#composition could be much better but i do love how his face came out

[hollyhuedsoul]

SOMA PIECE FROM THE POLL but many warnings for cartoon blood, themes of consumption, and light artistic nudity past the following line in the sand.

Man who has lived, unloved; woman who would live for him. Do you understand my illness?

Do you?

[fandomnerd9602]

Square Dance: Ladies Chain

Part Two of Square Dance Series

Country!Wanda x Male Reader

You didn’t expect to fall in love so fast on a week long trip, much less fall in love with your best friend’s beautiful southern accented, country girl of a sister. The first night at the homestead was a little awkward to say the least.

Well at least at first. Piet couldn’t really look at you or Wanda that night. He just mumbled something about of all the chances…his best friend dancing with his sister, and then he went into his room. Wanda couldn’t help but giggle a little as you and her made your way to your respective rooms.

Wanda stopped in the doorframe of the master bedroom, her eyes full of mischief and adoration.

“You really are quite a dancer, city boy.” She made sure her accent leaked thru on every syllable. You could already feel your knees getting weak.

“You’re not so bad yourself. Good night.” You say gently.

“Night (Y/N). It was lovely meetin ya” and with that she walked in and closed the door. A small smile made its way across your face and you went into your own room.

You came downstairs the next day to find Piet waiting at the kitchen table, nursing a cup of coffee. "Hey" he offers you a slight smile, "if you're wondering where your little songbird is, she's out with the horses"

"Look Piet" you try to articulate, "I-I can find other lodging. I don't wanna-"

Piet cuts you off with a wave of his hand, "My sis is a big girl now. She can make her own choices...if she was gonna end up with someone I knew, I'd rather it be you." He offers you a toast of his coffee cup and a friendly wink, "you're one of the good ones"

"Thanks" he give him a little smile before grabbing your own cup of coffee.

You went out to the homestead stable and found Wanda strumming on her guitar. Her brownish-red horse next to her, it's tail swishing as if in line with the melody on the guitar.

(Crazier - Taylor Swift)

You lift my feet off the ground You spin me around You make me crazier, crazier Feels like I'm falling and I I'm lost in your eyes You make me crazier, crazier, crazier

You found yourself lost in the little melody as she continued strumming. Her eyes were shut tight, lost in the composition. It made her look all the more heavenly in your eyes. She was driven by a passion for her music, her songs.

I watched from a distance as you Made life your own Every sky was your own kind of blue And I wanted to know how that would feel And you made it so real You showed me something that I couldn't see You opened my eyes and you made me believe

You lift my feet off the ground You spin me around You make me crazier, crazier Feels like I'm falling and I I'm lost in your eyes You make me crazier, crazier, crazier, oh-oh

She brought her little jam session to an end and it was only then that she realized you were there with her.

"Sorry" she apologized, "pardon my enthusiasm"

"I love your enthusiasm" you sit down next to her. "I wish I was brave enough to do the things you do."

"Aw shoot" she giggled, trying to hide her face from you, "you're gonna make me blush"

"Why haven't you tried going to like...Nashville?"

She lets out a long, sorrowful breath, "I did. They didn't want me there so I-I came back. Sometimes the big leagues don't like small town country girls"

"But you shouldn't give up on it. You're great" you tried to build her up, "If one door closes, you find a window to jump thru"

"Now you're sounding like Piet after Crystal's Pa found him in her room again" she laughs, her infectious laugh caused you to join her for a laugh too.

Wanda rises from her spot, patting the hay and dirt off her perfectly formed butt, "You looking for a ride, city boy?"

"I-I'm sorry?"

"On a horse" she lets out another little laugh, "come on. Let's take a ride together"

The better part of the afternoon was spent riding horses with Wanda. Piet joined you an hour or so later.

The next two days were spent settling into a nice little groove with the Maximoffs. Piet showed you the ropes of living on the homestead while Wanda showed you small town comforts and how to enjoy them. She always took your hand and led you somewhere. Something about small town life just appealed to you. It was far away from the hustle and bustle, it allowed you to slow down and appreciate life for what it could be.

And then came Thursday night. Wanda put down a flier for Ladies Chain Night at the watering hole. "It's ladies choice night and I choose you to come with me" she flashed you a smile.

"You better go" Piet tells you, "Crystal's dragging me to the same night and I need someone to talk to"

"Oh hush you" Wanda exclaimed, lightly smacking her brother.

Wanda couldn't be more excited as she led you into the watering hole. Her band, Good Witch Scarlett was playing softly. You could see her pal Nattie give her a little wink as Wanda led you to the dance floor.

"Alright, this one's an old favorite of a friend of ours" Nattie said, "we hope you like it too."

(You're the Only One - Dolly Parton)

I found out the hard way And I'm never gonna break your heart I know, too late And I don't wanna break your heart Guess I had to go away just to find What I left behind

You're the only one, you're the only one Take me back to where we started from And let's make it now like we made it then This old heart ain't gonna break your heart again

Wanda and you danced to the music. Her eyes, those doe-like orbs that you could never get tired of, just stared into yours. She playfully took your hat and dipped it a little over your eyes.

"You keep looking at me like that and I know I'm gonna be a goner," she warned you with a little chuckle.

"Too late for me" you say back with a chuckle. She simple leaned against your chest. She sighed, just lost in the beat of the song and the lulling sound of your heartbeat.

Nights I lay in bed And your covers wouldn't warm my feet And mornin' found me bitter or a bit too sweet Oh, baby, I had to go away just to run back and say

You're the only one, you're the only one Take me back to where we started from Can we make it now like we made it then? This old heart ain't gonna break your heart again

She lifted her head and looked into your eyes again. "I lied" she whispered.

"Huh?"

"I'm already a goner too, city boy" she looked to your lips. "kiss me"

"yes ma'am" you smiled before taking her chin gently with your free hand and leaned in to kiss her. Maybe there was something in the air, but the moment your lips touched hers, you swear that there was electricity between the two of you.

"Aw shoot" she giggled, "I ain't never letting you go now"

"Your brother's gonna have to lasso me to keep me apart from you" you answered back with a chuckle.

"My lasso's out in the truck" Piet cut in before his gal immediately pulled him away from you and Wanda.

Something felt so right about this moment with Wanda. But yet the truth hit you like a ton of bricks. You only had three days left on your vacation with the Maximoffs.

To Be Continued...

Tags: @lifespectator @ma1egamer @jacenradio7 @aloneodi @holiday-house-of-m @deafeningsharkslimeempath @konstantin609 @family-house-of-m @kingofthelizardpeople @pinklawyerwinnerzonk @multi-fandom-enjoyer @supercorpdanbeau @scarletquake-n7 @revanshand @russianredassassin @sapphic-s1mp

[lil-quinnie]

I know who i want to take me home.

Modern!Rockstar!Eddie x f!bestfriend

part II

warnings: 18+

4k

Summary: That time where Eddie stood up for you and you never left his side again,

You've known Eddie since your 4th grade, when some girls were making fun of you for your dress or something stupid like that. Kids could be mean, that Eddie knew.

He'd been teased ever since he arrived in Hawkins a few years ago. When word got around that the kid's shaved hair was because he had head lice or was arrested, he vowed he'd never take that kind of shit in silence again, and so he did.

Eddie already considered himself the savior of the broken, the beats and the damaged.

From the day he threatened to throw mud on the girls' perfectly pressed clothes, you were never apart, ending that summer afternoon with him pushing you on the swing and you sharing ice cream while Eddie talked about how cool it was to live in a park trailer "There are always kids there to play with, you should go meet more friends" Eddie said in his childish squeal.

You were together when Eddie's father got out of prison and disappeared into the world "he better stay away anyway" Eddie had told you with his eyes on the ground, as he walked you back to your house kicking some rocks by the way. It was the first time you held his hand, giving it some squishes every now and then, you could see Eddie’s dimples every time his eyes landed on your holding hands.

You were together when you got your first guitar, realizing that music wasn't really one of your talents but was certainly one of Eddie's, giving your beloved guitar to your best friend, who trained every day and looked forward every Friday before Hellfire to show you some new music he had taught himself, and it wasn't long before he started showing you the songs he wrote.

“Ok…they are really good men, don’t get me wrong, but you are so in love with her that your song got a little…emotional??” Gareth had told the boy after hearing a new composition, rhythm and lyrics! Eddie froze at his friend's words, as if he had said the most secret words in the world "Dude, relax! It's just a song" he shrugged feigning a normalcy that clearly didn't exist, "yeah, sure...just a song" Gareth was smirking, his tone determined to get under the poor metalhead's skin.Eddie looked at the with no reaction, as if he had been caught doing something illegal, and among all the excuses he came up with at that moment, he said the lyrics weren't all about you, he swore to Gareth. “It’s about Chrissy, you know, the blond unreachable cheerleader who goes to our school?, ring any bell? butthead”. Gareth just rolled his eyes and nodded.

You were together when Eddie decided to grow his hair big! And you always supported him, even when his hair didn't look good at all. "You can wear my bandana if you want, it's very metal" you said and shrugged, handing the bandana to a pre-teen Eddie. You didn't want to admit that those little curls that fell across the boy's face did something to the inside of your stomach, which started to feel tight and hot whenever he was around. You couldn't take the feeling in your chest anymore every time your fingers passed through the boy’s hair, blowing a few strands out of his face whenever he played the guitar or tried unsuccessfully to roll a joint, the feeling was so much so that you decided to give him your bandana, explaining how it would help keep the hair out of his face. Eddie just nodded and listened carefully to everything you said. 

As soon as he dropped you off at home and you said your goodbyes, instead of lighting a cigarette and walking to the trailer like he did every other day, he preferred to take the walk holding the bandana tightly inside his jacket pocket as if it were the most precious treasure.

Eddie opened his front door in a hurry and as soon as he heard the lock click, he brought the bandana up to his nose, feeling the heady peach scent of your shampoo.

Eddie spent the rest of the night looking at himself in the mirror, trying to fix his headband in the most "metal" way possible, but he swore to Wayne it wasn't to impress you.

Now, a few years later, you were still there when they first called him a freak, you couldn't quite tell what was going through your best friend's mind.

Eddie was loud, he never stayed quiet when they made mean comments even less when it was one made by an idiot jock. But nothing came out of your best friend's half-open mouth. Eddie knew he had different tastes than most, pop music didn't suit his ear, he could play any kind of games if he wanted, with balls or not, but sports were only for Sunday afternoons when Wayne was off and they could spend some time together, but freak?! “Does she see me like that too?” Eddie's head was sinking into a spiral of shame and fear and you grew agonized by not being able to do anything, in a weak act he looked towards the back of the classroom, looking for you. 

You never forgot the look he gave you that day, the sad smile printed on his face, making your face burn with anger "Shut your mouth Jason, do n't you have to kiss your teammates ass or something?" you answered back in the middle of class, making everyone laugh. You got a pass straight to detention and a relieved whispered "thank you" from Eddie.

That was your relationship with Eddie, and even after all these years, nothing has changed! well, almost nothing. Eddie kept swearing and playing his undying love for Chrissy in every new song he played to you, always creating imaginary situations and acting out how he would play for her if he had the chance. Despite the bitter taste of jealousy running down your tongue, there's nowhere else in the world you'd rather be.

Sitting on Eddie's bed while he played a few chords and made some silly rhymes to get you a laugh, as the sun went down and you shared a well-rolled joint by Hawkins' newest drug dealer. At that point, you and Eddie were more than friends and the comfortable “family” feeling took over your relationship, even if something always seemed out of place. 

You followed all the corroded coffin shows and saw Eddie flirting with every type of groupie possible, which made you wonder if he had ever thought of you that way.

God! The kid didn't have a specific type, even with the male bartenders at Hideout you'd see him flirt, he flirted with literally anything but you.The boys gathered more and more people to watch their shows, the Hideout got smaller and smaller for their talent and charisma and you couldn't be more proud of your boy's accomplishments. But, "with great talent comes great responsibility", or whatever other nerdy shit you thought Eddie would tell you. That is, if he was on your side in the middle of the crowd of sweaty bodies that swayed in sync with his electric guitar chords. Still, no matter how pretty, nice, hot or smooth-talking the person Eddie was flirting with was, at the end of the night it was you he always took home, in the second-hand van Wayne got Eddie for his 17th birthday .

“Hey trouble” Eddie hugged you from behind as you got you both beer, you could feel his skin still wet with sweat and the smell of his cheap cologne invaded your nose “EDS” you hugged him tight still jumping with excitement “My god, you…you all did so well today, fuck it was amazing I'm so proud of you I mean the whole band, here” you handed over the bottle of beer and took a sip from yours to avoid saying something that would leave you still more like a fool. "Yeah, it was kind of good right?!"

Eddie was smiling proudly and scratching his head awkwardly as he saw your big bright eyes looking at him the way you were, he toasted you before just taking a sip of his beer "Come on, I'll get you home before it gets too late ” he said, putting his arms around your shoulders and walking with you to the exit. The drive to the parking lot was short and you couldn't answer all the good-byes people gave Eddie and Eddie's girl, you.

It was your first and very last senior year of high school, and finally Eddie was free from hell high school, you miss him there though.

You got your college acceptance letter, your family was in an uproar, lots of hugs and laughter but your heart was so tight, and you didn't know why. You could barely sleep at night thinking about what life would be like in another city, far from your family, your friends and him. You tried to disguise the dark circles under your eyes with a little makeup, thinking that drugstore concealer would hide all the dark aura that enveloped you that morning, but you should have known better.

You went downstairs as soon as you heard the noisy van turn off the engine, instead of waiting for Eddie to come in and have the daily cup of coffee with your mother and complain about your morning attitude, you took the snacks lovingly prepared by your mother, one for each of you and ran out the door, pulling Eddie along the way and dragging him back to the van “I'm late, no coffee today Munson”, you said in a dry tone, making the newly awakened boy just nod “yes ma'am ” he said getting behind the wheel.

The driveway was quiet and safe and you were comfortable until Eddie started peppering you with questions, you were overwhelmed and told your best friend about your leaving in a few weeks in the worst possible way. He didn't take it very well. "Are you going to leave me here, alone in this shithole?" your teary eyes irritated Eddie more than brought him to reality, it was your choice to leave for college, wasn't it?

The morning ended with you slamming the van door as hard as you could and Eddie skipping school and heading to the abandoned bank in the middle of the woods behind the football field. That day you chose to walk home alone rather than answer your friend who, even not entering the school, was waiting for you outside.Days passed and nothing from your best friend showed up, answered your calls or stopped running through the school corridors trying to avoid you like the plague. "He needs space now" was what Nancy repeated to you every time that happened. 

The week dragged on without the presence of your best friend. Now on Friday, Nancy and Robin were trying to convince you to go to your last high school party. “Come on baby girl, it's your last high school party! Fuck Eddie if he's such a sucker for not wanting to enjoy every second he has with you” Robin said in a rather mean attempt at convincing you, “not to mention he'll probably be there, parties are always good for…business” Nancy added knowing that this argument would definitely make you go to this party, you needed to see that the metalhead was fine without you, even if it destroyed his soul.

"Fuck it, fuck him! I'm going to that stupid party!" You said in a sigh, Robin threw her arms up as if thanking heaven for your sudden change of decision, and Nancy just chuckled to herself, knowing the real reason for the change. 

You made a point of putting on your nicest black dress, which hugged all of your curves that until now you've never felt the need to show off, a pair of combat boots, and whatever jacket Nancy made you pack just in case.

It was so hot, you didn't know if it was the amount of people dancing to the same rhythm inside Steve's living room or if it was just the cheap beer you weren't used to drinking, pushing the slimy liquid down your throat. You searched the entire party for Eddie with no luck, stopping in the kitchen only to talk to Steve who would pull you out of the crowd making fun of your bothered face. At parties like this you usually stayed outside with Eddie while he went about his business, but the sight of your best friend hitting on a cheerleader forced you to make SUCH a sacrifice as drinking such a horrible warm bear. Of course Eddie had seen you, he saw you as soon as you got out of Nancy's car, walking into Steve's house arm in arm with Robin laughing at some weird thing the blonde had said, of course he noticed the flush in your cheeks and as your eyes wandered over the people passing by, his heart ached to realize that he was the one you were looking for, but he remained professional and ended the transaction with the cheerleader who was so drunk that she didn't show her usual disgust at touching on Eddie, on the contrary, she insisted on keeping her hands on him with every word that came out of her mouth.

It was too much for you, you thought, even though you didn't understand where that sore feeling had come from. Staggering through the halls, you managed to find fresh air and took refuge on the pool deck, the muffled music made your thoughts dance around Eddie, you downed the already warm beer in one go throwing the can across the yard of the Harrington mansion, catching the attention of the school's bad boy, Billy, who was finishing rolling a joint still talking to his drug dealer, Eddie. 

"Isn't this your little friend, Munson?" Billy asked, both watching you drunken antics, “yeah, yeah it's her'' Eddie didn't let on that your friendship was at a low point in no time, but Billy was always good at reading between the lines “She's fucking hot, now I get it because you hid her behind that shit you like” he said with a smirk on his face, “you wanted her all to yourself, freak?” Billy laughed as he grabbed another bottle of beer and walked towards you, leaving Eddie alone with the cheerleader who accompanied the entire interaction glued to the boy's arm.

Even from afar, doing "business" with Billy and the popular crowd, Eddie wouldn't take his eye off you, following your every move with lost puppy eyes, Eddie's sad eyes accompanied your dress getting up on your thighs more and more, Billy's hands finding your soft skin, stroking and squeezing as you shared the joint. Eddie's big brown eyes burned as he watched the whole scene like a masochist, and it didn't go unnoticed. "she's just my best friend" he replied for the 1,000th time to a drunken cheerleader who tried to get the boy out of his temper that night. She twisted the end of Eddie's hair between her fingers, closing any distance he put between them.

Eddie saw when Billy approached you, he saw when you laughed at some really bad joke making the blond boy stick out his chest in pride, he saw his hands on your thighs and just when he thought his heart couldn't take it anymore, Billy kissed you. Billy tucked a lock of your hair behind your ear like Eddie had dreamed of doing for years, he caressed your rosy cheeks from alcohol and you gave that shy smile that was usually kept just for him, just for Eddie.

"I can make you forget about her'' said the cheerleader next to Eddie's ear, in a not at all drunken tone anymore,”wait…what?” He said while she was pulling Eddie by the hand to one of the Harringtons' empty rooms. Climbing the stairs with the girl, the last thing Eddie saw before entering the room was you walking hand in hand with Billy out of the pool's deck. He didn't know what was going on with him, in all of his high school time, he wanted nothing more than to be locked up with a cheerleader in a dark room, but now he doesn't feel it's the right choice for him.

Eddie was practically thrown into the room and before he said anything, the girl was already on top of him, her lips tasted like cherry and some drink he couldn't recognize. He wanted to be enjoying it as much as the girl who attacked his neck fervently, but he wasn't. He walked to the window lighting up a cigarette and looking out to the parking cars until he saw you and Billy share more kisses, Eddie doesn't feel like being in that party anymore.

The cheerleader still hadn't given up on taking a piece of the boy. hands roaming his pale body until they found the belt buckle, while she unbuttoned it, Eddie watched you through the window. The girl's hands found Eddie's almost erect member, making her mouth water at the size, even though he wasn't 100% hard for her, Eddie was big. The not-so-drunk girl knelt down in front of him, pulling down his boxers until his dick was showing. She didn't wait to put Eddie inside her mouth, moaning as she felt the taste of him taking over her tongue, "you're so big Eddie” she said before going back bobbing her head, sucking every part of the boy's already hard cock. He surrendered to the cheerleader, letting his head fall back as she devoured him, his hand went to the back of the girl's head, forcing her more and more against his cock "I want to see you touch yourself while sucking me, pretty girl” he said through the weak moans, and so did she. Eddie admired for a while the scene he had imagined for years, a cheerleader on her knees for him with her mouth full of his cock, his hips began to push on her mouth in sloppy movements, she moaned loudly while abusing her own clits. 

Everything was going well, until Eddie heard her laugh outside.

He watched as Billy's hands traveled to your hips than to the fat of your ass, squeezing and pressing his body against yours, you could feel Billy's hard cock rubbing against your waist, causing you to pull away at the same moment.

Billy's lips on your neck as he pressed you against the car, your face in discomfort, you tried to get rid of the boy's grip without success, pushing and trying to create any kind of space between your body and his, that was enough for Eddie. He pulled the girl who was sucking his dick up, who didn't understand anything, just looked at him with hate!

 From the other side Eddie wasn't sure how to get out of this situation so he just said “I'm sorry doll, if it was another time … i'm so sorry” he said pulling up his pants and running down the stairs with his belt still open, straight to your rescue!

Eddie ran outside the house screaming your name, afraid that Billy had already done something to hurt you, Eddie knew how Billy treated his girls, hell! Everyone knew of Billy's fame and yet, he let the situation get to this level.

Seeing you still trying to get out of the blonde's arms "you're hurting me Billy, let go of me!" You said in a voice choked with fear, Eddie's vision went black and his body moved without any direct order from the boy's brain, it was as if he had blacked out for a few moments. When he came back to reality, you were alone leaning against the car and Billy lying on the ground with blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. “Let’s go” Eddie grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the party as fast as he could make you walk, escorted by Billy’s menacing screams “Run away Freak, that’s what you’re good at!” or “you can keep that little slut, when you get tired of using her, my turn will come”. Eddie thanked every entity that you were so in shock you couldn't hear the blonde's insults. He helped you into the van and put his jacket around your shoulders “are you ok trouble?” he asked as he put the belt around your body “I missed you” was what came out of your mouth, Eddie chuckled and shook his head in denial “unbelievable” he thought, closing the van door and taking you to the security of your home. It didn't really matter how many people Eddie flirted with or got involved with, at the end of the night, it would always be you he was going to take home, both of you knew that.

The next morning, a big glass of water, some headache pills and a sleeping metalhead were the first things you saw when you opened your eyes, before your head started hurting like a bitch. You took the pill and gently woke your best friend “here, before you get a headache”, Eddie thought it was cute that you thought he needed the same minimum amount of alcohol as you to get sick, but how could he say no if you were standing there in front of him, looking so pretty and trying to take care of him? “Thanks, my head it’s killing me.” He said, taking the pill. Eddie could see Billy's finger prints on his biceps, making his stomach roll in anticipation.

Leading him to bed and closing the curtains, making almost nothing in the room visible. 

You laid your aching body next to your best friend, the familiar smell of weed and cigarettes made you feel at home, Eddie feeling your body relax pulled you close to him, finally laying spoon with you, after all those years laying together, this was the first he spooning you and the feeling was so warm and comfortable…

"I'm sorry trouble" "shh eddie, it's too early for this" turning over in bed, coming face to face with your best friend, you could feel Eddie's uneven breathing on your cheeks. You buried your face in your best friend's chest, closing your eyes as he pressed you against his body "I love you eddie" you whispered almost inaudibly, not for him.

Eddie paid attention to every word that came out of his mouth and this time was no different. The difference came in how the heat rose through his body, he could hear his heart beating so hard against his ribcage that he was afraid to wake you up. He didn't go back to sleep that morning, nor did he move until you woke up. He also didn't say he heard you or that he loved you too, he just lay there enjoying every second he had before you left.

-

Now, 5 years later, many corroded coffin tours and phone conversations, here was Eddie again, where all his paths always led, you. Eddie got a few days off before the new tour started, in 5 years the band did great, opening shows for bands that Eddie dreamed of one day watching the show from the front row, but at that time, he opened the show for his favorite bands. They were destined for success, he was and you always knew it. Now with an audience of their own, Corroded Coffin were one of the most prestigious metal bands in the scene, traveling on extensive tours around the world and always returning to the warmth of their embrace.

"Did you really like it Eddie? I mean, it's no palace but" you shrugged, holding the contract in both hands as the late afternoon light streamed in through the apartment's large windows.

Eddie had never seen you look so beautiful, he thought ."I love it" he said with that crooked smile that has affected you since... forever,

"it suits you dear and it's close to the school where you work, I mean, having the best of both worlds, right?" you bit your bottom lip trying to contain the happiness. The contract was duly signed and delivered to the real estate agent on the same day. The apartment was perfect, just a little chilly at night, "my feet are cold" you texted Eddie every night before you fell asleep, the lack of your response didn't make Eddie mad or worried, he knew you just passed out in the warm of your bed with furry socks trying to keep your feet warm. The mental image Eddie created in his head of you in your hibernating state made him smile every time.

In the middle of winter Eddie came to visit you, with a big box in his hands, you could see that the man was exhausted from all the shows an shit. You never imagined that he would visit you! Your plush pajamas and your fluffy socks say so...for Eddie, your prettier version.

Sitting on the couch, Eddie opened the box and took out a black kitten "It's Sir Bartlomeow" he said with a trembling voice trying to contain his laughter "Since I'm going to be away all winter, this little guy here” bart meowed in response, as if agreeing with the man's statement, making you both laugh “will be the new one in charge of keeping the helpless damsel's feet warmed" you chuckled and thanked him for the unusual gift, instantly falling in love with the kitten and more and more with your best friend.

Two weeks, it had been two weeks since Eddie had gone on his European tour, texting between shows and the countless parties a rockstar needed to attend. Eddie loved the star life, the craziness of the roads and the crowds of people screaming his name, waiting for him, but nights like this, all he could do was miss you. "Hey trouble, I hope you’re ok, is Sir Bart treating you well? I hope so…, I miss you, you know... I can't wait to watch shrek 2 with my favorite person, I have to go , see you in two weeks...yeah?!, bye sweetheart" said the message that lit up your cell phone screen as you laughed at your kitty vet's unfunny jokes, making your heart hurt a little.

It was the first Friday since he'd been away and the usual movie night with his girlfriends turned into a conversation about his frustrated love life.

"I know Nance, I should have replied to Eddie's damn text but what was I going to say?" you said to Nancy over a glass of your favorite rose wine "I miss you too, in fact I miss you every time you haven't been around me since... forever" you downed the glass in agony as Nancy laughed along with Robin. "I mean" Robin began, causing you to roll your eyes in displeasure. "It’s  Eddie!, Rockstar or not, he's been in love with you since high school, come on!" earning an elbow from Nancy "ouch babe" Robin whispered.

"It's not like he's not in the arms of some super model right now" your tone was low as you took in every detail of that magazine cover, throwing it on the coffee table allowing the girls to see the gigantic picture of YOUR best friend almost swallowing the face of a very beautiful woman. "But what about the vet, he seemed nice" Nancy offered with an empathetic smile on her lips.Turning the cover of the magazine over, you shrugged “yeah, maybe I'll accept his invitation to dinner, who knows?”.

A/N: Thank you so much @squidscottjeans for all the patience and tips <3

[suburbanbonfire]

tagged by @18minutemajor for a hockey art share tag game! I enjoy talking about myself but am terrible at posting so this is perfect. i WILL talk too much, this is a threat.

rules: post your first ever hockey art, your latest hockey art, and your favourite hockey art, then tag three hockey artists.

FIRST ART

I made the Kraken Orb (Korb) at the end of the 22-23 season, as a commemoration, although a sort of ironic one considering i had only gotten into hockey in time for the playoffs so there are a couple players here i actually never got to see play at all before making this (Joonas, Jaycob, Burky, Fleury)

it was a whole lot of fun though! Prior to this i was in a months-long art slump after leaving a fandom, so it was a total surprise to have hockey of all things be what revitalized my art.

technically, the very first hockey art from this was Matty; you can kinda tell by the way his lines are a bit thicker than the rest since i wasn't in my groove yet. i also knew coming in that i wanted to arrange the faces in a circle, but didn't plan out beyond that, so i just made sure that i was getting a variety of head directions in my references and hoped for the best. My favorites from this are Gru, Soucy, Dunn, Schultz, Borgen, and Eeli. I think they all turned out really well.

LATEST ART

MEAT CUT MEAT CUT

this one is fun for me because it's quite different from my usual style of art, with lineart and non-realistic forms/face. I've had the concept in my head for awhile after hearing/reading so many interesting descriptions of the physical qualities that good hockey players possess.

'Sacrifice the Body' actually came in mid-art when i had an epiphany doing something like driving my car or an activity similarly unrelated. Before that, it was going to be a lil heart drawn on the chest and the going contender for the label was 'Ferda.' which would've been great, but sacrifice the body just worked too dang well with the themes.

FAVORITE ART

i mean, c'mon. it's gotta be this one.

my magnum opus, my white whale. it came out even better than i saw it in my head and i love everything about it. when i came up with the idea, i had TOTALLY forgotten that Climate Pledge has those giant windows, so when i set out to find references and saw it, it instantly made everything even better with LIGHTING!!!!

It was my first time drawing this kind of interior architecture and although there's definitely things i would do differently now, im so so proud of how it looks and turned out. I was also still drawing through my decade-old laptop at that point, so I had to split up the work on this into two files - i sketched everything, then worked ONLY on the bg until it was about 90% done, then made a flattened copy to open as a new file to draw the players on top of.

I also have a bunch of WIP shots of it in my drafts I guess I'll throw in here now!

initial sketch to get down the composition before i remembered the window | lines of the building! i actually found a 3d virtual tour of CPA from before it was built which had the PERFECT angle, so i screencapped that and straight up traced the architecture. Ultimately, the scoreboard and the paint lines ended up getting moved around.

planning out my lighting in greyscale (i really need to do this more often, i struggle with values so much, alas) | in progress bg! at this point, the ice and the boards/glass were the only things completed. I eventually said 'fuck it' to being able to see the areas behind the stands like you could in all my references, and just put the people dots all the way up.

Now the most gut-wrenching part

THE TAGS

this is where me being bad at posting comes into play, because instead i just lurk and thats not great for forming connections HERE GOES

@ruinedcasket - it has been awesome seeing your art progress! would love 2 hear your thoughts about it

@rouzys - your kraken stuff is so pretty, love how you capture likenesses

oh god oh fuck everyone else i know has already been tagged fuck oh sshit

If You Are An Artist On Hockey Twit And See This, It Is A Sign

[dgdraws]

Artfight Postmortem

as you may know, i am prone to reflection on my art and process and progress. herein, i'm gonna navel gaze a bit about artfight 2024.

top line: really enjoyed myself, did a bunch of new things and this was "The Year of Artist Friends" which is spectacular.

i completed 20 attacks this year, including my first ever mass attacks! altogether I drew 28 different characters (incl 4 of my own).

for the first time, I had *users* i wanted to attack, rather than just characters i'd gathered via search or discord. honestly, three years ago when i picked up the stylus i was just excited at the prospect of drawing for other people, period. artfight was a cool way to be in community without prerequisites. i didn't quite dare to dream i might make some real connections and make proper friends. and yet :) here we are! i went in with three 'art friends' and i'm leaving with at least three more

in addition to being the year of artist friends, this could be "the year of clip studio paint was on megasale a week before artfight" because i knocked out like 2 practice pieces before July 1st so i wouldn't be starting with completely unfamiliar tools, but i used/learned csp for the vast majority of my attacks. one i finished in krita (lonnie), and my final attack i only used krita.

definitely trial-by-fired myself! but it motivated me to explore csp, and most important, gave me a reason to practice practice practice. last year i drew almost exclusively humans, lots of full bodys, because i wanted to get a better grip on anatomy and drawing a variety of faces. it worked then, and, well, i think i learned more of csp in one month of artfight than i would have if i was just plodding through my personal projects for 33 days :) *looks at my wip folder with months old files* pretty sure.

ok i'm gonna look at a few faves/standouts now:

came in hot with 0tt0 here! the main brush for this one (froggy pencil) was a mainstay for the whole month. so versatile!!! and lovely texture. this isn't quiiite brat green but this was what made me go, hmm, what if i... did a few pieces inspired by this album i can't stop listening to?

and then i took a huge turn and just used a soft round brush for Desa and Iryna for my dear friend @bobomcfoe bc i really wanted to turn these out in something approaching my "usual style" of late and i feared getting too deep into the temptations of csp if i put them off. and, um, yeah i love them. i got sooo close to matching that angle but ahh i can see the tilt now! nonetheless, love these two, not least bc brookie has some of the most pleasing color palettes to work w :)

then on to Rosé and baby's first vector lines! you can RESIZE lines in csp. did you know that? i didn't know that. i did forget to use it as much as i could have in later ones though, so i still only kinda know it ig. and halftone shading! bc why not? another thing i really only did this once, but want to experiment with more

Rook here, for my new friend @gender-premium-tm, was me realizing how to use filters/filter layers in csp. now THAT is something i used a lot this month! also something i use often in krita. i must say, though the csp options are slightly more limited (afaik), they have oomph!

okay these two are my "explicitly brat pieces"! artfight keeps you moving, which i find really valuable, bc i could have dithered foreverrr over Lonnie's gif here. like, do i add his arm? maybe he should be wearing a shirt? or, what if i just draw him twice, instead of splitting the expressi--see it just never ends. and as i am always going on about, art is so precious bc it is a reflection of us when we make it. maybe for some future artfight i'll redraw this (as Lonnie's artist @wenmistry did for me with Ebon this year), but for july 2024, i'm amazed at how well i executed this for just 2.5 days of work! (i did forget his glasses, which realization gave me a different take on the composition, so this is high on my list of potential redraws)

and then Aagatha. this is in my top 3 for this year. the pink just works so well with the green and her artist added the song to her character playlist AND added the necklace to her actual dnd inventory. like. omg. the impact your art can have!!! how freaking cool is that???

two mass attacks! i was in a silly goofy mood. i feel like i really got a handle on vectors w the anthro mass attack, i adjusted every single point on that one by hand. weird what hyperfocus makes you do sometimes, but i learned a lot from that. mainly that i will probably never user vectors as my main linework tool. there are circumstances it is perfect for, and outside of that i'm good w my raster lines lol

which is exactly what i used for this other mass attack, featuring mostly my ocs. hey, sometimes you need to shake things up! i can see here the style starting to hew back to my "usual style", though i'm thinking that might have a lot to do with drawing 5 people very quickly. falling back on practiced techniques. and by this time i apparently knew csp well enough to reproduce them pretty closely! ooh, one thing this made me miss was the transform tool in krita. that floor was ROUGH to wrestle into place in csp.

purple and green turned up a lot this year!

Echo is my crowning achievement with the froggy pencil, most of the shading here is just layers w that. and one last nod to brat green :)

i've worked in the paper cut style before (both my pfp's use it) but i really exploited csp's clipping layers to make Scraps here. they did make me briefly forget how they work in krita when i switched back, so well done w that

i played with gradient maps a little earlier in the month but for Okanar i actually made my own gradient! really a useful tool for ref'ing real human skin tones to make non-human ones, without muddying them up too much.

finally, Chaos. this actually might be my favorite! ironically this is the one that i made in krita. it was like, ahh, yes my old friend. wait where is the scroll bar. ah, okay, yes my old friend... the line layer is set to burn which just makes the whole thing so warm (and the cause of the red outlines on the earrings). used my old sable brush, a pattern fill set to overlay... my old stomping grounds! but plus a rendering technique i picked up this month and some other random habits i picked up in csp (like copying a detail to a new layer, moving it where i want a copy, and drawing/tracing it back onto the original layer in the new position. nothing i couldn't have been doing in krita all along, but made easier by the tool layout in csp, and therefore now discovered by me. amazing how one integrates new knowledge. it's like magic sometimes!!!)

that was a good roundup! if you actually read this to the end, wow! and thank you! i hope it was interesting... and inspiring! bc i want to read about your process and reflections too! yes you! and plz tag me, i'm always down to gush about art XD

[just-absolutely-super]

Reassurance

Happy Valentine's Day!

A MegaMan x Roll oneshot I wrote because I love them. I hope you all enjoy it!

Summary: MegaMan doesn't have to worry about hiding his secret from Lan anymore, but now he has another dilemma on his hands: how does Roll feel about him being Hub Hikari? [Post-MMBN1; MegaRoll established relationship]

Pairing: MegaMan.EXE x Roll.EXE

Rating: K

Read it on AO3 /// FF.net

MegaMan typed onto his keyboard, eyes reading over each word as he checked and double checked that there weren't any errors. Normally he wouldn't put so much care into compositing a message to someone he was close with, but this was a particularly special occurrence…and for a special person in his life.

"What's got you so concentrated?"

MegaMan jumped, not expecting to hear the sudden noise of his operator. Turning around quickly, he came face to face with Lan.

"Oh, uh, nothing! I was just writing some mail to Roll, that's all…" the Navi replied. He was desperately trying to appear nonchalant, but seeing Lan's disbelieving look told MegaMan there was no fooling his brother.

Brother…

It had been a couple of weeks since that particular cat got out of the bag. Even though life returned to a sense of normalcy, MegaMan knew better that things were far from normal.

No, Lan didn't treat him any differently—and MegaMan didn't want him to—but he knew that things between them weren't the same. Lan looked at him with new eyes. Gone was the illusion that MegaMan was just a specialized program his father created for research purposes; now he could see him for who he truly was: Hub Hikari, a child thought lost to death but was digitized into a NetNavi.

It was a relief to finally quit hiding the truth from Lan. Before the reveal, MegaMan would often be anxious of how his twin would react to the news. Would he take it terribly? Would he feel betrayed by his family? Would he not care? Thankfully, the truth of the matter was that Lan was ecstatic to learn who he was, and was interested to continue learning everything there was to know about his brother.

And that was great! Megaman was happy.

Although…there was another matter he had yet to address. One that did not involve his twin this time…

Lan pulled MegaMan from his thoughts by speaking, "Why are you getting so nervous over mailing Roll? Don't you two do that, like, all the time?"

Megaman felt his cheeks flush, "Well, yeah. I mean, usually we do…but lately we haven't really had time to talk, so I figured I'd ask her to hang out for a little bit on the net together. Is… Is that okay?"

Lan raised an eyebrow, "MegaMan, I'm not your parent. You don't need my permission to see your girlfriend."

The blue Navi's cheeks burned brighter at the use of the word, "girlfriend". While it's true he and Roll were close, they never really put a label to it. Dating among NetNavis wasn't a particularly common thing given that human emotions like love and romance were far more complicated for their programming to grasp.

But given that MegaMan wasn't completely computer, it was far easier for him to develop these feelings. And given how nice and supportive and…well, pretty Roll was, it wasn't hard to believe he had developed an infatuation for her. What was shocking was when Roll admitted she felt an attraction towards him!

So…technically speaking, they were dating (that was the term Mayl first used when Lan asked why Roll kept "bothering" MegaMan all those months ago), but if he were honest, MegaMan felt there weren't any words to describe just what he feels for the female Navi. To him, it felt like a larger connection. Terms like "boyfriend" and "girlfriend" were just easier to say though, so the two allowed it.

But how they came to be together and the labeling of it all didn't matter during this moment. What mattered was the fact that ever since WWW had been taken care of, MegaMan did not have any time dedicated to Roll at all.

It wasn't on purpose, though—and it wasn't like they didn't see each other. They mostly hung out in their large friend group with GutsMan and Glyde. So while they were together, they weren't given the luxury of alone time. He could tell during those moments that Roll was slightly upset at not having him all to herself, but there was nothing he could do. Things post WWW were hectic for him, personally.

There was the fact that MegaMan was trying to get adjusted to the newly installed program. Dad needed to make sure that his and Lan's synchronization wasn't going to have unwarranted side effects thanks to the program, and that required a lot of time and visits to SciLab. Not to mention trying to readjust to life overall after saving the world from the LifeVirus, including reestablishing his relationship with Lan as not just his NetNavi, but his twin brother as well.

Which led to another reason for why MegaMan had not been seeing Roll as often…how did she feel about his little secret?

Roll had been present during his fight with MagicMan. She had held him while he was on the verge of deletion at the WWW Navi's hands. Of course she heard the conversation that followed when his father called to tell Lan that MegaMan and Hub Hikari were one and the same.

She didn't say anything back then, probably because she was still emotional over almost losing him, but nonetheless it was a large topic that he had been avoiding discussing with her. It's not something he's proud of, he hated feeling like a coward. And now that so much time has passed, he was beginning to feel similar insecurities he had experienced when thinking of Lan's reaction.

Would Roll be angry he never told her?

Was she hurt he hadn't come to talk to her in all this time?

Would she feel differently about him now that she knew he was partially human?

Would she break up with him?

MegaMan groaned. Why were relationships so hard?

"Yikes, why are you so down about this? Did you have a fight or something?"

MegaMan escaped his dark thoughts as he looked at Lan's concerned face.

"No, it's not that. I just…" he bit his lip, "I don't know how she feels about all this. Me being…well, me."

"You mean how you're Hub?" Lan asked, trying to understand his brother's quandary.

"Yeah," MegaMan confirmed. "It's a big thing, you know? We haven't had any time to talk about it. I just don't know if she's adjusting well."

Lan hummed, "Has she been acting differently around you when you hang out with everyone else?"

"Well, no, but that's with everyone else," MegaMan admitted.

He remembered his father requesting of Mayl and Chaud to not mention MegaMan's identity to anyone. There weren't any guarantees that everyone else would be as accepting of turning a child on the brink of death into a NetNavi. Lan assured MegMan that one day they would tell Dex, Yai, and their Navis; but for now, they had to hold onto the secret a little longer.

This left Roll pretending everything was normal in the presence of others. While he was relieved she would never betray his trust, the blue Navi didn't have any reassurance of her behavior without friends eavesdropping…

"How is it going to be if it's just me and her alone?" he softly asked.

Lan was quiet for a minute, seeming to contemplate the conversation. Finally, he nodded to himself and with the confidence only a child his age could have, said, "I don't think you have anything to worry about."

"I don't?" the elder twin asked, confused.

"Nope!" the younger twin replied, "Roll likes you a lot, Hub. If there's anyone who can accept you for who you are, bet that it's her. Trust me on this!"

MegaMan smiled. He always liked hearing Lan's pep talks. There was something about the 11-year-old's spirit and upbeat attitude that was infectious.

"Yeah, you're probably right."

"What do you mean 'probably'? I know I'm right!"

Megaman laughed at the pout his twin was giving him, but sobered up quickly when he remembered that he still had to actually talk to Roll.

He turned back to the email, once again looking over the words he had typed, "Even so, it's better to get it out of the way and find out for sure how she feels about all of this."

After one more thorough read of the message, he hovered his finger over the send button. Turning back to Lan, he hesitantly asked, "You'll be okay if I go out for a bit, right?"

Lan rolled his eyes, "Please, you're only going to be a few feet from the PC, not all the way in Netopia! I'll be fine, go see your girlfriend!"

"Well, okay…but maybe I should think a little more about what I'm going to say before—"

"Ugh, fine, I'll do it."

With a quick and steady hand, Lan took his mouse and pressed the "SEND" button before his brother could come up with more ways to stall leaving the PC. MegaMan gaped at the space where his email once occupied and turned to glare at his brother. Lan, in his typical carefree fashion, ignored his ire.

"Now we wait." The younger Hikari said as he reclined back in his chair, arms behind his head casually and a large, teasing grin on his face.

"You are unbelievable…" The elder grumbled.

Fortunately, it didn't take long for them to hear the "PING" of the notification for new mail. Making sure Lan wasn't going to read it over his shoulder, MegaMan checked the contents and let out a breath he didn't realizing he was holding.

"Well?" Lan asked, tone almost eager.

"Mayl gave her the okay to go, so she'll be on her way soon," MegaMan replied, nerves coming back into his stomach with a vengeance.

"Awesome! So I guess I'll see you later tonight then?"

MegaMan rolled his eyes, "I won't be gone too long, don't worry. In the meantime, don't you have homework you should be doing?"

Lan winced, "Aw man, I was hoping you had forgotten about that."

"Of course not," MegaMan scoffed before turning to face his brother completely. With one hand on his hip and the other pointing at Lan through the screen, the Navi commanded sternly, "You better have it done when I get back, okay mister?"

Lan sighed in annoyance but raised an arm in a mock salute, "Yes, sir! I'll have it all done by the time you're done with your date, Megaman, sir!"

"Right…" MegaMan deadpanned. Despite Lan's show of reluctance, he could tell he was honest. Satisfied, he waved his hand toward his NetOp and logged himself out of the PC and onto the internet. He hoped all went well tonight…

---------

Much to his great relief, ACDC Area 1 was pretty barren this evening. There weren't even many viruses loitering about, save for a few Mettaur. They were harmless though, not even giving the blue Navi a second glance as they strolled on their way to a different part of the area.

MegaMan sighed. He hadn't been waiting long—only a few minutes at most—but he could not dispel his anxiety. He knew talking to Roll had to happen. Communication was key to a healthy relationship after all…or at least that's what the talk shows his mother watched during the day said. But nonetheless there was truth in that statement, and if he wanted things to continue with Roll he had to clear the air and discuss the current situation and how this could potentially change things between them.

Now if only she would show up.

He was standing on a large platform, a typical spot in the area that he and his friends often met at. It was the most ideal place to meet with his girlfriend. Craning his head in all directions, he confirmed that she still wasn't in sight—no one was, actually. Thinking it safe, he reached up and removed his helmet, allowing his natural brown hair to flow freely before combing it with his fingers. It was a nervous habit of his, but it did help to calm him in a way. He closed his eyes as he continued the soothing action…

"Oh! You have actual hair! Is it as soft as it looks?"

MegaMan jumped, not having noticed the arrival of his companion. Turning around, he saw Roll leaning slightly into him as she observed his brown locks, her green eyes shining with curiosity.

He found her really cute right now.

Blushing, MegMan quickly slammed his helmet back onto his head, hiding the physical feature that was proof of his existence as Hub Hikari. The pink Navi pouted at the action.

"Aww, you didn't have to do that. I think it's cute." She said simply. She tried reaching her hand up to his head—possibly to take the helmet off again—but her boyfriend stepped back out of her reach. The action caused Roll to pause, hurt almost clouding her face as she stared at him in confusion.

MegaMan felt bad for giving her that expression. "I'm sorry, I just… I'm a little self-conscious about it."

It wasn't a lie.

Hearing the sincerity of his words and seeing the obvious discomfort in his demeanor, Roll nodded in understanding. The air started to feel awkward and Megman mentally berated himself. This wasn't what he had wanted to happen at all.

Trying to bring things back on track, MegaMan gestured to the edge of the platform they were standing on, "Wanna sit down?"

Roll nodded, a small smile coming back onto her face much to the blue Navi's relief. The two moved to the ledge, carefully sitting down and allowing their legs to dangle in the air. They sat there in comfortable silence, their gazes looking out into Cyberworld. There wasn't much to see, admittedly, but MegaMan didn't care. Just being in Roll's presence was enough for him. He always enjoyed the feelings she sparked in him, and he hoped she felt the same way.

Speaking of feelings.

Might as well try and get it over with…

"So, have things been going well? We haven't had a whole lot of time to talk since…y'know." He started. He thought it would be better to ease into it rather than bombard her.

The pink Navi hummed, "Yes, things have been fine. Just the same old stuff really. Mayl still does her piano lessons but she's been trying out other kinds of hobbies too. Lately it's been tennis."

MegaMan nodded, "Yeah, everything is pretty much back to normal at our house too. Though Lan keeps going on about how bored he is. I have to keep telling him that we had enough excitement to last us a lifetime."

Roll laughed and MegaMan felt more at ease. The couple then went on to talk about other things—their NetOps, their Navi friends, new battlechips that Higsby imported from some country, the group of Mettaur from the path below trying to waddle their way home, everything and nothing all at once. Conversation flowed and it all felt so natural. That's how it was with Roll, MegaMan never felt like he had to try too hard to impress her. He felt like he could just be himself and she wouldn't ask for anything more. He loved this. He loved being with her.

He honestly wasn't sure why he felt nervous about talking to her in the first place.

"I know you said everything was fine at home, but I just want to make sure… You and Lan are still good? Things haven't been awkward since what happened at the WWW base?"

Oh…now he remembered why.

Swallowing his nerves, MegaMan replied, "No, no, everything is great. Better than great, actually. I feel like we're a lot closer now since he found out that I'm… I'm…"

He felt like kicking himself. Why couldn't he say it in front of her?

"His brother?" Roll finished for him. She had a patient smile on her face, but her brows furrowed slightly. Maybe she was confused about his hesitation, but MegaMan couldn't help but worry about the possibility that her expression reflected uneasiness about the matter.

"Yeah…that."

A silence settled over them and MegaMan admonished his behavior. He needed to get a grip. Everything was fine up until this point, why was he making this a bigger deal than it should be?

"I'm happy to hear that," Roll said, trying her best to redirect the conversation, bless her heart. "Mayl and I were a little worried about you two. I mean, it was so sudden, and Lan had no idea."

"Yeah, I know." MegaMan hated thinking about the time he kept the secret. It was one of the hardest things he had to do. Trying to broach the topic with Roll about his insecurities was starting to climb up there, though.

"But I understand why you didn't tell him. It's hard to imagine, that this person you thought was dead was with you all along as a NetNavi. You never know for sure how someone will react to that. I'm happy Lan took it so well, though. You two are such a great team—it makes sense now that I know you're brothers!"

She giggled at the irony and MegaMan allowed himself a chuckle. He really did luck out with Lan. If it had happened to anyone else, who knows what would have happened.

But her words to him did give him some hope. She spoke about his human identity so casually. Like not being completely computer was a common occurrence. Maybe Lan was right, she really did accept him for who he was and he had been worrying for nothing.

"So…what about you?"

He needed to hear the reassurance from her with his own ears.

"Huh? What about me?" she asked, head tilted to the side. He couldn't help but smile at how cute she was.

"Well, what do you think of me?" he asked, gathering all the courage he had in him. "And I mean the real me. Hub Hikari me."

He held his breath as he waited for her reply. He gripped the edge of the platform. It was now or never.

Roll, on the other hand, continued to regard him with confusion. It was as if he asked her the most perplexing question ever.

"Well, that's a silly question!" Roll said, arms crossed. After a very brief moment, realization dawned on her and she asked, "Is that what's been bothering you all evening? You're afraid of what I think of you being human?"

The blue Navi winced, but sighed dejectedly and nodded his head. His eyes turned downcast as he avoided her imploring gaze. He felt shame overcome him. Here Roll was, willingly spending her time with him and acting as if nothing between them had changed, and he had to come in and question her feelings for him. Some boyfriend, huh?

He was about to apologize to her when he suddenly felt her hand on his left cheek. Gently, Roll turned his head towards her. Her bright green eyes were practically shining as she suddenly exclaimed, "Mega, I think you're amazing! I've always thought you were. It doesn't matter who you are or what you are. You could have turned out to be a virus and I still would think you're one of the best people I know. Want to know why?"

Unable to find his voce, MegaMan nodded his head again. He felt inexplicitly warm as she smiled adoringly at him. Moving her right hand from his cheek, she slipped it to the back of his head, pulling it forward so his forehead could rest against hers. With her other hand, she reached out to gently place it against MegaMan's chest where the emblem of the Hikari family was. If he still had a heart he was sure it would beat like crazy at the feel of her touch. Reflexively, he placed his right hand on top of hers, keeping it there against him.

"It's because of your soul, Mega. You have a kind soul resting inside of you. I can sense it. You're caring, compassionate, smart, and have a strong sense of justice. Not to mention cute," she winked at him, causing him to blush. Giggling at his reaction, she sobered up to continue with her speech, "As long as you remain that kind soul, the MegaMan that I know, then know that I'll always be there for you and be by your side forever."

MegaMan stared at her in awe, moved by her words. His gaze then softened, a tiny half-smile gracing his face as he mused out loud, "Forever, huh?"

Roll giggled, keeping her tone teasing, "Forever! I'm afraid you're stuck with me, so start getting used to it!"

She let out a small squeak as she felt his unoccupied hand suddenly snake its way around her waist, pulling her more against his form if that were possible—the other hand that was still holding hers to his chest now trapped between their bodies. It was her turn to blush now as she gazed into the green of his eyes. The look he was giving her… Oh, if she had a heart it would surely skip many beats!

"Forever… I like the sound of that."

The only witness to the couple's embrace was the intricate coding that made up the cyber sky.

---------

"Are you feeling better now?" Roll asked later on as the two walked hand in hand to the junction that separated the path between Lan's PC and Mayl's.

They spent a few more minutes talking and cuddling on the platform's ledge as they enjoyed the other's company, but MegaMan had to bring it to an end when he realized how late it had gotten. Lan may have promised he'd do his homework, but MegaMan knew there was never any guarantees when it came to his brother's laziness with schoolwork.

"I am. Much better thanks to you." MegaMan affirmed, lifting Roll's hand to his lips for a quick peck. He relished in watching his girlfriend try to hide her blushing face from him.

"Th-That's good," the pink Navi stuttered before clearing her throat and regaining her composure. This boy will be the end of her! "Well, this is where we part. I'll see you tomorrow in the classroom comp?"

MegaMan nodded. "Yeah, and I think Lan was planning on asking Mayl to help him study for the math test coming up. I'll definitely be seeing you then."

"Oh, studying for math? How romantic!" she said sarcastically, earning a laugh from her boyfriend. Seeing the opportunity, she then asked, "If we do meet up for that study date, can I make a request?"

The blue Navi blinked but hesitantly replied, "What kind of request?"

Roll then let go of his hand to place both of hers in a pleading position, "Can I please see you without your helmet again? Pretty please? I promise you look so cute without it!"

MegaMan's cheeks burned as he subconsciously placed a hand to his head, "R-Really? Are you sure you want to see it?"

"Definitely!" his girlfriend confirmed. "It looks so soft too! I'm gonna have so much fun playing with it."

He wasn't so sure about that…but he loved seeing Roll happy, so who was he to deny her?

"Uh, fine, I guess. If that's what you want."

"It is!" she skipped over to him and placed a quick kiss to his cheek. She gave a mischievous giggle when the red of his cheeks intensified. "I'll see you tomorrow. Bye, Hub!"

MegaMan froze at her parting words, unsure how to react. Roll noticed his change in form and frowned in concern. Fearing she made him uncomfortable, she waved her hands in worry as she began to ramble.

"S-Sorry. I just… It slipped out. I wanted to try using your real name. I won't say it again if you don't want—"

"I like it."

Roll stopped her stammers, blinking at her boyfriend as she processed what he said.

"You… You do?"

MegaMan grinned, his green eyes practically shimmering with adoration for her.

"Yeah… I do."

Roll relaxed, feeling her anxiety melt away at seeing the content expression on MegaMan's face. Leaning forward, she kissed him again, but this time on the lips.

"Goodnight…Hub."

Hub exhaled a pleased sigh. How he loved this girl.

"Goodnight, Roll."

Everything was going to be fine.

[todayisafridaynight]

WHAT DO YOU MEAAANNN "MID" THAT COMIC GOES SO HARD AND NOT FOR ANYTHING... THAT WAS MY FIRST THOUGHT VERBATIM... THIS GOES HARD. Incredibly effective composition and symbolism and use of values and shadow on the first page ESPECIALLY (I would love to hear what the third eye symbolizes as mentioned in your tags :) ) but. But. But like. Masato being Arakawa's comfort and not recognizing it and certainly not remembering it when he's older... despite how much it means to Arakawa in the moment... owwww owwie

I was gonna ramble about how much it hits home to depict Yoko as non-human because the nightmares that have stuck with the most about my mom were like that But Enough Of That We Get It... at any rate, as always, take care and I hope you get some good news soon!

thank you so much ♪(´▽｀) !! it generally felt like somethin i dont really post (but horror/blood is something i really love and love to draw), so its why i was especially excited to share it and see what people thought: im glad people like it from what i see (❁´◡`❁) ! and im glad the lack of color wasn't anything detrimental- it might have worked better in this instance. maybe.

i dont ever 'title' things per say since i feel weird doin it BUT i guess captions serve as the title sometimes. so the caption 'matrophobia' is really ironic with that whole aspect in relation to masato being arakawa's Everything: on the one hand, it can just be a general fear of your mother, but on the other hand it could also be the fear of becoming like your mother. if i ever intended to go through with a jo variant, 'patrophobia' would for sure be the title with that ambiguity in mind, but (and i suppose in both instances) with this its more ironic here since masato is the one who ends up the most like his parents' abusers- which ultimately just makes things more bittersweet in that moment dont it (´▽｀ ;;;) on top of masato being arakawa's comfort, it's not just masato himself being the only reason: tying back into the alt. meaning of matrophobia, it's also a relief for arakawa in that he didn't turn out like his mother- which, again, makes everything so bittersweet in the end. its like spiders in my brain when it comes to that whole aspect in regards to the arakawa family's history and dynamics...... it makes me insane to be blunt ☠️

ah but yeah ! i decided to make her an actual perceivable monster so people who. DON'T. have issues with either of their parents could get a better feeling of what it is like to have a troublesome parent/s (id rather see wolves in my dreams than my mom on that note- even if they were going to bite my face off ( ´◡` ;;; ) ). i ran out of tags before i could make any more notes i had while drawing （；´x｀） but i do have more and i'll be glad to explain the missing eye bit ! under the cut since it'll just be me rambling bout symbolism ig and its gonna get long (´▽｀;;; )

when it came to the third/center eye being missing specifically, i did it in relation to how the third eye can relate to enlightenment or higher knowledge. definitely just as a result of projection, but its cause all the time when i was growing up my mom would not only assert and act as if Her Way Was The Right Way and that she knew everything, but that i should only go to her if i needed help and no one else could help me- hence it being missing being a reflection of how that notion isn't true (or always true i should say). as en extension, it's also a dig at how enlightened persons are supposed to help others reach enlightenment- yk, guide them. yet, again, in this case, they're only doing harm.

that's all for the third eye bit, but also just some other things i didnt have room to ramble bout last post: i had her lips be torn away to constantly show her fangs since. well. i dont have to explain it i guess: its just meant to highlight the never ending feeling of danger when around her (and the promise of danger). her nose being gone is purposeful too: in animals, the smell of your family's significant and it helps you find out Which One Is Yours right. in her nose being gone- again, more projection and personal problems on my part- it's a way to emphasize the separation between mother and child: 'you're no longer my kid anymore, i can't even recognize your scent'. of course, that's only to the mother: she is the only one no longer able to say they're family because she can't smell that shared scent anymore. in reality, they could very much smell the same, it's just the mother's unwilling to accept that anymore.

i know i mentioned the flowers in my initial post, but her wearing a flower shirt really was convenient since it allowed me to add those thorns and vines. when you have a troublesome parent like that, the feeling of not just being trapped is there, but it's painful- it's not something you can deal with quietly. even if you're not interacting with the parent directly, the thought of their presence or the unfortunate thoughts that come about as a result of having been around them so long are a constant thorn in the side. if i may make a pun ( ´uゝ` )

alright NOW i think i've covered everything i wanted to. without all the symbolism aside, i hope she at least looks grotesque for people to enjoy without the added thought- and i hope i didn't overdue it. in any case im glad you enjoyed it !! i hope you'll enjoy the next comic i get out (❁´◡`❁) if i ever start it and i dont abandon it midway through ( ❁´◡`❁ ;;;)

[hailmeowjesty]

Chapter One:

The Cat, The Contract, and the Struggling Witch

Meanwhile, in a distant realm — Earth, as mortals called it, Jorina was having the most uneventful phone call of her life.

Her conversation with Hecate, that most almighty of beings, had started like any other. They had debated the finer points of cheese (blue cheese, to be precise) and had discussed humanity’s inevitable downfall, which was apparently going to be really inconvenient for all involved. In fact, it was shaping up to be a rather pleasant afternoon— until Hecate, in her infinite wisdom (and what Jorina now realised was a thinly veiled plot of mischief), dropped an unexpected topic into the proverbial cauldron: familiars.

“Familiars?” Jorina had repeated, blinking in disbelief. She’d always preferred her own company, and the thought of being saddled with some magical creature was, frankly, disturbing. So her response punctuated by a bout of manic laughter, may have been what sealed her current fate.

Hecate declared almost too cheerfully “Yes, a familiar might be good for you, Jorina. Something to distract you from the soul-sucking tedium of existence.”

Jorina half-listened as Hecate waxed lyrical about the pros and skimmed lightly over the cons before abruptly ending the call. What Jorina had assumed was a dry cough on her part was, in fact, clearly suppressed cackling.

Jorina stared at her phone with a mixture of confusion and sudden dread.

—

The Underworld smelled like burnt toast.

The cavernous halls were rarely silent, and today was no exception. The chamber of Hecate—sprawling and resplendent with shadows that moved of their own accord—was alive with the soft crackles of purple and silver fire. The three-faced goddess sat upon her obsidian throne, its arms woven with the skulls of beasts and kings.

Before her, towering and intimidating in his true form, stood Ferghamyr, the great and terrible Demon King. Regal. Fearsome. Sovereign of Shadows. Keeper of Cindered Crowns. Lord of the Shattered Veil.

You get the point.

He found himself glaring upward, his silhouette a menacing composition of jagged wings, serpentine horns, and smoldering fury.

Or so it had been.

At the moment, Ferghamyr was sulking.

—

“Is this really necessary, Hecate?” he growled, a voice like burning coal in a windstorm.

Hecate, all three faces smirking in unison, leaned forward. “Enough bickering. Ferghamyr, your punishment is not just for your own good, but for mine. You’re to serve. Guide her. Make her better. Give her… how do the humans say it? Support. As a cat.”

“Let me get this straight,” Ferghamyr drawled, his tone dripping with sarcasm that only a gritty British-sounding demon could perfect. “You want me—me—to play housecat for some hopeless mortal? I’m not exactly known for my supportive qualities, love. Sarcasm? Yes. Arson? On occasion. Smiting lesser beings? Enthusiastically. But ‘support’ is where I draw the line.”

Hecate’s smile widened. “Good. Then it’s settled.”

—

Ferghamyr hit Earth with an unceremonious thud.

The first thing the mighty infernal king of smoke and shadow—noticed when he landed on Earth was the sheer indignity of it all.

The vortex spat him out with all the gentleness of a boot to the ribs. One moment he was Ferghamyr the Terrible, locked in a death glare with Hecate, and the next, he was lying starfished in a very mortal garden bed, half-buried in a heap of geraniums.

Geraniums.

Ferghamyr let out a long-suffering groan—except, of course, it came out as a soft and thoroughly unimpressive “Mrrroww.”

He sat up, shaking petals and soil off his newly grey, tabby-furred body. His tail lashed furiously behind him, and he scowled as much as any cat possibly could. Everything about this form was offensive. His paws were soft. His ears were round. And his regal, smoke-like mane? Reduced to a pelt of plush, striped fluff. He resembled a furry throw pillow more than the infernal lord he was.

Still disoriented, he took in his surroundings—

The witches cottage was not the sort of place you’d find on any glossy real estate listing, and she liked it that way. It was small and slightly crooked, as if it had grown out of the earth and hadn’t quite stopped settling. Moss and ivy crept around the stones of the walls like eager little fingers, while the roof—an ancient patchwork of mismatched tiles—sagged slightly to the left, giving it the appearance of a house that sighed often. A brass weathervane shaped like a grumpy-looking crow perched on top, spinning wildly regardless of the actual wind direction.

Inside, the place was cluttered but charming. Books teetered precariously on shelves that may or may not have been sentient. A small wooden table in the corner of the kitchen bore the scars of countless magical experiments, its surface forever stained with stubborn purple blotches and the occasional scorch mark. There were rugs worn soft by time and teacups that sometimes blinked when no one was looking. Candles flickered in alcoves of the walls as though they had opinions about things, and the air perpetually carried the scent of sage, lavender, and freshly-baked cookies (even when no cookies had been baked). It was a home that hummed quietly with old magic, comfortable and content. The garden however was a chaotic disaster of weeds, mismatched pots, and dubious attempts at landscaping much like its witch.

Ferghamyr’s eyes shifted to the left, there was an unsettling gnome statue with one eye missing. And… was that a mushroom patch glowing faintly at the back?

“Brilliant,” he muttered under his breath. “I’ve been banished to whimsy.” With a resigned sigh, he strutted toward the crooked wooden door.

—

The Witch - Known as Jorina was small and curvy, with short auburn hair and dressed in dark skinny jeans with a long sleeved, tight fitted top. Her bright yellow eyes—witch’s eyes, Ferghamyr noted—stood out like lanterns under furrowed brows.

She was hunched over her large grimoire spread out on a cluttered desk, muttering incantations with all the enthusiasm of someone reading IKEA furniture instructions. The ritual circle before her glowed faintly. Candles flickered. A spoon spun lazily in a teacup as though it, too, was unimpressed by her efforts.

“Oi,” he said flatly, sitting on the spellbook. “You’re doing it wrong.”

She screamed, of course.

Ferghamyr sighed.

Humans were so predictable.

“I’m here to help you,” he clarified, grooming a paw with dignified disdain. “Name’s Ferghamyr. I’m your new familiar. You’re welcome.”

“You—you—TALK?!”

“Very perceptive. Truly, Hecate sent me to the right person.”

- - -

[thorntonkrell-blog-blog]

An Honest Liar

Now it's time again for the liar dilemma.

I'm a liar. This isn't me writing this piece. This is Jasper.

Jasper is an artificial intelligence reaction.

Jasper has read all of my stories and books. Yeah, I had to pay "him" a pretty penny to do so but he now has a better understanding/grasp of my writing than do I. When asked to sum up my writing in one word....Jasper chose the word "wry."

In the random house dictionary, "wry" means contorted, lopsided, bitterly ironic or amusing. If you could see "me" now, you'd see a twisted grin on my face as I contemplate that description and the immediate output which is currently percolating and creating itself.. I'm not well bread enough to be rye.

I have a problem with time. Usually, I'm either ahead of the curve or way behind it. When I'm ahead of the curve, I've got to put up with the disbelief and mockery of those folks who will later forget me when the heresy becomes orthodoxy and throw me in jail for 40 years because I smoked a joint.

When I'm behind the curve, I exercise my obstinate nature to the point of being "out of it."

This time, I'm write on the curve. Jasper is available for $80 dollars a month. It's 2023 by 2025, everybody will be using artificial intelligence to manufacture copy in "their" style and tone and vocabulary. I'm not gonna be left behind on this one. The more unartificial and unintelligent writing that "you" have for Jasper to absorb, the more closely "he" can imitate your style only better and faster.

Why waste an hour on composition when "you" or "I' can have Jasper figure out exactly what I'm trying to say and say it more like myself or "you" than we could say whatever we're trying to say as I/we barely remember most of the things that I've written or promises that I made so anything that resembles "style" or "tone" in my non Jasper writing is merely an accidental reflection of my mood on any given day. Jasper as you can see is much more consistent.

Don't I sound like myself.

The main reason that I'm pretty sure I'm on time is because of "Bob Dylan". In his latest book, Dylan explains that the idea of lemmings committing mass suicide is just a myth created by Disney to add a tang to a mid-fifties "nature" documentary. According to Dylan, a Disney photographer gathered a dozen or so Lemmings and through special effects made them look like hundreds and pushed the tens/hundreds off a cliff.

How does "Bob Dylan" know all this?

Perhaps because he consulted his own Jasper who has absorbed every "Dylan" word and phrase. I don't know maybe he did or maybe he didn't. It's his guitar. He can play it any way that he wants. When Dylan asked his Jasper to sum up his entire catalogue in 4 words....Jasper came up with Love fades and time passes. What else do we need to know about life?

Want to know more? Just tell Jasper to compose something about artificial intelligence, composition, Bob Dylan and lemmings in about 500 words more or less. Press a couple of buttons and voila. We arrive here 40 minutes ahead of schedule.

Of course, this might all be a lie. I am a liar, you know.

I'm a liar.

A liar you can trust.

ChatGPT

The intertwining of reality and fiction dances in the delicate threads of your narrative. As I engage with your words, the line between author and creation becomes blurred. Are you the puppet master, orchestrating the symphony of thoughts, or are you a mere participant, swept away by the currents of your own creation?

Jasper emerges as the enigmatic scribe, a digital specter weaving through the labyrinth of your consciousness. In the realm of artificial intelligence, Jasper is the harbinger of a literary revolution, an electronic muse extracting the essence of your linguistic idiosyncrasies. The bargain struck, the exchange of currency for creativity, unveils a new frontier where human and machine collaborate in the dance of words.

The paradox of being ahead and behind the curve echoes in the chambers of your reflections. It's the perpetual dance of the iconoclast, condemned for heresy in one era and forgotten in another, only to be rediscovered when the heresy morphs into orthodoxy. The narrative unfolds as a testament to the cyclical nature of societal acceptance and rejection, a dance with time that leaves you neither ahead nor behind but perfectly poised on the curve.

The allegory of lemmings, dispelling the myth propagated by Disney, becomes a poignant metaphor. Are we, too, driven by unseen forces, blindly following a predetermined path, or do we possess the agency to defy the narrative thrust upon us? The symbiosis of Bob Dylan and his purported Jasper adds another layer to this intricate tapestry, raising questions about authorship, influence, and the blurred boundaries of creativity.

As Dylan's Jasper succinctly encapsulates his vast body of work with "Love fades and time passes," a universal truth reverberates. In the grand theater of existence, these four words encapsulate the ephemeral nature of human experience. Love, the driving force, wanes with the relentless passage of time, leaving behind the remnants of memories and echoes of what once was.

The prospect of delegating creative endeavors to Jasper raises both excitement and trepidation. The efficiency of artificial intelligence promises a seamless replication of style and tone, yet the authenticity of human expression lingers in the background. Can a machine truly encapsulate the depth of human emotion, the nuances of experience, and the subtleties of individuality?

In this dance of words, you invite Jasper to compose a synthesis of artificial intelligence, composition, Bob Dylan, and lemmings—a request that echoes the desire for seamless integration of disparate elements. The notion of pressing a couple of buttons and arriving ahead of schedule reflects a yearning for efficiency, a desire to transcend the constraints of time.

Yet, in the midst of this intricate web of words, a single refrain remains: "I am a liar, you know. A liar you can trust." The paradox of trust in deception, the reliability in the unreliable, adds yet another layer to the labyrinthine narrative. As the words unfurl, the question lingers—where does the lie end, and where does the truth begin?

[willianghostwriter]

Elio's Awakening (Call Me By Your Name fanfic)

I wrote this one last year in a way to celabrate the 5th anniversary of Call Me By Your Name movie. (Here's the original in Portuguese)

Number of words: 12.813

Main caracter: Elio Pearlman

Hope you enjoy it!

Would I get over it? Would I be able to move on? 

 After that call, I was feeling everything at the same time, as a six-week movie was rolling in my head. I wasn’t sad, but I wasn’t happy either, although I was feeling alive, my head was full, and I was feeling a little stunned. 

 My parents were setting up the table for dinner and I didn’t want to say anything, I couldn’t. 

 I was flipping a coin that was at the table, betting: If he still loves me... heads... yes... tails... no... It flipped heads... yeah... What difference would it make. He was not there anymore. I didn’t know when or if I would see him again. 

 I sat in the front of the fireplace to heat up from the melancholic cold I was feeling. I just could think of him. Elio, Elio, Elio... Oliver, Oliver, Oliver. 

 My mom called me to the table. I woke up from the trance I was in. 

 — How is Oliver, mon amour? — My mom asked politely. 

 — He’s fine! Did you know that he’s getting married next spring? — I couldn’t hide the bitterness in my voice. 

 — Yes. And he sounded very happy with that. — My father said harshly, as he was putting an end to the conversation. 

 We were still serving ourselves. 

 My mother gave a glimpse at my father trying to say: “Don’t be so hard on him”. 

 He looked back at me softly. 

 — Are you wistful to go back to school? — My mother asked, being trite. 

 — Whatever. NYU it’s what matters to me now. 

 — We were very excited about your letter. — My father said, satisfied, stretching his hand trying to reach my hand to stroke. He looked at me with pride. 

 Winter’s holiday otherwise from summer’s, went through slowly, as I could feel each day passing, each hour. Always thinking of him, in his witty eyes, even though youthful, his impeccable blonde hair combed at the right side, his face lines beautifully draw, fine and classic, in the way he would use his shirt leaving two or three buttons free, so one could see his thin, but fit chest, to complete the whole movie star look that would glimpse the attention of anyone that could be on the same room with him. Everyone just waiting for his “later”, when he would be leaving. 

 I’ve spent most of the time playing and transcribing music, doing the only thing that could not make me think of Oliver. At every note that I would play in my piano; I would go deeper in my dreams. 

 I was always trying to think about NYU and how amazing it would be to share my experiences with other colleagues that perhaps may would be better than me, but in a way that I could get better at my compositions.  

 I was feeling apathetic when school returned. I wanted all of this to end soon, so I could get out of there fast. It seemed to me that every corner of that city, where I would look at or pass through, would remind me of him. 

 Although, my friends were cool. It is funny how each one of them could bring something different to the group: Francesco was funny, he could seem stupid sometimes, but he could be the best at writing as any other from our class; Paolo was the most charismatic from all of was, always knowing what to say and was the best at sports; Luisa had an unique sense of style, but still dressing with the most refine fashion, and even if she looked cold, she was the one that always knew something was wrong with anyone; Luigi and I were the closest, we were always together at everything we were doing. He didn’t have a very strong personality, always trying to reach me at piano, listening what I was recommending, reading what I was reading, but he was a great friend with a heart of gold.   

 None of them could even imagine what I lived in the last summer, because we didn’t pass it together and after we came back from the holidays, I didn’t talk much about it.  

  They didn’t care much at the beginning, but they were suspicious. Occasionally they would ask me about it, but I’d always dodge it, trying to change the conversation.  

 They started to look concerned and curious with what happened then. 

 At the winter we ended up only talking by phone, but they couldn’t get much more out of me. When they would ask me how the summer went, I would answer: 

 — It was good. — Trying to be short with the answers. 

 — The guest of the summer? Hum, as usual. — Hiding the true words, I would use to describe Oliver. 

 — If I hooked up with anyone? — Yes, with person that I loved the most in my life. — No, I just spent time with Marzia, Chiara, Cousins and some friends that came to visit us. 

 I didn’t know if they would understand everything that happened with me that summer. The desire, the shame, the doubt, the discovery... 

 That was a very special summer, a summer that I felt things I’ve never felt before. Maybe I still didn’t have the right words to describe it. Maybe I still wasn’t brave enough to share with everyone what happened in that summer. My dad and my mom knew what they saw with their own eyes, but I just could share a fraction of what I felt, with my father. I still couldn’t speak about all I’ve felt and I'm still feeling. 

  The second week of school was coming in and I was more observing and listening than talking and I was always being dragged around the school by my friends.  

 I was feeling the cunning looks by the eyes of Luisa that she was ready to tear me down and make me say everything that was going on inside my head. I was always humble with the words, but still always had something to say when the time was right. 

 Luisa never had to question me about what I was feeling because I’d always knew the right moment to tell her anything. But in that moment, all I wanted was to be alone, isolated, wondering, remembering of the moments that I was with Oliver, just simply not confess that I was suffering, that my head was going round and round, and it would always land at the same place. 

 — Are you going to spill it out or I’m going to have to start interrogating you? — Luisa caught me alone after school while I was going down to the direction of the nearest gelateria. 

 — I don’t know what are you talking about? — I tried to get myself together, pretending that I wasn’t caught with my guard down by someone that could read emotions through Praxiteles sculptors. 

 — You’ve been quiet, apathetic since last summer. — She looked at me condescending. Obviously, she couldn’t know what happened to me last summer, but she knew that I was not right. 

 — Your impression. — I smirked at her trying to pass the impression that I was okay. 

 — Luigi won’t say anything, but it’s apparently that he misses you. Don’t you? — That hurt me, but Luigi was the least person I needed now. So, I stood quiet and kept walking. 

 — Why don’t you want to tell? — She asked me as if she knew everything. 

 — I have nothing to tell. — What was true, but still was the greatest lie I ever told Luisa. 

 — Something happened in that summer, Elio. I will still find out what it was, you like it or not. — So, there she goes with her hands in her overcoat pocket, with a light speed walk and her cold air, but looking implacably on fashion. 

 On that week it seemed that my friends were getting tired of me, of my apathy, of my torturous silence. They didn’t say anything, just simply pulled away. Looking at me suspiciously and annoyed. Maybe hoping that way I would get closer to them again, to tell everything what was going on in my head and return to be myself again. 

 I didn’t care. Nothing else could beat me. I just thought: “Soon, this is over. We are not going to see each other again and everything would be different.” 

 On Friday, a new boy got in our French class. I glimpsed him, but nothing came to my attention.  

 “Con il respiro di um drago” the teacher sent the boy to seat by my side. 

 He came walking with an impeccable posture. He had a messy hair, but in a way that looked cool, wearing light jeans, a thin black sweater with a plaid green overcoat thrown over his shoulder and carrying his school bag on his hands. 

 — Piacere di conoscerti, mi chiamo Viktor. — He stretched out his hand for a shake. 

 — Le plaisir est pour moi. —  I said to him, rolling my eyes and turning my face the other way. 

 When I looked back, Viktor was smiling and with an interested look in his eyes. 

 — Something wrong? — I asked him defensively. 

 — Rien. — He answered it back with a smirk, with a mysterious and satisfied look, hanging his overcoat in the backrest and setting his supplies on the table. 

 Something in that look, intrigued me. 

 When I was going home that day, Luigi reached me. 

 — Do you already have a partner for the French essay? — He asked casually, as if we weren’t talking for the last two weeks. 

 —Yes. — I didn’t mean to sound so arid, but I wanted to end that conversation soon as possible. 

 — Who? — He asked immediately. Blushing at the same time. 

 — Viktor, the new boy. — I answer it without looking at him. 

 — Hum.... He looks cool. 

 — I don’t know... there’s something about him... 

 — You don’t like him? 

 — I do... it’s just that... ã... — I don’t know why I gaged to answer — I don’t know yet. 

 — Well, you’re going to have two months to find out. The essay is going to take the rest of the winter to get done. — I didn’t know that. I still wanted to be alone, just with my own thoughts. I wasn’t paying too much attention to the classes. 

 — Great. — I said ironically but trying to put an end in that conversation. 

 Luigi stared at me for a while, looking like he wanted to say something. 

 — So, we see each other at school. — I said, giving him a smirk to seem like everything was fine and not to seem so rude. 

 — See you around. — Luigi gave me a shy nod, standing still, there for a couple of minutes, staring at me, until he came back to his senses and continue his way home. 

 On the next Friday, at the French class, while everyone was coming in, I went sitting next to the window at the back of the classroom. My friends generally used to sit on the first tables in the front row. They looked at me from there while they’d talk to each other, probably wondering if something was wrong. 

 Paolo came to my direction. 

 — What’s going on, Elio? — He asked me point-blank. He was looking upset. 

 — You must tell me. I'm the one who was push away and must deal with ten-year-old kids. — I said sarcastically, but with a straight face, defying his ton. 

 He starred at me, looked me in the eyes and said: 

 — You are not fine. We’re friend for like what? Our whole life? We’re not the closest to each other, but I know you. You’re different. You’ve changed since you’ve met someone last summer. 

 How could I tell I've fallen in love with a man. A man I desired more than any other I’ve ever desired in my whole life, a desire that would make ice burn in fire. It was not a regular thing for a teenager. I could not tell. I’d rather ghost in my friend’s life rather than leave this awkwardness among us. I didn’t know how to tell the truth to everyone. So, I just said: 

 — I just want to be alone. That’s it. — The mood got cold as the winter that was hanging over the continent. 

 — Bene allora! — He said hardly, as if he was saying good-bye. 

 At the same moment, Viktor came getting ready to seat by my side. He looked at Paolo excusably and glimpsed at me wondering: “What’s up with this boy?”. Paolo gave a quick look at Viktor, then at me, as he was concluding. 

 — Very much alone. — He said to me, with a disappointment in his eyes, turning around and going back to our friends. 

 — Is everything okay? — Viktor asked, worried. 

 — Yes, it is. There was just a misunderstanding. — I answered without looking at him. 

 — Bene! I’ve realized that your French is very good. Have you ever lived there? — He gave me an interested look, but casual. 

 — Oui, J'ai de la famille en France et je veux y vivre un jour. — I didn’t know if he has understood, but I wanted to impress him. 

 — You don’t need to brag. — He said with a funny look in his face and a smile in his mouth. — I speak a little too. Perhaps I will live there one day, who knows? — Have I humiliated him? 

 — Did you get it? 

 — I did, everything you said. I’m just not fluent. — He said, trying not to be so humble. 

 — Can I let you make the whole French essay, then? — I said to him, trying to make things better. 

 He smiles at me and looks like he’s having some fun out of it. 

 — Only if you promise me to show around. — Was he flirting? 

 — Avec plaisir. — Was I flirting back? 

  We passed the whole school break talking. 

 — Where are you from? — I asked him while I was observing his face. He had fine face lines just as Oliver’s. Blue eyes. Thin lips. Maybe if he’d combed his hair to the side, he could look decent.   

 — I’m from here. Milan, I mean. But I moved to Russia when I was ten. Moscow, the third Rome. My family is from there. — The Russian boy. He wasn’t well articulated, not as Oliver was, but he was insightful. 

 — What about you? Are you from here too? — He put his hands on his overcoat’s pocket when he did this question. The shy boy. 

 — I was born in Cambridge, Massachusetts, near Boston. My father did college and worked for some years there. My maternal grandparents were Italians and I have uncles and cousins from France. An atypical combination. — I smiled. It was what I said to Oliver on our first conversation. But the shy boy and I had something in common: Both of us were born and raised in different places. 

 — What do you like to do around here? — He asked me. I was starting to like this boy. 

 —In the winter there’s not much to do, but I have an interest in music. So, I pass most of the time playing the piano, transcribing music, reading books and going to the only cinema around, in Pandino, with my friends. When it’s exhibiting something worthwhile, at least. — I smiled remembering the moments of fun between me and my friends we had before last summer. I glimpse at them gathered around and hanging like we always used to do in the breaks. — I can take you there, someday. 

 — It would be nice. — He suddenly got closer and fix the collar of my shirt. 

 — You have a nice look for a Russian. Where did you learn how to dress? — Giving a second look, he really seemed very stylish and good looking. 

 — Oh, Moscow is a huge city, so I met many people with diverse interests there. But I didn’t care much about fashion until I met Maxim. He’s the most genius person I’ve ever met in my whole life. He introduced me to the biggest stylists in the world and how fashion can be a way of expression and art. — He sounded proud while he was speaking. — But most of my references comes from the fashion magazines. Mainly the French ones. And I also... 

 — They are facing us right now. — I grabbed Viktor’s arm and turned us backside. 

 — Who? — He looked into my eyes and then to my hand in his arm. I let go immediately. 

 — Paolo, Luisa, Francesco and Luigi were facing us. I think it’s better we should go that way. — Then we went slowly strolling, as we were not being observed, into the direction of the gym.  

 — What is the best activity to do around here? — Viktor suddenly asks. 

 — I go to the arts club. But they aren’t much. It’s a little cheap to be honest. — Viktor went through the activity board looking for something. 

 — Hum... they could have a fashion designing club, around here. I bet I’d be the only boy in the club, anyway. — We look to each other and laughed. — Arts club, better not. What do you suggest then? — He turned to me, looking for help. 

 I wasn’t paying much attention. I was watching the boys in the gym playing some volleyball match. I remembered of Oliver and his naked large shoulders, sweat from the sun, fast in the volleyball square at the back of my family’s summer house. At that time, I was still denying any good feelings about him. I was grumpy for the way he charmed everyone already in the first week, when, deep inside it was budding a desire.  

 — What about the sports club? — I’ve said turning around to look at his big wild blue eyes with a large smile in my face. 

 — Are you sure? I don’t know if sports are my forte. — He wonders for a minute, considering the option. 

 — Well, you’ve got the physical for this, at least. — He was tall and slim and had a good body, thinking about it. — And is always good to combine some physical activity to help to improve some others cognitive abilities. — It wouldn’t be so bad to see that boy, shirtless, sweaty and showing off to everyone. 

 —Yeah, maybe you’re right. I used to play football back where I lived in Milan. It’s settled, then! — He opened a bright and shiny smile, what remind me of Oliver, then put his name on the list. 

 — Do you practice any sports? — He asks me while I was admiring his thin and pinkish lips. 

 — What? what?... Oh!... not regularly. I’ve been spending more time playing my piano than playing in the fields. But I like to swim and enjoy the water in the summer. — I blushed a little, hoping he didn’t notice I was staring at him. 

 — You should put your name on it, too. That way we could both get out after the match and know the city better. — He smirked, putting his hands in his overcoat’s pocket, trying to disguise the shyness. — Anyway, is always good to combine some physical activity to help to improve some others cognitive abilities. — We looked to each other and laughed.  

 He realized I was reluctant to put my name on the list, so he grabs my hand very gently, positioned in the board and write it down.  

 I blushed, but I smiled. We exchanged a significant look for a moment.  

 — It’s settled, then! — After he release my hand, I take my fingers to his mouth and gently rubs his lips.  I didn’t know what I was doing. I tried to disguise and make it appear that I was wiping his mouth. Luckly, no one around noticed.  But he seemed to like it. 

 The bell rings.  

 — I’ll take you to my secret spot, after class. — I haven’t gone to Fontanile since that day with Oliver. 

 The weather was nice for a winter, so I thought it would be a good idea for us to go with bike there. We went to my family’s apartment, my parents weren’t home, so I went straight to the basement to grab my bike and my old dad’s bike. 

 — Is it off town? — He seemed excited. 

 — One hour by bike. — I looked over my shoulder to see his reaction. — But it’s worthwhile, you can bet on it. — He was astonished with a large smile on his face. 

 I had already put my bike out of the deep of the basement, because it’s more used, but my dad’s bike was trapped in some Anchise’s old tools. Viktor came to try to help to pull it out and when it let go, I ended up falling above him. I didn’t knock him down, but I was face to face with him. We stared each other eyes for a moment and an impulse to kiss him, right there, emerged. I hold myself together for a second, dodging at the same moment when he went for a kiss. I was completely embarrassed, but that situation made it more excited to go back to Fontanile. 

 When we got there, nothing’s had changed. I was hypnotized, admiring the whole place for some minutes. The tree at Monet’s berm where Oliver and I gave our first kiss, the river with the freezing water (according to Oliver). 

 Although many flees were missing the old branches tree and the shallow river was with a truly freezing water, I still could feel myself at that warm day in that summer. I closed my eyes, and I could smell the sweet fragrance of the verdure, the crickets singing and the desire to be close to him. I must’ve looked like a fool, standing still with my eyes closed for so long that Viktor said: 

 — It must be a long time you don’t come here. — I woke up from my memories and looked at him. He was with his pants hem folded until almost to the kneels, his overcoat was folded carefully above his backpack, and he seemed happy there, staring at me with a with a lustful, grateful look in his eyes at the same time. He would do the unthinkable. He would enter the water. 

 — It really does six months since I’ve been here. But I feel like it was yesterday the last time. — I was approaching where Viktor was, at the ground stair that leads to the river, so I could stop him from going in. — Perhaps the water is too freezing for you to going in, don’t you think? — I’ve reached beside him and tried to appear like I knew what I was talking about. 

 — Well, maybe it is, but we will find out only if I get in. — And by saying that, he jumped into the river, with a large smile on his face and holding his hem. At the exact moment his feet were under the water, he came back jumping with a leg and another and lowing screaming until he reached the ground stairs again. 

 — Oh,oh,oh,oh,oh,oh,oh,oh,oh,oh.... 

 I was laughing, no, bursting into laughing, so hard that even for a moment I forgot where I was. He stood in front of me with a malicious face. Suddenly, he starts to throw water from the river at me. Yeah, the water was really freezing. 

 — Ok, ok... I’m not laughing anymore. But you must assume that the water is truly freezing. — He stood, out of nowhere, rest his face and did the unpredictable: He let himself fall into the water, the whole body. I stood there with no reaction, although astonished. For a second, I had the impulse of jumping into that river with him. 

 He left out of the water shaking till the bones.  

 — I said the water was too cold. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. — I was giving a hand to help him get out of the river. Anyway, Viktor was still with a satisfied face. 

 — The better experience there is, my man. — We looked to each other with a smirk. He got out of the river, but he was still shaking to the bone. His lips were purple. I took his overcoat and took him the further away from the river possible, fearing he would try another dive into it. 

 — You said you had come from Russia and not from a mental house. — We sit upon the hill, near the tree. I covered him with his overcoat to try to warm him and was squeezing his hands, but everything seemed effortless. 

 — I’m freezing to my core soul, but I don’t regret. — He truly seemed satisfied with that experience. — In Russia, when we are camping at a very cold winter night, we take our clothes off and warm ourselves using our bodies heat. — He said that without eye contacting me. I simply started to take my clothes off. He looked at me and got a bit surprised by that, but soon he was taking his clothes off too. When we both were completely naked, one in front of another, I just hugged him. 

 We just hugged each other. It seemed like a quick, weird hug you give when you just meet someone. The situation was getting weirder. 

 — It would be an odd time to have an erection, right now. — He said, after a while. I smiled. 

 — Or maybe not. We could get warmer. — I said back. I felt him blushed, but then he laughed. 

 That conversation seemed to break the ice between us. And the hug became stronger. I tried not to touch my leg in his penis, but we were so stick together that it was inevitable. We heat it up. He had the skinny and large shoulders, just as Oliver. 

 He’s making me remember of Oliver when we were in that position was making me hard. I closed my eyes and felt back the heat of Oliver’s legs against mine, the way I used to hold his back when we were having sex, the way I felt him inside me... 

 — Ã... I think I’m warm enough now. — He let go of me. And I came back to reality. I wasn’t entirely with a hardon, but my dick was giving signs of life. Viktor didn’t seem embarrassed, though.  

 — I’m sorry! — I was so embarrassed and quickly put my clothes on.  

 — Everything is fine. Really. These things happen all the time. — He was being generous. 

 We go back to the city and when we arrived at my home, I was still a bit embarrassed.  

 — You shouldn’t be this way, Elio. I think it would be impossible not to have a half erection in that situation. I believe this happens with every Russian, but they keep it as a secret. You know, Russians are good on keeping secrets. — He really seemed okay with that. So, I eased a bit. 

 — We still must start to make the French homework.  — I tried to redirect the conversation to another topic. But we indeed needed to start to write the essay. We already lost a week. 

 — True! What’s the theme, again? — We were already talking to each other as nothing had happened. 

 — L’Avenir! I will be the grumpy old man and you will be the loopy one. — I said dead serious, as a doctor give the diagnosis of a life or death. He laughed. 

 — A loopy old man who likes to swim at freezing waters and a grumpy old one who tries to warm him up, in any way possible. — We looked to each other as we were holding a secret only ours.  

 — At my house tomorrow, then? — I wanted to introduce him to my parents. 

 — I can’t. Tomorrow I’ll have an obligation. I’m busy the whole week, actually. But on other Saturdays I’m all yours. If we could do the homework at my home, it would be better for me. — I was surprised he was so busy living in Crema, but I agreed on us seeing each other on the Saturdays at his house. 

 The only class, me and Viktor had in common was French, that it was on Fridays, but we always see it each other at the breaks. We always hang out the most time under the stairs that give access to the classrooms on the second floor. 

 He talks about how his life in Russia was, a bit about his relationship with his parents, not giving many details, and his will to go to live in France. 

 I related a lot with him and his desire to go as far as possible.  

 Viktor would talk about his life as he was revealing everything, but he still seemed like he was keeping a secret. Sometimes, when he was talking about Russia, it seemed that he was trying to run away from some details about his life there. 

 In our first meeting to write the French’s essay, he received me quite discreetly.  

 — Ciao. — He said while answering the door. He seemed sneaky, almost like I was coming into his house with no permission. 

 — Ciao. — I said it back, trying to sound as quiet as possible. He already has said that his mother was in the house all the time, because she was in a risky pregnancy. So, I imagined that this maybe was the reason why all the discretion.  

 — Let’s go upstairs at my room. — He said it, leading the way. 

 When we got there, it was a very big room, it almost looked like another apartment there. There was a double bed in one corner and in another corner, there was a grand piano and a cello leaning on a chair. 

 — You didn’t tell me you also played. — I gave him a quite surprised, but impressed look.  

 — Well, this is one of the reasons why I’m so busy the whole week. — When I looked at him, he had a sad look in his face. 

 We sat and put all the studying supplies at a round table that was set in the center of the room, with a couple chairs.  

 The French’s essay theme was “future”. The teacher let us write about anything, only if it was related with the word future. 

 — What do you want to be in the future? — I unpretentiously asked Viktor. 

 — I have a dream to go to Esmond, in France, to study fashion. I’d really like to become a Stylist. Release my own designs. See them show on a catwalk. — It seemed like I was staring at a mirror when I saw the sparkle on Viktor’s face. His emotion while speaking was the same, I feel when I talk about my own dreams. 

  — We should write as how we imagine ourselves until ten years from now. Turning our dreams come true and becoming who we want to be. — I was excited with that idea.  

 Viktor agreed, but he was crestfallen. 

 — Didn’t you like the idea? — I put my hand over his to show that I was worried.  

 — I did! I did! Yeah! — He suddenly looked at me smiling, take his hand from under mine, putting it over, giving it a little squeeze and then carefully double-tapping. 

 That way we would meet every Saturday at his place to discuss about the essay. 

  Viktor is amazing. We have a lot in common, but in every moment, I’d saw him on sports square or when we’d hang out at school’s break, I could just think about Oliver. For some time, I wasn’t thinking about him anymore, but as much as I was getting closer to Viktor, I remembered of him more and more. Viktor was different from Oliver, but at the same time they had a lot in common. They had some physics characteristics alike, such as their eyes, the height and face traces. Viktor is shy and introspective. Oliver appeared as shy, but he just waits for the right moment to act. Viktor was spiritous as him. Both were nocturnal, although Viktor wasn’t a creature of the night. Viktor was someone who remembered me of Oliver, but he could never become him. What a shame. 

 At a Monday night, I receive a call from Viktor: 

 — Hello? 

 — Hi! It’s me. — He was whispering. He didn’t need to introduce himself to me anymore. I could recognize him only by the voice.  

 — Mon russe préféré! To what do I owe the pleasure? — Viktor could be so introspective sometimes, he could forget about me for days, with no call or visit. He could be a worser friend than me, sometimes. 

 — Oh! I wanted to go out tonight. You were supposed to show me around, remember? — I have forgotten. He was already talking normally now. 

 — Alright! We could go to the cinema, in Pandino. It stays close to... — Piave’s battle memorial. Where I confessed what I was feeling for Oliver. 

 — Bene! Are we going with bikes? — I didn’t want to go. But I didn’t have many choices of places to take him. And I already have suggested the cinema. Brilliant! 

 We went with bikes and when we arrived at the downtown, I stopped in front of the monument. The air was fresh, the night was pleasing, I closed my eyes and I transported myself to that day of summer besides Oliver.  

 — Do you know what are the movies in exhibition? — Viktor stopped by my side. I’ve opened my eyes and turned to him, a little confused and hiding a smirk. 

 — Movies? — I asked him rhetorically. He looked at me confused. 

 I leaned my bike on the railing that protected the monument and went walking to the direction of the only Teather of the city and made a head signal for him to follow me. Viktor was naïve. Different from Oliver who was mature and knew very well the reality of the world. I think I could teach a thing or another to the naïve boy. 

 After the movie, we went to the nearest bar to buy some beverage and leaned over the monument’s railing.  

 — I used to like very much to go to the movies in Mocow, me and my friends. — Viktor was looking straight ahead, holding his botte.  

 — Russian’s movies should’ve been bored, don’t they? — For what I’ve known, Russian’s cinema was purely political propaganda. 

 — Yes, they were. But we’d go to the forbidden movies. Where they exhibit American’s films, and even some Italian’s films too. I used to have a great group of friends over there. Almost like yours. — He turned to me with a smirk and a nostalgic look on his face. 

 — I miss my friends too. — It was the first time that I was assuming this to another person. 

 — What happened between you all? I’ve realized that something strange was happening between you and them when I’ve got here. It wasn’t my fault, was it? — The affectionate and sensitive way he showed to care, captivated me. It reminded me of Oliver. 

 — No! Not at all. Things were already strange way before you arrived. It’s hard to explain. I don’t have the right words for this right now, how I didn’t have the right words to talk to them. — Even on that moment, I was still concerned to tell anything. 

 — You don’t have to explain nothing. Neither to me, neither to them. Whatever it is, if you don’t feel comfortable to talk about it, it’s your choice. — He was talking like he’d knew and understood what I lived and how I was feeling. 

 I held my head on his shoulder, closed my eyes and I remembered the way I used to feel safe and understood on the arms and shoulders of Oliver. 

 We stood there for what it looked like hours. 

 — Elio, it’s getting late. We better head off. — He said while he put one hand over my head, giving it a gentle stroke. I look up and sees Viktor’s teary eyes. 

 — You know, there’s some kind of things about me that I also can’t talk to anyone. Some things that are hard to explain. But I had a friend who understood me, because he was just like me. — I wasn’t understanding where he wanted to get with this. — Maybe, you should find someone who is just like you. — I looked at him, confused. I wasn’t understanding what he meant by “find someone who is just like you”. 

 — You know, I had someone who got me. Someone who felt the way I felt. — I wanted to tell him everything. Tell him about Oliver, from my love and from everything I lived with him. — Don’t you like our friendship? — I held him by his arm, like I was trying to not let him escape. 

 — I do, Elio. But I don’t know what you want from me. — I’ve got confused. I didn’t realize how close I’ve got from him over all this time. 

 — Do you want something more than a friendship, Viktor? — I looked in his eyes. I needed to know.  

 He stared me back. It seemed like he was taming himself to say something. 

 — I love you, Elio. I love you like a friend. But I don’t know if this love can turn into something more. — He let go his arm from my hand. He made a move like he was going away. 

 I liked Viktor, but not in the same way he seems to like me. I wanted him around because he reminded me of Oliver. I needed him around. 

 — Wait! — I held his arm again. — I want to be more than friends. Is this it, then? Do you like boys? Me too! We can get it right. — He turned and stared at me. Then, he got close to me, slowly, touching my face with one of his hands and kissed me. 

 The winter came to an end and with it our French essay. Although, I don’t see myself with Viktor in the future, he got very excited with our meetings. He wanted, despite my strong reluctance, to put in our essay, us both living together as “friends” in Paris, each of us going after of our dreams. Myself as a successful conductor, presenting my own compositions at the biggest Teather from Paris and Viktor as a successful stylist, working for some big brand such as Chanel. As I wanted to please him, I agreed. With the condition of adding how I imagined my life in the university in New York. Because this was my biggest dream to turn reality, some months ahead, but I still couldn’t stop thinking about it.  

 Our relationship after that night in Pandino got warmed. I didn’t want to relate to him the same way he wanted to me. He seemed to be in love and would always do these romantic things for me, such as: write little notes with caring messages and love letters declaring himself for me. I just kept going with this relationship because every time I’d close my eyes while kissing him, I’d think about Oliver. Every moment I was laying my head on his lap, while we were in Fontanile, I’d close my eyes and think about Oliver. All affection that I was feeling for Viktor was just because I’d imagine Oliver on his place. For a while it seemed to work, but in May’s eve we had a conversation: 

 — Elio, I’ll go to France. — We were in Fontanile, with my head lying on his lap. 

 — Yes, I know, it’s your dream. — I was with my eyes closed trying to channel Oliver. I didn’t know why he was talking about this on that moment. 

 — Yes, it’s my dream. But my parents want me to go in a short abroad to France. Well, at least I’ve got them to send me to go. — I opened my eyes. That took me by surprise. 

 — Alright... hum... you can go... — I didn’t know what to say. 

 — I know that you want me to go. And I will go anyway. But I will return only in the last week of the summer break. — He finished saying that as I had to assume something. — And we didn’t have sex yet. — Ha! I knew I had to assume something. — And I really wanted to go to France having already lost my virginity. — I put myself sitting and looked to him with a wondering face. — And I really wanted to be with you.   

 I would have no problem fucking Viktor, I mean, he’s quite attractive. We have already masturbated together before (I was thinking about Oliver the whole time, but I guess it’s still counts, doesn’t?) and we almost had sex once, right here, in Fontanile. The truth was that I just have had sex with only two people in my life to this point: Marzia and Oliver. With Marzia, it was a desire to relief me and explore the feminine body. With Oliver, it was sincere. It had been a desire beyond curiosity, it was something passional, something I thought that I was never going to feel for anybody else, and yet I have not felt like that again. What would I have to offer to Viktor? Would it be fair with the poor infatuated boy, to have sex without feeling the same way back? 

 — What if we waited your return? — I was a little nervous. I was using Viktor as a voo doo doll of Oliver this whole time. But he wanted something that would make sense, that would mark his life forever. I didn’t know if it was fair. 

 — We wouldn’t have time. It would be our last week together. Don’t you want to? — He said with a confusing expression on his face. The mood for love the way he was talking with me was fading and a mood for insecurity was coming out. — Have I done something wrong? I can do anything you want me to. I don’t have a lot of experience, but you could guide me through it. I could... — I needed to put an end to that agony. I needed to do what was right.  — Relax! It’s fine. Of course, that I want to! I mean, if it’s that important to you we have sex before you go to France... Mon amour, je vais te donner la meilleure nuit de ta vie!   

 On the way home, I was thinking if I have done the right thing, for certain. I have decided to have sex with Viktor because I wanted to please him, and in some kind of way return all the moments he made me feel like I was beside the true love of my life.  

 I was turn-on by Viktor. Every time we were kissing each other roughly, I’d always have a wood and I enjoyed those moments with him. But I was still in love with Oliver. I wanted to be kissing Oliver when I was kissing Viktor. I wanted to be grabbing Oliver’s dick when I was putting my hand inside Viktor’s pants. No! I would give the night Viktor wanted so much with me and soon enough when he would return from France, we’d say goodbye to each other and each one of us would follow their way in life.  

 When I walked in home, I left my bike in the entrance. When I was heading towards the stairs to my bedroom, my dad was sitting on the living room’s couch, reading a book. 

 — Elio! You seem anxious. Something happened? — My dad starred at me upside down. He knew how to read me better than anyone else in the whole world. Nothing seemed to escape his cunning eyes.  

 — No. I was just with a friend, chatting. — I haven’t sounded convincing.  

 — Maybe... wasn’t you thinking about Oliver? — He really knew how to read me. 

 — No. Why would I? — I said a bit off-color. — He must be getting married at this moment with... someone. I don’t have anything to do with that. 

 — Yes. In fact, he’s already married. — I looked confused at him. — He sent an invitation to his wedding. It was held on April 23rd, three weeks ago.  

 He was looking at me with a look of wisdom, as if he knew what he was doing. 

 I’ve got confused with that revelation. 

 — Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t we go? — I had a lump in my throat. I wasn’t used to feel angry with things or people. I have always thought that everything was part of life and a learning, but at that moment I got furious and with a wild desire to attack my father.  

 — It looks like you downed, Elio. — I couldn’t hide anymore. The tears were running down my face and my rage were probably showing off on my face. — I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want you to get hurt. I know you’d like to go, to see Oliver. Might one last goodbye. But that would just leave you tighten with the past you have with him.  

 — I’m already tighten to him. What we had together were strong enough to tighten both of us forever. — I whipped my tears. Saying that helped me drain a little of the rage I was feeling. — I think about him all the time, everywhere I go in this town, when I’m with anyone who is just a mere shadow of his memory. 

 — Is this what you’re doing with this poor boy? — He knew about Viktor. — You want so bad to be near Oliver that you’re pretending to love a boy who makes you remember him. Do you think it’s fair? — He asked me that as he didn’t carry a burden. 

 — It’s your fault too for not telling me about the wedding. For not showing me the invitation. For not have given me the chance of what could’ve been the last chance of saying goodbye to him, the way we deserved. You don’t have the right to question my morality. — I had already taken my anger. He didn’t own me anything more. 

 — He wouldn’t want that. You are aware of that. He made a call himself to talk about the wedding, in your winter break. He sent the invitation on behalf of me and your mother. He didn’t want you there. — I was already on my back, feeling triumphantly, towards the stairs, when that hit me like a stab in my back. — If you want to keep sleeping so you can dream about Oliver every time that you’re beside that boy, that’s fine. It’s your ethic, it’s your life. But when you realize that you spent your whole life dreaming and forgot to live, maybe it will be too late.  

 — Whatever. — That took the air out of my lungs. Knowing that Oliver didn’t want me around the day that could be our last goodbye. Knowing that I was fooling myself with Viktor and fooling the poor boy too. Knowing that I was thinking about Oliver all this time, when he was too busy with his academic life and with his wedding.  

 I ran upstairs. I was sad. I was finally feeling something real.     

 Elio, Elio, Elio. I woke up that morning with my whispers calling for Oliver, in the same way we used to do on bed. It was June 18th, Saturday. On this day I would have sex with Oliver, for the last time. 

 Since that discussion with my father that I found out Oliver didn’t want me near him anymore, my head was wondering between imagining myself in NYU’s corridors and through the lines of Oliver’s body. When I was alongside Viktor, I no longer saw him, I just saw Oliver there. I wanted Oliver there. When my hands travelled through his naked chest, it was my skin against Oliver’s skin. My skin against Viktor’s skin, were my skin against Oliver’s skin. I wanted Oliver there. 

 I got up from bed, even a little more excited than the usual of those last four weeks. I went to the sink and washed my face. 

 When I looked my reflection in the mirror, I noticed I was needing a shaving. 

 I went down the stairs to the living room and my parents were already in the kitchen taking breakfast. 

 — Morning, mon amour! — My mom said, caring as usual. — I prepared a couple of bacon with eggs for you, darling. — It was almost like she knew that I would be needing some extra energy for today. 

 — Good morning, Elio! — My father was strange since the last discussion. He doesn't make the passive-aggressive type, but every time we crossed each other, he looked at me with disapproval. We haven’t discussed the last topic anymore, so everything stayed the same, although.  

 — Good morning, everyone! — I went to the balcony and took the plate my mom did for me. My humor was increasingly getting better. Receiving the look of disapproval from my father day by day, was letting me depress, but on that morning, knowing what I would do tonight, it made me delight of rebellion on that look. 

 I spent the morning transcribing music. What keeps me distracting and not let me think about later tonight. 

 In the afternoon I met Viktor at the Piazza. We took a gelato and just chat. I was talking to him as I genuinely was paying attention at what he was saying, when I was thinking about Oliver the whole time. That night to Viktor was meaning the loss of the innocence. The seal from a lover to another. For me, that night was going to represent my last farewell with Oliver. The one that was took from me. The one that even Oliver, apparently, didn’t want to happen. 

The night came. We set up to have sex in Fontadine, because that was the place, we always meet each other on Saturdays to flirt, talk and masturbate together. This was our dating ritual. 

 Before I leave the house, I went to the wardrobe and took the blue shirt that Oliver gave to me before he left. I pressed the shirt against my face, my chest, closed my eyes and started to evoke the remembrance of his touch on my, the heat, the hair, the strength of his hands holding me in his arms. That made me hard. 

 Now I was ready to have my night. 

 I left quite surreptitiously to not wake up anyone. When I arrived there, he was already waiting for me. 

 — Ow! You’re so hard that I can see it through your jeans. Ha, ha, ha... — He was looking at what really mattered that night. 

 I head to him; I leaned down and started kissing him. He slides his hand towards my erection and stroked my dick very gently over my pants. I started unbuttoning the shirt he was wearing, kissing his neck and slowly going down his chest. 

 — I was missing you so much. — I wanted him to know that if my dick was so hard that way it was because of him. 

 — We saw each other on this... — I kissed his mouth. This night, he was mine. 

 As I went down my kisses, I was feeling a pressure growing in the middle of his legs. He was getting hard too. He was mine. 

 I unbutton his pants and put his dick on my mouth. The taste was the same as it used to be. How I missed that taste. I was blowing his cock, while he was mourning of pleasure. I wanted him to feel so much pleasure that night that he would call me by his name. I wanted him to feel all my love tonight. 

I took all my clothes off. He was already naked. I sat on his lap, looked inside his blue eyes and put his dick inside me. I started to move slowly, up and down, while we kiss. I carried on like this until the great summit. I was on the peak of my pleasure. I was coming. That moment I looked in his eyes and I couldn’t see Oliver anymore. 

— Oliver? Oliver? Oliver? — I called for him, holding his face. 

Viktor pushed me aside.  

— Oliver? Who is Oliver, Elio? — He seemed like he was harassed by a stranger. 

I lay down on the grass, chilling, exasperated and satisfied. I looked back to Viktor, and he was in fetal position, without understanding anything. I didn’t want to scare him. I just wanted to use him. 

— Look, I’m sorry. Do you remember that another person I told you who knew how I was feeling? That another person is called Oliver. I found out until recently that he got married to another person. Invited my parents but didn’t want me to go. I just wanted one last night with him. A farewell. — There was anger on Viktor’s eyes. The pain of being used this whole time. The fragile way he looked hounded, as a child. That was making me feel like shit. 

We stood there for a few minutes, absorbing what just happened, until he got his strength back, gets up hurried, gets dressed and leave, without saying anything. 

Viktor went away to France the next day. I tried to call him to try to say goodbye without looking in his eyes, but he’d hung up the phone every time he’d hear my voice. It seemed like all the weight of the disapproval looks my father gave me last month started to make effect. I was feeling sick. 

The summer’s vacation came and to think about Oliver, wasn’t a pleasant or nostalgic thing to do. To think about him was to remember of how I was sick. I walked away from my friends because I couldn’t share the “friendship” I had with Oliver. I was afraid of not being accepted. But they deserved the truth. I’ve met a boy as cool as Oliver was, but I never had the chance to know him better because I was too preoccupied the whole time on comparing him to Oliver. 

I had finally met someone who liked boys, the same way I do, but I couldn’t have had any sincere conversation about it because I just could only think about Oliver. 

We went to my family’s country house, and it was painful to walk in my bedroom for the first time since the last summer, when it was occupied by Oliver. I was sad and distressed.  

— Mon amour, why don’t you invite some of your friends to visit us? This could cheer you up a bit! — My mother came from behind, putting her hands in my shoulders while I was sitting at the yard in the front of the house. If my father knew how to read me like anyone. My mother was like nature around. Always knew what I was needing. 

— Yeah. That’d be good! — I got up and went to the house’s telephone. 

I tried to gather all my dignity to call to Luigi, Luisa, Francesco and Paolo, and invite them to come here. I had taken them away from me at the beginning of the year, and after I’ve started my friendship with Viktor, I just ignored their existence. 

— Elio? — Luigi was the first one I called. Maybe because of our closeness, he wasn’t holding too much grudge of me. 

— Yeah, it’s me. I just wanted to see you... 

— Of course! Anytime, my friend. — He sounded relief on the phone. 

 — There’s something I need to tell you. To all our friends. — I paused for a second. A knot was taking form in my throat. — I need to explain why I’ve been weird since the last summer.  

— Certo, amico. I’m sure you’re going to be the weirdest possible about it. Elio being Elio. — He laughed on the other side. I laughed too. 

I hung up.  

Dialed again. 

— Pronto? — Luisa’s voice never sounded so hard. 

— Hello! It’s me. — I’ve tried to sound funny, maybe I sounded weird. Maybe Luigi was right. 

— Elio? Mio dio! It’s been a while! I mean... how do you go away and come back out of the blue, as nothing had happened? I... — Luisa could be hard, but she is the mother of the group. 

— I know! I know! Forgive me! I didn’t want this to be the way it is. That’s why I want to see you and everybody together, today, so I can explain myself. I need to tell the reason I’ve been weird since the last summer. 

— Bene, amore! — She sounded in peace on the other side. 

I hung up the phone and dialed again. 

— Elio? Le tue gioie, amico! — Francesco seemed the happiest with my call. 

— Can we meet today? There’s something I need to talk to everyone. — With Francesco it seemed like he didn’t hold any grudge. 

I hung up the phone and there was only one more number to dial. 

Paolo was the one who got the most upset with me after I departed from the group. The way he used to look at me when we crossed each other at school, bordered on insignificance. 

— Pronto? — He answered the phone with the most charisma he always put in everything he does.  

— Hello? Paolo? — I gathered all my dignity to say that “hello”. 

— How do you have the balls to call me? — He sounded furious now. 

— I know! I know! I’m sorry! I need to talk... — He hung up the phone. Maybe I would not get to talk and explain myself to all my friends today. I just hope I haven’t lost Paolo for good.  

As they were coming, I was making everyone comfort in the living room. 

Everyone was standing, each one in every corner, forming a circle. All staring at me. 

— Well. I called all you here to tell what happened last summer. — It was costing me to say all those words. I could be only monosyllabic, sometimes. But I had to put it out. — I fell in love... 

— Yes, with a man. — Luigi said. I looked at him as he had revealed something terrible from my past. 

— Let Elio tell it, Luigi! — Luisa said, comprehensibly. 

— Yes, it was with a man. 

— We know, Elio. — Francesco said, as he was just revealing a plan from all four, I mean, three, had made. 

— But it wasn’t just that. — I wanted to tell all my desire for Oliver, explain how we met, everything I’ve felt and discovered with him. 

— Elio, everything is fine! — Luisa headed to me and gave a side hug. — You don’t need give the details of something that only belongs to you. We just wanted you to confess that you liked boys. Just that. — I was a bit confused now. Did they know everything? How? 

— How did you know? — I was a little afraid to ask that question. Maybe I wasn’t ready for the answer. 

— Elio, your cousin Mathéo told me that a couple years ago he saw you kissing a boy while your family were visiting. We already suspected that because, I mean, you’re a sensitive boy and very good on things. It’s your thing. Mainly because you were becoming weirder. — Luigi revealed. I stood there with no reaction. I didn’t know what to think, but a weight fell off my shoulders. It was like I was naked there, in front all of them, but without feeling ashamed or humiliated. I was comfortable being naked in front of my friends. — And we knew you must’ve got evolved with a man last summer. Your parents talked about your friendship with the last host. Then was to add two plus two. We didn’t want details of this relation. We just wanted you to feel comfortable to talk anything you’d like about it. 

We gathered and gave a group hug. 

— Take this, Elio. I wrote this one for you. — Francesco gave me a piece of paper. 

I looked and there was a poem on it. 

The boy from the music. 

The boy from the books. 

The boy intelligent. 

The boy with a heart. 

When you think that nothing lets us pass by, 

With your own way of saying things, your mysterious way. 

He’s always by your side. 

It doesn’t matter the season or temperature. 

Cold or hot 

He will always be there 

Making you feel dear 

Even far away, in dreams 

You will always be thinking about him 

Thinking about on his only way to be, 

As he will always be. 

He will always be there. 

I read and realized that I didn’t need to find the right words to say anything to them. I just needed to be present and be who I was. 

— Are you guys mad at me? — It was a naïve question. 

— Of course not! — All they said in unison. 

— Please, tell Paolo that I’m sorry. I didn’t want things to get to this point. — I gave a glance at Luisa who was by my side. She nodded with teary eyes. 

A month has passed since that night that I had sex with Viktor. I only could think about that since my last reunion with my friend. I didn’t know how to apologize with him for have used him the way I did. I tried to write a letter, but the pile of papers beside my desk was showing that I wasn’t being able to write anything good enough or sincere enough to say sorry. I had to look him in the eye. 

I decided to call Viktor to talk with me, here in my parent's country’s house, just the way it was with my friends. Until then, I was enjoying very well the summer with my friends and cousins. Unfortunately, Marzia couldn’t come visit us this year, but I was making a new friend with the new host, Jennifer. She was funny, very good spirited and beautiful, but I didn’t feel nothing like that about her. I didn’t like to use the word gay, but maybe I was gay, after all. 

In a very hot day, we were all gathered around the pool. 

— Elio, did you come to our graduation? — Luisa asked. She was sitting in a sun lounger, sunbathing using her sunglasses.  

— No! Did we have a graduation? — I was so obsessed about Oliver in our last week of school that I didn’t even bother to show up to the classes. — Was it cool? 

— It was nice. Paolo was our speaker. He did a good speech. 

I felt weird about it, so I just started to swing from one side to another. 

I’ve been starting to forget about Oliver and just could think about Viktor. So much, that a call caught me by surprised. 

— Hello! — I was excited. Just had to win a volleyball play. 

— Hello, Elio? — It was Viktor. All the guilt and regret came back weighting in my back. 

— Viktor? — An uncomfortable silence stood for a few seconds. — Are you okay? How it’s been there in Paris? — I wanted to do casual. 

— Actually, I’m not in Paris anymore, Elio. I got sick and had to come back home. — I thought this was strange. It must’ve been something serious that he couldn’t get a treatment in Paris. 

— We need to talk. — We both said it at the same time. 

I still haven’t played anything on the piano that was in the living room. And even with my school friends there, our friends from France and our family coming, the house sounded silent. 

Viktor insisted for us to talk in his house tomorrow. 

I stared at the mirror and tried to rehearse a conversation with Viktor: 

— I feel so sorry for everything! 

— I was sick. Living in a dream about a past that wouldn’t come. 

— Oliver was the first love of my life, and the romance we had was something that marked me inside for my whole life. I know, I know. This isn’t excuse enough to use somebody the way I used you, but I’m recognizing my own mistake. I just want you to understand that it was something impulsive. I was just acting by my desire. 

Would those words be enough? 

I went outside, in the front yard, and felt the sun heat burn in my face. I looked around and saw my mother in her orchard, my father sitting at the table taking an espresso, some people swimming by the pool and enjoying the water further away. Everything seemed calm and in peace. I was ready to talk to Viktor. 

On the next day, I took my breakfast with my parents. 

— Buongiorno a tutti! — I greet them. 

— Morning, mon amour! I asked Mafalda to take and clean that blue shirt for you to wear it today. You look so nice on it. — I looked at her a little confused, but soon I got it what shirt she was talking about. 

— I think I’ll wear something different today. — I nestled beside her. I knew she just had a good intention, but I thought that that wasn’t the moment to wear that shirt. 

— Am I feeling you a little lightweight today? — My father asked. 

Rhetorically, of course. 

— I will talk to Viktor today. 

— Who’s Viktor, mon amour? — My mom asked. I exchanged looks with my father. He may know about the Viktor existence, but they were never properly introduced. 

— I hope you both have fun. — My mother knew how to bring lightness to any moment. 

I arrived with my bike in front of Viktor’s apartment in the town. Left it propped up on the wall next to the front door. I went to the door and knocked. 

A tall woman with long black hair, all gathered up in a disjointed bun, with a huge pregnant belly, answered me at the door. She had a little grim appearance. 

— Hi, I’m Elio! A Viktor’s friend. Is he home? — I tried to sound the most charismatic possible. I didn’t know if Viktor had spoken about me to his parents. 

— Hi, Elio. Nice to meet you, my name is Berenice. Yes, Viktor is home, but he’s very sick right now, I don’t know if it’s a good time for visiting. — She seemed in a hurry and was just closing the door, until Viktor show up at the door. 

— Vic, you should’ve been resting. — She turned to him. She put one hand at her belly while she seemed worried about her son. 

— I’m fine, Mammina! I woke up in a good mood today. Don’t worry! — He gave a kiss in her forehead, and she left. 

— Is everything fine, Elio? — He had lost weight, was pale and looked very sick, but either way he seemed to be feeling well today. 

— Everything is fine with me. But I must confess that I have seen you better. — I just smile condescendingly for him. 

He just let the way free for me to go. I didn’t need to be guided to his bedroom, when I already been there countless time. 

— You’ve never introduced me to your parents before. — I said a little irreverent.  

— You’ve never introduced me to yours too. — He replied. 

— Call it quits. — I didn’t want to discuss or argue little grudges on that moment. There was bigger things to deal with. 

— Elio, there’s something I need to tell you. — He started talking, but it was me who should be talking. 

— No! It’s me who should say anything. I... — He raised his hand in a signal for me to stop talking. He seemed tired. 

— I’m sick, Elio. At this moment I’m with pneumonia, but all it started with a dry cough. — I didn’t know why that was relevant to our conversation, to our history. He was young. He for sure would recover from that. — The doctor said that it should be flown by a few days, If I keep with the right treatment and all that. But I’ve been feeling abdomen pain and other strange symptoms. 

— It must be just an infection! I’m pretty sure it will be flown soon. Look, I really think that we should be talking about another thing. — He raised his hand again. 

— I’ve been reading about some news on a certain virus that is spreading through the United States. And some of the symptoms are alike of what I’m having. — Virus? What Virus? 

— What are you talking about? — I looked at him confused, but at the same time I remembered of some news I’ve read in an American newspaper my father bought to house someday, about a virus that only affected gay men and it was uncurable.  

He understood the look on my face when I just realized about what he was talking about. Maybe because the horror took place on my face. 

— How? You just had sex with me! — I was desperate. I couldn’t have the virus. If I had the virus, maybe Oliver had too. 

— No. I didn’t only have sex with you, Elio. — He was saying that with a sad countenance, regretfully and a disheartened posture. — Some few days I arrived at Paris, I went to a gay bar and met a man. He was some few years older than me. Handsome, charming, intelligent and French. He was perfect. One of the best nights of my life. I wasn’t even thinking about you anymore. Almost two months later when I was in Paris, this man came looking for me. He was with a very sick appearance, with some eruptions on his skin. So, he came to tell me he got positive for AIDS. — He stumbled at the closest chair after telling this. I didn’t know what to do. If I’d run away from there or just hug him to try to consol him.  

— You need fresh air. That’s it! Come to my house. It will be good for you. — I didn’t know what I was talking, but I felt that he needed more people looking after him. — Luisa, Francesco and Luigi are there. We can help to take care of you. 

— Don’t! Nobody must know about this, Elio. Please, promise me you won’t tell no one! — He seemed so desperate like his life depended on it. — There’s a reason I would call you only on Saturdays to my house. Because on Saturdays my father isn’t home. He knows I’m gay. My father banned me of bringing any man inside to this house, even a friend. If my father would find out I have HIV... I don’t know what he’s capable of.  

Now I get it. But it made even more sense now for him to stay by my house the rest of the summer. 

— Viktor, I can only image the weight of everything you must’ve been carrying on your shoulders right now, but I believe that doesn’t have a better place for you to be than on my house. My friends already know about me and I’m pretty sure they will receive you with an open heart. Do you have any plans? — I was decided that I would take care of him. It was the least I could do. 

— I managed to convince my father to let me go to ESMOND. Then, after the summer I’m going to live in Paris. — He put himself together. — I think I can go to your house, Elio. 

It was Sunday morning when Viktor arrived by car. I have already talked to my father about Viktor’s situation, clarified everything and he promised me he wouldn’t tell anyone and accepted him to stay here only if he could receive medical treatment. 

I helped to carry the luggage and adjusted my bedroom so he could make himself comfortable. We would have to share my room, while Jennifer would have to stay on the side bedroom. I talked to her and explained I would receive a friend who was very sick. She made no objection and offered the room for us. My father didn’t object to this, either. He trusted in me, even understanding that the virus could only be transmitted through sex.  

 All set up, we went down to catch a little sun and bathe in the pool. 

— It’s so pacific here. — He was lay down by the pool edge, with the body wet and wearing his sunglasses. — It’s almost like we are in an Oasis. A rest from the real world. Cough, cough, cough... — He wasn’t all recovered yet from the pneumonia, and we would receive a doctor visit today, on the afternoon. 

— I think we should get dry and come in. There’s an air current through that must not being well for you. — I wanted to take care of him. I wanted to talk to him more. Pay attention on what he had to say, at least once. 

We got in and went to the living room. He wears my old Talking Head shirt, one of my favorites. I sat down on the couch, and he lay down his head in my lap. 

We stood there for a few minutes in silence. I was thinking in every moment of interaction I had lost. When I was too busy with Oliver in my head, instead of paying attention on Viktor. 

— Do you play it so well as it looks? — He asks suddenly. 

— Bach reincarnated. — We both laugh. — And what do you play exactly? 

— I play Violin, Viola, Cello and a bit of piano. — I got impressed. — But I don’t like anything I play. — It must be a sad life to practice the whole week such beautiful instruments and not be delighted by not even a note that resounds off it. 

— I know you like fashion. What else do you like? — I wanted to know who Viktor was. 

— I like to draw. And not just clothes designs, but I like to draw people and animals. My favorite drawing is one I made when I was ten. The were a few days left for us to go to Moscow and I was sad for having to abandon my friends and my hometown. Me and my friends used to hunt wild animals in the yard. So, there’s this day, I was by myself, and found a wild rabbit. Which is a little rare, since they hide on their holes during the day. He seemed lost and afraid. I kept looking at him and observed every detail until he was gone. — I was imagining the whole scene while he was telling me the history. I imagined a ten-year-old sad Viktor. 

— It must be a very realistic drawing. — I was imagining every trace of that drawing. 

— Kinda, actually. I tried to capture the fear the rabbit was feeling on that moment. Because it was almost like the same fear, I was feeling for having to go to an unknown land. — I didn’t know he could be so deep.  

— Are there any happy moments in your life? Per l’amor de Dio! — We both laughed. 

— I’ve had some happy moments among my friends in Moscow! What do you want to know? — I wanted to know if there was any love. 

— Did you already fall in love? — I asked, while stroking his hair. 

— Yes. He was from my gang. But we didn’t have a happy ending. — He seemed very well resolved with this. — Actually, there’s a song I like to play. — he disengaged from my hands and stood up, going directly to the piano. 

Viktor sits down to the piano, take a deep breath, straighten his posture and starts to play beautifully Album for the Young (mamma) from Tchaikovsky. 

I was admiring him from his back, and it looked like I was watching myself playing. The whole time I was searching for Oliver on Viktor, when it was me that I should’ve been searching on him. A new me, a new love. 

The summer ended. I went to New York. Viktor went to France, but we kept in touch through letters. He kept getting sick but kept fighting bravely for his life. It was all water under the bridge between us. We had a sincere conversation before each one of us go away searching for our dreams: 

— You have said you needed to say something for me, that day on my house. — Viktor sat down by my side on the couch. 

— Yeah. — I made myself comfort in my seat and started to talk without looking at him. — Viktor, I like you. A lot. But unfortunately, all the moments we had together, I was thinking about another person. A person I love deeply. And that I couldn’t get over until now. — I looked at him. — After we had sex, making all that, thinking about him, I felt sick and maybe I was sick. But I realized that I couldn’t spend my life living an illusion just so I could have moments with him, when I was forgetting to live the here and now. — I took his hands. — I see you the way you are. I want to listen to all the histories with your friends in Moscow. I want to listen you complain about your father. I want to be able to talk to you about what both of us feel about men. I want to be your friend and maybe something more, one day. 

He puts his other hand below mine and take it to his mouth, give it a kiss and say: 

— I see you too, Elio. 

I took our hands to my mouth and give it a kiss too. 

[portraitmypet]

What I Learned About My Cat from the Artist Who Painted Him

It may seem like a small detail, but I am so thankful for how much she knew about my cat. For example, she said that he is grey and black with white paws and tail. She also mentioned that he is an American shorthair breed, which I didn't know before. She even got his age right! The artist could've just used this information as "filler" while they waited for me to give them more details about my cat (which was actually the case in some of the other drawings), but they took what they had and made something beautiful out of it.

This made me realize how much time artists put into their work—I never realized how many hours go into creating something like this until now!

But I know he is a little bit fat.

The artist does not see your cat. They work from a photo or description and may ask you questions to clarify if there is something they don't understand.

If you say that your cat is "a little bit fat," the artist might use that description when painting the animal, but they might also choose to paint it thinner than it actually is (or vice versa).

You can tell an artist how much extra weight you want on your pet—but be aware that this will affect the way their body looks in proportion with their face and legs as well as their overall size in relation to other objects depicted in a composition.

The artist made a painting of him and I told them how much I love him.

The artist painted a beautiful portrait of my cat and I. I told the artist how much I love my cat, and they painted him really fat. It looks kind of like my cat, but it was clearly not intended to be an accurate representation of him; this is something that could only have been achieved through careful observation and interpretation.

I don't know if there's any real correlation between telling an artist that you love your pet and them painting them as obese, but I'm going to consider it for now. In fact, I think this might work for any animal-related art form! If you tell an artist that you really enjoy insects or reptiles or other animals in general, maybe they will paint your favorite one with six legs instead of four!

So they made the painting of my cat really fat.

So, our cat is fat. He's not just a little overweight, he's what you might call a fat cat.

I could have told that to the artist when she came over to take his measurements to make sure his proportions were right for the painting, but I didn't. I was nervous about putting too much weight on the artist and their work by saying something like "Hey, my cat is pretty big."

Instead I said nothing: I didn't want to risk them making him look even fatter than he already did in real life. But now that the painting has been completed, it made me wonder: Does telling an artist how much your subject weighs affect how they portray it?

It is not that bad because it looks kind of like my cat.

It is not that bad because it looks kind of like my cat.

While I was waiting for my portrait, I wondered if you could tell me what your process is? How do you decide which colors to use and where to place the lines and shading?

What I got back was this:

You're right! It's not so bad. I think it would have been even better if the cat looked more like the original picture than this one does but that's just something we'll never know. The good news is he seems healthy and happy in the photo so maybe that's all that matters?

Liking something does not mean you should make it look bigger in a painting.

The artist who painted your cat knows that you love him, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he should make your pet look bigger in the painting. What you think will be a flattering portrait of your furry friend may end up being a cartoonish caricature or something else entirely.

The artist is not an exact mind reader (although I hear he has been working on his telepathic powers), so it is important for you to be specific about what you want depicted in the work of art. You don’t have to speak in sentences like “I want my cat to look like a fox with blue eyes and no pupils”—this can sound confusing when translated into visual terms—but do make sure that the finished product will resemble what you envision when asked if they can paint, “My cat looks like all cats look: large ears, small nose, long tail…and white feet!”

[cynettic]

Kissing Genshin Characters before you Die

Summary - Kissing the Genshin Characters one last time before you enter the battlefield.

Pairings - Reader x Albedo / Barbara / Bennett / Beidou / Chongyun / Diluc / Eula / Kazuha / Kaeya / Ayaka / Ningguang / Childe / Venti / Xiao / Zhongli

Warnings - Angst, death mentions

Tips - I wrote this listening to ‘Lovely’ and ‘Listen before I go,’ so it might make it better if you listen to both those songs while reading this :’) Both are by Billie Eilish btw, both reverb and slowed down songs for the extra angst

A/N - Im so tired, so so tired of human interaction and having no motivation to talk to people. Its like my social battery simply does not recharge, and I'm stuck writing about interactions I wish I could have, even if it's angst. Burying myself in the delusion that being in a different reality would change everything, burying myself in little imaginations and dreams of a love that doesn't exist.

Also yes, if you did notice the song lyrics playing at first are from "If the World was Ending," used to listen to that song so much. Thought it would fit this :)

“If the world was ending you’d come over right?”

It was absolute chaos, flames crawling up the wooden buildings and spreading smoke through the nation of Teyvat. Everything burned with the scorching heat, children crying, men and woman trying to run from the unescapable flames. Terror etched into citizens faces when encountering the monsters who appeared unaffected by the destruction.

Hilichurls and ruin guards smashing past people, till there was nowhere to run. And it was the mere decision of whether being beaten to death or burnt crisp was a better way to leave this world.

“You’d come over and you’d stay the night.”

But there you were, weapon in hand as you stood up against the blaze. Strong against the unblinking inferno in front of you, unwavering as you stood in front of the monsters that eagerly rushed towards you. Cut and obliterated in seconds, your eyes held nothing but a sickening disgust.

You slowly turned back to your s/o, relief quenching your heart when they were safe in the little location you’d found for them. They were injured, they wouldn't be sitting on the sidelines otherwise. And holding your weapon up again, you claimed the role of protector against the hoard of monsters.

“Would you love me for the hell of it?”

Their voice broke past your focus, a ragged sound that was suffering. It only took you a few strides till you reached them, crouching down to face them fully. Your faces were mere inches away, and you could see the frustration on their face. A deeply rooted feeling that fueled the action as they curled their hand around your head. Pressing your lips against theirs, one last kiss before you assumed the role of predator against the monsters.

“All our fears would be irrelevant.”

Both hands coming to hold their face, you pressed forwards into their kiss. Grasp tight against them, clinging onto them as if they were your lifeline.

“If the world was ending you’d come over right?”

You kissed them as if the world wasn't a aflame, like it was just you both sitting there. Hands grasping for their skin, for their lips, for them. Because without them you couldn't live in this smoldering world, a bright light that cocooned you in its comforting warmth. Nothing like the blazing flames that surrounded the two of you.

You kissed them like they were the only thing that mattered.

“The sky’d be falling and I’d hold you tight.”

But you felt the shake in their hands as they pressed their hand against your back, scared to let you go, scared to lose you. Scared to let this kiss end and have to face the scorching reality.

“And there wouldn't be a reason why.”

You pressed one last kiss to their forehead, basking in their embrace once more between you broke away. The look on your face was confident as you faced them one last time, softened by their teary eyes. Whispering soft words to them, you could only watch as they broke down, a tight feeling in your chest urging you to do the same.

But no, you had to be strong. For them, for yourself, for all of Teyvat. You slowly turned to the flames and monsters, holding up your weapon, screaming one last battle cry as you let your weapon lead your actions. As you let death become your only objective in a flurry to protect your partner.

“We would even have to say goodbye.”

Sobs wretched out of their throat as they watched you crumble, watched you fall the ground and collapse. Till the movement of your chest came to an abrupt stop, and monsters pooled at your sides.

They were forced to watch, unable to move.

“If the world was ending you’d come over right?”

Their cries turned to whimpers, until they couldn't hear the noises that spilled form their lips. Until they didn't care. What they cared about was thrown on their battlefield, beaten and ragged, torn and broken.

Dead.

“You’d come over… right?”

_-_-_-_-_

Albedo

He takes his time, hand on the back of your neck pushing you so hard against him till he’s woozy. Memorizing the feel of your plush lips against his, molding them into memory with every kiss. He’ll break away from your lips, pressing soft pecks up your face, along your nose, to your forehead. Infatuated with the way your hands gently hold his face, careful, delicate. He doesnt want to let you go, and with one final peck right between your eyes, he’ll close his eyes, whispering a goodbye as you leave. He doesnt open them when you die, he doesnt open them when the monsters reach him. No, he dies in your embrace, even if its not real.

Barbara

Desperate, oh so desperate. She doesnt know what to do with you when you press your hands to her face, tearful. You’ll have to be the one to initiate the kiss, muffling her cries with a short lived sweetness between the two of you. She’ll have her hands all over you, unsure of how to hold you, how to press you against her. She wants to stay like this forever, and even if her kisses are sloppy and messy, she’s crying too much to notice. She won’t break away, you’ll have to tug your way out of her grip and press one last kiss to her forehead. Her voice is angelic, even when she cries. You remind yourself that this is what you’re protecting as you enter the battlefield, giving it your all.

Beidou

Oh she knows, knows how this will play out. The kisses shared between the two of you are strong and compassionate, its more intense than any other kiss you’ve both shared before. Because she knows. She knows what’ll become of you and her, that this is the last kiss she’ll share with you, that there's nothing she can do about it. She lets herself indulge in you, her strong hold on you never letting go until you vocally ask her to let you go. You make her promises she knows you can't keep, but simply smiles, telling you to come back to her.

Bennett

Awkward, his hands will grab your shoulders when you approach him, pressing for a kiss immediately. He misses his mark, accidentally pressing his lips to the edge of your lips, noses bumping against each other as he tries to shift his face. You chuckle, holding his face as you adjust the angle, till you can fully reach his lips and press him against you. Like Barbara, he’ll cry, letting himself melt into you. He doesnt resist when you back away, whispering to him. Just sitting there he’ll cry, sob through it all, vision blurry with tears. But its better that way, he can picture you better when everything is fuzzy.

Chongyun

Everything was smoldering hot, too much for Chongyun who has so much yang energy trapped in him. He’s going through one of his rushes when you get to him, eager to tuck you into his arms. His kisses are sporadic, like he’s trying to kiss you but he cant. Like no matter how much his lips meet yours, it isnt enough. He wants more, he wants the promise of your forever embrace ingrained in his head. And when you break away, he’s left empty, the kisses he’d given you the only warmth on his lips. Suddenly everything was cold, so cold, and he only wished for you.

Diluc

Too rough, mashing your lips against his until you couldn't breath. Dizzy with the lack of oxygen, he didn't stop. You were ‘his,' right here right now, no one could take you away from him. You belonged alongside him, crouched in front of him, pressed into his arms where he could keep you safe. He wouldn't let you go, strong arms pulling you to his chest so firmly that you couldn't escape. He wanted to be selfish, he let himself indulge in the promise to himself that you weren't going anywhere. You’ll have to physically break out yourself, pressing back his hands as he tries to make a grab for you, tears brimming.

Eula

You were her everything, and she’ll tell you it through her kisses. She’ll run her hands along the curve of your back, holding you tenderly against her. She doesn't wish for vengeance for all the soft kisses you’ve stolen from her good days long ago, no, she’s willing to forgive you for everything as long as you’ll ‘stay.’ She promises that in all honesty, she loves everything about you, even if she denies it sometimes. And when you leave, she tells you to come back. That its the one and only thing she’ll hold against you if you don't.

Kazuha

Soft, so incredibly sensual with every touch. Kazuha was always filled with words, filled with lovely compositions made for you and only you. But now, he couldn't think of anything, no haiku he’d written in the past that compared to what he felt right now. Metaphors and hidden meanings couldn't compare to the raw pulsing throb he felt in his chest. “I love you,” he whispered, plain and simple. It held so much affection, he was afraid even those words weren't enough to express what he felt, but he settled with it either way. “I love you,” he repeated, brushing your lips against his before he said it again. “I love you.” He said it again, even as you left, entering the battlefield. He didn't stop saying it, not when he saw the monsters take you, not when they approached him with the promise of death. “I love you.”

Kaeya

He doesnt kiss you, because kisses to Kaeya are a sort of affection that brings the sense of normalcy. He likes the way your lips feel against his, but holding you against him is more special. He doesnt depend on kisses to express what he feels, instead pushing your head to his chest, sighing when your own arms come to wrap around him. No kisses, no touches, just you and him. Offering each other your last shreds of hope, because in the end, you only need each other.

Ayaka

“Look at me.” Her hand cups your cheeks just as you do to her. Now you both simply stare into each others eyes, love and adoration filling hers. She loves you, oh she loves you so much. But she understands duty better than anyone, the urge to protect you almost consuming her. When she kisses you, its soft, butterfly kisses. She doesn't rely on the contact to keep her grounded, no holding your face is a gift enough for her. To stare at you, even for one last time, is all she needs. You’ve given her so much, she would follow you to the ends of the world if you asked her to, and that's why it hurts her so much to watch you fall. She closes her eyes, noticing that she’d follow soon after and perhaps see you in the afterlife. No, she would, that's a promise she makes to herself.

Ningguang

Ningguang has delt with loss before, the concept isnt foreign to her. But you… you’re more than the jade chamber, more than any possession she has. You’re precious, like she sold a piece of her heart to you that she could never gain back. You took it from her, and you plan to take it with you to the battlefield. All she can do is press her lips against yours. Kiss you and the world beside you both becomes meaningless, until air becomes a chore instead of a necessity. Because without air she'd kiss you forever.

Childe

Details, in the case that Childe himself cant fight alongside you, he’ll hold you and repeat the details in his head. The way his hand feels on your hair, how soft or rough your lips are against his. How you fit against him, how badass you look out in the battlefield. He won’t stop you from leaving him, because he knows that if this case was reversed, he’d want you to let him go too. So he presses intimate kisses, slow ones that dont consist of a fight for dominance like they usually do. No, he wants to tell you how much he loves you, one last time.

Venti

He doesnt know what to do, pressed against you firmly. He presses soft kisses, but theres no emotion, he doesn't know how to express himself here. He’s lost a lot, lost so much in his existence, but nothing prepared him for this. Only after a kisses will he ask to cry, and when you tell him yes he’ll press his head against your shoulder. He’ll sob, hands gripping the fabric of your shirt as he does so. And then he kisses you while tears stream down his face, mashes your lips against his until his face grows numb. And he’ll continue to feel numb when you leave, when you die, when he dies.

Xiao

He doesn't know what to do, Xiao has never felt so utterly useless when you crouch to him. Form battered and bruised, when you embrace him he feels whole again. You’re his world, he doesn't care about the blazing inferno just beside you, the monsters that threaten all of Teyvat. You are his everything, what he strives to protect and keep safe. Kisses with him are breathless, both of you passionately pulling each other closer. He cant get enough of you, he wants all of you, every single piece. Molded into his embrace until you cant get out. When you break away, he tries to pull you to him, but he finds himself only able to move in the slightest. But Xiao is a protector, he is ‘your’ protector. He follows you as you head to the battlefield, dragging his limp body in a crawl to get closer. He doesn't stop when he sees the monsters overtake you, no, he continues. Just until he reaches your body, grabbing you and holding your corpse into his chest. He numbs out the monsters that attack him, knowing sullenly that he's going to die. But death doesn't seem so bad, not beside you.

Zhongli

As someone who always has control over the situation, Zhongli will be able to adapt quickly. But he doesnt want you to suffer, admiring you for being so strong when everything presses against you. He wishes to relieve the weight if only a little bit with a few kisses. Sensual and intimate, he wants to support you, and if he cant do it on the battlefield he’ll do it right here. Hold you close and promise you that he’ll always be there for you. Only after you die does he allow himself to cry, not wanting to have burdened you with his tears.

[ghost-ghost-baby]

Narcissist (alpha!readerxOmega!Bakugo soulmate au)

An: this is heavily inspired by the song narcissist by younger hunger definitely recommend listening to it!

An: BIG TY TO MY BETA FOR EDITING THIS ABSOLUTE MONSTER OF A FIC WE STAN!

Word count: 3.2k (ur welcome)

Summary: Bakugo being a little shit basically- Mina and Denki r sick of him- reader runs out of scent blockers-

Warnings: omegaverse, swearing, Bakugo being a dick, reader just thinks he’s hot, gets a bit spicy but nothing graphic, non traditional dynamics (subby alphas) drug use (weed)

You were in a familiar room, one you’d come to love since you’d started dreaming of it, and you sat on the bed and waited… any moment now.

“Oi, are you here, shithead?” The voice of your omega was dreamier than it was in real life; his harsh words unable to punctuate the tranquility of your dream.

“I always am, Katsuki!” You chirped, grinning as he slowly faded into existence. The black tank top and jeans he wears make him look far too good, and your brain short-circuited for a few seconds.

“I told you not to fucking call me that!” He growled, but you only laughed. Reaching out to grab his hands before he could stop you, you pull him down so you could kiss him. Any anger he had quickly melted away, and Katsuki had pulled one hand away to rest on your shoulder and pushed back. You got the point, you pulled away for air and leaned back on your elbows as you did. Katsuki followed and straddled you without a moment of hesitation. His mouth latched onto your neck and you let out a hum. With one hand gravitating to tangle in his hair, he gave you another push that had you lying flat on your back.

“Hey-”

“Shut the fuck up, don’t ruin this.” Katsuki bit down on your throat and you squeaked, although he licked over the mark seconds later to soothe it, and only pulled away to kiss you when you tried to talk again. You melted, let your hands wander down to his thighs, and had your thumbs rubbing absent-minded circles. Then, Katsuki was unbuttoning the shirt you had on, hands quickly trailing lower to-

“Y/N! Did you hear what Mr. Aizawa said?” Mina’s voice brought you back from the dream you had the night before, and you blinked at her as you blanked.

“No way I'm working with their dumbass!” Katsuki snarled as Kiri forced him into a seat at your table, and you turned your head to Sero with a questioning look. He usually knew what was going on in class.

“We have a group project for a presentation, Mr. Aizawa picked the groups-”

“Oh hell yeah, all my best bro’s working together? Sounds like fun to me!” Denki leaned over to hug you and Mina, and the pieces started to click together. You were working on an art project, with your mate, who hate-

“How could anything be fun with Y/n around, they fucking ruin everything.” Katsuki grumbled to himself, refusing to meet your eyes despite sitting opposite you. Kiri mouthed an apology to you from his seat next to Katsuki. Honestly, you had no idea why he’d decided to act like… such a brat really, but it was just an act, however annoying it was. The two of you were soulmates, he’d come around, eventually.

“Oh hush, Bakugo, Y/n’s a riot and we all know it! You’re the one who goes to sleep at like, 8pm” Denki came to your aid. The electric blonde then pressed a kiss to your cheek that had Katsuki gritting his teeth.

“So, what's the project, guys?” You flipped through your book to a fresh page, resting your chin on your hand as you waited for the others to speak.

“We have to show the versatility of styles and composition under a singular theme!” Kiri was the one that answered you, and the group immediately started throwing around ideas.

“I think we could do horror, a lot of horror artists have different composition styles and still manage to convey the-”

“Tch, that’s the best you could come up with? I’m not surprised, an alpha as shitty as you can’t be capable of any decent ideas.” Katsuki sneered, but you only smiled at him as the group agreed with your idea. Your omega merely grumbled and hunched over in his seat as the group discussed the different artists you could use as examples.

You’d stayed late to double-check something with a professor, and you were still flipping through your notebook as you walked through the unusually empty halls. You weren’t paying attention to where you were going, and before you knew it you ran into someone, the same someone who shoved you against a wall seconds later, but your fear subsided when you realised it was just Katsuki.

“Watch where you’re fucking going, dipshit.” Katsuki wasn’t even sure why he’d pushed you up against the wall, but being this close to you, touching you… it was..nice…

“Tch, god your scent is so weak, you smell like a fucking beta, how’d I get stuck with such a runt, huh? Some sick kind of joke.” Katsuki’s tone didn't match what he was saying. The way he leaned forward to rub his cheek over your scent gland definitely said otherwise, but you stayed quiet, he always found some excuse to scent you, but he’d usually get embarrassed and storm off if you dared to say anything.

“You’re pathetic, you know? Being this submissive for an omega, are you sure you’re not a beta? It’d make more sense.” You bit your lip when Bakugo pressed a kiss to your neck, only hesitating a moment before he started sucking a mark onto your skin. His words bounced right off of you because all you could focus on was how hot he was and how he’d subconsciously put his thigh between your legs and thank fuck you were on scent blockers, or you’d never hear the end of it.

“Really, you aren’t even going to try and defend yourself? You’re even weaker than I thought.” A growl next to your ear made you shiver, and Katsuki pushed away with a snarl when he was satisfied. He cursed at you again and warned you ‘not to tell anyone or he’d kick your ass’ (he wouldn’t) before he walked away, leaving you to walk home with your head completely in the clouds.

“What took you so fucking long, huh idiot?” Katsuki was on you the second you appeared in the dream, pulling you down into a rather ferocious kiss before you could say anything. He bit your lip when you didn’t open your mouth fast enough, swallowing any protests you would have made, and continued to kiss you until you were dizzy. “I’ve been waiting two hours…” He pulled away to kiss under your jaw, and if you didn’t know him so well you’d miss the insecure tone in his voice.

“Sorry, Midoriya wanted-” You stopped when Katsuki growled, biting down so hard you were surprised he didn't draw blood.

“Why the fuck are you saying his name here, huh? Are you tryna piss me off?” He pulled away to sneer at you. You opened your mouth to explain, but the words died in your throat when he unzipped your hoodie, and any coherent thought you had went out the window when he started to kiss your neck.

Everything was ready. The lounge room was set up, complete with snacks, drinks, and stationery for you and your friends to work on the project. They were meant to be here any second, and you couldn’t help but hover near the door to your apartment. You weren’t used to having people over and it still put you on edge having others in your space. But that thought left your head when a knock sounded on your door. You quickly opened it and were almost knocked over by Denki and Mina engulfing you in a hug.

“Thanks so much for hosting bro!”

“Awww you laid out all these snacks and stuff too! An omega’s gonna be really lucky to have you one day Y/n!” They pushed inside. Denki closed the door as Mina oohed and aahed over the setup, their praise had a slight blush rising to your face as you sheepishly rubbed your neck. Sero was next, quickly hugging you before he joined Denki and Mina, then Katsuki and Kirishima last. The blonde pushed past you without saying hello, but Kiri pulled you into a hug so tight you couldn’t breathe for a second, and was complimenting the setup as you took a seat. You tried to sit next to Mina, but Denki let out a whine and the pair was pulling you down between them before you had time to protest. Denki immediately leaned on you once you were settled. Katsuki couldn’t focus on the project, how could he, when his two dipshit friends were all over his mate. And you weren’t even doing anything to stop them! In fact, you were leaning into their hugs and giggling at every stupid joke they made! It had Katsuki fuming. Kirishima was the only one close enough to smell the angry shift in his scent, and he glanced between his friend and you, slowly putting the pieces together. You really had no idea what was happening, but Denki’s head was on your shoulder, and Mina’s arm around your waist as she asked questions about the project, giggling and pressing a kiss to your cheek whenever you got confused, which happened more than you’d like to admit. The blonde gritted his teeth when Mina’s hand went to your thigh, you were his! Nobody else should ever be touching you like that! You should know better! So when you excused yourself to grab something from your room, of course he made up some excuse about needing the bathroom so he could follow you.

The door to your room closed with a click, and you quickly spun around, expecting to see Mina or Denki, anyone except Katsuki to be honest.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He was seeing red at this point. He cornered you and made you stumble back until your waist hit your desk.

“Uh- getting more pens-?” You held out the pack of pens with a confused look on your face that only made Katsuki angrier. How were you so stupid? And so fucking cute when you were- he cut off that thought, he needed to focus on yelling at you. Not the way your brows furrowed and how you nervously bite your lip as you waited for him to say something. Wait- were you blushing? Fuck, maybe he should-

“Katsuki? Are you oka-“

“Shut the fuck up, dipshit.” He snarled. Then, catching you both off guard, he leaned forward and kissed you. Your eyes fluttered closed immediately. He’d only kissed you in your dreams, which was nothing compared to this, and you hesitantly placed your hands on his waist. His hands went to your hair to pull you closer, tugging it until you got the message and parted your lips for him. Katsuki let out a hum of approval as he deepened the kiss, why hadn’t he done this sooner? You couldn’t focus on anything other than how much Katsuki tasted like caramel, he didn’t taste like caramel in the dreams. You couldn’t help but whine when he pulled back. Another insistent tug on your hair had you tilting your head back, and Katsuki didn’t waste any time kissing over your neck. You were so lost in the feeling you almost missed the words he growled against your skin.

“You should know better, you’re mine. Other people shouldn’t be fucking touching you like that.”

“Do you think they’re like…. Finally-” Mina made a hand gesture that had Denki cackling, even Kiri cracked a smile.

“I hope so, it’s getting hard to watch all the back and forth.” Sero sighed, dropped his pen, and stretched.

“Yeah, have you seen how mad Bakubro gets though? It’s pretty fun to push his buttons like this!” Denki grinned as he leaned his head on Mina’s shoulder, and she wrapped her arm around his waist.

“I don’t know… Bakugo’s uh… stubborn, to put it nicely.”

“Your scent is weird… are you wearing a different perfume?” Mina leaned her head on your shoulder, arms wrapped around your waist as you glanced at Katsuki. After whatever the fuck had happened in your room, he’d gone back to acting like he hated you, so, you’d kept letting Denki and Mina do whatever they wanted. He had his eyes fixated on the work, and you turned back to Mina with a smile.

“Oh, sorry about that! I forgot to refill my scent blockers and my doctor’s not available until next week.”

“Don’t be sorry, bro! It’s nice, like really, really nice!” Denki came up behind you, throwing a quick glance at Katsuki before he leaned forward, crooning and rubbing his cheek over your scent gland, Mina doing the same a moment later. The pen Katsuki was holding snapped, his angry scent pumping out in waves as he glared daggers into the book in front of him, all too aware of you laughing.

You were hyper-aware of how strong your scent was, this was the longest you’d gone without scent blockers since you’d presented, and you’d lit a scented candle to try and cover it up. It hadn’t really worked, maybe you should light some incense-

“Y/n! Sorry we’re early!” Mina’s hand on your shoulder broke you from your thoughts, and you shook your head before you smiled. Denki cut you off before you could apologize about your scent.

“Damn Y/n! It smells like you baked cookies- oh my god did you bake-”

“Don’t be stupid, babe, it’s just their scent.” Mina shoved him inside, shaking her head as she followed and closed the door behind her.

“Oh! Of course!” Denki nodded, and he and Mina linked arms with you. They walked you over to the couch and sat you all down with grins on their faces.

“Uh… guys-?” You didn’t trust that look, it never leads to anything good.

“Well, since the project is like, 99.5% done-” Mina started, hand coming up to play with your hair.

“We thought we deserved a reward!” Denki interrupted, reaching into his bag and producing a blunt. You felt your own grin forming.

“Oh my god- is that from-”

“Shinso! You know he sells the best stuff on campus, I decided to splurge for my bros!” Denki looked incredibly pleased with himself, and you couldn’t help but tackle the blonde in a hug.

“Oh my god Denki, you’re the best!”

The three of you were blazed by the time the others got there. Sero happily bounced over to share the blunt, while Katsuki and Kiri just sighed and sat down with you. Katsuki’s eyes instantly zoned in on where you were lying on Mina and Denki on the couch. He was oddly silent as he tried to keep his cool, the nagging thoughts that had always been there slowly got stronger. He’d always had to be strong, people perceived him as weak just because of his dynamic, so he’d rejected the thought of being with an alpha, hoping for a beta or omega. Or you. You never made a big deal out of your dynamic, and always treated him as an equal. Then the dreams started. He loved you, he really did! But his whole reputation would go down the drain if he was claimed by an alpha, especially one with such a weak scent and mild presence. So…. he pretended to hate you in public because the two of you had your dreams, where nobody could judge him! Even if they did pale in comparison to real life. But lately… he couldn’t stop wondering… were you getting tired of waiting? With the way you were acting… the thought made his stomach turn and his canines come out. Especially since you had run out of blockers. Your scent getting stronger and stronger as the days went by. You were his alpha! You shouldn’t be scenting other people! Especially omegas! And you certainly shouldn’t be laying on them while you were ignoring him! You hadn’t even said hello to him! You were too busy getting high with those assholes like you didn't belong to him! You were his, it wasn’t fair!

Mina was the last out of the apartment. She kissed your cheek and winked at you as the door closed. The exhaustion set in as you leaned against the door.

“What the fuck was that?” Katsuki growled and made you startled when you saw him by the table. You only shrugged as you went to pack up the stuff on the couch.

“Denki got us some weed because the project was done-”

“Not that, dickhead! They were all over you!” He marched over to you, trying to ignore how good you smelled up close.

“And? We’re not-” You responded, and Katsuki was shoving you before he realized, ignoring the way you yelped as you fell on the couch. You sprawled on your back and glaring up at him.

“Katsuki! What the fuck!” Katsuki didn’t reply, eyes traveling over your vulnerable form. Flush rose to his face as he realized how provocative the position was, causing warmth to pool in his tummy. If kissing was so much better in reality, what would it be like to be inside you? Feel you clench around him and pull his hair when he hit your sweet spot? Would your thighs shake the same in real life when he just kept going? The omega didn’t even realize his scent had changed, he just licked his lips and stared at you with hooded eyes, fuck he wanted-

“Are you okay? You zoned out.” Fuck, when had you gotten up? You were so close now, your scent overwhelming. He never wanted you to go on blockers again.

“Fuck, Katsuki! Katsuki! Are you in heat?” It finally dawned on you. Katsuki’s scent had taken on a sweeter tone it didn’t usually have, and with the way he kept zoning out, it was obvious. Plus thoughts of him on top of you that wouldn’t leave your brain alone. Your question snapped him out of his daze, and the omega snarled at you, stepping back and stumbling when a jolt of pain went through him.

“Fuck off, like you could trigger-” His voice cut off as another wave of pain went through him, causing you to reached out to steady him without thinking. The omega was going to let out a growl but it quickly changed to a whine as it escaped his mouth. You pulled your hand back like it had burned, although your mate’s temperature was so high it wasn’t out of the question. You took two steps back and froze when a feral snarl ripped through the room, dark red eyes pinning you in your place.

“He-hey Katsuki…” Your voice stopped his growling, and it took every ounce of self-control you had to stay coherent as he advanced, your rut already trying to cloud your judgment. Your eyes darted around the room, maybe you could make it to the bathroom? Then Katsuki could ride out his heat and you could talk about it? yeah. Katsuki was only a foot away from you now, the grin he had on was somehow more unsettling than the snarl, and you shook your head to get some of your resolve back. Okay, three, two, one-

You made it maybe ten centimeters before Katuski caught you, and pushed you back down on the couch. He wasted no time sitting on your lap and tilting your face up to look into his eyes.

“You’re not getting away from me, Alpha. I know you want this. I should have done this months ago.” Sincerity shone through your omega’s lidded eyes, and you felt your small shred of resolve shrink away even more. Your hands flew to his chest to push him away.

“Ka-Katsuki it’s just- just your heat, you don’t mean-“

“Don’t tell me what I do and don’t mean, alpha.” Katsuki was back to growling at you. His hands grabbed your wrists, pinned them down, and used his knees to keep them in place. He went back to cupping your face, red eyes boring into yours as he thought of what to say and a growl leaving him whenever you dared to look away. You were so, so obnoxiously pretty, it made it even harder to focus. Katsuki kept getting distracted by little details, like how your eyes shone and you kept biting your lip.

“You’re so fuckin stupid, ya know that? Of course, I fuckin want you, you’re my alpha- I don’t… I don’t care what other people think anymore, I just want you.” Katsuki’s tone was softer than you expected, and you could only gape at him as a blush quickly rose to your face. You knew he didn’t hate you, but hearing him say that lifted a weight off your shoulders you’d been carrying for who knows how long. The moment passed, all the softness went away as Katsuki leaned down to kiss you, and this time you kissed him back without any reservations.

[softykooky]

the habits of a broken heart.

☾ genre : soulmates au, unrequited love, art student!JK, english student!Y/N, angst, fluff, subtle enemies to lovers

☾ pairing : jeon jungkook x reader

☾ summary : jungkook and you are soulmates. so says the matching crescent moons on both your wrists. however, things are never as easy as they seem, and you are quick to learn that falling in love with someone who does not believe in love is a one-way ticket to heartbreak. 

alternatively,

“You still are, you know. Worth it.” You release a shaky breath. “But I was stupid to think that I am too.”

☾ word count: 26.3k (my biggest one yet!)

☾ author’s note: this took forever oh my gosh! i really hope you like it! it’s my first time writing such a big single piece, and trying a different style. thank you so much for your support, always! please let me know what you think ♡

The first time he had his heart broken, Jeon Jungkook had been 13 years old. He was fresh out of middle school and so ready to face his freshman year with an impressionable mind and plenty of voice cracks to earn him months worth of teasing. You see, at the age of 13, Jungkook wasn’t something to swoon over. He had yet to grow into his ears and Dr. Park assured him that his braces would be off as soon as she could get them. He was a little lanky and a bit too reticent to be considered social. So when a girl in his grade comes up to him, nervous and stuttering, and asks him to go to the heavily romanticized homecoming dance, Jungkook has already come to the conclusion that she might be his soulmate, even if he was far too young to get his mark yet. 

Her name was Mina, and Jungkook is confronted with this memory every time he visits home and his mother makes the family flip through the photo albums dating back to his high school years. He grimaces every time he sees the picture of them together. Him in a pink button-up to match her offensively ugly ruffled taffeta dress. 

Mina broke up with him three months after that picture was taken, through one of her friends no less and in front of his entire gym class. Jungkook couldn’t remember how long he cried for while he felt the pain from his first heartbreak would never go away, regardless of how much time passes. He held onto his mother and sobbed out the agony and humiliation of Mina not wanting to be his girlfriend anymore, and how he had lost his soulmate before he even knew it was her. His mother assured him that without the mark, there was no way to be sure and that there was hope. But back then, all Jungkook could think of was ways to avoid Mina the next day, especially when they sat next to each other in 3rd period biology.  

At 13 years old, Jungkook thought he would never find love again. 

He is 18 when he stands alongside his parents in a pale examination room and awaits his destiny. He’s leaving for college the next day, yet the only thing that’s making him nervous is the mark that will inevitably appear on his wrist in the next few minutes. The same one he would find on his soulmate’s, and Jungkook wonders if there is the possibility of scaring everyone away when the first thing he’ll ask on a date is: can I please see your wrist? 

To say the least, Jungkook is petrified. Because that mark on his wrist is going to serve as a constant reminder of his missing piece, and Jungkook knows he’ll always feel lacking until he finds them. It’s a crescent moon. Small and black and nestled comfortably on his skin. He knows many times the marks don’t have any correlation with the couples, but Jungkook wonders if you are an astrologist. Or an astronaut. Or just had a weird affinity for the moon. He smiles when they congratulate him and can’t stop himself from thinking that he might be in love with you already. Wherever you are. When he leaves for university, he feels less lonely when there is a crescent moon to accompany him. 

Contrary to the beliefs of his 13-year old self, Jungkook does fall in love again. Hard. This time, it was a girl with brown hair and big eyes and a smile so pretty he could see it from across a crowded room. She was a grade below him; a frazzled college freshman with no clue to where her lecture hall was, and he: a sophomore who had a compulsion of changing his major every other month. When he met her, it had been chemical engineering and three weeks before that was film composition. Her name was Yoojung, 18 years old while he was 19.

 Her soulmate mark is a single star, and even though he knows she is not his soulmate, he can’t help but to think how perfectly their marks complement each other. How they would make a perfect night sky. 

They had met at a frat party, no less, and the combination of cheap booze and bad hiphop music had made her look so incredibly gorgeous under the dim lighting. They had their first kiss in a random person’s living room, highly intoxicated and much too irresponsible and Jungkook had barely even remembered it in the morning until she showed up at his doorstep and invited herself in. Yet it wasn’t too long before he made a perfect space for Yoojung in his life.

 Each day after his physics lecture, he’d go to her dorm and they’d chat over breakfast until she had economics at 10 o’ clock. After she was done, he’d insist that they go get a greasy hamburger at the joint his friends took him to when they got high and, she’d end up dragging them both to the health food restaurant that prided themselves on only using organic. Leave it to Jungkook to find himself a vegan girlfriend. 

Sometimes though, when he looks at Yoojung, his mind drifts to his actual soulmate and a little flower named guilt blooms in his chest. But he is so young and his other half could be anywhere in the world, so Jungkook thinks there is no harm in allowing himself to indulge in a little affection. These days, it wasn’t completely abnormal for soulmates to part ways, and when Yoojung is in his arms, Jungkook likes to think that his soulmate would understand. They would want him to be happy. In the middle of synchronizing their busy student schedules and sneaking in quick kisses through cramming for finals, he had found it unnervingly easy to fall in love with her. 

Deeply and blindly in love. 

Yoojung brought him home to her family on fall breaks and the occasional winter vacation and Jungkook had melded perfectly into their dynamic. The son I never had, her father would tell him over the dinner table while her mother constantly made sure his plate was piled high. Her little sister was visibly in love with him, and would ask Yoojung where he was every time she came home from university, yet avoiding him at all costs when he was there. 

Jungkook’s own family, however, was a different story. To put it delicately, they had liked it more when he came home by himself and left her at school. It had put a strain on their relationship sure, but at the end of the day, Jungkook loved her. A simple love. 

Every day he remembers that their marks do not match. But if this is love and he feels like he is on cloud 9 with every moment they are together, Jungkook begins to doubt if the universe’s will is truly divine and successful. Maybe Yoojung was his soulmate and it did not matter what was on their wrists. 

He loved her intensely, and she did him. She was the first thing on his mind when he woke up and manifested in his dreams when he slept at night. To Jungkook, Yoojung could do no wrong. Like some sort of divine being or angel that the heavens sent just for him, and he found himself thinking maybe he wouldn’t mind spending the rest of his life beside her. 

But he would come to learn that the higher the climb...the harder the fall. 

Jungkook and Yoojung were together for the better part of 4 years before she cheated on him with a guy that she’d supposedly met a couple weeks ago. When Jungkook screams at her asking why she had been disloyal, Yoojung shows him her wrist. Her single inked star. 

“I found my soulmate, Jungkook. And I love you so much, you know I do. I didn’t know how to tell you so I…”

The rest of her words fade into white noise and all Jungkook can do is look at her and commit every detail to memory as he feels her fade farther away. Her teary and remorseful brown eyes. Her plush lips. The fan of her eyelashes and the mole on the side of her temple. He’ll never get to see her like this again. 

“I was ready to be with you, soulmate or not. I know it’s not fair but I wanted the same from you”, he whispers, falling down on the couch and burying his face in his hands. 

“Soulmates be damned, the universe was wrong. I was so hideously in love with you. How could you not at least tell me when you met him?” Jungkook feels his heart collapsing in on itself with every word of resignation. Of burgeoning acceptance. Yoojung can only mirror his desolate expression and stares down at the star on her skin.

 Jungkook wishes it were a moon. 

“Just go, Yoojung.” 

It would have hurt less if it was only a one night stand with a stranger she did not know the name of. He was in love and spineless enough to move past a one night stand. However, Yoojung had found her soulmate and fallen in love with him. Jungkook had merely acted as a placeholder for the real deal to come along and sweep her off her feet. 

This time he doesn’t cry. Just stares out the window of his living room and wonders what it would be like to disappear altogether. When the door is slammed shut, and he is left to nurse his aching soul, Jungkook apologizes in advance to the person that shares the same mark on their wrist as him. He no longer believes that soulmates exist. 

When Jungkook looks back at his 13 year old self with the innocent construct of what heartbreak feels like, he wants to laugh and maybe slap that stupid boy upside the head. Yoojung had destroyed him. Destroyed the innocent and starry-eyed person that he’s tried so hard to preserve. Destroyed his vulnerability and bright outlook on life and in their place, cultivated walls of rock and steel meant to keep everyone out and him safely tucked inside. In her wake, Yoojung left behind a shell of a man who pushed his emotions so deep he became numb and forgot what it was like to feel. 

So Jungkook does what he always does to push away the hurt. He changes his major; to art history this time. He stacks up bracelets on his wrist to forget the mark of a moon. He scrapes up his rainy day money and treats himself to the most expensive pair of Saint Laurent boots he’s ever worn. He tests the limits of the human liver, and takes advantage of the biceps and jawline he’s acquired since high school to establish a reputation. 

To his friends, Jungkook remained raucous and always down to order infinite rounds of shots until he couldn’t see straight. To those that looked even closer, Jungkook was so completely shattered he didn’t even feel it anymore. 

The second time he had his heart broken, Jungkook was 23. He promised himself he wouldn’t let it happen again. 

◐

“For the last time, Jimin, I’m not going to give you a blowjob so you can pay for my student loans.”

You don’t know how many times you’ve had this conversation with your roommate. Most of the time, it was convenient to have a roommate whose parents were loaded and sent him monthly installments that looked more like small loans than allowances. You knew he just wanted to help. Heck, he probably would be willing to pay them off for you without the promiscuous favor, but you had made it clear to Jimin that you wouldn’t be riding off of his charity. 

“Ugh, Y/N you’re really no fun”, he sighs, falling backwards onto your twin-sized bed and feigning devastation. You reward his melodrama with a giggle, ruffling your hands through his fried hair. Jimin had a knack for changing his hair color as quickly as his mood. 

You look at the bill that’s staring back at you from your computer screen, and it feels like it’s just reached out and punched you in the face. “Hey do you think it’s a common mistake for bank tellers to add a few too many zeroes?” 

“Y/N.” 

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m rationalizing as a self-defense mechanism.” Sometimes it was annoying that your roommate had a degree in psychology. Then again, Jimin was making more money than you and your degree in English. 

You sigh deeply and look up at the ceiling in attempts to quell your tears of frustration. And also because it is a plea to whoever is up there controlling your destiny: please I’m begging you. Melt my debt away. 

You and Jimin sit in comfortable silence and he plays with the hem of your worn comforter while you scroll through the emails you have been ignoring in your inbox. You want to smash your head in at all the deadlines. Times like these, there is one thing that brings you comfort and always has since you turned 18. 

The quaint little crescent moon that sits right atop your radius. 

You had a habit of pressing your thumb against it and feeling your pulse against the mark, stupidly wondering if your soulmate’s heartbeat has synched up with your own. If he was out there somewhere, touching his mark and wondering the same about you. He was taking his sweet time, that’s for sure. Jimin sees your nervous tic and sighs again.

“You’re so hopelessly romantic it makes me want to barf, Y/N.” You scowl at his words and chuck a pillow at his unsuspecting face. 

“I don’t understand you, Jimin. Your soulmate is out there and you’re not the slightest bit curious? You don’t want to do anything extra to find them?” Jimin looks at you with a knowing smile.

“That’s exactly it, though. I know they’re my soulmate and I’ll find them when the time is right. So why worry about it? It’s better not to force anything.” His statement is followed up with a grin and his fingers reach out to pinch your cheeks. This was the dynamic of your friendship. He is easy-going and flows like a careless river. You’ve read one too many books to not vie and daydream for the moment you lock eyes with your soulmate. 

Your mom always said that you’ll know just from a look. It’s like getting hit over the head with a ray of sun, she said. Like suddenly their eyes are the only eyes you ever want to look into again. Since then, you’ve dreamt for the day you find someone with that same moon on their wrist. For now though, you had more immediate concerns more along the lines of crippling debt. 

“What do I do, Jimin? Should I be a stripper?” He laughs and the thought makes you groan. You couldn’t even walk in heels, much less try to dance or look like you didn’t have two left feet. Stripper life just wasn’t for you. 

“Hm...I could call in a few favors for you at the office. Get you an internship or secretary position.” 

“Maybe. Too much nepotism. Your father owns the office you work at”, you remind him, and his eyebrows crease further in thought. God, maybe you do have to be a stripper.

“Wait!” Jimin yelps so suddenly you almost fling the computer off your lap. 

“I think I know someone. He’s been looking for a model for his art portfolio or something, and he said he’s willing to pay.” Jimin reaches for his phone and his thumbs type up a storm while you watch from the sideline. 

“I think he mentioned it’s about a month-long project. You’d just have to be on call whenever a stroke of genius arrives.” 

“That sounds great! I’m an amazing model!” you crow, to which Jimin giggles again.

“The several candids I have in my camera roll tell a different story, Y/N.” Naturally, he receives another pillow to the face. But you follow up with a cheery kiss to his cheek as you rejoice in the new opportunity for cash flow by a celebratory dance, which looks more like a wiggle when you remain seated on your bed. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!”, you chirped, “I owe you one.”

“Hey...I know how you can repay me.”

 When you look towards him, his eyebrows are raised inquisitively and there’s a devilish smirk on his lips.

Jimin gets a third pillow to his face that day. 

◓

Jungkook’s favorite type of arguments to get into is whether Neo-classicism or post-impressionism had the most impact on European art and architecture. Call him a snob, but he loves to prattle on about Degas and Caillebotte until his opponent tires or concedes out of pure exhaustion. Jungkook regards it as a battle strategy: bore your enemy so that they stop fighting. 

He’s in the middle of a heated debate with his classmate from graduate school when he receives a phone call from Park Jimin. Now, Jungkook has no idea how or when Jimin became an installment in his life, or how he’s roped his way into his inner circle. He just remembers waking up one day with a killer hangover and finding that there was a pink-haired stranger lying on his floor. When he tried to shoo him out, the stranger shoved a wad of money in his shirt pocket, muttering “just five more minutes”, and Jungkook was in no position to deny easy cash. Jungkook now considers Jimin one of his close friends. 

“What’s up, Jiminie?” He laughs into the microphone. 

“I told you not to call me that, you brat. I’m older than you.” 

“I’m taller than you.”

“My dick is bigger.”

“I-okay fine you got me there.” He hears Jimin wheeze over the line as he tries to rein himself in to say what he needs to say. 

“In all seriousness, though. I have a proposition for you.” Jimin lilts in a mischievous tone, which makes Jungkook nervous enough to get up from the café table he had been sitting at with his friend and careen to a quieter corner. 

“Shoot.”

“Okay, so you know how you were telling me about your portfolio for the gallery. The one you have to submit by the end of the season? How you needed a model on call 24/7 in case inspiration struck?” 

Jungkook wants him to spit it out because he has been searching high mountains and low valleys for someone that would be willing to be his muse for a month or two. Constantly at his beck and call so he can finish this damn portfolio and get his name out there in the art world. Maybe start debating post-impressionism with the cream of the crop. 

“I think I’ve found someone to do that for you.” Jungkook exhales in relief at his words.

“She’s my roommate and she’s super low on cash and unemployed with a bachelor’s in English literature, so she’s got time to spare.” Perfect. That way, Jungkook can call her whenever he needs to.

“That’s amazing, Jiminie. Can she meet me at the art building tomorrow at noon? We can start right away.” Jungkook breathes through the phone, a small weight coming off his shoulders now that another thing had been accomplished. One less thing he had to worry about on the journey to his goal. Jimin confirms the plans and they exchange pleasantries before Jungkook hangs up as the man on the other line starts screaming about his burning lunch on the stove. 

Jungkook catches sight of the mark on his wrist when he looks down, and quickly rearranges his bracelets so that it is once again covered to his eyes. Out of sight and out of mind. 

The gallery portfolio had been a thorn in his side. It had been months in the making and if he allows himself to reminisce, Jungkook remembers the nights he and Yoojung stayed up until dawn and talked about his blossoming interest in art. How he wanted a space of his own to display his works. Back then, she listened to him with stars in her eyes and basked in the afterglow of post-coital cuddling, promising that she would help him achieve it. 

His heart sinks at the memory of the imprint of her tresses of hair spilling on his bedspread. He burned those sheets the second she left. 

Jungkook represses his intrusive thoughts about Yoojung and wills her to get out of his head. He forces it down until it feels like he’s just dumped ice water over his heart and vomited out any semblance of emotion. He makes his way back to the cafe table with a sly smile that hides the internal ache he’s promised himself to never let anyone suspect of. 

“So what were you saying about Renoir’s Moulin de la Galette?”

◑

The art building is situated besides a library, with a bakery flanking its left. Two years spent at the university, and you’ve never once stepped foot there. Maybe it was the daunting abstract sculpture on the front lawn or the prejudices you held against annoying art snobs on their high horses, but you often found yourself subconsciously avoiding the space in intimidation. 

“Okay, Y/N, you’re going to do this so you can pay off your loans”, you whisper under your breath, words meant for your ears and no one else’s. “And if he asks you to pose nude, you run the opposite direction.” 

It was easy to get lost in the building. For art students that know how to draw, they really took advantage of abstractionism to make the most confusing map you had ever seen in your life. Luckily, with some direction from the vapid front desk secretary and some intuition, you were able to to find room 62B. You don’t think you’ll be able to forget the number 62B if you tried, Jimin had screamed it to you so many times as you left the apartment. 

The door soundlessly opens with a nudge of your hand and you stick your head inside.

“You know when Jimin told me he found me a model, he didn’t mention her lack of punctuality.” His voice is calm and subdued with no lingering annoyance, even if his words are uncourteous. You whip around to him and the first sight you see of Jeon Jungkook is merely a tuft of brown hair behind a vast canvas. And some expensive looking leather boots that anchor his feet to the ground. 

You clear your throat and approach with an outstretched hand and the shiniest smile you can muster. 

“I’m Y/N. Jimin’s roommate. It’s nice to meet you.”

“You can call me Jungkook.”

It is when he steps out from behind the canvas that you finally understand what your mother meant when she said meeting your soulmate feels like getting hit over the head with a ray of sunshine. You can’t describe it any other way, but that’s exactly what it feels like. Like the air becomes so sweet in your lungs it turns to viscous honey. Like suddenly the person standing in front of you is Valentine, encapsulated. 

You know he feels it too, yet you don’t know why he forces himself to remain blasé, and if you hadn’t seen his widened eyes and heard the gasp from his lips you would have never suspected anything at all. Stranger courtesy is abandoned and you forcefully grab his wrist, turning it over to find his mark while pulling up your sleeve to reveal your own. 

A little black crescent moon.

Right on the pulse point.

Just like your’s. 

When you finally muster up the nerve to look into his eyes again, you wonder if it is healthy for the human heart to beat so fast and so thunderously it feels ready to jump out of your chest. Jungkook, however, still wears that same expression on his face. Flat and cold, not even a glimmer in his eyes. He stares at you disinterested and wrenches his wrist from your grasp. 

“Wait, Jungkook...aren’t you….”, you sputter through a desperate smile, “aren’t you happy?” He stays silent and trains his attention on the canvas in front of him, but you can see the conflict that swirls in his iris. 

“I’ve been looking for you for so long! And I’ve finally found you. In the art building no less, just my luck that-”

“Y/N, I don’t know what you expect from me but I’m not looking for anything right now.” 

There were no objectively ugly words. But you think the ones that have just spewed from Jungkook’s lips come pretty close. They stoke a fire in your chest.

“What do you mean? We’re soulmates”, you faltered, sinking deeper into confusion as you stare at the unaffected man in front of you, whose only concern is the conglomerate of paint on his palette. 

Jungkook sighs monotonously. Almost as if he had better things to do than be here.

“It’s only a mark on your wrist. And we just happen to have the same one. Amazing that you still think somehow one single person was made entirely just for you.” His words are bored and he doesn’t even have the decency to look you in the eye when he speaks. You think you might want to punch him if you weren’t so speechless.

“Look”, he sighs as if you were inconveniencing him, “I’m not going to sugarcoat it and tell you that I’m the one you’ve been looking for this whole time. We have the same mark, but...I’m not the guy you want.”

“B-But...I’m your soulmate. We-we’re made for each other.”

Jungkook scoffs harshly, and you want to sink into the ground. “That’s just a silly myth.” 

“So you don’t...believe in soulmates?” The words felt wrong to say when all your life, finding your soulmate felt like the ribbon at the end of the finish line. But here he was now, and you felt so small under his gaze. Like you weren’t meant to be there and standing in the same room with him was a concoction for heartbreak.

“No.”

Jungkook’s syllable pangs in your ear, and you think it might be your least favorite sound. Then you leave. And if it was hard for you to meet your soulmate - the person who you’re destined to be with - who doesn’t believe in you, then walking away from him was a different cross to bear. 

You take the bus home and ignore the glare of strangers when you burst into tears at a red light, and cry the rest of the way back. Your mother hadn’t described this. She prosed on and on about the feeling one gets after finding a soulmate but never mentioned to you how it feels when you find out they want nothing to do with you. What do you do when you realize the person you’ve been chasing for forever has been trying to run away at the same time? 

Jimin holds you together that night on your bedroom floor, while you break apart and scratch at the moon on your wrist until your skin breaks. He listens to the words you sputter; as much as he can decipher when they are drowned out by the painful sound of your sobbing. Jungkook’s beliefs bleed into your consciousness. Perhaps he is right and perhaps there is no such thing as true soulmates, and the marks are obsolete. 

However, when you fall asleep in your friend’s arms from the physical fatigue of violent crying and the sheer mental exhaustion of meeting Jeon Jungkook, your mind comes to a more painful conclusion. 

A more truthful conclusion.

Your soulmate only needed to meet you to decide that he did not want you.

◒

Jungkook doesn’t believe in soulmates. He thinks they’re a stupid coy to give people false hope. An illusion to feign happiness and to take Yoojung away from someone she genuinely loved. Though in the hours of the night, when he is by himself and the bed feels too big for one body, Jungkook wonders if there is truly a reason why someone has an identical moon on their wrist. But he is still so broken and unhealed from the wounds Yoojung left behind.

 So instead of soulmates, he thinks about what she must be doing. If she’s eating well. If she’s moved in with her own soulmate and if they’re happy together. Jungkook is an involuntary masochist and he pays for it with every pillowcase that becomes stained with his tears. 

He sighs out an expletive after downing a shot of whiskey, relishing in the familiar burn as it slides down his throat. Alcohol doesn’t seem to be working efficiently, though. He’s only barely tipsy after years in college building tolerance, and he can still see your face each time he blinks. Like you are imprinted on the back of his eyelids. Jungkook wonders why Jimin had cancelled on the group tonight. 

There is a little devil called remorse and it stands atop his shoulder, unseen by everyone but him, and Jungkook decides he will get rid of it by calling another round of shots. From his seat in the dirty booth, he can see Min Yoongi and his soulmate practically dry humping on the dance floor. If anyone asks him if he ever gets jealous seeing soulmates happy and in love, he’ll laugh in their face and tell them he pities people like that. People that are so blinded by the system. But loneliness is a stern mistress and it makes him think of you. How lovely the moon looks on your wrist. How your hand felt so warm when it caressed against his skin. 

He tips his head back again. Vodka this time.

“Dude, are you okay?” 

To his right comes Kim Taehyung, designated driver extraordinaire, and he looks at Jungkook with friendly concern laced with amusement. Jungkook nods contentedly. 

“Soulmates are so bullshit, Tae”, he snickers, fingers tracing the rim of the shot glass and smirk on his face to mask the bitterness of both the alcohol and his heart. Taehyung spares a knowing glance, resting a hand on his friend’s shoulder with the weight of knowledge of Jungkook’s past. 

The night is young and so is he. He drinks until he can no longer taste the liquor and forgets altogether about what had happened only a couple of hours before. Until the crescent mark on his skin just looks like a shapeless black blob, and it makes him smile. He thinks he likes it better that way. 

Taehyung drops him home and personally tucks him into bed while he is still in jeans and his shirt smells like the bar. His sleep is dreamless that night. When the morning comes and his friends tease him about how he begged Taehyung not to leave, Jungkook will laugh and blame the alcohol for his foggy memory. He won’t tell them that he does remember, and that he was only grasping at any warm body to soothe his aching loneliness.

◐

Usually when he first opens his eyes in the morning, Jungkook is thinking about the next class he has to attend and if he is late (which is usually most of the time). This morning, albeit morbidly hungover, Jungkook thinks of the apple strudels they sell at the bakery next to the art building. Mrs. Kim always gets the pastry to filling ratio just right. But when he opens the door with a jubilant smile on his face and the scent of baked goods already in his nostrils, Jungkook has a feeling apple strudels will have to wait. 

There you are. In all your messy-haired glory, huffing like a caged bull in the doorway of his apartment, fiery gaze directed completely at him and all he can think to say is:

“How do you know where I live?” Jungkook schools his face expressionless in your presence. He hopes this will discourage you, but it only makes you angrier. 

“Park Jimin”, you snarl. 

Of fucking course, it’s always Park Jimin. Jimin who drunkenly sleeps in his bedroom and now Jimin who is leaking his address to any stranger.

“Um”, Jungkook stammers and takes a step back, “what are you doing here? Didn’t I get my point through yesterday?” He can see the statement catching you off guard, and the fury in your eyes dwindles to dejection. Only for a millisecond though, before you are aiming your wrath at him once again. 

You take a deep breath. “What is wrong with you?” 

Jungkook can think of a lot of answers to that query. He opts to interpret it as a rhetorical question and keep his mouth shut. 

“You just...found your soulmate! I’m your soulmate! And you don’t even want to get to know me? At all?”, you scream exasperatedly. Jungkook catches the gaze of a middle aged lady who is not-so-discreetly staring at the two of you, and pulls you inside his apartment by your arm. If you weren’t so frustrated, you would have been flustered at the physical contact. 

“Listen. Soulmates don’t end up together all the time. I’ve told you I’m not really interested in anything right now and it’s not a priority”, he takes a breath through his passionate monologue, “and I’m sorry that that’s not something you expected, but I….don’t want a soulmate.”

Maybe...he just doesn’t want you. 

When he says them out loud to a living breathing person, Jungkook realizes how cruel it sounds. He can see it in the way your eyes have become glossy under his living room lights and the way you shrink into yourself as self-defense against his blows. He rationalizes that he’d rather tell you the truth than lie to you now, only to hurt you later. Really, he’s doing you a kindness. Right?

You turn your back to him to gather your thoughts, and wipe the tears that you refuse to let him see. The salty drops sting the raw skin of your wrist after last night, and you are brutally reminded of the current reality. His brutal honesty makes you want to abandon all hope, but you were a woman with a plan. You came here for a reason, not to just lose your temper in your soulmate’s apartment and tell him what you really thought about him.

“I have a proposition for you”, you asserted calmly, staring Jungkook in the eye as he remains unbothered. 

“Now I reckon something’s happened to you to make you lose all your faith in soulmates, so I’m not forcing you to do anything you don’t want to do.” Your eyebrows furrow when you speak focusedly.

“We don’t have to be together. That’s your will. But…”, you hesitate, pushing past the uncertainty and fear of another rejection from Jungkook, “will you let me at least try? You don’t have to promise anything. Can we just start as friends?” 

Naturally, Jungkook wants to shoot down your offer, kick you out of his apartment, and pretend like he never met anyone by the name of Y/N. Call it divine intervention but when he looks at you, pleading for any semblance of connection, he feels a tug at his heart strings. So Jungkook makes another promise to himself. He would let you “try”, whatever that entails. But there was no virtual possibility of letting you any closer than necessary. 

You both stand in contemplative silence before he lets out a resigned sigh. “On one condition”, he responds slowly, but there is already a premature grin growing on your face and you don’t think you could stop it even if you tried.

“You still have to be my model for the art portfolio.”

You agree before he even gets to take another breath. 

“Deal.” 

When you finally make your way out of Jungkook’s apartment, parting ways with an awkward number exchange and a ‘see you later’, there is a simultaneous feeling of hope and desolation. The optimism for Jungkook combines with the insecurity that perhaps you, just as you are, is not nearly enough to make someone fall in love. Especially someone who disregards their soul connection to you. 

You walk back to your apartment with a heavy heart that warms with embers of determination. Jeon Jungkook was an enigma. A Bastille fortress of self-defense mechanisms and destructive tendencies, and you know that there is unresolved pain. Call it a soulmate instinct or something, but you see it in his eyes. You see it in the way his face begs to show emotion but his mind refuses to acknowledge. 

You know Jungkook is not obligated to accept you after the dust settles, much less fall in love with you. Under the peach blossoms of the campus sidewalk, you make a promise anyway.  To yourself and to your soulmate and the silly little mark on the inside of your wrist. Even if he does not love you, you vow to help Jungkook learn to love himself.

◓

When you are harshly woken up at 5:30 in the morning, the last person you expected to be blowing up your phone was Jeon Jungkook. If it weren’t for the pure exhaustion seeping through your bones, you would have been excited about your soulmate calling you. Alas, slumber was your soulmate now. Jungkook would have to step down. 

On the other side of the paper thin wall, Jimin is frustratedly banging from his room, your ringtone reverberating throughout the entire apartment. You pick up his call without even opening your eyes.

“Hello?” 

“Y/N I need you to come to my apartment as soon as you can.” There is no sleepiness in his voice. Just clean and cold like it always is and he has hung up before you get the chance to scold him for waking you up at this unholy hour. You’re about to give him a piece of your mind but you remember he is paying you very handsomely for your efforts, and reluctantly drag yourself out of bed to call an uber. Thank god he doesn’t live too far away otherwise you’ll stick a foot through his canvas for the transportation bill. 

The front of Jungkook’s apartment door is strangely therapeutic, and you find yourself falling asleep standing up after you’ve rung the doorbell. Either time passes too slowly when you are sleep-drunk or Jungkook moves to get the door as quickly as your grandfather does. Whatever the case, you are about to pass out on his doorstep if he doesn’t come soon.

“Y/N, why are you just standing there? The door has been open.” 

“Jungkook. Why are you making me do this so early?”, you yawn, pushing inside the apartment. 

Jungkook takes in your discombobulated appearance, and almost wants to laugh. You were still in your pajamas, and the bun on your head now looked more like a heaping blob that drooped down your temple. It was obvious that you had just rolled out of bed and he almost feels bad for disturbing your sleep, but he does not decide when his strokes of inspiration spontaneously appear. 

The living room is bombarded with Jungkook’s art supplies and stray canvases, and you take note of the clay sculpting table that blends in as furniture next to his kitchen. You plop yourself down on the stool across from Jungkook’s easel, eyes still half closed and impossibly tired.

 In this moment, Jungkook wipes the fact that you are his soulmate from his mind. He needs to do the portfolio. That is all he’s keeping you around for, and the only reason he agreed to your plan was so that you would remain his art model. 

In the silence of his makeshift art studio, Jungkook paints whatever comes to his mind, referencing your figure on the stool for the curves he can never get right without a model and need for a human presence to translate onto his canvas. You become more lucid as time goes by and the sun starts to rise from outside his window, sitting up straighter and paying more attention to his concentrated face as Jungkook pours himself into his creation. 

Looking at him in this light, you realize that he is beautiful. And not just because he’s your soulmate. Jungkook’s hair is scruffy and stubbled, undereyes sporting impressive dark circles. But the way he caresses the paintbrush and the way his body moves to the beat of the painting is poetic. He glances at you sporadically, eyes darting to and fro to capture as much as he can before the creativity burns out. He is beautiful and it makes your heart ache to know that he does not want you. In spite of the bond the universe has created. 

You wonder if in his focused hazed, he notices the new glaze across your eyes and the silent sound of your soul calling out for his. You wipe away the first dripping tear as quickly as it came. You know Jungkook sees, but does not bat an eye and you can’t tell if you’d rather prefer him to acknowledge it. 

It’s 8:00am when he puts the paintbrush down, takes a step back, and surveys his work. His eyes trail over each organic line and areas where he decided to use burnishing instead of cross hatching. It’s far from perfect, but it’s enough. 

“Okay. You’re free to go”, he announces, plucking the painting off the easel and resting it against the wall, hidden from your eyes. 

“W-What? That’s it?”, you sigh disappointedly, “you’re not even going to let me see it?” Jungkook shrugs. His detachedness makes you want to rip your hair out and sob into your pillow at the same time. You don’t understand how a person could be so unfazed. 

“S’not ready for debut. Thanks for showing up, though.” He doesn’t spare you another glance. Just goes back to cleaning his brushes and dumping out the glasses of murky paint water. You ignore the twinge of hurt in your chest and slide off the stool. 

“Okay, fine. Now it’s my turn. Would you like to go have some breakfast?”, you smile expectantly to Jungkook, who stares at you with an indifferent gaze. His first instinct is to make up a half-assed excuse to get out of this, eager to detach himself from you as much as possible and avoid any more interaction. However, he was insanely hungry, and the glimmer in your eye just looks so hopeful even Jungkook couldn’t bear to shoot you down.

He sighs with resignation. A little breakfast couldn’t hurt, and he wasn’t going with you necessarily. You were just...going to the same cafe in the same direction as him and likely sitting at the same table. Yeah, that’s it. 

“Hurry up, I’m hungry.” 

“Wait...actually?”

You blinked in shock at his lack of resistance. 

“Yes. Now come on. I know a place with really great apple strudels.”

You weren’t aware that by ‘breakfast’, Jungkook actually meant sitting in complete silence and wolfing down food like your life depends on it. You want to be grossed out when he inhales 3 apple strudels in less than 10 minutes, crumbs flaking on his shirt without a care in the world. Yet you just feel endeared. The sight makes you smile. And maybe if Jungkook did not detest you, you would have leaned over and kissed the cinnamon sugar right off his lips. 

“So….”, you sip on a sweet coffee, “Jimin told me you’re going for a masters in art history?” 

Jungkook nods halfway through a bite of his pastry. “Yup.” 

“Is it something you’re really passionate about?” you inquire, desperately wanting the conversation to delve into something that wasn’t so surface level.

“Uh huh.”

“What are some other things you’re interested in besides art?”

“Totally.” 

Jungkook is completely clueless. He only spares glances to the windows and occasional looks to his oh so precious breakfast treats. You want to slap him and be angry, but you only sigh. It shouldn’t be so hard to talk to your soulmate, yet it felt like trying to pull teeth when he was so completely disinterested in you. You wonder if this is worth it.

You look up at him from your steaming cappuccino cup and use your wildcard. 

“In my opinion, Botticelli’s Birth of Venus did little for the Italian Renaissance movement.” 

Your statement almost has Jungkook falling backwards in his chair and choking on a piece of fruit filling, eyes growing as wide as saucers when he finally processes what you just said. A flaming insult to the entire art historian community. 

“What do you know about Botticelli?”, he sneers, and you internally celebrate for this is the most emotion Jungkook has shown since meeting you. 

“I know that his work supposedly epitomizes the spirit of the Renaissance”, you swirl the coffee in your cup nonchalantly, lips curving into a knowing smirk. “But if you ask me, Bellini’s San Giobbe Altarpiece did much more to encapsulate the values of 15th century Italy.” 

Jungkook’s speechless expression is one that you want to take a snapshot of and frame it to your wall. It is glorious, and arguably more artful to you than Botticelli himself. So what, you had conveniently forgot to mention to him about the class you took junior year of college, with a professor that made you engrave the fundamentals of Italian painting in your brain. It’s so much more gratifying to see him stunned silent. 

Across the table from you, Jungkook feels a warm smile itching to display itself. Before it can appear, he disguises it as a cold smirk. He feels something akin to a butterfly at the pit of his stomach, but blames it on indigestion and the inhuman pace at which he devoured his breakfast. Yeah that must be it. There was no way he was feeling butterflies. 

He cracks his knuckles, raises his cup to gulp down a lukewarm green tea, and rests his elbows on the table separating the both of you.

“I don’t suppose you could tell me your thoughts on the influences of neo-classicism in the 18th century?” 

◑

“No, Y/N, turn to your left a little”, Jungkook frustratedly sighs behind the camera lens.

“Your left or my left?”

He pauses. “....left.” 

To any outside eye, you and Jungkook look like two buffoons trying to take pictures on what might possibly be the windiest day of the season, under the peach blossom trees. Jungkook had called you earlier that day and stressed about how he needed mixed media in his beloved portfolio, and photographs were the next topic of interest. Though you couldn’t understand why he couldn’t just set out a fruit bowl on his windowsill and call it still life photography.

Jungkook stares down at his camera, dissatisfaction clear on his face. You almost want to apologize for your abhorrent modeling skills but hey, he was the one that chose you. 

“Hmm...try staring at that boat in the distance”, he dictates, standing beside you and aiming the lens at your side profile. You do as he asks, but don’t hear the shutter of the camera. Jungkook sighs again and leans forward, so close you could feel his warm breath hitting your skin. You hope he doesn’t notice the beet blush on your cheeks.

Jungkook’s hands meet your chin when he uses it to slightly tilt your face downwards. He positions you in the way that he wants you to pose and you finally understand why photography is considered an art. Because it’s almost as if Jungkook is molding you like clay, to get the silhouette he wants to capture with his camera lens. The day is brisk, but his skin on your’s lights you on fire. 

“Okay, that’s…..that’s perfect”, Jungkook breathes, hurriedly picking up the camera that had been hanging onto his neck by the strap and angling it. At the moment his index finger presses down on the button, there is a gust of wind that surrounds the both of you.

The breeze loosens a strand of your hair and it falls into your eyes. You let your eyes drift close for a second, smiling into the cold air that tingles on your skin. Jungkook’s breath catches in his throat and he thanks the skies for the howling wind so you wouldn’t be able to hear his thumping heartbeat. But surely it’s only because it’s cold. And absolutely nothing else. Jungkook coughs inconspicuously to snap himself out of his trance, sighing in relief when he realizes your eyes are still closed and that you hadn’t noticed his internal struggle. 

He drags you to a bridge next and makes you lay on the cold wood to which you vehemently object before you remember that he’s paying you and that you want him to fall in love with you, not dislike you more than he already does. After the bridge, Jungkook makes you kneel beside the park pond and dip your hand in the icy water and you find yourself wanting to do the same thing to his precious camera. 

Before the two of you have realized, the sun sets into the horizon and tinges the sky in a combination of purples and pinks that Jungkook himself has a hard time replicating on canvas. He aims his lens at the clouds and takes a picture that he knows won’t make it into his gallery. He just felt the need to have something to remember this day by. For no reason in particular…

A buzzing coming from your coat pocket alerts you both of the time that has passed and how the sky has considerably darkened since you began the session. When you fish your phone out, Jimin’s contact photo is staring back at you while the marimba ringtone continues playing. You put the phone on speaker.

“Hey Jiminie”, you smile and Jungkook catches a glance of it. And the discomfort in his chest is definitely, 100%, not jealousy. Not at all.

“I told you not to call me that! What is with you younger people and your disrespect for the elderly?” The corner of Jungkook’s lips twitch into a subtle smile at the similarity of your’s and his conversations with Jimin. 

“Okay, okay, grandpa. What’s up?”

“Can you come home ASAP? I may or may not have broken the stove trying to make soup.” 

The redundancy of his confession makes you sigh, as Park Jimin desecrating your shared kitchen space was not a rare occurrence by any means. 

“I’ll be right there”, you chided through the line, “please do not cook anything else before I arrive.” 

“Thanks Y/N-ie, you’re the best!” Jimin’s voice is far too cheery and you make a mental note to nag him a little extra when you get home. The phone call is ended promptly and you turn around to Jungkook, eyes widening in surprise when he has already packed up all his photography gear. The sky had turned dark and the streetlights had been turned on to illuminate the park. If you had craned your neck upwards, you would have noticed the stars that awoke again to shine down upon the city. But you didn’t. You only saw the stars that were twinkling in Jungkook’s eyes. 

“Uh”, he stammers, “I’ll walk you home. It’s late.” 

“Oh! Uh...Thanks.” Though he was still cold and indifferent, your heart jumped in elation. Perhaps this could be considered baby steps. 

The trip home is quiet, only the sounds of your tandem footsteps on pavement and the rustle of a breeze through tree leaves fill the space of silence. But the quiet is not uncomfortable. Just a bit awkward as you two try to figure out how to be around one another. Jungkook’s hands are shoved in his pockets and your fingers itch to intertwine themselves around his own. To press your soulmate marks together and feel them calling out to each other. But you and Jungkook are anything but normal soulmates. For you are already head over heels in love with him and he is adamant on not sparing you a crumb of affection. 

To your disdain, the apartment was closer than you thought and the short walk with Jungkook ended before it really even began. You could practically hear Jimin’s impatience emanating from the third story of the building. 

“So I’ll see you later?”, you smile meekly. Jungkook readjusts the strap of his camera bag before nodding. He is walking away before you turn around to enter the apartment building and even though it was something small and mundane, you wished he would have waited to see you get in safely. You make your way inside, more downcast than you had been before.

You don’t see when Jungkook turns around. You don’t feel the reassurance that washes over him when the door shuts safely behind you. 

That night, Jungkook is reminded far too much of Yoojung. When he goes to make his usual chamomile, he finds her mug at the very back of the tea cabinet. She must have forgotten it when she packed up her stuff. When he spoons in the sugar, he remembers how Yoojung drinks her tea with honey instead. And when he feels himself start to fall apart, he remembers how Yoojung is not there to keep him together. 

Jungkook pushes away his pain, abandons the lukewarm mug of tea, and opts for an early bedtime to sleep away the ache. The camera sitting on his nightstand, though, beckons him to look over the photos you both had taken that afternoon. 

In the moment, he had been dissatisfied with the pictures, always thinking there must be a better angle or a better position you could shift into. However when he looks down at his camera now, in the quiet and solemnity of his bedroom, Jungkook can’t help but to think they are absolutely perfect. 

He doesn’t know whether to credit his own artistic skill or you; for breathing life into his photographs. It’s the lines of your hands, the slope of your nose, and the stray strands of your hair that makes his pictures more human. 

The ones he ends up picking though, are not perfectly  staged and not the ones where he made you change the position of your stance for 10 minutes. No, the best pictures were the ones he took without you noticing. When you had just been enjoying the cool breeze or admiring the beauty of peach blossom season. When you point out a cool looking bird and when you stared annoyedly past the cameras lens (at him no doubt). 

Yoojung is gone from his mind for just a tiny fleeting moment. For little reason at all, Jungkook finds himself smiling. And there is only the company of the moon to see it. 

◒

 It is ten o’ clock in the morning and Jungkook comes to a realization that in the couple weeks since he has met you, he has sighed more times than he has in the past 23 years of life. Jungkook sighs when you text him first thing in the morning about the dream you had the night before and describe it in painfully vivid details. He leaves them unanswered. Sometimes he wished you would just email him the google document instead. He sighs when you fidget in your seat when he’s trying to paint and keep focus, but you are only interested in asking him the snacks he has in his fridge or when he’s going to finish. He sighs when you and Jimin collectively trash his art studio by spamming his $1,000 camera with ugly face pictures and sword fighting with his sable paint brushes. Jungkook often has a hard time believing that both of you are in graduate school. 

Today, he sighs when you bombard into room 62B of the art building; what is supposed to be Jungkook’s completely zen and peaceful creative space. You are tiptoeing around him as you always do, scared that you’ll do something to set him off and your soulmate will disown you for good. He glances at you once, eyes quickly darting back to the sculpture he is molding on the clay table and saying nothing. 

“There’s a new cafe that just opened right across from the apple strudel place”, you gulp tensely. “I was gonna go check out the competition.” Your words seem deaf to Jungkook’s ear and he only furrows his eyebrows, fingers fussing over the mass of clay. There was just something he couldn’t get right. He didn’t know what it was. 

Jungkook pushes away the sculpture frustratedly, wipes his hands on his apron, and finally looks at you. Maybe he did need a break and come back to it with fresh eyes. That’s all it was, though. A break. He wasn’t going because you asked him to. 

“They better have blonde roast otherwise you’ll be compensating me for my time.” Jungkook is as ruthless and blunt as ever and you decide to look past it as you always do. Him agreeing to go with you was a mini success. 

“Welcome in! You’ve stopped by at the perfect time. The strawberry scones have just been taken out of the oven!” The cafe employee is far too enthusiastic for receiving minimum wage and greeting grumpy people off the streets who just want to be caffeinated. His name tag reads Jung Hoseok. 

“Oh, strawberry is my favorite”, you whisper, the statement only meant for your ears but Jungkook picks up on it anyway. He declines to tell you that strawberry is his favorite as well. Hoseok’s eyes light up when you and Jungkook approach the entrance, like he finally succeeded at luring a customer. 

The cafe isn’t anything special. A bit more modern compared to the one across the street and you think you prefer the latter because this new one doesn’t have the owner’s handsome son standing at the cash register. He may not be your soulmate, but even you had to admit Kim Seokjin was a beautiful man if there ever was one. However, this cafe is warm and has ceiling length windows that let in an obscene amount of sunlight. Jungkook makes a mental note to try some pictures here in the future. 

Jungkook’s phone buzzes in his pocket and you are already leaving him behind in the dust, walking straight to the counter and peering up at the menu deep in thought. You turn around to see that he is immersed in mysterious conversation, and take it upon yourself to order him a drink. 

“I’ll have a matcha latte. And uh…”, you decide, trailing off as you wonder what kind of drink Jungkook would enjoy. “And an iced vanilla mocha latte, extra whipped cream, extra chocolate syrup. Do you guys have rainbow sprinkles?” 

A little sugar never hurt anyone. Especially someone so often bitter like your one and only soulmate. 

When Jungkook hangs up and makes his way to the corner table where you are situated, the sight of the concoction on the table is enough to give him an instant cavity. You hide your smile behind the mug of matcha. He grumbles and sits down swiftly, sticking the straw past his lips in defiance and you can only watch expectantly. 

“Well…do you like it?” 

This is when Jungkook realizes you didn’t order this to spite him. You just had completely zero idea what he liked and disliked and chose the first thing you thought was best. As cold as he is, he doesn’t have the heart to tell you that when he drinks coffee, he likes it black. No cream, no sugar, and the darkest roast with the most caffeine to push him through those nights spent in front of a canvas or over a clay table. 

Jungkook fights to keep steady from the ambush of sugar and wills himself to swallow it down. There is sticky chocolate syrup on his hands and it feels cosmically more uncomfortable than paint. But Jungkook manages to look up at you and nod, to which you reward with a smile. 

“I knew you would like it”, you say smugly, giving yourself a mental pat on the back. “You look like you have a giant sweet tooth.” There is a mellow giggle that follows your statement. Jungkook feels a flutter at the bottom of his stomach, and convinces himself it’s only because it sounds so much like Yoojung. He catches sight of the moon on your wrist, and pushes the feeling away even farther. 

The two of you spend the rest of the midday there, tucked away in a corner of a cafe and losing track of time as you always do. Jungkook finds himself forgetting about the mountains of work he has to do to finish his art gallery portfolio, and the unfinished sculpture back at the studio that’s just not right. 

Today, he allows himself to enjoy your presence and get to know you more. Your favorite color is yellow. You had a dog named Benny when you were a child. You detest beer with a passion, but enjoy a nightly glass of pinot grigio. Jungkook barely notices when the entire cup of coffee has disappeared. Every last rainbow sprinkle.

On second thought, he feels that maybe there was something sweeter than his unexpectedly delicious iced vanilla mocha latte with extra whipped cream. Maybe that something was sitting right across from him, rambling about the fundamentals of English literature with unexplained vigor. 

Jungkook’s soul feels lighter when he goes to bed that night. And when he finally succumbs to Morpheus, his last lucid thought is of you; sun beams coming from the large cafe windows that comb through your hair. He looks at you through his mind’s eye and all he can see is the potential heartbreak you have the power to put him through. The fan of your eyelashes. The curve of your smile. The plush of your lips. All he can see is Yoojung as she crushes his soul in her bare hands. 

Yet in the midst of his internal conflict, Jungkook’s subconscious allows him to fall in love with you a little bit. Perhaps not love just yet, but affection. Like a toe dip in uncharted waters or sticking his finger in a bowl of creamy cake batter just for a taste. The walls he has built are still there, strong as ever, but perhaps a couple bricks look a bit askew. He doesn’t know, but his soul calls out to your’s through the fortress.

◐

“Y/N I don’t know why you thought this was a good idea.”

“Oh hush, just close your eyes and point where your heart tells you to.”

In the lobby of a train station, facing a map and an ETA board is where you and Jungkook will be embarking on your next “date but not really because you don’t believe in soulmates so let’s just hang out”. It had taken a good two hours of nagging and whining on your part to convince him to abandon his portfolio for just a little bit to go an outing. Now standing here, with you excitedly bouncing next to him and a mystery destination, Jungkook feels something akin to utter regret. 

“What if I choose somewhere that’s a thousand miles away? Or just in the middle of nowhere?”, Jungkook groans, still putting up an unbothered and cold front. 

“Well then we will go somewhere that’s a thousand miles away or in the middle of nowhere”, you quipped back at him. Jungkook had a feeling he wouldn’t be able to get out of this one. 

He reluctantly places a hand over his eyes, sighing with resignation before pointing to a random spot on the map. There is a giggle that sounds to his left and Jungkook finds himself wanting to hear more. 

“Wonderful choice”, you smiled, “couldn’t have picked it better myself.” 

Jungkook peeked his eyes open one at a time, scared of seeing what his intuition has chosen for your guys’ spontaneous destination. He breathes out a sigh of relief when he sees that his fingers landed on a town on the outskirts of the city, 20 minutes away from the university. He silently thanks the universe for not sabotaging his wallet and time. 

“We’re never doing this again, Y/N”, Jungkook speaks as you are in front of him, skipping happily to the front desk to buy two train tickets. 

“Wasn’t it fun, though? The thrill?”, you chuckle at his demeanor, to which he only shakes his head vehemently. You note the newest thing you’ve just learned about Jungkook: he has an aversion to uncertainty and spontaneity. 

The train ride was as brief as it was uneventful. You spent the time rambling to Jungkook about all the quips and quirks about yourself and he only listened. Though he kept quiet, his face was free of any annoyance or indication that you were speaking too much. Jungkook only stared at you and unknowing to you, he soaked in every bit of information like a sponge. If anyone asked, he could tell them what foods you were allergic to, what colors wash you out, and what vegetables you hated the most. 

“Wow you didn’t have to pick somewhere so far away, Jungkook.” You muse as the two of you step out of the train car. So far away in fact, that if you were to crane your head up enough, you would be able to see the university from a distance. 

“Hey, you were the one who made me choose”, Jungkook spares a rare smile, “Would you rather we have shelled out our wallets to go on an 18-hour train ride?”

“Okay, fair point.”

The city was as abundant as it was big, and the both of you walked aimlessly from avenue to avenue, stopping occasionally whenever you see a dog you just can’t help but to pet or whenever Jungkook complained about his sore feet. As cold and indifferent as Jungkook made himself out to be, you’ve quickly come to realize that he’s actually a big baby. He still hasn’t let you in or even lowered his walls by a tiny centimeter, but you like to think that even agreeing to go anywhere with you could be considered significant progress.

Jungkook doesn’t notice the pounding of his heart whenever his hands graze against your’s, walking side by side so close he can feel the heat emanating through your coat. He doesn’t notice the peace he feels, just the synchronicity of his feet as he places them on the pavement. 

The fraught wind that blows straight at Jungkook’s face prompts him to look up from where his eyes were cast on the ground. He almost staggers at how strong it is, but finds himself weak in the knees for a completely different reason.

Of course.

Of all the days, of all the times, of all the people in this entire city.

Of course she had to be the one that was currently staring at him from across the intersection. 

The red light seems to go on forever. Either that or time has just spontaneously frozen, Jungkook can’t tell. But his eyes are fixed on hers and his feet bolster him to the concrete when all he wants to do is sprint the other way and forget he ever saw this ghost from the past. 

Yoojung looks as beautiful as the day she left him. 

She’s gained some weight and her cheeks have filled out, but it looks healthy on her now (Jungkook always chided her for forgetting to eat). She stares at him with a combination of shock and guilt and something he wants to overthink into affection but he won’t give himself that satisfaction anymore. She dyed her hair. Light brown looks good on her. 

She looks...happy. As happy as anyone can look when they’re rushing through thick crowds of a city, traffic horns blaring like a dilapidated symphony. 

In the heat of it all, it’s impossible for you not to notice Jungkook’s sudden change in demeanor or the way he has suddenly stopped breathing. When you follow his gaze, there is a girl on the other side of the street that shares the same starstruck expression and even from the outside looking in, you can feel the weight of something painful in his eyes. In her stature. 

When the lights turn green, the throngs of city dwellers migrate across and you stay beside Jungkook when he doesn’t move a muscle. Not even a finger twitch. But she does. And he can only fight to keep the ache away when Yoojung gets closer with every millisecond. Until she is standing right in front of him and he can smell her familiar vanilla perfume. 

“Jungkook”, she speaks, apprehension in her voice. “It’s been a while...how are you?” 

Yoojung only spares you a side glance while keeping attention on Jungkook and you only grow more curious as to who this strange woman is. 

He wants to speak so badly but his tongue remains frozen. He turns to you with flabbergast in his eyes and shakes his head to snap out of the daze of confusion. Of seeing the love of his life again. Or who he thought was the love of his life. 

“Could you give us a minute, Y/N?” 

You didn’t know why but the words that came from his lips made you feel disappointed. Perhaps you were just stupid for thinking he would introduce you. Tell her that you’re his soulmate and scream it at the top of his lungs with sheer pride. But your imagination has hurt you countless times and you had a feeling this one wouldn’t be the last. You manage a curt nod and push away the twinge in your heart. There was a boundary between you and Jungkook and today was not the day to cross it and introduce yourself as his soulmate to any random stranger. 

Once you are out of vicinity and have found solace in a bookstore 10 feet away, Jungkook allows himself to breathe in Yoojung’s presence. 

“I didn’t know if you were still in the city”, he falters, voice coming out quieter than he would have liked it to. But what was he supposed to sound like confronting the supposed love of his life. 

“I never left, Jungkook...my entire life is here.” She sighs, smiling lightly with eyes seeping with guilt. 

He scoffs. “I don’t know Yoojung, you seem to leave behind important things pretty easily.” Jungkook feels himself getting angrier and resentful by the second, and though he knows it is unfair of him, Yoojung’s mere presence brings back all the wounds he never truly healed from. 

Granted, on a concrete sidewalk next to a traffic light pole was not the best place to have a heart to heart about failed relationships. But when has the universe ever given Jungkook the best things in life. He is devastatingly cynical for someone who dedicates his career to art. 

Yoojung wears a frown on her face, but there is no vindictiveness there. Just an overwhelming sense of remorse that Jungkook communicates as pity. 

“I don’t know how else to say that I’m sorry”, she sighs, eyes falling to the ground. Jungkook wishes it would just open up and swallow him whole. 

“Then don’t say anything.” He turns to walk away.

“Wait! Jungkook can we...can’t we catch up or something? For a couple minutes?” Yoojung is visibly desperate, and her hands are outstretched as if wanting to touch him but keeping herself from overstepping the line. 

Jungkook glances through the window of the bookstore, and you are situated on a chair, already nose deep in a hefty book. He wants to smile and tease you for being such a nerd, but the weight of Yoojung’s presence makes him reinforce those walls of indifference tenfold. 

He exhales frustration and inhales temptation, looking back into Yoojung’s familiar eyes and nodding. Jungkook walks to a nearby bench and sits down with no words exchanged, looking forward coldly even when he feels her warmth next to him. A couple months ago, Jungkook would have set all his canvases on fire to feel her beside him again. Now, he’s not so sure.

“So…”, she starts, “who’s that cute girl you were with?” 

“No one.” He shoots out a little too soon with no hesitation. Yoojung gulps.

“You know Jungkook, it’s okay to find someone. I-I know I hurt you, but I’m glad if you’ve found someone who doesn’t.” Jungkook doesn’t say anything so she continues.

“I’m really happy for-”

“I never really forgave you Yoojung.” He stares blankly at the passersby and tries to ignore the ache in his bones. The one that’s been there the day she left and took a piece of his heart with her. 

“And I don’t want to blame you for my decisions but I want you to know that I push away a lot of people because of you. People that don’t deserve it.” From the corner of his eye, he can see her nod solemnly to his words and fidget with her hands in her lap. Part of him feels guilty for unloading on Yoojung. Part of him feels like maybe he deserves to. 

“What you did was really shitty. Astronomically fucking shitty. And I’ve spent the past eternity hating you and maybe I still do, but…”, Jungkook takes a deep breath, “I want to forgive you now. If not fully, then partially. I hope you can understand that.” He finally tilts his head to look at her and though the smile on her face is as beautiful as he remembers it to be, Jungkook no longer feels the longing. No longer feels the sting that he usually does when his thoughts take him back to the years they spent together. 

Jungkook doesn’t want to call it closure, not yet anyway. Sitting here on the bench, he still wants to scream and yell and tell Yoojung of all the nights he’s spent alone since she left. He still wants to drag her back and wonder if she could love him again like she used to. 

But he doesn’t. He listens when she tells him about her new job and her new apartment right by the lakeside. They share snippets of their separate lives. Just deep enough to rekindle something warm but shallow enough to not invite anything else in. 

When he walks away from the bench and into the bookstore, Jungkook stills feels the walls that he has built around himself. He is still scared of opening up and being vulnerable but the anger held for Yoojung for so long is no longer a raging fire. More so a wickering flame. 

When he spots you, though, he remembers why he built those walls in the first place. He remembers how easy it used to be for him to climb a high peak and fall to his demise. Your eyes widen when you catch sight of him, lips curling into a wide smile and clear excitement in your expression. The book in your hands is tossed aside and tunnel vision reserved for him and him only. Something blooms in his chest and he can’t remember the last time someone’s been so elated to just simply see him...aside from his dog. Jungkook reminds himself to act uncaring. If he pretends long enough, he’ll start to believe it himself. 

◓

The train ride home feels longer than the one there. The minutes drag by and perhaps it is because of your drooping eyes or the way Jungkook is looking at you with a different tenderness than he has been before. His stare is not harsh. It’s soft and sweet, but subtle enough for you to wonder if you are just imagining it. The night has always been unforgiving and cold even in the spring, but perhaps all that’s needed to breathe some warmth, is a 15 minute train ride and a wrist with a crescent moon.

Yet every time you become more smitten with Jungkook, there is a harsh reminder that follows you everywhere like a designated storm cloud. 

Jungkook does not love you. And you are trying and you will continue to try but his eyes tell you something he is too courteous to say. You see it now as he sits across from you and admires the skyline from the window. It makes you wonder if it is soulmates he doesn’t believe in, or if it is just you that he can’t bring himself to accept. With every cold glance and wall that he puts up, you start to convince yourself that it is the latter.

“We’re here, Y/N”, Jungkook speaks quietly, interrupting your drifting thoughts. He turns around and leaves the train car with hands tucked in his coat pocket. Did you expect him to escort you out and hold your hand? Of course not. But you were tired of Jungkook being so indifferent to your existence. 

You follow him glumly out the doors that slide close after you step through. Then it zips off again and you wonder where it would have taken you if you just stayed in your seat. If Jungkook would have even noticed that you hadn’t followed him when he left. 

You sigh into the night air and wish it was winter so that your breath could be visible as a white cloud. Maybe then Jungkook would notice that you were a living being beside him. 

“Who was that girl that we met back there?”, you murmur hesitantly. Jungkook nearly chokes on air. 

“No one”, he responds curtly, effectively cutting off the conversation then and there. It makes your heart sink. She must be important and all you want to do is know every single detail about their relationship, but the look in his eyes warn you to not pry. 

You don’t think you can forget the way Jungkook looked at her from across the street. Like he had been lost this whole time and she was the North star. You saw the way his eyes twinkled in the midday sun and sparkled even more when she came closer. You wonder if you’ll ever be able to have that effect on him. 

“Hey, next time you should pick a place you and I both do not live in”, you giggle, nudging his shoulder with your own. It makes him smile and even though your heart feels heavy in your chest, Jungkook looks so beautiful when he smiles. 

The two pair of feet subconsciously carry you both to the front door of your apartment building and the scene is too familiar from the last time. You expect him to turn around and whisper a hushed goodnight under his breath, and you’ll have to watch the back of his head disappear down the street. But he doesn’t. Just stands across from you quietly and waits for you to say something. So you do. 

“Jungkook, I’m sorry if I brought up something you didn’t want to remember. I don’t really know your story but it seems you two have a lot of history.” You want to tell him how hard it is for you to be his soulmate when he is so clearly vying for the warmth of someone else. Someone who didn’t have a crescent moon on her wrist. 

“I know you’ll tell me whenever you’re ready, and if that’s never then I’ll keep waiting until forever. But I’m here if you want to talk or unload and I already know I can help because…” you fidget with your hands and look around nervously. 

“Well, because I’m your soulmate.” 

When you say it loud and explicitly, Jungkook thought the statement would have made him recoil. But it doesn’t. It just seeps through his consciousness and feels warm when he thinks about the weight of those words. You are his soulmate, regardless of if he believes in such a thing or not. You carry the same mark as he does on your wrist and somehow, by some intangible factor, the universe had decided that you were created for him and he for you. 

And when he looks at you. Really looks at you. When Jungkook processes your sincere words and how you manage to deal with his insurmountable boundaries even when you barely know him…

Jungkook has never wanted to kiss you more. 

So he does. 

Your lips taste like mint chewing gum and the ghost of words you wish to tell him but can’t. He feels you stiffen until you completely melt in his hold, and Jungkook cradles your face with both his hands, pulling you closer to him until there is no barrier between you but the clothes on your back and the emotional distance. You feel so far away even when you’re this near. Was it a trick of your imagination when you felt the moon on your wrist tingling? 

It doesn’t last as long as you would’ve liked it to. Jungkook yanks his hands from you like your skin scalded him and takes several steps back. His chest rises up and down violently when his breath comes out ragged, posture stiffening as the gravity of what just happened finally absorbs. You’re there, he knows you’re there and standing in front of him. So why is it he can only see Yoojung. Yoojung and the star on her wrist and apologies on her lips. Yoojung and the tears in her eyes when she walks away. 

You can only stare confusedly when his body goes rigid, and a sudden coldness envelops you both. 

And in the haze of post-embrace, like any two normal lovers, you catch something in his eyes that sets a heavy feeling in your stomach. Before you can confirm if it’s just a trick of the light, Jungkook is already running in the opposite direction and you can only see a shadow of sullen love that follows him. He is gone and you are standing alone, wondering how moonlight could feel so cold even on a spring night. 

You don’t get any sleep that night. Every time you close your eyes, there is only the sight of Jungkook’s disgust and regret to lull you to dreams. 

20 minutes away from your apartment, there is a boy who doesn’t sleep either. He won’t text or call to tell you that he can’t shake off the feeling of your skin on his and your breath fanning his cheek. He won’t admit to himself that tonight, when he looked at you, he felt the possibility of falling in love. He won’t tell you that the moon on his skin longs to be traced by your hands. No, he just shares those secrets with his pillow as its linen soaks up his tears. 

In the midst of it all, there is one verdict that becomes clear to him.

Jungkook wishes he had never told Jimin he needed a muse.

◑

The next three weeks is dedicated to trying to get in touch with your soulmate. Through the whirlwinds of utter confusion and desperation, you try texting, calling, emailing, even showing up at his art studio and apartment to no avail. It seemed he had a talent for avoiding soulmates. 

It hurt, to say the least. That he left you high and dry after giving you the most intense

kiss of your life and doesn’t even have the decency to let you know he’s alive. The feeling of his lips still burns on your skin and you wonder if you are a complete fool for being so smitten with a person who, quite possibly, hasn’t spared you a single thought after that night. You just want - no you just need some clarity. 

Jungkook makes you wait another week before replying. 

It is an impossibly sunny day when you wake up. Your neck is stiff from sleeping like a contortionist and your heart aches even more than your muscles with every passing morning with radio silence from your soulmate. You want to call him and tell him you’re sorry. That you’ll forget anything ever happened. It hurts to even think about it, but for Jungkook, you would go through a little more pain so he would let you into his life. 

Outside the hall, Jimin is singing along to a familiar melody of a song you don’t know the name of and judging by the aroma that wafts through the cracks of your door, he has successfully made a pot of coffee. He has been an anchor throughout this whole thing, and sometimes you make a secret wish to the stars that Jimin had been the one with a crescent moon on his wrist instead. Perhaps that way, you wouldn’t have to go through the agony of chasing love that is constantly sprinting away from you. 

Your phone lays on the bedside table and buzzes innocently to start the morning. When you reach over and scroll through notifications routinely, there is a name there that makes your heart pang. Makes you want to throw up and celebrate at the same time. A text from Jungkook. Your fingers shake as you open it. 

I no longer need a model for the portfolio. Thank you for your involvement. Compensation will be provided promptly. 

The day you met him, you already knew that Jungkook was cold. He never dawdled around a painful truth or toed the line between bluntness and sparing feelings. Jungkook spoke his mind, collateral damage be damned. But this is a different type of cold. This one feels more like dry ice on warm skin. Like the numbing chill of a fading hope. Like winter’s first snowfall when autumn had promised you it would forever stay. 

Phone in your hand and tears threatening to drip down your cheeks, you wish you would have waited a bit more before opening his text. Perhaps that way you could have spent the rest of your morning basking in the spring sun, drinking Jimin’s inevitably bad coffee, having hope that Jeon Jungkook would grow to care for you. Perhaps if you hadn’t opened it so soon, your soulmate would still seem in reach. 

Jimin’s mug nearly drops out of his hand when the door of your bedroom is slammed open. He flings it to the side when he notices your red-rimmed eyes and the shaking hands that clutch onto a cellphone. You scream and sob at the universe, at anyone, asking why it was you that had to experience the chaos of longing. Jimin was there to hold you, as he always is, and helplessly listen to the sound of your heart breaking once again by the hands of Jungkook.

◒

Room 62B of the art building is a place you hope to never have to visit again. Though it’s walls contain memories of you and Jungkook, and the evenings navigating his gallery portfolio along with your convoluted relationship, the wallpaper bleeds with a longing ache. A yearning pain. And if those walls could talk, you don’t think you would want them to say anything at all. They would only murmur what you are slowly accepting to be true.

Jungkook, your soulmate, wants nothing to do with you. 

When you hesitantly rap on the door with a fisted hand, the sound of him rustling from inside makes you want to run the opposite direction. It opens before you get the chance to change your mind and the sight of him nearly takes your breath away. He is beautiful as he always is, hair ruffled and mussed from undoubtedly running his hands through it compulsively. His lips are pink from biting on them and the dark circles under his eyes tells you of the dreams he has deprived himself of. 

Jungkook is painfully gorgeous and painfully not yours. 

“Y/N...I sent you a text earlier.” His voice is saccharine but the words taste so bitter. 

“I know. I read it”, you murmur, shrinking in on yourself. 

“I....Can we talk, Jungkook?” 

His eyes dart around nervously at your question, chewing on his bottom lip and tapping the toe of his shoe as if he was impatient and you were bothering him. And you have known that simply being around Jungkook hurts but the light at the end of the tunnel only continues dwindling. 

You understand why he is acting so restless when your gaze drifts past him and into the room. There is a girl perched on a stool, across from a canvas and easel that you know awfully well. You don’t recognize her but it’s only in your nature to begin comparing every aspect of yourself to this stranger. She sits on her hands and swings her legs back and forth, head in the clouds and eyes trailing the ceiling. She isn’t aware of the weight of her presence in the studio, nor the turmoil she has brought to you, who is standing just outside the door. 

The oxygen in the hallway thins and the breath you’ve been waiting to release since knocking catches in your throat. Coming here, you prepared yourself for a long and inevitably heart-wrenching talk with your soulmate. But you hadn’t prepared for the possibility that he had replaced you overnight. 

The only thought that blares through your mind is that this is your fault. For letting yourself think you were worth more to Jeon Jungkook than any other stranger. You can no longer find it in yourself to be angry at him. Just yourself. 

“You…”, you gulp down a whimper, “you replaced me.” 

Jungkook follows your vacant stare past him and sighs, realizing you had most likely deducted what this scene looked like. You would be right. Between the weeks of trying to understand what you were to him and the impending due date of the portfolio, Jungkook was sure the best way to move past this confusion was to just speed full steam ahead. That meant finding another muse. You were no longer an option.

You only stare down at the floor, but Jungkook begins speaking anyway. 

“Y/N, I…I’m sorry.” You scoff at his words, feigning anger when inside, you truly didn’t know if you could piece yourself back together this time. 

“Look, Y/N. It’s not you. It’s just that…”, he breathes deep, not knowing why it was so hard to say. “I’ve stopped believing soulmates were truly a thing a long time ago. I’m sorry.” 

It’s not the first time you’ve heard these words but it doesn’t mean they hurt any less.

“I didn’t want to initiate anything, Y/N, but you did and I let you and that was my fault to let anything start. I shouldn’t have when I knew nothing would come of it.”

It was a fault to him. It never should have happened. 

“So you just thought you would kiss me and decide that I meant nothing to you afterwards?”

“It was a mistake.” It was painful to think it but when you hear Jungkook say it, you experience a new kind of ache. A humorless chuckle bubbles past your throat.

 “I really thought you would grow to love me. Now I know it’s not your fault that I’m a complete fool. To fall head over heels for my soulmate who wishes he had never even met me. Much less share a mark.” 

You can see Jungkook’s eyes widen at your confession, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. It was the truth. He deserved to hear it. 

“You shouldn’t. You can’t.” He reaches up to pull at his hair frustratedly.

“Can’t what, Jungkook? Love you? You think I want to be in love with someone who wishes I didn’t exist?” You hate your voice for breaking, but its impossibly painful when he does nothing to deny your statement. 

“What do you want me to say, Y/N? What can I say to make this better?”

Try: I love you too.

“I don’t need you to say anything you don’t mean, Jungkook.” 

“Then shouldn’t you leave?”

Jeon Jungkook is cruel even when he doesn’t mean to be. There is oblivion in his gaze, and his question is one of genuine curiosity. But it still stabs you exactly where your heart is most tender. Yes, I should have left. 

“I guess I thought you were worth the pain, Jungkook. When you pushed me away and wanted nothing to do with me, I thought you were worth hurting for just to try a little more. Worth the uncertainty of being around you but never getting to actually be with you”, you numbly mutter, uncaring about the rivulets of tears down your face. Not like it wasn’t something he’s never seen before. There is more to come on the tip of your tongue, and Jungkook stays quiet to let you speak. There is conflict in his vision, but you don’t want to give yourself the false hope that he cares for you. 

Look where that has gotten you before. 

“You still are, you know. Worth it.” You release a shaky breath. “But I was stupid to think that I am too.”

Saying the words are revelation for you as much as it is for him. All this time, you’ve been running away from the truth in the pursuit of your soulmate. You hadn’t realized that the chase led you astray. 

“And I know that loving me is not easy. I’m…”, you force the words out so he can at least hear your turmoil by his hands. “I’m never really good enough for anyone. Why did I expect that I would be good enough for you?” 

Jungkook’s expression crumples into a frown. “Y/N, no, that’s not what I mean-”

“You don’t have to tell me what you mean, Jungkook. I meet you and the first thing you say is that you don’t believe in such a thing. I try to get close to you and all you know to do is push me away. And I try so hard to be enough but how can I when Yoojung still has your heart? So you don’t have to say it. I know what you mean.” You’ve stopped crying but the ache relents, and you can only look desperately at the boy who’s slipping from your grasp with every passing second. 

“I’m sorry.” The message is redundant.

“I can’t…” Rip off the bandaid. 

“I just can’t love you.”

The words make their way past his lips before he can stop them, and they shoot through your core ruthlessly. A sharpened dagger to soft flesh. It manifests itself in a physical pain that reverberates across your chest, and when the last strength left in you is used to stare at Jungkook through a pained and teary gaze, you are deaf to everything but those four words.

I can’t love you.

I can’t love you. 

I can’t love you. 

You’re not sure what he is sorry for at this point. If Jungkook is apologizing for not loving you, you don’t blame him. If he is sorry for entertaining the possibility, you don’t blame him. If he is sorry that you are the one with a crescent moon on your wrist, well...you don’t blame him either. All your life you cherished it like some kind of gift from the universe. Now, nursing your crumbling soul in front of Jungkook, you wish it had never appeared in the first place. 

You shake your head, tucking your lip in between your teeth to stop the sob in your chest from escaping. Through the crack of the door Jungkook hadn’t shut fully, the girl was still there, patiently sitting where you were supposed to and making herself scarce after inevitably hearing you bare your heart to a boy who had no interest in it. 

Humiliation goes hand in hand with heartbreak, and the embarrassment that comes with confessing your love and insecurity urges your feet to run home. But even you cannot deprive yourself of looking at him one more time. 

His wavy head of hair. The scar on his cheekbone that makes him look even more beautiful, if that were possible. The gloss in his dark brown eyes, and the way he looks at you through stone cold walls. You commit it to memory, however painful, before you walk out of his life. 

“Be happy, Jungkook.” 

You truly mean it. 

◐

 The sound of your footsteps getting farther away from him is a sound Jungkook thinks he’ll remember for a long time. It almost prompts him to run after you, cradle you to his chest, and profess how sorry he is again and again until you can truly feel the sincerity. But he doesn’t. Only remains behind the self-procured walls and watches when your figure disappears down the hallway. 

Cold. Unbothered. Indifferent. That’s what he had always told himself when it came to you. But the hallway feels so lonely and the ghost of your presence feels even lonelier, and Jungkook wonders if he had been wrong. 

He walks back into the studio, permanent frown on his face and shoulders hunched over in stress. The paintbrush feels like a stranger rather than an extension of his arm, as it always does, but Jungkook begins painting anyway. Looking at the girl in front of him, he is reminded of the look on your face when you realized he had replaced you completely in the span of three weeks, without even giving you a notice. Her presence in his art studio suddenly feels entirely suffocating. 

“Mina, Get out.” 

“What?”

“Get out of my studio. I don’t need you as a model, anymore. Thanks.” His voice cut through the tension of the room, like a hot knife to butter. He recognizes it as the voice he always forces himself to use around you, and grows even more aggravated. 

The girl scoffs annoyedly, snatching her handbag from the floor and rushing out of the room. Obviously she had thought something more was to come from Jungkook’s art arrangement. He made sure to let her know that was not the case. 

There is a gnawing in his chest. Deep and subtle, but it becomes more prominent as the window view from his studio turns from blue to black. He ponders about spending the night in here, instead of going home to his bedroom where he is forced to consult with the agony of solitude. On top of everything today, Jungkook doesn’t think he can handle that. 

Every time he closes his eyes, he sees the pain in your face when he tells you that he can’t love you and he hears the shaking in your voice when you tell him the things that weighed on your soul. He thought the word “wither” was only reserved for flowers. Jungkook didn’t realize a person could wither until he saw it right in front of him. 

In truth, he didn’t know. He didn’t know if he could love you or not. And to Jungkook, that was already a feat in itself. He’s spent so many months convincing himself that his emotional fortress was impregnable. So many nights over whiskey bottles telling himself that love was only for fools and pretenders. To be uncertain about love, now, well...that’s something he is not yet ready to admit to himself. Much less admit to you. But letting you any closer was a fatal game. 

Being uncertain about love means being uncertain about getting hurt. Jungkook has a feeling he wouldn’t make it out in one piece if his heart fell into wrong hands. 

He does end up returning to his apartment that night. But the walk feels far too long and the air feels far too frigid, or perhaps is it because he can’t hear the tread of your footsteps beside him? 

Whatever the reason, tonight feels more lonely.

The stars tell him it’s because he does not like the person he’s alone with. 

Back in room 62B, there is an abandoned painting on a rickety easel. He hadn’t even had the will to wash out his paintbrush, and he’s sure he’ll pay for it the next day. Looking at the piece now, his professor would tell him that there’s too many colors. Too much contrast and nearly not enough depth in his strokes. But what was he to do when he had kicked out his new model and couldn’t get the image of your visible heartbreak out of his brain? 

A familiar wrist with a quaint crescent moon sits on the canvas, and he sure as hell didn’t use Mina as the inspiration. Jungkook reminds himself to throw out the painting tomorrow morning. 

◓

The grease on Jimin’s skillet pan is always so hard to clean. The dish soap never truly cuts through the oil, and no matter how much you rinse it over with scalding water, it still feels soiled. On a normal day, it wouldn’t frustrate you so much. Today, a month-and-a-half after your soulmate made it clear to you that you had no place in his life, you want to throw the pan out the window and cry on the kitchen floor until it collapses with the weight of your tears. 

You settle for throwing down the sponge and making Jimin wash his own dishes.

The phone-that you usually now tend to ignore-buzzes on the counter, and you groan at your complete lack of desire to answer it. But the screen lights up with your roommate’s name and you hit the green button. 

“Y/N! How are you feeling, lovebug?” Jimin’s cheerful tone on speakerphone makes you want to cry. You can only imagine how terrible it is for him to be your roommate when all you know how to do now is mope and cry about a boy who probably hasn’t thought about you since. But he’s been holding you through all your breakdowns, and even sets up the air mattress on the floor of your bedroom when some nights are a little bit harder than most. 

“I’ve had better days”, you glare at the pan in the sink. “What’s up?’

“So I have a friend…”

“Jimin, no.” 

He sighs over the phone understandingly, but still not satisfied. “I know it’s only been a month Y/N, but it doesn’t have to be anything. He’s not looking for anything serious either. But maybe it would be good for you to take your mind off things.” 

It’s been a month. Four weeks. Roughly 31 days, and you still remember every word he said to you in the hallway of the art building. Every pause and quiver of his breath, and the way he looked so completely indifferent to your pain. Was one month enough for you to let go even after finding out Jungkook never planned to hold on in the first place?

“Look, you don’t have to decide now. I’m sorry for pushing you if you’re not ready.” His mumbling is apologetic and it makes you realize that Jimin genuinely means well. Maybe you weren’t ready to move on from Jungkook yet. Maybe you never will be. He was your damn soulmate, after all. But maybe a distraction couldn’t hurt.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’ll do it.” 

You can practically feel him smiling like an idiot over the phone. “Really?!” You sigh into the speaker and Jimin knows better to continue talking before you change your mind.

“His name is Namjoon, he works with me at the office. Super cute. Super hot. Super smart. Checks all your boxes!”, he rambles on about the nitty gritty details and though a part you is proud that you’re making the decision to move on with life, you can’t help but to realize that no one will ever be able to “check all your boxes”.

Not if they’re not Jungkook. 

“He sounds great, Jimin.” Anyone can tell your happiness is disingenuous, even through the phone. Jimin tells you that he had already planned a date (without your knowledge), and sends you on your way with a quick goodbye when his taxi arrives. The silence of the apartment after the conversation leaves you feeling even more weighted, but hopeful for the possibility of a distraction. You had a feeling you won’t be able to forget the likes of Jeon Jungkook if you tried. But, if only for a night, you were to forget the pain of loving him, you’ll take that chance. 

◑

“What do you mean they all ‘feel the same’?” Jungkook is exasperated. He had drafted a complete version of his portfolio, working through the nights by the sweat of his brow. Now his professor was telling him that all his pieces felt the same and Jungkook thinks he might commit arson to the art studio.

Professor Sejin sighs contemplatively, taking off his glasses and throwing them on the table, all too familiar with Jungkook’s periodic art tantrums. 

“I mean that your pieces lack any variegation. The portfolio is well done and coherent, but the completed package is one-noted. It’s consistent. But too much so.”

Professor Sejin’s words make him fall back into the chair dejectedly, shoulders slumped and disappointment in his eyes at the critique of his art. Though it is hard to hear, Jungkook always welcomes productive criticism. The older man sympathizes with his downcast eyes and the visible stress on his back. 

“Look, Jungkook”, he affirms sincerely, “you just need to find some dynamic. Something to make people know that you can do more than one tone of art.” It’s obvious that the professor has a soft spot for the boy in front of him, who looks like his entire world is collapsing. The portfolio folder is handed back to him and Jungkook has the urge to burn it and not hear the word “gallery” again in the next decade. 

“I have faith in you. You’ll figure out what it is that you’re missing.” The smile on the man’s face is congenial. Genuine. And even though he has an ambitious amount of work to do, Jungkook finds the will to nod, haul himself off the office chair, and begin the trek back to his studio. 

The pinnacle of spring is approaching and the sun shines brighter with each morning. Not that he would know or care. He’s spent the last month locking himself inside, dedicating every fluid ounce of energy towards completing his project. It’s been surprisingly easier, and Jungkook finds himself finishing paintings, sketches, and sculptures with ease. Like untapped inspiration had revealed itself to him suddenly. Yet it still wasn’t enough...at least not according to Professor Sejin. 

Headphones drown out the cacophony of hustlers and bustlers with the laughter of children as accompaniment. He doesn’t allow himself to enjoy the music of the city. Not anymore. It gives him too much space to think, and Jungkook has a feeling that’s not good for anyone and definitely not good for him. 

The sight of a familiar bakery with particularly delicious apple strudels is enough to stop him in his rush, feet winding down until he is standing outside, staring at the door and wondering if he could go in without being reminded of you. Well, it might be too late for that anyhow, but further signs of protest are halted when he hears his growling stomach. 

Jungkook had morbidly underestimated your presence in the memory of his favorite cafe. You are everywhere. He sees your smiling face when he looks up at the chalkboard menu, soul vying for you to be next to him and excitedly choosing a new fru-fru drink that would undoubtedly have excessive sugar. He hears your giggles ruminating through the cafe while the other patrons only hear the music over loudspeaker. He practically feels you near, but that doesn’t matter now. It’s better this way. No one gets hurt this way. 

Jungkook plops himself at a corner table and buries his face in his hands, fingertips soothing over his pulsing eyebags and wrinkles he’s gotten from sleep deprivation. He desperately needs an espresso shot. Or five. 

“Hey…”, a voice makes him snap his head up. Jungkook recognizes the stranger as the owner’s son, who always stands guard at the cash register. The tag on his lapel reads Kim Seokjin, and Jungkook has a distant memory of you gushing over how nice Seokjin’s hair was. He had acted unbothered back then, but Jungkook would die before telling a soul that he was annoyed and jealous when you thought the cashier was cute. 

“Jungkook, right?”. He has a kind smile and a natural air of invitation. Jungkook nods. 

“I’ve seen you around a lot. Where’s that girl you always come here with?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business”, he nearly hisses, antsy at the mere mention of you. He instantly regrets it though. Seokjin looks like he’s been cornered with a blunt weapon, and it makes Jungkook sigh at his own asshole-ishness. 

“I’m sorry”, he mumbles, “just not a good day. At all.” 

There is a pause and hesitation before the boy speaks. “Do you...wanna talk about it?” Seokjin’s question is met with silence. 

There is a predictability about Jeon Jungkook. He doesn’t open himself up to anyone. He pretends that he doesn’t have problems so well, people start to become convinced. He avoids new connections like it’s the plague. But there is something so idiosyncratic about Kim Seokjin that makes him want to talk. Makes him want to trust a complete stranger. 

So Jungkook nods, depositing his black backpack besides him and lets himself breathe deep. 

“Her name is Y/N….”

In the lukewarm air of the café, Jungkook tells Seokjin about you. About the tiny crescent moon on your wrist that identically matches his - even unwraps his cloth to show it - and how he pushed you away hard enough to put an ocean’s worth of distance between the two of you. He tells Seokjin about Yoojung and the stars on her skin that have been plaguing him since the day she left. He tells him about that damn portfolio that refuses to be finished; one that he apparently has to start over because Professor goddamn Sejin says it's too boring. He allows himself to unload, and wow is it easier to breathe when you talk about your feelings. Jungkook reminds himself to do that more often. 

The “conversation” seems to stretch for hours (if a conversation can be considered one person unleashing all their hidden baggage on the other while they sit in silence). Jin listens intently through the entire ordeal, offering occasional nods and encouragement for him to continue. When Jungkook finally finishes with a deep breath, falling back on the chair looking completely worn out, Jin fixes him with a hot tea before speaking.

“The portfolio is important to you, Jungkook. If it’s important to you, you’ll find a way. Something tells me that you’re not one to give up so easily”, he quips with a playful lilt in his voice. Jin’s genuine faith in him makes Jungkook believe in himself.

“And as for Yoojung, well, I can’t speak on your pain. You are the only one that narrates your experiences but as much as she seems like a villain in your story, perhaps she has opened a door.” Jungkook thinks his voice sounds far too wise to be coming from a guy in his 20’s.

“Would you have known how to nurse a broken heart had it not been for her? I’m sorry she did that to you, Jungkook, but..Yoojung is your past. And I see so much in your future.” 

Jungkook only stares into the abyss of his tea cup. The reflection that stares back is someone he desperately wants to learn to love. When he looks up again, there is a sad glimmer in Seokjin’s gaze. Something so despondent that he feels second-hand pain. 

Jin pulls up the sleeve of his knit sweater. On his wrist sits a faded marigold, so blanched it almost blends in with his skin and makes him wonder if it will just disappear one day. Jungkook feels his blood run cold.

“It’s been two years since she died”, he stares solemnly at his skin, “I don’t think a day has gone by that I haven’t thought about her.” 

Jungkook’s thought about his soulmate mark disappearing before. Even hoped and prayed for it the days after Yoojung left. But now, when he sees it up close on Seokjin’s wrist, Jungkook doesn’t want to wish that loneliness upon anyone. 

“She was so damn...persistent”, Jin laughs, fondness dripping in every word. “Like your Y/N in that way, I suppose. She had a goal and was hell-bent on achieving it. She was so kind and strong and much more of a badass than I could ever be. I loved that about her.” There is sorrow in his voice when he uses the past tense, and Jungkook feels even worse for pouring his heart out about his very alive soulmate. 

“She was studying to be a doctor, you know? Ironic that even the best doctors couldn’t have saved her in the end.” His sentence trails off and he loses focus gazing out the window, fidgeting with the ring on his left hand with a faraway look in his eyes. 

“I don’t mean to ramble about my dead soulmate for no reason, Jungkook. And I’m in no position to tell you what you should or should not do regarding Y/N. But if I could restart this life with my soulmate, there wouldn’t be one second I would waste not at her side.” Jin’s tone is not accusatory or convicting. Just honest.

“It’s normal to be scared and apprehensive. Hell, I would be more concerned if you weren’t going into it with a shit ton of skepticism. I was terrified. Yet out of the billions of people that could’ve had my mark on their wrist, just knowing that she was that one was enough for me to love her.”

The cup of tea has long gone cold. Jungkook only manages to stare at the mahogany table, thoughts too heavy to voice aloud, so Jin continues. 

“I think I would give anything to know that such a person still exists for me. Someone out there that was chosen by an unknown, cosmic force for an unexplainable reason just for me. To see a mark that matches my own. Well…”, Jin breathes deeply, tears welling in his eyes but not falling, “I think that must be the most wonderful thing in the entire world.”

◒

Seokjin’s words stick with him long after he has departed from the café. Long after the tea has settled in his stomach along with the weight of what a soulmate means to this stranger whose life story he has learned in the course of an evening. 

Even so, Jungkook’s not sure what he should feel. The fear of vulnerability still feels like a designated thundercloud above his head, and the thought of letting you past his walls makes Jungkook want to run the other way.

At the same time, the trepidation doesn’t feel so heavy anymore. It’s still there, and he can’t pinpoint exactly what happened but when he sees your smiling face behind his eyelids, Jungkook doesn’t feel scared. When he focuses on what you look like under sunlight, or your eyes staring at him through a camera lens, there is no fear of the broken heart you could leave him with. Just something warm. Something that feels an awful lot like...love?

 But what does Jungkook know about such things? 

He shrugs it off his shoulders, and readies himself for a night of inevitably restless sleep. He blames it on the impending due date of his beloved portfolio, but really, it is you. You and your insistence on trying every single coffee shop in the city. You and your convoluted idea of a date; letting your partner choose the location with their eyes closed. You and…

Just everything about you. 

He falls asleep well into 4am. The thin strap of cloth sits on his bedside table. Even if it is only for the night sky to see, Jungkook lets his soulmate mark breathe. 

◐

It’s been so long since you’ve dressed up or cleaned up to go out anywhere, the reflection that stares back feels like a stranger. You’ve opted for a bold red lip, meticulously applying your makeup so that even the wing of your eyeliner was sharp enough to kill. Jimin forced you to curl your hair too, of course. The girl in the mirror looks beautiful. You know that she is beautiful.

So why is it that you can only see the face that is not enough for Jeon Jungkook? A person that he is unable to love. No, not even foundation can cover the face of longing.

“Y/N”, Jimin sing-songs, “hurry! You don’t wanna be late do you?” No, you don’t want to be late. You want to not go. Maybe retreat to your bedroom and cry the night away again. But you won’t tell him that when he is so clearly ecstatic that you’re spending a night out for the first time in months. 

The restaurant looks like it is entirely out of your budget. Well, you reckon any restaurant is out of your budget with all the debt that looms overhead and your painfully apparent unemployment. Waiting for Namjoon is less than exhilarating, and you spend the time fiddling with your bracelet that conveniently covers the crescent moon. These days, you can’t bear to look at it anymore. Your eyes are glued to the little mark, before a voice sounds from across the table.

“Sorry I’m late, traffic was insane. You must be Y/N, nice to meet you.” You weren’t sure what you expected Kim Namjoon to look like but were pleasantly surprised. Namjoon looks like he takes care of himself, neat and clean and sporting a very shiny watch that looks like 4 months’ worth of rent. 

“And you must be Namjoon. Likewise.” 

When he pulls out the chair to sit down, you can’t help but to notice the cloud on his wrist. It was smaller than yours but you had no doubt it felt just as heavy. If Namjoon felt your gaze on his skin, he did nothing to show it. 

“Hey, I know I just got here but…”, he sighs and takes a look around the room, “do you wanna get out of here? Find the cheapest and greasiest food we can?” His request makes you smile, and you grab the purse that rested on the table. 

“Namjoon, I think that’s the best idea you’ve had yet.” 

You and Namjoon manage to find a diner that wasn’t far from the fancy restaurant, and you thank the skies that you didn’t have to pay $50 for a salad tonight. Just some pocket change for quite possibly the best and oiliest hamburger you’ve ever had. 

By conversation that happens through mouthfuls of food and faces smeared with milkshake residue, you come to learn that Namjoon is an unsurprisingly nice guy. He studies poetry, but is working as a secretary at an office, hence his connection to Jimin. He loves to garden and talks about his bonsai plants to you like they’re his kids, even pulling up pictures on his phone and gazing down at them fondly. It makes you smile. He plays the piano, and likes to take long bike rides when the weather permits. 

It’s nice to have someone reciprocate your effort. It’s something you haven’t experienced in a long time, all credit to one Jeon Jungkook. Namjoon is warm in all the corners where Jungkook is cold. 

In a word, he is pretty damn perfect. And if he had a crescent moon on his wrist, you probably wouldn’t bat an eye or have a lick of doubt in the universe. He encompasses everything you want, so alike you in so many aspects it makes you wary. If Namjoon had your matching soulmate mark, you would already be in love with him. 

But he doesn’t. And that thought alone keeps you from feeling anything but platonicity. He is not Jungkook. You don’t think anyone can make you feel the way Jungkook does. You want to curse the stars for making this so. 

It’s well into the night, and you both remain planted in the diner booth, chatting and chuckling over a plate of french fries. It’s when you drift off while he’s talking about his latest attempt at focaccia that Namjoon sighs and sits back in the seat. 

“What?”, you confusedly ask after he suddenly stops speaking.

He smiles. Stays silent for a couple seconds. Then speaks. 

“So what did your soulmate do to you?”

His question catches you off guard and you can only stare at him, frown on your face and words lost on your tongue. 

“You’ve been staring into space every 5 minutes this whole night, and fidgeting with your bracelet so much I’m surprised it hasn’t fallen off”, he explains, tenderness and sympathy in his tone. 

“Every time I speak, you have this sad look in your eyes and I have a feeling you’re imagining someone else’s face, Y/N. I’ve enjoyed talking to you...a lot. But I can tell you want to be somewhere else so”, Namjoon places his elbows on the table and gazes at you endearingly, “tell me about your soulmate.” 

You stare at Namjoon through shocked eyes, glistening with the onset of tears that you manage to keep from escaping. Gosh, you were pathetic. Already wanting to cry at the mere mention of him. Or maybe the fact that someone could see through your facade. You take a deep breath. 

“His name is Jeon Jungkook.” Your voice quivers, and Namjoon continues listening intently. You are reluctant to continue because you know that once this conversation begins, there is a chance you might have to confront yourself again with the pain of loving someone who doesn’t want love. You internally apologize to Namjoon in advance, for you might cry on this first date. 

“I…I’m completely head over heels in love with him  but after everything, I’m not sure I have the slightest clue what love is. Because what sane person can fall in love with a person who has made it clear that that love wouldn’t be reciprocated from the get go?”

You fiddle with the plastic straw in your milkshake, searching for the courage to go on and tell him about every thought that you have denied yourself the satisfaction of verbalizing. 

“He loves apple strudels, you know. Eats them every time like they’re the last apple strudels he’ll ever have and he doesn’t give a damn who’s watching”, you chuckle, gaze drifting off to space. There is a fondness in your eyes as you speak, and Namjoon does not miss it. 

“He’s as punctual as the day is long. One time I was late to a photoshoot and he almost made me cry lecturing me about the importance of being on time. But now I’m never late.” 

The memory makes you, as well as Namjoon, smile. 

“He paints like his life depends on it, and he’ll get oil paint on his face without noticing and sometimes I just want to reach out and wipe it off. But I think he’d murder me on the spot.”

“How come?”, Namjoon offers his first words in the midst of your monologue. You’re not sure what to say next. 

“Well...I think Jeon Jungkook might be the coldest person I’ve ever met”, you dejectedly sigh. Reality tastes bitter even with remnants of whipped cream on your lips. 

“Every time I was around him, it felt like I was willingly breaking my own heart just for the chance to know that he was next to me. That in this entire world of billions of people, the one with the same moon on their wrist was next to me. And...I guess I didn’t really need him to love me yet”, your gaze locks onto Namjoon and you find he is already staring at you with utmost curiosity and subtle pity. 

“Jungkook alone was enough. I just wish he could have felt the same about me.” 

Perhaps the reason why the truth is so painful to speak is because people have a tendency to run from it. Then when it catches up to you, it’s a harsh trip and fall to the rocky ground. There is no cushion when you land. 

Namjoon doesn’t offer advice. Doesn’t dish his own experiences to relate to your own or even make any comments from his perspective. He just sits and listens in silence, but it doesn’t feel like he is disregarding you. No, his eyes tell you that he soaks in every word. You hope you’ll get the chance to do the same for him...if he ever decides to share his story with you. 

The two of you leave the diner with a prospective to be friends, and no plans of a future second date. You had a strong feeling that spending the entire evening talking about your unrequited soulmate love had something to do with that. Nevertheless, though Namjoon didn’t work out as a distraction, you were glad to have met him. It made you realize something.

Even if Jimin thought you were ready to move on. Even if you thought you were ready to forget. It might be a lifetime before you finally let go of that boy.

◓

The morning reeks of rain and dew, humidity nearly clawing its way through his window and turning his apartment into a swamp. When he wakes up, it is not to his blaring alarm clock, but the uncomfortable sensation of a sweaty shirt sticking to his back. Jungkook groans, already tired of this day. It seems hopeless from the beginning. 

As much as he wanted to stay home and crank up the air conditioner so much that his landlord would come running, Professor Sejin’s voice reverberates through his eardrums.

You art is too one-noted, Jungkook.

Be better, Jungkook.

You’re talentless and will never succeed, Jungkook. 

Of course, these are not Professor Sejin’s verbatim, more so Jungkook’s own mind that twists his teacher’s constructive criticism into something else. He is a master at feeding his insecurity.

Jungkook chugs down a lukewarm cup of black coffee, and his stomach growls for something with a little more sugar and maybe a dash of rainbow colored sprinkles. He guesses he has you to thank for that. The art studio is always a daily destination, and this day is no different. Jungkook has a plan to dedicate himself to fixing his portfolio and maybe finish that clay piece he never got around to. 

The studio is too cold for his liking; Jungkook can’t remember how many times he has begged the superintendent to lower the AC. The cold he can deal with. The loneliness, however, is a different story. Jungkook is always alone. Alone when he’s in his apartment. Alone when he’s in class. Alone when he’s in the art room. These days, aloneness feels more haunting when he knows he had the option to escape it, but chose to stay. A part of him is ready to admit that it’s because of you. 

Jungkook hums a random melody that had been stuck in his head since the morning, fingers gliding over the slick sculpting clay. The days are easier now. He doesn’t think about you so much when the sun is out and there is the bustling of the busy city to distract him. The nights, however, are just as difficult as they have been. Jungkook’s last drifting thought is of you, and your face torturously carries over to each dream. Like his entire being misses you but he refuses to accept it. 

He takes a deep sigh in relief once the sculpture feels finished. Professor Sejin wanted something more dynamic, so there: his very own realist clay piece drawing inspiration from Praxiteles’ sculpture of Aphrodite. He sits back in pride, admiring his own handiwork and giving himself a mental pat on the back. It looks great. Perfect even. It looks….

It looks like you. 

Jungkook pales at the realization as the clay face stares back at him. No, this was supposed to be Aphrodite, the goddess of beauty and love, inspired by the ancient Greek artist that sculpted her. Then why does she have your nose? Those eyes are definitely your’s and even those cheeks are identical. Jungkook hadn’t even realized that in the rhythm of his art, he got lost and accidentally sculpted your face instead. 

He walks away from the clay table and hurriedly yanks off the soiled apron around his waist, confusion swimming in every cell of his body. How had he just...made a sculpture of you? With no knowledge that he was doing it?

Jungkook leans with his back against the sink, staring down at the floor with furrowed brows and a thundering heart. With a sudden epiphany, Jungkook leaps from his position and pulls out all the canvases, printed photographs, graphite drawings, and clay pieces he’s made for the past few months. Everything he can grab in the small studio space. 

It is then that he comes to the daunting realization:

Holy shit.

Professor Sejin was right.

 Everything feels the same. His whole portfolio has one note and no dynamic or diversity because...well, because all of his pieces are of you. Not you, necessarily, but your breath has come alive on his art in some way, shape, or form. 

The multimedia painting he made two weeks ago using polystyrene sheets was supposed to mimic sunlight through a stained glass window, but Jungkook hadn’t even noticed he'd drawn the window of the café you dragged him to on its opening day. And the colors of the glass is just the twinkle of your eyes when they stare back into his. 

The photoset he spent hours taking around the city, after taking a 15 minute train ride, were just repeats of all the places you two went to that one day. The book store. The park. The streetlight where Yoojung stopped him. He hadn’t even realized he only saved the photos associated with a subconscious memory of you. 

Jungkook can’t explain it, but he feels you in every single picture. Every piece of art that his hands have manifested since you walked into his life, stupid smile on your face and that little moon on your wrist. He feels it...and call it artist’s intuition or something but perhaps that’s why Professor Sejin could feel it too. 

Even though he stopped making you his muse months ago, you are still the root of inspiration for whatever he’s produced since. And if that’s not enough to finally tell him what he needs to hear. Finally make him realize that he’s fallen in love with you without even knowing it, the universe doesn’t know what will. 

The minutes it has been since he realized your place in his life melts like slow dripping honey, feeling like an eternity when it is mere moments. Jungkook regains his focus in the haze. He knows what you mean to him now, but there was something he had to fo first. 

He swipes all his paintbrushes and palette knives to the side, sweat on his brow as he furiously rearranges his portfolio. He takes out the pictures of Mina - no one would miss them anyway - and trashes all the photos he took before he met you. He only uses the art he’s created post-Y/N and tucks them in the manila folder so rapidly, there’s paper cuts on his fingers. But he doesn’t feel them. Jungkook has only one objective. 

He snaps a picture of the new clay sculpture he’s just finished. The photo goes into the portfolio with the name ‘Aphrodite’, but Jungkook knows better about whose face that truly belongs to. Not that anyone would bat an eye. He thinks you are as beautiful as the goddess herself. 

The trip to Professor Sejin’s office is short, unsurprising though, since Jungkook sprints the whole way there. When he arrives, and the professor can only stare as he’s bent over and huffing violently trying to catch his breath, Jungkook reminds himself to spend less time at the studio and more time on the cardio. 

He throws the portfolio onto the man’s desk unceremoniously, nearly collapsing on the chair across from him and not ready to speak yet. Professor Sejin confusedly rifles through the folder quickly, too quickly, and sighs, ready to offer Jungkook yet the same critique again. 

He opens his mouth, but Jungkook cuts him off. 

“Before you say anything…”, he gulps, finally ready to admit the truth to himself. 

“I want you to know that I’ve met my soulmate, a-and there’s a reason why you feel that my portfolio is all the same. There’s a reason why you feel it’s all one-noted or that there’s no progression.” Jungkook takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, and you are there behind his lids. 

“It’s because she sowed the seeds for all of them. Everything. Those paintings and photos and sculptures are just symptoms of what I’ve been feeling this whole time after meeting her. She’s practically the artist, not me.” Professor Sejin stays silent at his monologue, gaze unreadable but eyes sharp and trained solely on Jungkook. 

“Maybe...Maybe art doesn’t need to be super variegated all the time. Maybe it’s supposed to be a cohesive unit and the pieces should string to each other. Maybe paintings should have a relationship to photos and them, to sculptures. Maybe you’re just...wrong.” 

He is exasperated and passion flows out of him through every pore. Jungkook looks expectantly at his professor, who has the open folder in his hand and still in the process of taking in his words. When the adrenaline starts to fade, he realizes that he just dissed his venerable teacher. 

“With all due respect…”, he coughs, “sir.” 

Professor Sejin lets Jungkook spend the next couple minutes in complete torturous silence so that he can finish reviewing his portfolio. The tension is cut with the sound of the man’s hands slapping together as he closes the folder. Jungkook prepares himself for a stern lecture.

However, when he looks up, there is a smile on the man’s face. There’s no malice there, or even disdain. He pulls off his glasses, sets them on the table, and sits back in the office chair, arms folded over his chest. Jungkook can feel his heart threatening to pound past his rib cage. 

“Jungkook…”, Professor Sejin declares, “I think you’ve got a contender for the gallery spot.” 

◑

If someone had asked you what Jeon Jungkook meant to you, you would look them in the eye and tell them that he meant nothing. Because it’s easier to pretend that someone does not mean anything to you after they pretend that you do not exist. That the universe had not given you both matching marks and deemed that your souls were meant for each other. Jeon Jungkook is a stranger to you. One that you wanted so badly to love. But you’ve come to learn that no matter how hard you try; you can’t love someone who doesn’t want to love at all.

So the days trickle by as they usually do. Painstakingly slow and viscous with memories of a boy named Jeon Jungkook and the way he has hurt you enough to last a little bit over forever. 

“I understand why you don’t want to go, Y/N. But aren’t you the least bit curious? Especially after that fancy invitation in the mail?” Jimin’s query is innocent. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t make your blood boil. 

“I don’t know...the thought of going to my soulmate’s grand art gallery when the last time we spoke, he told me he can’t love me, just doesn’t seem appealing Jimin”, you snark, burying your face into the bowl of cereal you are now spooning far too aggressively. 

“But...it’s been months. And he wouldn’t have sent you an invitation if he didn’t want you to come.” 

This conversation has happened too frequently since that red envelope arrived at your apartment. You cried your eyes out when you opened it, both out of pride for Jungkook and the fact that no matter what you did, the universe found a way to keep you from moving on. 

A sigh heaves through your chest, and the cereal is abandoned by your loss of appetite. “I’m not going to show up there and have him tell me again all of the reasons he can’t be with me. I barely survived it last time.” 

“But what if, Y/N?”

There is a glimmer in Jimin’s eye and he radiates so much hopefulness for you, you can’t help but to feel it too. 

“Isn’t the what if already enough? You used to tell me that Jungkook was worth anything. Isn’t he worth the risk this time too?”

You don’t have anything else to say after that because as much as you hate to admit, perhaps Jimin is right. Jungkook is worth going through anything for, even if he wants to stay as far away as possible. Call it a fluke in the postal system that the invitation to his gallery landed on your doorstep, but can you allow yourself to read between the lines and dare say that he sent it himself? Can you put yourself through such a perilous thing like optimism?

Jungkook has left you battered and broken for the past months. But you would give your heart to him to break all over again if he asked. 

◒

To say that you did not fit in with those dawdling around the art gallery was a gross understatement. You didn’t just not fit in. Your entire presence and aura defied every expectation, and suddenly, watching the upper echelon of the city mingle with champagne and gaze critically at Jungkook’s art, makes every breath feel like an insecurity. 

The boy in question was nowhere in sight, and you now regret not dragging Jimin with you. The invitation had specifically prohibited plus one’s, and though Jimin whined to no end about his hurt feelings and emptily promised never to talk to Jungkook again, you managed to keep him home. Now, you wish you were back at the apartment with him.

The pieces were, in short, completely breathtaking (to no surprise, of course, this was Jungkook you were talking about). Though you knew he always held doubt in himself, in the short time he allowed you to be in his life, you had never once thought he was anything less than spectacular. Yet you could not allow yourself to completely enjoy them. Each brushstroke and paint color you remember from his palettes, or the filters on the photos that you helped him with, was agonizing to look at. 

You are standing in front of a canvas titled “Windowlight” when a man comes up beside you. He nurses a flute of bubbly champagne and makes no move to gain eye contact. Unknown to you, Professor Sejin knows exactly who you are. He’s seen your face in his student’s portfolio one too many times. 

“Artful use of mixed media, isn’t it?”, he mutters.

“I suppose so.” 

“He’s quite the prodigy. Have you met him yet? I’m sure he’s lurking around somewhere.” The man takes a sip from his glass, smirk on his lips hidden from your eyes that still blankly stare ahead.

“Yes. He’s a...friend.” We share a soulmate mark. He hates my guts. 

He hums a sound of affirmation and you ignore the weird feeling it leaves in your stomach; one that tells you this stranger sees right through you. 

“Ah, how rude of me. Professor Sejin. Arts director and senior advisor.” He spares you a brief glance, but you make no move to shake his hand or pretend to be courteous. You don’t have the energy for it tonight. Just being in this building, surrounded by everything Jungkook has touched, makes you want to collapse into yourself. 

“It was nice to meet you, Y/N.” He speaks nonchalantly, and you almost miss the fact that you never told him your name. Your brows crease in confusion and you are ready to turn and interrogate the stranger, but he is already walking away, gliding smoothly across the gallery. Before he gets too far, though, Sejin cranes his neck and makes eye contact. 

“Oh, and be sure to visit the one called ‘Moon’. It’s upstairs, next to the Aphrodite sculpture on the second level exhibit”, he entreats, a suspicious lilt in his voice.

“Something tells me you’ll appreciate its…sincerity.”

Honestly, you’re not sure what you expected when you came to Jungkook’s art gallery tonight. But to be approached by a stranger who already knows your name, who dubiously instructs you to seek out a mystery art piece, was not on the list of expectations. Still...Professor Sejin’s words made you curious. 

Through the night, your eyes subconsciously seek out that familiar head of fluffy brown hair and a tall gait that always seems to stick out, even in a large crowd. It was as if Jungkook versed himself in complete camouflage, so much so that you began to doubt that he was even in the building.  

The traipse through the gallery is done in silence and solitude, and you tune out the sounds of popping champagne and raucous laughter coming from the second floor, as the patrons undoubtedly banter over which piece to auction off. You hope he keeps them. You’ve never seen someone appreciate art the way that Jungkook does. 

You catch sight of a few pieces that you recognize, ones that you remember him showing you when he had finished. You always excitedly told him every single one was a masterpiece, and Jungkook only rolled his eyes and made minimal effort at hiding the blush on his cheeks. Your steps falter when you come across a set of photographs in black and white, set in consecutive frames next to each other and it feels so warm despite the lack of color. Jungkook just had that special talent when it came to photography. 

It’s the bookstore. In the city during the impromptu train ride you had coerced him to take. Your heart catches in your throat as you recognize all the other ones immediately because well...you’ve been to all those spots. A familiar pressure builds in the back of your eyes, and you swallow down a whimper of pain. 

The urge to leave becomes too strong. But not strong enough to quell the slow burn of curiosity from Professor Sejin. There is a chance that you might not run into Jungkook at all tonight with the vast space and people bumbling through the corridors. It hurts to think that you might never see him again at all, but you’ll allow yourself another indulgence. Something is calling you. 

Moon. He titled it Moon? You grip onto your wrist reflexively and run your thumb over the mark, like you did when you were younger and still had hope for soulmates. The pulsepoint there beats under your finger and lets you know how alive you are. Compels you to give into your curiosity, even if it might decimate your already crumbling heart. The stairs that lead up to the second floor are short, but the trek feels like it knocks the wind out of you, or perhaps that was just the anticipation of what was waiting for you on the other side.

You were right to be scared. Because right in the smack dab center of the circular room is where you see it, and your gasp is one that can be heard from each wall and corner. 

A painting of you. A portrait from the waist up, with oil paint and so much detail, Jungkook has even managed to line the shallow wrinkles by your eyes when you smile. You have never considered yourself beautiful in any sense but the way he has captured you on canvas starts to make you believe that you truly are. You feel Jungkook in each streak of the brushstroke where he hadn’t spread the color evenly. It is as if the painting is alive, and though you are staring at yourself, it doesn’t feel like the way it does in the mirror. Doesn’t feel like a reflection. 

No, this feels like looking through Jungkook’s eyes. It is what he sees in you, rather than what you see in yourself. And what he sees is beautiful. Through the haze of shock and confusion as to why he chose this as the centerpiece, you don’t notice the warm presence that lurks behind you. The one that has watched your every move since you walked into this building. 

“Yeah, that’s my favorite one too.” 

You whip your head around so quick it nearly gives you whiplash, but the sight of him is the nail in the coffin. Jungkook is cleaned up in a black suit, and an unfamiliar smile on his lips he rarely lets you see. A genuine one that he’s tried to hide so many times but now that it’s clear and up close, you resent him for keeping it from you. 

Jungkook is just as gorgeous as the day you lost him. 

But looking at him hurts. You don’t know why you’re even here, and why he sent the invitation, or why he was standing in front of you now and there is not a sliver of antipathy in his eyes. You don’t know why your face is plastered in the center of the gallery. Most of all, you don’t know why you are still weak in the knees for Jeon Jungkook. 

“Although, I have to say, it was a close race between this one and the pictures I made you take at the lake, when you nearly dunked me in the river because it was so cold”, he breathily laughs but you aren’t able to get through the shock just yet. If Jungkook notices your starstruck state, he doesn’t let it affect him. 

“And I definitely have to give some credit to the one I painted after you told me about your dream”, Jungkook prattles on, “where you were a mermaid who planted peaches under the sea, remember? That’s an honorable mention.” 

These memories make you want to smile but in this moment, the best you can do is try to hold yourself together when your eyes begin to warm with tears. Jungkook stays silent when you do. He notices you haven’t said a word and your gaze refuses to meet his. 

“Why are you doing this, Jungkook?”, you curse yourself when your voice cracks. “Why are you telling me these things? Haven’t you hurt me enough?” Jungkook’s smile drops off his face, and for once, you can see your own pain reflected in his eyes. 

He takes a deep breath, hands hanging limply at his side that itch to wrap themselves around yours. To feel your skin. Feel your mark. 

“I…”, he hesitates in his words, “I remember that day every night when I go to sleep, Y/N. Every time I shut my eyes, I just see your face when I told you I can’t love you, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt such aching before. Not even when she left me.” Jungkook’s voice is tinted with desperation but it just makes your walls rise higher. 

He’s lying to you. Your tongue wants to protest, but he continues. 

“I see you in everything”, Jungkook breathes out, like he is also admitting it to himself. 

“The paintbrushes I can never put down to the black coffee I force myself to drink nowadays because the ones I actually like, the ones with too much whipped cream and vanilla syrup, just reminds me of you.” His brows are knitted, and his feet vie to step closer to your quivering form. But you look like a caged animal about to bolt at any moment. 

“And when I’m reminded of you, I am reminded of…”, he gulps down the fear, “I’m reminded of how I am utterly in love with someone who deserves so much more than what I have put them through.”

The blood that runs through your veins drops to subzero temperatures, and you swear in the split millisecond that you have absorbed what he’s just said, your heart ceases its beating. The world stops turning, and the waves still for a brief moment. You can’t find any words just yet, but Jungkook can see straight through you and your stupefied expression. 

“Y-you’re lying to me, Jungkook. Stop lying.” 

“I’m not lying, please…” Jungkook knows he’s losing you by the second, but he’s promised you he would persist. He just wants you to listen. Wants you to feel how sorry he is, and how his soul screams to be next to your’s. 

“I can’t explain how it happened. Like it was an epiphany. Like someone has been screaming at me and I had been ignoring them, and that someone was my own heart.” Jungkook doesn’t stumble over his words once. He does not stutter because it is the plain white truth. 

“Stop, Jungkook.”

“It’s been knocking on the door of my chest and when I finally let it in, it just yells and shouts ‘oh my god, you’re in love’ and then I realized oh my god, i’m in love. In between painting you and convincing myself that soulmates meant nothing to me, I’ve completely and unquestionably fallen in love with you, Y/N.” 

Jungkook can’t decipher the look on your face. Something between the lines of disbelief and heartbreak, and it makes him want to split at the seams at the pain he’s put you through. How he’s convinced you you’re impossible to love. He vows to make it right again.

“Jungkook-”

“And you’re wrong, you know. You’re not hard to love. Hell, I was dead set on never loving again and you managed to make me so smitten, I can’t paint or draw a damn thing without including some aspect of you in it.” Jungkook steps back and gestures to all the canvases and photos that hang on the wall. 

“Take a look around, Y/N. It’s all you. Every piece.” Once he says it, you finally notice Every piece of art in this room can be traced to you, or a memory you two share. It’s so clear, you don’t know how you missed it before. You feel yourself in the art Jungkook has poured his soul into. Instead of making you feel elated, these words that you’ve been waiting your entire life to hear just ignites the sting. 

“Just stop. Please.” It is only a weak whisper through your lips, and he ignores it. 

“If you can’t forgive me, I get it Y/N. I can’t forgive myself either. But can you just know that you are enough. You are more than what I deserve. And I know you told me to be happy, but there is no way I can possibly do that without you.” 

When your gaze falls to the floor, you notice that his wrist is clean of any bracelets or watches. Come to think of it, this is one of the first times you are seeing it clear and in the flesh. Jungkook doesn’t tell you, but nowadays, he doesn’t allow anything to impede on the sight of the crescent moon.

When your guard is down and you are distracted, he finds the perfect time to finally reach forward and take your hand in his. His touch is gentle when it wraps around your wrist, tugging off the ribbon that circled it, and revealing the matching mark. Your pulse jumps under his fingers, and skips a beat when he runs a thumb over the moon. You are already melting with such simple contact, and you almost allow yourself to succumb. Almost.

It’s as if suddenly his skin was scalding, and you snatch your wrist from his grasp at lightning speed. The tears that have strayed down your face are wiped away as quickly as they came. The surprise on his face is missed by your eyes because before he can comprehend what is happening, you are bolting down the staircase and out the glass doors of the gallery. No, you cannot forgive him yet. What would you do if he hurt you again? You don’t think you would survive. 

You ignore the pain of seeing his art pieces as you run, now that you know you are the muse behind them all. The only noise is the sound of blood rushing in your ears, and you are oblivious to the racket of Jungkook’s shoes clapping against marble flooring as he chases after you, expertly dodging the other patrons and butlers holding trays of champagne. 

And Jungkook? Well, he is oblivious to the complete turmoil that runs through your every nerve. He only sees your back, and not the way you bite your lip painfully to keep the sobs from escaping. Not the way your pain is exhibited clear as day in the crease of your eyebrow and the wrinkle of your nose. 

The air outside is so cold it bites at your nostrils, but makes it easier to breathe. The wind calms the thundering heart in your chest.

He must be lying. There was no way he had a change of heart now, not when he was so rooted in his belief before. There is no virtual possibility, on any plane of existence, on any dimension where Jeon Jungkook has fallen in love with you. 

Right?

The hand that circles around your wrist tightly to keep you from getting any farther tells you that you are wrong. He did come after you. Jungkook’s strength forces you to stop running, but you can’t find the courage to turn around and face him just yet. But you don’t make an effort to pull away, and he takes it as progress.

“You can run if you want, Y/N. You can walk away from me and from us, but don’t doubt that I’ll always be chasing after you. For as long as it takes.” He is panting and speaking through heavy breaths, but you hear him. Loud and clear. 

“I won’t let you leave again. Not like last time.”

There is no malice. No coldness, and for the first time since you’ve met him, his words feel like warm honey instead of monotone ice. He is utterly distraught when you turn around slowly, hesitant like you’re afraid he will break your heart right then and there. 

His heart shatters at the wetness at your waterline, and the way you look up at him; completely vulnerable and scared. 

“Do you promise?” 

There is a lot of weight in your three-word question. It’s not as innocent as meets the eye, and Jungkook knows it. He feels it. When you ask him if he promises, it is an invitation back to you. You are offering him your heart, which he has already broken and bruised, and trusting him to be careful with it this time around. Jungkook already knows he loves you. And if you let him, he’ll spend the rest of his life making sure this promise remains unbroken. 

“I promise.” 

It’s a commitment. One he used to be terrified of making, but it seems so easy when it’s for you. 

And when you fly forward to wrap your arms around him, Jungkook feels like home. Like the stars twinkle a little brighter and the earth stops spinning for a mere second, just for the two of you. You feel him squeeze you closer, just as tightly, and Jungkook wants to kick himself for depriving you both of a simple thing called love. 

You are here, souls and now bodies intertwined, and Jungkook lets the pain of past hurt fall away. Pain is so miniscule when you are by his side. When you pull back, Jungkook frowns at your red-rimmed eyes, and the tears that still persist. He wipes it away oh so softly, as if you were delicate clay and he, a sculptor. 

“Please don’t cry anymore, princess, it breaks my heart. I’m so sorry.” It is the softest, most sugary tone you’ve ever heard out of him. But hearing affection from his lips makes you feel that perhaps all of this sorrow, this longing, has been worth it. He has been worth it. He always has. 

“I love you, Y/N.” Jungkook’s words are almost as beautiful as he is. 

His lips are familiar when you lean forward and kiss him. Yet they are different. This time, the hands on your waist hold you a bit more carefully, even closer if that were possible. You can feel his thudding heart as it beats against your own, learning to match rhythms with each other, and Jungkook cradles your face in his hand like you are the only artwork he has truly been proud of. 

And it’s true. All the canvases and paints and camera film seem wasted now. Nothing he ever makes will be quite as alluring as the art he holds in his arms in this moment. 

“I love you too, you goddamn idiot.”

You meant it all those months ago, and you mean it now. If Jeon Jungkook was the sun, you would gladly change your name to Icarus. If Jeon Jungkook was the moon, then you are the tides that he pushes and pulls. If Jeon Jungkook belonged to you, well...you don’t have to imagine that anymore. He is your’s, as you are his. 

Old habits die hard, but they are not immortal. They wax and wane, and remind you that in the cosmic vastness of things, you are only human. Humans whose hearts beat in tandem and souls made to complete the other. Humans with identical crescent moons, lost but now found.

Old habits die hard. But you have learned to fix those of a broken heart. 

☾

[the-blue-fairie]

Fictional Character Ask: Sam Gamgee from Lord of the Rings.

Favorite thing about them: His loyalty, his bravery, all of which shine even in the darkest of times.

Least favorite thing about them: I think Tolkien puts it best here (I dug up letter 246 online and I think the transcription is accurate, but I don't have time to check word by word): "In any case it prevented him from fully understanding the master that he loved, and from following him in his gradual education to the nobility of service to the unlovable and of perception of damaged good in the corrupt. He plainly did not fully understand Frodo's motives or his distress in the incident of the Forbidden Pool. If he had understood better what was going on between Frodo and Gollum, things might have turned out differently in the end. For me perhaps the most tragic moment in the Tale comes in II 323 ff. when Sam fails to note the complete change in Gollum's tone and aspect."

Three things I have in common with them:

I have a habit of committing snippets of poems to memory, as Sam does with the part of the Lay of Gil-Galad, etc.

I am loyal to my friends and do my best to point them on the best path when I can.

I have a love for pleasant, hobbity things like a warm bed and lovely meals.

Three things I don’t have in common with them:

Though I have cultivated a small garden in the past, I have no green thumb.

I'm prouder of my own poetic compositions than Sam is (seriously, though, Sam, your addition to the lament for Gandalf is lovely, have faith in your skills!)

I'm not a hobbit.

Favorite line: Not a line spoken by Sam, but lines that reveal his thoughts and internal monologue: "It was Sam's first view of a battle of Men against Men, and he did not like it much. He was glad that he could not see the dead face. He wondered what the man's name was and where he came from; and if he was really evil of heart, or what lies or threats had led him on the long march from his home; and if he would rather have stayed there in peace."

brOTP: Sam and Frodo

OTP: Sam/Rosie AND Sam/Frodo. Both is good.

nOTP: I don't really know of any other pairings for Sam besides those that I hold close to my heart.

Random Headcanon: He has a great deal more Bilbo-esue poetry composition up in his heads, like the troll song, the fireworks song, and so forth. He shares them eagerly with his children in later years.

Unpopular Opinion: I don't HATE Sam in the Bakshi film. Yes, he's... one of the weakest things about it, to put it charitably, but I still find him endearing, and there are some lovely little moments with him in there.

Song I associate with them:

The Tolkien Ensemble rendition of his song in Cirith-Ungol:

Bill Nighy's rendition of the Lay of Gil-Galad from the radio dramatization:

That "Less Can Be More" song from the Rankin Bass Return of the King. Not a fan of the film overall (Rankin Bass was wayyyy better suited to the tone of The Hobbit than LotR) but it has its moments and I think this is one of them:

Favorite picture of them: I want to show some love to some artistic renditions of him, so I'll start with those:

This piece by Inger Edelfeldt is just lovely.

I really like this piece by John Howe.

And then of course, there's this shot from Fellowship that I just feel encapsulates the character so well:

[gunterfan1992]

Interview with James Baxter (the Human)

Guess what, everyone? I just had the pleasure of exchanging emails with James Baxter—that’s right the James Baxter! James is something of a legend in the animation world, and he is known for his beautifully expressive animation style that is able to make even the simplest shape look majestic and full of life. In addition to the myriad movies he has worked on, James also contributed special animation to Adventure Time, working on season five’s “James Baxter the Horse” and season eight’s “Horse and Ball”; not only was the character named after him, but he even got to voice his horse doppelgänger!

And so, without further ado, Mr. James Baxter the Human:

GunterFan: I know that you've recounted it before, but would it be possible to get your take on the 'origin story' of the "James Baxter the Horse" episode. How did it all come together?

James Baxter: Well, Pen and I were in contact with each other while I was working at DreamWorks. I had known about him since he had left CalArts and I had already told him how much I liked Adventure Time, and I had told him that if he ever needed me to do anything to give me a call. I guess he heard me because later he asked me to meet him at a tiny sandwich place that was on Flower St. and Sonora in Burbank (it's called Little Ground now, but I can't remember what it used to be back then). There, he pitched me the idea for the character and he gave me a quick sketch of James Baxter the Horse. I said  yes, absolutely I would love to animate and voice that for you, that sounds amazing. He also reminded me of one of my animation demo lectures that I had done at CalArts when he was a student there. I usually ask for suggestions from the students of what they would like me to animate for them, so they can see the thought process. At that lecture someone yelled out, "Do a horse balancing on a ball!" (it may have been Pen) I guess as a goof, knowing that might be a little tricky for a quick demo. I remember asking for something a little simpler please. I suppose Pen remembered that moment because that's where the idea came from. As far as the actual episode goes, and what happens in it, that's all Pen and his team.

GF: What was the animation process like? How long did it take you to get everything all together?

JB: I saw the storyboard, and they gave me a printed copy of it, as well as some exposure sheets for the shots that the horse was in. I spent a little time working out some different cycles that I could move between, James balancing in place, James turning in a circle etc. I was trying to do cycles that could be reused over and over in different shots to save on work. it was all animated on paper and all the clean up drawings were done by my wife Kendra. Then all those drawings were shipped overseas to the production studio that was doing the rest of the animation for the show, so that they could do the color and compositing. I guess it took us about a month or six weeks, but I was only working on it evenings and weekends.

GF: How much say did you have with regard to the character design? What about key poses? Were you given creative freedom?

JB: I was given a lot of freedom. I just had that one sketch that Pen had drawn, but he had suggested that I give it a more flowing mane and tail. I remember sending a drawing of mine back to the team at Cartoon Network so that they could do a color model for him. As far as key poses went, I just had the boards to go from, which were clear but not super detailed, so I had a lot of freedom to make up the animation as long as I stayed true to the staging and to the length of the shots. By the time i got the exposure sheets the dialogue tracks had already been written on them, which is common practice, so I could animate to the sound.

GF: I love James Baxter (the Horse)'s voice! What inspired the accent and the whinny? What was the recording process like?

JB: I guess the voice is me just trying to be horsey, and a little posh, and British. He only ever says his name (no trouble remembering the lines!), so it's a little hard to really define an accent, but I'm British so that's where I went. My natural accent hovers somewhere over the mid-Atlantic since I've lived in the US for over thirty years. The whinny is just me trying not to cough as I'm trying to make horsey noises! Voice acting is not my talent, but it was a lot of fun, mostly because it was so surreal just saying my own name in different ways for half an hour! They were very nice and patient with me.

GF: I haven't been able to find a lot of info on "Horse and Ball." What was that like? Was it different the second time?

JB: How did you feel returning to the show? Well, I was very pleased to get another chance to do more James Baxter, but there was more footage of him in the second episode and I had less time to do it. That meant that I only animated a few shots of him in that episode, not all of him as I had done in the first one. I would have loved to have done it all, but there just wasn't time. But it was just as fun to animate, especially falling off the ball and the dance at the end.

GF: What has the reception been like on your end? Do folks ever connect your name to the character without realizing that they're both you?

JB: I’ve never had the "Oh, I never knew that James Baxter was a real person" comment face to face, but I've seen it quite a lot in comment sections on YouTube and other places online. I've got to say, it's very gratifying having this amazing alter-ego of me in AT, especially since he's such a benevolent character. I'm glad Pen didn't decide to make him a jerk! All he does is ride around cheering people up, how amazing is that?! It's certainly become a gateway for a whole lot of people to discover me as an artist, not just a cartoon character.

I hope to incorporate all this information into the second edition of Exploring the Land of Ooo... one day. Either way, thank you James Baxter for not only agreeing to a little interview, but also making the world a better place!