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deadboyfriendd · 2 years ago

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𝙑𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙤 𝙂𝙞𝙧𝙡. E.M.

Summary: Eddie isn't in college, but he sells drugs at college parties. He usually isn't into these kinds of girls, cokeheads home for the long weekend, but what happens when he meets you?

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Eddie Munson x Reader, obvs a lil canon-divergent, fratboy adjacent!Steve, wingman!Robin, drug use, angst to fluff, smut included

My content is 18+ Minors DNI

Word Count: 9.1k

Author's Note: This is secretly based off of a Fall Out Boy song. Spear me please.

Also this is 100% for @dr-aculaaa , Drac helped me out with a TON of the dialogue and plot in this and she deserves 100% of the hype for this. PLEASE go read her work.

Eddie isn’t in college, but he sells drugs at college parties.

He’s overstimulated. Both by the heat of the girl grasping and gripping his arm that was turning it unpleasantly raw and by the lack of anything substantial that he could focus his senses on. He can’t remember her name, and it wasn’t because of the seventeen other things distracting his senses, either. She was inherently unremarkable. Another cokehead from The Hideout. College girls home for the long weekend. Love does not occur in dive bar bathrooms, Eddie knew that much.

He could tell her apart immediately, a Pamela Anderson wannabe with all of the intuition to sniff out anyone remotely Tommy Lee adjacent. The glorification of hard drugs and dysfunction. This would not go anywhere but possibly the bathroom, where she would emerge with a misty ring of powder white around her left nostril and blown pupils. He would taste the drip on her later that night when she would kiss him in a grotesque masquerade of her own cold comedown, denial dripping from her lips with a sticky sweetness disguised with L’Oreal Colour Riche Rich Brown. There were a thousand more like her, some here at home, others in Indianapolis, even more in Chicago.

She was pretty for a cokehead, but not nearly as pretty as you.

He spotted you through past the popcorn ceilings, under the fluorescent kitchen lights that were not particularly attractive for any given reason. You were the only girl here who didn’t know how he was. He had been stuck in the pipeline of town deviant to Indiana’s metal microcelebrity. His eyes locked on the kiss of your lashes as the aforementioned date dragged him through the density of other sweaty, coked-out bodies. You swung your legs back and forth as the scuffed rubber from the heels of your sneakers thudded against the hollow cabinet beneath you, rattling the pots behind it.

She shrieks your name like a birdsong, and you whip around with wide eyes. She drags him along, pulling uncomfortably at his fingers. She bounces up and down in a way that she thinks is attractive, but to everyone else, the jingle of bangles and sequins and squealing is inherently annoying.

You are not her friend.

You had become acquainted with the girl before you in an entry-level introductory course for environmental design. It was offered as an elective across all majors but was also stupidly a requirement for all design-specific majors. And, even more unfortunately, the majority of the class was group work. This is how you met her. And she attached to you like a fungus— roots buried in branches that grasped your bones and made her impossible to remove without the inevitability of spawning again. She was a roach of a friend, not even nuclear warfare could rid you of her. But you were too nice to her, in fact, you were the only person that had given half a shit to include her.

“Oh my God!” There’s a resonant tenor screech that reverberates off of the tile floors and pitches in your own ears so high that it could shatter any champagne flute within a ten mile radius. The guy— poor bastard– being dragged ruthlessly behind her like a content stray cat that had been claimed by a small child twitched an eye nearly shut at the pitchy shriek that plagues him as much as you.

She explains how you met in an effortful, but drawn-out and utterly painful, story. It was a class. You were assigned a group project. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200.

But his hand was warm when it encased yours in an entirely professional handshake. You shook the thought from your head before it was even allowed to form. You desperately needed to kick the habit of falling in love with strangers in passing. You would not find the one at a party— at least not this one.

It wasn’t long until she had gotten distracted, an old friend, as she had put it. There was no friend. Only powder on a mirror in the next room over. You questioned why she lied, because she wasn’t even discreet about it.

“How can you be a nurse and do so much blow?” He asked, face twisted up in a sickening scowl. She had long forgotten about him and he tried his best to forget about her.

“Girls like that usually are.” You deadpanned back, your face mirroring his own disgust.

“Nursing majors?” He questioned, her major the only thing he could remember about her at this point.

“Yeah. It’s the safest option. It keeps their parents happy while they put their financial aid up their noses.” You watched her try to discreetly gum some remnants off of the mirror sitting on the coffee table, pinkie finger dragging alongside the glass and disappearing behind her bottom lip.

“I’ll bet she won’t finish off the semester.” You stated bluntly after a few seconds of spectating.

“What about you?” He asked, in reference to your major.

“Basket weaving. It’s really not much.” You didn’t want to come off as judgmental, or a prude. Especially not after admitting you were a design major. You cringed at how pretentious it sounded.

“I like baskets.” He said, plopping himself down on the barstool across the island from you, toe thudding against the exterior to stop him from spinning too much.

“Design.” You said, more of a mumble than a statement. You felt stupid. People usually thought you were stupid when you told them you dropped out of nursing school to be a design major. He didn’t need to know that part of you. After all, he was just some guy at a party and not the love of your life.

“Of what nature?” He questioned, laying his head tiredly against his folded arm and looking up you you through thick lashes.

“Of the graphic nature.” You were thoroughly surprised when he stuck around, head tilting to the side in curiosity — a stray curl bouncing from one side to the other.

“What, like Chip Kidd?” Your head shot up. Sure, he was one of the hottest names in design this year, but who cared about design outside of designers? Next to no one. You forced yourself to play it cool.

“More like a Stefan Sagmeister.” You grinned, bringing you knees to you chest and folding your arms over them.

“You’re a Stones fan?” He questioned, brow cocked.

“Who isn’t?“

“You’d be surprised.”

“Well, surprise me, then.”

Eddie isn’t in college, but he knows a girl that frequents college parties.

This time it’s at some kickback in the woods, and this time it was to sell drugs— but seeing you was like a reward as you folded and contorted your own softness into comfort in the back compartment of his van, legs leaned against his side in search of warmth against the brisk nip of the reminiscence of winter. He draped his arm over your knees as he stood casually in wait, wondering how women could fold their bodies into strange statutes of comfort in only the ways they know how.

You were good for business. Everyone and their mother seemed to know who you were. Probably because you were sweet. Especially to him.

You’ve been casually sleeping with each other for a few weeks now, only when you can catch each other through hushed communal dorm phone-calls or whenever you come home for the weekend. No-strings attached, no commitment. But this outing sure felt like commitment, in the same way it felt like commitment when he held your hand earlier, and the same way it felt like commitment when he pressed his forehead against yours during your last entanglement.

He leans over to you, alabaster skin of his neck stretching over bone and artery so he could whisper to you,

“This is kind of lame. Let’s get out of here.”

You weren’t one to refuse him, especially not when he looked at you like that.

“I’m not losing out on high school drama. I’m down.” You whisper back to him, pulling the end of an unruly curl just to watch it spring back up into place.

While he’s watching the road, you’re memorizing the features of his face. If he could sparkle right now, he would be, even as the only light catching his face was from the too spaced-out street lamps. He drives in near-silence, whatever cassette buzzing hushedly over the radio but quiet enough that you could hear the vapid spinning of the tires and his occasional slow breath.

You see the headstones before he has a chance to speak.

“You’re gonna murder me.” You breathed out, joking mostly.

“Yeah, right here, in the cemetery. Then I’m gonna bury you in a fresh grave.” He said to you, between eye rolls, getting out of the van to go pull the back doors open and straighten the woolen saddle blankets so you could sit.

He pulls an acoustic guitar down from a makeshift bungee-cord rack fixed to the sidewall of the interior of the van, This Machine Slays Dragons crudely scrawled across the face to mimic Guthrie’s own.

“I didn’t know that fascists breathed fire.” You said to him through a halfway-crooked sort of smile, pushing yourself up to lean against the sidewall of the van, facing him. You let one leg swing back and forth, the rubber toe of your shoe tapping mindlessly against the seemingly useless tow hitch.

“I knew you were more than just pretty.” He said, mouth turning up at the sides of his mouth. He was pretty, peering at you from beneath lashes before turning his attention back to the tuning knob. He strummed a calloused thumb across the tight string, listening to it upturn until he thought it sounded right.

It was a foreign ritual to you, his own prettiness being the catalyst for your own destruction before his vapid excuse at being a boyfriend ever could. . You watched silken curls slip over his shoulder and brush over the neck of his guitar. You watched as pretty deft fingers strummed a progression you would never understand. You desperately wished it was you, instead.

It was like you were experiencing him through a macro lens, and it only made him more beautiful. His eyes came up to meet yours, dark and rich in the twilight that fell over you. You couldn’t have stared at him for more than a few seconds, but it was enough for your own giggles to bubble over.

“Oh god.” You say through cupped hands, burying your face in your palms. You knew he was looking at you like you were crazy– all in good humor.

“What?” He asked, unable to contain his own chuckle at this point.

“You are literally the guy at the party that brings the guitar.” You managed through your bouts of giggles.

“I don’t see much of a party here, sweetheart.” That smile curled again at his lips, this time with more teeth. You didn’t want to stare more, despite his fingers strumming the beginning cord of a song with all of the tenderness he could muster.

“Then who are you playing for? The ghosts?” You giggled again, looking around at the eeriness of the headstones. Had it been cooler, it would have been more off putting, but the swelling heat of summer that had settled over Indiana almost gave it some comfort.

“You. Five regulars at The Hideout. Any ghost that wants to listen.” He laughed back, stopping his strumming to look back up at you.

“Are you actually good?” You folded your knees upwards, turning yourself fully towards him. You rested your folded arms on top of them, pressing your chin against them to stare at him.

“Would you just shut up and listen? I wrote a song about you.” It wasn’t hurtful, never was it hurtful. He said this towards you through pretty lips and even prettier winks.

It wasn’t anything great. Three cords and two lines, but you wished you could record it and play it on a loop over and over again until your walkman caught fire. His voice wasn’t smooth, but it wrapped around you like a blanket, and, suddenly, it was your favorite sound. There was one thing you knew for certain, you wanted Eddie to sing to you every day for the rest of your life.

“So you actually are good.”

He rolled his eyes at you, casting the guitar aside as quickly as he had gotten it down. His lips met yours in a rapid staccato of haste kisses, first long, then followed by the plethora of short. You felt calloused fingers dig into the plush of your waist.

It usually ended up like this. You’d laugh, you’d fall in love with him over and over and over again. You would have sex, and then it would be weeks. Weeks of trying to get your life back together and weeks of trying to remember yourself before him. But, God, when he kissed you over and over like that you would gladly break your heart for him. You wanted him to break it– if it meant that you could have him for this moment.

“This technically is a party, you know?” You whispered a breathy giggle against his lips, peeling an eye open to peer at him.

“What?” He asked, pulling back slightly. His lips were still glossy with the taste of you, but his eyes peered down at you in a way that made your stomach flip. You debated letting him take you in a cemetery.

“Earlier, you said that you didn’t see much of a party. But we are here… at one, I mean?” Eddie looked around, eyebrow raised in utter confusion before clueing into what you had meant.

“What with… them?” He asked you from behind the back of his hand, as if the bodies beneath you would be offended if they had heard.

“Yeah. With all of the people buried here.” You stated, matter-of-factly.

“I don’t think they’re much partying anymore.” Eddie explained to you, looking around the cemetery with raised eyebrows.

“Look… you know how the saying goes: one's company, two’s a crowd, and three’s a party? Well, this is a lot more than three. They don’t specify if they’re of the living disposition or not.” You argued back, trying your hardest to contain your own smile.

“I’m saying no one here is having a good time.” He argued back in mock frustration, palms jutting out towards the headstones around you in confusion.

“Besides us?” You asked him, with wide eyes.

“Yes, besides us.” He said to you, reaching out to grip the opposite side of your waist and pull you into his side.

“I can see it now. Here lies Edward— what’s your middle name?”

“Not a chance.”

“Edward ‘Not a Chance’ Munson. He partied so hard he died.” You said, holding your hands out in a picturesque fashion. You couldn’t contain your own giggles.

“Are you always a wise-ass?” He said, from behind a forward chuckle.

“I don’t know, am I?”

“Yes.” He looked down at you from beneath his shoulder, his eyes meeting your own endearingly.

Eddie had a really bad habit of completely derailing your life with a single look. Once your eyes met the ambergris bourbon of his, you swore you could see the next ten years of your life. You swore you would ever be domesticated– at least not by any frat guy you met at a party. You hoped you were never domesticated. You hoped you never learned the subtlety of wifelyhood of motherhood. You never wanted to be reduced to that. But Eddie wasn’t in college, and Eddie could reduce you to that with one soft glance.

“ –What about him?” You asked, averting your eyes from his. You would not let him derail your life again. Not tonight, at least.

“Who?” He asked, genuine confusion registering across his once-soft features.

“The guy buried there.” You specified. The headstone read a barely decipherable name, followed by 1902.

“Was he a wise-ass?”

“No, stupid, how did he die? What kind of life did he live?” You said, bringing up your hand to deliver a soft slap to his chest. He wished you would do it again.

“Tuberculosis.” You stated, bluntly, looking back down towards you with a smile.

“Not everyone in 1902 died of tuberculosis.” You rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, but a lot of them did.”

You figured he was right, your microbiology prerequisite failing to regurgitate within your brain. A silence settled over the back of the van, but it was comfortable. You allowed yourself the comfort of leaning your head against his chest, and rested his against your own. You tried to hear his heart from here, wondered if he had one at all. Surely he didn’t, if he could break your heart and put it back together all over again. Part of you hoped he did, and an even bigger part of you hoped that you had a place in it somewhere. You wouldn’t allow yourself to dwell on that fact for long.

“Hey, Eddie?” You asked, barely above a whisper. Yet, breaking the silence felt like breaking glass. Had you been talking too much?

“Yeah?” He asked, in an equally quiet tone. You wonder if he felt it, too.

“Why here?” You asked, without needing to elaborate further.

He thinks about it, silent for a second, and then breaks the glass again.

“I feel more like a ghost than anything– makes me feel less alone.” He says, finally. He refuses to let his eyes meet yours. It made sense.

Some of the girls you went to school with still talked about it. Still talked about their friend, Chrissy. You understood that he had been a key suspect in a high-profile murder case.

Well, as high-profile as Hawkins, Indiana, population: 2000, could get.

They had found their suspect— apparent suicide. It happened all of the time. Kids try drugs, and drugs end badly. You had seen it before, and you’d see it again. It wasn’t Eddie, nor was it his Uncle– the man with the kind eyes and the gruff exterior that sometimes waved at you from outside Eddie’s van. You tried not to wonder if he thought you were a skank. You should introduce yourself, sometime.

A lot of people forgot about it after the Earthquake, their own lives crumbling enough to where they didn’t have to speculate the downfall of someone else.

It made sense why he would think that. The same as the ghost that inhabited the loft above The Hideout where he played.

It must have been exhausting having someone vilify and formulate your existence all the time.

You decided not to pry. Instead, you read the headstones in front of you, children, the elderly. You focused on one elongated headstone fixated into the ground in front of you. William and Helen Lester. Born in 1910 and 1912, respectively. Died the same year as each other,

“What about them?” You asked him.

“They were madly in love, they reserved their plots together before they died so when one joined the other they could take comfort in knowing that they would stay together.” He answered, without hesitation. You wondered if he knew them personally.

“Do you believe that they did?” You asked, instead.

“Stay together?”

“Yeah.”

“I guess that depends on what they believed.” He shrugged, rubbing his hand up and down your shoulder a little bit.

“Well, what do you believe?”

He lets out a long sigh, more joking then not.

“Well, way back when my uncle first got custody of me, he thought it would be a good idea to start taking me to church. Save me before it was too late… or whatever.” He raked his hands through his hair, sitting up a little to look at you before continuing,

“ -Wayne wasn’t much of a church guy, either, but the nice lady that lived next door to us was, so we started going to church with her. They told us that if we did everything we were supposed to do… tried to live by the book, and that we found our person, that it would be an eternal binding after marriage, or something like that.”

“Do you really believe that?” You questioned.

“If there’s anything from my churchgoing days that I hoped would be real, I hope it’s that.” He sighed, pulling his arm off of you to lean back .

“Why?”

“I don’t think I could ever stand to be alone like that again.” He shrugged, and you knew you had struck a nerve.

“Well, what about us?” You questioned.

“What about it?”

“Do you think we’ll stay together?”

“We’re not really even together.”

It was then that you realized that maybe he did have a heart, but you didn’t have a home within it. There was one thing for certain, however, and that was that he had made himself a home in yours like a fungus. It was then that the introductory biology courses you could never remember remained heavy on your brain.

Mycelium

Mycelium are incredibly tiny threads of the greater fungal organism that wrap around or bore into tree roots. Taken together, mycelium composes what's called a “mycorrhizal network,” which connects individual plants together to transfer water, nitrogen, carbon and other minerals—

Eddie was a fungus in dormancy. He had a mycelial network, and its threads had wrapped and wound their ways through the finest intimacies of your life. Their hairline structure filled their place between any gaps you weren’t careful enough to seal. Even when he wasn’t in your life, he was there.

You can’t be heartbroken over him if you never had him.

You know he is talking. You know he continued with a backstory in some form or another. Your guess would be something about spending every waking moment alone after the incident. How no one’s mothers who were kind enough to give him the benefit of the doubt in the first place would no longer let their children— his friends, around him. Something about how he wouldn’t blame them.

“Hey, are you okay? You went all silent on me there.” He finally asked, tugging on a strand of your hair, playfully. You felt like crying, but you wouldn’t. Not until he was gone.

“Yeah, just tired I guess.”

Tired of getting attached, tired of derailing your entire life for him.

“Oh. I guess I should probably get you home, then.” He said, beginning to slide out of the van.

You were thankful he didn’t pry, but a part of you wished that he would. You had him for weeks, it was commitment-adjacent at the very least. It felt like you had him tonight, and it felt like you had him in all of your spare time. It also felt like you had him in class, doodling his funny little devil horns all over your notes. It was the subtlety of this heartbreak that was the worst– or maybe the fact that it wasn’t really heartbreak in the first place.

You still let him sleep in your bed.

Robin is a textbook lesbian, which also makes her the best wingman on the face of planet earth. She assessed the situation over a pre-roll, as someone who was both a woman and someone who pleasured women.

Steve isn’t a frat boy, but his relentless good looks and halfway dumb demeanor are wasted on that fact. He assessed the situation as such.

Eddie swore they both only hung out with him for the pot.

It had been weeks since your last call, in which you had mentioned something about a final or something before the line went dead. Maybe you were actually dead. Killed in some freak accident that the news didn’t even know how to cover so they just… didn’t. Eddie’s dignity thought it would be preferable if you were.

“ — Boys are stupid. Hence why I date women.” Robin stated bluntly from Steve’s bedroom floor, between clumsy, fumbling lighter flicks.

Eddie rolled his eyes, did he have to do everything? He plucked the lighter from her hands, lighting the pre-roll in one swift motion before looking back at her.

“Some of us aren’t as lucky.” Eddie said, throwing his body back against the side of Steve’s bed, causing Robin to bounce alongside him.

“To be of the homosexual disposition?” Robin questioned, turning to face him.

“To understand women.”

“Again, you don’t need to understand them, You’re just stupid.” She waved her hand, dismissively.

“God, I know I’m stupid, please just help me.” He said to her, dragging his hands down his face with a vigor.

“Okay, run the cemetery scenario by me again. Word. For. Word.” She said back, joint tucked between her pointer finger and thumb, elbow rested atop the comforter.

“Okay—”

Eddie can remember everything about that night. He remembered what you were wearing. He remembered seeing the smattering of new freckles across your shoulder as it peeked out from under your summer sweater– a reminder that the heat of summer was quickly settling over you. He remembered the rhythm that the rubber toe of your sneaker tapped out as he strummed against his guitar. He remembered how you knew Gutherie and batted your eyes at him in that pretty— so fucking pretty– way and how you batted your lashes at him when you asked too many questions that he was suddenly inclined to answer.

Eddie remembered what he said.

“And then I said, ‘well, we aren’t really even together-”

“There!” Robin shouted finally, hands splayed out, smoke continuing to roll from between her fingers,

“What?!” Eddie jumped, running his hands from the crown of his head and down his t-shirt, in search of whatever bug Robin had screamed at him about.

“That’s where you fucked up!” She clarified.

“ — really fucked up.” Steve chimed in from his desk chair, sunglasses slipping low on his nose despite the approaching twilight, using the toe of his sneaker as traction in order to spin himself in half-circles from his corner.

“How?” Eddie asked, raking his fingers through his hair and giving his roots a soft tug.

“You totally took everything you had with her and threw it right in the dumpster.” Robin continued, fully ignoring him.

“ — and lit it on fire!” Steve chimed over his shoulder, chair spun backwards towards the wall.

“Shut up, Steve.”

“Just saying…”

“Anyways, you implied that you didn’t want a relationship with her.” Robin said, finally softening a bit.

“No, I wanted her to say something like, ‘Well, then can we be?’” He explained back to her, almost on the verge of tears.

“That’s the problem, dingus.” She rolled her eyes, delivering a soft smack to the side of his head.

“Ugh,” Eddie muffled out loudly from behind his palms.

To him, you were pretty, and smart, and entirely too good for him. You were right for ghosting him, he would never blame you for that. You had all the reason in the world to hate him and you still didn’t— until he gave you one.

To you, he was just a boy– one who harbored too much heartbreak that makes him meaner than he anticipates. Eddie wasn’t mean by nature, but right now, he sure felt like it.

He pulls his temples back with the heels of his hands, “She’s just so smart and she has to think I’m the dumbest human being on planet Earth.”

“You are the dumbest human being on planet Earth.” She snuffed out the roach into the ashtray, twirling around for slightly too long.

“Gee, thanks.”

“But not for that reason.” She pulled her knees up to her chest, turning to face Eddie, “You’re stupid because you expected her to read your mind. You had the upper hand. She was prompting the love confession from you and you probably shattered her heart into a million tiny pieces.”

“Can I even fix this?”

“I’m a wingman, not a miracle worker, dude.”

“Steve? Anything to chime in?”

“You fucked up.”

“No shit.”

Eddie isn’t in college, instead he plays guitar.

In the midst of his own suffering, he still has to perform. He isn’t one to pass up the money or the attention— especially since they’re crowds now exceeded into the double digits. They had graduated from the Tuesday-night noisemakers, to the Friday-night headliner, a few people even making their way over to bar-crawl from the next town over.

Eddie leaned his weight on the speaker, tuning and strumming in a half-assed, absent-minded routine. There was a decent group tonight, people grouped standing in the back once the tables and bartop had been promptly filled.

Jeff approached him, bass slung heavy over him, “Don’t look now, but I think you might know someone here.” He peered at you over his shoulder.

Eddie looks anyway, met with your eyes.

You looked pretty tonight. You looked pretty always.

You had your toes propped against the bottom rung of the barstool, knees pulled tight together, and a drink in hand. He didn’t recognize the people you were with, but he didn’t know very many people anyway. Not like you did. You were likable, and he liked you a lot.

He didn’t know what he was expecting you to look like after a month, but he was stupid thinking you’d look dramatically different. You were still soft— still glowed even in this not-particularly-flattering light. You looked happy and he hated it. He hated that you could smile at a time like this. It was selfish, he knew it. He wanted you to be a wreck over him. He wanted the comfort in knowing that you were the same mess that he was in over you.

Jeff gives him a nudge to say something into the mic once they got the go-ahead to play. He tells Jeff he can do it tonight. The tether that binds you together is made of water— the softest vibration would break the surface tension and it would splash on to the concrete. He wanted to watch you be pretty for just a few more seconds, even if it meant giving up his ego for tonight. He wanted to remain unseen on stage, but the pinch harmonic of his opening riff sent your head snapping towards him.

Your look made him want to crawl beneath the floorboards.

Your acquaintance, a girl that was a friend-of-a-roommate who had invited you out, placed a hand on your shoulder, warm and too-friendly, “This band is really good!”

“I know!” You shouted over the music, too warm already. Maybe it was the bottom-shelf peach schnapps. It was most likely the bottom-shelf peach schnapps.

“Oh, you’ve seen them before?” She asked, pulling her chair up closer to yours.

“Something like that!” You had explained, pulling the strap of your purse from your neck where it dug in too harshly.

You felt underdressed for the occasion. Despite definitely having people to impress, you didn’t feel the need. But now, with Eddie’s eyes that you tried desperately to avert yourself from, you’d felt your skin in a way that you never had before. Maybe you were drunk.

You were most definitely drunk, enough so that it was teetering off the edge of pleasant and dipping into the waters of uncomfortable. The music was too loud and there were too many people and your purse strap kept digging into the crevice of your neck in a way that was both painful and overstimulating.

You couldn’t remember how many songs Eddie’s band had played– fuck— you couldn’t remember what they were called. Had been playing for a while, enough for the lines between songs started to blur and it felt like forty-five minutes of continuous time signature. You couldn’t decipher a lot between the hum of the nearly-blown speaker anyways.

Eddie’s eyes met yours, shiny beneath the bar stage lights. He looked angry. You couldn’t tell if it was because of the genre of his song or because of you. He isn’t insatiable or anything, and he had hoped to God that you were still paying attention. By the look on your face and the way you craned your neck to look at the girl next to you, you hadn’t been for a while now. Your nonchalance had poured the gasoline, your smile lit him ablaze.

The next line of the song was about you, an ode to the women he’d loved before– which weren’t many– conveniently placed as the last song of the setlist. He wrote it with the fantasy that you would stroll through the doors and hear it, but now that you were here, he didn’t know if he had the heart to be mean to you. He didn’t want to be mean to you. It was vaguely written enough so that the other girls that looked up towards him would think it was about them, a heartbreak anthem, a sorry anthem. An ode to the cemetery and the ghost that he had become without you.

You understood it, though you chose not to act like you had. You didn’t think you had been in his life for long enough to warrant a song– at least one with more than three cords and fifteen seconds of play-time. Why would he? You were never even together. Your ears rang with the remnants of sound, yet you watched your party— the greek bar-crawlers, get ready to head to the next location down the block. You couldn’t even remember what bar it was.

The girl next to you– fuck— you couldn’t remember her name either, was leveling with your tipsiness. Maybe she hadn’t teetered over the edge of drunk like you had. You let her take your hand anyways, pushing through the double doors in your party of eight.

The familiarity of the van backed in front of the entrance haunted you, like it had brought a ghost back with it from the cemetery. Maybe Eddie was the ghost. Maybe he was haunting you. Maybe you were haunting yourself.

The party discussed some form of game plan. You thought it was stupid, hockey practice was over. Yet they were drunk, and they were rowdy, and they were a spectacle. Suddenly and all at once, unfamiliar lips were on yours, violent and sloppy. You tasted cherry, sticky against your own peppermint chapstick. Soft feminine hands gripped your jaw, pretty tuberose and jasmine on the girl from earlier filled your nostrils in a way that was not quite suffocating, but all encapsulating. It was an Estee Lauder Eau de Parfum. You recognized it from the yellow bottle you had gotten for your fifteenth birthday.

Kissing a woman was a different ballpark, kissing a woman drunk was an entirely different sport. She was softer, less volatile. She had a languid softness to her waist where men were typically more solid. Her hands were more graceful. You relinquished it, both in the spectacle of the others in the group and the fact that she was what Eddie wasn’t.

From behind the van, Eddie watched you. The floral passion in which you sloppily tangled your manicured hand into the blonde mass of the girl in front of you. Isn’t it unfair? He desperately wished it was him. Wanted to be the reason for the surrounding wolf calls. Eddie wasn’t particularly introspective, but he was dying to be her. A notch in your bedpost, a one night stand, a lover.

Eddie wanted to be her.

Eddie isn’t in college, and it's mostly because he’s stupid.

Robin let him know it, too.

There is an afterparty, or, at least, the loose adjacent to one. The band, some friends of the band, and communal alcohol strung loosely across the island at Gareth and Jeff’s condo. Donated pot courtesy of a combined effort of Rick and Eddie. He didn’t feel like partying, but he did feel like getting really, really drunk. Lecture be damned.

MD 20/20 Red Grape Fortified Wine tasted a little like alcohol and a lot like feeling sorry for himself.

The grave was already dug, all he had to do was sit in it and wait for someone to backfill.

Robin stood, arms braced against the island across from Eddie. The fluorescents in Gareth’s unrenovated kitchen burned his eyes, “I can’t help you if you don’t want it.”

“I don’t want it,” He specified, pulling a long drink from the glass bottle, “ –but I have a feeling I’m gonna get it anyways.”

“I thought you wanted her back, dude.” The fluorescent lights casted a downwards glow across her forehead. Eddie thought it gave her a Kubrick stare.

“I don’t know what I want, I thought I did but then I got up there and I sang about her and she didn’t even care.”

In one swift motion, she hopped onto the counter, crossing her legs beneath her, “Well, obviously you care.”

“I don’t care.”

“If you don’t care about her then why do you lose your shit every time you see her?”

“Because, Robin, who the fuck else is gonna love me after all of the shit we’ve been though?” He slammed the bottle down on the table. It was enough to rattle the cabinets beneath it, “She was the one good thing that’s happened to me in a long fucking time and I couldn’t even let myself be just content with that.”

He’s angry, suddenly. With himself, with the universe. The alcohol didn’t help. The feigning headache was more annoying than it was painful. Robin wanted to roll her eyes, to call him stupid and dramatic– but she figured he knew it already. It’s not like he wasn’t warranted in his anger, he was, but she wondered why he had been so pent-up lately. Maybe it’s because there was no Eddie way for Eddie to deal with this. After a bleating silence, she spoke:

“Have you even talked to her yet?” She asked.

“No, and I’m not planning on it.”

“Why not?”

“Because, dude,” Eddie played himself out across the tile island, trying to ignore the way his t-shirt just mopped up the sticky sweet liquid on the counter, “ – you know why.”

Robin did know why.

“And?” She asked.

“They were all over each other, like, like…” He was getting frustrated now, unable to string words together in a cohesive sentence.

Robin finished for him, “Like you were?”

“Yeah. Like she didn’t even care.” He leaned his head down on his folded arms,

“Maybe she wanted you to think that.” Robin asked him. She thought she sounded more like his mother than a lesbian wingman. This is what he needed. “Maybe she wanted you to chase her.”

“I don’t understand why.” He groaned, “She’s unpredictable. And pretty. And smart. And fun. And everyone likes her. Do you know how many friends she has? How many people like her?”

“Because maybe you’re not as bad as you think you are.”

And he isn’t. Eddie isn’t inherently bad– albeit a little bit dumb. Maybe that just came with age, or the nature of him. Actually, behind the external composite disposition and his defensive nature, Eddie was the opposite of bad.

That first ‘surprise me’ reverberated in his mind like a crescendo. He was feeling brave that night. It was all ego, and most likely a touch of golden whiskey courage. He could still taste it on the back of his tongue when his mouth met yours in a clumsy, quick, spur-of-the-moment kiss. He didn’t have time to be insecure about it, the afterthoughts of gum or mints being pulled from his mind by your fingers as they combed through the soft curls at the nape of his neck. As he moved down to press pillowy-soft kisses in the soft of your throat, he took in your scent– like the citrus groves just outside of town in the spring, when the little white flowers covered the expanse of the rich green rows.

It was fast and sweet, his hands pushing your summer cotton t-shirt up your waist with warm, rough hands– encasing the ribs where they curl to meet with your spine in a vice. You were eager, not that you were easy– you almost didn’t care if he thought of you that way– in the way you slid his vest off of him. He threw his arms back quickly, shaking it loose from his wrists as he came back up to meet you. The chain of his bracelet was cold against the plush of your stomach as he dragged it down towards the button of your denim shorts.

“We don’t have to do this now,” He separated from you in hesitation, “I can take us back to my place, use my be—”

“No, ‘need you now.” You insisted, your kiss more pressing than before. You clung to him fervently.

You aren’t confined to your softness. You are vocal, grip on his shoulders and his heart like a vice. You were soft in the right places though, in your waist and beneath his hands coming undone, soft in the way you spoke to him behind closed van doors. Pillows over sharp corners, a guard to balance your too-loud laugh or the frequency in which you found yourself too drunk.

You were stone-cold sober that night, and he thanked whoever was up there looking out for him that you were. You wouldn’t have been here, otherwise.

You were a painting, and not one of those stupid ones that he had to talk about in history class. Like a real, in-your-face, Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec. Not quite like a centerfold, better than anything he’d counted pennies for at the drugstore, ethereal beyond words. Soft for him and only him, bumps and curves and dips and folds in places you didn’t see in those. Real, right in front of him. His for the taking.

The night had turned already to that imperceptible pivot where midnight turned to early morning hours. This moment has come and gone, yet you are not yet willing to concede that you have crossed the line beyond which is all gratuitous damage and the play of unraveled nerve endings.

He plunged his middle and marriage fingers within you with a vapid expanse for pleasure, reaching in deep and curling upwards, gathering slick between fingers and back out again. You could feel every ridge within yourself, your softness pulling him back in once he had pulled out again.

You allow him, no, encourage him to line himself up within you, and you are warm. Warmer than anything he has ever felt in his life. Tight like a hug. The flavor is vaguely tribal– pendulous guitar-pick necklaces and ritualistic moans of endearance. A gathering drum of heartbeats and a bonfire lit within your core.

His chest is hard above you, expanding with deep breath and soft cries– the softest cries you had ever heard from a man in your existence. There is a small patch of hair in the center, that follows down his navel in a thin line. You tried to hold it together, but you loved it so much. You could love him, not like the novelty it was right now. Like, really love him.

If he could tell you he loved you without scaring you away, he would have. Now, he wished he just did.

Clumsily, almost enough for you to tell he was still new to this, whether the van or women in general, he thrust into you, chasing his own rhythm while still finding your own high. His wrists radiate heat where they brace him on either side of your head, caging you between them.

“Fuck– I– I,” he begins, looking for his thoughts.

You look up at him through low, sultry eyes. Your own release nearing in moments. “Together.” was what you could manage.

He cringed looking back, he probably looked like such a virgin. He had been so previously wound with the Pam Anderson wanna-be and the post-show adrenaline that his release was feigning. He took comfort in knowing that you would later find out that he is not that inexperienced.

It was the after that he remembered. How your little manicured finger traced over the raised ink of the tattoo, now disfigured by the purple fibers of scarring.

“They’re from the accident.” He explained to you, knowing you were wondering. Everyone wondered. You had been too afraid to ask.

“The earthquake?” You specified, looking up at him.

You watched the way his stomach flexed as he pushed himself up, taking your body with him, “Yeah, sorry they’re not pretty.” He sighed, holding out his arms to look at the ones there.

“You are pretty.” You reiterated, and he chuckled, pressing a kiss to your lips.

“You’re prettier.”

“You wanna see mine?”

“Your what?”

“Scars.”

You were going to show him anyway.

That patch where the hair grew wonky across your eyebrow from where you had fallen as a child. You cracked your eye socket and they had to reconstruct the tendons in your eyelid. 27 stitches including the internal ones. He laughed at how you claimed it like a trophy.

The small white line on the side of your knee you got trying to pet a feral cat. You wanted to be it’s friend so bad and it didn’t return the sentiment.

The blown out tattoo on your ankle, done by your friend who worked at the cafe with you. It was the second one she had ever done on another living person. Your mom had flipped when you came home from college that first weekend with it. If you weren’t too old to ground, she would have done it.

Your stretch marks, in which you didn’t dwell too much on. They started happening the summer you turned thirteen and you remembered the palsy of lotions and topical ointments your mom made you smear over the expanse of your body in order to reverse them when you we’re too young to recognize that there were nothing wrong with them. The scars they left on your psyche.

The ones on your hands and knuckles, burns from your barista days. He remembered your giggle as he pressed soft kisses to every burn scar.

Eddie was not bad.

Eddie isn’t in college, but, for you, he’d at least brave the college housing.

This was also not Robin’s plan, instead devised by Steve while he was crossed— and at his most authentic self. Despite her best efforts, they persisted. You roomed in a smaller house with several other girls in Indianapolis— a three hour drive as the crow flies. All in their girlish forms, all soft skin and little shorts and effortless beauty. Sometimes you wondered if you looked the same way- or if they even knew what they looked like.

All of whom were gathered out the window, ogling at a relic unknown to you.

A familiar face, the hometown heartbreaker, Steve Harrington himself stood in your freshly mowed grass, boombox held over his head like an idiot. Slovenly waving at the girls through the window. You sighed, palming your face tiredly. You knew who he would have in tow. He is a shadow of either Eddie’s best self of his worst self, you couldn’t tell which quite yet. You are awed by his strict refusal to acknowledge any goal higher than the pursuit of his own pleasure, haphazardly balancing the expensive boombox blasting Head Over Heels on a loud, obnoxious loop. You wouldn’t have been more annoyed if Roland Orzabal was here playing the song himself. Robin stood at the entrance of the small white picket fence, face in hands.

When you meet with the man that has not quite et. cetere’d you, you are slumming the door open, visiting your own 7:00 A.M Lower East Side with your soul on a lark. He is stepping nimbly around gardenia pots and little happy concrete garden gnomes as if they will bite his ankles if he gets too close– if only you’d trained them sooner. More un-nimbly, he trips up the stairs, and you’ve caught him red handed. He stands there wide-eyed and apologetic, a dog kicked. You lean against the frame, nonchalant, unimpressed, arms crossed.

“Ew. You like Tears for Fears?” You speak before he can. He seems taken aback.

“I should have played The Cure.” He speaks truthfully, rubbing the skin on the back of his neck where an itch did not occur.

“That was my second choice!” Steve called from the one-man show happening on your lawn. You feared if it went on for longer, it would turn to a strip-club.

“Shut up, Steve.” Eddie barked towards him.

The tension feels like being at the bottom of a swimming pool. Eddie’s drowning in the deep end but the bowl’s empty. He drained it himself. He doesn’t know quite what to say to you. He didn’t think it would get this far.

“Come on, please just hear me out–” He starts, yet it’s overused. You decided then to drown him in the pool yourself. The door closes in his face.

Almost immediately, the knocking persists. Your roommates watch from beside the door, half still fixated on Steve, the others watching you ascend the stairs towards your bedroom. You choked down your embarrassment, suffocated in it. You needed to be alone.

“Ladies.” Steve nods from the front lawn, watching his friend scale the old lattice attached to the stucco on the front of your house.

“Ladies.” Robin parrots, coming to watch with a hand shielding her eyes from the sun.

There is a commotion down the stairs, a door opening and footsteps quick. You don’t get the chance to look because there is a body, an apparition of scarecrow limbs and embarrassment parallel with your second-story window. You might be mad, but you definitely aren’t heartless.

This isn’t what he expected your room to look like. In his wet dreams, he pictured more pink. More coquette lace abundance and stuffed animals. Save for the raggedy menstrual bean-bag bear, it’s relatively neutral. In hindsight, every girl’s room is pink coquette in a wet dream. This felt more like you, the twinkle lights, stacks of old books holding plants, moroccan-patterned pillows lining the daybed. Plush, white bedding. It’s natural, like you.

Your glare is like a mother’s reproach. He doesn’t know how to react. He didn’t have a mother. Only Wayne and only teachers, the latter of which he had a certain amount of push before they let him do whatever he wanted. You, he could not push further.

“Please don’t kick me out,” He begs, hands together like a prayer. It’s cheesy, you avoid laughing.

“I’m waiting.” You say. It’s rude. You sound like a bitch. He thinks you’re warranted. You try not to think of the ears against your bedroom door.

“I love you.” He said it like a plea instead of a declaration. It was the first and only thing that came to his mind.

Of course he did.

You rolled your eyes at him, folding your arms and jutting your hip, “You don’t love me.” You corrected, “You just think you do now that you’re lonely.”

He takes a few more pacing steps towards you, frantic and panicking “Jesus Christ– Yes, I do. I could’ve slipped and broke my neck trying to climb up here for you.”

“Well, I didn’t tell you to climb up here,” You placed your hand over your chest, then turned your finger towards him, “You don’t love me, you love this version of me that thought Tears for Fears would work.”

He stared at you with wide eyes, pleading and sad.

“ —For once in your life think, idiot. What song would I have really liked?”

“I– I don’t know.” He said. It came out like a whimper. He was more broken now, softer, yet still desperate.

“Exactly. You don’t love me.”

“You know what? You’re right.” He stood, closing the gap between your bodies in a few strides. He wanted to touch you, but was too afraid to ask, “I don’t love you.“

“I hate all of your stupid questions.” He started, and you didn’t speak, “I hate how all of my clientele comes from you now. I hate that I only get you when you’re home for the weekend. I hate that stupid little scar on your eyebrow. I hate the way your hair gets in your mouth when you laugh. I hate that dumb little scar on your forehead. I hate that you’re so goddamn perfect for me and I hate myself for letting you walk away like that.” He finished, breath heaving.

You felt the tears pull at the corners of your eyes, but you didn’t warrant them to spill.

“I hate that you’re a grown man with fucking bangs.” You said, unable to finish. You felt stupid, two stupid little tears slipping from your eyes and streaking down your face.

He opened his arms to you, prompting, and you took it. Part of it so he couldn’t see you crying, the second part of you desperately needing to feel him.

“I’m so mean.” You wailed into his chest. You felt the rumble of the laugh he couldn’t suppress.

“I know, so mean.” He said, not as an insult or an agreement, but in endearment. He pressed a sympathy kiss to your crown. His hand was warm as it pulled up the expanse of your back.

“I’m sorry.” You pulled away, wiping your face furiously with the heels of your palms.

“No- no. I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve to get caught up in my hot and cold like that.”

Your feverance prevails, “I should have asked what happened.”

“I should have asked you out.” He counteracts, pulling back to smooth down the wiry hairs at your crown, his hand heavy against your skull.

“Can you do it now?” You plead, and he laughs.

“Will you stop crying?”

“Yeah.”

He pulls away from you for a second, you want to whine at the loss of contact. He crouches down on one knee, keeping your hands squeezed tightly in his calloused palms.

“Then will you do me the tremendous honor of being my girl?” He runs his hand up the back of yours, trying to feel for an electric pulse of an answer. The seconds that you take nearly kill him.

You stare down at him, eyes still red and puffy, but wide, “And not just like at parties?”

“No, like the full weekday thing.” His smile is warm. You take great comfort in it.

“Yeah.”

You think you look stupid, crying in your bedroom while he holds you like this. But he burns this memory in his mind. Even when you’re crying, you’re still the prettiest girl he’s ever seen.

#eddie munson #eddie x reader #eddie x y/n #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson smut #eddie stranger things #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things vol 2

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bosspigeon · 4 years ago

Text

a permanent solution to a temporary insanity

Pairing: Mason/m!Detective, with a side of Adam/Nate (implied)

Words: 5257

Summary: Unit Bravo discover the detective has... a lot more tattoos than they would have guessed. Felix is delighted. Mason is intrigued. Nate and Adam are just worried this is going to cause issues with Rebecca, somehow. Tina and Verda become chaotic disasters when they’ve had some alcohol in them.

Takes place at the beginning of Book 2. Title taken from a quote my granddad likes to use whenever he wants me to know he disapproves of my tattoos.

AO3 Link | Ko-Fi <3

"Get your foot off the table, you fucking barbarian!"

Mason can hear the voice of the detective's coworkers from across the bar, but even if he couldn't, Chase's scent is easy enough to track. The muted bite of coffee, the sharpness of pine tempered with clary sage. The cooled sweat of a long day, and, just barely perceptible, the intoxicating undercurrent of his blood.

Mason's awareness narrows down to that stimulus, and he weaves his way through the meager crowd. He is only vaguely cognizant of his unit following behind him, so focused on finding--

He hears a laugh, low and husky, a bit of a scuffle, and he finds the detective sitting at a table with the pathologist, Verda, and the Bobblehe-- Officer Poname.

Chase's back is to him, and he’s sitting in a chair at the end of a table squished into a corner. Verda and Poname are opposite him in a booth against the wall, laughing, while Poname tries in vain to wrestle Chase's scuffed combat boot off the edge of the table. The smell of alcohol is strong between the three of them, but that is not what makes Mason stop dead.

Chase's leather jacket is draped over the back of his chair, and underneath, what Mason always thought was a full turtleneck sweater is actually completely sleeveless. The detective's arms are bare, save for intricate swirls and clusters of ink, mostly black, but with some pops of color here and there. Some of it is flowers, some words, a few bones and animal skulls. Abstract shapes and lines, a few sharp little designs, from shoulder to knuckles on both arms-- and Mason suddenly realizes Chase always seemed to be wearing supple leather palm gloves that matched his jacket, or, when it was colder, cozy wool fingerless gloves so he could still use his phone without trouble. Not tonight, though. Tonight his hands are bare, his arms are bare, and the ribbed shirt he’s wearing is clinging to him and really showing off the stout strength of his torso.

Mason grunts as Felix runs into his back, and time seems to pick back up to normal speed while his companion loudly complains.

Chase's head turns upon hearing the familiar voice, and Mason gathers his wits and offers a smirk and a carefully relaxed wave, sauntering up alongside the man, who raises a glass full of some dark mixed drink to him.

"There’s nothing we can do until we’ve got more information about our case, so I'm off tomorrow-- ask Rebecca," he informs Adam, who is looking disapprovingly between the detective's lax, sprawled posture and the half-empty glass held loosely in one hand, "so I don't want to hear you bitching about what I'm doing."

Adam's mouth pinches, Nate chuckles and tries to stifle it, and Mason coughs out a ragged laugh. But all that is lost to Felix shoving his way bodily around Mason to grab Chase's wrist (thankfully the one without the drink) and shout, "You've got so many tattoos!"

Chase gives Felix a lazy once-over, his brow quirked. "Yeah? And?" He looks a little bemused, as if he can’t quite figure out how this came as such as a surprise to any of them, much less a busybody like Felix. He obviously can’t say it in front of his coworkers, but Mason remembers Chase’s time with Murphy. The hospital gown and the needles and bandages. But even though they could all see in the dark just fine, there was a bit too much going on to really notice more than some smudges of dark ink on his neck and arms.

He thinks their minds might be going to the same place, for a moment, because Chase’s mouth twists from a lazy smile to a grim frown, dark, serious brows scrunching. It’s a slight gesture, barely noticeable, but he jerks his head once, as if to shake off the memories.

They’re both, thankfully, distracted by Felix whirling around to point accusingly at Mason. "Did you know he had this many?"

"If I did, would I tell you?" he sneers. Felix pouts mightily, but then pauses, and smiles. A slow, creeping smile, his eyes narrowed smugly.

"If you did know, you'd have been telling everyone you saw what the detective's got under his clothes any chance you got," he taunts. "So you must not have!"

Nate can't quite stifle his laugh this time, and Mason shoots him a dirty look.

Chase chuckles, low and smoky, and brings the glass to his lips again. “Yeah, I’ve got a lot of tattoos. Almost more than bare skin by this point, I think?” He looks to Verda and Poname as if to confirm, though with an odd little smirk that makes Poname giggle helplessly and Verda roll his eyes.

“Verda would know best,” Poname teases. “How much of Chase have you seen?”

“Enough to know that, yes, the un-inked real estate is scant at best.” He takes a demure sip of his drink while Poname cackles.

“My boss fucking hates it,” Chase snorts into his glass, gesturing vaguely with the free hand he’s rescued from Felix for Unit Bravo to sit. He finally removes his boot from the edge of the table (which makes Poname throw her hands in the air) and uses it to push the chair next to him out, dark eyes flickering up to meet Mason’s for a fraction of a second, stoking a low sort of heat in his belly. He takes the offered seat before Felix can (to some very vocal complaining) and lounges back, angling the chair so he’s able to watch the detective without making it too obvious.

Nate slides into the booth next to Poname, who immediately turns her gaze almost reverently to him, and Adam sits stiffly alongside him, giving the both of them an unreadable look. Felix posts up alongside Verda, smiling with annoying cheerfulness across the table at Chase and Mason.

“If your boss hates them so much, how’d you get the job?” he chirps, still marvelling at all the inked skin on shameless display. It makes Mason feel a bit twitchy, and he swallows down the urge to bare his teeth at his teammate with two very ignorant human witnesses in front of him. He distracts himself by subtly eyeing a splash of color on Chase’s solid shoulder in the form of a wrought-iron lantern with a single guttering candle inside, wreathed in wilted and dying flowers that trails shed petals and leaves down his bicep to mingle with other patterns.

“Mum’s got connections,” Chase drawls, swirling his glass and impressively feigning nonchalance. The ice cubes inside clink softly. “As you all know.”

The quiet that follows is damning, and Chase breaks it by tossing back another gulp of his drink. This close, with his senses full of the detective’s overwhelming… everything, Mason can tell it’s rum and Coke-- rather heavy on the rum.

Nate is the first to speak, offering a politely neutral, “You told us you were given a choice between the police academy or prison.” His tone lacks any judgement, but his brows are furrowed just a bit. Beside him, Adam’s expression is carefully blank. Good for both of them, because even clearly, comfortably tipsy and oddly candid, Chase’s gaze is sharp and analytical, his shoulders just this side of too tight.

“Yeah, well,” he goes on, staring past Nate more than at him, “Rebecca’s influence goes a long way, I learned. So after I graduated from uni-- top of my fuckin’ class, thank you-- I went off on a bit of a wild tear, you know, acquiring cars under mysterious circumstances,” Poname sputters into her drink and laughs, and Chase just gives her a dry look before she regains herself enough for him to continue, “and selling them for scrap, I miraculously didn’t wind up going to straight to prison, thanks to Rebecca pulling some strings and dragging me back here by my ear.” His lip curls faintly, and there’s a flash of something in his expression that seems to drop the temperature in the bar by a few degrees. Felix meets Mason’s eye and visibly shudders.

“That doesn’t really explain the tattoos,” Mason says, offering an easy segue to something… else.

“Sort of does,” Chase says with a shrug, eyes heavy-lidded. “I had a pretty wild childhood up to that point. Got my first stick-and-poke when I was, what? Thirteen? I think the kid who gave it to me is working at the bank now.” He snorts. “My point is, it was the one thing about my life I ever got to control. I had to be perfect, but so long as I did well in my academic pursuits and set myself on exactly the path my mother wanted for me, in my free time I could do whatever the fuck I wanted.” He rolls his shoulders again and knocks back the last of his drink, setting the glass down just a little too hard on the sticky tabletop.

“I drank, I partied, I fucked around. What else do you do when you’re a kid with no parental influence in your life save for a picture on the mantel of an empty house? You go off the fucking wall is what you fuckin’ do. Anything for even a shred of attention. And I still managed to graduate with honors, right? First in my class in secondary school, and in uni. Didn’t matter, did it?” His face goes hard, brows furrowing. “She didn’t bother to congratulate me in person. I got a card on her office stationery that I doubt she even wrote herself. My graduation from uni she didn’t even respond to the invite I sent, but I still stupidly hoped she’d show. She didn’t care until I snapped and she actually had to step in. Take a break from her job and come collect her errant brat.” He scoffs, and it sounds like a gunshot in the sudden silence that follows.

Nate looks like he wants to say something, mouth opening, but Adam touches his wrist and it snaps closed. Even Felix is stunned silent. Verda and Poname just exchange twin looks of familiar distress, but before anyone can say anything, Chase stands up so suddenly his chair shrieks across the floor. Mason, Nate, Adam, and Felix all wince at the sound.

“I’m going to get another drink,” the detective mutters, stalking off into the crowd. Mason looks over his companions, eyebrows raised, decides he doesn’t owe anyone an explanation, and gets up to follow.

Chase is leaning against the bar, asking the bartender for “something stronger than a rum and Coke, holy fuck,” and doesn’t even look up when Mason moves to stand beside him.

“I get moody when I get drunk,” he says by way of greeting.

“So you’re always drunk, then?" Mason drawls. "Not very professional of you, Detective."

Chase snorts and turns to look at him, but he doesn’t say anything-- just closes his eyes and rubs his hand over the rough fuzz of his shaved head. Mason’s gaze is drawn to his hand, and he spots a ouija planchette inked into one knuckle, a pentacle on the next, then an eye, and a crescent moon. They look old, faded and a bit blown out. When Chase opens his eyes again, the bartender has given him another drink, and from the smell, it’s a highball with a hefty pour of whiskey. He takes his first sip almost gratefully.

“Those the stick-and-pokes you mentioned?” Mason asks.

Chase holds up his hand. “Hm? Oh, yeah, a couple of ‘em. Not the first ones.” He turns his hand palm-up, and gestures with the glass. “There on the wrist.” Along the inside of his forearm is an intricate dagger with thorns twisted along the blade, but a few centimeters below the point, there is a tiny, blurry skull with a black forked tongue. “Toby Doherty, year 8. We put together a tattoo gun in his dad’s garage by pulling apart his little brother’s RC car. Think we got into more trouble for that than the tattoo.” He huffs out a rough little laugh. “I just think his mum was too nervous to actually shout at me, but I was never allowed back to their house afterwards because I was a bad influence.”

Mason reaches out and takes his hand, pulling it a bit closer so he can study the skull more closely. That’s what he tells himself, anyway, though he doesn’t think he’s fooled, and he doesn’t think the detective would be either. Especially when he rubs his thumb over the raised lines. He can feel Chase’s pulse through his thin skin, blood pumping hot and steady. This close, his pine-and-sage scent is stronger, and it fills Mason’s chest. "It's cute," he says, little more than a breath between them. He leans in, pulls the detective's wrist close to his mouth. He can feel the heat of his skin, almost taste the warmth just beneath, and Chase's breath is soft and quick and deafening in his ears.

“Chase!”

He drops the hand as if burned, and looks away from the detective before he can see how he reacts. Poname is toddling up to them, swaying a bit, and she wiggles her way between them to toss her arms around Chase's middle. He raises his highball in the air to keep her from spilling it, and she giggles.

"Chase, come back, you've got to show them!"

He groans. "Show them what?"

She only giggles louder and starts pulling him back towards the group, using the much steadier detective as a bit of a crutch to keep from stumbling through the milling crowd. When they arrive back at the table, things aren't really more comfortable than when they'd left, but they're not less so either, which Mason supposes is more than they could ask for. He takes up his seat again, but when Chase moves to do the same, Poname keeps hold of his arm.

"Wait, wait, you should be standing up for this," she giggles. Verda doesn't say anything, but he does snicker quietly into his tall glass of something that smells cloyingly of fruit syrup and sweetened vodka.

"Tina, what are you on about?" he sighs indulgently.

"You have to show them King Kitty!"

Mason’s interest is immediately piqued. Felix’s is too, clearly. He sits bolt upright and leans forward with that bright-eyed little imp grin he likes to give his teammates whenever he’s teasing them about… well, anything, really. “King Kitty?” he asks with eyes sparkling.

Chase groans, sets his drink on the table, and pushes Poname away, sending her stumbling into the table while she laughs brightly. “Don’t call it that, Tina. Christ.”

“You have to show them! He’s so good!” she insists, swaying towards him again. He dodges, and damn near skitters around the table to press into Verda’s space, which would have given Poname the means to corner him if she could figure out how to move around Chase’s abandoned chair as well as Mason (side-eyeing her cautiously) without getting tangled or falling over entirely. Verda continues to laugh at their antics, pushing Chase’s hip as it crowds into his space and threatens to make him spill his drink.

“Come on, now, what could it hurt?” he chides playfully, slipping his finger into the belt loop of the detective’s cargo pants and tugging playfully.

“Hey!” Chase barks, shifting away. All that manages to accomplish is tugging down his waistband the slightest bit, exposing the edge of his black underwear and a thin sliver of skin-- inked with designs Mason can’t properly parse, though he can’t help but lean forward a bit for a closer look. “I’ll have both of your asses for harassment, don’t test me!”

“Chase, our precinct is tiny,” Verda hiccups, finally making the decision (though it clearly pains him) to set his drink aside, since it seems Chase is perfectly willing to clamber over him to escape Poname’s grabbing hands, “I’m the HR department. You haven’t got a case here.”

“Show theeeeem,” Poname whines, putting one hand on Mason’s shoulder to steady herself. A low growl rumbles in his chest, but one sharp look from Nate (who is trying very hard not to smile at the scene, while Felix is outright giggling, and Adam simply looks confused and uncomfortable) quiets him. She smells strongly like some sort of bubblegum perfume that tickles the back of his tongue and leaves it feeling itchy and thick.

“I still have to work with them,” Chase protests, but his resolve is visibly wavering, especially with the lack of options to escape.

“We won’t tell anyone!” Felix blurts, leaning across the table. “Promise!”

Mason doesn’t chime in, but it’s a near thing. The last few weeks he’s tested the limits of both Adam and Nate’s patience with his innuendos about the detective, and he even thinks Agent Kingston might be one lewd joke from stabbing him with a fountain pen.

But Chase is weakening, he can tell. Mostly because he can’t seem to figure out how to climb over Verda, and Poname’s hands have found his belt. “Fine! Fuck, fine, you menace!” he exclaims, pushing her off with a surprising amount of gentleness, considering his tone. “Just get off me!”

Poname backs off obediently, but she’s still giggling up a storm, flushed with the effort, her hair a bit mussed. Verda looks entirely unbothered, and he takes up his drink again with a smug smile. Chase returns to his chair but doesn’t sit, and Poname returns to cozying up to Nate and being entirely oblivious to Adam trying very hard not to look annoyed.

Chase takes a deep, bolstering breath, snatches up his drink, and downs about half in one swig. “You’ve all got to swear you won’t breathe a word to Rebecca about this,” he says with grave, if faintly slurred, severity.

“Oh, absolutely,” Mason agrees, quickly enough that Felix shoots him another infuriating smirk.

“Scout’s honor!” Felix blurts, nearly bouncing in his seat.

Nate smiles and nods, looking for all the world like he’s simply indulging the shenanigans, but he’s clearly curious himself. Chase isn’t terribly secretive about most things-- he’s actually pretty fucking blunt-- so this has to be… interesting, for him to put up such a fight. Adam looks like he’s bolstering himself to look away as quickly as possible so he can have some plausible deniability should Agent Kingston find out regardless.

Chase’s hands go to his belt, and Mason’s stomach clenches, heat rushing under his skin. The detective unbuckles with practiced ease, flicks the snap open, and tugs the edge of his cargo trousers and briefs (are they briefs? Mason would certainly like to find out) down just a bit. His other hand goes to his fitted shirt, tugging it up.

The hair beneath his navel is thick and dark, and the trail leading down into his trousers is very, very inviting, but Mason’s attention is drawn inexorably to the design inked into the soft, brown skin. He supposes he should have expected the name “King Kitty” to give it away, but he couldn’t have predicted what he was in for.

It’s a snarling black cat, cartoonishly stylized, wearing a jauntily cocked royal crown. Underneath, spanning from hipbone to hipbone, are the words “BOW DOWN” written in bold, jagged script.

“Everyone, meet King Kitty,” Poname proclaims with a sloppy, grand gesture to Chase’s pelvis.

“Yeah, yeah, are you happy now?” Chase groans, hiking his waistband back up and buckling his belt. He tugs his shirt down and flops into the chair, taking another slog of his drink. It’s almost gone already, and he’s sure to be feeling it soon.

“Absolutely tickled,” Verda says primly.

“Oh, completely,” Poname chimes in.

“Wouldn’t mind seeing him again,” Mason rumbles, and Chase’s eyes flick to him for a split second, dark and sparking, brows quirked. Nate sighs audibly.

“Well, are you going to tell the story too?” Verda presses. “Share with the class?”

Chase drops into his chair and kicks his feet up again, and Poname makes a vague sound of protest. This time, at least, a sharp glare shuts her up. “Might as fuckin’ well, right?” he snorts. “So, I had this ex in college--”

Both Verda and Poname make strange noises, and when Mason spares them a glance (still a bit caught up in eyeballing the detective’s lounging about like a lazy cat-- which is oddly appropriate, all things considered) they are both looking somewhere between annoyed and downright angry. Chase actually looks… guilty, for a split second, before he waves it away and continues.

“Anyway. He wasn’t, uh… Very good in bed. But I loved him or some nonsense,” he scoffs and gestures vaguely with his glass, “so I put up with it. Because I couldn’t tell him he hadn’t gotten me off to his face, right? He was a sex god, according to him, always hit the marks,” he takes a sip and snorts a bit into his drink. Verda barks out a sharp, sudden laugh that seems to startle even him.

“He did not say that! Chase, please tell me he didn’t say that to you!” he squeaks out between ragged, uncontrollable laughter.

Poname is collapsing against Nate’s side, consumed by a fit of wheezing giggles.

Chase rubs a hand down his face and huffs out a laugh of his own. “He fucking did and I have to live with the fact that I continued to sleep with him after that, every day for the rest of my life. Point is, after a lot of general university stress, I got tired of faking orgasms to save his ego, and I finally told him he hadn’t gotten me off once since we’d started dating. Crushed him, of course, and we did break up for a bit because of it. And in the interim, I thought it’d be a good idea, to, ah, ensure that the next one wouldn’t be so… lost. I had a bit of liquid courage, lied admirably to my favorite tattoo artist when she asked if I was sober, and King Kitty was born. Then when I inevitably made the bad decision to get back with my ex, the next time we tumbled into bed, I just pointed at the instructions and told him to get to work.”

He finishes off his drink, puts his foot back on the ground with a heavy clunk, and leans his elbows on the table. “Turns out, he worked best when I was a bit mean to him. Apparently it’s a thing he wasn’t aware of. Go figure.”

“Christ, no wonder he only bothers you more when you’re a prick to him,” Verda scoffs with a hearty roll of his eyes. “You’ve trained it into him!”

"That is… quite the tale," Nate offers magnanimously, eyebrows threatening to make a break for his hairline. He looks to Adam, who is looking away and trying very hard to pretend he wasn't listening at all. Mason gets the idea he knows well enough that if he opens his mouth, what comes out is likely to piss off their dear detective.

Felix about falls over cackling, which is a fine distraction for Mason to lean in close, snagging Chase's attention and murmuring, "Wouldn't mind you bossing me around a bit," with a sly little smirk.

The look Chase gives him is dry as a fucking desert, but his eyes are crinkled at the corners. "You have proved on multiple occasions that you absolutely do mind," he fires back.

And that's what delights him about the detective, he thinks. He's sharp-tongued, and he doesn't try to dull it. Prickly, but clever, unafraid to say what's on his mind. And he's never once rebuffed Mason's advances outright, just… Spiked them back with sly smirks and raised eyebrows. Challenging, a sort of unspoken, "Oh, so you think you can handle me?"

Mason would very, very much like to handle him.

"Well, I think I'd be a lot more willing to follow orders if less clothes were involved," he slyly remarks, and Chase's dark eyes brighten just a bit.

“You have to earn that privilege, pretty boy," he murmurs, lips curling on one side.

Mason is a breath away from leaning closer, when Verda's phone goes off and he stands up, startled, and bumps the table. Mason has to snap one hand out to grab Chase's empty glass before it goes careening to the floor. Poname looks a bit astounded by his (far too fast) reflexes, but she's also more than a bit foggy with liquor and likely to forget quickly.

"Shit, sorry," Verda offers sluggishly, blinking a bit behind his smart browline spectacles. "That's Eric," he explains, grabbing his coat. He's steadier than Poname, but not by much, and he leans heavily on Chase's chair when he bends to press a kiss to his bristly scalp. "Come on, you reprobate. Time to get you home." Chase grumbles and halfheartedly swats at him, a bit of red creeping up to his ears from beneath his high collar. “You too, Tina!” Verda calls, “Leave the poor man alone, would you?"

Poname, who was beginning to list against a somewhat bemused Nate's shoulder, sits bolt upright and blinks, then pouts a bit. "Hm? Oh… okay." She pushes unsteadily to her feet, helped in no small part by a few gentle nudges from Nate, and she turns to give him a giggle and a wiggly-fingered wave before Verda’s put-upon sigh spurs her to totter towards him. Adam watches her go, making a face he likely thinks is impassive, but Mason knows well enough the tense pucker between his eyebrows and the grim tightness around his mouth.

“Remember what I said,” Chase offers, heaving to his feet with a low groan that immediately drags Mason’s attention from Adam’s silent simmering, grabbing his jacket from the chair and slinging it over his shoulders. “Not a word to Rebecca about any of this.” He gives Adam a long look in particular. “My options are limited in terms of retaliation, but I can be pretty damned creative. Don’t test me.” His eyes flicker almost instinctively to Mason, and his lips twitch, but he says nothing more before he swaggers with surprising steadiness after his coworkers.

“Bye, Detective!” Felix hollers, waving enthusiastically. Mason winces, but comforts himself with staring unabashedly at the detective’s retreating backside. The second he’s out the door, Felix rounds on Adam with a bright laugh. “Look at you! You managed to be in the same room as the Detective and you didn’t get into a fight!”

“Because he kept his mouth shut the entire time,” Mason snickers. “Looked like it was killing you not to talk shit.”

“I don’t talk shit,” Adam snaps, and Nate helpfully slides out of the booth so he can escape as well. “I just point out when the Detective is being…”

Mason raises his eyebrows, waiting for him to come up with a word that’s not an insult.

“Difficult,” is what Adam settles on, giving Nate a sidelong look.

“Oh, yeah, you wouldn’t know anything about being difficult,” Felix chimes in helpfully. Adam scowls at him and adjusts his jacket. Nate is clearly trying not to laugh and make Adam even more annoyed.

“You’re the one who felt the need to hassle the detective on his off time,” Mason hums not-so-helpfully. “Can’t blame him for being annoyed.”

“And you can’t say anything either,” Felix chirps, “Since you just went right along with it.” He’s grinning, wide and wicked, and he sways into Mason's space and gets shoved for his trouble. He totters dramatically for a second, then pops back up and snickers. "You're not as smooth as you think," he taunts. "I saw your eyes almost pop out of your skull when you saw those tattoos!"

Mason shoves him again, and Nate chuckles. "There were a lot more than I would have guessed."

"And I bet there's a lot more where we couldn't see," Felix adds, sticking his tongue between his teeth and waggling his eyebrows. Mason glances around the bar, the crowd having thinned in the last half hour or so, and decides he can get away with putting the little brat in a headlock.

Nate sighs at them. Adam rolls his eyes skyward, but they let Felix flail and squawk for a bit before Adam barks out, “Enough!” and Mason obediently releases him so he can tug his fancy scarf forcefully back into place and adjust his beanie. “Let’s just go.”

“This was nice, wasn’t it?” Nate offers with a bit of genuine cheer as they file out the door and leave the bar behind. “Getting out? Talking to people?” He nudges Adam when he doesn’t respond, and gets a faint grunt for his trouble. “Seeing the sights?”

Mason lights up the second they’re outside, inhales, and exhales a long plume of smoke, and smirks a bit around the filter. “I enjoyed the sights, at least.”

“I had fun!” Felix chirps, having already moved on from Mason’s rough treatment. “We should spend more time with the detective outside work stuff. He’s cool when he’s not all--” He makes a face, stiff and frowning with a crinkled brow, that looks pretty damned similar to the face he makes when he’s mocking their illustrious leader. Mason almost bites down on the filter of his cigarette to stifle a laugh.

“It was nice to see him unwind a bit,” Nate chuckles. “His friends seem… fun,” his mouth quirks a bit, somewhat uncomfortably, “Friendly.”

Adam makes a disgruntled noise. “Too friendly,” he mutters. Mason is about to lose the fight with himself and start snickering.

Ah, hell, he can’t resist. “I dunno, I think Natey might have a chance with the Bobblehead.” The look Adam gives him could kill a lesser man, but he just gives a lopsided grin in return. Felix, however, loses it to the point he almost falls over in the street.

Nate, ever the diplomat, just chuckles a bit and says, “Officer Poname is lovely, but she’s a bit… young for me, I think.”

Yeah, about eight-hundred-something years too young, Mason thinks, rolling his eyes. But, unlike Felix, he’s made it a point not to get involved in the love lives of people he’s got to work with. He’s already got his hands full trying to figure out the detective. Though, he supposes, he’s got to work with the detective, too. On a more permanent basis, now, it seems. But Chase is a lot of things-- stubborn, headstrong, blunt and honest-- but he’s not the type to let a bit of fun get in the way of his job, and neither is Mason. The second they stop dancing around each other, Mason will lay it out plain for him, and if he’s not on board with a bit of fun between co-workers, then that’s it. No problems.

He takes another puff of his smoke and lets the others get ahead of him, Felix still chattering happily and Nate fielding it with his usual calm enthusiasm while Adam manages to both sulk and stalk admirably alongside them both. Their voices fade into the background, and he allows himself a private little smirk, thinking about those fierce dark eyes, that stout, compactly muscled body with its bold ink, and privately wonders how much more is hidden under the detective’s clothes, and the best way to see them all.

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taeken-my-heart · 5 years ago

Text

Independent {f} Chapter 13

Summary: Your mom calls you stubborn, your friends call you wild, and the boys you’ve left in your wake call you a frigid bitch. You’ve built a life of independence and you like it that way. Kim Taehyung, however; seems to be able to change your mind.

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Genre: fluff, mild angst

Word Count: 19925

Notes/Warnings: This chapter has some angst, a few instances of self deprecation and the OC just being kind of mean to herself, but there is a light and growth at the end of that tunnel!

Oh my goooosh. Tumblr has made the process of getting the draft on here so dang challenging. Please forgive me if there’s any choppiness or the layout is weird, I’ll be tightening it up over the next few days.

**There is a read more linked but it doesn’t seem to be working and I don’t know what to do about it. I’m sorry! TT

****

December brought with it, dark skies, chapped lips, and an accelerated time line. The semester was quickly coming to a close and you wanted to run head long into the winter break and get this misery over with. It had been almost a full week since you’d seen Taehyung and each day had brought a new wave of misery.

For the first three days you’d woken to eyes crusted closed and a sore throat. Courtesy of all-night cry sessions. It didn’t help that Taehyung had decided to stop attending your Art History class and begin taking only office hours to help your classmates. There was a part of you that was happy you didn’t have to see him right now, since you were too busy licking your wounds; a bigger part of you that wished you could take back everything you said so you could see him again, and the biggest part of all that was more devastated with yourself.

Why couldn’t you just be normal? Everyone else could date someone without freaking out, but you, no you were a mess. All you ever did was alienate people. You were probably better off on your own. You couldn’t hurt anyone if they couldn’t get close to you. You had too much baggage, anyway, who would want to saddle themselves up with that?

The library was quiet; every seat taken by a student in the throes of final exams panic. There were only 17 days left until the end of the semester and then you could throw yourself headlong into a project that didn’t remind you of your current misery. You were thankful, at least, that you were nearly done. As soon as you finished this paper your project for Art History would be done and then you only had three written finals to take.

Anna sat across from you; hands fisted in her hair as she starred down at her book in despair. If you weren’t so out of it, you might have laughed. She looked the picture of stress; eyes bugged, brow pinched, a silent scream in the arch of her lips as she softly read back the words of the textbook that she couldn’t seem to commit to memory.

The library door opening caught your attention and you glanced over to find Jimin entering slowly, vision trained on the tangled earbuds in his hands. You don’t know why or what possessed you, but suddenly you were jumping to your feet, making your way through the tables and over to the door.

“Jimin.” You called softly. He glanced up at you, dark eyes lighting in recognition before he stopped, frowning. “Hi.” You said, stopping just in front of him and the corner of his lips lifted in a careful smile.

“Hi.” He said, glancing around the room. This was not the place to talk, too many people trying to work.

“Can we talk for a second?” You asked, motioning out the door to the empty hallway. He paused before nodding, pushing the door open behind him and allowing you to exit first.

As soon as the door closed you watched him, fiddling carefully with the strings of his earbuds, and twisted your fingers together apprehensively. “How have you been?” You asked carefully.

He shrugged, glancing up at you. “I’ve been ok. What about you?”

You glanced out the window into the dreary, cloud scattered sky. “Yeah, I, uh, I’ve been ok. Finals, you know?”

He nodded, studying you with pursed lips. “What’s up, Y/N? What do you really need?”

You frowned, staring down at your shoes, scuffed and still a little soggy from the snow. “I guess I was just wondering how Taehyung is.” You whispered.

Jimin sighed and your frowned deepened. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Y/N. He’s pretty crushed. He hasn’t really been himself recently.”

Your heart ached at the thought. Gorgeous, smiley, carefree Taehyung was hurting and it was all your fault. “I’m so sorry.” You whispered, tears beginning to burn your vision.

“I can appreciate the sentiment, Y/N, but I’m not the one you should be talking to. I can’t receive apologies in his honor.” He replied and you were at least grateful that his tone was gentle. He was trying hard to be kind but honest and that wasn’t easy to do.

“I wish I could talk to him.” You admitted, looking up at Jimin through wet eyelashes. He shook his head gently.

“I wouldn’t. It’s not the time right now. You really hurt him, Y/N. He’s an all or nothing kind of guy and when you rejected him, he took it really hard.”

“I didn’t mean to reject him.” You whispered, a tear escaping down your cheek and you brushed at it angrily. “I’m just scared.”

Jimin sighed, reaching out and patting your shoulder, “well, maybe talk to him when you’ve got things figured out. He’s not a test drive, though. You can’t just use him as practice and hope for the best, you know?”

You nodded, biting on your bottom lip to stifle a sob. “Will you please take care of him for me?” You whispered, looking up at him. “Help him be happy again.”

Jimin smiled, nodding. “Of course; he’s my best friend.” He glanced down at his watch, frowning, “I’m sorry, Y/N, but I’ve gotta meet with my study group, I’m already running a little late.”

“Of course.” You said, stepping off to the side. “Thank you, Jimin.”

After checking your reflection in the bathroom mirror, you returned to the table, waving away Anna’s questioning look and staring back at your laptop. You had one more page to write and then you could allow yourself to return to your bedroom and cry in peace. You wouldn’t do it here.

If your dad were here…well, he wouldn’t have any answers, he was bad at this sort of thing, but the thought of how he’d flounder trying to make you feel better made you smile. You missed him every day, but especially when you were sad because it reminded you that you were going through phases of life that he was missing.

If he were here, things would be different. Maybe you wouldn’t even be at this school. You’d chosen it mostly because it wasn’t too far from home if you needed to go back for any reason. You’d always been adventurous and independent, though, so you may have gone somewhere much further away…if life had turned out differently.

There was no use in dwelling on the what if’s, though. Life was what it was and you couldn’t change it; only your attitude towards it. Besides, right now you had finals to get through. Then…then you could focus on something new to distract you.

Paris couldn’t come fast enough.

****

The morning felt better already. The last 2 weeks had been horrible; for lack of a better word. When you weren’t pulling your hair out in the library you were stressing out about whether you’d see Taehyung in the hallways. You’d just finished your last final of the semester and felt…free. Now you only had to finish packing your suitcase and you could head home for a few days before flying out to Paris.

The house was empty when you got there, dropping your bag by the doorway and sighing. Someone had turned on the electric fire and you shuffled your way to sit in front of it, outstretching your hands to warm them.

You’d forgotten your gloves, which was dumb because it was the middle of December and stupidly cold. Glancing around the room, you sighed. You’d miss this house during the winter vacation. Even though you were coming back to the same house and same people for spring vacation, it was going to be different, you’d make new memories, meet new people, but there would be no Taehyung and you hated how dependent you felt on him now. This was why you didn’t fall for people; why you didn’t open your heart to someone. It hurt too much.

You looked out the window, heart stuttering when you noticed Taehyung walking sluggishly by. He was bundled warm and you could barely see his face under his hat and scarf, but you’d know him anywhere. He paused by the mailbox, sighing, a sad frown stretching across his full lips as he reached out his mittened fingers, patting the duck softly on the head.

It felt like your heart was bleeding in your chest. You wanted to run to him and throw your arms around him, tell him you were sorry and you didn’t know why you were this way…but even the thought of it made your stomach churn with discomfort. What could you even offer to him anyway? Love? Stability? No, it was better this way. No man wanted to be with a broken woman.

Taehyung walked slowly away from the mailbox, fingertips dropping from the beak of the duck and down by his side and you sat frozen where you were, watching him leave. It all felt so final. You couldn’t wait to get out of the country and just escape your own mind.

****

Later after dinner, when your bags were packed and you were sat in the front room, your roommates came to join you, a tray of hot chocolates in Anna’s hands. Setting it down on the table, she sat down beside you on the couch, grabbing a mug for each of you before settling further into the cushions.

“Can’t believe we’re all heading home tomorrow.” Sarah said, sighing into her mug. “This semester went by so fast.”

“Too fast!” Anna agreed. “I can’t believe you’re going to Paris in just a few days!”

You smiled softly, “It’s pretty crazy right?”

“I’m crazy jealous.” Charlotte admitted, “Paris has always been top of the travel bucket list for me.”

“Really?” Anna asked in surprise, “I never knew that about you.”

“Yeah, it’s home to the Eiffel tower, the Louvre, Notre Dame, the Arc de Triumphe. What’s not to love? Plus, it’s the fashion capitol of the world.”

“You have to buy so many clothes!” Sarah gushed, “I seriously can’t believe you get to go shopping in Paris!”

You smiled, chuckling, “I honestly probably won’t have a whole lot of time to go shopping between the internship and touristy stuff, but I’ll try to have one good shopping trip in your honor.”

“If you don’t come back in a beret and a peplum pea coat, I’ll be seriously appalled.”

“Pretty sure the French don’t actually go about their day in a beret.” Charlotte remarked dryly.

You giggled, smiling at your friends. “I’m gonna miss you guys.”

“You say that like you’re going to war. You’re going to Paris, honey, you won’t even notice we’re not there.” Anna grinned, flicking your forehead with her finger and you wrinkled your nose at her.

“I’ll definitely notice.”

“Well, anyway,” Sarah commented, pushing her hair over her shoulder, “You’re going to go, you’re going to have a fabulous time, and you’re going to come back a changed woman. I’m super jealous.”

****

After returning home and spending a few days with your family, they were bringing you to the airport for what was probably the biggest adventure of your life. You’d never been on such a big trip alone; in fact, you’d never even been on an airplane by yourself. The nerves were clawing at your chest at the thought, but there was a soft simmering of excitement bubbling just under that surface.

The airport was cramped and busy, people heading home for the holidays and you felt a little sad that you’d be missing the celebrations with your family, but the experience was going to be worth it; you were sure of it.

The evening was blanketed with a soft mist when you arrived. It was cold, but nothing a coat and scarf couldn’t combat. The woman in charge of your internship had met you at arrivals and you’d grabbed your bags, making your way out front.

“Our car is over here.” Marie smiled, holding her arm out and you followed after her, the driver taking your things and putting them in the trunk. After sliding into your seat and buckling in, you sighed, leaning your head back against the headrest. “The drive to your hotel is around an hour so that will give us time to talk and go over some details.”

“Great.” You smiled, sitting up straight and facing towards her. “What is your job with the Paris Fashion Week?”

“I’m the head of Une voix de femme, a fashion and photography company. There are a lot of interns that come all year round for various purposes in the different shows and fashion industry and we get a lot of applicants so we’re a bit picky.”

The idea that the boss herself had come to retrieve you was a little mind blowing and you felt extra nervous at the idea of it. Maybe she picked up every intern, but even so, you couldn’t help but feel special. “May I ask how exactly my work was brought to your attention?”

“Pure coincidence.” Marie said, flipping open a file. Inside were some of the stills you’d taken over the years, mostly from school activities that you’re sure your professor had sent to her and others from the Winter Recital. “We do a lot of searching on our own. Not everyone who is talented will apply, some need to be sought out. I saw the pictures you’d taken of your school recital and I knew right away you needed to be with us. You have too much talent that shouldn’t be wasted.”

“Thank you,” you smiled softly, face feeling warm. “I never would have applied; I would have never thought I’d be good enough for something like this.”

“Common symptom.” Marie nodded, thumbing through some of your pictures, “the worthy never actually know their true worth.” She looked over at you, winking before returning to the file in hand.

“So, what exactly will my responsibilities be while I’m here?”

“We’ll go over most of the details tomorrow when you come to the office. You’ll need to be flexible and move quickly because we’ll have you in a few different locations. I don’t have your exact schedule with me currently, but I know you will be photographing the Dior, Saint Laurent, Mugler, and Hermes lines. We’ll also have you working with some couture design shoots.”

“Wow, those are some big names.” You mused, stomach twisting at the idea.

“Don’t feel nervous, dear, we wouldn’t have flown you out if we didn’t like what you have to offer. You have an ability to capture small details; that is what we are looking for. The models move quickly and they stop for no one; you’ll need to catch the details of their clothing with precision. Because you’re an intern, we know you don’t have access to all the equipment that other photographers will have with them so of course you will have all of our equipment at your disposal.”

“Thank you, that’s very kind of you!” You said softly. Honestly, at this point you were feeling honored, of course, and also completely overwhelmed.

“Don’t worry about too many details tonight, though. Tomorrow I’ll have my assistant Danielle meet you in the lobby of your hotel and she’ll accompany you for the remainder of your internship with us. Any questions you have, Danielle will be able to answer them.”

“Thank you very much, I’m so appreciative of this opportunity. I intend to make sure you’re happy with your decision to recruit me.”

“I have no doubt you will.” She smiled over at you.

Once you’d reached your hotel, the jet lag was beginning to hit strong. You’d begun falling asleep the last 5 minutes of the ride and were so grateful to be up and standing. With the door closed behind you and your suitcase deposited at the end of your bed, you made your way to the large French doors, pushing open the curtains and stepping out onto the balcony.

“Wow.” You breathed, hands reaching out for the metal railing, cold from the bite of winter. You could not have asked for a better view than the one you were given. The Eiffel Tower, just off to the right of your window, lights bright in the dark of the evening. The streets below were still filled with people, a busy Christmas market just a moment’s walk from the entrance of your hotel. You felt completely spoiled.

Of course, you wished you could have shared the experience with someone, but instead you’d focus every moment of your time enjoying this great new experience.

****

The next morning you were awoken by your alarm at 7:00 am. Your eyes were bleary and stung as you opened them, body warm beneath the fluffy white down comforter. You were expected down and waiting for the car at 8 am sharp and you still had to shower, get ready, and eat.

You moved sluggishly from the warmth of the bed, grabbing your shower supplies and trudging into the bathroom. After showering and getting ready, you made your way downstairs to have some breakfast. Ecstatic to find an assortment of French breads, jams, and a buffet of food you already felt yourself drooling over, you grabbed a plate, making your way through the line and allowing the greed of your eyes and growling stomach to take charge.

After stuffing your face with more food than was probably considered proper, you made your way out to the front of the hotel, checking your bag again to make sure you had everything you needed.

“Y/N!” Someone called and you turned to look around you, a young woman with short, dark corkscrew curls and beautiful dark brown eyes smiled, waving over at you and you smiled back, making your way towards her. “Hi there, I’m Danielle.” She greeted, reaching her hand out towards you for a handshake.

“It’s so nice to meet you.” You returned, shaking her hand and following the motion of her hand into the back of the car. “I’m so surprised, I really thought I was going to end up being with someone who was much older than me. It’s nice to see someone similar in age.”

“It’s nice to have someone to relate to,” Danielle grinned, leaning back in her seat as the car started driving, “plus, after we get the details sorted this morning, we get to go out exploring. Work officially starts tomorrow.”

“Are you serious?” You grinned and she winked.

“Course, girl. I hope you brought your money with you because we’re going on a shopping spree.”

“I’m gonna go broke by the end of this internship, for sure.”

“No way, this internship pays and it pays well. Anything you want to buy while you’re here?” She chuckled and you chewed on your bottom lip in thought.

“Well, my friends definitely told me if I don’t come back with a beret and a peplum pea coat that they’d skin me alive, so…”

“Put it on the list!” She laughed loudly, “No skinning alive. So, tell me about yourself, Y/N.”

“Well, I guess it depends on what you want to know. I’m currently in school studying Visual Arts with a minor in photography and I live in a small, run down, but cozy home with 3 of my best friends. When I’m not at school I’m at home with my mom, brother, step dad and our dog Goose.”

“And now you’ll get to say you interned with Paris Fashion Week.” Danielle teased and you grinned.

“I know, I can hardly even believe I’m in France. What about you? Tell me about yourself, Danielle.”

“Well, I’m originally from Pennsylvania, but my dad is actually from France. When I was getting ready to go into high school my dad got a job back here in Paris so we all moved here and have been living here ever since. I have two sisters, one older, one younger, and I’ve been working with Marie for the last three years.”

“Wow, so did you start working with Marie right after graduation or something?” You asked, eyes wide.

Danielle chuckled. “Something like that, yeah. I actually did my internship with Marie as well and then just ended up getting hired on and have been with them ever since. It’s been a pretty crazy amazing ride.”

“I believe it!” You breathed, “That’s really wild. I’m not sure what to do when I graduate, but I still have a couple years to figure it out.”

“Do you have any ideas or anything you want to do?” Danielle asked, twisting a curl around her finger and letting it spring back into place.

“Not a lot,” you admitted bashfully, “I’ve kind of thought about maybe starting my own company or something, but to be honest I really just like being able to take pictures of whatever I want and not being commissioned to do something, you know?”

“Oh yeah, I totally get it.” Danielle nodded, “a true artist’s spirit. You want your cake and to eat it too.” She grinned over at you and you shrugged, smiling.

“Guilty.”

“Something I’ll recommend is to get your feet wet first. Sometimes you’ve gotta do other people’s dirty work first before you can really get into your own stuff. Build enough of a name that being able to photograph your own stuff will one day work in your favor.”

“Yeah, I get that.” You nodded, watching as the car came to a slow stop out front of a large glass building that looked rather out of place among the ancient and beautiful cream-colored limestone of the other buildings.

“We’re here!” Danielle chirped, sliding from the car as the door was opened for her and you followed closely after, pulling your bag high on your shoulder and glancing around. The streets were busy with business people and tourists alike and you followed after Danielle as she led you into the building.

“We’re up on the 32nd floor,” Danielle said as the two of you stepped into the glass elevator and you gripped the railing, staring out into the streets in awe.

“Wow, you guys really know how to live, huh?” You murmured, watching the city sink below you.

Danielle laughed, leaning against the railing with you. “Pretty nice, right?”

You nodded mutely. “I just feel so lucky.” You finally admitted, “there are so many people who would want this opportunity and I got it without even trying.”

“Don’t feel guilty about it.” Danielle scolded and you turned to smile at her. “you deserve this internship. Marie loves finding people who are unassuming about their talent because they’re always the best. Just because you didn’t apply doesn’t mean you don’t deserve it.”

“Thank you, Danielle,” you grinned, “you’re giving me a pretty decent boost in self-esteem.”

“It’s my job.” She winked, nudging you with her elbow. The chime of the elevator reaching your floor brought your attention back to the door and you stood, facing forward. “Besides, I wouldn’t say any of it if it weren’t true. You’ve definitely earned it.”

The office was busy with movement, desks occupying the first half of the room and filled with people having conversation. The back was divided by rooms separated with glass. Two rooms currently occupied with photoshoots, a couple offices, and a conference room. It was noisy, but in a good way.

“This is where we get the technical parts of our jobs done. Paperwork, photoshop, that sort of thing. Certain magazine shoots are done in the back, as you can see. This is the behind the scenes dirty work that has to be done. The real fun stuff will be when fashion week starts tomorrow. Ok, follow me, your desk is over here.”

You followed after her to the right-hand side and she patted a desk with only a laptop to boast about. “This is your desk, right next to mine. It’s pretty bare right now, but the good thing is you can decorate it in any way you see fit.”

“This is so cool.” You grinned, “I get my own desk!��

Danielle chuckled, sitting down at her desk. “Ah, I remember that feeling, like a real grown up, right?”

“Yeah,” you admitted, sitting in your seat. “Feels like I’m suddenly an adult with all sorts of responsibilities. It’s so cool.”

Danielle grinned, shaking her head. “Well, Marie’s gonna want to have a meeting with us in a few minutes but she told me she had a conference call first so let’s chill and talk before then.”

You nodded, leaning eagerly forward. “That sounds great.”

“So, you’re still in university, right?” At your nod, she continued, “any boys?” She teased with a wiggle of her brows.

You sigh, shrugging, “Mmm…no, not right now, I guess.”

“That sounded very mysterious.” She replied, eyebrow raised and you moved your elbow from the arm rest of your chair as someone bustled by shouting something in French.

“Just…” you huffed, blowing air up across your cheeks, “there was a guy a few weeks ago, but I blew it.”

“Oh?” You asked, waiting patiently for you to continue.

You shrugged again, “he wanted a bigger commitment than I was ready to give him so I kind of pushed him away and we both ended up getting hurt. It sucks pretty bad.” Danielle watched as you tried not to sulk too hard and sighed.

“It can be really hard when something doesn’t work out the way we’d hoped it would.” She said, staring over at the elevator as a group made their way out and over to the studio. “I was in a situation back in college that was…well, it was pretty challenging. Life changing; in a good and bad way. I had to make a decision that I’ve often wondered was right, but I think what I’ve decided since then is that if things are meant to be, then they will be. Of course, that’s not to discount effort,” she said, eyeing your reaction, “but if you’ve put in the effort, done all you can to make it work, and it doesn’t then it wasn’t meant to.”

“Before I left for the semester I ran into this guy’s roommate,” you said, “and he told me I should probably give him time to recover so I wanted to do that, but I worry that I’ve just completely ruined my chances with him. I haven’t done everything I could to try and make it better because I didn’t want to push him, but I think I want to try again when I get back in the spring semester.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” Danielle said, twisting back and forth in her chair, “give the both of you the time to cool off and think about what you really want.”

“You said you made a really hard decision in college,” you said, watching her expression carefully, “what made you feel like that decision was the right one?”

Danielle paused, fingers drumming against the armrests of her chair, lips pressed together in thought. “Because I knew was doing the right thing for someone else. In the end, the decision I made wasn’t about me, but about her. I had to do it for her.”

“Your friend?” You asked and Danielle smiled softly.

“No. My daughter.”

“Oh,” you said, sitting straighter in surprise, “I didn’t know you had a daughter.”

“I don’t. Not anymore, anyway. At the time that I had her, the father and I were no longer together. He was from Belgium and had moved home; he didn’t really have any interest in being a parent. I was only 20 and I knew I couldn’t give her the life that she deserved, so I gave her to a family that could provide the life I couldn’t.”

Never had you met someone who’d made a decision like that before. You couldn’t even imagine having a child only to give them away. It would take a lot of love and self-sacrifice to do that sort of thing; you weren’t even sure you were that strong of a person.

“Wow,” you said, blinking down at your hands, now clasped in your lap. “How long ago was that?”

“She’ll be turning 6 this summer.” Danielle smiled. “I receive pictures of her sometimes, here, this was from just a few days ago, actually. They’ve gone on holiday in the Maldives for Christmas.” She handed you a handful of pictures from her desk drawer and you looked down at the family, a little boy and girl with their parents.

“She has your eyes and hair.” You smiled and Danielle chuckled.

“And her dad’s ears. Poor thing.” You looked up at Danielle as she pushed her ears slightly out and giggled.

“She’s beautiful. What’s her name?”

“Her parents named her Emile.” Danielle smiled and you handed the picture back to her.

“Did you ever have a name for her?” You asked gently and she nodded, staring down at the pictures.

“In my heart, she has always been Felicity.”

“That’s a beautiful name.” You said, watching as Danielle slipped the pictures back into her desk.

“Thank you.” She said. The phone on Danielle’s desk rang and she picked it up quickly, talking softly to someone in French before hanging up. “Marie is ready for us. Let’s meet her in the conference room.”

You followed after her, weaving your way through rows of desks to the back and into the conference room where Marie sat with stacks of books and papers that you presumed were for you.

“Good morning, Y/N.” She greeted you, standing to extend a handshake which you returned.

“Good morning.” You smiled.

“Today I will show you around the office, give you the details of what this week will be like and what we expect of you. I’ll show you the equipment that you can use and take with you. Of course, Danielle will be with you the entire length of your internship so if you do have questions, you can ask her too.”

She pulled paperwork from the folders in front of her, explaining in detail what they were about and giving them to you to read and sign. After the preliminary work, she went over your schedule with you in more detail, giving you a step by step program of what you’d be doing each day.

After about an hour in the conference room going over paperwork and details, she took you into a storage room, showing you types of equipment you could use for the week. You felt like you’d died and gone to heaven. Anything you could have ever dreamed of needing or even wanting for your photography was placed carefully around the room and against walls, beckoning you to take a look.

“You will have access to any and all of our equipment; whatever you feel will make the shots better.” Marie said, watching you stare wide eyed around the room. “Feel free to look around.”

You moved towards the left side of the wall, examining one of the cameras they had there, picking it up and flipping through the settings. “I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.” You mumbled and Marie and Danielle laughed from behind you.

“We’re happy to appease you.” Marie smiled. “Danielle, once she’s chosen the equipment she’s going to be using for tomorrow, the two of you are free to explore Paris. I’ll leave the schedule and everything you need on your desk and forward you the rest on your phone.”

“Yes ma’am.” Danielle nodded as Marie left the room with a squeeze to her shoulder. “Don’t worry about not being able to use all the equipment at once,” she said, smiling over at you, “you can trade things out each day based on what you’re feeling.”

You smiled at her sheepishly, holding the camera in your hands close to your chest. “Ah, I must be so easy to read.”

Danielle grinned. “Feel free to grab what you need for tomorrow. We’ll pack it up and have it ready for you when you get here.”

After exploring the room and picking the equipment you’d need for the next day, Danielle had some of the other staff come and help to pack it safely for you. The two of you grabbed your bags and ventured back out onto the street where the car was waiting.

Sliding in and fastening your seatbelt, you and Danielle chatted and laughed as you made your way further into the heart of Paris. The sun was deceptively beautiful as you stepped from the car; high in the sky and tricking you into the belief that somehow it was suddenly warm.

Shivering, you fastened your arms around your waist as Danielle joined you at your side, motioning with her head to follow her. “This is my favorite place to shop. It’s called Avenue des Champs Elysees and it’s probably the most famous shopping district in Paris. It’s got a great mix of things to do here, including luxury brands and affordable.”

“I like the sound of affordable.” You grinned.

After spending a good portion of the morning and afternoon shopping (and finding the cutest ebony peplum coat and even a gorgeous red beret) the two of you made your way to lunch in a nearby café. The exterior was a beautiful crimson with two six pane windows on either side of the door and garland wrapping across the edged of the roof and down the columns in front. The inside was cozy and warm with soft colors and a beautifully decorated fir tree in the corner.

“It’s so beautiful in here!” You smile, gaze shifting around the room and Danielle grinned.

“It’s my favorite café,” she admitted, “I always get the same so I’ll wait until you’re ready to order and then we can go grab a seat.”

After placing your order and finding a nice cozy table in the back, you dropped your bags below the table and slipped out of your coat, fingers wrung together to try and encourage warmth. “We start work officially tomorrow, right?” You asked and Danielle nodded, flipping through her wallet before placing it on the table in front of her.

“Yes, tomorrow is the first official day.”

“And you’ll be with me the whole time, right?” You asked, nerves heightened now that you had a moment to think about it.

“Yeah” she smiled, placing her hand over yours and squeezing, “don’t worry. I’ll be with you the whole time. I’ll guide you and make sure you know where you’re going and what you’re doing. We’ll even go to the venues early so that we can get settled into our spots and so that you can have a look around and get a feel for the location.”

“That would be great.” You breathed, the tightness in your chest lessening. “Sorry, just a little nervous.”

“Totally normal,” Danielle nodded, leaning towards you across the table, “I’d think you were a little weird if you weren’t nervous. This is a big thing, I get it. New place, new people, new experience. It’s understandable why you’d be nervous. Don’t worry, I’ve got your back.”

“Thank you, Danielle.” You grinned. “So, what should I expect for tomorrow?”

“Well, tomorrow is going to honestly be a little overwhelming and kind of busy. You and I will both be in the pit together taking pictures, but Marie has got two spaces sectioned off for us so we don’t have to worry about that too much.”

“The pit?” You asked. “Like an orchestra?”

Danielle smiled, leaning back as the server brought your drinks to you and you wrapped your chilled fingers around the warm ceramic of your hot chocolate mug. “Not quite. It’s an area at the very end of the stage reserved for the photographers. We’re probably going to be standing on boxes and it’s a little cramped with everyone shoved together, but it’s part of the thrill.”

“And we’ve got reserved spots?” You asked, sipping at your drink.

“Yeah, but it’s a bit cut throat in the pit at times so we’ll be having some markers going over a number of hours before us to make sure that no one tries taking our spots.”

“What’s a marker?” You asked, eyebrow rising.

“A marker is just someone that goes and marks your spot. We’ve already got ours marked, but like I said, it can be a bit intense so we’ll have people reserving our spots by sitting in them until we get there.”

“Wow,” you sighed, “there’s a big learning curve.” You had no idea the fashion industry was so do or die, but you were actually kind of looking forward to sinking your teeth into it.

“There is,” Danielle nodded, “but don’t worry, I’ll make sure to guide you through it and answer all your questions. Also, I think that’s our food.”

You turn around to watch the waitress carry your food over, setting it in front of you before thanking her and digging in.

The rest of the afternoon was spent meandering through the shops in different alleyways, picking up small knickknacks or clothes that you liked before heading back to the hotel to drop your stuff off. You’d asked Danielle about the market outside your hotel and she’d enthusiastically agreed to take you.

“This Christmas market comes every year and lasts a week into January. They’ve got cute things for your home, souvenirs, and a lot of really yummy food. Have you ever tried chestnuts?” She asked, turning to look at you as you refastened the buttons on your coat and twisted a scarf around your neck.

“Chestnuts? As in the things squirrels eat?” You asked, following her back out into the square in front of your hotel and turning off to the side where you could see the Christmas market waiting.

Danielle laughed. “Yes, squirrels eat them, but so do humans. Do you smell that sweet, rich smell?” She asked as you walked slowly towards your destination. The wind picked up slightly and you shivered from the cold, but you could smell it. You nodded and she continued.

“That’s a chestnut. We roast them in the winter and then eat them. They can be a little interesting to open, but they’re a fun experience to have and I personally love them. They taste a bit like a sweet potato.”

“A nut tastes like a sweet potato?” You asked, staring around in amazement as you stepped into the market and the vibrancy of the colors instantly grabbed your attention. It was surprisingly warmer and you supposed that was due to the steam coming from the different food stalls nearby.

Everything you could have ever dreamed of was in this market. Small wooden stalls reminiscent of the swiss style chalet’s held chestnuts, crepes, mulled wine, gloves and scarves, games, Christmas decorations and so much more. The market wound further down the street and around corners that you could not see. Your greedy eyes devoured as much as they could as Danielle talked more about chestnuts and the different things that she wanted you to try. There were children nearby with a man selling balloons outside of a cotton candy stall and your mouth watered at the smell. Directly next to you was a stall with waffles and around 30 different toppings. Different artisan booths selling things you knew you didn’t need but definitely wanted.

In the center of it all, and right beside a glowing carousal, there was a small band of performers, violins and guitars playing Jingle Bells with children weaving in between their parents in the square, playing a game of tag and screaming in delight.

“This is so amazing!” You grinned, turning to find Danielle watching you and she smiled, bumping your shoulder with hers.

“Let’s get some food.” After grabbing a small paper bag of chestnuts, two different kinds of crepes and a couple mulled wines between the two of you, you found a table to sit at and put your stuff down.

“First, I want you to try the chestnuts.” Danielle grinned, shaking the bag in front of you in excitement. “Don’t worry if you don’t like it, I’ll be happy to eat them all, trust me, but you should at least try it. It’s part of the Christmas market experience!”

“Ok, ok.” You chuckled, pulling a chestnut from the bag. It was still hot and you hissed, bouncing it between your fingers as you began to peel away the layers. “How long until I get to the actual nut?” You exasperated, once you’d made it down to a fuzzy skin under the shell.

Danielle laughed, sipping at her wine, “there’s only two layers. Under that fuzzy stuff is the actual nut.”

Discarding the two outer shells, you finally held the nut between two fingers. “Wow, the texture is so different than what I thought it would be.” You marveled. It was firm, but had a spongey consistency, almost like an uncooked mushroom.

“Try it.” Danielle encouraged, popping her own chestnut into her mouth and chewing.

She was right, it did sort of taste like a sweet potato, sweet and a little earthy. The taste was a little bland, but it was warm and with a little salt would have made a good snack. “It’s OK,” you smiled, “not really my thing but I can see why people like them.”

Danielle nodded, pulling another from the bag and beginning to peel. “Yeah, it’s not everyone’s thing. Here, we’ve got these too.” She said, pushing your crepe towards you and you smiled, grabbing the fork from the plate and cutting off a piece.

“Now this is what I was really looking forward to.”

With bites of warm food and sips of mulled wine to heat your insides, you spent the rest of the night talking and laughing until you returned to your bed, warm from alcohol and conversation, ready to take on the exciting new day in less than 9 hours.

****

You’d never felt more like a chicken without its head than you did right now. The office had been hectic, people running around, grabbing the things they needed and looking like they were in some sort of well controlled panic as they fled the building to their different shoots.

On the car ride to the venue, Danielle told you that the two of you would be covering two shoots today, both Hermes and Dior. Just hearing the names made you a little dizzy so you mostly listened instead of talking. You were glad that Danielle was going to be there with you, taking pictures herself. There was a little less pressure to not mess things up since they would still have her professional pictures to fall back on if they needed them.

The Hermes shoot was teeming with life. The walls and ceilings were made to look like you were in an outdoor tent and you tried to look around and admire as much as you could while still keeping your place behind Danielle and winding towards where the other photographers were setting up. None of the seats were occupied yet, since you’d arrived an hour before the show was due to start. Danielle said this was typical because you needed to be in your places with things set up and ready to go before the crowds started filing in. There would be no time once people started showing up.

Thankfully you’d had time this morning in the office to fiddle around with the camera you were using today, checking settings and getting comfortable with its abilities. That was something that had made you nervous in the beginning; that you wouldn’t have enough time to adjust to the equipment. Each camera was different and you were afraid you’d get stuck trying to make something work when you were supposed to be taking pictures.

Danielle had helped you find a camera with an f/2.8 aperture and pretty decent zoom range. “The models will be moving fast; you’ll need to adjust quickly. Make sure you’re getting well acquainted with that camera because once the show starts, you won’t be able to fiddle around with it without missing important moments.”

The two of you came to a stop beside the photographers, Danielle greeting a man and a woman sitting on two stools in the center towards the front and after a short conversation, they left and Danielle directed you to take a seat on one of the stools. “So, this is the pit.” Danielle grinned, adjusting her camera bag on her lap and digging through for what she needed.

You sat down beside her, looking around and nodding in greeting to a few of the photographers whose eyes you caught. “Wow, and we’re all just gonna be shoved in like sardines, huh?” You asked, turning your gaze back to Danielle who smiled.

“Welcome to fashion show life.” She leaned forward to whisper, “all of these people can either help you, or hinder you. Always make sure you are kind and friendly, establish relationships…but always be weary. Everyone is looking for their next big break, even if it comes at a cost, you know?”

You nod, leaning back on your stool and digging through your bag to grab your camera. You were pretty comfortable with it because the settings were similar to your camera back home, just way better quality. Now you just needed to make sure it was on the right settings to capture the images you wanted. You quickly switched your camera to manual, 1/250 at f/4 and took some practice shots of the people still putting the final touches on the stage. The pictures were so crisp and clear you had to stop yourself from doing a little happy wiggle in your seat. It was going to be hard to go back to your own camera after using such an amazing piece of equipment.

You chatted briefly with some of the photographers around you, mostly men, a couple from New York, 3 from London, but almost everyone else around you seemed to be from France. It was intimidating to look around and see only 1 other woman aside from Danielle and yourself, but that wasn’t going to stop you from kicking their photography butts. You weren’t competitive most of the time, but if you felt like somehow you were going to have to fight for something, you definitely would.

Slowly the room began to fill and you could barely contain your amazement. Some of the biggest names in Hollywood were sitting mere steps away from you, but there was no way you were going to show the other photographers how much of an amateur you were, so when Charlize Theron sat only 10 feet from you, you focused your eyes on the walkway in front of you and swallowed down your squeal of delight.

When the show started you felt like your stomach had jumped into your throat. You followed Danielle’s cue, pulling your camera up to rest against your eye and taking a deep breath in. This was it. This was the moment you’d been waiting for. The music started and models began walking down the runway, cameras flashing all around you and you let determination settle into your chest before quickly focusing in and snapping pictures.

Adrenaline kicked in, pouring through your veins as you watched the models move from the lens of your camera, taking as many pictures as you possibly could while they were in front of you. All noise funneled into a pinprick of sound until it was gone and you were alone with just your camera and the show in front of you. You never thought you’d actually enjoy the thrill of a high scale fashion show, but here you were, pulse erratic and stomach bubbling with excitement.

When the show was finally over and the other photographers were packing away their equipment, rushing on to the next show, you felt like you could finally breath again. “How was it?” Danielle asked, carefully placing her camera in its bag and gazing at you from the corner of her eye.

“Wow.” You said, and she laughed. “That’s the best word to describe it. There was a lot going on and it was a real challenge to stay focused at first. Especially when there were so many celebrities around. Did you see Charlize Theron sat right there?!”

Danielle giggled, nodding, “I did see. These shows get quite crazy. You’re really in for a treat when we go to the Dior show, they always, always put on a massive production. They’re doing their show at the Louvre this season and it’s inside this dome of flowers. It’s incredible.”

You frowned, eyebrows pinching in the center. “Inside a dome of flowers? Did they construct that inside the building?”

“You’ll see.” She grinned. “For now, though, we’ve got an hour and a half before we need to be there so let’s grab some lunch quickly. There’s some food trucks nearby.” You followed after her, bag slung across your shoulder with all your equipment safely inside and made your way outside into the crisp afternoon air.

“I didn’t realize how stuffy it was in there until we got outside.” You said, taking a deep breath in.

“Yeah, the pit always gets a bit stagnant, so many bodies, so little air. Ah, there they are.” She said, pointing off to the left and you followed after her, sitting down at an open table outside of one of the trucks.

After Danielle ordered, you switched places, leaving her to watch over the equipment and ordering your own food and drink. A full stomach later and a quick drive to the next venue, you found your spots, relieving the markers of their duty and setting up camp on your stools.

Danielle had been right. A giant dome of flowers had been built, within the Cour Carrée, the courtyard at the east end of the Louvre. Purple delphinium stems sprouting from every corner of the rolling garden turf. You felt like you’d entered some fantasy land as you stepped through the guarded doors and made your way towards the pit with Danielle.

“This is so cool!” You whispered and Danielle smirked.

“I told you, Dior always means business.”

This show was unlike anything you’d ever seen, making the hairs at the back of your neck stand to attention. This venues photographers were far more cut throat than the last and you definitely had to physically avoid some sabotage shots, but you were proud to say you held your own and at the end of it you even managed to get a picture with Rihanna and Elizabeth Olsen. That one was just for you, though.

“Ok,” Danielle said, after she’d finishing packing her bag and you’d put your own equipment away. “Let’s head back to the office and get some editing done. We’ll be working one on one with Marie to go over your work and see what kind of guidance we can give you for the next few shows.”

“Sounds great.” You smiled, slinging your bag over your shoulder and following her out to the car.

It was still afternoon, though slightly late afternoon by the time you made it back to the office. Setting your equipment gently down on your table, you unloaded your camera and sat down at your company provided laptop to turn it on and get the pictures uploaded.

It was going to take some time to get everything on the computer and then even more time to get things edited to the proper standard. You also had a meeting at some point with both Marie and Danielle to go over the pictures and find a better direction for the next few photoshoots. From what you understood, tomorrow you’d be doing the Marc Jacobs and Hussein Chalayan shows. You were going to have so much editing to do. You already had a headache.

“We’re going to meet with Marie in about an hour so go ahead and get some editing done. That way you can show her your raw images as well as the edits and she can give you some critiques.”

You nodded, pursing your lips and turning back to the computer as the main screen pulled up. “Sounds like a plan.”

Loading the pictures took longer than you’d initially wanted, but you had taken a lot of pictures so you couldn’t really be upset. The computer was doing things as quickly as possible. As soon as you were able, you began clicking through pictures, finding the ones you liked the most and beginning the editing process. You’d only been able to edit 2 pictures by the time Danielle was motioning you towards the conference room so you quickly saved your work, before closing your laptop and bringing it with you.

The conference room was significantly cooler than the rest of the office and you sighed in relief. You were beginning to get a little too warm at your desk and editing when hot was never a good combination. You sat down, waiting for Marie to join you, watching her through the all glass windows as she finished a phone call, grabbing her things and pushing out of her office, making a quick left to the conference room.

“How was it?” She smiled, her long dark cardigan billowing behind her. She pushed a wave of grey hair from her forehead and back towards her bun and you smiled excitedly.

“It exceeded expectations!” You gushed, watching as she sat down across from you, “really, it was so exciting seeing all those incredible models through the lens of my camera. Totally different from what I’m used to shooting.”

“I’m looking forward to seeing some of your pictures, then.” She smiled, hands held out in request of your laptop and you quickly opened it, logging back in.

“I’ve only been able to edit 2 pictures so far, loading them was more time consuming than I thought it would be.”

“That is ok, you have plenty of time today to edit. This is why we did not want to overwhelm you with photoshoots. You will need time to edit them before the conclusion of your internship.” She replied, scanning through your pictures carefully. You watched with apprehension as Marie scanned your pictures with what you hoped was interest, it looked like interest, at least.

Finally, she nods, turning to smile at you. “These are excellent. I’m very impressed with your style. Don’t be afraid to try a few more angles. It’s a little difficult to do in such a small space, but I think you can do it. I’d also like to see a few more pictures of the venue and the guests attending. Your attention to detail on the clothes is really astounding. Sometimes even professional pictures can be blurry with the models walking so quickly, but your pictures are so clear.”

After going back and forth about more you could do to increase the effectiveness of your work, your computer was returned to you and you excitedly continued your editing. The three of you remained in the office until dinner time when you finally wished each other farewell and the car dropped you back off at your hotel. Danielle had to have dinner with her family, so for tonight, you would relax, take a bubble bath, order room service and attempt to find a movie you could understand.

****

The Marc Jacobs show was filled with a lot of neutrals, which wasn’t a bad thing, but it made for less interesting pictures. There was a quartet of string instruments playing in the corner; a song that was a little too sharp, but perfectly representative of the mood of the clothing.

You made sure to get as many different angles as you could, keeping in mind Marie’s and Danielle’s different advice for your pictures. After the show, Danielle pointed out the French celebrities you should definitely get pictures of, and you made sure to get a good selection of pictures of anything else you felt might be relevant.

The next show was Hussein Chalayan, which you were particularly interested in because you’d never actually heard of him. From what Danielle had told you, he did some pretty quirky things with his outfits so you were looking forward to seeing what he had in store.

The atmosphere of the show was deep and moody. The clothes varied between muted tones and reds with a rather boxy style, but they made for excellent pictures. The audience was extremely receptive and it made the environment even more exciting. You could hear the shutter of Danielle’s camera in time with the click of your fingers on your own. You hadn’t gotten the chance to see any of her pictures, but now you were curious.

After the show ended and you were packed and ready to go, the two of you went to a nearby restaurant to sit and go over your pictures. “I am so curious about your style,” You said, just after your drinks were delivered.

“My style?” Danielle asked, eyes wide as she looked at you.

“Yes,” you chuckled, “your photography style. You were hired on after your internship, I could probably learn a thing or two from you.”

She smiled bashfully, spooning some sugar into her coffee and shaking her head, curls brushing against her cheeks. “I don’t know, you’re already pretty good. Marie has been really impressed with you.”

“Come on, come on, don’t feel shy. Let me see one picture, just one!” You bargained and Danielle laughed, opening her camera bag and pulling her camera out.

“OK, but only one.”

You nodded, reaching for the camera and pulling it towards you, staring down at the picture sitting on the screen. It was a picture of the last model, perched at the end of the runway, staring down into the lens of the camera as though Danielle were the exact person she was looking at. The angle was beautiful, the sheer of her dress captured beautifully in the lighting. Everything in the background faded making for a beautiful forefront.

“This is beautiful, Danielle. Wow, now I feel like the amateur I am!” You pouted and Danielle laughed, swatting your arm.

“Oh stop.” She said, taking the camera from you, powering it off and placing it back in its casing. “Your pictures are beautiful, Y/N. You capture details I couldn’t even dream of.”

“Well that’s just a bald-faced lie.” You grinned, rolling your eyes good naturedly at her. “So, you said this was our last fashion shoot, right?”

“No, we have two more fashion shows tomorrow and then the rest of the week will be editing. Then next week you’ll have two couture design shoots to do in office.”

“Oh, who are we going to photograph tomorrow? I don’t remember.”

Danielle glanced down at her phone where Marie had sent the schedule, “Tomorrow we’ve got Thierry Mugler and Saint Laurent.”

“Oh that’s right. I’ve heard of Thierry Mugler. I thought he just did perfume, though?”

“Nope,” Danielle chirped, putting her phone back in the pocket of her dress pants. “He’s mainly a fashion designer. I generally enjoy his shows. They are clear cut and to the point.”

“That sounds like my type of show!” You giggled.

After lunch, the two of you made your way back to the office, burying yourselves in editing until you could barely see straight. But so far, you’d accomplished a lot and were already ¾ of the way through editing the first two shows. Tomorrow you’d finish those two and then move onto the two new ones. It was exciting and overwhelming and you were really starting to feel a sense of power in your work.

Everyone around you was a powerhouse; Marie and Danielle the most inspiring of them all. You’d met some of your other coworkers and while most spoke only French, the few you were able to talk to had taught you a lot.

Aluin, who sat beside you on your right had given you some invaluable pointers on how to take better photographs and he showed you some of his own work from back when he was in college. The work ethic and self confidence that he’d built over the years was inspiring. He was so self-assured about anything he tried.

Even if he didn’t meet his goal or it ended in a way that was less than what he’d wanted, he just used that as an opportunity for growth and to push for better and you admired that attitude so much. You’d spent so much time feeling sorry for yourself; you didn’t want to do that anymore. You were going to be better than ever before.

****

There was something about the wave of adrenaline that you would get just as the show was starting that was addicting, and your final fashion show was the cherry on top of your fantastic cake. Saint Laurent was not only right at the top of all the fashions you’d liked from the experience, but the show itself was so thrilling.

A dimly lit room with floor to ceiling mirrors and lights flashing in and out like rolling ocean waves along the ceiling of the venue. If you hadn’t been taking pictures, you would have been dancing with the blood boiling in your veins. You weren’t sure you would ever choose fashion photography as your future career, but you could certainly see why someone would.

The pictures turned out amazing, the venue was the perfect environment for a dark and sexy vibe and you were so excited, scanning through your pictures of both the Thierry Mugler and Saint Laurent shows that your hips couldn’t help wiggling away in the back seat.

Danielle chuckled at your enthusiasm and you smiled at her, tilting your camera in her direction. “Look at these pictures!” You enthused, “I’m not one for tooting my own horn or anything, but these are freaking amazing.”

Danielle leaned closer, scanning the pictures as you flipped through them, nodding in appreciation. “It’s amazing, you’ve only been here, what, four days? You’ve already improved so much; I can seriously tell.”

“Thank you so much!” You grinned, embarrassed but pleased by her compliments. “I’m honestly feeling pretty good about myself.”

“As you should. You’ve got a lot going for you.”

The office was only half full when you got to back; most of the photographers and markers out on location. A few photographers were still in the building either editing or doing a couture shoot in the back and there were a few other staff members whose jobs you actually weren’t really sure of.

You spent the next few hours really focusing on work, getting as much edited as possible. Your first two shoots were now safely edited and sent off for review and you were already around 1/3 or the way through the second two. The office slowly filled the more people came back from their respective photoshoots and conversation picked up, loud with excitement from the week. It was close to dinner time when you finally shut your laptop off for the day, stretching your arms over your head with a groan.

“Hungry?” Danielle asked, standing behind her chair and pushing her arms through the sleeves of her coat.

“Definitely.” You smiled, standing up. You pulled on your slouchy knit hat, and wrapped your scarf around your neck before grabbing your own coat. Just as you were slipping your arms through the sleeves, Marie came and stopped by your desk, bundled chic and warm.

“Will the two of you accompany me to dinner? My treat.” She asked, purse hanging high on her perfectly rounded shoulders.

“Well, with an offer like that, how can we refuse?” Danielle said and you grinned.

The restaurant of Marie’s choosing was far fancier than your blood could afford and you immediately felt like you should be refusing such generosity, but at her insistence, the three of you sat down at a table close to the center and began to look through the menu.

After ordering and seeing the waiter off, you turned back to Marie whose glossy red lips were pulled into a smile. “How has it been, Y/N, going to photograph all those shows?”

“Absolutely incredible!” You beamed. “I could never have imagined such an amazing opportunity for myself, I’m honestly so grateful. I have already learned so much.”

“Which show was your favorite?” She asked, taking a sip of the red wine the waiter had poured for her shortly after you’d sat down.

“Honestly, it was Saint Laurent from today. His pieces were elegant and not too flashy and the show itself just felt really exciting.” You admitted

“I remember when I first started going to fashion shows,” Marie commented, twirling her glass in her hand, “I was really young, just recently graduated from university. I met a man there in the audience; a very promising fashion designer. His name was Pierre Dubois and he was really something special. I greatly admired his work and he is actually what gave me the idea for this company. I wanted so badly to photograph his art and publish it, but I did not have the skill of photography so instead I just spent my time with him; admiring him.”

She smiled at the memory; eyes wistful as she looked down into the swirling red of her glass. “We married in the spring when I was 25. Young and in love and a little bit foolish. Pierre was trying to start his own fashion company because his designs were beginning to find recognition and I was just happy to enjoy the journey with him. I still wanted to start this company, though, so Pierre encouraged me and with the money we’d made from the selling of his clothing, I started this company. It was very challenging for a while, it was a different time and so many people believed I could not be successful because I was a woman, but I was determined and what I say goes. Soon enough, he was becoming a bigger name and eventually my company started to grow. The rest is as you say, history.”

You smiled at the idea, that two people could start something so special together and see it become so successful. It made you crave something like that, in the future at least. Whether it was with a romantic partner or a friend, you hoped someday you could make something special like that. “Is your husband in any of the fashion shows?” You asked, taking a sip of your own wine.

Marie smiled softly, shaking her head. “No, he actually died shortly after his 40th birthday. It is unfortunate that the world could not have seen more of his designs. He really was a visionary.”

“Oh,” you said, heart sinking. “I’m so sorry to hear that. My dad died when I was 11, so I understand. He was a talented author and I’ve often wondered what else he could have come up with, if he hadn’t left so early.”

“Some of the best people this world has known, have been taken far too early.” Marie nodded, placing her glass down on the table and smiling over at you, “that is why we must be strong and continue the work for them. I may not be able to design fashion like my Pierre, but I can show the world what he loved and keep that dream alive. I love doing that for him.”

The food arrived just then so conversation switched quickly, but Marie’s words stuck in your head for the rest of the night. You wanted to be strong like Marie, to keep your dad’s visions alive. You couldn’t write wild and vivid stories like he could, but you could find joy in the little things and you were determined to share those things with the world.

****

It was already Friday and the work was long and tedious while you were editing. You didn’t have any more fashion shoots until next week on Tuesday and Wednesday so you had today and Monday to get the rest of the editing done for Fashion week. The editing was the worst part of photography, but the end product was always worth it.

Danielle had, had to leave for a doctor’s appointment about two hours ago and you were craving her company already. You dreaded thinking about when you’d go back home and she wouldn’t be there anymore. You’d been staring at your screen for 20 minutes now, wondering what was missing from this picture’s edit that you weren’t seeing.

Rubbing at your eyes, you leaned back in your chair, yawning with a stretch of your arms over your head. You still had a few hours left of work and you needed a short break. A sudden thought popped into your head, and before you could think better of it, you were clicking onto your Instagram and flipping through your friend’s pages. You knew you shouldn’t, but your fingers had a mind of their own and you were already typing in Taehyung’s name before you could even register what you were doing.

His page popped up with a flood of mostly familiar pictures, but there were two from the winter break you hadn’t seen yet. The first was a picture of him at the entertainment company he’d been signed to back at the beginning of November. He was standing with someone from the company and looked really excited and that made you happy.

You wished you could have made him happy, but you just hadn’t been ready. Flipping to the next picture, he and Jin were on the beach, the sun setting behind them and bright smiles on their faces. You were really happy for them; living out their dreams. Not very many people seemed to be able to do that, but you were happy they could; they deserved it.

“Is that the guy?”

You jumped, glancing to your left as Danielle set down her bag and sat in her seat, a knowing grin on her face.

You chuckled, nodding. “Yeah, that’s Taehyung.”

“Did you come up with a game plan?�� She asked, shrugging off her coat and slipping her scarf from her neck.

You shook your head, pursing your lips. “Not yet. Honestly, I’ve been so busy I haven’t really given myself time to sit down and think about it.”

“I don’t think that’s a bad thing.” Danielle remarked, bringing her laptop back to life, “You’re giving yourself time to really clear the air and then it will be easier to find a solution to tackle the problem. Sometimes if we think too much about something, we end up going in circles and never find a real solution.”

You nodded; lips puckered. “That’s true.” You admitted. “Man, I’m gonna miss your insights!”

Danielle laughed, squeezing your arm from beside you. “You still have another week of this internship, don’t miss me yet!”

“That’s true, maybe I’ll be sick of you by the end of it.” You teased. “So, how’d the doctors go?”

“Good.” She smiled, pulling up her editing software and pictures, “it was just a routine checkup. I had surgery a few months back so I’ve been going in to make sure everything is healing properly.”

“Oh wow, and everything’s good so far?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, leaning back in her chair and looking over at you. “It was a slipped disk that’s been bothering me for a while. It’s been years now, but when I was pregnant there were some complications and I got a herniated disk because of it. I didn’t think much of it because it didn’t really hurt at first, but over the last year or so it was pretty painful so I went and got surgery to take care of it.”

“Wow, so you’ve just been working this whole time with a slipped disk?” You gaped, leaning forward in your seat and she chuckled, waving you off.

“Adulthood. I have bills to pay and can’t really afford to take the time off. Besides, it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“You are way tougher than me.” You nodded, going back to your laptop and surveying the picture you’d been stuck on before.

“Naw, no way,” Danielle said, “you’re only as strong as you say you are.”

You smiled over at her before twisting your laptop towards her, “I’m in need of your help, oh wise one. What’s missing from this picture?”

Danielle grinned, leaning towards the picture, eyebrow scrunched in thought. “Turn the resolution up just a little and it will be perfect.”

****

Saturday morning was a welcomed break from the hectic schedule of photoshoots and editing. Danielle had told you to sleep in and be ready by 11. She was going to take you sight-seeing and you were crossing your fingers for the Eiffel Tower and a museum or two.

“Of course,” Danielle said, once you’d told her what you were hoping for, “no trip is complete without at least going to the top of the Eiffel Tower and seeing the Louvre in all of its grandeur.”

“I am so glad we agree! What about Notre Dame? I would love to see that.”

“Add it to the list!” Danielle grinned and you cheered.

After having a light lunch at a café not far from your hotel, the two of you made your way to the Eiffel Tower, paying and taking the elevators all the way to the top. The air was quite cold, but the sweeping view was worth it.

All of Paris was set out around you. It had snowed the night before, only enough to dust the ground and trees, but somehow it made the sight more beautiful. Buildings made of Limestone could be seen for miles, all topped by pristine white. The river Seine was just to your left, beautiful and shivering in the breeze.

You were pretty sure you took an obscene number of pictures, but you didn’t care. You weren’t sure if you’d ever come back here again so you didn’t want to forget a thing. Notre Dame was equally impressive, walls covered in stone and beautiful portraits. The statue Pieta was absolutely breathtaking, you couldn’t help but marvel at how someone could make something from a single slab of marble.

You’d studied all about Michelangelo and his work in your Art History class so seeing some of the pieces in person was a little mind blowing. “I can’t believe I’m here.” You whispered, glancing around the room.

“I never get tired of seeing this.” Danielle admitted. “The grandiose makes you feel so small, but in a good way.”

The golden glow of the lights against the walls made you feel warm and cozy. The vaulted domes of the ceilings inspired awe that you just couldn’t get over. There was nothing like this back home, no intensely rich culture and history that you could just feel in your bones. You would miss that a lot when you returned home. Customs were different here; in that they were intense and made you feel like a tightly knit group.

There was a sense of belonging that you enjoyed witnessing and made this internship all the more worthwhile. After spending another hour touring every nook and cranny that you were allowed to see, Danielle took you back to the Louvre, which you were particularly excited about. You’d seen just glimpses of it from the Dior fashion show, but now you would get to go inside and explore.

“The history of the louvre itself is amazing,” you remarked as both you and Danielle began to walk the halls, stopping here and there to gaze at paintings or statues. “It was once a castle under the rule of Philip II before becoming a palace for the successive kings as their main dwelling. Eventually one of the kings switched the main residence to the Palace of Versailles and this building became an unintentional museum, housing the royal collection. Did you know at one point the Louvre was even renamed Musée Napoléon when Napoléon was in power?”

“I did,” Danielle smiled, “but I’ve always been a bit of a history buff.”

“Ah, well then you must have already known all of that!” You lamented and Danielle chuckled.

“No, not all of it, but even if I had, your passion is quite charming. I enjoy talking to you; it’s always an intelligent conversation.”

“Well I’m glad I could be of some use.” You teased.

****

The weekend passed quickly and Monday was too bright and too early, but you were happy to be back at work; it was a welcome distraction from the ticking of the time on your internship. Only a few more days and you would close the door on a once in a lifetime opportunity. You were trying not to mourn the experience while you still had time left. There would be opportunities for that later.

You had your second to last photoshoot tomorrow and today you were going to be drowning in editing. You spent the morning editing by yourself, Danielle having back to back meetings with Marie and a few of the other members of staff, but at least it allowed you to fully concentrate on your work.

After lunch you worked one on one with Marie, going over the details of Tuesdays and Wednesdays shoots before sending her the pictures you’d edited thus far. You were mostly done at this point, just a handful more and you were excited to see that finished. You were always a little tired of seeing your own pictures after a dozen or so hours of staring at them.

Monday finished with nothing more than a comfortable evening and a fizzle of energy, sinking into the plush of the hotel mattress. You would be sad to say goodbye to this bed; it had given you some of the best sleep of your life so far. Tuesday was a different sort of chaos. The energy was new, less intense than fashion week, but still there in its own variety. There were too many people in the studio, full of nervous energy and differing opinions of how they wanted the models to look.

At Marie’s sharp insistence that they let the photographer do her job, you were diving into the deep end; point and shoot. This was a little more comfortable for you, a little more of what you were used to. The ability to capture what you wanted; what you found beautiful. You were less used to guiding posture and more used to discovering it in its own natural state, but there was something invigorating in the power of it.

You were in complete control of your pictures, and whether they turned out well was 90% in your hands and only 10% in the hands of the models. As it was, they were professionals so you were assuming the 100%. That was OK, though. You were a perfectionist at best, which was amusing to some because of how candid your pictures tended to be, but they were perfection in their realism, which was exactly how you liked them.

The room was hot and a little stuffy; you were warm and wet in the creases of your shirt, but you lived for this. The models did exactly as you told them and, in the end, you were pretty happy with the images you’d captured. An afternoon spent editing was a price you were willing to pay to ensure the details were right.

A company dinner with conversations in broken English, too much French wine, and not enough space between bodies in the booths made for a well-rounded evening and you met your pillow with a belly warm from Pinot Noirs.

****

Wednesday morning greeted you with sun and a hangover. It was still too cold so you bundled yourself warm and waited for the car after breakfast. Danielle greeted you at the office, standing just inside the door with a smile and a hot chocolate.

“How are you feeling?” She asked, eyes flicking across your body and you grimaced.

“Too much wine,” you admitted, “but I’ll survive.” The elevator was stuffed full of people greeting each other with sleepy bonjours and stiff head nods. It felt like a Monday.

“Last photoshoot today!” Danielle enthused, stepping from the elevator and you followed after, nodding your head briefly before regretting the action entirely. Your head was still pounding. You needed to drink your water bottle before you could even dive into the drink Danielle had given you.

“Yeah, I’m not looking forward to staring at a computer screen the next 5 hours come editing time.” You said, pulling your water bottle from your bag and chugging the remainder. “I took some medicine this morning when I woke up, though, so I should be a little less dead in 10 minutes.”

Danielle nodded, motioning towards the closet over her shoulder and you followed, going to get the equipment you’d need for the day. You loved the flexibility you got with this internship. You’d heard about how creativity stifling some could be, the dictation of what your work was meant to be like, so you’d been thrilled to find that most creative decisions were left in your hands. Danielle and Marie’s guidance had been invaluable, though, and you really looked forward to continuing to implement what they’d taught in your future career.

“I think you should use the EOS 5D Mark IV for this one,” Danielle said, going to take the camera from its casing, carefully holding it out for you as she searched for different lenses you could use. “It’s gonna help you get more details with this shoot. The clothing the models are wearing today are pretty intricate so we need you to get some pretty in-depth pictures. Here, take the EF 24-70mm as well, just in case.”

The office was filling with life as you made your way back to your desk, carefully setting the camera down before sitting in your seat and switching to the settings you’d need for the shoot. You had about an hour before the models got here so you went to go set up the room with Danielle’s help, taking a few practice shots to make sure the camera was working properly.

Marie joined you when the models did, helping to show you good positioning that would exhibit the clothing without being too intense. The dresses they were wearing were definitely intricate; lots of beading and gems. Your favorite was a black tulle dress with gold star like designs across it and a deep V-neck into the middle of the sternum. The price of €9674.50 had you gagging, but you weren’t buying it, so for now you would just enjoy looking at it.

Once the shoot was over and the frames were loaded into your laptop, you began the tedious task of editing your final photoshoot. It was bitter sweet in that it meant that your internship was basically over. You would finish editing tomorrow and then Friday afternoon you would fly home.

Sighing, you sat back in your chair, pulling your arms behind you, fingers linked together as your chest opened wide in a stretch. “I can’t believe it’s almost over.” You mourned, and Danielle turned to look at you, lips twitching up in a small smile.

“The time really has gone by quickly.” She admitted.

“I feel like so much has changed.” You said, pushing the lid of your laptop until it was almost closed.

“In what respect? You or life or something else?”

“Everything, I guess.” You shrugged. “I’ve learned a lot about my craft, but I’ve also been learning a lot about what it means to be a strong woman and it’s all thanks to yours and Marie’s example.”

Danielle looked flustered at your admission, holding a hand up to her chest. “Me? What have I done?”

“Well, you’ve of course given me guidance with my pictures, but you’ve given me unintentional advice that has been invaluable.” At the knit in her brow you continued. “I hope this doesn’t come across the wrong way because I mean it completely positively, but in college you found yourself in a situation that was really hard. You knew your strengths and limitations and decided to make a decision that could have destroyed you for the benefit of someone else. If I’d had to make a choice like that, I feel like I would somehow look down on myself, but you’re just so bright and happy and positive.”

Danielle smiled, reaching out and squeezing your hand. “I wasn’t always like this. When I first gave Emile up for adoption, it nearly consumed me with guilt. What mother just gives away their baby? That’s what I kept asking myself. Eventually, I got to the point where I was tired of being my own worst enemy. I had to face my demons and forgive myself. What I did, I did for Emile because I love her. I couldn’t have given her the life that she truly deserved and that was bigger than my desire to be her mother. I had to sort of retrain myself, learn to love the woman I am and stand by the decisions I make. I also had to learn to accept my faults and not let them limit me. I’m not a perfect person, but I’m finally allowing myself to learn from those imperfections instead of letting them dictate my life. It was really a journey of self-love.”

“I’m envious of that,” you admitted, “loving yourself enough to be ok with making mistakes and learning from them instead of being limited by them.”

“Well don’t be jealous,” Danielle said, “do something about it. You can do whatever you set your mind to; look at Marie. The entire industry looked down on her because she was a woman, but instead of choosing to adopt that thinking and let it limit her, she turned around and said, you know what? My being a woman is my strength, not my disadvantage. Then she went and proved it. Seems like right now the person you need to be proving yourself to, is yourself. Self-love is a life long journey, but it’s important.”

“How did you start, then?” You asked, spinning slightly in your chair, armrests gripped tightly between your fingers and gaze trained down on your jeans.

“I started by forgiving my flaws and telling myself every day in the mirror the things I liked about myself. Sounds silly, but it really works. At first, it was hard. My mind was flooded with self-doubt and loathing, but I just kept practicing. For every negative thought, I counteracted that with a positive one until finally there were only positives left.”

“You’re pretty amazing, Danielle.” You said, looking up at you and she smiled.

“So are you, Y/N. Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise, especially yourself. You are meant to be your biggest ally.”

****

Later that evening as you stood washing your face at the sink basin of your bathroom, you thought about what Danielle had said. There were a lot of things you didn’t like about yourself, it’s true, but there were a lot of things that you did like, so how could you learn to focus on those things?

Staring into your reflection, you frowned. Danielle was right, it was weird to try and tell yourself the things you liked, but it couldn’t hurt to try. Pursing your lips, you thought hard and decided you wanted to focus on the parts of you people couldn’t see on the outside.

“Uh,” you cleared your throat awkwardly, shifting from one foot to the other. “You’re a nice person.” Immediately you were flooded with thoughts of how awkward you were, but you rounded your shoulders and pressed forward. “You genuinely care about people; you don’t just fake it for the convenience of others. You always try really hard to get along with other people, but you don’t take crap from anyone.”

You smiled softly, thinking of some other things you liked about yourself. “You actually have a really good moral compass and a good sense of when a situation or person is good or bad; not everyone has that. You have a good sense of humor; you can always make people laugh and feel relaxed with you. You’re really smart, too. You’ve always knocked down every barrier that was in your way because you were determined enough to do it. This is going to be another one of those times.”

You spent so much time standing in front of that mirror that by the time you were finished, your eyes were heavy with sleep and you were trudging back to the comfort of your bed with a head full of praise and a warm heart. Loving yourself was going to be the best thing you’d ever done for yourself.

****

Friday morning came after a busy Thursday with a final dinner with Marie and Danielle and a teary goodbye to the former, who had an out of town business meeting and couldn’t see you off to the airport.

You’d packed your bags in the evening after dinner and double checked everything in the morning before Danielle came to get you for your final breakfast together. With your bags packed and in the trunk of the car, you’d stopped at a café. You still had two hours before you had to head to the airport for your 2 o’clock flight and your chest was tight with the bittersweet ending of your adventure.

You’d spent yesterday morning and last night after packing, praising yourself in the mirror and even though it had still felt a little awkward, you were already starting to feel a little change. It had given you a lot of time to think about who you were and who you wanted to be and as Danielle went to go pay the bill before you left for the airport, you had another moment to think about it.

One of the biggest things you’d noticed about yourself so far, was the lack of trust you had…in yourself. Maybe that stemmed from the fact that your dad had died and you weren’t able to do anything to stop it, maybe it’s because growing up after that, you were afraid to say no, afraid to hurt others in the way that you felt you been hurt by your dad’s absence. Or maybe you just didn’t trust that you could make sound and reasonable decisions.

Whatever the reason behind your lack of trust in yourself, you began to take note of what others around you were doing to build themselves up. Danielle and Marie were two of the strongest women you’d ever met. Danielle had scars both physical and emotional from her surgery and the baby that she’d given away. Marie had started an empire and carried it on her back, despite the scrutiny of her time that a woman couldn’t create and run a successful company.

You admired them deeply; wanted to be like them in many ways. Over time you realized you couldn’t actually be them…but you could be you, and that was pretty great too. You had a lot of great things going for you, a lot of really good qualities. Sure, you had things to work on, had done things that you weren’t proud of…Taehyung came to mind, but you had resolved to become your best self. You were done living your life in the shadows, feeling so afraid of yourself and the power you possessed, not just as a human being, but as a woman. You were done beating yourself up over the person you weren’t and you were ready to love yourself for the person you already were.

Sitting here in this Parisian café, dressed in your ebony peplum pea coat and cherry red beret feeling more confident than you had in your entire life, you were ready; ready for this change. “You ready to go?”

You glanced up, watching as Danielle came to stand in front of your table and you smiled, grabbing your bag and standing. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” You said, linking your arm with hers.

“I can’t believe it’s already been two weeks. Time really does fly.” Danielle moped and you pouted over at her as she closed the car door behind her.

“It really did go way too fast.” You agreed.

“Will you ever come back to Paris?” Danielle asked, reaching over and linking your hands together.

“I hope so” You said, squeezing her fingers in yours, “And of course you know if you’re ever in my area you’ve got to drop by and say hello.”

“It would be a crime if I didn’t.” She insisted. “I’m really gonna miss you.”

“I’m gonna miss you too.”

“Promise to keep me updated on everything, especially with Taehyung. I need to know how that all goes, I’m too curious to be left in the dark.”

You laughed, “I promise to give you the scoop, but don’t get your hopes up either. I was pretty unfair to him; I wouldn’t blame him if he still doesn’t want to speak to me.”

“Please, look at you. He’ll definitely want to talk.” She grinned, nudging your shoulder and you rolled your eyes at her.

Once you’d reached the airport and said your goodbyes, you lugged your bags through check in and security and then made your way towards the gates. It had only been two weeks but felt like it had been a lifetime. You’d learned so much while you were here.

Staring out the window at your plane, you sighed. You needed to make a plan, figure out how you could ever convince Taehyung how sorry you were and how willing and ready you were to actually give him a chance.

In the end, it had never been about him and all about you. You hadn’t loved yourself enough to realize that you were worthy of the love he was trying to give you. You weren’t willing to face the heartbreak of rejection so you pushed him away without ever really giving him a chance.

Now you realized you’d not only hurt him, but you’d hurt yourself. You were unwilling to do that anymore; to be the destroyer of your own happiness. You were so ready to love yourself, to be your biggest cheer leader. You were ready to face the fact that you were deserving of the love people wanted to give you. You smiled at your reflection in the mirror, the same young woman from two weeks ago, but so different too. You felt powerful, like there was nothing you couldn’t do. You were confident and comfortable in your own skin. Your body wasn’t perfect, you had little spots and cellulite in places you weren’t thrilled about; but this body had gotten you through so much and was always ready to get up and go forward in the morning. It was time your spirit caught up. You loved it in all of its little imperfections and intricacies and in learning to love the outward side of yourself, you were learning to love who you were on the inside too.

Sarah was right, you were one hell of a woman and you were no longer afraid to admit it. Take off was bittersweet; leaving behind the country and opportunity that had allowed for so much growth in your photography and even your confidence was a little scary, leaving with it a feeling of whether or not you could continue when you returned to old habits; but you refused to allow the everyday of your life to retract the progress you’d made. You were too driven.

It was late when you landed, but despite the hour, your family was still there to greet you. Your mom squealed, arms open wide as you jogged towards her, laughing at her excitement. “Oh my gosh!” She gasped, poking at your beret when she’d stood back. “You look so Parisian.”

You grinned, rolling your eyes, “What does that even look like?”

“Like that.” Ben chuckled, pulling you into a hug. “Welcome back, Tuck.”

“Thanks Benny boo.” You smiled and he groaned, grabbing at his chest in complaint.

“Hey Paul.” You said as he pulled you into a firm bear hug.

“How are you kiddo?”

“Super glad to be off that plane.” You admitted, stretching your back when you’d been released. “Economy is not where it’s at.”

Ben worked his arm around your shoulders and the four of you made your way to baggage claim through the handful of late-night stragglers off other planes. “Still can’t believe you went to Paris. Of course, my kid sister gets to do all the cool things.”

“Hey, don’t complain at me, mister. You’re the one who applied for a job at our old high school. You could have tried for that overseas job.”

Ben shrugged as your group came to a stop by your baggage claim, “You know I’m too conventional for that. I want the adventure, but turns out I’m too lame for it.”

“Can’t argue there,” you nodded and Ben laughed, smacking your arm.

“Be nice to your big brother!” He frowned and you wriggled your eyebrows up and down at him.

“It’s pretty cold out there,” Your mother said, linking her arm through yours, “Did you bring a bigger coat or just that?”

“This is surprisingly warm, actually.” You said, “but you know I went out with a bigger coat, I just packed it in my check in.”

“You might want it on.” Paul smiled, zipping his own coat up, “we’re having a bit of a cold snap right now.”

After grabbing your luggage, you followed your family back to the car, loading everything in and finally laying your head against the window. You were exhausted. It was just after midnight by the time you left the airport and after a full day of traveling you were so ready to fall asleep for at least 12 hours.

Conversation was light for the next 20 minutes, mostly your family talking and you drifting in and out of sleep and conversation. By the time you made it back to your house you were nearly asleep. Ben and Paul helped you bring your luggage back up to your room and you made your way to the bathroom to brush your teeth.

“It’s good to have you back, Tuck.” Ben smiled, kissing your forehead and you smiled up at him around your tooth brush.

“Are you staying the night?” You asked, pulling your brush from your teeth and turning to face him.

“Yeah, it’s winter vacation for us too so mom and Paul said I could stay for the last week of your break and then I’ll head back to my apartment.”

“See you in the morning, then.” You said softly, waving him away and he nodded, heading to his childhood bedroom to sleep.

****

The next morning you woke to a fresh snow and a mild headache. Jet lag was far worse heading over to Paris, but you knew you couldn’t completely escape the time zone difference so you stretched lethargically before stepping from your bed and making your way to the bathroom, fingers digging into an itch in your back.

“Morning sleepy head.” Your mother smiled from the breakfast table after you’d made your way downstairs. “I made breakfast.”

“I see that.” You remarked in amazement, “you really outdid yourself.”

The table was filled with all sorts of delicious foods and your stomach gurgled as you pulled out your chair and sat down. “I can’t decide what to eat first.”

“How about everything?” Paul chuckled, placing down his book and grabbing your plate to fill it with one of everything.

“Morning.” Ben croaked groggily from the door, shuffling his way to his seat, hair stood up in every direction and his eyes half closed with the remnants of his sleep.

“My, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” Your mother teased and your brother, having a general lack of energy, just yawned in response. “So, Y/N, you have one week before school, what do you want to do with that time?”

“I want to make a game plan.” You said and Ben looked over at you, one eye closed and the other half lidded.

“A game plan for what?” He mumbled around a mouthful of food.

“How to apologize to Taehyung.” You murmured, staring down at your food.

“Did something happen with him?” Your mother asked, taking a sip of her orange juice.

“Just kind of had a…falling out.” You said, smiling up at her, “he was ready for something more serious than I was and I was too far in my own head. I want to at least talk to him and see if he’s willing to give it one more chance. If not, then at least I’ve tried.”

“That’s a good idea.” Your mom smiled, “tell me more about him; you’ve been so secretive.”

You laughed, taking a drink from your cup, “I don’t really like to talk about things that aren’t for sure yet, you know that. I’ll tell you about him, though. He’s originally from Korea, has a brother and a sister, he’s studying dance and musical performance and he is so talented it’s ridiculous. He lives with a lot of friends from back home and they’re some of the nicest guys I’ve ever met. He’s really good at making me feel like I can do anything. I don’t know, he’s just really cool. Plus, he’s cute.” You grinned.

“As he should be,” your mother nodded. “OK, so you’ll make a game plan. Anything else? I was hoping we could go see a movie or something.”

“Yeah, mom wants someone to go a sappy movie with her.” Ben smirked and your mother swatted his arm.

“It’s not sappy.” She complained.

“Mom, it’s like hallmark on steroids.” He scoffed and you chuckled.

“Sure, mom, I’ll go with you. Mostly I just want to relax this week. Eat more than my calorie count allows and lounge on the couch with a blanket and movie.”

“I’m down for that.” Ben agreed, shaggy hair falling into his eyes as he nodded.

“I want both of you to help me with some things around the house while you’re here,” Paul said over his book and you nodded in understanding.

****

After breakfast was over you made your way back to the bathroom for a shower. The steam made you feel warm and lethargic all over again, like climbing back into the toasty heaven that were your sheets. You finished your shower, dressing and getting ready quickly before grabbing a notebook and heading to Ben’s old bedroom, leaving a knock on the solid oak wood panel.

“Come in.” He called from inside and you twisted the bronze knob, cool in your fingertips, until the door swung open. “Hey,” he smiled from his perch at the top of his bed. “What’s up?”

“Was wondering if you could contribute your man’s insight.” You asked and he patted the spot next to him.

“Sure, with what?”

“My game plan.” You said, taking the proffered seat. His bed, while unmade and a little messy, was soft and warm, and you sunk into its embrace happily.

“Ah yes, with that guy Tae something, right?”

“Taehyung, yeah.”

“Ok, so, what have you got so far?” He asked, turning his body so it was facing you, one foot on the floor with the other tucked into the center of his sweats.

“Honestly,” you sighed, “nothing. That’s the problem; I don’t even know how to start.”

“Well, I guess the only way I can really help is if you give me the details of what happened. Can’t help fix a problem I know nothing about.”

“I was hoping we could avoid that part.” You mumbled.

Ben laughed, “Sorry, Tuck. Time to be forthcoming.”

You sighed, nodding before delving into the story, watching his face apprehensively as he frowned or grimaced in certain parts and you wrung your hands nervously.

Ben exhaled loudly when you’d finished, lips puckered forward in thought. “It’s a lot to take in.” He remarked.

“I know.” You murmured.

“Well, obviously you both made mistakes, he should have been a little more patient, but you were definitely giving him mixed signals and leading him on.” Ben said gently and you frowned down at your lap, fingers tracing the rings of your notebook.

“Yeah.”

“It’s not the end of the world, Tuck, it’s been almost a month, you’ve both had time to calm down. Now you guys just need to talk. I honestly think it’s going to take more than just one chat, though, to be fair.”

“What do you mean?” You pouted and Ben smiled, ruffling your hair.

“So far, his romantic experience with you has been your body language and words at complete odds. How’s he supposed to know you’re really ready without you proving it…with time?”

Your shoulders deflated. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”

“Sorry, Y/N. He probably doesn’t trust your word much right now and you’re gonna have to show him you’re really serious about him this time. Building back trust takes time. Tell him you are ready and that you want to prove it to him over time and then be consistent. You make the moves to see him and you follow the signals and signs he gives you. And…if he says he doesn’t want to or isn’t ready, you have to respect that. Sometimes we burn our bridges.”

“I hope I haven’t burned this bridge.” You admit, looking up at your brother.

“I’m rooting for you.” He said, taking your hand in his own.

“Thanks Ben.” You smiled.

“Dad would be really proud of you, you know?” He said suddenly, and you looked over at him, eyes wide. “You’ve grown a lot over the last few years. When dad died, I feel like our family kind of fell apart. You and I were both really angry and I feel like you’ve spent a lot of time self-sabotaging, making it so that people couldn’t get close enough to hurt you anymore. I’m really proud of how much progress you’ve made. It’s not easy to open yourself up again.”

“What about you? Have you learned to open up again?” You asked.

“Well, I’ve always been a little more open than you,” he teased and you rolled your eyes at him with a smile. “But yeah, I’ve kind of been seeing someone.”

“Really?” You heaved, sliding closer, “tell me all about her!”

He chuckled, flipping the hair from his eyes, “Her name is Nicole, she’s actually another teacher at my school, teaches AP English.”

“Did Mrs. Lin leave?”

“She retired, yeah. Last year, actually. Nicole and I only started seeing each other about 2 weeks ago, but so far I think there’s a lot of potential; she’s really cool.”

“I’m excited for you. Really. At least one of us has got the romance department a little more figured out.”

“It’ll be the two of us soon enough. If not Taehyung, it’ll be someone else. There’s nothing wrong with you if you don’t date, though. You know that, right?”

You smiled, grabbing his shoulder in a tight squeeze. “I know, Ben. Thank you so much for listening. Seriously. Your support makes me feel like I can really do this.”

“You definitely can.” He said. “By the way, mom wanted me to remind you that you still need to open your presents from Christmas.”

“Oh!” You gasped, bouncing from your seat on his bed, “I totally forgot about that. Let’s go downstairs!”

****

Later that evening, after you’d had dinner and cleaned the dishes, you were sat in front of the fireplace in your pajamas, book in hand. Paul was watching tv, flipping casually through channels and you could hear your mom and Ben playing chess in the office. You coveted days like these, where you could sleep in and lounge lazily around the house. No responsibilities, just relaxation.

The downtime gave you the opportunity to think, too. Mostly right now you were thinking about how you missed Paris. All the time in the world and you wouldn’t have been able to explore all the things you’d wanted to. Every cute café, shoved in a small hole in the wall with beautiful vibrant wisteria and vines of honeysuckle hanging from the trellises. You wish you could have seen them in bloom, but even in winter it was an enchanting sight.

You missed Danielle a lot, she’d provided you with a lot of insight and a great friendship. You wished you could have brought her back home with you. She wasn’t that much older than you, but she’d taught you so much.

“Would you be willing to help me in the store tomorrow?” Paul asked, turning his gaze from the tv to rest on you.

“You need me to man the cash register?” You asked, looking up at him. “Yeah, the customers are in need of a pretty face, not just my gruff mug.” He chuckled and you smiled.

“Sure, I’ve got some time to spare. What time?”

He flipped to a rerun of an old army show, dropping the controller in his lap, brow wrinkled. “Not a super long time, I know it’s your break right now. How about from 11-3? That way I can get Bobby and I a good solid break.”

“Sounds great.” You nodded, flipping your book back open. “I’ve still got the shirt upstairs in my closet.”

“Great. Your brother is coming in tomorrow too, but he’ll be helping in the back with some heavy loading stuff so you may not even see him.”

“Is he going in at the same time as you?” You asked and he shook his head.

“No, he’s actually coming in at the same time as you so maybe you can drive in together.”

“Good. I’ll make him drive.” You grinned.

****

The drive to the store was slow in the snow, but the familiar roads and buildings were comforting in their nostalgia. The morning air was still and crisp, leaving a chill in the car that went sweeping into your bones.

Your breath fogged in front of you, condensation building on the window as you stared out. The streets were mostly empty, despite the hour, but as you made your way further into town the sidewalks became more crowded with people, snow trodden footsteps and the remnants of Christmas decorations.

Ben pulled into the parking lot of Paul’s garden and home store and locked the doors behind the two of you as you stepped, shivering into the mist covered afternoon. You could see a few customers inside, but it wasn’t overcrowded.

Moving inside, you shook the cold from your limbs, glancing around the room to find Paul. He stood at the opposite end of the store in the garden section, talking to a man over the top of a large potted gardenia. He waved at the two of you absently and you walked to the back of the store and into the employee break room, sliding your coat from your shoulders and onto the wall hanger by the door.

“I’m gonna go grab us some aprons.” Ben said, walking into the office and closing the door behind him to get to the shelf.

The break room was just as you remembered it. Two brown, leather couches, one with a poorly patched hole in the center of one of its seats, an old, wooden table by the sink with a small white fridge and a couple counter tops. There was a small tv sat on a table across from the couches, so you sat down, fidgeting idly with the sleeve of your uniform shirt while you waited for your brother to return.

“OK,” Ben sighed, making his way back out of the office and closing the door behind him, two grey aprons clutched in one hand. He chucked one into your waiting lap and you stood, fastening it around your waist and behind your back. “Let’s go see where he wants us.”

By the time you returned to the front, Bobby was already ringing up the gardenia customer and Paul was making his way over to the two of you. “Thanks again for coming in.” He smiled, clapping your brother on the shoulder and you waved him off.

“We’re happy to help.” You replied.

“I’m gonna go ahead and send Bobby on break and get you set up on register, Y/N. Ben, I’ve got a few things I need your help with. When Bobby comes back, I’ll go on break and send him your way, Ben.”

“Sounds good.” Ben nodded.

“Morning,” Bobby greeted you from his position at the register and you grinned. He was a shorter, slightly stouter man, just a few years older than you, with short, black hair, a rounded nose, and glasses. He was quiet and a little awkward, but a genuinely nice guy and someone you considered a good friend here in the city.

“How are you?” You greeted as he stepped from the register to allow your uncle to log his information in.

Bobby shrugged, “can’t complain. Making money to pay for my exorbitant lifestyle, the usual.”

You laughed, patting his arm and stepping back as your uncle made his way passed. “You’ll have to keep me updated on that.”

Bobby made his way back to the break room and Ben and your stepdad walked towards the back of the store, disappearing around the corner. The store wasn’t very busy right now so you grabbed a Home and Garden magazine from beside you and began to flip through to occupy your time.

Shortly before noon, the bell to the shop chimed and you glanced up as Anna, Sarah, and their mom walked through the door.

“Y/N!” Sarah squealed, running towards you, Anna hot on her tail and you rounded the register to give them both a hug. “Oh my gosh, we weren’t sure if you’d be here today but tagged along with our mom just in case.”

“Seems like it was a good idea.” Their mom said from behind and you chuckled, giving her a quick hug.

“Yeah, I just got back the other day and Paul asked Ben and I to come in and help today.”

“Did you buy a beret like we told you to?” Anna asked and you grinned, rolling your eyes at her.

“Of course, I did. Just wait until you see all the things I got! I’m so excited to show you everything.”

The twins mother made her way to the plant section of the store and you glanced after her, before turning your attention back to your friends. “Well we should hang out before we head back to school. I know you haven’t spent a lot of time with your family, but we’ve spent more than enough with ours.” Sarah teased and Anna nodded vigorously.

“Sure, you guys know you’re welcome to come over anytime. Why don’t you come over later after dinner and we can watch a movie or something?”

“And by watch a movie you mean gossip about Paris while a movie plays in the background?” Anna said, eyebrows wagging and you laughed.

“Pretty much.”

After the twins and their mother had bought what they needed and left the store with see you soon’s, you returned to a sluggish afternoon of the occasional customer question and watching the snow drifts outside the front window.

Every once in a while, you’d see Ben and Paul lugging heavy plants to the front of the store and Ben would make funny faces about the pain of heavy labor and you’d smile and laugh, waving him away. By the time both Bobby and Paul had taken their breaks and returned, you were ready to get some food of your own so with quick thank you’s from Paul and no problem’s from you and your brother, you both made your way back into the snow, bundled and warm, to head home for food and relaxation.

You helped your mother make lunch, before the three of you retired to the living room to watch old reruns of The Nanny and eat. It was so nice to be home and have no responsibilities. Even though you missed Paris and you even missed school, there was no way you were going to squander the opportunity to sit around and do absolutely nothing important.

After dinner, Anna and Sarah came over in their dad’s brand-new Christmas present, a beautiful cherry red Camaro and you remarked on the amazing feat it must have been to convince him to let them drive it.

Sarah chuckled, “well since we only live a block away, he was willing to allow it. You know if you lived any further, we would have been in the Toyota.”

“This is true.” You nodded your commiseration before grinning and looking at your friends with wiggling eyebrows. “Wanna see my clothing loot?”

“That should not be a question!” Anna insisted and the three of you ran giggling up the stairs into your room.

You grabbed your suitcase from the floor, flopping it across the middle of your bed and flipping open the top. “You still haven’t unpacked?” Anna asked, sitting at the foot of your bed, one foot tucked into the seat of her jeans.

You shrugged, “let me live my lazy life.” Pulling some of the clothes from your bag, you began modeling for your friends who indulged you happily with oo’s and aw’s and exclamations of jealousy that made you giddy with excitement.

“What about your beret?” Anna asked and you smiled, reaching into your closet and putting on the new coat and hat to show them.

“I’m so jealous!” Sarah cried, jumping from the bed and coming to your side to stroke the fabric of your coat. “Feels like wool.”

“It’s a synthetic wool, actually, and it’s so warm!” You gushed. “Also, check out the hat. Do you approve?”

“Very much so!” Anna chuckled, running her finger tips across the brim of your hat. “I hope you brought us souvenirs.”

“What do you take me for?” You asked, spinning back to your suitcase and pulling out two bags filled with small little goodies and a beret each for your two closest friends who squealed words of thanks and dug through their bags excitedly.

“Did you get something for Charlotte?” Sarah asked, looking up at you and you nodded, holding another bag up from your suitcase.

“Duh.”

The three of you spent the rest of the night filling each other in about your separate breaks and the presents you’d gotten and you gushed all about Danielle and Marie and Paris until you were blue in the face and they were green with envy and then you sat down to a movie with popcorn and more conversation until their dad was finally calling them back home and you were climbing back into bed, excited to enjoy the rest of your winter break before returning back to school for the spring semester.

*****

Thank you sooo much for being so patient and waiting for this 42 page beauty. I’m really happy with this chapter and I hope you love it. Please let me know what you think! I’m desperate for your thoughts and opinions. Haha. We’re almost there, only 3 more chapters!

Chapter 12

Chapter 14

#taehyung fanfic #taehyung scenario #taehyung angst #taehyung fluff #taehyung x reader

48 notes · View notes

xiaojusaur · 5 years ago

Text

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 1.6K

Description: The new girl in town meets one of the popular guys in school as he helps her to survive the first day of school.

It was your first day at your new high school. You were pretty nervous as a new girl in town. Your dad was a businessman and he was always moving out. This time you guys ended up in Korea, apparently, he had some deals there and he was going to be there for a few months. Since he couldn’t let you alone and your mother wasn’t around anymore, he had to take you with him everywhere.

He wasn’t a bad dad, in fact, he gave you everything you wanted. He just wasn’t around much since he was always working. Living with him was like living alone.

You were at the bus stop to get to school, with your arms crossed in front of you. It was so cold, or was it the anxiety? You didn’t know, but there you were, waiting for the bus as if you knew this town like the palm of your hand, scared of getting lost in this enormous town.

Someone interrupted your train of thoughts when he stood next to you. You looked at him, he was pretty tall and skinny. He also had funny hair, but he wasn’t ugly, he was actually cute.

You found yourself blushing from just looking at him, what is wrong with you?! You looked at your red converse to conceal your shame.

“Nice kicks,” you heard him say but weren’t sure if it was directed to you.

“Yes you, pretty girl.” You looked at him, making sure he was talking to you.

“Oh… thank you. My mom gave them to me,” you shared.

“They are pretty and they look cute on you.”

There you were, blushing stupidly again.

“So are you new around? I haven’t seen you before,” he kept making conversation.

“Yeah, my father and I moved here a few weeks ago.” It was then that you noticed you guys had the same school uniform. He probably was waiting for the bus too.

“That’s nice, welcome.” He smiled and two beautiful dimples appeared in the center of each cheek.

“Thanks.” Why were you so awkward, gosh!

“You going to my same high school, that’s great. Maybe I can show you around,” he offered and honestly you felt such a relief.

“Oh my God, that would be great. I was so scared of getting lost,” you confessed.

He laughed and said, “That’s normal, but don’t worry, you’ll do great and you’ll get used to it quick.”

“I hope so… are you waiting for the same bus?”

“Yeah, the only one to get to school.” He wanted to laugh.

“Oh...”

He finally burst out laughing, “I'm sorry, it’s so funny.”

“Sure, laugh all you want. I'm glad you're enjoying yourself.” You started laughing too.

You heard the wheels of something big coming and you guessed it was the bus. You saw it turn at the corner and coming to your direction.

“That’s the bus. Just letting you know,” he goofed around.

“I noticed.” You gave him a mean look that, for him, made you look cute.

The bus stopped in front of you and as soon as the door opened for you to enter, the guy said, “Ladies first.”

You sat and he sat by your side. You thought he was going to forget about you as soon as he got into the bus.

You felt his eyes on you and while looking out the window said, “What?”

“What’s your name? I never asked, sorry.”

You looked at him and said, “Oh, I’m Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m Namjoon.” He gave you his hand to shake and you took it, his long fingers wrapping around your tiny hand.

You arrived at school quickly. Standing at the gates you looked up to the building, it was huge! It was impossible to not get lost here. You heavy sighed and when you were gonna start walking, Namjoon said, “Don't worry, you got this.”

“I hope so... this is huge.” You said with huge eyes.

“Let me see your class program.” You took it out of your backpack and after studying it, you saw him smirk.

“What?” you said confused.

“You have 2 classes with me. The one after your first class and the one before the last one. I guess you’re in luck.” You wanted to slap that stupid grin of his face, but he was so cute and also he was a huge help.

“Come, I’ll guide you to your classroom, it’s near the one I’m going anyways.” You nodded and followed him.

In the hallways, everyone was looking at you. You almost forget you were a new student here.

Namjoon walked you to the door of your first class and while leaning on the doorframe he said “I’ll see you in next class.” he winked and left, leaving you with a bright red face.

A girl started making conversation with you quickly, she was so welcoming. After that, the class started. As usual, the professor asked you to introduce yourself and such.

When it was time to the next class, you were about to go out of the classroom when Namjoon talked, “Hi lost child,” making you jump.

“Oh my god, stop doing that,” you said pressing your chest from the jumpscare.

“I’m sorry,” he said laughing. “I came to guide you to your next classroom.”

You walked side by side, everyone looking at you two. You thought that maybe everyone was thinking you two were a thing.

“Umm... are you popular around?” you asked curiously.

“I might be, why?”

“Because everyone is looking at us, it feels weird.”

“Ah, probably they think you’re my next victim,” he said holding a laugh.

“So that’s your reputation around?” Were you really hanging around with the school fuckboy?

“Oh god, I’m joking, don’t worry.”

You guys arrived to the classroom and as soon as you entered, a group of guys sitting on the back started shouting. He soon forgot about you, so you sat closer to the front side of the classroom.

When the class finished, Namjoon stopped at your desk and said, “See you at lunch. He walked out with a bunch of guys, you guessed those were his friends.

You walked to the cafeteria, thinking already of where you were going to sit since you knew no one there.

After getting your food, you looked around at all the tables. Everyone looked at you, some smiled, some just moved so you couldn’t sit with them. You were walking to an empty table when you heard someone called you “Hey lost child, here!” You looked to your left and there he was again, with other 6 guys. They made some room for you to sit with them. You thanked them and sat right across from Namjoon.

“Guys, this is Y/N, she’s new around and I’m kinda helping her, so please be nice to her and behave.” He acted almost like a father, that was kinda cute.

They all smiled and introduced themselves. It was such a weird group of friends, they were all different yet, they seemed to share a beautiful friendship. They were really funny. When you looked at the clock, it was time to go to class again.

Since Namjoon said nothing else, not even when he saw you in the next class you had together, you thought he wouldn’t accompany you back home. So when the bell rang, you picked up your things and walked out of the building. You didn’t see him in the crowd you supposed he already left. When you reached the gates, he was there, waiting for you. What did you do to deserve him?

“Ready to go home?” he asked.

“Definitely! I’m so tired,” you said huffing.

“Let’s go.”

On the bus he asked about your day, you told him how it was great and thanked him for his great help.

The bus dropped you both at your destiny and there he suggested, “Should I take you home? Or can you make it now?”

“Of course I can make it, I know where I live,” you scuffed.

“I’ll accompany you anyways.”

“Are you so curious about knowing where I live?” You said while walking.

“Maybe,” he half-smiled.

“I just hope you’re not a secret murderer or something,” you said joking.

“I might be, who knows.”

You pushed him playfully, he was so annoying sometimes. You saw your house, and a sigh of relief left you, you really were tired. He walked you to the front door.

“What should I do now so you spare my life?” You asked, looking at him.

“Hmmm... Maybe go on a date with me? Is that enough of torture?” He surprised you there. He just asked you out for a date.

You felt your face going hot, probably your whole face was red. “I- umm... yeah, sure,” you smiled. He left you tong-tied, you didn’t expect that at all.

“You sure? You can say no...” Why was he doubting?

“Yeah, I do want to... it’s just it was so sudden I didn’t even think about it, but I do want.”

“Okay, then... I’ll see you tomorrow at school.”

“See ya!” You entered the house and leaned on the door, like in the movies when they are excited about something.

You didn’t notice the presence of your father, who was looking at you with a confused face.

“Oh, hi dad!!” you said too excited.

“Who was that? Already making friends?” he asked suspiciously.

“Yeah, he helped me today to not get lost. He was really nice,” you explained.

“He seems like a good guy.” You knew what he was implying. Bold of him to assume you weren’t going to give him the chance.

@softteokii

#bts fanfic #bts imagines #bts #kim namjoon #bts rm #rap monster #namjoon reaction #namjoon scenarios #namjoon imagine #bts scenarios #bts namjoon #namjoon fluff #bts fluff

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silver-wields-a-pen · 6 years ago

Text

Illthdar High: An au fan fiction

Tuesday Afternoon

Nyima checked her watch as she hurried down the side-walk. She kept her head down, ignoring the occasional call out from passing creeps. A familiar voice made her glance up. Is that the janitor? She shuddered and pulled her long, dark hair over part of her face in an attempt to hide. She had roughly half an hour before she had to be at Vyxen’s, which gave her plenty of time to drop off the mail for her mom and then pop into the nearby GameStop to see if the new Final Fantasy game was in stock. Her mother didn't let her preorder it and the last time she’d checked they were all sold out. It was a soul crushing experience. She almost threw herself on the floor in a fit of misery. Only the thought of being looked at by everyone stopped her. If it's not here today, I really will scream. The lie made her giggle.

Ten minutes later and her letters were safely in the mailbox and a wall of games were in front of her. She bounced on her toes with excitement. It's here! It's here! I can play it! Yay! Tunnel vision got her across the store in record time, but not without gracelessly crashing into someone on the way. “I’m so sorry!” Panic swept her game-induced euphoria to the side. “I’m so, so sorry!” She repeated, crouching down to grab the game the other person dropped.

“Uh, um.. no. No, it’s my fault. I’m sorry.”

The strangled voice was too familiar for Nyima not to realize who it belonged to. She froze and went cherry red. Oh my god, no no no way, not him! Anyone but him! Let me die! This was the worst thing that could happen and it took every ounce of bravery not to just drop the game and run out of the store.

She stayed frozen in place, fingers curled around the game box. She stared so hard at the pair of sneakers at the edge of her vision she could draw them with her eyes closed. The tension was so thick she thought she'd drown in it and she wished she could.

“You can’t drown in feelings, they’re not substantial. Same for evaporating, so stop thinking it.” She could hear Rae’s voice in her head, speaking too much logic for her liking. “Can't stay on the floor either. They'll close eventually.”

You're not my friend anymore. Mustering all the courage she could scrape together, Nyima stood up. She left her gaze on the floor until she forced herself to look up. Jingyi was wearing a gaming t-shirt and a Pokemon beanie. He looks so cute. “Hi, Jingyi,” she mumbled, her voice barely audible even to her own ears. He's so cute, he's super cute! Look at that cute smile and the way his hair looks perfectly messy and his eyes are so kind and warm and I RAN RIGHT INTO HIM! I'M SUCH A LOSER! She was so mortified she could die.

So could he. Jingyi was used to people running into him, so he didn't mind until he saw who it was. He thought he’d have a stroke when she mumbled apologies, so he kept a hand solidly on his inhaler in his pocket just in case. He took a deep breath, trying to commit the flowery scent of her shampoo to memory because he’d probably never be this close to her again. Or maybe he would. This was a good chance to talk to her. Richard told him to seize opportunities when they came his way and this was as good an opportunity as he would ever get. Yes! I’m going to talk to her. Decision made, he straightened up and smiled until his cheeks ached. “You play games?” He rolled his eyes at himself. Smooth move, dork. Of course she plays games. Why would she be in here if she didn’t?

“Yeah,” Nyima replied. Her voice was soft and her eyes darted around, looking at everything but him. Her face tinted pink and if he wasn’t already stupidly head over heels for her, he would be now. “You too?”

“Yeah,” he responded. Silence overtook them again.

“Oh! Here.” She pressed his game back into his hands and made to leave.

Fearing he was losing his first real chance to talk to his dream girl, Jingyi blurted out the first thing he could think of that wasn’t about how beautiful she was. “Have you ever played?” He gestured to the Mortal Kombat game in his hands.

“No.” Nyima stopped mid-stride and turned back to face him, keeping her eye line level with his chin. Her hands fiddled with the cuffs of her cardigan. “Is it good?”

“Yeah,” he said for the second time. He chuckled, awkward, and she looked up at him. They both smiled. “You should try it sometime. My favorite character is Sub Zero, he can control ice––”

“Like Shiva!” Nyima perked up a little. She held up the game box in her hands although it didn't have a picture of the character she meant on it. “Shiva from Final Fantasy, I mean. She's really cool.” She giggled like a nerd at her pun. “I couldn't be like that; I hate being cold.” She shut up when she realized she was rambling, wary of looking like a bigger idiot than she already had.

Jingyi laughed. She's so cute. “I don’t like the cold either,” he confessed, his formerly inexistent confidence sparked to life when the corners of her lips rose. “Shiva sounds like a cool character, no pun intended. Her and Sub Zero would probably make an awesome team. M-may––” he stuttered as his courage fled the shop. No, come back! I need you! Shit. “Erm, maybe if you want, we could, like, maybe play together sometime? You could show me Final Fantasy and I’ll show you Mortal Kombat?”

Nyima squeaked. It sounded like a date. She scuffed her shoe against the floor and tugged on her cardigan.

“Ok,” Jingyi said, deflating after guessing she was about to say no.

Nyima sucked in a breath and looked up at him. She opened her mouth and whispered, “Yes, please.”

Jingyi nodded, dejected. “I figured a girl as pretty as you would––” His brain caught up to her reply and he looked at her, incredulous. “Seriously?”

Nyima was tense and nervous as a rabbit seen by a lurcher. She jerked her head in a yes, clutched her game to her chest and ran towards the tills calling in a squeaky voice, “Text me!”

~*~*~

Zercey was so done with today’s practice and it just began. First, she had to deal with yelling at the JV squad members who showed up late. Their captain was still out sick and the assistant captain wasn’t even good at pretending to be mean. I mean, really, a good captain has to be good at both cheering and leading. This isn’t a Miss Congeniality contest. That mess dealt with, she had to focus on her own squad to make sure they had their routine down for the pep rally and game that weekend. They had a big week ahead of them, and if the last few practices were any indication, they’d be preparing until the last possible second. Today they were in the gym as their coaches decided it was best to separate them from the distraction that was the football team.

Zercey got in formation for the beginning of their halftime routine. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, one, two... She counted along in her head as she lost herself in the sound of the groups' shoes squeaking on the floor in time to the music playing. She concentrated on making her movements precise, locked elbows, light feet. Left hurkie, toe touch… She knew her jumps were good and could see out of the corner of her eye that the rest of the squad was hitting the tempo as well. Round off, back handspring. She used the momentum at the end of her flip to propel herself higher up and back, hands above her head and legs tucked, so that her ending position was the setup for the first stunt. As one, her bases gave a slight pulse down and then she shot up, their arms extended fully overhead as she grabbed her leg with one hand and blew a kiss to the audience with the other. That was where she belonged: high above the crowd, center stage, with all eyes on her. Her confidence sufficiently boosted, she got into the groove, moving more from muscle memory than conscious effort. As she let her mind wander, she thought about Lerki. Damn that beautiful jerk! Why did he insist on messing with her and sending stupid mixed messages? He ignored her almost all day after his teasing in English class, and she found him flirting with every person with a B cup or bigger every time she saw him.

But, when she was leaving the gym after a late practice, there he was, waiting for her in the parking lot.

“Hey,” he said in that annoyingly sexy voice of his. She huffed and tried to walk by him, but he caught her wrist and spun her around. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Oh? I thought you might have been waiting on one of those bimbo underclassmen,” Zercey snapped, yanking her wrist out of Lerki’s grasp and walking away, nose in the air. If he thinks he can just flirt with anyone right in front of my face, and then come back as if nothing happened, he's got another thing coming.

“You’re cute when you’re jealous,” Lerki cooed, catching up and snaking an arm around her waist. “Come on, sweetness, come hang out with me. I promise I’ll make it up to you. I’ll even drive you home.” He smiled suggestively and Zercey felt her resolve crumbling.

“Fine,” she agreed. And that was how she got an awesome new bracelet and lose an equally awesome bra in his car. It was a good night. She was still a little giddy when she walked into school this morning, remembering how warm his hands had been when he teasingly trailed his fingers along her thighs. That giddy feeling persisted all the way up until she saw him chatting up another freshman in the hallway. He was lucky she didn’t punch him right there and in front of everyone.

The music ended, and the squad walked over to their coach and choreographer. When she was in school, her team won Regionals three years in a row and Nationals twice. She was even more competitive than many of the girls on the team, and Zercey could tell by the thin line of her mouth that whatever notes she had for them, they wouldn't be good.

“We showcase this routine in four days and you all still don’t have the timing right,” she began, disapproval ringing in her voice. “The first tumbling pass is beyond sloppy. Curran, I only saw four back handsprings, what happened to the fifth? And do you care to tell me why your full became a tuck?” Zercey had to bite her tongue to keep from yelling at him right alongside her. Curran knew better than to switch up any of the flips this late in the game. At least he had the decency to hang his head and look sorry. She continued giving notes to the rest of the group, addressing Zercey last.

“Stay focused. Halfway through and your eyes look dead. I don’t care what else is happening around you. As a flyer, and as captain, there is no excuse for half-baked facials. Charm the crowd or else I’ll change the stunt groups.” Addressing the team at large she said, “I’ve seen enough of the dance, line up for the cheer.”

Dismissed, the squad walked back onto the floor, mentally preparing themselves for the hard work ahead of them.

Inwardly cursing Lerki for being the reason for getting reamed out, Zercey took a deep breath as she found her starting position.

~*~*~

“Are you going to go to the dance on Saturday?” Raemina asked all of a sudden. She was sitting on Vyxen’s bed, splitting her concentration between completing flashcards they would need for their study session and watching Vyxen agonize over where to put the book she’d just finished on the shelves.

“Probably not,” Vyxen responded offhanded, grey eyes scanning her shelves for the sixth time. This book was the fourth in a set, but it was a different color than all the others. It would bother her not to keep the set together, but it would also bother her to ruin the color system she had in place. “Do you think it would look weird if I bought a cover for it so the color would match all the others?”

“I don’t think anyone but you cares what your bookshelf looks like.” Rae tried not to be amused, but she’d never seen a teenager so bothered by book colors before. “You will give yourself grey hairs if you keep that up.”

“No one would notice.” Vyxen struck a pose and dramatically flipped her platinum colored hair over her shoulder mimicking a gesture she’d seen Scyanatha do in the hallway. She placed the book down on her desk, resolving to go ahead and buy the cover before she shelved it, so that way everything would be in order. She made to return to the bed to help with flashcards, one knee pressing into her floral mint and coral bedspread, when she heard someone flying up the stairs.

A second later Nyima busted into her room, out of breath and looking panicked. “I think I have a date with Jingyi,” she wheezed as she bent over to catch her breath.

“What!?” Raemina jumped off the bed so fast she tripped. She grabbed Nyima by the wrist and dragged her over to the bed, jaw dropping lower and lower as Nyima told them the story of what happened in the video game store. “Are you serious!? This is amazing!” She hugged her until Nyima said she couldn't breathe.

“You’re really going to go to his house?” Vyxen was less ecstatic than Rae, but only because her mind was preoccupied by all the things two teens could get up to at someone’s house and it was threatening to make her faint. “Are his parents going to be there?”

“Hopefully not!” Raemina was giddy with excitement and a little jealous. Mostly she was happy. Nyima was the first of the three of them to get a date; this was a huge deal! “Maybe you guys will make-out!” She pressed on, ignoring how both Nyima and Vyxen flustered at the suggestion. “Do you think he’ll ask you to the dance? We’ll all have to go then, it will be amazing. We could go dress shopping and––”

“How's Rhys doing?” Nyima asked Vyxen, desperate to change the subject. She bounced off the bed and away from Rae’s grasp to inspect the chubby black goldfish lazily swimming around the large tank Vyxen kept beside her desk. “Is he still sick? He looks like he’s doing better. I researched what could cause it, I think it might impress the interviewer when I apply for veterinarian school for me to know about fish. Few people would care about things like that.” She trailed a fingertip across the glass and watched in amusement as Rhys followed it.

“No one cares about the fish!” Raemina noticed the attempt to change the subject and she wasn’t having it.

“I care about the fish…” Vyxen grumbled, pouting when her fish followed Nyima’s hand. Rhys never did that for her.

“Ok, whatever, we all care about the fish and he’s fine. Guys! This is serious. We have to go to the dance now, we have to.” If she could get them to agree she could ask Rhovan to be her date! This was perfect!

Nyima and Vyxen shook their heads. “I don’t really want t––”

“Vyxen, you’re going,” Raemina informed her, refusing to even let her suggest that she wasn’t. “It’ll be great, come on! We can get cute dresses, Nyima can dance with Jingyi and we’ll get to see that awesome new DJ! It’ll be so much fun! And––” Rae tried to persuade, dancing across the room to Vyxen’s computer to bring up Youtube. “Touch,’ by Little Mix poured from the speakers “––we can all dance together! We’ll show the Barbie club that they’re not the only ones with moves.”

“I don’t want to show them anything,” Nyima muttered under her breath. She tried to avoid Scyanatha and her friends and she’d like to keep doing that until she graduated and never had to see them again.

“Come on! I know you two know the moves!” Rae rocked her hips all the way down to the ground and popped her tiny butt out to the best of her capability, sending a wink over her shoulder.

Vyxen and Nyima giggled, rolling their eyes but joining in. Rae was too stubborn to let them off easy. Soon the room was full of pop music, laughter, and dance moves no one would expect from three perpetually shy and nervous girls. Butts were dropping to the floor, thighs were spreading wide and hair was being flipped every which way. They’d watched the music video enough at sleep overs to be able to follow the moves fairly well.

They were on one of the best parts of the song, all with their hands in the air and their hips thrusting forward, when a wolf whistle followed by the sound of clapping and loud laughter from the doorway caused them all to freeze in place.

Salem leant in the doorway with an evil smirk on his face, and Date and Rhovan were right beside him.

“Salem!” Cheeks burning, Vyxen stormed over to the door, screaming, “Get the fuck out!” She slammed it in his laughing face.

~*~*~

“I’m quite disappointed in you two,” Principal Chiyoko tutted from behind her desk. “Not only is smoking very damaging to your health, but we strictly prohibit such behaviour on school property.” She shook her head as she talked, desperately searching for a way to connect with the two students in front of her, who seemed to ignore her good advice at every turn.

Rhoe grumbled, arms folded tight against her chest and legs splayed in front of her. Cowan sat beside her looking bored. They were used to Ms. Chiyoko’s lectures. They'd received one at least once a week since school started. She tried everything: appealing to their good natures, suggesting they join a club so they could take up new hobbies and make friends, even going so far as to halfheartedly threaten to pull their parents in for a meeting. Unfortunately, she found it difficult making her soft and light voice sound firm. It was a challenge to get people to take her seriously.

“I’m afraid that this puts me in a rather difficult position. I can let you off with a warning this time, but if this happens again, you must serve an in-school suspension.”

“What? That’s fucking bullshit! What kind of fucking joke is this shit?!” Rhoe let out a string of expletives.

Principal Chiyoko blinked, startled. “Now, young lady, I won’t have anyone speaking like that in my office.” She fixed the two with the sternest look she could muster. “For that outburst, young lady, I’m giving you both a detention! You’ve dragged your friend down with you, doesn’t that make you feel bad?”

“No,” Rhoe replied bluntly.

Cowan snickered beside her.

Mrs. Chiyoko looked devastated, shrinking into her too-big yellow suit jacket and mumbling for the two of them to see the assistant principal, Ms. Queline for their detention slips.

Queline shot the two a scathing look when they exited the office. They were there every day, but no matter how many times Cowan and Rhoe got in trouble, they still caused mischief. Delinquents, the both of them, Ms. Queline thought savagely. If it were up to her, detentions would be a much more serious matter. What kids these days needed was a strong hand, none of this mollycoddling parents liked to do with them. Kids needed to learn respect even if that meant the hard way. And they would use detention for something useful, like deep-cleaning the science labs; something where they worked with their hands and really thought about the consequences of their actions, not just another hour and a half of falling asleep and doing homework in a classroom. She sighed as she finished writing up their detention slips. “If I see you in here one more time before the end of the semester, you’ll be spending the entirety of your in-school suspension scraping gum off the desks and scrubbing this school from top to bottom, do you understand me?” She snapped, throwing the two slips of paper at them and ordering them to get out of her sight.

Detention used to be all in one room, but ever since someone found a used condom under a desk, Principal Chiyoko decided the best idea was to split it between two genders. So Rhoe stalked off to one room and Cowan walked into the other room, only to see Xyl and another underclassman whose name he didn’t know.

“What’re you in here for?” Cowan asked Xyl as he took the desk next to him. Better being stuck with someone he knew than spend the next ninety minutes in boredom.

“Got caught passing notes.” It was true. In class earlier that day, he had tried to slip Date a piece of paper for some new Khrome ideas, but the idiot wasn’t paying attention, so they stuck him in detention when they were supposed to be having band practice.

Cowan nodded sagely. “Yeah, that’ll happen.”

“What are you in for?” Xyl echoed, eager to keep the conversation going. It wasn’t often that he got to talk to Cowan without Rhoe there to scoff and roll her eyes at him while he did it.

“Your sister forgot to check the area before we lit up and Uwe busted us.”

Xyl nodded by way of agreement, but couldn’t think of anything else to say. He wasn’t really a people person, most of the time he just tried to stay out of the way and focus on things he enjoyed, like his band or… The band!

“Oh hey, are you going to the talent show on Friday?” he tried to phrase the question as casually as he could so that Cowan wouldn’t think he was trying too hard.

“Uhh… I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“Oh.” They lapsed into silence once more.

“Are you?” Cowan finally said.

Xyl lost the thread. “Am I what?”

“Are you going to the talent show thing?”

“Oh, that.” He tried to act casual. “Yeah, my band will be playing there. It’ll be all right, I guess.” He linked his hands behind his head and tipped back in his seat, then overbalanced.

Cowan grabbed Xyl's chair to stop him toppling over. “Right, I forgot your sister said you had a band.”

Xyl cringed. He could only imagine what Rhoe had said about Khrome.

Cowan seemed to read his thoughts when he responded, “She seemed to think you all make more noise than you do music.”

“Well, actually we’re more punk than we are a noise band,” Xyl replied, not getting the joke. Cowan’s blank stare told Xyl he didn’t know what he was talking about. “Never mind,” he said lamely.

Mr. Bracken, who had the misfortune of supervising the boys’ detention today, finally looked up from his desk and reminded the students they should be doing homework and that there was no need to talk.

“Hey, I was planning to give Rhoe a ride home after this. If you wait with me, you can get a ride too,” Cowan whispered when Mr.Bracken’s attention became focused entirely on his book again.

“I’m actually heading to my friend’s house after this...” Xyl never wished he had a good reason to get out of band practice more. He might have done it anyway, but he’d never hear the end of it if he ditched practice with a show so close.

Cowan shrugged. “That’s cool. I can drop you off there too. Where does he live?”

“WHAT DID I JUST SAY?” Mr. Bracken’s voice rang out sharply in the quiet room and put an end to any further conversation.

“Remind me to never let you talk me into anything ever again,” Rhoe said to Cowan as the three of them emerged from their assigned classrooms. “Mr. Phanuel’s easily amused, and I had to spend the last ninety minutes listening to him and Miu go back and forth in a burping war. I have never been so close to killing someone in my life.” She stalked down the hall, radiating anger as she went and leaving the two boys to fall into step behind her. “And what the fuck are you doing here?” she growled when she noticed Xyl following.

“I offered to give him a ride,” Cowan answered, ignoring the exaggerated sigh that burst out of Rhoe's mouth. You would think Imogen, Rhoe and Xyl would be close considering they were triplets, but he’d never seen a set of siblings that disliked each other more.

“Whatever,” Rhoe snapped. “Just drop him off quick cause I don’t want to look at him.”

~*~*~

“WHOO! GO BABY!” Scyanatha's heels clacked as she jumped up and down and clapped when she saw Seth make a good move in the football game. She didn’t know or care much about sports, but she had bothered to learn enough about this game to know when her man was doing well so she could cheer him on properly. She clapped for a minute longer before dropping to sit beside Imogen on the bleachers.

The same set, interestingly enough, that Imogen made out under with Salem both yesterday and today. Luckily Scy didn’t know this, otherwise Imogen would no longer be sitting next to her if she did.

“Back to what we were talking about, you have to come shopping with us tomorrow Imo, I won’t take no for an answer. That new boutique I’ve been talking about for a month is finally open. Seth’s gonna buy the three of us any dress we want and if you’re worried about that stupid project for English, don’t be. Seth already has people lined up to write it for us.” Scy informed Imogen in a tone of voice that said Imo was going shopping tomorrow whether she liked it or not.

Imogen sighed as Scyanatha flicked open her mirror to reapply the lipstick that wore off when she ‘kissed Seth good luck’ for a full twenty minutes in the locker room before the game started. It’s not that she didn’t want to go shopping – she’d never turn down a chance to get free stuff from Seth – it’s that she planned to meet up with Salem. She’d spent the last month stealing moments with him. A full afternoon with no interruptions left her jittery and excited.

Scy snapped her mirror shut and turned to look at Imogen seriously and she knew then and there that she’d have no choice but to cancel on Salem. “Ok fine, you convinced me. I’ll ditch my study session and come shopping with you.”

“Fabulous.” Scy turned to her left where a pretty, but entirely brainless lackey sat. “Oh,” she said, as if just remembering the girl was there, “you can come too, dear. Seth can buy you a dress as long as you let me pick it.” The girl was basically a servant, but on occasion Scy treated her and a few other lessers to keep them in line. And since she bought their clothes she could guarantee none of them looked better than her.

“Of course!” Laura was quick to agree, vibrating with happiness she’d been acknowledged. She didn’t often get invited to the shopping trips the other three girls went on and so this was a big deal. “You can totes pick my dress Scy, you have such good fashion sense. I’ve never even owned or worn a dress, so I wouldn’t know where to start.”

Scy swept her gaze down to the pale yellow dress Laura had on. “Uh-huh.” She didn’t comment further, turning away from the airhead, planning to continue ignoring her until she needed something again.

Imogen snickered, unable to feel bad for the idiot. She opened her phone, sending a brief text to Salem to let him know that she wouldn’t make it to their not-a-date tomorrow. She then spent the rest of practice splitting her attention between finalizing plans for the homecoming dance and listening to Scyanatha talk about her new shoes and how she and Seth better end up as Homecoming King and Queen or else she was going to sue to school.

Laura nodded like a dog and chirped in agreement.

Practice ended an hour later and Zercey came strolling out of the gym in six inch heels, head held high with Lerki following close behind her, trying to talk to her.

Scy and Imogen rolled their eyes at the same time.

“This is getting ridiculous,” Imogen commented as she gathered up her bag. “Lerki is only flirting with people to make her jealous and it works every time.”

“Zercey needs to learn how to control her man. Oh hey, you guys should come spend the night at my house tomorrow. We can get our dresses after school and I’ll give you two a crash course in dealing with boys. It’ll be embarrassing if those two don’t go to the dance together.” Scy knew Zercey liked Lerki, and she wanted to help her friend, but she also had an aesthetic going. Zercey was the cheer captain, Lerki was the quarterback of the football team, they had to be together. Every movie said so, and Scy liked the look the two of them gave their group, so they better get their act together. “Oh, and you,” Scyanatha added to Imogen, making her way down the bleachers to meet Seth while Laura gathered her things for her. “You need a date for the dance. There are two hot football players that Seth says are single, pick one and I’ll make it happen.”

Imogen panicked. What sort of excuse could she come up with to get Scy off her back? She liked none of the football players that was true enough. Especially since they were all more concerned with beating the pulp out of other dudes than they were in having a conversation. But that wouldn’t be reason enough for Scyanatha. “I don’t know if that’ll work,” she said, trying to come up with a good justification for turning down her offer. “It’s just that I’m probably gonna be helping with the preparation and clean up, so a guy would just get in the way.”

Scyanatha pouted. “You’re no fun anymore.”

Seth saved Imogen by coming over and enveloping Scyanatha in a big, sweaty hug.

“Ew! Babe, don’t be gross!” she squealed, playfully slapping him on the arm. He smiled and kissed her.

Imogen was used to their excessive PDA, but was still thankful that Zercey finally caught up to their group in that moment. “Hey Zerce, how was practice?” Imogen was eager to have something to look at besides Scy and Seth sucking face.

“Great!” she said in that voice that meant she was lying, and probably for Lerki’s benefit if Imogen had to guess.

Lerki caught up, passing them all to walk backwards in front of Zercey. “Are you still mad at me? That hurts my feelings,” he appealed, trying to make her look at him.

She refused and instead turned her attention to Imogen. “What’s up with you? Are you coming shopping tomorrow?” Zercey shook her hand out of Lerki’s grasp when he tried to touch her but otherwise did not indicate she knew he was there.

“Yep,” Imogen affirmed, not looking forward to it but knowing she had to go all the same. Shopping for formal events was a nightmare with Scy because she wanted them to look a certain way and their opinions meant nothing. It was a free dress though, so she couldn’t complain too much. “What color dress are you going for?” she asked, though they both already knew that it didn’t matter and they’d get whatever color that made Scyanatha’s dress stand out.

“I don’t care about the color.” Zercey yanked open the door to Seth’s pristine silver Mercedes and tossed her bag in. She usually caught a ride with Lerki but clearly that wasn’t happening today, which meant that Laura would be forced to ride with him instead. “I just know my dress needs to be short and hot because I need a new boyfriend.” She slid into the car and slammed the door shut before Lerki had time to respond.

“If she puts a scratch on that door, you’re paying for it,” Seth informed Lerki, clapping him on the back before sliding into the driver’s seat with Scy, Imogen and Zercey and driving down the road.

This annoyed Lerki and he resigned himself to spending the rest of the night texting and sucking up to Zercey until she forgave him instead of doing something better like making her lose another bra. He slammed his own car door shut and drove off, moving much faster than what the speed limit advised and already thinking about what sort of present he would have to buy to make her talk to him again.

Poor Laura, meanwhile, stood forgotten in the parking lot. “It’s ok,” she chirped to no one, fishing around in her pocket for her cell phone. “I can find my own way home.”

~*~*~

Salem stumbled into his room and threw himself onto his deep red bedspread, laughing hysterically. He would never, ever, forget how red the nerdettes’ faces were when they realized their little show had an audience. He wished he’d had a camera to capture the moment. “That was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen.” He finally stopped laughing and crawled to sit on the edge of his bed while Date collapsed onto one end of an old black couch and Rhovan kicked the door shut before joining him there.

“I don’t know if you’re one to talk about ridiculous things when you’re carrying around a flask of Hawaiian Punch, wearing glittery makeup and claiming to be a child of the night,” Rhovan reminded him and cast a pointed look at the various vampire posters on the dark grey walls and the vampire novels lining the bookshelf to drive home his point.

“It’s an aesthetic,” Salem defended, “and the girls love it. That’s why I get panties thrown at me when we play shows.”

“I have never seen you get anything resembling underwear get thrown at you.” Date didn’t notice a lot of things, but he was sure he would have noticed that.

“You need to pay more attention then.” Salem ended the discussion there before they could call his bluff.

“Speaking of underwear…” Rhovan would never get the image of purple, lace panties out of his head now that he’d had a glimpse of them when Raemina’s plaid skirt hiked up during her dance. “Rae had nice ones, is she single?” He’d always thought she was kind of cute but he’d never paid much attention to her. She was a smarty-pants. He wasn’t. They lived in different worlds and all that jazz. He would have never thought she was the type to pull off ‘sexy’ and she’d just proved him wrong.

“Ew, please do not.” Salem pulled a disgusted face. He hadn’t seen or wanted to see any of the nerdettes’ underwear and couldn’t imagine why anyone would. “I do not need another one of you guys drooling over those brats.”

“Another?” Rhovan questioned, though his voice sounded far-away as if his thoughts were still down the hall and behind the door with a glittery green ‘V’ on it. He wondered if Rae had a date to the dance yet and if she’d consider going with him. He also wondered if all her underwear was lace, but he had to abandon that train of thought because it was sending all of his blood south.

“Yeah, this idiot,” Salem waved his hand towards Date with a scowl, “has been creeping on my sister for months. You know that song where he mentions a ‘moon haired muse’ GUESS WHO THAT IS?”

“I’m not creeping,” Date corrected, flicking his black hair out of his eyes. He didn’t deny the accusation that the girl in his song was Vyxen.

“Do you know how uncomfortable it is for me to jam out on my bass when you’re singing about banging my sister?” Salem shuddered.

“Do you know how uncomfortable it is for me to appear in public with you when you’re wearing fake vampire teeth?” Date challenged in his usual, bored tone of voice.

“IT’S. AN. AESTHETIC.” Salem slapped his knee to emphasise his point.

“Sure it is.”

The conversation amused Rhovan and he would have egged it on if they didn’t have bigger fish to fry. “Xyl is in detention, so we’re already losing time here, we need to focus if we’re going to get a set together for the talent show.”

Salem held his hands up and said, “I will play any song you want except ‘Ravage my Heart’ or any other song that mentions my sister. I’m not doing it. This is school and everyone will know who we’re talking about.” They probably wouldn’t know as Vyxen wasn’t popular or interesting, but Salem wasn’t going to take any chances. Imogen would be there, and he didn’t need her to think he was any weirder than she already did.

It was this scene that Xyl walked into when he finally arrived at the house. Rhovan and Salem were arguing about which songs to play and Date was in the middle, ignoring them both and scribbling furiously in his notebook. “What the heck is going on here?”

“You missed an awesome dance show.” Salem read the text from Imogen, eyes sweeping over her blunt cancelling of their plans tomorrow and recognized a chance to make himself feel better when he saw one. He said the words ‘dance party’ especially loudly so Vyxen and her friends would hear it.

“How did you get here so fast?” Rhovan asked, checking his watch to see that detention had ended barely fifteen minutes ago.

“My sister’s friend dropped me off.” Xyl dumped his bag on the floor and flopped onto Salem’s bed, trying and failing not to think about how nice Cowan had been and how much hotter he was up close.

“Oh yeah?” Salem tried to wrench his head around as casually as possible to look out the window, hoping to see a glimpse of Imogen in whatever friend’s car she’d came in.

“Yeah, he was nice. Rhoe was mad about it though, so I’m sure I’ll be hearing about that when I get home.” It wasn’t a conversation he was looking forward to. “Do you think I can crash over here tonight?”

“Sure.” Salem sighed in disappointment, turning his head away from the window when he realized that Xyl hadn’t been talking about the sister he was interested in.

“All right, now that everyone knows where everyone else will sleep, can we please talk about the set list? In case you somehow didn’t remember, we have a show in three days,” Rhovan practically shouted. It was days like these when he felt like he was the only one who took their band seriously.

“Hold that thought, I’m starving. Do you guys have money for pizza?” Xyl asked, prompting a great shuffling as everyone dug into their pockets to pull out their wallets and discussed what toppings to get.

Rhovan could have screamed.

~*~*~

Back home, in the safety of her own room, Nyima let out a deep breath to steady herself. She waited all of ten seconds after Vyxen slammed the door before she ran from the house after the humiliating episode with Salem and his friends. Today is so embarrassing! I should've stayed in bed! Her phone pinged with a text and she clutched her chest. Jingyi? Oh, poop. Why did I say text me?! WHY?! She inched her phone out of her pocket and sighed with relief when she saw it was just her friends group chat.

Glitteraffia: Sorry again about my dumbass bro. U ok?

Shiva fan 212: Yeah. It's okay. If I had a brother like that, I'd apologise all the time too.

Glitteraffia: LOL

Moon Princess: But, seriously, you guys, we should definitely get pretty dresses and go 2 the dance.

Glitteraffia: Rae, ur sitting 2 feet away.

Moon Princess: You keep ignoring me.

Moon Princess: Come on, Nyima. I bet Jingyi can dance.

Shiva fan 212: I can't.

Moon Princess: LIES! I saw you!

Shiva fan 212: Vyxen, get her.

Glitteraffia: Idkulik him and he likes u and it'd be cute af and pretty dresses.

Shiva fan 212: Traitor.

Shiva fan 212: Ok, fine. When things go Carrie it's your fault.

Glitteraffia: Carrie's awesome and they deserved it.

Glitteraffia: Scy would totally deserve it.

Moon Princess: She would.

Shiva fan 212: Lol ok.

Moon Princess: YES! VICTORY! After school 2moro!

Nyima put the phone down and sighed. She didn’t know why she agreed to it. She hated the mall; there was always too many people there, and crowds made her nervous. Maybe my mom will say no. She wasn't optimistic. Her mother was a free spirit. First Jingyi and then this? If she weren’t such a dedicated student, she’d consider skipping school tomorrow to avoid reality. The only redeeming part of the day was getting her new computer game, and she’d be breaking it open right now if she didn’t still have homework to do. Looking at the beautiful cover art beneath the plastic wrap, Nyima let out a sigh and then turned to her assignments, wondering somewhere between math and English if Jingyi was already playing his new game and maybe he’d tell her about it tomorrow.

By @guardians-of-las-vyxen & @yogiwithabook

#writeblr #illthdar fan fiction #au fan fiction #high school au

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