now. 

His arms in a blue button-up surrounding her and his lips enveloping hers. A smile creasing his cheeks with happiness, and spreading to those of her dark cheeks. Her curvy body pressed against his, flowing ebony curls tickling her chocolate skin. 

“Tell me.”

“Okay,” Skye caves, the tips of her fingers running marathons along my back, in attempts to calm me down. But I don’t know if the tried and true will work this time, although it has for every other, even when my dad’s life was painted with the C-Word. “She’s a London based artist, does some sculpting and gallery work locally. According to her Instagram account, anyways.”

“I asked . . who is she?” I repeat, my voice wavering under the dominance of the tears. 

“Her name’s Bailee Taylor.”

“W-what does her page look . . . like?” I request, exhaustion blanketing me, and only adding another feeling to the rest. Blinking away the tears, I try to take in a deep breath, but my memories hit me with the safety I felt in his arms. Unwaveringly. 

“It looks like they’re . . dating,” Skye announces quietly, squeezing me around the middle. The confirmation I didn’t know I’d been searching for hits me like a train, knocking the air out of me again. And all of a sudden, hatred pulses through me, asking me where to lay it. Where to feel it. “There’s a few pictures of them on her feed, looks like they met maybe a few weeks ago.” 

“Why?” jumps from my lips finally, taking a nosedive to join a sea of unanswered questions. The word shakes the second it leapt from my tongue, and somehow it hurts more than all of the rest. “I h-hate him,” I cry, my nose smushing against her skin when I try to hold onto her tighter than I already am. 

“No, you don’t,” she coos, raking her fingers through my hair slowly, and carefully. 

“I know, b-but I wish I could,” I answer, the memories dancing through my head at hyper speed. Falling asleep in his arms, and waking up in them. The tickling fight. The almost kiss. The Scrabble game. Waking up to find him waiting there in the doorway. Him coming back even after the way I treated him. Finding him standing there at the front of the lecture hall. The reprieve of being in his arms again after so long spent away from them. And then, like a wall, my mind runs into the strings of unanswered texts. The canceled lunch dates. The both of us ignoring the other’s texts, but then at the end, it was him. It was him who was awkward during the last phone call. He hung up on me abruptly, and I heard somebody else was there. Was it her? It’s possible they would have already been together by then. He said he’d text me to set up lunch, and he never did. 

“It won’t make you feel better,” she murmurs, cupping my head with her palm. The sound of tears edging at her words only makes mine come harder, and the feeling in my gut grows louder. 

“Then what will?” I beg, wondering if I’ll ever forget the taste of the salty tears. A taste I thought I could forget just late last month when my dad was cured. News that I told him, and had been impatiently waiting to do all day. “I thought I was just feeling okay again, Skye.”

“I know, Ree, I’m so sorry,” she returns, placing her cheek against mine, the first tear peeking through in her voice. “I’m sorry.”

I unpeel myself from her anxiously, kicking away the blankets before my feet land on the floor. 

“Where are you going?” she almost demands, the sound of her following me far away. 

“I’m gonna be sick,” I confess, rushing down the hall before falling to my knees in front of the toilet. The Cheerios and milk from earlier make a reappearance, along with the string cheese, and mushy contents of my other meals. 

Running a cold cloth along my face, Skye kneels in front of me, her face painted in sadness.

“How can it hurt so much, Skye, when he wasn’t even mine?” I croak, focusing on the lone tile in our bathroom that doesn’t match the rest of the flooring. 

“I think you’re wrong, he was yours, Ree.”

“I was so close. I fucked up, again,” I weep, my lips collapsing with yet another sob. 

“Don’t say that, don’t,” she insists, tucking her hair behind her studded ear when it goes every which way with the shaking of her head. “You can’t blame yourself for this.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It feels like it is. She’s so pretty . . Of course she is,” I remember aloud, breathing in quickly before the tears take hold of me once more. Closing my eyes, I reach out for her and let my head rest against her shoulder. 

“She really isn’t, Ree. A big pair of tits doesn’t make you pretty, and anyways, you’re far prettier. He could do much better, like you.”

“You’re just saying that,” I confess, trying to swallow, but my throat has tied itself into knots with the thoughts of him. And when that word falls out of bed inside of my head, I find that it can hurt worse. “I was his Becks, Skye, I thought it was right there. That it was gonna happen for us.”

“Oh, Ree,” she cries, sniffling against my hair when she pulls me against her. “I know, I’m so sorry . . so sorry.”

Nodding into her chest, it feels right as her necklace digs into my wet cheek. My jaw aches from clenching my teeth, and so does every other part of my body in some way. Somehow I let her bring me back to her bed, and hide me away in her arms. My head swims with questions, then fleeting hatred for him, and inconsolable longing the very next. I shed a tear for his smell, his contagious smile, that Scrabble game we’ll never finish, the churros I’ll never be able to eat again without him ruining them for me, the color of his eyes I could never forget, and the lost feeling of his lips I never got to kiss. The list miles long of things I never got to say to him, or do with him, or make him feel. Because now she does, and she isn’t me. 

“I-I thought . . that he felt the same way about me, and that somehow he knew that I loved him.” 

A whimper escapes Skye’s lips as my tears fall into her neck, adding to the puddle I’ve shed there. 

“What does she have that I don’t? Am I not interesting? Does she have a nicer body than I do? Am I not pretty enough? Was I not nice enough or appreciative of him?” I weep, the questions flowing off my lips from the recesses of my mind. My name greets my ears firmly, but I ignore it. “I was trying to answer his texts when I could, but things got so busy with uni and my dad. All the driving, the tests in both places, and I couldn’t keep dates right in my head. Maybe if I’d texted him back sooner that one time, or made the lunch date on the right day the first time-.”

“Becky, don’t do the ‘ifs’ thing,” Skye urges, pulling the covers further up our shoulders before returning to combing my hair back again and again. 

“But I can’t stop thinking about what went wrong, a-and how much I miss him, Skye. I miss him a hundred times more after seeing that picture,” I reveal, falling into her, my lips meeting her shoulder. My teeth dig into my skin and I let them, numb to the pain as the same word is too busy with my mind. “I don’t know if I ever wanna see him again.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“But I do want to, I’ll always want to. Like something inside of me will always want him.” 

+

The sunlight streaming in through the windows is the first thing I see when I awake. Ducking my head back under the covers, I pull them over me with a groan. The blissful ignorance of the first few minutes after waking up follows me, until it all comes crashing back. 

“Are you awake?” a voice murmurs, sleep clinging to it. 

“Unfortunately,” I whisper, staring into the muted light underneath the gray covers. 

“I can stay home if you want me to, I was just making some breakfast,” Skye responds, the tapping of her feet along the floor following. 

“No, don’t cancel your hair appointments because of me. I’ll be . . I’ll be fine,” I tell her, but then the tears greet me good morning. 

“Oh, Ree, I’ll cancel and we can watch movies all day, or FRIENDS. Whatever you want,” she announces. The bed falls to one side when she sits on the edge, and I feel her hand find my back. 

“Thanks, I was hoping you’d say that,” I return, turning around and sitting up to dive into her arms. “I was hoping I had dreamt it all and it was just a bad dream. But my life is the bad dream.”

“Oh, Ree,” she coos, surrounding me with her arms. “I know this is cliche and it doesn’t feel like it, but it’ll get better.”

“I don’t know about that. My life is a running joke lately because it feels like it’ll get better, and then it just gets worse.”

+

“Your birthday is coming up, isn’t it, Becky?” somebody asks. Looking up from my cupcake, I find the face of Sophie. 

“Yeah, end of next week,” I answer, picking an orange sprinkle from the white frosting to eat.

“Do you have any big plans?” my boss asks as she places her lunch in the microwave. 

“My brother and I hang out every year, we’re twins.”

“Oh, how fun! I remember meeting him once when he brought you lunch one day,” she smiles, turning to face me as she waits in front of the humming microwave. 

I just nod and dip my finger into the frosting, feeling it melt on my tongue a second later. 

“Everything alright, love?”

“Yep, just tired is all,” I fib, taking a bite of the carrot cupcake, although I’m not wrong when I think about it. Skye has been a lifesaver for the last two weeks helping me get back on my feet. Thinking back on it and all of the tears leaves a funny taste in my mouth, but I try to brush it away with a forced smile. 

“How old will you be this year, Becky?” Sophie asks, pulling out a rolling chair to sit to my right at the long table. 

“Good old 26.”

“Wow, still a spring chicken, I’d say,” she comments, bringing a quirky smile to my lips. I almost follow her laugh with mine. “Well you know what, an early birthday present from me is you can have the rest of the day off. You always do a great job, Becky, and so you deserve it.”

“Sophie, I-,” I begin, my jaw falling to the floor. 

“I mean it, go. Get out of here. Go do something that makes you happy, love, it looks like you need to,” she smiles, squeezing my arm from across the table. Standing to my feet, profuse ‘thank yous’ leave my lips before I leave the break room. 

I drive around with my windows down, unsure of where to go instead of home. Before I know it, I find myself walking into my favorite little coffee shop. I’ve always loved to hang out here with a cup, reading a book, doing homework, or just relaxing on one of their sofas. 

Soon, I sit down with a Cubano sandwich and an iced cinnamon roll coffee, my very favorite. Pulling a book out of my work bag, I crack it open to the first page, unable to remember when I last had the time to read a book for fun. The words of Ruth Ware stare back at me, slowly drawing me into a made-up world, and away from the desolate one trying to swallow me. 

Quickly, I’m grateful for the respite from the thoughts mucking up my mind. Instead I lose myself in the sentences that spin a scary story, thanking my old self for stashing something besides a romance in my bag. That’s the last thing I could even think about indulging in right now. For some reason, the mystery entices me, a genre I’ve always had a love for. I think, especially now, it’s the aspect of being able to solve a mystery, and to fix a problem. If only I could do that now, I wish silently with a spiteful snort. 

Placing my empty plate on the return area by the cash register, I return to my cozy spot on the couch and to my book. Losing my fingers in my hair, I prop my head up and open the book to where I had left off. Soft indie music trickles from the speakers as conversations float around me. Several more sofas are dotted around the large room and booths, as well as tables varying in sizes. Friends play board games borrowed from the shelf by the fireplace, and others do schoolwork or actual work. A laugh from behind the counter echos through the room, right as the bell on the front door jingles. Although across the room, I can hear the voices floating in from the sidewalk. Cars honking and birds chirping. The sounds make me itch to leave the air-conditioned room, and bring my reading outside into the June sunshine. 

The words covering the pages root me to the spot, but they can’t protect me from what I hear. It’s a voice that I know inside and out, from the shortened words to the often used words. My vocal cords soon begin to tangle into knots in my throat at the mere noise. Beneath my baby blue blouse, there’s a clobbering in my chest as the voice grows near and then stops. Instinctively, hair falls through my fingers as I lower my head, wishing to remain unseen. Unknown. 

I can’t stop myself, and there I am looking up to see that crinkly-eyed smile through wrenching tears. 

Harry. 

[k-drabblings]

letters to you (pt. 2)

KIM TAEHYUNG (V) X READER Type | Genre: slice of life au | fluff/angst Word Count: 1738 A/N: it’s been hard finding time to update in general but i have a soft spot for this fic! hope you enjoy. 

One

After Taehyung's first visit, we managed to keep in touch until somewhere around early springtime. The Kakao messages got increasingly sparse as he got closer to his mysterious debut date and college examinations loomed over my head as I entered my final year of high school.  The flutters I had felt were long forgotten in lieu of books and essays. 

It wasn't until summer that I was reminded of Taehyung. Auntie Kim came barging into our house bright and early with excited shouts of his debut. 

I was already awake, studying my butt off upstairs in the lovely solitude of my room. 

"He's releasing the album tomorrow! Tomorrow! My Taehyungie is finally debuting!" 

My heart couldn't help but stir a little at his name, as if it was remembering an old habit. I hesitantly reached for my phone, wondering if it would be out of place to send him a congratulatory message.

[07:55AM] To: Taehyung Grats, superstar. It's about time.

To my surprise, the reply came instantly.

[07:55AM] From: Taehyung Dont tell me my mom woke u all up this early to tell u...  [07:55AM] From: Taehyung But thats just like her isnt it [07:56AM] From: Taehyung Goddamn shes embarrassing [07:56AM] From: Taehyung But thx ;)

I smiled, heart skipping a little faster, but I decided to play it cool and leave him hanging. It didn't necessarily warrant a response anyway. 

It was more than two hours later into my reading when my phone buzzed.

[10:13AM] From: Taehyung Im coming home for a few days next month.

[10:13AM] From: Taehyung Excited to see me? ;)

My stomach suddenly twisted into a knot, butterflies I hadn't felt for months threatening to creep back. Goddamn him and his flirty winking emoticons. 

[10:21AM] To: Taehyung Not really 

[10:21AM] To: Taehyung But you can come anyway I guess

I wondered if I had waited an ample enough amount of time to not look so desperately eager to answer him. Childish, I know, but I couldn’t help it.  I returned to my studies with a renewed energy, suddenly feeling empowered by the thought of having something to look forward to.

Taehyung looked so different that it was hard to believe only two seasons had passed since I last saw him. He was the slightest bit less lanky and his hair was dyed blonde. God, who would have thought he'd look so good with Barbie hair? I stared at him in silence for a few moments before giving him an awkward wave.

"Y/N!"

I could have sworn his voice got deeper, but I didn't have time to mull over the thought really as he scooped me into a big embrace. It knocked the wind out of me -- in a good way. "Nice to see you too, Taehyung," I mumbled into his chest. He smelled like laundry with a hint of musk.  It was strange seeing him in shorts and a tee, legs and arms so bare. Had he always been so tan? 

It was our mother's ideas to catch up over lunch, and although my books were practically screaming at me, I decided to be a little careless and enjoy some time with my long lost friend. It seemed like Taehyung always brought out the irresponsible side of me.

"So how've you been?" Taehyung asked expectantly.

I had never been a fan of small talk, but there was no other way to really begin the conversation. "Alright, I guess. Studying mostly. Actually, only studying.."

"Ah, so once I left, you were no longer a genius."

I couldn't help but crack a smile. 

"No boyfriend?" 

"My textbooks are my boyfriends." I sighed, feeling the nervous guilt of ditching my studies gnawing away at me. I was so determined to get top scores, go to one of the top universities in Seoul, and then the world would be my oyster. It was somewhat reckless to be here comfortably chatting the time away with Taehyung.

He smirked. "Wow, what a player. Didn't think you were like that, Y/N." 

I rolled my eyes before a chuckle escaped my lips. "Enough about my boring life. I bet yours has been crazy exciting. With your debut, and... shows... and singing?" It was too obvious I didn't know anything about the idol lifestyle.

"Yes. Shows and singing. Hit the nail right on the head," he joked. There was a brief pause before he sighed. "It's actually more like crazy busy than crazy exciting." I watched his still-beautiful fingers run through his dyed locks. "But yeah on top of shows and singing, it's a lot of promotions right now... We're trying to win Rookie of the Year and just get ourselves more out there... Grow our fanbase, you know?"

He sounded so desperate for a moment that I almost reached out to touch his hand in comfort. I didn't know anything really, but I could tell he worked his ass off every day, and he was hoping more than anything that his efforts would pay off in the end. I could sympathize with that -- we were kind of in the same boat when I thought of it like that, and it was comforting.

"How long are you here for this time?" I asked timidly. 

"Three days." A loud sigh left his lips. "I know, short as fuck." He was biting his lip nervously, eyes wandering for few seconds before landing on mine. "And I know you're probably busy as hell, but couldn't you make some time for your fave Kpop idol?" A cheeky grin broke out onto his face, and I was instantly reminded of the Taehyung I had grown so comfortable with last winter. And just like that, it was so easy to fall back into his trap.

My books were neglected as I spent the next few days with Taehyung. It was like we had fallen back into our old habits -- going to the cafe in the morning, watching I Hear Your Voice or some other drama in the afternoon, and driving to the mountains or downtown in the evening. 

He still took his coffee much too sweet. And with the way he comfortably settled in next to me besides the couch, shoulder to shoulder, it was like nothing had changed. By the second day, it felt like he had never even left.

I loved the drives the most. The skies were clear and starry, and with the wind blowing through my hair, going anywhere felt like an adventure. The scenic view of town from the cliffs was different now that it was summer. It was so green and lush, as if the colors had all become more vibrant now that he was back. The days were longer and warm, so we spent more time outside. He treated me to ice cream every day because he was "now a working man," as he called it. 

"I missed this," he announced with a sigh, laying back into the grass.

"Hm?" I absentmindedly continued to poke around for the cake bits in my ice cream.

"Just chilling around like this. With you."

The last two words were said so nonchalantly, but they resonated so deeply in my silly heart that my entire body tensed up. 

"You're leaving tomorrow, Taehyung." Was I saying it to remind him... or myself?

He rose from his position and gestured towards the car. "It's good though. You need to study anyway." He grinned. "Genius or nerd, whichever you are, I'm sure you still need to get back to your books. The college exams are in a few months, aren't they?" 

I hadn’t known, but he had overheard my mother yelling at me the previous morning for spending all day with him. It hadn't stopped him from distracting me all day today though.

I nodded, swallowing nervously. I didn't want to think about my looming tests and their gravity on my future outlook. With Taehyung, I could enjoy a reprieve from it all. I didn't want him to leave.

"You'll be fine," he murmured softly, hand messily patting my head. "We'll both work hard, and we'll see each other again before we know it."

My eyes were hopeful as I looked up at his golden face. "When's the next time you'll be back?" He wasn't even gone yet, and I was already looking forward to our reunion.

"Hopefully the holidays." His mumbles were laced with uncertainty, and he tried to give me a reassuring smile. "I'll try to keep in touch, Y/N. Much more than last time."

The way he wrapped his arm around my shoulder made me almost believe he would keep his promise.

He didn't. It was only a few days after he returned to Seoul that the texts stopped coming. I wasn't surprised. From what I heard from Auntie Kim, his group was getting ready for their comeback, and I wasn't in a position to chase for replies either. I was frantically catching up with what I missed, but it didn't help that I'd occasionally get distracted by the thoughts of him already forgetting me.

The leaves turned from green to yellow, oranges, and reds before turning brown and withering off. My birthday passed uneventfully with a casual text from Taehyung. I traded in loose shorts for leggings and sweats, and pulled out my winter gear from the back of the closet. Other than my clothes, however, nothing changed much. Day in and day out, my nose was buried in textbooks, my hand deathly sore from writing notes.

It felt unreal when the examination day finally came. I woke up like any other day, but instead of heading to the school library with books in tow, I headed there with only a few last minute notes and a pencil case. Basically every other kid in my year was walking down the streets with me, hearts nervously thumping as we all knew the test we faced would determine our future.

My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I was reminded to turn it off. But at the sight of the familiar name that hadn't graced my screen in months, my heart fluttered.

[08:16AM] From: Taehyung Good luck genius

It was nice to think that he was somewhere in the capital city thinking about me this early in the morning. 

With a happy heart, I powered down my mobile device. Perhaps this exam would be my ticket to Seoul, a little closer to Taehyung.