#favorites in some sort of order that may well change in 5 minutes

[rms10]

Favorite ATLA Characters

Someone asked my 10 favorite ATLA characters through DM, but I thought I'd just post it out in the open. It's a tough question, especially if I'll try to put them in an order, but here we go:

Katara: Katara is my favorite character in the show. An indigenous person trying desperately to connect with and preserve their heritage and spiritual connections is a natural connection for me. Additionally, she is simply so well written and (voiced) acted throughout the show. To me, she's a masterclass in very clearly showing characterization through actions, inflection, and tone without stooping to exposition.

Aang: I've always enjoyed the idea of having a good character whose struggles/conflict are primarily internal and/or against outside influences taking them from their path. Aang really fits the bill. The more I've explored the show and the informing cultural touchstones, the more his character seems to come alive and really do a nice of job of providing a satisfying arc that runs just enough against standard Western norms to challenge the (assumed/primary) audience while also not skewing so far that he's unrelatable.

Sokka: On any given day, he and Aang might swap places in this list, but they'd retain the 2 and 3 spots. I have a special place for the original gaang of three as my top characters. In real life, I'd probably end up like Sokka, the meat and sarcasm person with no powers, which might also explain why I put him below the other two. Still, he has a phenomenal arc, and he provides a really interesting character who adds importance and depth to the group.

Zuko: He stole the redemption arc that the villains in most stories want, even if it was pretty clear he'd change sides from very early in the series. His constant backtracking really comes off as an authentic person struggling to reconcile their experiences in the world with their preconceptions they left home with, especially someone striving for acceptance like Zuko. The fact that he remains with a lot of bad traits, even after switching sides, just adds to the depth of his character. (Ironically, it seems like a lot of fandom sand those rough edges down to smooth them, which really robs him of his great character. Probably my biggest complaint about Zuko isn't the character, but how fandom tends to handle him.) At times I get very critical of Zuko, but that's more about people in the fandom whitewashing his sins, as the actual character is (mostly) forced to own them in the show.

Iroh: What is there to say? Great character. Some really wonderful real-world applicable sage advice, and an excellent character arc of his own, both before the show, but also during the show. It's subtle compared to Zuko who's not subtle, but it's still in progress during the show. Iroh goes from aiding the Fire Nation to eventually sending Zuko off to redeem the Fire Nation, while he goes to liberate Ba Sing Se. Much like Zuko, the worst part of Iroh is really how fandom tends to coddle him and completely overlook his flaws and mistakes - issues that the show is explicit about.

Toph: She's a lot of fun and runs counter to the other characters in a nice way, plus the representation she gives (not to mention jokes) really add something to the story. I know a lot of fans would rank her higher, but for me she just doesn't have as strong of arc as the previous characters (possible exception of Iroh). Some of that is that she's only in the show for only slightly over half of it. She also starts off as a master bender and her character at the end is much as it is when she joins. I also find that I don't have a lot of investment in her post series.

Mai: Her characterization is very strong, from the beginning. She masks with that indifferent vibe. We see it constantly - how she doesn't follow Azula's commands when she doesn't see a point in them, or doesn't want to, and it all builds steadily toward that betrayal of Azula in S3. That's so satisfying and perhaps that most badass moment of the entire show, or at least the one that was the biggest surprise. Plus, I really enjoy her arc with Zuko and how they evolved throughout S3. It feels about right for two teens trying to figure it out with the chaos going on around them.

Suki: It's pretty clear from a first watch that she was supposed to be one-off, but she came back and served an important purpose, and then she comes back again. It would have been easy to make her just Sokka's love interest (after she kicked his butt), but the Kyoshi Warriors are so excellent, and as their leader she's really tops. I am very invested in her fate post series, and both dislike her handling in the comics (like so many others, but the tonedeafness in sending her off to serve as personal guards to the Fire Lord was really bad) and then we know nothing of her beyond. I realize we have less info on her than the next two characters, but I still just like her a lot.

Azula: There's a lot of good reasons she could be placed higher in the list, especially as she's a more central character than several above this spot, but I still enjoy them more. While she makes a great antagonist, there are a few places her characterization was bent for the sake of the plot (at least IMO). Still, her final breakdown, was pretty much the perfect end for her, as it leaves the audience empathetic to the fact that she's part of the debris left behind by the Fire Nation's warmonger - the ultimate demonstration the show spends a lot of time on, that the people of the Fire Nation are also suffering due to the war.

Ty Lee: ty Lee is a lot of fun. Her character is fine. It just has less development and is less interesting than the others to me. I still enjoy it and I enjoy where she ended up post series.

OK, 10 was a lot and my order might shift a bit. Also, I actually like most of the characters in the show, at least the recurring ones. I have criticisms of most characters, but overall they're fairly minor. After all, if I didn't like the characters, then it'd be a bit strange to hang out in the fandom to my mind. I'd love to hear anyone else's thoughts.

[sunboki]

warnings — allusions/references to sex? think that’s about it :)

thinking about comfy, casual life with our sweetheart Han.

making breakfast together, or, more like ordering out something while he runs to a late appointment. texts when he comes home late, telling you to be ready cause he’s bringing home dessert for you both to share. soft, savory kisses beneath covers late at night when you’re both exhausted. brushing your teeth while Han sits on the toilet, filling you in about some crazy story he heard. him trying to act all tough and cool on a date before he trips and spills coffee all over himself. a comforting nudity neither of you care to discuss on laundry day. accidentally using his toothbrush to clean the toilet… and he uses it right after as if nothing happened before you can tell him. clumsy hands, rushing to undress one another where all Han can get out is the word ‘sex’ as you toss shirts and shorts onto the ground.

“Ow ow ow no- wrong one!” You cry out, smacking his shoulder while the man winces.

“Which one then?” He panics, having only about five minutes before either of you have to be out the door all over again.

“The one I don’t piss out of!”

To which… you’re currently in his flannel while he’s donning your pair of socks from how fast you’d scrambled getting dressed again.

And when you call him crying, imagine the man racing from the studio to attend to whatever need you have — flying through the subway station like a madman to get to you. it’s one of the factors that hasn’t changed since he met you.

he also deftly despises your favorite kind of popsicle, but he’d rather cut his own tongue off than admit that to you.

the moment you need him, he’s there. on tour and you’re feeling lonely? FaceTime him till you fall asleep, Han just staring at you as if he’s mesmerized (he is).

“And you’ll never guess, it was a 5 for 5 deal! I got five packets for cheap!” You explain excitedly to the man on your way home from the grocery, currently discussing the sales on Buldak Ramyeon.

“That’s great honey,” Han adds, occupying the other side of the line, struggling to discreetly weigh a mini cheesecake and two coffees in his hands as he maneuvers around the city toward your apartment to celebrate your birthday (a surprise he thought would be successful until he popped one of your balloons and now looks like a creep carrying around a ‘happy second birthday’ set of balloons.

well, it’s the thought that counts, right?

nevertheless, the both of you sort of complete each other in a way. walking messes yet, so right.

fitting like the perfect puzzle piece.

sunboki, may 2022 ©

[thebibliosphere]

soooo I’m finally watching Marie Kondo’s Netflix show in an attempt to motivate myself to clean my room, and while a lot of the tips seem like things that will be good for my ADHD and anxiety, the homes she looks at are... kind of already clean? Like, no dust, no trash, no dirty laundry, no spiderwebs. There’s lots of clutter, but not a lot of actual dirtiness. And especially with my worsening depression, I’ve been trying not to think about how bad my room is for so long that there are Actual Cobwebs in a couple corners. I know I’m an extreme exception, but if you had any tips on how to tackle that aspect, I would fully appreciate it

 Marie Kondo is less of a “clean your home” show and more of a “keep it organized.”

It’s also important to remember that no matter how real the people are, parts are staged. Because I guarantee you, some of those houses with the amount of clutter that is in them? Will absolutely have dust, cobwebs, and mold problems. We’re just not being shown them.

But that doesn’t mean you also can’t use Marie’s techniques to actually clean.

I’ve talked before about removing the lid from the laundry hamper helped ETD actually start putting laundry in the basket instead of on the floor/any flat surface. What I’ve yet to talk about is how that in no way helped us keep on top of doing laundry. The thing that really helped us was buying multiple cheap laundry baskets (this kind) and sorting our laundry out as we got changed. For example, there are three laundry baskets lined up near the door in our bedroom. One has t-shirts, another one has underwear, and another has, like, pants and jeans and shit. They serve both as visual reminders that we need to do laundry and help with pre-sorting laundry. Once they get full to a certain point, it’s time to do a laundry load.

We’ve also got baskets like these for towels, kitchen things and bed linens. Everything just goes into visible baskets, which can, if necessary, be stacked and shoved into a closet if company suddenly comes over. (Though that doesn’t happen so much these days.)

I also use spare hampers for doing 15-minute-pick-ups, which is exactly what it sounds like. I set a timer for 15 minutes, and I pick things up from places where they don’t belong and throw them in the hamper. So, for example, Holly’s toys and blankets are currently scattered all through the house. If I want to dust, vacuum, and clean, I will walk around the house picking her stuff up and putting it in the hamper, clearing a path for me to do the other things I need to do without worrying about organizing a space for her stuff. 

Another example would be my work desk. My work desk is currently covered in everything from my work printouts, bills I need to pay, medical gear like my blood pressure cuff, all my charging cables, multiple books, some of Holly’s toys, and for some unknown reason, four measuring tapes. If I want to dust my desk, I will put everything in a basket, wipe the surface down, then pick out the things that belong on my desk. Like the printouts and the bills. My desk is now, in less than 15 minutes, dust-free and organized. But Joy, you might say, what about the things in the basket? What do I do with those? Easy, keep them in the basket and take them to where they do belong. But what if the space they belong needs cleaned? Rinse and repeat, take your basket to the next space, clear everything into the basket, clean the area, then put back the things that belong. Congrats, you may have just cleared multiple spaces. And if you run out of energy in the interim? That’s okay; it’s better to have things contained in baskets than scattered everywhere across your house. It reduces them down to smaller problems and reduces your visual exhaustion from clutter, making tasks easier for ADHD brains in the long run. (This also works for other types of executive dysfunction. Visual exhaustion is a real problem for brains that are already trying their hardest.)

So, now you’ve got things sorted into manageable piles, what do you do next? You prioritize what is necessary for your space to be safe and sanitary. Cobwebs might be gross looking, but they’re not really an issue compared to, say, actual trash or dirty dishes that might be molding in your space. Remove those things first. Set another 15-minute timer, pick up as much trash as you can, and put it in a trash bag. If the timer runs out and you’re still good to go, set it for another 15-minutes, or keep going until you’re done. I find music helps. I’ve actually tricked my brain into realizing that dishes take me 12 minutes (instead of the literal hours my brain thinks it is), so for me, that’s 3-4 songs from my favorite band. Other people like to watch “clean with me” videos on youtube. They can be quite motivating, sort of like second-hand dopamine from watching people be productive.

 Once you’ve sorted one major task, assess how you’re feeling. Are you tired and need to stop? Great! You’ve achieved a lot already; well done. Have a sticker and or reward of choice. Tomorrow you will do another 15 minutes of something else, and slowly but surely, your space should become more manageable and less intimidating.

Think you can do more? Also great! Let’s maybe try to get the dishes next. After that, I’d suggest tackling the cobwebs, then dusting, then sweeping/vacuuming, and then if necessary, mopping the floor. And I don't mean all at once, I just mean in that order, just so you’re not having to go back and dust again.

I try to do 15 minutes of housework every day in this fashion. I also keep a rough schedule on our fridge and tick major tasks as we go. So did I do laundry this week? Yes! Excellent, gold star. No? Okay, well, that gets priority next week. (Still gold star for what I did achieve, though.)

It helps keep things manageable while also not being Too Much for either my ADHD or my physical disabilities. For some people, that 15 minutes is too much, and I would say even doing 5 minutes a day is better than none. Anything you can do to keep your living space safely habitable for both your mental and physical health is good and worthy of praise and pride.

Anyway, I hope some of this helps and wasn’t too long! 

Take care and good luck!

[iguana-eyanna]

The Art We Create

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader

Summary: Steve always stops by a particular art store so he could work up the courage to ask the owner on a date.

Today's going to be the day...

Steve thought to himself.

He was standing in front of an art store, trying to open the door in front of him. With a deep breath, he opens the handle and is greeted by aisles of art supplies.

He's supposed to be the bravest man on Earth, yet his knees buckled when he saw you on a step stool to restock a shipment.

You were truly a sight for sore eyes.

After saving New York from an alien invasion, he tried to settle into civilian life. There was an abundance of things to catch up on: music, pop culture, politics, and so much more. The twenty-first century may be intimidating, but his love for art never changed. So he decided to find a nearby art store near his place so he could continue his favorite hobby.

With all of the stores he could have walked in, he walked into yours. It was a small art shop called The Art We Create that showcased a wide glass display of art pieces. Once steve entered the building, he noticed how it gave such a vibrant and warm environment. He wasn't overwhelmed by the choices that were on the racks, he felt calm and confident in what he really wanted to buy.

"Can I help you?" a voice chirped out cheerfully.

He turns around and kid you not, was speechless. You were a work of art, the smile on your face was sincere as well as your kind eyes that greeted him.

"I... um... I don't know what to buy..." he lied.

"No worries! Let's get you sorted out." you said, discarding whatever you were doing. You later introduced yourself as well as he, walking aimlessly in the tiny store. Steve then decided to buy a charcoal set and received a few pencils for free.

He was then drawn to visit the store (or rather you) every time he went out in the city as a civilian. It amazed him how you never compared him to his red white and blue alias, but oddly it felt nice to just be called Steve.

And that brought him to now as he walks through the entrance and saw you on a step stool to restock some canvases on the high shelf. You turn as you hear the door opening and see Steve who waves a small high. As you lean back and smile at him, you suddenly lose your balance and begin to fall.

You close your eyes shut and ready yourself for impact, but you somehow don't feel the cold floor. You then open your eyes and see Steve who caught you in mid-air.

Both of your minds went haywire as you tried to make sense of what just happened. He then slowly brought you up to your feet and you were brought to your senses.

"I... thank you..." you mumbled, showing a slight shade of pink on your cheeks.

"Any time." he said, showing the same shade of pink on his face.

You two stand there for a good minute until you broke the awkward silence.

"So what brings you here on a Friday afternoon?" You ask as Steve was taken a bit off guard.

"I- um, I wanted to ask if you..."

His eyes begin to panic and it shoots straight to a small sign on the cashier that there was a new shipment.

"Do you have any new paintbrushes?" Steve mentally slapped his face in his mind.

"Yeah! there in the back of my desk, follow me." you said, already walking to the register.

He was slowly walking to the cashier as you take out a set of paintbrushes. Before he took out his wallet, you stare a bit skeptical at him.

"Don't mind me asking, but this is your third set of paintbrushes you bought this past month."

"Guess I just love them so much." He begins to panic as he knew that you look straight through him.

"Either you have super strength and keep breaking them, or you're taking every excuse just to talk to me at the cashier."

Steve gulps at your response as he then rubs the back of his neck, admitting his lies.

"Is it that noticeable?" he asks sheepishly, smiling in a shy manner.

"Steve, I rarely have regulars in this store. And don't think I haven't noticed you trying to speak to me when I'm near you."

He chuckles to himself, embarrassed that he has made quite a fool of himself.

"I can tell by your reaction that you never been approached by someone who's -"

" Confident?" Steve asks, smirking.

"Straightforward," you answer back.

He shakes his head in disagreement. "I actually enjoy the little banter."

You throw your head back, laughing as it was sweet ambrosia to Steve's ears.

"Please, tell me if I cross a line. I don't want to get rid of my favorite customer." you flirted as a mischievous grin showed on your face.

Steve breathed in a strong breath and finally found his chance to ask you something.

"Can your favorite customer ask if he could take you on a date Sunday night?"

You grin like an idiot and look down. "I don't know... he still needs to pay for these paintbrushes." Steve took no rush to get out money from his wallet.

Your eyes widen from his action. "Oh my goodness, Steve! I was joking! Geez, I shouldn't have done that." There was silence until both of you began laughing so hard, almost tearing up.

Once the laughter died, you straightened up and stare at his mesmerizing eyes. "But to answer your question, yes. I would love to go on a date with you."

The blonde man lights up like a Christmas tree.

"Great! Would 5:00 PM work? There's this carnival not far from here and I'd love to take you." he says as his eyes were brighter than the blue sky.

"That sounds lovely. My place is upstairs from the store, so you could come by and we can walk together. Here, let me write my number." You scattered around to find a discarded receipt and wrote your number on the back of the paper.

You gave it to him and your fingers slightly brushed against each other, longing to stay in close contact with each other.

"Thank you... I'll call you by then." he says, carefully folding the paper in his wallet.

He begins to walk out before he hears you calling his name. He turns around and stares at your goddess-like complexion.

"This might be bad business, but you don't have to keep buying stuff from here in order to be with me."

He chuckles from your statement and grins at you, making you melt.

"I wouldn't have it any other way, doll."

[kissinginkitchens]

You Bring Me Home — Chapter One: Flightless Bird, American Mouth

a/n: I've been working on this story for mooonths now and I'm so excited to finally share it with the world! It's heavily inspired by Harry's Behind the Album mini doc, except I changed the setting to Hawai'i because I've personally spent some time there and as they say, write what you know! YBMH takes place in the period between One Direction's hiatus and Harry's first album/tour, but with that being said, this is entirely a work of fiction and some events don't follow the true timeline. Thank you so much for taking the time to read my little story, I hope you love it as much as I do! It will be updated every Friday at 5 PM PST. My inbox is open, so feel free to talk to me once you've finished reading! I'd love to hear from you :) Much love, Mel <3

Pairing: Hawai'i!Harry x Original Character

Warnings: swearing

Word Count: 5.5k

May, 2016

Harry watches LAX get smaller through the airplane window and visualizes all of his worries stuck at the terminal gate, their magnitude also diminishing as he takes flight. He sinks lower in his seat and skims through playlists on his phone when a nagging feeling at the back of his mind pulls his attention away from the screen. Looking up from the song choices, he spots a cell phone quickly lowered from his line of vision and a girl with flushed cheeks who quickly averts her gaze. Harry shoots a tight-lipped smile in her direction and goes back to his phone with a sigh. The days when he could roam the streets freely without fear of recognition—or worse, harassment—feel like an entirely different lifetime. He sometimes imagines that he’ll wake up back in his childhood bed as if the past five years had all been a dream, but he never does. In fact, his privacy and anonymity seem to dwindle with each minute of radio play that One Direction receives. It’s a bittersweet pill to swallow, but one he hopes will go down easier with some time in the Hawaiian sun.

His close friend and new manager, Jeff Azoff, had suggested the vacation as soon as the band privately agreed to take a hiatus.

“You’ll go home for a few weeks,” his voice had crackled through the speakers of Harry’s phone. “Visit your mom and Gem, lay low for a while until the smoke blows over,”

Harry mulled it over in his mind, eyes flickering over the rolling landscape outside of the tour bus window.

“Then what?”

“Then you go for a little vacation. The label offered to cover a house in Hawaii so you can start working on the album,”

“Alone?”

Jeff chuckled lightly on the other end before responding. “I mean, if that’s what you want,”

“No,” Harry corrected. “You and Tom should come. Mitch and Bhasker, too,”

“The dream team,”

“And there’ll be a studio there?”

“Yes,” Jeff started, almost hesitant. “But I don’t want you to think about that too much,”

“But you said the label—"

“I also said vacation. Look, Rob said ‘it will all happen in due time,' did he not?”

Harry twisted the rose ring around his finger, tracing over the silver petals and thinking back to his conversation with the CEO of Sony Music, Rob Stringer. Upon the proposal of his debut solo album, Rob had told him that the most important ingredient for a successful debut would be patience. The singer had agreed in the moment, but every day not spent in the studio felt like a test he hadn’t studied hard enough for.

“Yeah.”

“So you take the free vacation,” Jeff suggested. “You go out, live, get some writing material. Maybe mess around with some tunes. And then we come back to L.A. and get to work. But until then, I just want you to focus on taking it easy.”

So take it easy he had. Or at least he had tried to when he was back home in England. Harry quickly grew restless after what felt like the millionth awkward conversation with past friends and acquaintances, all of which eventually led to the topic of One Direction and it’s unexpected hiatus. After one month at home, his mind and journal were full of ideas for songs, things that he wanted to say before he lost his nerve. One night as he tossed and turned in bed, he shot Jeff a text, just two words that would kick off a three month getaway to the Big Island of Hawai'i:

I’m ready.

********

“Sounds great, I'll go put in your order.” Alani offers sweetly, trying not to overdo it with the customer service voice. After waiting on the family at her designated table, she heads back to the kitchen and finds her younger sister, Pua, crouched in the corner taking what appears to be a serious phone call.

“I don’t know, I just saw it!” Her sister cries in a hushed tone. “Where do you think he’s going?”

“Is everything okay?” Alani cuts in with concern.

Pua whispers into the speaker before bringing the phone to her shoulder.

“Harry Styles was just spotted on a plane this morning,”

“Who?”

“The guy from One Direction,” her sister explains with a hint of irritation in her voice. “The band who sings that song you secretly like, ‘Fireproof,'”

Alani vaguely recalls the melody, but she waits expectantly for Pua to elaborate. “And this is news because…”

“Because the band just broke up, so where could he possibly be going?”

"The unemployment office?”

Pua rolls her eyes and returns to her phone call while Alani envelops her in a tight hug.

“I’m just kidding!” Alani apologizes, squeezing tighter despite her sister’s attempts to break free. “I’m sure he’ll be living off of royalty checks until he’s, like, eighty,”

“Get off me, freak!” Pua cries out, finally breaking the embrace.

Alani clutches her chest and pulls out an invisible knife. “Ouch. I’m telling Harry you said that,”

“This is exactly why I don’t tell you things.” the younger sister huffs, storming out of the kitchen through the employee entrance where Alani’s best friend, Maleah, has just arrived.

“Looks like someone forgot to eat their Cheerios today,” she remarks, tying her curls into a high ponytail.

Alani shrugs and leans against the counter. “She’s going through something. Just discovered that boys in pop bands are, in fact, just regular boys.”

“Poor thing,” Maleah frowns. “We all have to learn eventually.”

********

The sky is a blend of cotton candy pink and burnt orange when Alani returns home from the café with a strawberry smoothie in tow. She empties the mailbox and sorts through the various bills and advertisements, but her stomach drops when she sees a familiar return address label. After a quick greeting to her excited dog who waits at the door, Alani bolts up the stairs and quietly shuts the bedroom door behind her. Breathe, she reminds herself before tearing into the envelope and discarding it onto the wooden floor.

Dear Ms. Hale,

We are very grateful to have received your submission to Rolling Stone magazine. However, we regret to inform you—

She doesn’t read the rest, slumping to the floor in defeat. The sixth rejection letter from Rolling Stone lies crumpled at Alani’s feet and she kicks it across the room with a frustrated grunt. She had worked for over two months perfecting her analysis of Joni Mitchell’s Big Yellow Taxi and its allusions to the environmental impact of urban development in Hawaii. As part of her initial research, Alani had even traveled to both the Royal Hawaiian hotel in Honolulu, which is the famous Pink Hotel mentioned in the song, and Foster Botanical Garden that Mitchell referred to as “the tree museum.” She was certain that her effort and persistence would result in at least a consideration. The second third time's the charm! Maleah had joked watching Alani submit the piece. Six articles in the span of two years, each one facing the same rejection despite the increased effort Alani had put in over time. The fact that the rejection letter hadn’t changed over the course of the two years brings an incredulous smile to her face, and her stomach turns when she considers that the editors probably hadn’t even read her work, anyway. All that effort, she thinks to herself, all that time, for nothing.

“It will take time,” her favorite professor, Dr. Hudson, had reassured her three months after the Joni Mitchell article was submitted. “Every great writer faced countless rejection until that one piece. Yours will come. Keep your eyes open and your pen ready.”

Alani sighs and lifts herself off the floor, choosing to crawl into her unmade bed instead of slumping onto the hardwood. She hears a soft scratching at the door before her King Charles Spaniel, Freddie, pads into the room.

“Come here, bubs,” Alani whispers. He obeys and burrows into the duvet, giving her temple a gentle lick before nuzzling into the nape of her neck.

“You still love me, right?” she asks, voice cracking. “Even if I’m a failure?”

Freddie sniffs her ear in response.

********

“Right,” Harry says, his tongue peeking from the corner of his mouth as he reads the map. “No, left, sorry,”

“Do you actually know how to read a map?” Jeff teases, correcting the turn.

Harry pouts in response, his brows furrowing. “In my defense, we’re literally in the middle of fucking nowhere,”

“There are worse places to be,” Mitch pipes up from the back seat. “England, for example, where they say things like ‘litchrally’,”

“Very well said, Mitchell,” Jeff Bhasker adds with a fake British accent of his own.

Harry turns to his friends in the back seat with a finger pointed like an agitated mother. “If you lot don’t shut up, I’m gonna lead us to a volcano and push you in,”

“Where are we even going? I forgot,” Tom complains.

“To get food,” his manager responds from the driver’s seat. “I think,”

“Why can’t we just stop there?” Mitch asks pointing to a café pulling up on their right.

Jeff merges into the turning lane quickly without a second thought. “Good enough for me, I’m starving.”

“Sorry, H.” Mitch pats his friend on the shoulder.

Harry scoffs. “You’re the one who wanted poke.”

The Aloha Nui Loa Café is much more spacious than the exterior suggests, yet it still feels cozy. The walls are painted sage green and adorned with various local art pieces, as described by the plaques that accompany them. A skylight fills the center of the room with plenty of warm lighting, leaving the space along the walls in a bit more shade for an intimate feel. In one corner, a hanging disco ball leaves freckles of sparkling light along the walls where the sunlight hits, making the whole image very idyllic in Harry’s mind. As if he couldn’t enjoy the setting more, he hears the beginning of an Otis Redding song that he’s had stuck in his head drift through the restaurant speakers.

“Welcome in!” a voice calls, which pulls him from his survey of the room. His head whips to the source—a girl around his age with wavy, dark hair and honey skin. “For here or to go?”

Harry takes a hesitant step up to the counter. “For here,”

She smiles warmly and pulls some menus from under the counter. “How many in your party?”

“Five.”

“Great, follow me.”

Harry and his friends follow the waitress to the corner of the room under the disco ball and take their seats at the round table.

“My name is Alani,” she introduces herself, setting the menus down. “I’ll be serving you today. Can I get you started with some drinks?”

Harry continues scanning the restaurant while his group orders. His eyes land on the shirt that Alani is wearing, a white tee with the words “Enjoy Health, Eat Your Honey” in blue lettering that surrounds a picture of a cartoon bee.

“Harry,” Jeff says gently, catching his drifting attention.

The singer turns to his manager, who nods to Alani waiting with a pen pressed to her notepad. Harry feels a rush of embarrassment creep across his cheeks and he clears his throat to cover it.

“Just water,” he says, eyes glued to the menu. “Thanks.”

“You got it.” Alani nods, flashing a toothy grin at the rest of the group before turning back to the kitchen. Harry. Her mind repeats, finding a hint of familiarity, though she doesn’t know why.

When Alani arrives at the drink station, she finds her sister staring at her, mouth agape, while Maleah unsuccessfully conceals her laughter.

“What?” she questions, checking herself for any embarrassing stains or smells.

“You were—and he—” Pua stammers. “He was—and then he—”

“That’s Harry Styles,” Maleah translates, her voice hushed as she peers over her friend's shoulder.

Alani turns to steal a glance at the table she just seated, but Pua and Maleah latch onto her and shake their heads frantically.

“Don’t look!” her sister hisses.

Alani smirks, amused at their reactions. “No shit. That’s One Direction?”

Maleah snorts, clasping a hand over her mouth as Pua huffs. “No, dumbass! It’s just Harry. I don’t know who the other guys are,”

“But the blonde guy? That’s not—?”

“No!” Pua and Maleah giggle in unison.

“Okay, geez,” Alani relents. She manages to steal a quick glance at the table over her shoulder, immediately searching for Harry. Her eyes scan over the long, curly hair kept out of his face by a pair of white sunglasses that she had seen on Kurt Cobain once. All of his features are sharp and striking, from his pointed nose and defined jawline to the bright blue eyes. Or maybe they were grey? Alani wonders, trying to remember the exact shade. He doesn’t look anything like the fresh-faced teeny bopper she’d had in mind, the one from a music video her sister had shown her a long time ago. She would have never guessed that the What Makes You Beautiful singer had so much dark ink trailing down his bicep and forearm, though her knowledge of One Direction was very limited.

“What did he order?” Pua questions, her eyes wide.

Alani quickly snaps back to reality and resumes filling the drinks. “A water,”

“Oh my god,” Maleah swoons. “I’m never drinking anything else ever again,”

“I didn’t even know you liked him,” Alani teases with an eyebrow raised.

Maleah sneaks another peek at the table and catches her lower lip between her teeth. “I mean, I didn’t really think so either but look at him. What a fucking dream,”

Harry was objectively handsome, this Alani could admit, but she personally didn’t see the appeal and had a strong feeling that he was just like every other male celebrity. The fact that he hadn’t even bothered to make eye contact with her only served as further proof of what she knew to be true.

“Okay, well, your dreamboat is waiting for his water. So excuse me,” Alani winks, making her way back to the table.

The singer spots Alani returning out of the corner of his eye and the sight of her causes a strange flutter in the pit of his stomach that makes him want to duck for cover. Instead, he pulls his phone from his back pocket and pretends to be occupied with something on the screen.

“Okay,” she greets, setting the drink tray down. “I have a Blue Hawaii, a Mango Mama, two Loco Cocos, and a water,”

The group graciously accepts their drinks with a chorus of “thank you," but the only one under Alani’s scrutiny is Harry. He still doesn’t meet her almond eyes, and though she figured he wouldn’t, she can’t help the inkling of disappointment that washes over her. After taking their meal orders, Alani heads back to the kitchen, checking on her other customers along the way. Harry’s eyes follow her and he observes the way customers light up at her presence, indulging her conversation with laughter. He watches as she lingers by the jukebox in one corner of the room, a detail he had missed in his initial scan, and waits anxiously to see what song she chooses. Baby I’m-a Want You begins softly and Harry feels the corner of his lip curl ever so slightly. Good choice, he thinks.

********

“He’s still here,” Pua muses, peering through the tiny window in the kitchen door. It had been nearly two hours and the five men were still seated around their table cracking jokes and doing a lot of talking with their hands.

Alani doesn’t look up from her bowl of sliced kiwis, offering a hum in response. “And what do you want me to do about that?”

“Nothing,” Pua shoots back. “Don’t bother him,”

“What kind of girls do you think he’s into?” Maleah asks, attempting to peek through the window.

Alani shrugs, bored of the conversation and of thinking about Harry. “I don’t know, but I’ll bet he’s a real sucker for the ones who stalk him while he’s eating,”

“How does he make eating a salad look hot?”

“Can we talk about something else now?” Alani whines, poking holes in a lone kiwi with her fork.

Pua tosses a wet dish rag in her sister’s direction and cheers when it lands in her face. “Go see if he wants more water, he looks thirsty.”

“I already refilled it,” Alani defends. “Twenty minutes ago. I’ve refilled it a hundred times, I’m surprised he hasn’t peed his pants.”

I’m gonna piss myself. Harry thinks, his right leg bouncing to distract himself. He really wasn’t all that thirsty, but he couldn’t stop himself from finishing each glass of water that Alani placed in front of him. He really wasn’t all that thirsty, but he couldn’t stop himself from finishing each glass of water that Alani placed in front of him. Like clockwork, she would return to fill his glass almost as soon as the last drop had been drained, and so what began as a little experiment slowly turned into a bladder hazard. But if the trend was to be trusted, she would be back any minute and he wasn’t going to miss it; afterall, there were only so many ways to casually linger in a small café without making it weird. Unable to bear it any longer, he heads to the restroom and hopes that Alani doesn’t clear their table before he has a chance to see her again.

Harry pads down the back hallway with his eyes cast down at the floor, which proves to be a mistake when he walks directly into another person.

“Sorry!” they both apologize quickly, Harry’s palm taking purchase on the other person’s upper arm.

“I wasn’t paying attention,” he offers, finally meeting the dark, mocha eyes already looking back at him.

Alani presses her lips into a tight smile. “Me either,”

Harry’s heartbeat picks up when he realizes it’s her, and he isn’t aware of how close they’re standing until he detects the faint scent of kiwi on her breath. He takes a step back and rakes a hand through his hair.

“So I guess I’ll just—”

“Yeah, sure.”

Green. Alani notes to herself. His eyes are green.

********

Shortly after Harry returned from the restroom, him and his friends settled their bill and headed out. Alani cleared their table and her eyes nearly fell out of her head when she saw the hefty tip left behind. The word mahalo was also left behind on the receipt, underlined twice, and she wondered if it was his handwriting.

Later that night, she settled into bed with her laptop and hesitantly typed his name into Google. As she expected, countless articles about the split of One Direction emerged, most of them speculating what was next for each member. To her surprise, however, Harry’s name seemed to be mentioned more than his fellow bandmates as various sources labeled him “the next Justin Timberlake” and rising star of the group. Upon further investigation, she learned that the demand for information about the elusive Harry Styles was high, especially concerning any possible solo music. No news had yet been confirmed by Styles himself, nor anyone claiming to represent him, but she still wondered if his presence in Hawaii had anything to do with a possible solo project. Almost as soon as she thought it, Alani dismissed the theory in favor of the idea that he was most likely just taking a vacation. And from the buzz that she saw surrounding the news about One Direction, she couldn’t blame him.

The more Alani read, the more she wanted to know, and something deep down told her that his was a story worth telling. Of course, the only problem was that she had hardly talked to him, and there were only so many things she could say about the fifteen glasses of water he downed. There was no way of knowing if she would ever see him again, either, or if he was merely stopping in Hilo on his way to another island or somewhere else entirely. Alani sighed, thinking back to her most recent rejection from Rolling Stone. She knew that there was no possible way she would ever see or talk to Harry ever again, and even if she did, why would he bare his entire soul to a stranger? Still, she let her mind wander through the possibility.

Dear Ms. Hale, the letter would read, we are very grateful to have received your submission to Rolling Stone magazine and are pleased to inform you that your piece on Harry Styles will be featured in next month’s issue. Additionally, we would be honored to have you on staff, effective immediately.

It was far-fetched, Alani knew this, but she dozed off that night with endless ideas swimming in her head.

********

By the third day after his visit, the only trace of Harry is in Alani’s search history. She would have completely forgotten about him if it weren’t for her sister’s constant reminiscing and multiple attempts to rename the house salad to the “Harry Special.” As a result, a part of Alani’s thoughts periodically linger back to that day and the subsequent hours spent on Google that she’d rationalized as research instead of stalking. Somehow the knowledge that she’ll never see him again only adds fuel to the questions still burning in her mind, but a customer clearing their throat while she sorts menus below the hostess podium interrupts her thoughts.

“Welcome in!” She calls, standing. “What can I—”

She stops in her tracks, unable to believe her eyes. Harry blinks and waits for her to continue.

“What can I get started for you?” Alani tries again, hoping that he hadn’t noticed her shock. Luckily for her, Harry had been too focused on choosing his next words to register her mistake.

“What’s in the Honu smoothie?” he asks, mentally kicking himself for asking such a stupid question when the menu just inches above her head clearly spells it out.

Alani hums, thinking back to the times she had made the smoothie herself. “Kiwis, spinach, mango, avocado, and a hint of lime,”

“I’ll take one of those,” Harry says, reaching for his wallet.

Alani punches in the order with trembling fingers and nods. “For here or to go?”

“To go,”

Disappointment fills her chest. Sure, she hadn’t planned on seeing him ever again, but the fact that she did felt like a sign. If she wanted to take the chance, she’d have to do it fast.

“Anything else?” she asks, weighing her options while he skims the menu.

“No thanks.”

Alani makes the smoothie quickly, head spinning. She had spent most of the night after their initial meeting planning out exactly the type of questions she hoped to ask him and what kind of article she would write. She was used to writing about what she knew—artists and music she’d admired for years— but she figured that starting fresh with someone she hardly knew would be a good challenge. Not to mention that it seemed like just the thing Rolling Stone would jump for. Alani finally works up the courage as she finishes his smoothie, but when she returns to hand it to him and hopefully strike up a conversation, his ear is pressed to his cell phone. She holds out the drink and he graciously accepts, giving her a small nod as a “thank you” and rushing out of the restaurant.

Two days later he returns and is seated at the counter, typing away on his phone. Alani feels both a rush of optimism and annoyance at the universe for dangling his presence so unexpectedly. She starts heading over to him, but Maleah cuts in.

“Trade me?” she proposes, eyes wide.

Alani blinks. “Oh, I would but I—”

“Please,” her best friend pouts. “I’m leaving to see my grandparents in stupid California for two months. Who knows when I’ll get the chance to see him again?”

Alani sighs, but gives in, reluctantly exchanging Harry for the family of four seated by the window. A strange feeling settles into the pit of his stomach when he sees that she heads in the opposite direction after a hushed conversation with another waitress. He doesn’t know why she traded him for a different customer, but he takes the hint.

A week goes by without another sighting of Harry and Alani has permanently taken on the role of greeting hostess in hopes of seeing him again. Her heartbeat temporarily speeds up when she sees a long haired customer approach the door, but her spirits quickly fall when the face doesn’t match his.

Another week brings another disappointing realization that Harry might be gone for good. One rainy morning when the restaurant is quiet and only two customers huddle together in a booth near the back, Alani hunches over the hostess podium and doodles on a stray receipt— a sunflower, a crescent moon, and two hearts. The bell above the door jingles but she doesn’t look up, too absorbed in her scribbles.

“Do you serve coffee?”

The familiar accented voice stops Alani’s pen dead in its tracks. She lifts her eyes first to confirm, and then straightens up when she sees that her ears haven’t deceived her.

“Yes,” she swallows.

“Great. I’ll take it to go,”

She slightly deflates, but Harry thinks he’s reading too much into it.

“Actually,” he corrects anyway, just in case he isn’t. “I think I’ll stay for a while,”

Alani flashes a warm smile and nods in the direction of the counter. “Right this way,”

Harry sheds his windbreaker onto the back of the seat, revealing a black and white Rolling Stones t-shirt that makes Alani’s blood pressure rise. A sign, she thinks.

“What do you want in your coffee?” she questions carefully.

“Nothing,” he responds, shaking out his damp hair gently. “Or actually, uh, butter...if you have some,”

Alani blinks, not sure if she’d heard correctly or if there had been some transatlantic miscommunication.

“Butter?”

“Yeah,”

“Like the—”

“Spread, yeah,” Harry confirms. “It’s weird, I know,”

She lets out a light-hearted laugh and nods. “It’s a...unique request,”

“I thought the same thing at first,” Harry confides. “It’s not bad, actually. But maybe I’ve just been in L.A. for too long.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

She offers a polite smile and heads to the kitchen where the cook and two other waiters talk amongst each other. Alani is grateful that the restaurant is slow this morning because she knows that it means minimal interruptions to her time with Harry. To ensure this, though, she asks one of the other waiters to cover the podium and returns to Harry with his coffee.

“One butter coffee, free of judgement,” the waitress announces, setting it down.

Harry grins softly, stirring the drink with the spoon Alani provided. “You can judge, it’s alright,”

“I just wanna know why,”

The coffee had been part of a fad diet while on tour in order to boost Harry’s energy on stage and stay trim for the hundreds of photo-ops he would be a part of. He doesn’t know how to communicate all of this to Alani, however, not sure how much she knows about that part of him, so he shrugs and tells a simplified version of the truth.

“I read about this trend a while back, it's called bulletproof coffee. Supposed to get your energy up and I needed it for my job,”

“Which is…” Alani trails off, downplaying the knowledge that she had acquired from Google.

“I make music,” is all Harry says and he takes a sip of the drink to avoid elaborating.

“Anything I would have heard?”

He swallows hard and listens to the faint rumbling of thunder outside before replying. “Possibly,”

“Try me,” Alani challenges.

He narrows his eyes and takes another sip of coffee. “Why don’t you tell me something about yourself first?”

“What do you wanna know?”

Everything, Harry responds internally, though he reigns it in. “How you got into waitressing,”

Alani sighs, resting her elbows on the counter across from him. “There’s not much to tell, it’s a family business. What I really wanna do is write,”

“Music?”

“Articles. I’m studying Journalism at UH,”

Harry hums in response, filing the detail away in the back of his mind. “Sounds interesting. You ever publish anything?”

“Not yet,” Alani shakes her head gently, toying with the sleeves of her green University of Hawaii crewneck. “Hopefully soon, though,”

Harry racks his brain for something else to say, but before he can, Alani speaks up again.

“Is it my turn to ask something now?”

He offers a curt nod and stirs his coffee.

“What kind of music do you write?”

Harry chooses to be vague again. “Different stuff. Pop, usually. Been messing with some classic rock, though,”

“Explains the shirt,”

He peers down at the design on his tee and agrees. “Yeah, I guess so,”

“Do you like it?” Alani asks, her eyes begging to make contact with his again. “Writing music, I mean,”

“Yeah,” Harry confirms, tapping his spoon against the rim of the mug. “I really do,”

Alani’s heart pounds. This is her chance, a moment to finally secure her breakthrough piece. She doesn’t know how to approach it, so she opts to dive right in without looking back. The worst he can say is no.

“Can I ask you something else?”

“That’s cheating,” Harry teases lightly. “It's my turn,”

She pouts playfully, but obliges. “Fire away,”

Harry doesn’t know which question to ask first, but when he glances down at the crescent moon inked on her wrist, he decides to start there.

“What’s with the moon tattoo?”

Alani isn’t sure what she expected him to ask and wonders what purpose such a detail could possibly serve him, but she answers anyway.

“Oh, well,” she begins, tracing her index finger over the outline. “It’s kinda the meaning of my full name. It’s Mahealani, Hawaiian for ‘heavenly moon,'”

Fitting, Harry comments to himself. Every detail he learns about her makes him want to learn that much more, from her favorite foods to the last thing she thinks about before falling asleep. Studying her expectant eyes, he suddenly remembers that it’s his turn to respond.

“That’s cool,” is all he says.

Alani doesn’t know what to make of the faraway look in his eye, but she decides to pose her most burning question while he appears to be in good spirits.

“I know this is gonna sound totally out of the blue,” she starts, working past the lump in her throat. “But when you mentioned how you write music, I was just reminded of this assignment I’m working on in my class,”

Harry waits for her to continue, nursing his now lukewarm coffee.

“I’m supposed to write a piece about someone who I don’t know that well,” she continues. “You know, to practice our interviewing skills. And, well, I was just kind of wondering if you might be interested in helping me out—being the subject, I mean,”

Alani had every intention of telling Harry the truth, about how she really planned to submit the article to Rolling Stone in hopes of securing an internship before her college graduation next Spring. But as she started speaking, she quickly realized how it would come off: a complete stranger asking for personal information to submit to a well-known publication. She knew that there was a chance he would shut down and never return, so she lowered the stakes and hoped that this route would be less risky. Was it ethical? Alani hadn’t decided yet, but she would work out the details later. After six failed articles and two years of rejection, she saw a ray of hope and wasn’t going to let it slip away.

Harry ponders her offer for a moment, which confirms that she had recognized him. Normally he would be off-put by such a request, and to a certain extent he is, but there is something sincere in her voice that he trusts deep down. Before he agrees, however, he decides to fish around a bit to test her reaction.

“You know who I am,” he says gently. “Don’t you?”

Alani’s heart drops into the pit of her stomach, not sure what to say next. She hopes with every fiber of her being that she hasn’t upset him, or worse, ruined her chances, so she decides to offer some truth to throw him off her scent.

“My sister recognized you,” she explains. “That day you came in with your friends. I thought they were your bandmates at first,”

This lets Harry know that she isn’t a total stalker, which is comforting, but he wouldn’t have been minded if she were a fan simply engaging in conversation.

“Oh,” he laughs weakly.

“I totally understand if you say no,” Alani offers quickly, trying to smooth things over. “I just thought it was worth a shot. And that it might be more interesting than interviewing our produce guy,”

Harry decides to give her one last scan for any sign of insincerity. He’d always felt that his gut instinct was strong and it hadn’t led him astray thus far.

“An interview?” he clarifies.

“Just one,” Alani promises. “An hour, tops. And you can proofread all of it once I’ve finished, too.”

Harry waits a beat, already knowing his reply, but he wants to see how she will react to his silence. She doesn’t budge, almond eyes set and determined.

“Okay.”

next chapter

[thestalkerbunny]

What are your favorite twilight zone episodes?

Oh god you get me; you aBSOLUTELY get me. So fun fact about me, I LOVE the Twilight Zone. I doubt any series of horror has enthralled me in such a captivating way as the ‘Zone’ did as a kid. The Horror in that show is just so real and authentic because of the time period. So I”m gonna do you what I think is the personal best episodes for me-pictures included!

So let’s get to Stalky’s Top Ten ZONE EPISODES

10: The Masks

A dying wealthy man is down to his last few hours of life on the eve of Mardi Gras and his spoiled selfish heirs are there to watch him die and get what is theirs-with the catch, until midnight they must wear hideous masks that compliment their awful personalities. This one always stuck with me because The sheer anticipation of what will happen in the end and the fact that all their heirs are just so very unlikable, it’s very much like the movie ‘Knives Out’ but much more tame-nobody gets murdered, but just the ending thrilled me the first time I saw it

9: The Monsters are Due on Maple Street

A Street full of neighbors experiencing a black out turn on each other in violent mob mentality of the blame game. This is a CLASSIC, This is true pure and realistic horror because it really asks the question ‘how well do you know your neighbors and do you trust them’ it also was very much a product of it’s time in the era of the Cold War were even in your own neighborhood, even your neighbors could be a ‘communist’ in disguise. The Ending was a real rug jerker for me. For those of you who haven’t seen the ending-you gotta go watch it. Just less than 15 minutes of your time. Iconic. They did a remake of it once but it didn’t HIT the way it did the first time.

8. Will the Real Martian Please Stand Up?

A Bus making a stop realizes that there is one extra person among them is not accounted for and they may not be of this world. Now THIS is the originally ‘Among Us’ There is one more person on the manifesto and we gotta find out who the imposter is. This one just felt so witty and just the energy of the Moustache guy really stole the show for me as well as the diner chef. The twist was GREAT and I still catch myself thinking about it sometimes when I’m in a ‘ZONE’ mood

7. The Midnight Sun

The Earth is slowly falling into the Sun. We watch as a woman falls apart as the whole world around her burns. Now being a southern girl with a house whose ac loves to just BITE it in the DEAD of summer I FEEL this episode with all my soul. If you’re ever the littlest bit chilly, you watch ‘Midnight Sun’ and you can FEEL yourself melting along with this poor suffering woman in this apartment complex. Just watching these poor people just lose their minds to the heat is so real because just slight temperature changes just make people irrational and insane.

6. I sing the Body Electric

Children get a New Grandma! A ROBOT GRANDMA! This one is such a heart warming episode and concept, like if you don’t like scary stuff but still wanna know the Twilight Zone, you watch ‘Body Electric’ It’s very much a ‘Mary Poppins’ sort of story and it’s sweet and the way it explains what happens to the Grandmother once her job is done should be applied to all robots concepts of the afterlife. Plus the store the family goes to in order to make their custom grandma is kinda spooky. Like build a bear. But for Grandmas.

5. Number 12 looks JUST like you

In  Future, You can be anyone you want to be, because the cosmetic surgery is Mandatory. One girl protests it. This one breaks my heart because for some people, this is reality, they’re pressured into changing even though they’re happy with their looks but society refuses to accept them. You know how in cartoons there’s the trope of the popular girls being surrounded by identical clones. That. It’s that. It’s often confused with another iconic episode that talks about how beauty is about perspective and what people will go thru to try and be the standard for society.

4. Night of the Living Doll

A little girl’s doll decides to teach an abusive Step Father a lesson. TALKY TINA WALKED. SHE FUCKING STRUTTED THAT RUNWAY MAMA. SO CHUCKY/TIFFANY/BRAHMNS/ANNABELLE COULD FUCKING RUN. She was the ORGINAL Doll that is up to NO GOOD. We are ROOTING for Talky Tina. She is a QUEEN. WE STAN A LEGEND. The Dad is such a douche bag I do not feel bad at ALL for what happens to him.

3. One for the Angels

A sidewalk sales man stalls for time to save another’s life from Death himself. This one is a sweet one, the salesman-Marky-is just so genuine and the ‘bumbling type that’s loved by kids’ and he’s a clever character, if you like the cheating of death story-you’ll love ‘One for the Angels’. And even if it ends a bit sad-it’s a happy kind of sad, a sad where you know that this is the good happy ending even if it’s a little bitter.

2. The Hunt.

An Old man and his Hound explore the trail to the afterlife. This one speaks to my backwoods southern heart-because there are dudes who are just that passionate and affectionate about their hounds. It also does the whole thing where the path to hell looks just as pretty as the one that lead to heaven. It feels like it’d be the kind of bluegrass song I’d hear about a guy narrowly missing ending up in Hell because he doesn’t want to be apart from his beloved dog.

HONORABLE MENTION: The Last Rites of Jeff Myrtle

A Young man dies....and comes back to life? Again another southern themed episode that speaks to me, mainly because Wake Culture is a thing where you have to sit up with the body to make sure they’re REALLY dead. Just the whole set up to the ending really just fools you. It’s the kind of story I feel like I would set up. I think I HAVE set up that kind of story with ‘The Diver Boy’ Comic

1. The Obsolete Man

Nothing I can say can compare to the perfection and the dark statement that The Obsolete Man makes. Nothing hits home that hard in that way. A horrible future where people get to decide what is obsolete and once it’s obsolete, it must go away forever.

[silenthillmutual]

daniil dankovsky is autistic and here’s why:

because i’m autistic and i said so

i kid, obviously. what sort of autistic person would i be if i wasn’t read to back up my silly little claim with an overly long post of evidence a total of three people will read? (hi ned hi jordan hi raven :))

i’m aware that this is cringey because adults aren’t supposed to have autism or interests or talk about either of those things, but this is my blog and you are free to block me if the cringe is too much for you.

these are some things i picked out from the DSMV’s diagnostic criteria, found on the CDC website:

deficits in social-emotional reciprocity

reduced sharing of interests, emotions, or affect

abnormal social approach

abnormalities in eye contact and body language

defecits in […] understand[ing] relationships

difficults adjusting behavior to suit various social contexts

repetitive motor movements or speech

rigid thinking patterns

highly restricted, fixated interests that are abnormal in intensity or focus

hyper- or hyporeactivity to sensory input

there’s also some misc. stuff not in the diagnostic criteria (though it may be in the adir or gars-3) i thought was worth noting.

important note from the diagnostic criteria: “symptoms cause clinically significant impairment in social, occupational, or other important areas of current functioning”. i’d say that in his case, they do.

spoilers for pathologic classic, pathologic 2, and the marble nest

deficits in social-emotional reciprocity

in bachelor route of classic, daniil

seems completely oblivious to eva making advances toward him, to the point where she complains to him that he’s ignoring her in favor of asking questions about simon.

seems surprised when people mention maria being in love with him, despite outright asking her a couple of times if she’s flirting with him.

not to mention the fact that he asks her that at all.

his inability or resistence to making connections with others is typically considered one of his character flaws. although it is not outright stated in the dsmv criteria, one trait of autism and other neurodivergencies is “having extremely high or extremely low empathy” - and daniil, despite being a doctor, lacks empathy. which is not to say he doesn’t care at all. i think that he does, but is terrible at showing it.

for example, this scene from marble nest:

Sticky: You must feel terrible… right? That’s fine. I forgive you. You just got confused… Adults always do. Daniil: Oh yes, adults are always occupied with the most asinine nonsense. Like feeling anxious that a bunch of urchins keep roaming the streets, putting themselves in mortal danger!

daniil clearly cares about sticky’s wellbeing (and the wellbeing of the kids looking after him, though he’s not cognizant that he’s in a coma), but his way of showing it is… kind of by being a jerk. all of which bleeds into the next item on the list

reduced sharing of interests, emotions, or affect

he has no problem sharing his interests, but in both pathologic classic & pathologic 2, daniil speaks with a flat affect - which is to say that he lacks intonation. the words we read him saying may be dramatic or come across as passionate, but the actual voice reading his lines is very monotone, which may contribute to being read as lacking emotion.

and in pathologic 2, he has a voiceline lamenting not telling “her” (eva?) how he felt

in marble nest, he’s teased by the tragedians for being “heartless”:

Tragedian: Maybe. Possibly. But it’s useless to explain to a heartless man. …Take heart, Excellency! If you ever find it, that is. And then come back to us… Even though it all sounds like a rather implausible turn of events.

abnormal social approach

daniil has a tendency to say things that are tactless, odd, or just socially inappropriate. i probably don’t need to point out too many examples, as i think it’s fairly obvious - these are the things people love to pick at when it comes to him, but i do have a few in mind. like, for example, from haruspex route in classic:

Haruspex: What of the antibodies essential for making a serum? Bachelor: I don’t know for sure yet, I’ll send you a report in a few hours. Don’t go about cutting people’s hearts out for your panacea until then. It’s a… controversial solution, you know… Haruspex: What?! Do you even hear yourself? Bachelor: Sorry! I meant no offence… it was just a momentary lapse of… well, you know. Haruspex: None taken.

until artemy points out, daniil doesn’t seem to be aware he just said something rude. even with therapy, picking up on social cues doesn’t come naturally to people with autism, so we tend to say things that come across as rude or strange to others without realizing we’ve put them off. we tend to lack a “filter” that tells us when things are or are not appropriate to say. even when we may recognize it, the rules may not make any sense to us. for example, it makes very little sense that allistics favor politeness over honesty.

i think the glaringly obvious abnormal social approach in pathologic 2 is him threatening to hold artemy at gunpoint to get in the house, which is just overkill, but my personal favorite comes on day 7, when he’s complaining about the orders aglaya has given him. artemy stops him to say he doesn’t understand what daniil wants from him, to which daniil replies:

From you? Oh, nothing. I was just sharing.

to daniil, they were just having a normal conversation. but some part of this - his tone or his words or maybe even his body language - didn’t give artemy the impression that this was supposed to be a regular conversation. (we could, in fact, attribute the same idea to artemy here; why didn’t artemy pick up that this was a normal conversation? the reason i count it towards daniil is because artemy doesn’t seem to have this problem with anybody else. for the record: i don’t think artemy is neurotypical either.)

abnormalities in eye contact and body language

it’s hard to get proof of this in video games, but i will say i think it’s very funny that in pathologic 2 daniil’s idle animations are “pacing”, “sitting like he desperately wants to start bouncing his knees but is stopping himself from doing it”, and “standing unnaturally still” - but there you go. i don’t know anything about making gifs, or i’d gif this one specific talk menu idle he does where he holds eye contact for about three seconds, looks away uncomfortably, and then looks back out of the corner of his eyes.

deficits in […] understand[ing] relationships

mostly examples from his route in classic:

when the army arrives, he can claim to block that aglaya, whom he’s known for two days, is his best friend

he seems baffled by the fact that everone is smitten with maria and working with her, and seems equally baffled by the idea that she’s smitten with him

despite eva implying on day two that she is in a relationship with andrey, is completely blindsided by the revelation on day 6, asking him, “How in the world is she ‘your woman’?”

i’d also like to use his sign-off on his letter to artemy, day 2 of the haruspex route - he signs it as “Your friend (hopefully)”. i know i’m not the only autistic person who used to ask people if we were friends or not. pro tip, if you’ve never done this: don’t. it really weirds people out.

difficulties adjusting behavior to suit various social contexts

the fact that he stands out is blatantly obvious even in pathologic 2 and in the haruspex route of classic. people will comment on him being an outsider and mention that they don’t trust him. but you can watch it happen in real time in his route, because he never fully acclimates to the town. he says something about this to aglaya on day 7:

Bachelor: Was there any particularly notable backstory? I’m deadly tired of all these people. They’re inhuman. They tell the future, believe in walking zombies, and die in all manners of painfully abnormal ways. Inquisitor: Your line of t hinking is obviously falacious - and I was implying something rather mundane. I promise you, no one can really tell the future around here: and neither are deaths inspired by third parties uncommon. Mysterious phenomenons do occur here sometimes… but hardly more often than anywhere else.

actually, there’s an example of him saying something similar to artemy on day 5 in pathologic 2:

Damn this town… I feel I’m trapped in a nightmare. The absurdity of it all… There’s no one to talk to. Everyone’s so volatile. They all seem to want to help, but… their help is worse than hostility.

some of this can be explained by the town’s strangeness, but keep in mind that the first instance happens after he’s been there and involved in the ongoing for an entire week, and the second at nearly a week in. clearly he’s struggling to adjust to the changes.

it’s also worth noting that his reason for fleeing the town in the nocturnal ending?

I have no place here anymore.

This town is no longer mine. No longer human. No longer rational. It doesn’t… accept the likes of me anymore.

repetitive motor movements or speech

it’s harder to see the motor movements in classic, but remember how i pointed out earlier that he paces? pacing is a form of stimming. murky, who is canonically autistic, can also be found pacing as one of her idle animations. having stock phrases for characters to speak when you come near them already ticks off the box on “repetitive speech”, but that by itself doesn’t really cover what they’re talking about - echolalia.

but you know what this does fit with? “‘quoting’ things(communication is HARD! sometimes we need to take shortcuts and use someone else’s words)“

i’ll get to the more obvious example in a minute - i want to point out something that happens very early in pathologic 2 first. you know how you first meet him and artemy accuses daniil of trying to guilt-trip him by asking if it’s true that isidor would still be alive if artemy had come sooner? keep in mind that he spoke to rubin first. and this is what rubin says, when you get a chance to talk to him:

Yesterday, I was told you had killed your father.

That’s not far from the truth, Burakh.

You betrayed him. You left when he needed you most. He cried out for your help, but you didn’t care. He was in peril, and you were too busy elsewhere, He believed, truly believed, that your arrival would put an end to his troubles. And, as always, he was right.

i’m not saying this was necessarily the game’s intent, but it’s entirely possible daniil is parroting back to artemy exactly what rubin said to him.

now, for what you’re probably expecting in this section: the latin. people love to refer to his use of latin as “random”, so let’s clear that up:

it is not latin daniil has made up. with the exception of latin that is mispelled in the game’s texts, all of them are proverbs or otherwise common sayings. you can find most of them on the wikipedia list of latin phrases, or through a 3-second google search.

he’s a doctor. him having taken latin isn’t anymore strange than a lawyer taking latin. in fact, if you pay attention, artemy also took latin; this is implied when artemy tells him he’s always sucked at it.

his uses of latin actually aren’t random at all. what he says fits the situation, and sometimes is used in place of him having to come up with something to say on his own.

prime example:

Forget it, Burakh. I have a splitting headache. If you have no urgent business, then we’ll talk later. Later, later… Qui non proficit, deficit.

qui non proficit, deficit - he who does not advance, loses ground. in other words, “i’m sorry, but i really do need to keep working.” one of his voice lines.

as for why he doesn’t translate the latin: it probably wouldn’t even occur to him to. these are not obscure sayings. the utopians all have a certain degree of education - what would he need to translate them for?

this bleeds into something that isn’t really mentioned, but that i’ve found i have a lot of trouble with in everyday life. autistic people have a tendency to either overexplain (and then have everyone get mad at you because they feel you’re being condescending) or underexplain (and have everyone get mad at you because you haven’t explained anything). the latin would be a case where it feels like a justified underexplanation. you’ll notice that when it comes to anything scientific, he tends to do the reverse, and overexplain. this also happens in classic, whether artemy has asked him to clarify or not.

rigid thinking patterns

the thing i had marked for this was simply his strict adherence to western medical practices and refusal to acknowledge the supernatural, even when it seems obvious - he has a conversation in his route in classic with yulia about this, and that is in fact how he manages to get to her: by asking saburov if there are any other logical skeptics in town. it should be noted they seem to be breaking with this in pathologic 2, where one of his voicelines is “I’m no positivist. There are things in this world beyond our mundane perception.” i have no idea where they’re planning on going with that.

there’s also a quote floating somewhere around twitter about him having been raised by a military man, and militaries tend to enforce very rigid routines. you could say the same thing of block - who (in classic at least) i also have my suspicions about.

highly restricted, fixated interests that are abnormal in intensity or focus

special interests. the one that should obviously come to mind is thanatology, though i would argue latin if not classics in general is a special interest of his as well - in addition to his usage of latin, he also references pericles in the marble nest and was probably refering to the roman occupation of haruspicy in addition to augurs in the same text. he also makes references to shakespeare more than once in both marble nest and pathologic 2.

hyper- or hyperoreactivity to sensory input

i don’t have much written down for this one but there seem to be several places in classic especially where he asks npcs to stop shouting at him. we don’t really have the privilege to know their volume or how they’re interacting with him, but i think it’s also worth noting that he’s the only one of the healers who wears gloves. in pathologic 2 he’s the only named character i can think of who wears them at all. his thing in the lucid dream about the brain being “a border”? gloves are his border, as is his jacket, which may be worn to cut down on sensory issues.

he will also sometimes seem to “overreact” to the situation at hand - such as in classic, when some dogheads mispeak and say that daniil is going to “sterilize” them, and instead of understanding that they must have mispoken, freaks out over the idea that they think they’re going to be… well… sterilized. or in haruspex route, when his reaction to the inquisitor arriving is to threaten suicide.

miscellaneous

he never goes anywhere without that carpet bag. we don’t see it in pathologic 2, but we do hear about it and he doesn’t let it go for a second in classic - not even in the cutscenes where he’s using the microscope. his bag could be a comfort item.

“getting very attached to things like inanimate objects” could work for the bag - but you know what it actually fits the bill much more obviously? the polyhedron. in the haruspex route he recognizes that it’s a lost cause, but he’s still too attached to it to let it go.

in classic at least, daniil is absolutely terrible at lying. most autistic people either are not good at lying, or feel uncomfortable or anxious with having to lie. when he’s asked by yulia and the kids in the polyhedron to lie to block (for different reasons) he’s clearly uncomfortable with the idea that it’ll work. and when it actually comes time to come up with a way to lie to block about why he needs five rifles, your options are to either buckle and tell him the truth, or simply say that you need them for “self-defense”. block believes that you’re not lying to him, but daniil can’t come up with any embeleshments to explain why he needs what he’s asking for.

Commander: Are you hiding something from me? Bachelor: No.

he comes across as naive to other characters. in classic, capella has a voiceline saying, “The Bachelor is not smart. Intelligent, yes… but not smart.” in Pathologic 2, Daniil complains that Aglaya takes him for “a useless dreamer”. he’s also easily used by the Kains to fulfill their endgame in classic.

my final, and absolute favorite: he takes things way too literally. autistic people (and adhd people, from my understanding) have a hard time differentiating jokes and sarcasm. so my favorite moment in marble nest is a case of him taking that earlier advice - to “take heart” literally, by bringing the tragedians a literal human heart:

Tragedian: Oh… Excellency. What a sordid sight! Sorry for underestimating you. You definitely do have… how shall I put it… a creative touch. But this is pure madness. You can’t take things so literally! Daniil: You wanted me to come back to you with an open heart. Well, here I am. …It looked too fitting to be a coincidence.

your mind map, after this, updates to say “I misunderstood the tragedians.”

conclusion

people don’t stop being autistic with age and i think he’s a good example of what it’s like to be in your late 20s and be autistic. i’m sure i missed things as i haven’t finished haruspex route of classic yet and there may just be some other things he does or says that i missed! if anyone has anything to add they think fits i would love to know, thank you for your time :)

[catboycafe]

I Will Now Express Every Thought I Have About Pacific Rim: The Black 

⚠️ spoilers for the whole thing baby

I actually forgot Pacific Rim: The Black was premiering today until I saw it in an article this morning! When I first heard about it months ago, I was decidedly not sold on a Pacific Rim anime. Uprising burnt me the fuck out and I don’t have a lot of trust left in me for new entries to the franchise. But I had heard rumblings of Raleigh and Herc being referenced after going into #pacificrim and I decided I may as well check out to see what was up! I binged it in 4 hours and it sure was a whirlwind, I’ll tell ya

The Plot

I really enjoy the setting and initial concept! We’re so use to seeing Kaiju/Jaegar shenanigans play out within these major cities with helpless civilians everywhere that spending so much time in a lonesome desert and these destroyed civilizations was really cool and indicative of the changes Pacific Rim has undergone in the last few years. I also looooved the Desert Settlement from the beginning!! It seemed really homey and picturesque; I wish we’d spent more time with the other survivors and got to see more of their day to day aside from farming and sitting. 

I also found the first episode set up to be really tight and well written! I was hooked during the initial flashback, Hayley and Taylor’s fight was really poignant and well acted, and the reveal of Atlas Destroyer felt really huge and epic!!

But once we left the Desert Settlement and the plot started actually moving along, the pacing becomes suuuper rough. We spent way too long in Bogan with Shane and Mei; there’s only 7 episodes and we spent, like, 3? 4? within the confines of that camp and I felt it weighed the plot down. Boy is introduced in the 2nd episode and, because the narrative spends so much time on Shane’s evil machinations and Mei’s back story, we still don’t know anything concrete about his origins or purpose 3 episodes later! That felt frustrating to me

The story beats overall were very predictable. I was able to pick up on Mei’s backstory via her dynamic with Shane in their introductions, so her memories felt too built up and too hollow once they were revealed. The same with the reveal of Boy’s Kaiju form; he was in a big green test tube in a PPDC base - I assumed immediately he was a part-kaiju experiment and again his reveal felt hollow, especially after the glacial pace of it’s development. 

Even when events weren’t predictable, they lacked weight. The appearance of several Kaiju Breaches in “Boneyard” felt very cheap for some reason; I wasn’t scared and I didn’t feel tense about these odds mounting against the protagonists. This was just happening and I was just watching. 

The Art Direction and Animation

I’m very obsessed with all the new Kaiju we got from this; I love how Copperhead is rendered, they’re a joy to see on screen!! The Rippers are also very cute and deserve little plushies...i love these neat little dogs. Boy’s Kaiju Form is very intimidating with an interesting color palette and I loved seeing him next to Copperhead’s highly saturated design!

That’s unfortunately all that I liked however; All the human character design is unmemorable to me. Every character looks exactly like another easily identifiable anime character from a different property (Hayley looks exactly like Zero Suit Samus to me, for example. And Mei kept reminding me of both Bernadetta Fire Emblem and Motoko Kusanagi from GitS. The list goes on). 

I can sort of understand why they’re so bland? A franchise going from Live Action to something as heavily stylized as anime is probably a really difficult transition and these designs are probably meant to be more lowkey than more unique anime designs in order to help that transition. But realistically stylized designs can still be recognizable and unique! These feel uninspired and bare bones.

��I have no problem with the switch to CGI animation that modern anime is doing because I know it’s a lot cheaper to produce and it can still be really unique and striking! But The Black’s model animation felt very stilted and inconsistent. I don’t have a lot of knowledge about animating so I don’t think I can accurately describe what I disliked? Wooden is probably the best term. Character movements felt wooden and things like hair and clothes felt plastic. 

Impacts also had very little weight. The fight between Tayler/Mei and Copperhead reminded me of when you’re in a dream and trying to punch something, but you can’t punch hard. It was simply too floaty and too soft. The final showdown in “Showdown” was better, but not by much. It was very immersion breaking seeing these Giant Robots and Giant Monsters unable to throw a real solid hit!

Characters

My favorite character was unequivocally Joel Wyrick. We love Joel Wyrick in this house! Joel’s character has real charisma and charm. I love his flirtations with Loa, how his cocky disposition is juxtaposed with his drinking problem and later insecurities over his lost memories, and his genuine kindness shown to Mei, Taylor, and Boy. No one ever plays with Boy, they just run after him and drag him around...but Joel has this moment in “Escape from Bogan” where he kneels down to Boy and helps him collect rocks. It was sweet!

So of course, when Joel dies for absolutely no reason 5 minutes later - pissed! I was pissed! I yelled “COME ON” aloud in my studio apartment! I was genuinely so excited to see him interact more with the rest of cast then, poof. No More Joel.

His death felt like it was for shock value to me rather than actual narrative development. Why kill him when we still don’t fully understand his and Mei’s relationship? Why were they so close? Were they childhood friends, or just coworkers that happen to become friends? Why did he specifically know all the details of Shane’s abuse towards Mei before she did? 

What did his death accomplish? It made Mei sad...ok? She was already...very sad. Her running away from Shane already had consequences - the consequences of Shane coming after them for revenge in the future. Why did Joel have to become a causality? 

His death is ultimately tied to Mei’s character arc which is, unfortunately, my least favorite :c I find Mei to be a really one dimensional character with a personality, backstory, outlook, and motivation that I’ve seen done a million times before with a million other characters. She feels very out of place in the franchise as a whole - Pacific Rim is, at it’s core, a story about connecting with others. Her self-centric arc and lack of desire to connect outside of drifting really alienates her from the story at large and it frustrates me how long The Black’s narrative spends on her. 

Hayley and Taylor were otherwise very interesting in the pilot episode, but become similarly one dimensional at the story chugs on. Taylor’s unflinching (bordering on unhealthy) faith in their parents was really interesting next to Hayley’s complete acceptance of their parents’ death. But once the two of them make up their differences, they lack an interesting dynamic and become very passive protagonists.

 Taylor especially has no personality - how would you describe Taylor? He’s...brave. He’s the older brother. He’s a leader? He’s nice? There is nothing noteworthy about him at all, which is sad considering I think he has the potential to be a really interesting way to explore the original movie’s influence on The Black’s story.

Hayley’s grief and self-blame are more interesting than Taylor’s...nothingness, but she still falls into this one-note trope of being the naive, excitable little sister. I guess I feel abnormally frustrated about this flat character writing because Pacific Rim’s incredibly unique cast has always been an inspiration to me! It feels sad that this new iteration into the series is full of what feel like stock characters. 

Then we get to Boy. How come Boy can’t have a person name? It’s specifically written in a dialogue between Taylor and Hayley: “I’m not going to call him Chad or Barnaby or one of those names for a baby brother you wanted as a kid,”

Why?

He’s by all accounts a human child when they find him. Yes, he was found in a big green test tube - but he walks and acts just like a human child. The only difference, seemingly, is that he is non-verbal and engages in strange/annoying behavior (running off, eating bugs, etc). So he isn’t deserving of a name?? I don’t know why that makes me so mad, it just does. it’s like they refuse to treat him as a human even before they find out he’s a Kaiju  - it’s super weird! How can the story sell me on the three of them becoming found family (like they’re seemingly trying to do) if the protagonists won’t even treat this kid like a kid??

Misc. Thoughts

The callbacks to Stacker, Herc, and Raleigh were cool! I also like that Herc is a major plot point! We love Herc Hanson and it’s what he deserves. I also find Loa’s connection to Horizon Bravo very interesting...and the fact we’re getting Kaiju cultist lore! Love that! Love that!

Fucked up that the only two dark skinned characters were: 1) removed from the story 10 minutes in with no call back yet, 2) Killed after having 1 line of dialogue and fridged for the character development of the blonde white girl. I really need to know what the deal with those 4 characters leaving in the beginning was about - I absolutely thought we’d see them again by now, but no dice

I don’t know how to feel about Ajax and have no clue what their purpose in the story is. They’re cool, but whats the point? 

If Mei and Taylor are paired up together romantically, I’m putting Craig Kyle and Greg Johnson in the time out box. Very tired of seeing random hetero romance B plots in stories that can’t even get their A plots together

Overall, it’s kind of subpar! It has the foundations of a really interesting story, but the pacing and characters really took me out of it. I’m interested in Season 2! I know season 2 is already ordered and I’d love to see how things continue to develop, see if the character writing gets any better - but I’m not too hopeful unfortunately. I really really love Pacific Rim after all these years and I’m happy to still be getting content and world building! There’s just sooo much I would change about this however. At least fanfiction’s free! 

Thanks for reading all this, I have ADHD and just go on and on if u let me. hmu if You Too have thoughts about Pacific Rim: The Black and have no one to talk abt them with

[dinogaby]

Can we request Garmakoko headcanons?

Omgg anon, OF COURSE you may have Garmakoko headcanons!

I'm so sorry it took me so long to reply to this ask, sooorry! But i didn't forget!

Btw if you search the tag "#garmakoko headcanons" on my blog you will see several things tagged as headcanons. And there are my two main posts about Garmakoko headcanons that i have done in the past, you have find them here and here.

Ok let me see if i can think of any new ones... 🤔

☆ Garmadon's favorite food is sushi, so when he and Koko go on a dinner date, most likely it will be going to a sushi place. He likes to try different ones but his favorite is Omakase at the Ninjago downtown.

☆ Speaking of Omakase, that was the place they went to for their first "dinner date" after moving to Ninjago and that's why it holds such a special place for Garmadon. They were living a rough battlefield life previously, so finally being able to enjoy the luxuries of the city life together was indeed quite a nice change.

☆ Shortly after they had Lloyd, they decided to give it a try at a "normal" life, since Koko kept insisting she didn't want to raise their son in the ways of being a warlord. So they moved to Ninjago and they got an office job together. Unfortunately for Garmadon, it was really boring and didn't take long for him to go back to his warlording ways. This was when Koko and Garm split for good. (I know that we don't know for sure if the flashback scene with the office really happened in canon or not, it seems to be more of an "imagine" or "what it could have been" scenario... but i like to think it did happen, i mean it's too adorable).

☆ Koko always brings Garmadon with her for grocery shopping. He has four arms, so he carries all the bags for her. The downside to this is that every 5 minutes Garmadon sees something he wants to buy. She basically has to avoid the bakery section altogether xD

☆ Garmadon likes to wear his armor for everything (force of habit) but Koko insists that he should revamp his wardrobe and dress more casual/modern.

*Koko showing him the website of some fancy clothes stores* "How about this one? You would you soo handsome!"

"That!? It's way too casual... plus they don't have my size... of the correct number of arms!".

☆ He usually has clothes made to order (cause well, four arms), so Koko totally takes over that department and makes sure to custom order a lot of fancy clothes inspired on what's trendy these days on the famous brands, much to Garm's dismay (he's sort of old fashioned).

☆ And speaking of dressing up and stuff, Garm usually carries various blades and weapons on him when he's out and about, so Koko has to stop him.

"Garmadon we are just going to the grocery store, you don't need to bring your katanas with you...".

"What if someone tries to attack us?!".

"Very unlikely".

"Ok fine.... but seriously, not even this one?" *he shows her a small dragger he just took out from a leg pouch*. 🗡

"No Garm..."

☆ After they get back together, Garm spends some time living with Koko and Lloyd at their apartment but everything is so small and suited to their lives that he feels sort of like an intruder. He insists Koko and Lloyd come to live with him at the volcano (Lloyd loves this idea) but Koko is not sure, cause that feels borderline villanous. He insists they won't be doing anything "bad" nor there will be any villanous influences for Lloyd. When Koko finally agrees to spend a week at the volcano lair, she's mesmerized by how big and luxurious everything is (Garm has like, his own beach and everything, a huge kitchen and lots of roons with various equipment, a spa, etc etc) and she feels like she's at a resort. She agrees to come visit more often,  but she and Lloyd don't permanently move to the volcano lair and they decide to keep it as a "vacation" place of sorts. After some time together, they decide to sell Koko's apartment and they buy a house together :3

☆ Koko loves Garm's hugs cause he's so warm. Being part Oni and Dragon, his body temperature is considerably higher than that of a human being, so he's always warm. This is particularly convenient during the cold winter months.

☆ Garm's sharks are tame around Koko cause they can sense Garm shares a strong connection with her and trusts her, therefore the sharks trust her as well.

☆ Garmadon is a big fan of the outdoors and enjoys activities like camping, fishing, hiking. He's also very well versed in survival tactics, considering all his years in the battlefield. So sure enough Garm, Koko and Lloyd go on a big camping trip together to make up for all that lost family time in the past and they have the best time of their lives. Garm teaches Lloyd all his fishing and camping secrets, they all roast some marshmallows by the fire, end up every night laying down on a blanket and stargazing. (Also, Garm is King of the Grill, that goes without saying).

☆ After Garm and Koko get back together, he takes a liking to cooking dinner for her and goes out of his way to make sure his cooking is perfectly timed for when she gets back from work, so the food will be ready and hot for a yummy dinner after a long day at work.

☆ And after dinner they unwind and chill together and Garmadon gives Koko a nice, relaxing massage, which she absolutely enjoys cause i mean, Garm is very good at massages. He has four hands! XD

☆  Koko cuts Garmadon's hair! (Just as she cuts Lloyd's hair). His hair grows pretty fast so she always has to be checking on him. Prior to that he would just have someone from his Shark Army cut his hair for him, but they were not very good at it xD

☆  Garmadon often talks in his sleep. Sometimes he says silly things but usually he call out Koko's name and mumbles things about her. ("Koko? Yes... that's my wife... yess, she's good.  My wife... ya, da best. I know... right? Wait.. Kokes? I'll do as you say... please don't be mad").  Sometimes he inadvertently snuggles her and tries to give her a kiss. Sometimes she is awoken from this and groggily tells Garm to go back to sleep while in a state of half consciousness herself.  She doesn't break the embrace though. :3

☆ They like to go out to the park and have a nice, peaceful stroll together. They get some ice cream or dango to eat while they walk. 🍦🍡Garm loves to take pictures of Koko with his cellphone and is always hunting for the perfect picture spot.

☆  Speaking of cellphones, the password to unlock his cellphone is "Misako". (This is actually not just a headcanon but it is considered to be canon as this appeared on official Ninjago Movie merchandise).

☆ Garmadon's lockscreen on his cellphone is a picture of Koko smiling.

☆ And Koko has a picture of baby Lloyd being held in Garmadon's arms as her lockscreen. (This is also another piece of info that can be considered canon according to this video).

☆  Whenever she's not around, Garmadon will longingly look at Koko pictures on his cellphone and miss her a lot. He likes being all dramatic about it.

"Koko I have missed you so much, i've been staring at pictures of you all day".

"Garm you last saw me this morning when i left for work... it's only been like 8 hours".

"That's too much!!".

☆ When they were first dating, Garmadon got Koko a beautiful gold necklace with an emerald shaped like a heart (cue in some super cheesyness along the lines of "i got you an emerald because you have beautiful green eyes, like emeralds... but of course this rock could never even compare to how beautiful your eyes are". Koko, while blushing: "oh Garm..."). Even after they split Koko kept it and when they got back together and she starting wearing her emerald necklace again he was so touched that she kept it after all these years. 🥺

Well i guess that's all for now. I guess this 3rd round of headcanons were more focused on their domestic life :3 I love them so so much and they deserve all the happiness in the world! GarmaKoko forever! ⚔

[askaceattorney]

Dear Asexual-Deesasters,

Mod Edgeworth: 

If you want to know the answer to that question, go to this link.

Dear Skibot99,

Co-Mod: I’m fairly certain it was The Mod, but I don’t know for sure.  He actually had another one before it, made from an old Ace Attorney musical animation.  I haven’t been able to locate that video, unfortunately, but here’s the old banner:

Ah...  Those were good days.  Good days.

Dear Dawsongfg,

Co-Mod: It’s fine.  Besides, it won’t be too long before those letters are accepted, so maybe we’ll hold onto them until that time.

Dear skibot99 again,

Mod Edgeworth: The Lost Turnabout hands down. All logic is thrown out the window the moment Phoenix had amnesia. It’s clear the Judge knew something was wrong with Phoenix, so why didn’t he call for a recess or check on Phoenix? Not to mention Wellington was annoying. He’s probably the only character I would be hesitant to play as when answering letters, if only because he was so unbearable.

As for Turnabout Ablaze, I do agree that it is a drag to get through in the end, though the entire game of AAI was boring, aside from the game mechanics. As a case by itself, I wouldn’t put it as my least favorite, if only because I did get some funny parts out of it.  It also contributed to the overall story, whereas The Lost Turnabout could just be taken out and it wouldn’t effect the overarching plot.

Co-Mod: I’d probably have to go with Turnabout Big Top.  I honestly couldn’t figure out the part where you have to present Max’s poster without consulting a walkthrough.  Why couldn’t we just present Max himself?  Besides that, the ending was largely underwhelming -- the murder weapon was hidden under Acro’s blanket the entire time, but instead of seeing a screenshot of it there, we just have to imagine it.  Maybe it was a filler case, but that was no excuse for it to end so poorly.  Not to mention one of the witnesses was a literal puppet.

It’s hard truth, Trilo.  Live with it.

Dear skibot99 and Anonymous,

Mod Edgeworth: I… think I heard from her when the localization of DGS was announced? I know Mod Kristoph and Mod Maya introduced themselves when I came into the group. There’s a third person, but I only heard from her once. As for what’s going on with her… I don’t know.

As for the flooding the inbox, it’s fine. I won’t promise a letter or two won’t be deleted, but we may make an exception and I’d hardly consider 4-5 different letters flooding the inbox. However, I do highly suggest lowering your letter sending to no more than three a day to prevent deletion of your letters. The only time I’d say your letters are flooding the inbox is when you’re sending 10-20 of them, especially of the same letter, and we have to scroll down for a while to get to the next letter. We will only choose three out of that pile and delete the rest.

And yes, we do have a few that send us 10-20 of the same letter to multiple characters in the span of five minutes. Geez.

Co-Mod: Mod Paups has had to remain absent for personal reasons, and sadly, has recently communicated to me that she wishes to leave the blog entirely.  Thanks for all you’ve contributed to this blog, Mod Paups, and best of luck in whatever you do next!

(Referenced Letter)

Dear mungeondaster,

Mod Edgeworth: Since I answered this one, I shall answer your letter.

(^ Why do I always use this sprite? ^) Actually, the localization never specified if Manfred Von Karma was born in Germany or not. In fact, we never knew the German part until Justice For All when Franziska Von Karma was stated to have flown all the way from Germany. It never specifies any reason for this and fans were quick to jump to the conclusion that it means the Von Karma family were German, which… isn’t entirely true? Manfred Von Karma never said he lived in Germany and, for all we know, Franziska could’ve lived in Germany to study law or something.

Now, the OG does give us more specific detail on this, being why I answered this the way I did. In the OG, both Von Karma’s were born Japanese, but lived in America or at least have an estate there. It specified that they were originally born in Japan, which would be translated to LA, California in the localization. While using the OG canon isn’t normal here, I will use it, if the localization doesn’t specify things. In this case, it never specified if the Von Karma’s were born in Germany or if Manfred Von Karma lived in America. Since he had to wait out the Statue of Limitations for DL-6, we can assume he lived in LA for 15 years or more. That means he’s American.

I am still getting the hang of writing letters, but I try to stick to canon as much as possible. If you believe we’ve made an error in our letters, feel free to let us know, but also show proof, if we go against canon. We’ll be sure the letter is sent to the right mod or else fix it.

Dear  Bluedragoncody,

Mod Edgeworth: I... don’t know how to feel about that.

Also, I accidentally deleted your previous letter before this one when trying to post it on here. I’m so sorry about that. If you could remember it, would you send it again?

Co-Mod: I’ll just respond to this with an old classic:

Dear Aceattorneyismyjam,

Mod Edgeworth: I-I’m not a pro! I accidentally deleted an important mod question from bluedragoncody, because of my inexperience. Oof! Again, so sorry!

Granted, I am good with digital art and writing essays, but I’m still trying to get the hang of being a mod here. Believe me, I do get corrected on several mistakes I do here. I can’t really call myself a pro just yet. I’ve only just started becoming a mod here last month lol

Dear Dahlia,

Mod Edgeworth: I thank you for your support of this blog and my essay. Manfred Von Karma is also my favorite villain and someone I do feel is underestimated as a one dimensional villain. I think people hate him so much, because of how he ruined Miles Edgeworth’s life without looking at the bigger picture. They focus on the bad things with their black colored glasses without dissecting Manfred Von Karma’s character as a whole. 

One thing I love about this blog, even before becoming a mod, is that no one here ever portrayed Manfred Von Karma as the one dimensional villain. He can be snappy at times, but as proven in many of our previous letters, he’s also portrayed as being calm when threatened, polite at times and absolutely loves his wife and children. Yes, he’s a terrible person, but that’s what makes him so interesting. He’s a bad, evil person that does good things from time to time. It doesn’t justify any of his horrible deeds, murder included, but it does make him human.

Co-Mod: I’m...going to assume you’re a different Dahlia.  (I’m grabbing a Magatama of Parting just in case, though.  I’m sure you can understand.)

Anyway, thanks for being such a loyal follower!  This blog’s been through a lot of changes since it began, and since I joined it back in 2017, so I’m glad it’s still a good source of enjoyment for you.  I’ve seen all sorts of cringe by now, by the way (some of which I wrote myself), so don’t worry about it.

I’m also glad that the characters still sound like themselves and not like us.  The hilarious personalities and quirks given to them by Capcom’s writers, as well as the humanity in so many of them, make them easy to relate to, and thus fairly easy to mimic.  I may have said something like this before, but I see myself in a lot of them -- in Athena’s fear of inadequacy, in Apollo’s desire for justice in a world where it’s hard to find, in Sebastian’s confusion about where to go next after his world falls apart, and possibly even in the von Karmas’ desire for perfection.  I of course identify with their positive feelings as well -- Phoenix’s smugness when he gets things right, Athena’s joy after pulling off a victory in court, Adrian’s pride after her self-confidence is restored, etc. -- but there’s something about the struggles they face that make them easier to relate to, on top of being that much more awesome in the end.

Unfortunately, I can’t promise anything about this blog continuing on in perpetuity.  For one thing, I don’t plan on being around forever (I’m fairly certain the other Mods don’t, either), and for that matter, there’s also no telling how long Tumblr will be around.  All I can promise is that I’ll give my best while I’m here, and that the love from you and everyone else who shares it here is sure to be what keeps us going.  Thank you for your contribution!

Dear TurqouiseJavelin,

Mod Edgeworth: Hm... not bad ideas. Though, we mods choose our own mod names under the condition that it doesn’t match anyone else’s mod name.

Co-Mod: What Mod Edgeworth said.  Choosing the name “Mod Athena” may or may not increase your chances of being hired, though.  *wink, wink*

Dear Anonymous, 

Mod Edgeworth: Actually, Gregory was stated in the Autopsy to have died by a gunshot. However, you do bring up something interesting. If Gregory Edgeworth realized he was dead and last remembered Robert Hammond strangling him, he wouldn’t think “I died by the shot of a gun.” Since the Detectives weren’t aware that victim had died unconscious, they’d assume the victim would recall being shot and killed. This makes me wonder if Gregory Edgeworth was channeled, but never brought to court to be cross-examined.

There are still holes, but I do like your aspect on DL-6.

Co-Mod: Dang...  No matter how many times you come back to this game, there’s always something new to think about.  I honestly hadn’t considered those details about Yanni Yogi’s trial.  Your explanation makes the most sense to me, but there’s one other possibility regarding Gregory’s testimony -- he may have chosen to lie about who murdered him in order to protect his son from a murder charge.  That’s all open to interpretation, of course, so your guess is as good as ours.

It’s a good thing we’re not actual defense attorneys, huh?

-The Mods

[all1e23]

Between the Stars [Pt.5]

Pairings: Past!Steve x Reader, Bucky x  Reader

Series warnings: CHARACTER DEATH. Grief. Overall sadness. Depression. It’s pretty angsty if I’m being honest. Things mellow out as the series goes on. TW: Military/Spouse death

A/N:  This Chapter is mostly a flashback to when Steve and the reader started dating.  Thanks to my @moonbeambucky​ for looking this chapter over for me and making me sound less dumb. If you like it write a book report, sing me a song or come scream at me. Remember not to judge everyone too harshly till all the secrets come out. ;-)

***My fics are not to be saved or posted on any other sites without my written permission. Reblogs are my jam, though! Thanks!****

It was awkward, to say the least. 

You’ve never really been this… touchy with Steve. Bucky sure, but he’s always been a little handsy with you. Bucky was that way with everyone, really. Even Steve. His arm was always slung over Steve’s shoulders, or he was ruffling his hair. Bucky kept his shoulder jammed up against Sam’s through all their bickering, so it never seemed strange when he took your hand or pressed a kiss to your forehead. Had you hoped it meant something different? Something more than what it meant with everyone else? Yes. 

Well, no. Or maybe you did. 

You wanted the chance to see if you wanted all those lingering, seemingly platonic kisses and soft brushes of the hand to mean more. 

They didn’t appear to mean more to Bucky, and you weren’t sure that they ever really meant something to you, but Steve’s kiss? That meant something. You couldn't deny the spark or the way your stomach turned upside down, your desperation when he broke the kiss. It was unexpected and breathtaking. You could still feel the heat of his hand wrapped around yours and the sweet taste of marshmallow on his lips. 

It wasn’t like any kiss you had before, and you doubted any other could make you feel this… whole. 

Steve’s truck felt small tonight as he pulled up to the drive-in, it was one of the only few left, but they had the best cheese fries for thirty miles (or so you said), and you thought fewer eyes watching you would lead to less pressure. It didn’t hurt that the place was cute as hell. It’s been around since the 50's, and they hadn’t updated much. The round building was still painted a bright seafoam green, and the pink neon lights got regular maintenance, but the menu was still on the same cement and metal stand on the driver’s side of every parking space. The intercom was still an old school microphone, and while the staff no longer came out on skates, they did have the same old red trays they would stick to windows back in the day. 

The call button to order was on Steve’s side next to the blue and white menu, which hadn’t changed much over the decades. The same classics were listed, cheeseburger, hot dog, and milkshakes. Onion rings and chili cheese fries, of course, made an appearance, and rootbeer floats were always 50 cents. Steve double checked with you before he ordered two things of cheese fries (you didn’t share, and he knew this) and two milkshakes, staying in his own seat once he was done. He made no move to pull you closer or take your hand, the pang of disappointment that crashed into your chest surprised you. This wasn’t something new because you kissed, it was always like this, and you shouldn’t be upset. You never shared the same side of a booth when you went out to eat, and you usually didn’t give it much thought. Bucky always sat with you, and Sam sat next to Steve. If it was just the three of you, you would sit across from the boys claiming you wanted to see them both, or you would sit in the backseat of the truck and let the boys share the front.

In reality, you never wanted either of them to feel like you had a favorite. 

You watched as Steve ran a hand through his hair, pushing his bangs back out of his eyes only to have them flop right back. You laughed at the sight and Steve blushed when he met your gaze, he smiled in return and glanced down at his lap. He was nervous, and he should be. This was new territory for you both, and if you let it, if something went wrong, it could destroy your relationship with Steve and possibly with Bucky and even Sam. It wasn’t something either of you should take lightly because if you were going down this road, you needed to be one hundred percent that kiss wasn’t a one time fluke. 

The hum of the radio was interrupted by a low, scratchy buzz, and Steve reached over to spin the dial to find a station that came in a little clearer. You watched his long, thick fingers mess with the dial, finally giving up and pressing the square button for whatever tape was in to play, and you couldn’t help but shiver at the thought of how they felt against your skin. Steve noticed your tremble and asked if you were cold, you nodded and allowed him to think so. It was less embarrassing to say you were cold than to admit you were picturing the way the small calluses on his fingers tickled your skin and wondering what they would feel like other places. 

You quivered again, and Steve turned the AC off, rolled the windows down, letting the warm summer air quickly consume the cab, and you were grateful. At least this way, if he finally touched you, you could blame the heat of your skin on the hot air. 

“I’m sorry if…” Steve’s soft apology made you look over, but Steve was avoiding looking at you. “I’m sorry if that, before. The kiss, I mean. I’m sorry if that was--” 

You didn’t have to be a mind reader to know what he wanted to say but didn’t dare to say out loud. I’m sorry if I was overstepping. I’m sorry if that wasn’t something you wanted. 

Steve shook his head clearly giving up on what he wanted to say, he took a chance and looked up, offering an apologetic smile even though he had nothing to be sorry for. You slowly slid across the old worn leather seats into the middle, so you were touching hips. He looked confused, a little nervous, and the slight twinkle in his eye said hopeful? You shrugged in explanation and settled back against his chest, so you were tucked in the crook of his arm, Steve’s arm was resting on the back of the seat to make room for you.  

“I like it better over here. Warmer,” you murmured in a quiet confession.

You watched Steve’s hand leave the beige-colored seat, and come forward to grip your chin between his thumb and forefinger, and he untucked your head from his chest where you were hiding your face letting head fell back towards him, and if the steering wheel hadn’t been there your head would have ended up in his lap. Steve stared at you for a few minutes, his thumb brushed over your bottom lip, and he just watched you. His eyes traveled to your lips when they parted slightly at the feel of his thumb grazing over them for the second time. There was no hesitation or uncertainty in Steve, just like at the lake. Steve’s thumb dropped onto your chin, pulling just enough to keep your lips parted, he dipped his head down to sneak a taste of something sweet before he had his supper and hummed happily when you tilted your head back silently asking for more. 

Steve was grinning when he very reluctantly pulled away from your lips; he didn’t want to, but the intercom buzzed to let them know their food was incoming, and he didn’t want someone to see you like that. You may not be his girl, but your red swollen lips and heavy-lidded eyes weren’t something he wanted everyone to see. A soft kiss landed on the tip of your nose, and he helped you settle back against him. 

“Can I take you out this week?” Steve asked, confident, and unwavering. 

He must have felt the spark in his heart, too. 

“Yes,” you breathed, heart-pounding and fingers trembling. 

There was no snappy response or snarky comment. You could barely get out a simple three-letter word, let alone make some witty comeback. His arms dropped around your waist, and as if he couldn’t keep them from seeking you out, his lips brushed against your forehead, just as the waitress skipped to the window with that old plastic tray to snap to the window. When you made a move to give Steve space to eat, his arm only tightened on your hip as he glanced down at you. You hadn’t realized you had slipped down in the seat until Steve had to tilt his head down to meet your eyes, which asked what you wanted to do. If you wanted to get up, he would let you, but the hold he had on your waist said he wanted you to stay right where you were

So you relaxed against him, and Steve grinned, that easy, sweet Steve grin you’ve always found more charming than he did. Steve passed over the cardboard container that held your fries and styrofoam cup filled with your drink of choice -- a chocolate strawberry milkshake. You pulled your knees up and set the fries on your lap like some sort of makeshift table, examining the fries in front of you, and you could practically hear Steve's eye roll when he spoke. 

“Yes, I gave you the one with the most cheese. This isn’t my first time taking you for cheese fries, Y/n.” 

You grinned. 

No, it wasn’t the first time, and you had a feeling it would be happening more often. 

“As long as you know the rules of taking me out, Rogers.” 

You felt his lips brush against your forehead, and he whispered against your flushed skin, “I think I can handle any rules you give me as long as I can get you to kiss me like that again.” 

A faint smirk pulled across your face. If Steve kept saying things like that there was a good chance his lips would the last you kissed.  

--

Six weeks it’s been since summer heat and milkshakes and kisses. 

You’ve been dating… Er, well, sorta dating Steve for six weeks now. You weren’t exclusive even though he made it a point to tell you he had no intention of dating anyone but you; there had been no official talk, no declaration of what you two were. It was six weeks of going on dates without the pressure of labels, and you didn’t mind. Steve told you that first night, after several chocolate laced kisses at your front door, he wanted to take things slow and see the natural path your relationship took. He didn’t want to force anything, and Steve knew just as well as you did that it was important for you and your friendship to move at a slower than normal pace. 

And you liked Steve attempting to court you -- his words. 

Steve always brought flowers when he picked you up for a date, he stood in the hallway and talked to your dad for as long as your dad wanted, always adding a yes sir, at the end of everything he said. He was sweet. Steve was careful with his words and affection, mindful that everything he said and did would have a lasting impact on whatever you became. The way he held your hand was delicate. You didn’t have much to compare it to, you hadn’t dated all that much, and the only person who held your hand this much was Bucky. It was different though, Bucky always slid his hand down your arm and laced your fingers together when he finally reached your palm, clinging to your touch. Steve was tentative when he reached for you, not because he was nervous or unsure. He was very sure in his touches with you now, but it was as if he was giving you time to adjust and decide if you wanted your hand to be held. 

You always did. You liked holding his hand. It was warm and sure, even though only your fingers tangled around each other, your palms usually never touched, and somehow there was still that sense of security. You liked it, and you liked Steve. There were things you were feeling for Steve that you didn’t think you could feel for anyone, let alone someone who’s been right there in front of you for as long as you could remember. 

It was weird, but a good kind of weird. The kind that gave you butterflies and made you want for things you didn’t think you deserved and as much as it scared you to admit, you were falling in love with Steve. 

“So you and Steve, huh? I gotta say, I never saw that coming.”  

You glanced up from you the keys of your piano and met Bucky’s gaze across your room; it was silly how just the mention of his name had your heart pounding. Steve was helping his mom with some work around the house today, so when Bucky called saying he missed you and wanted to see you, you jumped at the chance to spend time together. You weren’t sure how many more days things would be like this. No one was stupid enough to think things would stay the same once you and Steve-- Well, once he was yours, and you were his. 

It would change everything. Forever. 

“Um, yeah… I think anyway. I don’t know for sure how he feels... It’s still new, and he may not be thinking. Are you okay with it? I know, this kind of changes things. Between us.” 

No longer a threesome, but a couple and a best friend. 

Bucky fumbled with the pen in his hand and shrugged a shoulder. He was upset that much was clear, but you didn’t know if he was upset that you were possible dating Steve and taking away his best friend or because you didn’t talk to him first. Admittedly, you knew you had messed up there. You should have talked to Bucky and made sure he was okay with it, he was your friend first and Steve’s, and here you were creating cracks in the foundation of everything the three of you built. 

“If it’s what you want, what I think shouldn’t matter.”

You narrowed your eye at that lame attempt to avoid telling you what he was feeling, and Bucky quickly tossed the pen onto the table in dramatic fashion and rolled his eyes. “It’s fine. It really is. You’ve been smiling a lot lately, and I’m guessin’ that has to do with Steve, so it’s good. I like seeing you happy.” 

Steve did make you happy, and you were happy to hear Bucky wanted you happy, but you knew it wasn’t the whole story. He was upset over something, and you knew Bucky well enough to know he wouldn’t tell you unless he had to. So, for now, you would let it drop. Your fingers danced on the keys as you eyed Bucky; his face was blank, refusing to give you what you wanted, so you finally huffed and dropped your hand into your lap. 

“Well, good, because I don’t need your permission, you know?” 

Bucky chuckled at the false annoyance in your voice, and you relaxed once you saw him smiling. “Yeah, I know, Trouble. “ 

You stuck your tongue out at him in response. That nickname was getting old. It was his fault the two of you get into trouble all the time anyway, no matter what he said. If he had any sense at all, he would stop encouraging your crazy shenanigans, but you had a feeling he liked you being his Trouble, and you were okay with that. You let your eyes drift back the keys in front of you, trying to find a melody, but your thoughts couldn’t be bothered with notes at the moment. You stared at the sheet music and gnawed on your bottom lip, tossing Bucky’s words around your head and wondering if Steve did feel the way you did. Yes, he liked you and really liked kissing you, but did he have the same jump in his heart at the thought of loving you forever? 

Bucky sighed, and because he knew that look well, he told you with absolute certainty. “I wouldn’t worry about Steve not feeling whatever it is you’re feeling. I think he’s, uh, I think he’s been feeling that for a long time but kept it to himself.” 

Your brows pinched together, but you didn’t take your eyes off the sheet in front of you. None of that made sense. If he felt anything close to what you felt for him, you have no idea how he could have ever held back. 

“But why?” 

Bucky shrugged, rubbed the back of his head thoughtfully, and gave an answer that you knew he had reason to believe was true for whatever reason he wasn’t going to share. 

“I dunno. Think he thought it was breaking some friend code, and he wanted to make sure it was the right decision before following through.” 

"What friend code could he possibly be breaking by taking me out on a few dates?" 

Bucky cleared his throat and shrugged, dropping his gaze to the empty pile of words glaring back at him.

“I’m pretty sure he’s in love with you, and if he isn’t, well, he’s an idiot.” 

He wanted to say more, but you saw the moment his brain told him to stop, forbid him to say another word on the matter. You probably should have pressed more, asked him why he would say that, but your phone vibrated on the bench to you, and the name that popped up on your screen stole your attention just like he did with your heart. 

--

Present 

The sound of Steve’s truck pulling into the driveway made your skin prickle with excitement. You had missed Bucky while he was gone. It’s been three months since Bucky came home, and there’s been little time you spent without him in that time, so hearing him pulling up the gravel road in Steve’s truck helped ease the anxiety from this afternoon. You supposed the truck was Bucky’s now, you didn’t want to drive it, and Bucky only had his bike back at his mom’s, so he needed a vehicle. Plus, he deserved a little piece of Steve. You glanced out your bedroom window and frowned when you saw Sam and a large bright green tarp covering something in the bed. 

You quickly closed the curtain, not wanting to see anyone else but Bucky today. It hadn’t been a good day. It was nice to see Natasha and attempt to be a regular person, like the way you were before, but it was forced, and the performance left you exhausted. There were stilted moments and awkward chuckles derived from weak jokes meant to make you feel “normal.” It only made you miss Steve. You missed everything about him and the life you had before. You missed the way he held you, the feel of his breath on the back of your neck while you slept, and every time you closed your eyes, you saw him as if he was still right there with you. 

After all these months and you hadn't moved on. 

Sam was a liar; he was a liar, it didn’t get better, and you didn’t have it in you to fake it for him today. 

So, you stayed hidden away in your bedroom, curtains drawn and the door locked. If they thought you were sleeping, neither would dare wake you, they both worry about your lack of sleep so they wouldn’t ruin what little rest they thought you were getting. You pressed your ear to the door, and you picked up their voices as they carried something heavy inside, maybe it was something for Bucky’s room. 

“She’s not going to like this.” 

Sam sounded nervous, which was strange. 

“You don’t know her like I do.”

“She’s going to kill you.” 

“Just shut up and lift with your legs. I’m over here doing all the heavy lifting. How come I got the heavy side?”

You didn’t listen to Sam’s response. You knew they would bicker back and forth a few times before they worked it out. It wasn’t long after that, the front door shut, and you rushed to peek out the window only to find Sam leaving in Steve’s-- Bucky’s truck. Bucky must have picked him this morning, or he sent Sam off to get something for whatever it was they carried inside.

Now that Sam was gone, you could take the chance to sneak downstairs and see what the hell they put in your house. You quietly pulled your door open just enough to sneak through, slowly tiptoeing downstairs and round the corner into the living room. Bucky was standing there wiping off-- Your piano. What you assumed was your old piano anyway, Bucky was running a microfiber rag over some smudges on the top (you once yelled at him for using anything else for fear of scratches). What in the hell was going on? Bucky slowly turned around to find you watching him and smirked as if he expected to see you standing there. He tossed the rag on the floor and wiped his sweaty hands off on his jeans. Your eyes fell onto the instrument, and you tried to see if it was really yours without getting any closer. Sure enough, there was a scratch on the back edge matching the one Bucky and Steve created, and the slightly color off keys smiling back at you. 

You knew if you looked underneath there, your initials would sit. 

How Bucky managed to find it, you have no idea, but you wouldn’t be surprised to find out how much trouble he caused simply to bring it back to you. 

“Hey there, Trouble. Sorry, I’m late. I had to make a stop.” 

Previous // Next 

[angelisverba]

i’ll hold you so you don’t fall again

in which y/n is just really creative and harry writes erotica under a pseudonym.

pairing: interiordesing!y/n and eroticawriter!harry

word count: 21k+

note: i’m so freaking sorry this took so long. thank you for being patient with me, and i hope its what you expected :) also the formatting is all wonky i have no idea why.

Y/n wasn’t one to brag.

She knew what it felt like to sit and nod while someone else talked about their accomplishment. The itchy pull of heart strings; the yearning of wanting success, too. 

But, she also knew how awkward it was to go back and forth declining compliments. 

Which is why she never bragged about her newfound success. Or did the whole ‘oh you’re too sweet’ ordeal. She said thank you, and moved on. 

Because it definitely was one.

 A sudden change of no recognition to suddenly everyone wants her.

She had her friend, Lucy, to thank. Lucy had just opened up a coffee shop. One of those cute artsy ones on a street in West Hollywood somewhere, with money she had saved up over the years. It just so happened that her best friend was a talented painter, designer, and dabbled in all kinds of crafts. Y/n was known for always maintaining a tiny business of whatever it was she could come up with, and when her friend asked for help to decorate and set up shop, she jumped at the opportunity to go big. 

The store was a loft-y type space. A blank, grey walls and metal; an industrial room. The first time Y/n looked at it, her mind  flooded with ideas. Mirrors, art, frames, flowers, and anything that could be put up. Different themes and approaches to light up the room. But, before doing anything, she had a nice long talk with Lucy, about what she wanted to see. Had her set up a pinterest board with items for the shop. Color schemes, movies, plants, etc. From that, y/n took hold of the project, asking for Lucy’s opinion here and there, but taking most choices to her own judgement. 

The end result… well, it was the reason why Lucy was full all the damn time. Y/n had turned the lofty space into an Instagram hippie galore. Lucy’s mood board consisted of a weird mix of Madonna, pearls, and David Bowie. So, all over there were some of the most famous pop-culture posters. Streams of pearls. Mason jars lined with pearls. Velvet curtains with golden tassels; the stringy ones that tickled when you rub them all over your palm. There were light bulbs and fairy lights hanging in the wooden beams from the ceiling, that were turned on everyday 30 minutes after sunset, like the headlights on cars. Additional records were set to look through and buy in a corner, and opposite that a jukebox with records that both y/n, Lucy, and Lucy’s boyfriend, Mike, had picked. The labels were written in y/n’s writing, a mix between curly-cue and messy doctors cursive; clean enough to read, messy enough to enjoy. 

No plants. Or succulents, at least, but y/n had bought 5 dozens of roses from downtown. She’d hung them up to dry, left some where they were, and others she put in empty glass cola bottles that were in the center of each of the 10 booths. On the single, middle tables, y/n had placed leather table cloths. No flowers. 

And the menus? Oh gosh, the menus. They were y/n’s pride and joy. 

She’d closed herself in an entire day, to create the finishing look. With a copy of drinks (labeled like ‘Madonna’ and then the actual coffee order that star would’ve wanted)  and the small variety of sandwiches (& other finger foods) y/n drew portraits on blackboards, used different fonts, painting mediums, and at a certain point even incorporated glitter, to create these magnificent hand drawn chalk menus. 

Then the outside of the shop. This is what got her word out. 

A journalist of some sort had happened to stumble upon Coffee for Rockstars the day that y/n was painting the windows. 

You know, like with a brush and paint can. 

She’d blocked off her workspace with chairs and caution tape, jammed her newly bought airpods in, and pressed play to her music. 

The mural- Lucy labeled it, but to y/n it really wasn’t all that much, consisted of a the planet Saturn, with David Bowie, Elton John, Prince, Stevie Nicks, Freddie Mercury, and The Beatles prancing along the rings (all picked by Lucy). The window was a 5-or-so feet taller than her, so she had to use one of the chairs to reach the top half of the planet. 

While she painted Elton’s fluffy feather suit on, the journalist had approached her, his waist pushing through the tape y/n had put up. 

“Excuse me?” he called out to her, hands positioned on one of those Canon Rebel whatever they were called everyone seemed to be carrying around these days. 

And Wild Night by Van Morrison may have been playing a little too loud because y/n didn’t hear him the first time, and he had to call out again, leaning forward slightly to catch her attention.  

“Excuse me?” The guy says a little louder. This time, she sees him, and turns while removing her headphones, getting paint on her forehead and hair. 

“Oh!” she said, startled. “How can I help you?” Her cheeks flame a bit when he gives her a boyish smile, lips twirling up to the corner of his eyes. He’s cute, she thinks, floppy hair that’s sunbleached at the tips from the sun, and freckles in the bridge of his roman nose. 

“Yes, actually. My names’ James. I was wondering if I could take your picture for an article I’m doing. I work with the LA times, in the local business section, and there's a piece on West Hollywood’s hottest places. This one’s trending.” He lifts his camera in a ‘here it is!’ gesture. 

“Me?” she asked in disbelief. Her eyebrows raised high above their usually places, and her eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. “Shouldn’t you be photographing inside? You know, like the people?” 

“You worked on this place didn’t you? That’s what Lucy told me. You’re a big part of what makes this place hot ‘n trendy. Plus, this live painting action will look wonderful…” he trailed off, his glance drifting to the window and to the picture she was painting. “It’s really good. Deserves some recognition.” 

“Uhm…” Y/n looks around. There’s people on the opposite street staring at her, some that linger as they walk by. She catches a window roll down as the car goes by. 

She’s always been small. In size, in popularity. She’s never been in demand. If she said yes, there's a possibility that that would change. A small part of her wanted that… she could finally start her business, like she’s always wanted to...

    “Okay, how do you want me?”

    He laughed, and told her to just continue with what she was doing. So, she did. She added more paint to her glass palette, and unprofessionally used her bare thigh to rid the brush of the excess paint. Momentarily, the brush found its way to the bite of her teeth, so the girl could put her earphones back in and get back into the right headspace to work. 

The journalist, chuckled as he watched her, amused by her tactics, how she leaned back to look at the bigger picture. He was done in a matter of minutes, taking pictures of everything she’d set up in her closed off area. The tarp she’s laid on the floor.  The cans of paint; red, blue, yellow, green, white, and black. An uneaten sandwich and a glass bottle filled with pink liquid (lemonade and a bit of vodka, y/n’s choice of drink when she was painting, claiming it got her ‘creative juices flowing’). 

He has to get her attention again the same way, because she’d managed to lose herself in what she was doing. 

“You’re all done?” she asked him, once again plucking the earphone out with a yank. 

“Yep, got more than enough.” James said, placing  a black cap on the lens of his camera. “Can I ask you a few questions?”     Y/n smirked a bit, thinking back to her school days when smartass teachers would respond with ‘i don’t know, can you?’ and she nearly did as well. 

She didn’t though. She just said, “Go right ahead.” 

“Well, first thing’s first,” he reached into his front pocket, and pulled out his phone. Who keeps their phone in their front pocket, she thought. “Name, age, and what you did for Rockstar’s cafe?” 

“My name is y/n, I’m 21, and I was interior and, as you can see, exterior, designer as well for Rockstar Cafe.” She’s shifting awkwardly side to side, tugging at the ends of her large,  orange Garfield shirt nervously. Flashes of her jean cut-offs peeked where her shirt lifted. 

“Tell me a little bit about the process of creating the entire ‘astro-70’s’ vibe you got going on here are the shop.” James doesn’t look up at her, because he’s furiously typing away at his phone, noting down what y/n says. 

    “Well, that was really Lucy’s doing. She provided me with pictures of things she wanted, kinda like… uhm.. that aura? I guess you could say that she wanted the place to have. I worked side by side with her, to make this happen. This was her vision, I just helped it....” she struggled for a moment, to put her thoughts into words, “come to life.” 

He looked up at her then, a small smile on  his lips. “What’s your favorite thing about it so far?” 

“I’d say, the way the menu is set up. An artist’s name, and the drink they’d get. Lucy did her reasearch, and found out like, I guess you could say, their ‘regulars’. So, what’s on the menus are what the artist actually would like.” Subconsciously, she points to the inside of the shop, referring to the menus. 

“Last question, have you ever done anything like this before?” 

Y/n stammered for a moment, then said, “No. I haven't.” She taps the tips of her shoes together, all paint splattered and scuffed. “Nothing at this level of big. I’ve always kinda, worked on crafts. In highschool I had a small business, where’d I’d sell personalized things.  I think that’s why Lucy trusted me so much. Because I have a history of reaching to the stars when it comes to paper and pencil.” 

“That was great. Thank you so much, y/n. It was interesting to hear about you, and the cafe.” James places his phone back in his front pocket, and hooks his thumbs onto the straps of his camera as if they were suspenders. “Is there a website or business card you’d like me to reference in the article, after your name and all that?”  

“I don’t have anything like that actually. Just that I worked with Lucy, I guess you could say.” She puckers her lips at the end, shaking her head slightly. 

“Okay, well then. I’ll leave you to it. It’s coming along amazing.” James nods politely. “Have a great rest of your day, y/n.” Then walks away. 

“Bye, James.” She twiddles her fingers at him her way of saying goodbye. It doesn’t take her long to get sucked back into her work. In fact, as soon as she puts the earphones back in, she’s gone off the face of the earth, and doesn't notice when a green-eyed stranger stops to stare at her, right by the tree that she’d wrapped the caution tape around. The man pinched his lip as he watched, eyebrows furrowed with the same concentration y/n had for her work.

Except that he was watching her. The way her wrist flicked, how she tilted her face to look at what she was doing. How she stood like a flamingo, with her ankle pressed against her calf. The way she blew the wisps of hair off her mouth. 

He watched her intently, wondering who she was and how did she get there and what her name was.

And then, 

Brushing those thoughts out of his mind, he walked into the shop and didn’t look back. 

.

.

“Y/N!!” Lucy yelled from the counter. 

Y/n, covered head to toe in sparkly purple fabric, rushed out with a bit of hummus on toast in her mouth still. 

It was Halloween, and Lucy had demanded they both dress up as part of the uniform at Rockstar that day. Y/n, had decided she would go as Selena Quintanilla, and had crafted herself a halter top-style romper with purple cloth she had bought at the fashion district earlier that week. She’s woken up early too, and gone to her mom’s house so she could do her hair, and make up (given she’d lived at the same time Selena had). 

Lucy, ever the creative one, teased her blonde hair, spray painted it with a cheap can of green hair dye from the dollar store, and bought a pinstripe tux. TA-da! Beetlejuice, beetlejuice, beetlejuice. 

“Y/n!” Lucy was hissing now, impatient and demanding. It was a busy day at Rockstar. Social media influencers had come out for photo-ops and the like. Also, Lucy had a deal going of buy one get another iced coffee half off, and a free cassette with the $20+ purchase. 

“I’m coming, Luce! I’m coming, Jesus Christ,” y/n finished off chewing, tugged on the halter top to make sure nothing would pop out of place and washed her hands in the sink to help Lucy at the register. 

After she finished, she took place along side the three baristas, Kelsey, Tilly, and Kim. Kelsey was a broke college student, Tilly an Asian girl who doubled as a pole dancer on certain nights (she wore a mask to make sure her identity stayed secret), and Kim was a 30- year old who lives in his parents house. Bit of a creep if you asked y/n. 

“Y/n, you wanna take order 48 or 50?” Asked Tilly while rinsing a measuring cup. 

“I’ll take 50 and start on 52.” Y/n responded, tying the apron straps behind her neck. She didn’t tell Tilly that she picked order 50 because she hated making espressos, and order 48 consisted of three espressos. Order 50 was only four iced coffees. 

After she finished decorating Lucy’s coffee shop a month ago, Lucy didn’t offere y/n a job, but she was always around to help, and Lucy paid her for it. After class, y/n would stop by the shop, and that would lead to her working as a barista. Which she didn’t mind, the money helped and it gave her something to go. Otherwise, she’d be at home with her nose stuck in a regency novel and a buzzing feeling of want in her crotch at the cue of poetically beautiful yet smutty words. 

“Order number 50!” She called out. She set the plastic cup on the pick-up counter and plucked a stray from the jars to place alongside the drink. Seconds later, the drink was picked up by a tall and tanned man with green eyes; nails painted black; rings adorning each finger; soft, pink lips and a scruffy jaw. Curly strands of brown hair peeked out of a green beanie. 

He smiled at y/n. The way you smile at the cashier in the market. Polite. A bit disconnected in the eyes. He said, “Good morning, Selena. May I have a cup holder please?” 

In a British accent made heavier by the morning gruffness in his voice. Scratchy, deep, manly. And incredibly sexy. 

Of course, y/n took a moment to take in and drink the image presented before her, but after she felt her cheeks heat up like the fire underneath a witches feet, she cleared her throat and responded with, “You recognized who I was! Kudos to you, sir!” with a grin on her red lips. The man chuckled, and took the carton cup holder y/n gave him. 

“Have a great rest of your day,” was the last thing he said before he walked away. Y/n stared after him, watching the way his thighs filled in the fitting yellow pants he where, and how his biceps looked deliciously muscular; bulging in a white tee. 

“Y/N!”

“Sorry, Lucy!” Y/n skipped back to her post in front of the screen,and began reading off orders for Tilly, and Kim to make, and picked one for herself. Two iced coffees, one heated croissant. She was in the middle of measuring the milk when Lucy called her name again. 

“Lucy, I’m doing it, okay?” Y/n responded, frazzled. 

Lucy sucked on her teeth. “Y/n, come over here.” When y/n looked up, she saw that not only was Lucy looking at her, but a tall skinny blond with a sharp cut bob and a long white silk dress. 

Confused, y/n dumped the milk into the mixing cup and handed the order over to Kelsy for her to finish. “Yes?”

“This is Karime, and she wants you to help her decorate her store.” Lucy held a palm out towards the woman. “Karime, this is y/n.” 

“It’s so nice to finally meet you!” Karime said, and y/n had to restrain from cringing at her nasally, high-pitched voice. “I love what you’ve done with this place! My store could use some re-camping, and when I saw the article I just had to come and see if I could hire you.” Karime makes gestures with her manicured hands, and titles her head in ways that makes her hair shake like sheets in the wind.

“Oh! Um…” 

“Why don’t you go ahead and talk with Karime, we’re all covered back here.” said Lucy, an extra-pleased tone in her voice; the voice she used with customers to keep them happy, y/n had recognized. Oh so now you don’t want me to work? y/n thought to herself, but gave the same smile the green-eyed stranger had given her, and walked out through the waist high swinging door to meet with Karime.  

“So, I wanted to know if it was possible to hire you on a month to month basis. Ou could come in the first week of every month, decorate, redecorate, while I suggest and give you a picture of what I want, like you did for Lucy.” Karime had a bamboo handle purse, and they clacked together every time she moved her hands in ‘here’ or ‘there’ gestures.  

They’re both standing at the start of the record shelves, and Y/n is awkwardly shifting her weight from foot to foot and fiddling with her hands. She’s sweating, too. This was huge. Big. Is this what networking was? Getting the word out? Expanding? If she said yes, it’s possible that it’d create a cycle. Someone else would come in, asking for help, to hire, to contract. It was a rush. She was giddy, excited. But most of all, nervous. One, because she’s a bit clumsy in the social aspect, and Two, because she had a standard to meet. 

Despite all this, she said, “Of course, when do I start?” 

Then, Karime had given y/n the address of her shop (a weird mix of aromatherapy, kale smoothies with books), and they decided on a day to meet up (the second day of every month starting November, two days from that day). 

Karime left after that. She hadn’t bought anything. Lucy congratulated y/n, squealed over it even, and Lucy never squeals. Kim looked over at them when he heard Lucy, and tried to ask what all the fuss was about. Lucy demanded he go back to work, and y/n ignored him. 

When closing time came, the girls did the bare minimum, and rushed out to pregame at Mike’s apartment. Like crazy teenagers, Lucy and y/n shared three bottles of a Stella Rosa bottle that had been on sale at the grocery store at the corner of Mike’s apartment complex. Inside, Mike was 2 beers in, and claimed he wouldn’t drink anymore since he was the DD. 

“You guys go on and drink yourselves black.” he said, sitting on the couch with a water in his hand and Lucy in his lap.  Mike, a slender punk rock kid who proved his mom wrong in the fact that his like for the color black is ‘not a phase’ is the sweetest guy y/n had ever met. He wasn’t afraid to show his love for Lucy, always doting on her, and if she asked, would rip out his heart and give it to her. 

Y/n was jealous. She yearned for a relationship like theirs, and no matter how long she waited, how hard she tried, Prince Charming never showed. Instead, she was stuck with watching Mike and Lucy rub into her face what she wanted so badly. 

Affection. Love. Companionship. 

Cheers to that, y/n thought. Her bottle of Mango and whatever the heck the flavor was called, was nearly done and she could still walk in a straight line. The wine was juice in her hands. Child’s play. Water. It had no effect on her. Not until she was three bottles in. It took an entire bottle of Smirnoff vodka shots to get her going once. Only then could she completely let go. 

“A lonely soul drowns in Stella Rosa, Mike.” Lucy, her hair sticking up like Einstein from the re-teasing she’d done in the bathroom. “There it stands, taking the shape of Selena. Poor, poor, Selena.” Lucy giggled. A teasing jab that made y/n pout, and y/n heart to clench because she knew Lucy was right. A lonely soul she was. 

“That’s not very nice of you, Lucy.” Y/n pointed at her friend, bottle in her hand. “First you yell at me at work, now you make fun of my love life?” Shes joking, too, but there's a bit of truth to her words. Meaning, Intention. 

“Drink up, lonely soul, and prepare for the battle that lies ahead: the making intercourse with an attendee of the club.”

“Blah,blah, and screw you.” grumbled y/n, finally, finishing the bottle with a final drink. 

.

.

Not that y/n had anything against it, but fuck the club. She hated it. She only ever went because Lucy or Mike or whoever else begged her to go with them and promised something in return. (Lucy promised she wouldn’t ask her for help the following day). She hated the lights, how load it was, and how much she was being touched. Sweaty men and women alike, rubbing up on her in places where she didn’t want to be, it was too hot, and her toes always got stepped on. 

“The usual for you, y/n?” Mike was yelling. His mouth was at her ear, but even then, only some of what he was saying made it into her ears. She simply nodded, and lifted up to fingers. Two gin and tonics. One part water, three parts gin. 

Lucy and y/n had managed to snatch a tiny booth when they walked in, and this was the place y/n was planning to spend most of her night. Not out on the blue-lit dance floor, not standing at the bar. Sitting at the dark booth, glumly sipping at her two gin-n-tonics. 

“You are not gonna sit here sippin’ glumly at your drinks, got that?” Luccy pulled at the lapels of her suit, popping her collar so the tips touched her jaw. 

“Lucy, please.” Y/n’s bangs were deflated and her lipstick was smudged, at her friends comment, she sunk into her seat and pulled her head around.  

“Let’s go.” 

Lucy tugged her onto the dancefloor just as some song by Cardi B or Nicki Minaj (y/n couldn't tell anymore) blared through the speakers, and the bass beat thrummed in her chest. They stayed for a few minutes, and in those few minutes, y/n’s toes grew numb with how much they’d been stepped on, and her hair was beginning to stick at the back of her neck. Lucy’s black and white makeup was gleaming with her sweat, and her hair dropped with condensation. 

It looked a bit funny really. Selene and Beetlejuice together on the dance floor. An odd pairing, but a parenting nonetheless. Lucy led her back to where Mike was when she got tired of dancing, and like an obedient puppy, y/n trailed behind her. When Lucy ordered y/n to chug her drink, she did it.

She couldn’t say not. Not to Lucy. Not to Karime. Not to James.

She couldn’t say no. 

And because she couldn’t say no, y/n woke up the next morning and couldn't remember a thing. She had a Katy Perry Last Friday Night moment. Sadly, there was no really hot guy next to her on her bed, and thankfully, she hasn’t wearing headgear. 

What woke her, was the pain behind her eyelids that started when the light hit her. With a groan, she hid in the crease of her elbow while she scraped her thoughts together. Y/n was still in her Selena get up. She itched, smelled, and had a headache that hurt like...well, it hurts so much that she didn’t even know what to compare it to. She felt on her nightstand, and there it was. Bless his heart. 

Mike had left her a glass of something cold, and two pills. She didn’t know for sure because she didn’t have the energy to peek and see, but the class was probably pedialyte. The hangover cure. The pills were Tylenol. They had to be, because he knew ibuprofen doesn’t do shit for her. 

“Fuck, fuck,fuck,” y/n mumbled. Her tongue felt like sandpaper against the dry roof of her mouth, and when she swallowed, there was a dangerous taste of gin to her spit. Pressing her fingertips to her aching temples, she curses Lucy for making her go out last night, and Mike for letting y/n chug alcohol. 

    Unfortunately, she makes the stupid mistake of rising quickly from her potition on the bed to ‘get it over with’ and not even a full second goes by when she feels her stomach contents worming up her throat. She had to clamp her lips together and rush to the bathroom with her blanket wrapped around her ankles so she doesn’t barf all over her floor. 

    She doesn’t make it in time, and she spilled her gut on the toilet seat, before she’s made it so that her head is positioned right over the toilet bowl. She heaves and heaves until her chest hurts from the muscle contractions and her throat burns from the amount of acidity her bile holds. Tears drop from the corner of her eyes to where her thumbs grasp the seat because it fucking hurts and she’s gotten throw up in her hair. 

    The pain in her chest seems to have gone deeper, and wrapped its sharp talons into her heart. Her tears become purposeful; there’s a reason behind them not. She wishes there was someone there to hold her hair. To rub her back and tell her it was all going to be okay. To bring her the glass of pedialyte of her bedside table and coax her to drink it because she’d forgotten it. 

 Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, y/n gets up and flushes the toilet, wiping down the toilet seat with paper from the roll. The blanket, still curled around her ankles, she picks up and hoists it over her shoulders. She gurgles water from the sink before heading out, avoiding making eye-contact with the horrendous image in her mirror. 

Pedialyte goes down like the gin did last night, and she throws in the pills when she drinks, simultaneously pulling the strings so her blings flip downwards and cut off the light coming in from the outside. Quickly, she strips from the itchy Selena ensemble, and slips on a red t-shirt with the Kool-Aid man’s face on it over her head. Y/n has learned that its worse to go to bed and not eat, so she doesn't get back into bed, even though she really wants to and instead throws the blanket on top of her scattered pillows, and turns to make breakfast in her impossibly tiny kitchen. 

She lives in a little lofty space in the downtown area. The cheapest of all her options, and the best kept compared to the rest. The windows were blackened around the edges, and her air conditioner didn’t work, but hey, at least she had a roof over her head that she didn’t have to share with her parents. And she liked the window wall, too, and how the windows propped open on hinges. The way her brick walls looked during golden hour. It was very pretty. Relaxing. 

Slowly but surely, she’s built herself a little home that she feels comfortable in. In her tiny little space, her favorite thing was her radio. An absolute steal at the thrift store: a really old radio with big knobs and the red line that moved left and right when you tried to pick a station. She went to it now, and turned it on at a soft volume. The song that always feels like it's about a one winged dove by Fleetwood Mac came on, and she hums it softly while she turns on the stove. It click, click, clicks on when the gas catches flames, and she pours oil into a pan to crack an egg over it. The white edges sizzle, and bits of oil jump up and splash onto her skin. It happens so much it doesnt hurt her; she doesn't even flinch.  When the egg begins to turn golden, she turns down the knob, and goes back to her fridge in search of an avocado. Call her a trend follower, but she’d be damned if egg and avocado didn’t hit the spot. Plus, she makes an ace toast. 

Surprisingly, the smell of egg (her dad likes to say eggs smell like ass) doesn’t upset her stomach, no. Actually, her stomach grumbled when she smelled it, and the ache that had begun to spread across the lower region of her abdomen made her hurry to cut open the avocado, and pop in a slice of sourdough bread into the toaster. She fore-went mayo that time, instead just wanted to get something into her burning stomach because she was so hungry. Her eyes blearily while she does all this. 

By the time she’d spread her avocado and egg of the long slices of bread, the radio was playing Girls Just Wanna Have Fun By Cindy Lauper and y/n is doing a little happy dance on her way to her wicker table by the window, next to the bookshelf resting against her wall. Before she sat down, she reached for a novel on the shelf, and set it alongside her plate on the table. 

Biting into her toast, she opened the book. 

    Dani’s cheeks blushed a wine-pink color. She looked away.

“You confuse me so,” she mumbled just loud enough for him to hear. 

“How?” He grazed her jaw with gentle fingers, enough to turn her so she’s looking at him.

“You say that what we have, this spectacle we put on, is simple only to convince the people you will be a good king, but them you look at me… like that.”

“Like what? Like I want to kiss you?” he whispered, smiling faintly. “Because I do.” 

She seemed not to know what to say, and resolutely, she turned so she sat facing forward between his spread thighs, back to him. 

He realized then, that her shyness had caught up with her. He wrapped his arms around her waist and set his chin on her shoulder. 

“I’m no expert in etiquette, Your Highness, but I’m sure this is high;y improper.” She sait, stiffly and primly while he cuddled her.

“Proper? They call me Rafe the Rake. I’d say, my little peach, that we passed proper a long time ago.” 

“Don’t call me that,” she mumbled. 

“What do you wish I call you then?”

“Dani.” 

He chuckled at her response. “It’s a hellions name. It suits you well, all right. You can call me Rafe, if you like.”

“I do not wish to call you Rafe.” “No?”

“It’s a scoundrel’s name. I wish to call you Rafael. Like the angel.” 

“An optimist, aren’t you?” Rafael began combing his fingers through her hair, sifting through the silking

strands then massaging down her neck and shoulders.

She sank back into his chest with a sigh. “That feels wonderful.” 

“I should probably warn you,” he leans forward so that his lips are pressed against the shell of her ear. “I’m rather gifted with my hands.” She tensed again when he leaned down and nibbled on the skin of her neck, but Rafael left her melt in his arms when he continued his sensual massage on her shoulders. “Are you uneasy with this?” He paused to take her hands into his own, feeling as if he were young again with the first girl he had taken a liking towards.

“No,” she said quietly.

“Good.” With fingers still threaded through hers, he drew her hands back, and pinned her arms ever so gently behind her for a moment, gazing down her neckline at her creamy chest. Her breasts her small, but awfully perky and firm. He wondered if he could fit the entirety of one in his mouth. He bet that she’d like it if he did. 

Y/n paused for a moment, and clenched her thighs together. A buzzing feeling was starting to form on her clit, and she felt the space where her thighs touch grow warm. The Kool-aid man’s eye popped with hoe erect her nipples were. She was aroused. And she knew that the feeling would only grow more intense the longer she read, which she planned on doing. So, she picked up her plate, placed it in the sink, and took her and her book into her dark room. 

    Her novel, Our Sign of the Times by Lemus Knox was tatted and bent this way and that from all the times she’s cracked the pages open for a steamy read. A painting of a bodacious woman and handsome prince posing in front of a castle adorned the front cover (one of the main reasons why she bought it). The was was strong, with raven hair and a strong jaw that portured strongly as he kissed the brunette woman in a lilly gown that he held in his arms. The castle was cottage like, with ivy covered walls and stone hedges; complete with a moat and bridge wrapping around the area. The author, Lemus Knox, painted the image himself, as he say so in the acknowledgements. No one knows who he is, how old he is, where he lives, or anything else about him really. A pseudonym, he says. A way to keep his life private life and still do what he loves to do: write.Y/n stumbled upon his book two years ago, in the best sellers section at Barnes and Nobles, and has been slowly falling in love with him and his characters ever since.

    When she settled back into her blankets, y/n opened her book, and placed a single hand on her tummy, over the Kool-aid man’s mouth.

    “It’s getting dark,” she said rather breathlessly, “don’t you think it’s time we head back?”

    “I like being on the water at night. You can’t see. You can only hear the wares and you have to feel,” he teasingly brushed his fingers over the tops of her breasts, “your way back to shore. Feel your way through the dark.” He whispered into her ear,one of his hands splaying on her stomach and pushing back up, up, up to her breasts. “A man has to know exactly what he’s doing.” 

    She arched against him with a soft catch in her breath as he finally cupped her small breast in his large hands; her generous nipples turned hard underneath his circling thumbs. 

    “Rafael,” she moaned breathlessly, arms wrapped against his neck as she pushed her swollen mounds against his roaming hands. “We can’t. We’re not married yet.”

    “Oh, my sweet love.” Rafael’s hands slid back down against her belly and began stroking her thighs. “I don’t plan on deflowering you yet. I simply wish to learn what it is you like.”

    “But… I do not know what I like.” Her words were gasps of dreamy pleasure. 

    “Then I guess we’ll have to find out, won’t we?” 

    Knowingly, y/n’s hand began to follow the same path that Rafael’s had. Thumbs circling against swollen nipples, fingertips teasing the insides of her thighs.

    Her head was cushioned against his chest, and she turned her fact to him, seeking his mouth in innocent yearning. He lowered his head, and parted her lips with long strokes of his tongue into her sweet mouth, savoring the way she tasted. She reached up, and caressed his cheek as they kissed in slow, soulful agony. 

While she ran her fingers through his unbound hair, Rafael deftly inched her skirts upward over her exquisite legs. His heart pounded as she let his hands roam under the gathered layers of silk gown and muslin petticoat. He groaned into her lips when his fingers came to the edge of her white stockings, and found tenderly warm skin. His groin flooded with heat and his body turned rock hard in an instant. Unwilling to push her beyond what she was currently willing to give him, Rafael fought to keep his needs in check. 

Having been with many of the calculating damsels of the court, he knew that Dani was unlike them. She was soft, fragile, small, so precious in his arms. And while she may think herself independent, Rafael wanted nothing more than to hold her close and protect her, as much as he wanted to give her glimpses of what was in store for the night of their wedding. 

Under her dress, he took his time exploring, kneading, caressing her belly, her hips, all the while devouring her mouth. Behind closed eyelids, he smiled to himself when she began to writhe and twist in his hold, virginal madness getting the best of her. 

“Rafael, Rafael,” her voice grew drunk with urgent need. 

When he stroked her at her ore, he was more than pleased to find she was soaked with silky wetness, throbbing under his fingertips with pure female invitation. 

“Dani,” he mumbled against her earlobe, as her took her skirts with his empty hands and raised them higher and higher. “Would you like to watch?”

“NO! I couldn’t.” Her chest heaved. “Don’t make me.”

“Watch me touch you.” he murmured as his fingertips began to circle. “There’s nothing to be ashamed  of, my darling. I only want to fulfill your desires. Watch me pleasure you. Look at how beautiful you are , your sweet body. My wild, virgin love.” 

“Oh , Rafael!” she turned and kissed him ardently. A burning moisture inexplicably rose behind his eyelids, and quickly fled as their kiss ended. 

    He kissed the curve of her neck, moved by his shy uncertainty as she lowered her heat to watch as he touched her, panting slightly. She was so ready, he thought in pure agony as his hardness chafed against her back through their clothes. It would have been easy to take her then and there, on the warm glossy planks of the deck, but her repeatedly shoved that temptation aside, vowing to prove his respect for her by making their wedding night her first time.

        Y/n, too, was panting as she continued to read, her vision growing blurry with pleasure and need. 

    His thumb deftly teased her jeweled center, while his middle finger gently stroked inside her tight, fluid heat ,and as he kissed her ear and the back of her neck.

    Y/n threw the book aside, letting her own hands take the pace it needed to to bring her to her high. HEr slender fingers deftly pumped in and out of her slick hole, the hand that was holding her book now rubbing fast circles against her swollen button.  Wet mewls left her swollen lips, and her chest arched to meet hands that weren't there. The feeling of clenching in her abdomen and a squirming need something increased. 

    She left herself clenching on nothing, pinching her pert nipples with damp fingers as she rubbed faster and harder circles onto her mound. 

    “Fuck, fuck fuck,” she gasped under her breath, a long groan escaping her as she felt it instenifsy; anticipation of water nearly spilling. It hit her like a splash of cold water, her head thrown back against her pillows with her mouth open; a scream and no sound. Her body felt electrifies, her veins fueled by fire. 

    And when it died out,

    She fell back like a ragdoll, limp and tired onto her sheets. Y/n was all droopy eyelids and noodle limbs after her orgasm. 

    She fell back asleep with sticking fingers on top of her red Kool-Aid man t-shirt.

.

.

“... you know what I mean?”

“So… you don’t want a beach theme?” y/n asked. Karime, dressed in another silk dress, but this time in floral red pattern, was having a very hard time identifying the theme she wanted for her Aromatherapy cafe/library. 

“No, but I just want like, beach-y vibes. Airy? Ooopen. Yes, open.” 

“So plants,” Y/n jotted bulleted notes into her planner, in a blank section under ‘Karime’. “White and green color scheme. Open, clear room.” 

The two are standing at Karime’s shop, three streets away from Rockstar; an alarmingly vast space with plain walls and counters. Y/n has a lot of blank canvas to work with, and much to improvise because Karime wasn’t being exact with her vision. She hadn’t even set up a moodboard like she said she was because ‘an LA girl has a wild life you know, hun?’ 

Y/n truly wished she didn’t know. 

“Okay now, what’s your budget?”  she asked, her tone businesslike but full of warmth and interest. 

“Um, how much do you think you’ll need?” Karime wasn’t looking at her, no, she was picking at her cuticles, and pushing them back with her thumbs; her nails had grown and blank space separated the polish from her skin. Karime was across y/n, behind the quick-serve counter where smokey machines and masks where all lined up; one for each stool. 

“Plants are expensive. If you want big and already grown plants, they’re expensive- ranging from $20 to, I don't know… maybe $80?” Y/n taps her pen on her chin. “Furniture, and other wall decor I can craft and thrift, so that right there is maybe $200? $400 tops.” 

“Okay.” Karime said, shrugging her shoulders with a crescent moon smile on her pink lips, “I’ll write you a check for $3,000 to start. I don’t want anything from second-hand like Goodwill or anything like that. I’ll give you addresses to pre-selected antique stores and the likes. Now, you mentioned something about measurements?”

“Yes! Thanks for reminding me,” she’d forgotten all about that, and it truly is a key process in the decor department. “Do you happen to have a measuring tape?”

“Actually, yes. There’s one in the back, I’ll go get it.” Karime pushed herself off the granite table top, and turned on her heel to walk through a golden confetti curtain, leaving y/n seated at the counter.  

For a moment. She fiddled with the tubes coming from the humidifying machine in front of her, an opaque purple bowl with two tubes sticking out from opposite sides that connect to facemasks that cover your mouth. They’re cool to the touch, but warm when her fingers linger. A humming sound emits from the machine when she accidentally presses the start button, and she pushes it again in a panicked state to make it stop. She decides it’s best if she stops messing around with expensive machinery, and instead turns to looking at the small amount of people that are in the shop.  

There’s no one really up and about at 10 in the morning on a Sunday. The few that were, came with laptops to do work in the library section of the shop, with coffees on their tables, or some kind of breakfast, which had to be from somewhere else because Karime didn’t have a menu for food. Just drinks.

One of these really risers, a man who hunched over a sticker covered Mac, looked strangely familiar. Y/n was staring at his choice of clothing (a worn down Brittney Spears shirt with jeans and rolled at the ankles and pristine white vans) when he turned to look at her. It was then, looking onto his dazzling green eyes and watching his taffy pink lips curl into a smile and a hand coming up in a small wave, did y/n recognize that it was the stranger that recognized her Halloween costume a few days ago.  

Cheeks heating with clear embarrassment, y/n raised her own hand and timidly twiddles her fingers. She mouthed hello and tried to keep from cringing when he raised a finger to rub under his nose to hide the way his lips twitch upwards. His nose scrunches and wiggles, and his eyes wrinkle at the corner, a cheeky gleam in his look.

“Y/n!” Karime, reappearing, held a ruler in her hand. A ruler. “This is the best we’ve got, babe.” 

Her head snaps from the familiar stranger to Karime, who smiled as if she’d just solved all their problems when she’d really just created more because measuring with a ruler? Seriously. Y/n curses at herself for forgetting to bring her own measuring tape. 

She has no other option than to nod, smile, and take the ruler, and start taking measurements.  

Like the hand-over-hand motions of steering a car, y/n has to place the ruler, mark where it ends with her nail, and repeat the process again and again. 

The walls, the patio, window space, countertops, tables, and the one she’s dreading to do: the dimensions of the room the stranger is sitting in. Karime’s place was split in two and a half. A small outdoor patio, the man space with tables and machines, and the library lounging space. The library lounge space, a doorway cut into a small cozy room to the left when you walk in. 

    She’d yet to go in there and measure the walls and bookshelves, putting in on to last in hopes that he’d leave because measuring with a ruler is really embarrassing and it’s possible that she’d be shuffling around him. 

God.

    Getting a grip, she pulled her shoulders back and walked into the room, counting how many steps it took to walk through the door frame. She felt like fingers trapped in a Chinese finger trap, constricted. 

Walking into the room, the stranger didn’t look up, instead he looked even more immersed in his work than ever. Eyebrows furrowed and fingers tapping away on his keyboard. He was even leaning into his computer screen, like he couldn’t get whatever it was he needed to type onto the screen fast enough. 

Sure enough, staring at him, lost in whatever it was he was typing, y/n stumbled on her own two feet, and an absurd noise escapes her lips when she tried to catch herself. 

She doesn’t turn to see if he’s looked at her (he did, with a grin that showed off his bunny-like teeth) and instead hangs her head and makes her way to the opposite wall. Great way to be inconspicuous, she thought to herself. 

The wall opposite the stranger, was tall, like the others were. And even though she was sure that it was most likely the same dimensions, she wasn’t going to take any chances. Pulling up a chair so she could stand on it once her arm couldn't reach anymore; huffing because Karime had those really heavy metal chairs that screeched if you didn’t pick them off the floor. Seven feet later, y/n had to step up on the chair, wobbling on her legs while she hiked up, pressing harder on the wooden ruler to make sure it’s place didn’t move.  

Her nail pins into the wall, at the end of the ruler, before using her other hand to move up the start of the ruler where her nail left off. When the ruler reached her hip, y/n stumbled leaned forward and effectively knocked out her balance so she was left flailing, falling, fa- 

Not falling. 

No, not falling, because two hands grip her hips, and pull her back on the chair to make sure she doesn't fall flat on her face. Her eyes are pinched un closed anticipation, waiting for the smashing of knees against the cold, hard floors but it never comes. 

“Gotcha!” says a deep british voice. A warm gust of minty wind flutters in y/n’s nose, and when she opens her eyes. Glittering green eyes, wispy strands of hair, and petal pink lips.

Right. In front. Of her face. 

“Selena, you’ve really got to be more careful,” he says, chuckling as his speaks so his words are broken with sounds of laughter. He’s even lifting her up from her leaned position off of the chair, and settling her down on the floor, biceps tightening and a humming noise coming from his throat as he does so. 

She’s flabbergasted. Doesn’t know what to say because she doesn’t think she’d ever been picked up before. Its ridiculous really, seconds away from eating shit on hard ass surface and all she can think about is how she was picked up. But jeez, who could blame her, the man was hot. 

    All sharp jawline, clavicles peeking out of his shirt, and the column of his throat such a nice pretty color. Quite handsome, really. 

    “Shit,” y/n finally manages to get out, her eyes wide, shoulders tense, and instinctively, her fingers are digging into his shoulders (though she’s not aware of it yet).  

    “You alright?” The man says, when he notices the way she’s gone rigid. He doesn’t say anything about the way her fingers are gripping at him.

    “Uhm, yes. I am now. Thank you…” Y/n’s voice comes out in breathy spurts, and her forehead glistens like she’s just run to catch the bus. That’s when she noticed where her fingers were placed; the way the white cloth dipped in from the amount of pressure she was exerting onto his skin. Cheeks turning a darker pink, she cleared her throat and avoided looking at him when she removed her hands. 

    “Harry” He mumbled. “My name’s Harry. Yours? Not quite sure if it’s Selena or not…”  

    “HA!” A loud exclamation, a bit too loud that it was awkward. “No. Not Selena. Y/n.” She looked into his eyes them, raising her chin the last inch to move from Brittney Spears face to his eyes. Eyes the color of light streaming through a tree leaves in a forest on a spring forest. Y/n sucks in a breath.

    “Well, wonderful to meet you, y/n.” He leans towards her, a ringed finger pointing jeeringly at the stick still in her hands. “I gotta say, measuring with a ruler?” 

    “Very efficient. As you can see,” She shakes the hand the ruler is in, and then uses the ruler to point at the seemingly innocent metal chair “You should try it sometime.”

    “Only if you catch me.” Harry grabs his own wrists behind his back, his shoulders hunching forwards and head shaking side to side a bit as his speaks. 

    It takes a moment for her to drink in what he’s said, to fully react with a scoff and a smile. “Catch you? I’ll hold you up on my shoulder’s myself.” 

“Then we’ll both end up sprawled on the floor, all roughed up and bruised.”

They both laugh at their jokes, and Harry even goes as far as to clap his jean clad knee. When it gets quiet, their laughs dying down, Harry speaks again.

“Saw you in the paper. Helped decorate Rockstar didn’t you?” 

Y/n’s jaw drops. Her lips opening and closing like a fish eating crumbs at the water’s surface. “The paper? What paper?” This was news to her. She was aware that the article James would write would be like, online or something. But a physical paper. That’s a little bigger. And him having remembered. Having identified her. 

“The local paper. WeHoVille.” He quirked an eyebrow at her, one side of his lips pulling up in a confused manner. “Was picking up a sleepy time tea and honey at the Wholefoods, and you painting was a feature next to the counter. Didn’t show your face, but I walked past that day and remembered.” 

    “The paper… wow. I didn’t know. But yes,”Y/n twirls the ruler on in circles with her fingers, putting all her weight on one hip so on of her feet could tap loosely on the floor. “I decorated Rockstar.” After a beat, “What’d you think about it?”

    “The place is amazin’!” A strand of Harry’s hair flops down to the space between his eyebrows and eyelashes, tickling his skin. He had to brush his fingers through his hair to comb it back.  “Love the feel of it. Gotta stop myself from going in everyday or might blow all my money on Stevie’s usual.”

    “That’s my favorite too! Next time you’re there, give me a wave down and I’ll have you covered.” Y/n’s offers had Harry’s eyebrows raised in seconds. “Least I could do, given you saved me from a concussion and all that.” She tried to explain, words coming out in a flurry from her mouth. 

He chuckles at her flustered stare, the same repressed smirk that he’d given her when he caught her staring. “I’ll definitely keep that in mind.” Silence and then, “What do you plan on doing with the place?” 

“Turn it into a greenhouse,” y/n said bluntly. The two were still standing next to the wall y/n was measuring, and Harry leaned one of his shoulders against it, moving his hands from behind his back to his front, wrapping one around the other one’s wrist.

    “That’ll be nice. Even more uh, how do you say, therapeutic? I guess more relaxing than the place already is. Karime said plants?” He asked. It didn’t quite settle with y/n that he knew Karime on a first name basis, that he was interested in knowing she picked plants, and she wanted so badly to say: Karime doesn’t know what she wants, but instead pushes that feeling away and goes with,

    “Well, she gave me a scope to work with. A color scheme. A gist. Certain decorations she wanted to see. So on and so on. Plants is just what I took from it. And it goes with her place because it has to deal with aromatherapy and all that. What do you think?”

    “I think you’ve hit it right on. Can’t wait to see what it’ll look like.” He raps a knuckle on the wall. “Did you still need wall measurements? I’ll hold you so you don’t fall again.” 

    Timidly, she responds, “Okay.”

    “Up you get, then.” Harry pointed to the chair, and y/n raises her leg to hike up, this time with Harry’s hands placed on her hips, steadying her. 

    A tiny dash on the wall where her nail slid off marks where she was at when she nearly fell off the metal chair, and this is where she places the ruler. She left off at 7 feet, the ruler at her hip. Resuming the same positions, she starts to wobble again, and Harry's hands tight, holding her straight. 

    She guesses he hears her gasp when she feels herself wobble because he says “I’ve gotcha.” 

    Y/n moved the ruler up one, two, and three more times, and then her arm can’t stretch anymore and pinches one eye closed to cry and guess how many more feet are left. She guessed four… ish. On a whim, she tries to push the ruler up once more, and her shirt rides up on the left side of her hips. Warm sequential breaths hit her skin, and a shiver drops down her spine when she realizes what’s happened. 

    Harry, ever the gentleman, doesn’t waste a second, and slides his pointer and middle finger over her skin, his warm fingers splaying over goosebumps to pinch her shirt and pull it down for her. 

    “All done,” she squeaks. “Coming back down.” 

    Harry released her, but offers her a hand and she takes it, holding on to his as she comes down, his palms warm and rings cool; a nice contrast. 

    “Thank you so much for h-”

    “Y/n?” 

    Booth Harry and y/n tun to the doorway that leads to the main room, where Karime stands with a checkbook in her hands. Y/n turns back to look at Harry. The curls behind his ears, the blonde hairs on his top lip. He turns to look at her, and gives her a closed lip smile. She smiles back and twiddles her fingers, mouthing a bye bye.

    Karime walks away when she sees that y/n is following her, and takes them both back to their position on the counter. 

   “Here’s the check. Two thousand dollars. Deposit it into your account, and use it for gas, furniture, anything that has to do with Aromareads you can pull from this.” She opens the book and tears out the slip of paper. “I will need receipts. And your name?” 

   Karime glances up at y/n, only to see that she’s busy looking back through the door frame at Harry. The manager is slightly irked at the fact that the person she’s hiring to reshape her business isn’t paying attention, but following her line of gaze, Karimer can’t blame her. Harry, a usual in her store, is a very very handsome man. Towering, with broad back and a neck Karime would love to bite into if she wasn’t gay. He sat at his laptop, thighs spread and eyes hard and stern, pondering with a pout. Karime is sure that what caught my/n’s attention is the way Harry’s thighs and crotch looked at that very moment, enticing, strong, sensual. 

    Clearing her throat, “Y/n. I need a full name to address the check.”

    Y/n’s neck snaps towards Karime, her hair getting caught on her lips at her velocity. “Uh- yes, sorry it’ll be Y/n Y/l/n.” 

    Karime repeated her name, and asked for her to spell it, which she did while stuttering mildy. 

    “Here you go.” Clicking her pen against the marble countertop, Karime handed the check to y/n. “Listen, by no means do I wanna pressure you, but if you could get this down before the holidays are in full force, I would love that.” 

    “Oh, don’t worry. It won’t take me that long.” 

    .

    .

    And it definitely didn’t. 

    On Monday, y/n spent the entire day (and part of her night) driving to most of the places Karime had sent her through a text. She spent a few minutes googling the places and looking through the pictures that came up and cursing every time it would redirect her to yelp- because really who has yelp? The antique stores were all spread out in the Los Angeles area.

    There was one in Long Beach. The pictures showed a really big warehouse with chair lying on top of each other and tables littered with little statues and the likes. Here she bought baskets. Tons of them. Gus (the owner) has dedicated an entire isle to them. When he saw y/n’s cart, the laughed then asked her “Why dolly, whadda ya need all them baskets for?” And when she told him it was for business, he offered her coupons and package deals. 

    “Tell ya what,” he scratched the scruff on his chin, the only hair he had because he was bald, “You buy all these baskets,” he pointed to her cart, “I’ll give you a twenty pa’cent discount on ya purchase, and if ya want, you can pick anathin’ ya want from over there because no one wants tuh buy them.” Then he pointed to a pile of books that lay haphazardly next to a stove and a turquoise refrigerator. She paid one hundred and fifty.

    She walked out with wicker baskets, one being a picnic basket she snatched for herself, lined nicely with red patterned cloth and a lid for it to close, and that same picnic basket full of regency novels from the 90’s.

    There was another in Laguna. A beachside thrift shop, where she paid for (very overpriced) frames of painted lighthouses and beach landscapes for that ‘beach’ factor Karime wanted. By this time, she drove back towards Hollywood to drop the items back at Aromareads because her car was getting full. She didn’t go inside, just unloaded the tings in the back and Karime took them inside. If she had, she would’ve seen Harry.

    Y/n then took to the shops in the downtown area. One being, a swapmeet type place where you walked through and looked at all the furniture. They set up different sections for different themes. Victorian, regal, animal skin themed, and a hall full of mirrors. Y/n bought a large 8x8 mirror for five hundred dollars. It would be delivered the following day.

    One of the sections was retro-themed, and she snapped a picture of a hip-height lava lamp and sent it to Lucy. Lucy then proceded to beg y/n through to text to please buy that I fucking need it. Will pay u back. So she bought it; $100 that she knew would be no big deal for Lucy given all the business she had. 

    Her final stop, were the flowers and plants district. There, she placed a large order for 30 succulents, and an assortment of nearly 100 leafy plants to fill the baskets with. She blew $1,000 there. 

    By the end of the day, she’d wasted nearly all of Karime’s check; a measly two hundred remaining after she refilled her car with gas (give or take some). Y/n met with Karime at around 6, in the back parking lot again, and left everything she’d bought. 

    “Oh! And the mirror should be delivered tomorrow before closing time.” 

    Karime was wearing a caramel turtle neck and black slacks tucked into latex ankle boots, her hair pinned back and tied into a spiky ponytail. Her ears were adorned with pearl earrings, and her fingers were jammed into golden rings. Y/n felt embarrassed in her measly purple jumper and paint splattered mom jeans.  Her accessories consisted of a fanny pack full of nails and a hammer at her waist.

    “Good, good. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow-” Karime was already turning back and returning into the shop when Y/n said:

    “Actually I was hoping I could start now.” Her words lifted into a question at the end, half suggesting half stating. 

    Karime’s face morphed into one of confusion and surprise, but in the end she agreed, and told y/n to do as she pleased.

Upon first entering, y/n is disoriented. 

    She walks into a frenzy of… nothing. It’s like an industrial kitchen, but completely empty. Occupied only by the things she had brought in. She remembers that she walked into the back and not the front, and it made sense because Karime doesn’t offer anything that would require use of the kitchen. Everything she has is done at the bar by the barista outside. 

    Karime leaves y/n in the back, where she asses her items. The baskets. The frames. And well, that’s really all there is. It would be more with all the plants coming in. She realizes that she doesn’t really have much to work with and there really isn’t much to do than hang picture frames, and there’s only five of them. 

    Nonetheless, she goes outside with the first frame in hand. A soft blue painting of a lighthouse on an island with light from a hole in a cloudy sky shining on the building. When she picked this one up, she knew exactly where it would go. By the wall next to the sliding door that lead to the patio. She sauntered over to the spot then, dodging a woman on her boyfriend on her way there. It was packed, and rightfully (it was a tuesday).

    She reached the spot, and lifted the picture on the wall, lifting and tilting so it would fit naturally. Eventually, she found the sweet spot, and reached for the hammer she had stuck into her belt loop and the box of nails she’d placed into the fanny pack on her waist. 

    Without hesitation, she put the first nail on the wall, and started banging. Three taps in, and she hung the wire on the nail, balancing it so it looked the way she envisioned it. After she was done, y/n stepped back to admire her handiwork, and tilted her head to the side the way one does when their looking at a picture that’s upside down. 

    Perfect. 

    She walked around the shop then, with the purpose of noticing empty spots on the walls, anything that could be filled up with artistry. The simple tables? No they had to stay that way. Placing something on the tables would clutter them and tarnish the ‘relax’ mode people came in for. The window that faced the street? Yes. Y/n planned on lining them with hanging droopy plants on the edges, not obscuring but not leaving a clear view either. She’d have to buy shelves to place baskets on the walls. Hooks to hang them. This she would do with what was left from the check.

     Yet… something was missing. The alternative-ness she knew should be there. Something ‘hippie’ and ‘aesthetic’, off the minimalist side of things. 

    Looking into a corner where the walls met, a light bulb went off. She knew exactly what was missing. Letters. Y/n had seen an image on Pinterest not even less than a month ago. A picture of a string of letters. Or rather, a message. It said something along the lines of  ‘You are my light’ or something edgy like that. Each word had been hand cut and strung onto a piece of- she didn’t know, string? Tweed? A wire?- and hung in a corner of a room where walls met. It knocked off every box on the checklist. Minimalist. Crafty. Aesthetic. And cheap, considering how low the money was.

She knew she’d have to brainstorm phrases and pass them by Karime, but she’d worry about that later.

    .

    .

    It was Friday. One day after the plants had been delivered, and y/n was set to work full force. Sure, she’d have to work amongst customers, but no matter. It would get done. 

    She started in the back. With the plants. 

    Y/n had bought a plastic-type lining at the Home Depot to place soil in the baskets. She lined then all first, securing the material with tape around the edges. After, came the transfer and placement. She decided this would be a better method, and if there were extras she could have Karime sell them. This way, she wouldn’t overcrowd the place and stop when she saw an adequate fill of green. 

    The first, a circular basket with no handle the color of a waffle cone. Because it was one that would go on a shelf, she placed one of the droopiest plants in it, a green stream of vines and shrubby leaves.

    Last night, y/n had given Karime the benefit of the doubt, and allowed her to place shelves where she’d liked them So, before she opened at 7, Karime had decorated her store with wooden slabs for y/n to decorate. Taking the first plant, she walked out. 

   As expected, Aromareads was bustling with energy.     Women with mojitos in their hands, burnt out college kids hooked up to masks, older men and women laughing like tinkling bells. 

   She’s walking towards the first row of shelves she sees on the wall across from her, besides the sliding doors, basket held gingerly with both hands, when she hears:

   “Y/n!” 

   Looking to her left, she sees a sleepy, just-rolled-out-of-bed looking Harry. He’s wearing a black hoodie with the words ‘Treat people with kindness’ in a gradient rainbow color, and… and grey sweatpants. Grey. Sweatpants. 

   Grey sweatpants. 

   Y/n tries not to visibly swallow him whole as he walks towards her with an innocent smile on his face because god if she isn’t all hot and bothered right now. Her eyes seem to be magnetically attracted to his crotch, trying but failing to grasp and image of what may be lying underneath. 

“H-hey, Harry,” she smiles at him meekly, her voice cracking when she speaks. She cleared her throat and said again, “hey, Harry. S’nice to see you.” 

   “Nice to see you too.” He bows his head towards her, and endearing mannerism that has y/n’s heart pooling down to her ribcage. “I see you’ve brought out the green guns today.” A teasing grin on his extra red and shiny lips. Perhaps it was chapstick. It was rather windy outside.

   “You see correctly.” She giggles at his joke, at the same time, rolling her eyes at how cheesy he was being. “Today’s the day it all comes together.” 

“I’m excited to see how it all turns out. Don’t go falling on any chairs today alright?” He wags his finger at her, mocking a mother shunning her child.

“I’ll try not to. But if I do-” she said, coquettishly. 

“I’ll catch you.” 

“You better.” Laughing at him, she repeats his actions and lifts her finger up to point at him. 

   With a final laugh and a shake of his head, Harry walks away and into the working room. 

   Y/n watches him walk off, and walks off her own way as well, resting the basket against her hip as she went. When she reached the wall with shelves arranged in a checkered pattern, she placed the basket on top of the wooden plank, and tufted leaves so they look naturally messily placed. Unintentionally intentional; they way one teases their hair so it looks nice. 

   She went back to her work station: the now full kitchen, and repeated the process. Picked a basket, filled it with a plant, and took it outside. She left the hooks for last, wanting to leave of being in the way of people until she had too. Almost effortlessly, y/n filled Karime’s space with greenery. Cacti on shelves, large leaves and vines on walls, frames of beach paintings on nails. Once, she pricked her finger because her it had accidentally slipped inside the glass globe in which the succulent was in. 

    When the time finally came to walk into the room Harry was in, the outside was looking rather… forest-y. She liked the way it looked; a calm type of chaos. One that showed relaxation and no care for anything. Which was the point of the entire place. Come in. Relax. Breathe in from diffusers to get that extra push to decompress.

   Harry sat in his usual spot, directly in spot of the doorway, in one of the middle tables. Hunched over his computer with fingers flying over his keyboard. He had earphones in this time, white buds tucked right into his ears, stray strands of hair looping and covering them. His lips were placed in a puckered pout, the scrunched pink skin twitching from left to right.

    Humming to herself, y/n forces herself to walk past him, forces herself to not turn back and glance at Harry even if she can feel his gaze burning into her back. She makes it seem like the hook and plant in her hand are the most interesting things in the world. Turning it over in her fingers, and even going as far as to lift the basket (this on with a handle and curved bowl bottom) to her nose and smell it. 

    “Need a hand with that?” Harry says from behind her. She feels his presence from behind her, standing close enough that she can feel when he reaches to her front and takes the basket from her hands.  Y/n’s heart starts beating as fast as a hummingbird's wings. Closing her eyes to get a hold of herself, all she sees is green. Green, the color of his eyes.

   “Yes, please.” Her voice is small, shy.

    Harry, feeling bold, nudged the tip of his nose on the hair behind her ear. Enough to make her notice, but not enough to make her completely sure that it was there. “Where do you want it?” He says, breath hot on the shell of her ears. Her eyes widen, and her body goes on full alert. She’s suddenly aware of the closeness of his hips on hers, the brushing of the fabric on her the back of her hand.

    “Up…” Y/n steps forward, towards the wall. She places her finger on the smooth surface, and traces it over to where she wants it, doing loopty-loops to her desired spot. “...here.”

  He places the nail on the wall, hits it with the hammer that y/n gives him and hooks the basket as well. He turns to her when he’s done.

  “Got any more?” He asks, placing a hand on his hip.

  “Yeah, in the back. Wanna come help me?” Y/n points with a thumb to the doorway, half of her body turning as well.   

    “Lead the way.” 

    So they leave together to the backroom, y/n holding open the golden curtain for Harry to walk through. He looks around endearingly, his neck stretching and eyes darting from place to place as he takes in his surroundings. Y/n is stuck at the expression on her face, her heart strings pulling when her ears listen to the soft giggle that escapes his lips.

So they leave together to the backroom, y/n holding open the golden curtain for Harry to walk through. He looks around endearingly, his neck stretching and eyes darting from place to place as he takes in his surroundings. Y/n is stuck at the expression on her face, her heart strings pulling when her ears listen to the soft giggle that escapes his lips.

    “S’very nice back here.” 

    “Wanna grab a few baskets? Place ‘em in the lounge?” 

    “Sure thing.” Harry wraps his hand around the handle of three baskets at the same time, and with the other, he grabs the still-packaged hooks and wait for y/n by the doorway. She hurried to grab two succulents, and met Harry at the doorway. They had an awkward moment of deciding who’s going first. A huffle of backwards and forwards until eventually, Harry held his palm out to allow her to go through while biting his lip. Y/n ducked her head and felt the tips of her ears go warm. 

    “So, I tried Elton John yesterday.” He said, trailing behind y/n into the lounge like a little puppy. If he had a tail, it’d be wagging. 

    “Oh? How was it?” She replied, juggling the two glass casings in her hand, and then pricking herself again. She flinches, but doesn’t make any noises. 

    “Think I might have a new favorite,” he said, bashfully ducking his own head and peeking at her through his hair. Her heart fluttered, and if it could, she was sure it would bust out with the dreamy sighs she suppressed.

    “It’s that serious?” She asked. 

    “It’s that serious.” They reach the lounge, and y/n sets the succulents she carries in her hands down on a table.  “Have you had it yet?” Her stretches her hands out to Harry, signaling for him to give her his items. 

    “No, not yet. Should probably give it a try if its changed your mind. Can you pass me a hook?”  Harry gives her all four packages he holds in his one hand. When she wraps her hand around them, her finger brushes against the chubby part of his hand. 

    “Here you go- I only drank it ‘coz like, I’m on this diet thing and needed a drink with oat milk in it. Elton’s was the first one I saw. Woke me right up, too.” 

    “Diet you say?” y/n took the hammer and walked over to her desired stop, a few feet away from the one Harry had put in. 

    “Some altered version of keto. Had a really bad bug, had me feeling icky and ‘just decided it was the best.” He takes place next to her, watching as she positioned the nail and hit it a few times with the hammer. He held out a basket on his finger when she was done. She was a whirlwind, he thought. Busy little bee, never stopping. Harry nearly feels bad because she’s so full of energy, bouncing back from the table to the wall and arranging plants before he could even blink. “S’not fair. Not letting me do any work.” A pout appears on his lips, eyes teasing.

    “You just stand there and look pretty. I’ve-” she points to herself, finger at her chin. “Got this.” 

    Harry grumbles something that she doesn’t catch with his chin tucked into his neck. 

“What was that?’ she hums. 

    “‘Said, can’t exactly be pretty ‘coz you took that job too.” 

    Y/n’s hands still. Immediately, she feels her chest grow red roses blooming on her cheeks. She’s not exactly… embarrassed, per say. No. The familiar feeling of ants running wildly in her lower stomach began to burn, her ribcage tickling as butterflies try to creep out with beating wings. Pretty. He had called her pretty. 

    “Uhm, thank you?” 

    “You’re very welcome, darling.” His tone of voice is smug. And when she looks over at him with eyebrows raised, he’s biting his lip and his looking at her through his eyelashes like he had before, but there was no childish play in it this time. 

    “Say,” she picks up a succulent. “What’s it with you?” 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” He shrugs.

“Lovin’ all up on me.”  She puts the succulent back down.

“S’nothing wrong with lovin’ all up on a pretty girl.”

There it is again. Pretty girl. Y/n is on fire her entire face pink, color concentrated on her cheeks and nose as if she had taken a walk in the brisk wind. 

“Stop it,” she said. 

Harry’s face turns concerned, brows kissing and lines appearing on his forehead. “Am I making you uncomfortable?” All work is forgotten, and instead they stand facing each other. 

“No! No, no,” Y/n’s eyes widen and her hands waving back and forth to eradicate the thought of her being disturbed by him. “S’just,” she sighs. “Not used to it, is all.”

Upon hearing this, Harry’s face breaks into a smile. “Well then,” he starts. “Better get used to it.” 

“Oh, you.” She playfully slaps his shoulder and picks up the succulent again, this time actually going to put it on a shelf adjacent to the window; a little alcove Karime has placed in a weird spot.

“When do you get a break?” 

“I think I get to take it whenever I want, why?”     “Wanna head down to Rockstar? Craving a Madonna right about now.”

“Never pegged you as a Madonna guy,” (the Madonna was a sweet caramel iced coffee with whipped cream and chocolate chips; not actually what Madonna would drink, and the beverage itself being one of the few inaccurate ones). “Let me finish with this, and I’ll let Karime know.”

So she did, much faster with Harry’s help. He handed her nails, hooks, and the plants she asked for. He asked if he could leave his stuff in the back, and he followed her back there once again, ticking his bag into an empty cupboard next to y/n’s things. On her way out, she said a quick goodbye to Karime who she was sure didn’t even hear what she said. 

Harry and her walked the short block side by side, with him playfully knocking his shoulder into hers and smiling like a mushy schoolboy when she pushed him back. They made small talk about drinks and the weather, shoulders hunched up and chins tucked in because it was a little cold.   Y/n’s frayed highschool sweater wasn’t doing much to keep her warm, and she had half the wind to pull her hood up the way Harry had his. 

Looking over at his, his nose was going a bit raw. Pink and the skin around it a little pale. By the time he noticed she was looking at him, they’d reached Rockstar, and he was opening the door for her. Murmuring a small thank you she walked through, and stepped to the side to wait for him to step inn as well, given he’d held the door open for the few people that had been walking behind him as well. From inside, she could see him nodding and smiling at everyone who stepped in. 

“You wanna grab a table and I’ll get the drinks?” she says to him when he appears next to her with hands in his hoodie pocket; she’s craning her neck to meet his eyes.

    “Sure. I’ll be in the records?” He takes one hand out to point over to where the records are.

    “Okay.” Y/n nods and head to the counter, where Lucy is busy taking someone’s order. She only see y/n when she walks behind the person and makes a silly face at her. Lucy laughs, but continues taking the order, and y/n pushes through the doors to put on an apron and make her and Harry’s drink. 

“Well if it isn’t y/n!” Says Kim.

“Y/n! Girly its been forever,” Kelsey bumps her hip when y/n get to work alongside her at the steaming machine.  

“Yes, yes, I know. Missed my favorite baristas.” she giggles, bumping her hip a little harder and making Kelsey gasp in faint shock. “Where’s Tilly?”

“Called in sick. Poor think could barely speak.” replied Kelsey. Y/n hummed a response, and made her drink first, a hot chocolate, and set it to the side to allow it to cool down meanwhile she made Harry’s. When Kelsey noticed her reaching for another measuring cup after just making her own she says,

“Two drinks?”

“Got a friend waiting for me in the records.” Y/n explained, pumping an extra pump of caramel into the cup. She puts in less ice too, and extra chocolate chips and whipped cream. 

    “The records…” Kelsey craned her neck out of where customers pick of their drinks to peek tp the records section. “Wait, wait, the one in the hood?”     “Yep,” said y/n, unbothered as she capped Harry’s drink.

    “Y/n!” Kelsey hissed, “He’s hot!” 

    “Yes, Kelsey, I am aware.” Y/n rolls her eyes and picked up both drinks, turning on her heels to walk out but nearly bumps into Kim, who stood not even an inch away from her. She backs up instantly.

    “So are you and he a thing?” He asked, leaning in closer to y/n’s face,his breath smelling on the ramen he always ate during his lunch break. 

    Y/n, uncomfortable by his closeness, tried walking around him but he stepped to the side. “It’s none of your business Kim.”

    “You never accept my dates, but you’ll accept his?” Kim’s tone is angry, and when he takes a step towards her, Kelsey steps in front of her.

    “Kim, leave her alone.” Kelsey says, turning back to y/n and nodding her head in the direction y/n was heading. When she pushes past the swinging doors, she catches a bits of what Kelsey says to him in a harsh whisper, “just wait until Lucy hears about this.” 

    “Haarryy,” Y/n says in a sing-song voice, dodging people as she makes her way to the records. Harry’s standing with  a record in his hand, legs spread apart and leaning back a bit with  his other hand tucked into his opposite armpit. “Here’s your John.” 

    Harry takes the plastic cup from her, giggling as he looks at her. 

    “What’s so funny?” she asks, genuinely confused.

    “Still wearing your apron,” Harry wraps his lips around the straw, tongue poking out to lap at it and take it into his mouth as y/n tries really hard not to stare.

    Looking down at herself, y/n shrugs, and leaves it on, taking a seat on the nearest loveseat and wrapping her now empty hand around the warm cup. 

    “What did you get?” He asked her. 

    “Willy wonka.” She brings the cup to her lips, tilting it up slowly and her mouth waters when she catches the scent of the foaming chocolate. Harry takes a seat next to her, his thigh touching her jean-clad one. He sits with them spread, leaning back in an eased position, and y/n eyes jump down to the bunched grey fabric at his crotch. And… well, there’s a larger than normal bulge through the fabric, drawstrings bending over the imprint, and y/n chokes on her drink. Some of it sputters out onto her apron. 

    “Still hot?” She nods. “ Gotta be careful, love. Who picked the names?”

    Y/n looks over at him, head tilting to the side with eyes squinting. “Picked what?”

    The cloudy skylight streamed in softly, casting a soft grey glow on Harry’s side profile. “The names for the drinks. Who picked them?” He holds his drink in one hand, straw near his face so all he had to do was maneuver his wrist to the plastic tube was in his mouth. 

    “Lucy did. Well, for most of them. I picked Andre 3000, Madonna, Willy Wonka and made the drinks myself. They’re not accurate though.” She sipped from her drink. “The rest of them are.” 

    “How much of this decor did you do? Like, concepts and stuff.” Harry takes out the tucked hand to wave around, and then tucks it back in. 

    “Concepts? Hmm…” she trails off for a moment. “All of them. I don’t want to say that I made this place myself, because I wouldn’t have done it without Lucy’s guidelines, but I went out, bought the furniture. Everything you see me doing at Karime's, I did here… ‘cept Karime’s is just plants and this,” she waves around her in a gesture and leaves it at that.

    “Do you decorate apartments?” He asked.

    “W-what?” Y/n, in the middle of a sip, and very surprised at his question, stuttered at his 

    “‘Coz mine’s looking kinda bland right now, was thinking maybe you could help me put some life into it.” 

    “Harry, I-”

    “Kinda like the Rockstar vibes, but like, a little less on the trendy side? I dunn-” Harry isn’t looking at her, his eyes wandering and landing on everything but her. 

    “Harry.” she said a little more sternly, putting a stop to his little rant. He looked at her then, his expression  unreadable. “I’m not sure you want me to help you decorate your home.”

    “Why not? You’d be helping me is all, and I love the way you’ve made Aromatherapy and Rockstar look.” He licks his lips, moving his head to the side and bringing the straw into his mouth with his tongue (that y/n stare at for longer than necessary).

    “But it’s your home.”

    “I am aware. Help me make it more me.” He shifts his body towards her then, his knee bending so he chest is to her. “Please?” He makes the face Puss in Boots made in that one movie, y/n couldn’t remember then because Harry looked much cuter than that dumb cat did.

    Y/n tosses this idea around in her head. Helping Harry decorate his home. She was scared, not only because Harry was cute, but because home was a personal and private space to be calm and safe. What if she screwed it all up and then Harry was uncomfortable in his own home? What is she did such a shit job that, that- well such a bad job that a horrible result came out of it again. This thing with Harry, a budding friendship? She barely knew the guy, just that he had an affinity for showering her with compliments and he made her turn more red than that really bad sunburn she got in the 10th grade after she refused to put on sunblock on a trip to a pool resort. What her point was, is that decorating someone’s home- a place where the heart is pure- is a really big job. 

    “Of course, this would be after you’re done with Karime’s place. Don’t wanna stress you out or anything like that.” A nike shoe, white and crisp looking like it had come straight out of the box, pressed into his thigh when he wrapped a hand around his ankle and pulled his bent leg in tighter.  “Whadda ya say?”

After hemming and hawing a few times, y/n finally says, “Okay. But you’re gonna have to be one million times more specific okay?” She elbows him, his position causing her elbow to poke at his pec instead of his bicep, and y/n elbows into hard muscle. 

    “Heyyy, can’t go hurting the girls now,” He rubs over where he poked her, and pouts childishly, even going as far as sticking his tongue out at her. “Do you need to head back? I don’t wanna get you into any trouble, y/n.”     The use of her name makes her heart skip a beat. “Yes, we should probably get going.” She moves to get up, and accidentally places her hand on Harry’s thigh. Before she would say sorry for touching him, he says,

    “Alway using me to hold yourself, huh? Sneaky thing, I see what you’re doin.” 

    “You offered! Said it yourself, I’ll hold you so you don’t fall again,” she deepened her voice, and faked a british lilt as best she could. 

    “I do not sound like that,” He whined. 

    He got up right after her, grabbing her hand to ‘pull’ himself back up, but he was really just holding it. His hand was cooler than hers (because he’d used the hand that had been holding his iced coffee) and enormous around hers. If he tried, he could close his finger tips and they’d be overlapping. When he was fully stood up, he reached around her neck, and lifted the black strap over her head, transfering the cloth over to the hand that held his cup, and then reaching again, this time around her waist to undo the knot. His front, not even a full step away from hers, and y/n got a whiff of detergent and something else she could only describe as ‘clean man’. If she were a shark, this would’ve been the moment her eyes turned black and rolled to the back of her head. 

    “There you go, no longer look like a little barista.” He hung the apron over he shoulder, and walked alongside her to the exit. Y/n split from him for a short second to return the apron, but then resumed her place next to him and they walked out together. She was hyper alert the entire way, taking notice of when their hands brushed, or when he pressed his bicep against hers. They walked a little stumbly, walking against each other almost. Had it been Lucy, she would’ve already yelled at y/n, and y/n would’ve walked near the sidewalk to avoid bumping into her again. But Harry?

Harry takes it like a champ. Giggling and pressing back against her, and he even placed her on the inside of the sidewalk when she walked to the side closest to the passing cars. 

    “So, tell me.” He starts, tossing his empty cup at a recycling bin as they waited for the light. “What kind of premeditated preparations should I take to be- as you said- extra specific?”

    Y/n still nurtures her cup in her hands, the coffee lid resting on her bottom lip. “Moodboards. Magazine scraps. Room inspiration on pinterest. Make a list of things you like. Anything really.  Anything that you like and would like to see in your apartment. Also, you need a budget.” 

    “Don’t worry ‘bout a budget. I’ll work on everything else. You want it done by a certain day?” He asked, gallantly placing a hand on the small of her back as they crossed the street.

    “Preferably within the next week or two. I’m pretty much done with Karime.” She straightens up when she feels Harry’s hand on her, a warm feeling spreading from where he pressed, unlike the nastiness Kim made her feel. 

    They’re three shops down when he said, “Gotta give me your number so I can send you everything then. You can keep me updated and I’ll keep you updated.” They pass by a tree whose branch is just low enough to graze Harry’s head, and it hooks onto the hood on his head, effectively pulling it back as he walks through. His hair looks incredibly soft. Wispy strands the color of the drink in her hands, billowing up and around his face, a ringlet falling in front of his right eye. 

    He licks his lips, using his fingers to push his hair back and raise the hoodie over his hair again. HE looks over at her as he does, waiting for her response. 

    “Oh, oh, yes. Sure thing. Got your phone on you?” Harry jams his hand into his pocket and pulls out his phone, the latest model, sleek and looking incredibly small in his hands. He placed it into her outstretched palm, unlocked but not on the contact app. Y/n has to swipe through shamefully, scared he’s gonna think that she’s snooping. She puts her number under ‘y/n :)’. 

    “Thanks, love.” He took the phone from her, his fingers sliding against the back of her hand. He hisses when he does so, saying, “Y/n your hands are so cold,” and then proceeds to take her hand and squeeze it between his own two. 

    She giggles sweetly, “Aye! Trynna hold my hand now?” she teased. 

    “No, trying to hold your hand would be this,” He grabs her hand with one, and lets it wall between them. They walk into AromaReads like that, with him holding her hand and the both of them laughing like they’d heard the funniest thing in the world. 

    Karime, standing at the counter and welcoming everyone as they come in, catches y/n’s eye and she smiles at herself knowingly. Y/n shakes her head while still laughing with Harry, and they both head to the back. Harry to get his stuff, and y/n to continue her job. Just when he’s walking between the isle and cabinets, his phone dings and he takes it out, his jaw dropping and palm slapping his forehead. 

    “SHIT! I completely forgot. I have a lunch meeting with my friend today. Fuck,” Y/n, this being the first time she hears swear words coming out of his mouth, rases her eybrow at him and chuckles. “I’m so sorry. I wanted to keep helping you, but-”

    She raises her hand, silencing him. “You do what you have to do. This is my job anyway. Just don’t forget to text me.” Basket handles fill her hands, wicker patterns pressing into her pals, and she tucks one of the last two frames under her hand too. 

    “I won’t. In fact, I’ll do that right now.” He types into the phone that’s still in his hand, and a few seconds later Y/n’s back pocket buzzes and chimes. She doesn’t pull it out to check. “Now you can text me if I forget.” He says finally, swinging his satchel over his shoulder.

“Bye, sweetheart!” He called out, turning back over to smile at her. Y/n’s  lips pulled up at the corners, gazing at him with a certain look in her eye as he walked out. 

    “Sweetheart, huh?” Karime stepped into her direct line of vision, snapping y/n out of the daydream in her head where she’s the housewife and Harry her husband leaving to work, calling out bye, sweetheart! as he walked out the door. 

    Karime’s looking at her with a smirk and a single pointy eyebrow raise. 

    God, what had she gotten herself into?

    .

    .

    Y/n had saved Harry under “H.”

   And received a text from him that same night.

    She’d been in her bathtub with cucumbers on her eyes when she heard her phone chime. Chin pointed upwards and wrists perched on the edges of her porcelain basin, she lay unbothered and unmotivated to even move. Arms aching and the soles of her feet tired from walking from place to place and lifting she did at Karime’s earlier that day. Tealight candles were the only source of light in the tiny bathroom, a soft yellow glow cascading on the skin of her neck.  The valley of her breast peaked out everytime she took a breath, her mind drifting off into thoughts of green eyes and warm hands, all she’d been able to think about that day.

    She planned on staying there 30 more minutes, but her phone dinged again. After she thought it was the two minute thing the phone does after receiving a message, but when it dinged again, she huffed from her nose and removed the soggy cucumber sliced off of her eyes. Should’ve turned off my phone, she thought to herself, grabbing the towel she left on the toilet seat across from the tub, and wrapping it around her torso. The phone screen a blaring white light in contrast to the dimness of the candles. 

    Y/n, eyes cloudy with sleep and limbs saggy with fatigue, is very much surprised to see that next to the app icon on the display screen, is ‘H.’ Hey eyes pop out of her head at the realization, and her heart shakes up the fatigue to beat up a storm for the boy she’d been thinking about all day since he’d left her. 

Standing in her bathroom, on bare tiles with water still dripping on her, it hit her full force. She liked Harry. Liked the way his cheek squished against his shoulder when he shrugged. They way he looked at her through his eyelashes, and they way he made sure that she was walking on the inside of the street. Liked how he smiled at her and said her name. She was obsessed with him. 

So i think i know what i wanna go for

Was thinking maybe italy in the 70’s 

What do you think :D ??

    And attached were varying pictures of vast rooms with big windows during golden hour and white flowy curtains with art pieces on the wall. It was minimal Even more minimal that what Karime asked for. This is what he wanted help with? Not to mention, the pictures he sent were of rooms far bigger than she’d ever seen for an LA apartment. Hell, those rooms might as well have been in Italy, one of the windows had a view of a pretty pink sunset and orange tree branches littering the way. 

    However, she couldn’t argue that they were very pretty rooms. Sweet and plain, easy for the eye to absorb and just the place you’d be able to melt on the floor with a book. 

    Or the kind in which you have slow, hazy afternoon sex, but who was she to say what harry would use his rooms for right?

    Disclaimer: if this is the look you’re going for

    Like

    This exact look? You’re gonna have 2 have a really big apartment   

        Not even a full minute goes by until the grey delivered letters turns into ‘Read at 10:15pm’ and the grey typing bubble appears at the bottom of her screen. Her palms begin to sweat and her breath hitches. She doesn’t realize she’s been holding in her breath until she releases it after his message comes through. 

        are you doing anything this weekend? 

        Y/n is confused, brows furrowed as she reads his message. Why does he want to know?

    No. why? she responded.

    so you can come and take measurements of my apartments. that way i know how to tweak what i want

  and I have a measuring tape don’t worry

Y/n rolled her eyes and giggled at her phone screen, turning and resting her bum on the edge of her sink. 

    Saturday? 

        Seconds later,

see you Saturday

sweet dreams. H.x

The idiot. Of course he’d sign off a text message. Scoffing, y/n let the towel drop to the floor, and reached into the tub to unclog the drain. As soon as she felt the pop of water flowing down the pipes, she took out her arm and walked out. 

.

.

On Wednesday, y/n laid in bed until 12. When she got up, it was only to brush her teeth, pee, and eat ramen with rice and egg like the asian lady in the liquor store had taught her to make. When she finished, she went back to bed. Maybe she masturbated to get herself to fall asleep again.

Maybe.

.

.

On Thursday, she went took Our Sign Of The Times and took it out to read in her car on signal hill. She finished it. 

She cried. 

When she went home, she started another one. Rogue Lover. This one with a really pretty purple flower on the front, and the first page when you open it is a raven haired man with shoulder length hair who’s propped up next to a busty redhead. Her nipple is in his mouth, and her head is thrown back in pleasure. Y/n fell a little more in love with 

Lemus Knox upon finding the dedication was a note rather than a name. 

It said:

Whoever reads this, I’ll be waiting for you where the stars and clouds meet. My heart is yours. Lemus.

.

.

Friday. 

She helped Lucy at Rockstar. A bald man with a blue beard came in asking for her. He has a boutique in Long Beach. Doesn’t want to come off overbearing. Will he help her? 

She said yes.They were set to meet next week. 

Also, Harry texted her asking if they were still on for tomorrow and come ready to eat because I made Italian food for a few friends I had over and there’s leftovers. 

.

.

Saturday. 

Y/n woke up with an appetite for Italian food. She didn’t have to be at Harry’s house until 12-ish. They hadn’t really clarified. And with it being 8 am and all that, y/n decided to take some time to shower and prep herself all nice and delicate. She spent 15 minutes lathering herself in her tub, letting her skin absorb berry scented bubbles that made her mouth water, and if she didn’t know any better she’d scoop up the bubbles and eat them.When her skin shriveled, she stood and drained the water, letting the stream from the overhead wash her off, and stepped out onto her heart shaped mat, the kind with little stubs that felt really nice against the bottom of her feet.

A little while back, she’d bought a lemon face scrub from a really expensive skincare place that had a sale, and meanwhile she put on her clothes, she put some on her cheekbones and forehead to sit for 15 minutes.  It required extra care when slipping her floral dress over her head. Once she managed to poke her head through, and the material rested all bunched up on her neck, the rest was a breeze. With a careful yank, the light material cascaded down her body, dropping just below her bum. Checking herself in her mirror, she smiled at the way she looked when she swayed her hips side to side. Cheeky flashes of her bum glint at her teasingly. Humming contently, she took off to wash off her face in the restroom. She was eager to find out how Harry liked the way she looked; her dress a low neckline, and she wasn’t wearing a bra because it was one of those dress in which the fabric bunched at the breasts to create a makeshift cup. The patter was a nice pink that looked nice against her skin, dainty little bows at the sleeves and in between her breasts accentuating her features.

Y/n opted for nothing other than a dark shade of lipstick, and let her hair flow down her back. As she was putting on her shoes, a pair of those recycled shoes that sent some of the proceeds to charity, she noticed that much of what she was doing felt like what she would have done if she were getting ready for a date. 

And… and Harry had food waiting for her at his place (apartment? Loft? She didn’t know specifically). Was this a date? She definitely wouldn't mind if it was.

She finished, and grabbed nothing other than her keys and shoulder bag, hesitating at her door whether she should grab the measuring tape, but deciding against it after remembering that Harry, quite teasingly, had said he had one at his house. 

In her car, she scrolled up her and Harry’s text to find the one which contained his address, tapped on it when she found it, and set in on the small mount on the headboard of her cart. Huffing, she set off to Harry’s house.

It didn’t take her long to get there, about ten minutes, and she parked in front of a much nicer version of her own apartment complex, but in Beverly hills.  A beige building that have the similar structure of a hotel, with turquoise patios and green roofing. Palm trees making a walkway to the entrance, which guarded by a security guard who asked who she was there to see.  

“I’m here to see Harry…” she falters, realizing she doesn’t know his name. 

The security, an old man with a limp and scrutinizing eyes, looked her up and down and said, “Ya one of dem girls das always botherin’ him ain’tcha? I suggest you turn back and go home. Mr. Styles won’t see you.” 

Y/n, with her jaw dropped, stood stunned in the middle of the pathway, not sure what to respond. Surely, he was confused. And whichever “girls that came around bothering Mr. Styles” she wasn’t one of them. 

“Go on and git,” he said, crossing his arms and standing possessively in front of a keypad. 

She hurried to reach into her bag for her phone, walking back to her car while she punched Harry’s “call” because she didn’t want to stand while an agitated security man watched her. 

He picks up the phone, and doesn’t even give her a chance to talk before he says, “is Felix giving you a hard time?” His voice gravelly and knowing. 

“The security guard? He said that you won’t see me.” She whines into the receiver. 

“Ah yes, the strict old man. Gimme a second.” He hangs up on her, leaving y/n clutching the strap of her bag so hard her knuckles turn white. 

“Ms. Y/n?!” Felix calls from behind her. She turns around, surprised to see that his face was completely transformed with a smile. His front tooth is gold and he’s missing a molar. “You can go on ahead, dolly. Mr. Styles just called and said you was a nice ‘un.”  He said, punching a thumb into the keypad behind him. “Sorry, bout that Miss. Enjoy the rest ‘ur dey!” He touches the tips of his fore and middle finger to his gleaming forehead and salutes her as she passes him, giggling and blushing. 

“Thank you, Felix. You too.” 

She walks through, and is greeted with a fine lobby. It really does look like a hotel lobby. Carpeted floors, a receptionist, and a door leading to a pool just outside the elevator. Before she can even wonder where to go, she hears her name being called by a familiar voice, 

“Y/n, over here!” Harry calls out, standing in front of open doors to the elevator to her right. He’s wearing a burgundy turtleneck and black slacks that are cuffed at the ankles. Yellow tortoise shell glasses and his hair is parted down the middle making him look like MiloThatch. A lavender towelette is in the grasp of his right hand, and he’s waving it at her like soldier girlfriends saying goodbye on the platforms. 

Stunned at his etherealness, y/n felt the roof of her mouth go dry. Staring at the way he filled out his clothing, she walked to him hypnotized, transfixed by his appearance. His chiseled features, boyish grin. She gravitated towards him. Enchanted.

“H-hi, Harry.” she said dreamily. Harry’s eyes raked her up and down when she came to a stop in front of him. 

“Why, hello. You look exceptionally lovely right now, darling.” He rasped, looking down at her sternly, all traces of a sweet smile gone and replaced by something a little more serious. A little more sinister.  His light green eyes turning a darker shade, y/n’s lips parting and knees weakening. 

She musters the words to say, “so do you,” and Harry’s lips turn up at the corners. 

“Shall we head up. Pasta and salad is waiting for you.” He turns away from her and presses the circular button that goes red when he pushes it. 

“How was-”

“So, you-” 

They both say at the same time, laughing and stopping to let the other speak and Harry says, “You go first.” 

“I see you’ve a few fans that bother you, and Mr. Felix has taken to guarding them off,” y/n commented. Her eyebrow quirked at him. 

Harry laughs, a single loud ha! “Felix just takes his job very seriously. That’s all.” 

“Doesn’t change the fact that you have women-” the elevator rings and the doors open, “lined up on your doorstep.” Harry steps in first, and uses his hand to stop the elevator doors from closing in on y/n. 

She steps through, and they both stand side by side in the metal encasing. Glancing up, she sees the ceiling is covered in mirror panels. 

“Well,” Harry shifts his body so his front is facing her, and takes a step, shoulders taking turns on tilting forward with every slow, torturous step he takes. “Does it,” Y/n takes a step back, breath hitching in her chest, “ bother,” her back collides with the cool wall, the floors on the meter above the doors keep going, 5, 6, “ you?” 

He’s a needle away from her nose, his mouth ghosting over her own and his chest rising up and down slowly while hers is an erratic mess. She’s breathing out of her mouth, her eyes shifting between his own two that are fixed and straight on hers. 7, 8,  Harry’s hand comes to rest on the right side of her face, caging her between the elevator wall and his bicep, his palm cupped her jaw and running a thumb tenderly over her cheekbone. 

“I-I,” she stutters. 

“Cat got your tongue, petal?” His breath smells like mint and coffee. The tips of the curls that hang in front of his eyes tickle y/n’s forehead and down the side of her temple and eventually her cheek when he leans in to put his lips at her ear. “Look so pretty right now, y'know?” HIs british drawl is heavy because his tone of voice is low. 

8, 9, “Harry,” she gasped, involuntarily tilting her head to the side when he noses at the back of her ear. “What are you doing?” 

The elevator comes to a stop at 10, and Harry retracts, leaving her a red, heated mess  and slightly panting. He takes the few steps to stand in front of the elevator doors, and clasps his hands behind his back. “Nothing. Nothing at all. Don’t know what you’re talking about.” He smiled at her sweetly, his demeanor innocent as if we weren't just going to ravish her in an elevator like Robet Patterson for that one Dior commercial.

The doors open to a long hallway that turns sharply at the end to the right, a door where it would’ve turned on the left side. The right wall is a window that looks out onto the middle of the building, where y/n could see the pool that had been behind door. The flooring is a green colored tile, the same as the roofing, and the walls are a flattering soft yellow bordering on white.

Harry’s shoes, expensive looking-black heeled boots that have a rainbow pattern on the, making clacking noises against the floor with every step he takes. Y/n can’t help but feel awkward while walking alongside him, but  Harry, humming along to the tune of Maneater, by Hall and Oates, doesn’t seem to share her opinions. At the end of the hall, he makes a sharp turn to left, and she bumps into him. Mumbling a sorry she steps back to allow him to open the door. 

It’s not locked, and with a quick turn of the brass knob, the door opens and the smell of tomato and basil hits them both in the face. 

Y/n’s stomach grumbles, and she places her hand over her bell and looks over at Harry with wide eyes, embarrassed. 

“I take it you’re hungry?” He steps through, holding the door open for her.

“...yes…” she mumbled, stepping through. 

“Just in time then because I…” Whatever Harry says is drowned out. Y/n is amazed. Harry doesn’t have an apartment. He has a goddamn penthouse suite. His living room wall is a window, his kitchen open and blending in with the rest of the space. There are no walls, just turns where the building walls connect. Tall and wide walls painted with angles of shadows and lights that stream in. No furniture other than a long, wooden dinner table and three white chairs, and his bed. A mattress and a white comforter messily strewn over pillows. Before the walls turn to the streetside view, Y/n catches glimpses of cedar wood bookshelves arranged in the middle of the room; just like in a library. 

“Y/n?”  Harry appears in her line of peripheral vision, a knowing look on his face.

“Sorry, sorry. What was it?” 

“Said, do you want spaghetti and meatballs or fettuccine?”

“Mmm,” She scrunches her face like she’s thinking real hard, “fettuccine.” Then she adds, “please.” 

“You got it.” He said, walking away while playing with the collar of his turtleneck. Y/n follows after him, to the kitchen isle and utilities placed in a little alcove underneath the stairs that lead upstairs. To what, y/n didn’t know. 

Then she sees the pots and pans that are still steaming, the cutting boards with chopped lettuce and other vegetables and realizes that-

“Hey! You said you had takeout,”

“I did.” He picks up the knife next to the tomato, and continues chopping the lettuce.  “But I left it out, and it went bad. I promised you Italian so I made it myself instead. Much better than Olive Garden, anyways.” He shrugs, looking up at her and pointing with the knife to a chair across from him. “Sit.”

“NO!” She said, exasperated. “Let me chop something, too.”

“Darling, this is finished. I’ve got it. Sit, the fettuccine is almost finished. Just,” he twists his neck to look behind him, at the clock above the stove, a cat with a swinging tail. “Five more minutes.” 

Y/n slides the bag she carried off her shoulder and hooks it in the back of the chair he had told her to sit on, which she still wasn’t.

“Harry, that’s not fair.” she stomped her foot, a flat slapping noise of her sole against his wooden floors.

“Oh sit, or I won’t give you any food.” He tuts his tongue at her, shaking his knife and turning to turn down one of the knobs on the stove.

Pouting like a child, y/n sits down with a plop and a screech of the chair sliding against the floor.

She sat and watched Harry as he took plates out of his cupboards and placed food on them. The only noises being the quiet bubbling of pasta sauce, the tapping of his heels, clinks of plates against each other, and y/n’s grumbling stomach. Her face was still puckered in a pout because Harry hadn’t let her help him, but it slowly eased off as she focused more and more on the way he looked in his fitting black pants. The way the fabric was tighter on his ass, how his thighs flexed with each stride. Suddenly, y/n got the urge to bite into them, and she felt herself blush at her own thoughts, especially when Harry turned to her with a sweet smile of his lips.

He placed a plate in front of her, complete with salad and garlic knots. 

“Would you like some wine? Got this really nice one the other day and I haven’t opened it yet. Figured since we’re having Italian, it fits.” Harry was holding a dark wine bottle in his hand, that he had just pulled out of his silver fridge. 

“Harry, I would love some, but-” Y/n tried to explain that she felt bad because she came here for take out and had cooked her a meal.

“NO buts. Have some.” And instantly, there was a cup of red wine next to her plate.

Even though he had a table for eating, he placed his own plate next to her, and sat down to eat. Y/n looked at him, deflated and with a pained look on her face, while he forked spaghetti into his mouth and raised his glass for a drink. 

He froze when he saw she was looking at him. Looking her up and down, he said, “Moppet, eat your food. We have work to do.” 

Y/n rubbed her palm down her face, her lips pulled down. With a groan, she picked up her fork, sulking, and twirled it in her pasta.

She didn’t know what she was expecting, but definitely not the mini piece of heaven that was in her mouth. Harry had managed to create the perfect blend of cheese and cream that glazed her tongue like silk. It was so good, she moaned, her fingers pressing against her mouth and head tilted back. 

“S’good,? Harry questioned, wiping his mouth with a napkin to hide his laugh.

“Very,” she said, shoving more of the pasta into her mouth.

“Good.”

They eat quietly, Harry snickering at her whenever inhumane noises of pleasure left her mouth.Y/n practically cleaned her plate with the garlic knots. She only remembered about the glass of wine when Harry set his down empty, lips stained, and eyes droopy if she looked at him hard enough. After she’d cleaned her plate, she reached for the thin stem of the g;ass and drank it like it was grape juice, only slightly wincing after it had gone down, the tart acidity washing down the sweeter tones of cream. 

“Slow down, Moppet. Don’t want you to get a tummy ache.” Harry said, patting her hand tenderly and pushing himself off the seat to place her plate in the sink. At this, y/n jumped from her chair and took the plates from Harry. 

“You cooked, not I wash the dishes.” She stuck her tongue out at him, the tip red from the wine.

“But-” Harry protested.

“No buts. Go,” she bumped her hip against his, and walked the last few steps to the sink, picking up the sponge and turning on the water. She washed the dishes, and like always, got the front of her dress wet, water splattering onto her chest. Sucking on her teeth, y/n used the towel hanging on the handle of the oven to pat off the water. Harry watched this from where he leaned against the isle across from the stove; a new glass of wine half empty.

Returning to the table, she grabbed her now full- no thanks to Harry- glass of wine and sipped from it. It settled nicely in her stomach, warming down the path it took to settle.

Clasping her hands, she said, “Okay, Harry. Let’s talk decor.”

Harry untucked his hand from underneath his armpit, and smacked his lips together, “Follow me.”

He started walking out to the living room area, and into the bookshelves y/n had seen. Up close, they were actually taller than her, just about Harry’s height. He walked past them, and stopped again at a corner where one building face meets the other. Here, he had pictures upon pictures laid out on the floor. He even had scraps of fabric.

Y/n stared, and nodded approvingly. “You did your research. Good job.” Looking closer, she saw what the images were. Albums (David Bowie, Stevie Nicks, Fleetwood Mac, The Eagles, The Beatles, Prince). Pop culture pieces (Andy Narwhal, Pulp Fiction, Sixteen Candles). Fabric patterns, colors, and a lot of velvet. About half of the pictures were shots of other room like the pictures he’d shown her. 

To her left, Harry tapped onto his phone, and seconds later, that song he’d been humming in the hallway, Maneater, played with clarity on speakers hidden from the eye. When he was satisfied with his queue choices, he knee and sat next to his big circle of inspiration, legs splayed out in front of him looking infinitely long.  Y/n noticed he had taken off his boots, and his feet, knobby and lanky, had toes painted blue and pink. He had black markings on his big toe, but she couldn’t see what it was.

“Look, sit sit, I was thinking…” Harry began, patting the area next to him and grabbing a few of the papers he had spewed on the floor. Y/n, inexplicably endeared, sat with her legs crossed to the side next to him, feeling her butt press onto the cold floor, and listened to him go on and on about his vision. 

Hours passed with them just talking about images, why Fleetwood Mac would go better than Prince (because Fleetwood Mac is more of an afternoon in the meadows, and Prince is a night going down the highway in Malibu) and fabric choices for the windows (i’m sorry Harry, y/n had argued, but unless you can find a near translucent velvet its not gonna work. If you want the summer in italy during the 70’s look, you need transparent curtains).

They sat long enough that the way the light filtered in at an angle according to the sun, changed completely (it was at a harsh slant with the morning light, now its at a soft bend with golden light). When the light made Harry’s face look a golden pink, he fell back onto the wooden floors with a groan and said,

“How do you do this, y/n?” He blew hair out of his lips to move the few strands that had fallen in front of his eyes.

“Dunno, its just second natur- heeyy,”

A midst the mess, she guesses they missed it. Underneath a picture of a fruit bowl and flowers, was a picture of a naked woman, with birds eye view from the bot of her head, so you could see the tips of her breasts with they way she arched her back, and the head of hair in between her thighs. Her mouth was open in a silent scream of pleasure, eyes closed and a hand fisting her own hair like she was doing to the man in between her thighs.

Her cheeks burn upon her discovery, and she feels a familiar buzz in the place where the woman in the picture had a tongue pressed against her. 

When he heard her little gasp, Harry shot straight up and when he saw the image in her hands he said, “Ah, I see you’ve finally found it. Was wonderin’ when it would come out.” Reaching across her, his chest smushed againt her shoulder, he plucks it from her hands and look at it, smirking.

“You didn’t tell me we’d be doing x-rated work.” 

She says it teasingly.

But maybe it was the way she was looking at him then. She couldn’t help it. The roots of his hair looked blonde in the light, and his eyes were clear, almost see through as light passed them. His lips looked particularly tasty, having been tinted red from the wine, glinting from his own spit, and swollen from how he’d plucked at them while he was thinking about her suggestions. The juncture of his throat was partly hidden, but she could still see every time he swallowed, hos his adam’s apple bobbed up and down. And… and it wasn’t her fault that black pants looked good on him either. The material stretching taught over his muscles, flexing with every, single movement he made, no matter how small.  

So, maybe she had been looking at his provocatively, and her comment had… fueled Harry. Tuned him in on what had been on her mind.

He lifts himself with one arm from his indian-style position on the floor, up to his knees, and crawls to her. Eyes looking with hers, y/n’s chest starts to heave, her breaths growing bated; shorter; faster. 

“Do you want to do x-rated work?” He said, his voice dangerously low. His rings clink against the wooden planks, and brush against her thighs when he comes close, hands bracketing her hips, his nose nudging hers.

She’s gupping, like a little guppy fish, her lips opening and close, but nothing comes out of them.

Harry’s nose moves to her cheek, pushing back her hair. “It’s okay, pet. I can ask you again. Do you want,” his lips are at her ear for the second time that day, except that she thinks maybe they’ll actually gets somewhere this time. All she has to do is say,

“Yes.” Her voice is small, an airy squeak when Harry presses a kiss to the back of her ear. Her hands, sitting dumbly on her lap, move tentatively to his chest, searching from something to hold onto. She clenches the soft fabric in her hands just as Harry starts to lean back, his palm falling into her naval, and pushing her back, back, back, until she has to stretch her legs out to lay comfortable on her back, staring up at him with bleary eyes, glossed over.

“Yes? Course you do, pet.” He moves his knees to straddle her hips, leaning down close so he’s almost talking into her mouth, and one of his hands smooths down the shape of her waist. Y/n feels herself grow wet when Harry dips his thumb into her belly button, and she’s whining because she hasn’t done anything with anybody in so long and she wants him to do something.

But, if he’s not gonna do anything, that she might as well. She stretched her neck the last of the way, flattening her lips against Harry’s. The relief is instant, she quells her desire of being closer to him, and Harry responds almost immediately, swiping his tongue on her bottom lip and licking into her when she lets him. Harry groans, because she still tastes like wine and a sweetness he can only credit to her. His kiss becomes urgent, smashing his against her soft, malleable mouth.

Y/n whimpers, hips jutting upwards when Harry takes her lower lip between his teeth, and bites down on it,hard enough to where the pain was pleasure. Although her mind is swimming, she knows that the bulge she feels through the flimsy cloth of her dress is Harry’s cock. Elated and driven mad by her need, she arches up into him, needing any friction she could.

Harry pulls away from her, their lips separating with a wet noise, and tuts his tongue at her. “Ah, ah, ah. You’re not getting my cock tonight, y/n. Not yet.”

She mewls, her eyebrows dipping and red, puffy lips pouting, “Harry, don’t be a tease. S’not fair.” She doesn’t care is she sounds pathetic, the space between her thighs aches, and she’d like him to very much sate it “Do something, please.”

He coos at her, pressing wet kisses along her neck, his hand sneaking past her waist, to the start of her dress, and slipping underneath it. “Whining like a little puppy, aren’t you?” His hand glides of her thigh, the shill of his rings sending a violent shiver up her spine. His nail scratches a path near the place where she’s most warm. Most needy, and she moans when he feels how close he is to touching her, the splotch on her panties expanding every time he spoke. “You’re alright puppy, I’ll take care of you.”

Y/n’s breath hitches when his finger hooks onto the strap of her underwear, snapping the material twice with a chuckle at the cries he elicited from her. 

“Harry, harry, harry,” she’s half mad with need, her eyes squeezed shut with anticipation, and when Harry sees the desperation in her slack mouth, his own features go soft, and he takes out his hand from underneath her dress to cup her cheek. 

“Puppy,” he said, and when she didn’t open her eyes, he said again, “Puppy, look at me.” his thumb rubs over her cheek, ignoring the imploring whines that leave her lips, and instead leaning down and kissing her to shut her up. “It’s okay, its okay. Do you want me to keep going?”

“Yes!” She shouted, eyes going wide, amazed that he’d even ask that. “Do something.” She ruts up again, the head of Harry’s cock nudging against her hood. Harry groans, noticing how fucking hard he is. He’s leaked through his pants, a darker splotch where his head it.

“Fuck, baby,” he said, more to himself than to her.

His hand makes the same trail it had before, flipping up her dress this time to see her clothed center. Her panties make him want to cum on the spot. Baby pink cotton with a bow on the center of the band. Biting his lip, he uses a knee to spread her thighs, and then he sees just how much she needs him. 

“Oh puppy. We’ve made a mess of your panties haven’t we?” He looks at her with amusement, “Guess they have to go, don’t they?” 

Y/n hums desperately, her hips writhing up to meet his fingers. Pressing a last kiss to her lips, Harry scoots back so his knees are by her feet, and he and slip off the material all the way off. Suddenly aware of how bare she is, he clasps her thighs sht, obscuring Harry’s view of her pussy. 

“C’mon now, honey. Don’t be shy,” with a strong hand, he pries her knees apart and lays himself down in front of her, his breath hot on her swollen clit. From that angle, he can see how much she glistens, and how her juices spill out of her every time she clenched her hole around nothing. “Look at you, just begging to be stuffed.”

With a single finger, he slides up and down her slit, collecting her wetness, and then slipping into her. 

Y/n bleats, his intrusion stirring her heat up more; she wanted more. Wanted to be filled than more with just his finger, but was scared to say. Instead she said, “another,”

Harry slid his middle finger inside her, scissoring his fingers and leaning down to lick a stripe on her clit. Y/n arched her back, and moaned loudly, her eyes squeezing shut and hands touching at the area around her, looking for something to hold on to and settling to clenching at her own dress.

He hears the sound of her hands colliding with the floor, and looks up to see her knuckles going white with hoe hands she was fondling her dress.

“Y’can pull my hair, puppy.” he said against her slit, the vibrations of his words sending prickled of pleasure to the building orgasm she feels in the pit of her stomach. The second her muddled brain comprehends what Harry said, her fingers jam themselves into her his hair, just as he suckles on her. Y/n’s eyes roll to the back of her head, and her gasps come out in staccatos.

Harry’s fingers are still pumping in an out of her, twisting every time he pushed them back into her. He’s looking for the spongy spot inside of her, when he hears her say something incoherently.

“What was that?” he asked her,his fingers stilling inside her.

“Said, what about you?”

Her voice is faint and weak, her voice and comment sending pin-pricks of satisfaction to his throbbing member. His heart clenches at her considerations, so touched by the fact that she’s so lost in her own heat but she’s still worried about him.

“This isn’t about me. It’s about you. Y’gonna cum for me, puppy?” He feels the pad of his middle finger slide against something that has a different texture that the rest of her, and when her breathing hitches and she lets out a long moan, he knows hes found what he’s looking for. Y/n’s pussy clenches around, her fingers tighten in his hair, so hard it makes Harry yelp. “Clenching m’fingers, puppy, I know you’re there.” 

Y/n feels the familiar slow burn of her orgasm twisting in the pit of her stomach, her entire body hyper aware of Harry and what he was doing to her. How he pressed a hand on her navel to keep her from lifting her hips, the harsh sucking of her clit, and then finally the flick of his pointer finger curling inside her.  The build-up unravels, and her mouth opens up in a silent scream like the women in the picture, her body going taught, and then falling limp when the wave calms.

“That’s it, love. All better now isn’t it?” Harry slowly takes his fingers out of her, reveling in the way she’s still squeezing around him. She’s sensitive and jerking from her orgasm when He lick his fingers clean, kissing his path up her body. Her thighs, her exposed navel, her clothed valley of her breasts, her collarbones, and up her throat, behind her ear where he’s taken a liking to kissing.

“Jesus, Harry. Where’d you learn to talk like that?” She titters sleepily.

“S’my job, puppy.” He nibbles at her earlobe and down her jawline.

Alarmed, y/n’s eyes pop open, and she sits up, pushing Harry’s chest and holding him at arms length. “What do you mean, it’s your job?” She’s scared she’s just been used or something along those lines.

“I mean it’s my job. Learned a few skills from writing erotica, pet.” He responses calmly, diving back in to continue his assault on the skin of her jaw. His voice warped against her, he adds, “write under a pseudonym. Lemus Knox.” 

Lemus Knox. 

Harry was Lemus Knox. Harry was Lemus fucking Knox.

“You’re…” she’s still. Almost like that fight or flight instinct. 

Harry stills when he realizes she has. He knows, simply by the tone of her voice that she knows who he is. Who Lemus Knox is.He withdraws to look at her, grinning fro  ear to ear.

“You know who I am?” he said slowly.

“Harry, I’d even go as far as saying I’m in love with Lemus,” she blurts, reddening as soon as the words leave her mouth, but Harry just smiles fondly at her.

“That’s okay, puppy. Lemus and I aren’t the same person. You have a right to love him,” he nuzzles into her neck, kissing down her shoulder, “Just as long as you save some love for me.”

And lying there, completely stunned ant with Harry’s hard cock pressing into her hip, y/n bursts out laughing. She laughs because she’s happy. Because she likes Harry. Because she loves Lemus Knox.

She laughs because for the first time in a long time, someone is laughing along with her, kissing her, holding her.

She laughs because she can’t wait to see where Harry will lead her.

[vminity21]

Wishes instead of Weeds | jhs

Pairing: DanceTeacher!Hoseok x Waitress!Reader, Pharmacist!Jeongguk x Female!Reader

Word Count: 22,502

Genre: angst/fluff/romance/smut

Warning(s): angst involving heartbreak, strong language use, mention of alcohol, eventual smut, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, breast worship, smutty kissing, potential slow burn? Rated: M

Summary: After an unexpected breakup, you find yourself living day by day wanting nothing more than to be happy again. Though your best friend M and your co-workers bring a smile to your face, the restaurant's regular, Jung Hoseok, happens to be a new light that shines in your life even though you don't realize it at first. 

The corner of a faded picture is pressed between your fingertips before thumbing away at some clustered debris covering his face. “Shit,” you whisper between grit teeth, letting your jeans slip from your lap to lightly plop upon the ground. Laundry has been finished hence why the discovery of the picture being found in the pocket brings a wince of pain considering it is one of the few memories you have of the two of you. Your grip loosens to where the photo sways landing face down on the table, your palms sliding along your face and into your hair, sniffling back whatever tears threatening to spill down your cheeks.

Jeongguk left you without any warning.

It’s been a few weeks, but the blow to the chest still feels as fresh as it did the night you came home from an already eventful day at work, stepping into the kitchen, curling your fingers around the handle of the fridge to notice upon opening it that he still hadn’t eaten his leftovers from his favorite restaurant the pair of you frequented a few evenings prior. In fact, your eyebrows creased when you remembered he never came home last night, nor was he in bed when you awoke that morning to chilly covers and a strange feeling harboring your heart. The burning question prompted you to trail to your room, seeing a letter laying crinkled at the end of the exposed mattress.

You would think you would have panicked, dialing his number countless times until he answered, or even sent a bundle of text messages begging him to tell you where he is- if he’s okay, but knowing how he is a man of space, you did nothing of the sort. None of it changed the way your heart shattered into a million pieces when the words stared back at you, haunting you every night sparking more questions than you wanted to deal with. Nothing prepared you for the endless dread of nausea and the empty feeling consuming your entire being, or the loss of his presence mingled with the hopeless dream of him reappearing to tell you he’s sorry for what he’d done to you. But, there’s nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Hugging your knees to your chest, a faint aroma of his cologne wafts from his jacket hung over the chair across from you. Uncertain of why it had been thrown into the trash, you couldn’t bear to let it go to waste, so instead, it now remains in your vision in hopes of being reunited with its rightful owner. And even now, as tears drip from your chin, you ponder on where everything went wrong, only to find not one answer to reveal itself. There was hardly any fighting. If there were to be a time where the pair of you disagreed upon a matter, Jeongguk would lace your fingers with his, sit you down to discuss the topic at hand. It always resulted in loving grins before he’d lean in to feather a small kiss to your lips.

He told you he loved you as he always did which never incited any suspicions, and though he had his moments of distance, that had never been anything new to you because in the few years of being his girlfriend, he had the days that he wanted to himself in which you gladly let him have. Every decision made, even if it involved a situation as simple as picking a place to eat, both of you would name three places of choice and if a mutual restaurant was said aloud, that would be the result of the evening. Conversation, from what you can decipher, may have dimmed partially, but not much exciting has happened to really talk about other than the promotions of each of your jobs. Hence why there was a celebration at Jeongguk’s favorite restaurant.

You have replayed every scenario from the beginning of the relationship to the end over and over in a relentless loop to the unhealthy point that a slight thud of a headache creates. How can someone leave their significant other, whom they claim they love, without a reason behind it? Even if their reasoning wouldn’t make any sense, at least they have a reason to share. Feeling weak, you rest your chin on your knees, the wrinkled letter that was left for you to find has been placed upon the table only a short distance from the photo you were holding. ‘I’m sorry,’ is scribbled directly in the center of the paper.

Jeongguk never had anything to be sorry for in your mind, until now. With a long, shaky exhale, you use the hem of your sleeve to dry your face, gradually standing to your feet with the intention of putting away the folded laundry to then arranging for bed. Due to your promotion, you’re thankful to discover that you will be making enough money to at least pay the bills for the apartment; with the sudden change of being alone that was one of your top concerns, also not wanting your mother to find out knowing she would send you money immediately. You want to avoid the confession of the breakup, too, because you do not want to feel like a burden to anyone, even if you may have felt that way to him, though you’re not sure if you will ever know. Robotically, the next hour achingly completes before you slip under the sheets, hoping that your day tomorrow will bring you at least a tad bit of strength.

Strong scents of coffee and bacon greet your nose as it does every morning when you arrive at your job that you happen to call your second home. A family member of yours owns the diner that daintily sits off the side of the road surrounded by a recently mowed lawn, and rustic flowerpots gifted by people of the town where a florist visits to ensure the plants will be watered. You’ve always loved the aura of the area, especially with the way people seemed to treat each other, and despite your title being a waitress, which Jeongguk’s parents used to shame until he had stood up for you, you do receive good benefits here. Patting your chest frantically, the rectangular piece of your nametag is felt which relieves you that you hadn’t forgotten about it this morning, bringing enough distraction from the inner heartache you’re trying to suppress.

Clocking in, you briskly scoop up a notepad, helping your co-workers with the breakfast rush; you were promoted to being the assistant manager since you’ve been waitressing here for many years, and thankfully your shifts end at 5:30 pm when your relative takes over, giving you the evenings to yourself. You are mainly responsible for keeping the shelves stocked- placing orders for whatever supplies are needed as well as handling the drawers to ensure the money count is accurate. When you notice one of the employees, Park Jimin is waiting one of the only tables left once the crowd minimizes momentarily, you saunter to the kitchen to check on the chefs since you unfortunately missed greeting them this morning.

“Hey, [Y/N]!” Chef Von says, his puffy cheeks squinting his eyes from how wide he’s smiling- he slaps slabs of meat onto the grill, the sizzling sound popping in your ears, “Are you ready for today?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be!” You reply, squeezing his large shoulder, “What about you?”

“Always,” he chuckles, taking tongs to lightly press the meat harder onto the crackling grill. Another chef, Kim Seokjin, is working on shoving pans of biscuits into the oven, then turning to slice some fruit set off to the side while the dough bakes. Your number one priority when given the chance upon starting your shift is checking on every employee to ensure they’re okay. When all give positive answers, you shuffle behind one of the main counters when first walking into the building to see if any customers need refills. The ding of the door alerts you once you pour a mug of coffee for an individual sitting off to the side, your gaze averting to recognize the tall, thin figure of the restaurant’s regular, Jung Hoseok, hands cuddled into the pockets of his coat, swiftly stepping to the same seat at the counter he occupies every single morning.

A small grin tugs at the corner of your lips, “Long time no see,” you tease, watching the brief tilt of his head that follows a contagious smile, “You want your usual?”

He’s still chuckling, ears bent slightly from the pressure of his cap hiding the majority of his curly hair that peeks enough to decorate his forehead, “You know me so well,” he caves into your joke, clasping his hands together after resting his arms on the counter. Steaming coffee is currently being poured in a mug which you then serve him, “Thank you,” he says, nodding once.

“Of course!” You maintain a cheery façade despite how empty you feel inside, and partly paying attention to what you just jotted down, you place the ticket for Hoseok’s order on the spinning scale before Seokjin swipes it to get started. You divert yourself into cleaning tables that are now vacant from customers, getting lost in the fifteen minutes of helping your co-workers; stacking a pile of plates into your hands you spin on a heel in the direction of the kitchen when someone outside the windows of the restaurant causes you to pause in shock, the plates slipping from your hands where they clash and bang into numerous shattered pieces on the tile floor. Biting your tongue to prevent from cursing, panic overwhelms you while a deep shade of red crimsons your cheeks and chest, sweat perspiring the lining of your forehead from the tension of stares not leaving your frame. By mistake, you thought you saw… But it wasn’t him at all. Jogging to retrieve a broom and dustpan, you sweep the glass shards as efficient as you can, until the silhouette of a co-worker, enters your peripherals.

“Are you okay?” Your best friend, Monica, who you normally call M, asks once you’re a quarter of the way into cleaning.

“Ye-yeah. Yeah,” you stutter, trying to ignore the evident humiliation planted within your expression. M investigates the way your widened eyes have yet to calm, seeing right through your reply.

“I think you need to take a few minutes to breathe,” she offers, and when you can’t seem to clear your head enough to listen, she lightly touches your wrist, “[Y/N], it’s okay, I’ll finish up. Go ahead, take a moment.”

You meet her eyes before nodding in defeat, your quivering chin is enough to tell her that you really haven’t been okay, though she’s unaware of why. The warmth of outside is enough to soothe your skin, your feet determined to make it to one of the picnic tables located on the side of the restaurant where gratefully not a soul happens to be inhabiting. In frustration, you’ve done well masking the truth underlying your hollow smile, or so you thought, but dropping onto the bench, you bury your face in your hands blocking out the crying you fight to hold back.

“Hey…” A tender voice belonging to that of a male springs your gaze up from your stiff hands, shoulders slumping in relief to see it’s Hoseok, though concern clouds his almond eyes.

“I’m- I’m sorry. I hope all that noise didn’t disturb your breakfast,” you apologize, clearly embarrassed, though your grin doesn’t reach your eyes.

Hoseok’s lips part, “No, not at all, in fact, I came to see if you were okay,”

“I am,” you lie because really you are nowhere close to it, but knowing Hoseok made his way to come check on you really means a lot; him being a customer for two years, it’s not like he’s completely a stranger, so at least there’s not any awkward tension.

“Okay, well I hope you don’t mind, but I’m going to sit here until you’re okay,” he says, swinging his thin leg over the seat across from you.

“But- but I am okay-” Obviously caught off guard, Hoseok holds an index finger up to stop you,

“Your nametag is upside down.”

“Huh-” Eyes falling to where your nametag is clipped, you mentally scold yourself because although you felt to make sure you hadn’t forgotten it this morning, you didn’t even think to check to make sure you had placed it correctly, “How did I miss that?” You mutter.

“Also, you’ve been chewing on your lips nonstop since you’ve been here today,” he mentions, you clamping your lips in a firm line when you realize you have been giving them a good gnawing, a habit you only do when under extreme stress. “And,” his gaze flickers to the tip of his converse scraping against the pavement, “I always order a side of pancakes with chocolate syrup. But today I got French toast instead.”

Oh shit, you gasp, eyes widening in horror because the name of the person you do not want to speak of- his favorite is French toast which you accidentally wrote on Hoseok’s order without even realizing. “Oh my gosh, Hoseok,” you pinch the bridge of your nose in shame, “I am so, so sorry. I can’t believe I did that,”

“My point,” he leans forward holding your eyes where worry for your wellbeing hasn’t diminished, “[Y/N]? Are you okay?”

Sadness drowns your mind prompting a brief sigh to brush over your dry lips. Hoseok watches you, and while you concentrate on how overwhelming everything has been, there are details about you he’s noticed that you wouldn’t even notice about yourself; Hoseok is known to be very observant, in some cases, it is a blessing more than a curse, especially when it comes to people he is interested in. With steady hands, you rest them on the picnic table, the cycle of notions running a thousand miles per minute.

When the slam of a car door interrupts the moment, you direct your attention to the sound. A male, with gray strands of hair complimenting a black headband, fumbles with his keys pressing a button that signifies the locking of his car. In one hand, he’s holding what looks like a bouquet of roses; his black sweatshirt brightening the deep shade of red in the sunlight. Your eyes blink to the entrance of the restaurant where you see M, with her palms to her face, jump with excitement as she runs to the man, throwing her arms around his neck. You can’t help the happy flutter in your heart as you watch the guy tighten his arms around her back burying his head into her purple hair, cherishing every second of her as the two sway from side to side.

Memories of…. The person you do not want to name comes to mind, reminding you of the days you realized you were falling in love with him where moments of doses involving the tip of your nose buried into the crook of his warm collar. You catch Hoseok looking back at the adorable couple still enveloped in each other’s embrace, then reverting to glimpse at you. Meeting his gape, but only for a second, you look down towards your frail hands, ignoring the sudden urge to cry, “No,” you murmur, “No, I’m not okay.”

M pulls away, her smile joyous, accepting the bundle of roses. The guy rests his hand on her cheek leaning in for a kiss. You wonder who he is, especially since M has never mentioned a boyfriend, at least not around you, but you inwardly voice that you haven’t been very talkative as of late either. Regardless, your heart melts for her as you watch the couple hand in hand walk into the restaurant.

“Hey,” Hoseok’s tone is endearing- the kind you hear before someone pats the back of your hand in a way to make things seem better. Your heart is so broken, the cheery frontage you have been faking is slowly unzipping, exposing a layer of you that you didn’t want anyone to see.

“I’m-I’m sorry, Hoseok,” you stand to your feet avoiding eye contact, using your palms to smooth out your uniform. “I should get back to work.” Power walking to the entrance of your job, you do not look back, even though you feel guilty for dodging someone who was doing nothing more than being polite. Prolonged stares of your coworkers are a given, especially with how close-knit everyone is, but you can’t let that distract you from your work, so until the end of your shift rolls around, you help take orders to get caught up. It’s all a blur when you find yourself in your car, tentatively focusing on the drive home to when you safely park.

The light is dimming outside and once you turn the key in the ignition, the engine silences, and you lean back in your seat, closing your eyes as you swallow the lump building in your throat. Just call him, those words have echoed various times since Jeongguk’s disappearance, yet you can’t seem to collect enough courage to dial his number. Excuses swarm in your mind; he’s probably busy, maybe he’s with his family, maybe he’s at work; and, you haven’t been able to put how much you wish you knew how he’s been doing to rest; honestly, not much of anything involving him has been put to rest, because how can any closure come from something so hurtful such as this? As much as you want to be angry right now, you can’t bring yourself to be, especially with how much you agonizingly miss him. When you open your eyes, you let out a long exhale through your nose trying to calm the nerves stemming beneath your chest.

You can’t take this anymore. You just need to do it. You need to call him. You need to hear his voice no matter how much it destroys you. No more dithering, you grab your phone, sifting through your contacts until you land on his name. In one quick second, you click it, the screen igniting to show it is dialing. Raising the phone to your ear, you swallow, your mouth uncomfortably dry; your fingertips ice cold while you anxiously wait, each dial pounding in unison with the headache that is now forming. C’mon Guk, C'mon, you interiorly plead, tears glistening in the corner of your eyes, squeezing them shut.

“Hello, this is Jeon Jeongguk, sorry I couldn’t take your call-”

“Damnit!” you wail, hanging up abruptly, tossing your phone into the passenger side. That is the first you’ve heard him speak rounding up to a month, and though no one is watching, your hands hover over your face where you choke out breathy sobs, wishing you never attempted to call. He must think you’re weak, you torture yourself with mindless insecurities, but still, where is he? Which then sparks the next question, do you really want to know? What feels to make matters worse is how you profusely wish he was just here. Right next to you where you used to think he belonged- holding your hand in his especially on nights where you needed his comfort most. None of this makes any sense, because where in the world did you go wrong? Why does this all make you feel like this is completely your fault? What if he ever says you hadn’t tried hard enough? What if-?

The vibration of your phone causes you to jolt, your heart thrumming in your temples as your eyes glued to the phone light reflecting in your car window. With careful hands, you reach for the device, turning it to see who is calling. A sigh of relief fills you when you see the initial M staring back at you. Snorting back as much mucus as you can, you wipe under your eyes one final time before answering.

“Hello,” you wince at the stuffy noise of your voice hoping M doesn’t notice.

“You are the nosiest, inquisitive, you-better-tell-me-now-before-I-cut-you, woman I have ever known, and yet you didn’t ask one- Hey, are you okay?”

“I’m sorry, M,” your laughter is hoarse, “I didn’t mean to ignore you today. But yes. Yes, I would like to know who this man of yours is,” you sniff, the tear stains feeling sticky on your reddened cheeks. “Now, tell me.”

“Not until you get your ass over here,”

“But-”

“I’ve got wine.” She teases; her persuasive, chirpy voice echoing on the line. “Besides, it’s been a while since we’ve had some girl time. So, I suggest you hurry over here before I down this entire bottle!”

“I’m on my way.” You change into some comfy clothes before you leave, arriving in record time, M greeting you at her door dawned in yoga pants and a black sweatshirt which you wonder is from the mystery man who visited her at work earlier today.

“Who’s is that?” you pester, descending onto a bar stool sitting in front of M’s marble counter, the cool material blanketing your arms where you choose to lay them. She shoots you a playful glance, her purple hair covering the fronts of her shoulders.

“Yoongi’s,” she coos, her eyes averting to timidly browsing at the open bottle of red wine.

“Ah, Yoongi? How cute.”

“Oh, shut up,” she pours the both of you a glass, the two of you making cheers before taking a few sips, letting the strong taste pool on your tongue before swallowing.

“Now,” you say, setting your glass down for a moment, “Confess.”

M shakes her head, rolling her eyes before she takes another sip, “We dated in middle school.” Raising your eyebrows in interest, you nod for her to continue. “He ended up moving away, so of course being 12 and broke, we had no choice but to break up.” Her fingers ghost her wine glass to play with the strings at the neckline of the sweatshirt while reminiscing upon her story, “Crazy enough, a few months ago, he got back in touch with me, and I learned that he’s attending University in our town. He’s rooming with his childhood best friend right now. It just amazes me that he remembered me after all this time.”

“You’re the first person he thought of,” you remark.

“Yeah,” she sighs dreamily, her light shade of brown eyes sparkles in the kitchen light, “he surprised me today because his professor canceled class. It’s funny how it works, you know? Love happens when you least expect it.”

And, so does heartbreak, you force a smile to yourself after a long gulp of the bitter liquid, your eyes staring at your hand now cupping the glass, clinking it carefully with your fingernails, you try to shun any thoughts of…. from your mind without any luck. “[Y/N]?” M’s voice is soft and you’re not sure how long you’ve been zoned out, but you smile at her apologetically. “I’ve been quite worried about you lately. You haven’t been your buoyant self, so what gives?”

“I’m sorry, just a little tired.”

There’s a mini pause, one where M gathers her words before choosing to continue, “You know you never answered me earlier.” She mentions, and you chew at your lips as a canopy of guilt floods your vision. You still haven’t told a soul about the breakup, and M is your closest friend and coworker, and you can’t help feeling ashamed for keeping this from her. “And noting the dried dot of mascara on your cheek, I know something’s up.” Your fingertips fly to your face. “Other side,” and you move your hand to rub harshly at the skin.

“Thank you,” you whisper, bringing your fingertips to your mouth, squeezing your eyes shut while a stab of pain enters your already tainted heart. “He left,” is all you can muster, flinching at the thought of his name. Realization commences M’s expression because her eyes widen, her mouth forming an “O” shape in the reaction to how much she did not expect your words.

“Oh [Y/N], I am so sorry. I had no idea-”

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault. I haven’t told anyone… Not even my mom,” you confess- the rest of the wine in your glass calling your name as you try to prevent your heart from crashing again.

“Did he-?” M begins, her eyebrows furrowed in concern, and even though cheating is a potential possibility on the list of why people breakup, you grimace, not wanting to let the thought consume you.

“No. I don’t- I don’t know. He just left without any explanation.”

“What?” M murmurs in disbelief, “I never thought-”

“Me neither,” you down the rest of the wine from your glass not wanting to speak of the situation any longer; as an alternative, you gesture for M to pour you some more. She hesitates at first but dispenses the crimson beverage anyways.

“You know we have work tomorrow,” she reminds you though you engulf your second glass without delay since the buzz you’re gaining lightens the load weighing heavy on your soul.

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” you whine, clumsily reaching for the wine bottle, M grasping it away from you.

“No, ma’am. For someone who barely drinks, you sure are determined to steal it all.”

“It’s for a good cause,”

“Nah- ah!” M taps your hand away after your third attempt, “Your sanity is important. Now, go lay down. If there’s anything you really need, it’s a good night’s sleep.”

You groan, “Why do you have to be such a good friend,” you sag, M rounding the counter to put an arm underneath your shoulders.

“Because I am the bee’s knees.” She banters, helping you relax onto the couch. She leaves the room temporarily, bringing back a blanket to lay over your exhausted frame. “Goodnight, you drunk.” She teases when you sluggishly peer up at her.

“Goodnight, you killjoy.”

“Hey, you’ll thank me when you awaken without a splitting headache.”

“And, I’ll believe it when I arise from this couch at seven in the AM.”

She makes it to the entrance leading into the hallway to her bedroom while you cuddle into the blanket with immense appreciation; M pauses to look behind her shoulder at you, laughter echoing throughout the tiny living room. After a moment, gratitude overcomes you. “Thank you for tonight,” you beam, thankful to have a friend like her. M is the reason you make it through your shifts a hundred percent of the time; even on days like this when you feel so desolate, and you can’t even see the positivity right in front of you, M knows how to bring the best out of you, hence why the two of you have been stuck like glue since the day you met.

She holds your gaze, “Always… And [Y/N]?”

“Hm,” you grunt groggily, feeling the heavy flutters of your eyelids begging for slumber, but your ears perk enough, especially when M’s next words bring hushed tears to your tired eyes.

“You’ll get through this; I have no doubt. Whatever is going on, he made his choice. He’s running from this because he’s ashamed of something.”

Though the words echo in the night, they place themselves into your conscious until you drift into sleep- He’s running from this because he’s ashamed of something- and when dreams start to encompass your conscious, by some miracle you forget- you forget about the person who originally had been on your mind.

The following morning, you almost do not recognize where you are when your groggy eyelids open just enough to realize you are laterally pressed upon the couch of M’s; shadows of plants decorated throughout the living room clear into your peripherals once you shift your weight to lay onto your back. Uncertain of the time, you’re aware it’s way too early to prepare for work, but you also regret not packing a bag last night although you didn’t quite plan to drink as much as you did. For now, you stare at the ceiling, counting the imaginary stars you wish would align to a brighter path versus the sadness returning to plague your heart yet again.

He hadn’t appeared in your dreams this time, which alludes to the pondering question of why. Figuring it may have to do with not waking up in your bedroom, where he used to lay beside you, could potentially be the daunting reason, and you swallow the budding lump in your throat pleading with your memories to stay repressed as much as possible, but it’s no use. Jeongguk used to slip his strong arm around you every night, his solid chest pressed to your back before he’d touch a slow, warm kiss to your temple that sent tingles across your skin. And, it was always your safe place. The one part of your day that you always looked forward to, where his closeness brought you some form of peace that you needed. But… now that you think of it, he discontinued that routine maybe within the last six months before he fled, and the realization makes you want to beat yourself up for ignoring what could have been the biggest sign that something hadn’t been right.

This isn’t your fault.

Automatically, you squeeze your eyes shut before rubbing them roughly with your fingertips, begging to stop this nonsense of blaming yourself. You know this isn’t your fault, yet the pain doesn’t fade away enough to find some form of relief. It’s then, you rush to your feet, folding M’s blanket to nestle into the corner of the couch before slipping on your shoes and grabbing onto your keys and wallet before quietly treading out the door. There’s just enough time to throw in a quick shower before performing your daily morning list the second you reach your home- freshening up until you eventually find yourself in the driver’s seat, slowly turning the key until the roar of your car awakens.

You remember him like it was yesterday. Or every yesterday in between. Where he placed his large hand on your thigh as you kept your laughing eyes on the road. Every song that came on the radio, Jeongguk would sing to, holding his bunny smile while you cheered him on, letting his vibrato whisk you away into a giddy world where you hoped and prayed it would never end. But it did, you want to scream in pure frustration, because it seems no matter where or what you do, everything reminds you of him. And it’s not fucking fair. The lining of your jaw tenses when you notice the gritting of your teeth, and the stiff way your hands grip the steering wheel as you drive. It’s not like you can help it with the breakup still being so fresh, but you wish time would heal much faster than how it’s been in the last month.

Smoky smells of savory meat waft in the air while your shoes crunch along the gravel lot; few cars are parked meaning the morning crowd hasn’t officially arrived, so with quick precision, you clock in, bursting into the kitchen to greet the chefs who are in the process of chopping vegetables in fast motion against large cutting boards.

“I still don’t get how you two do that without cutting your fingers off,” you tease, eyes widening as they slice- shaking your head in disbelief.

Seokjin shrugs, “Practice makes perfect,” his plump lips form an eloquent smirk before gesturing his clear-gloved hand to reveal a few small scars etched on some of his fingers.

“When you’ve been in the business as long as I have, it becomes second nature,” Chef Von’s smile causes his eyes to crinkle at the corners, evident gray hairs shimmer in his trimmed sideburns as he glances down to retrieve more ingredients to cut.

“Well, before I am tempted to see if I can chop some onions at the speed of light, I’m going to take some orders,” turning on a heel to leave the kitchen, Seokjin and Von’s chuckles reverberate behind you, reminding you of how thankful you are for every one of your coworkers. They are your family, which is something you treasure- sending a quick hello to waitress LenLen and waiter Jimin, they rush past to gather whatever was asked of them by their tables. You’re so distracted, you almost miss the brush of M’s shoulder as she ambles past- her way of saying hi after she clocks in, and you smile to yourself as you watch your best friend sprint to take the first table in her section’s order.

It takes a second before you round the counter to make a fresh brew of coffee, refilling an elderly man’s mug, before your eyes raise to see the figure of Jung Hoseok entering the restaurant- the jingle of the doorbell foggy within your ears when a pang of guilt hits your chest at the memory of yesterday. Being you are a professional at your job, you welcome him as though you don’t feel any awkward tension you typically are overthinking, “How are you this morning?” You ask, pouring him a steaming cup of the liquid, carefully sliding it towards him without spilling droplets of the content.

“Dandy!” He chuckles, his thin fingers curling around the handle as he takes a seat.

“Hey, that’s a great answer!” You smile, scribbling the correct order before spinning to pin it where Seokjin can see it.

“Hello, Hoseok!” M bellows, rushing past with a pitcher of water, “Funny seeing you here!”

“Hello to you too, Monnie!”

“Oh my word,” you giggle at her scurried state, “She’s a trooper I tell you,” you admire how hard she works, especially with how many tables she’s willing to tackle at once, and she never once complains.

“How are you?” There’s a concern in his tone that matches his eyes when you give him a knowing look pooling with culpability from when you rudely dodged him. Quickly dropping your gaze, you nervously check your nametag, appreciating that you put it on properly today, then returning his stare with a gentle grin.

“I’m doing well, thank you,”

“I’m glad to hear that,” he says genuinely, and though what you said is partly a lie, the other half of you doesn’t feel as anxious as the day before. Your grin falls a tad when you keep reliving the incident prior, and running your palms along your apron uncomfortably, you decide now must be the right time to apologize since there isn’t many customers currently.

“Hoseok, I um,” you stammer, “I’m so sorry. For yesterday. I shouldn’t have run off like that. It was very rude of me.”

“No need to apologize,” he waves briefly, the corners of his mouth smiling wider in assurance, “You’re fine I promise. I didn’t take any offense to it whatsoever.”

Holding his brown eyes, you are incredibly grateful for his kindness, “Thank you. Really, thank you. It was extremely sweet of you to check up on me.”

“Anytime,” you’ve always loved seeing his smile, which you almost envy, although it is comforting to see every morning especially when you need a pick-me-up. The man has visited the restaurant every single morning for over 730 days, and yet you don’t know a single thing about him other than he orders the same exact thing for breakfast, and that he almost always comes alone.

Swarms of customers bustle into the restaurant putting a kick in your step to seat them, hand out menus and take orders, refilling drinks as you go- the typical morning crowd distracts to where you set aside the thoughts of your personal life for the time being, and once everything settles, you rush to the counter where Hoseok’s order is ready. Cautiously carrying the platter to him, steam rises from the cakes, the smell making your mouth water as a small gurgle erupts from your belly. Unfortunately, you forgot to eat this morning from your rush getting to work, and it reminds you that you hardly have been eating as much since… you shake your head to rid of the person you’re trying to forget.

“Pick a number from one through ten,”

“Huh,”

Hoseok’s words awaken you from your mini zone-out, cutting into the pile of deliciousness- the chocolate drizzle melting further into the layers before his eyes return to his phone screen set out beside him. “Pick a number between one and ten,” he repeats, still gluing his gaze to his cellular device.

Chuckling, confusion is obvious in your demeanor, your hands moving to rest on your hips, “Uh,” you draw out, “Seven.”

“Let’s see,” he murmurs, scrolling through the screen until he pauses, mouthing whatever words he’s reading, “Ah, okay, what is your favorite color?”

“Oh, that’s easy!” You shrug nonchalantly in preparation of answering until you see one of your customer’s almost finished with their plate. “Hold that thought,” you held up an index finger, swiftly checking on your tables, collecting payments, and returning to check on Hoseok once the coast becomes clear. You feel awful when you see that his plate is nearly empty, continuously apologizing for how long it's taken you to get back to him, but he assures you it’s fine considering  you’re at your job and that he’s the one who is sorry for distracting you.

“Now,” he leans forward with clasped hands, his plate set to the side along with his empty coffee mug, “What is your favorite color?”

“Purple,” you reply, shifting your weight whilst wiping your hands on a small towel you picked up on the way to check on him, “My favorite color is purple.”

“I think I knew that already,” he ponders for a moment.

“You do? How did you-?”

“You said a while back about that being the reason you knew Monnie was going to be your best friend.”

“Because she has purple hair,” you murmur, finishing his sentence, “I remember that.”

“And your pen is also-”

“Purple,” your fingertips brush against the pen hooked to the hem of your shirt in amazement of his memory being how long it has been since M started.

“Can I borrow it?” His question surprises you at first, but you shrug, pressing your lips together while nodding.

“Sure,” you set it before him, “Keep it, I have an extra.”

With a thumbs up, his eyes are back on his cellphone, “One more,”

“Question?”

“Mhm,”

“Alrighty, uhm.. Ten,”

“What is,” he starts slowly, his gaze in pure concentration, “What is your favorite flower?”

“Good question,” contemplating, you suck in your lips, because your flower of choice has always surprised people, especially since it’s not actually a flower at all. In fact, it is nothing, but a weed in many eyes. “Dandelion. One hundred percent, dandelions.”

“Wow,” Hoseok leans back slightly, “I’ve never heard that one before.”

“Have you ever seen dandelion seeds?”

“I have,”

“Well, if I could say every wish I have made with those things, you’d think I’m insane.”

“Wishes,” he speaks softly as if to himself, but loud enough for you to hear. “You see them as wishes instead of weeds,”

“Always have,” there are moments when the sun shines through the windows but happens to brighten more in certain moments perhaps when clouds move out of the view.

“What’s the biggest wish you’ve ever made if you don’t mind me asking?”

The question catches you off guard, your lips parting with the intention of answering, but with your luck, the signal of the door’s bell is all that is needed to have to interrupt the interesting conversation. It feels good to be asked questions and throwing Hoseok an apologetic glance, you immediately greet the family of four to then lead them to a clean, empty table. Performing your job by checking on your other tables, you scoop up dishes to be taken to the kitchen sink, losing track of time before you can head back to see if Hoseok’s okay. To your dismay, the seat he had occupied is now vacant, and you watch as M quickly sets the coffee mug upon the plate, disappearing into the kitchen with them.

Disappointment clouds you, though you are stunned by that fact. Inching closer to the counter, something enters your vision that you hadn’t realized was there. A green bill sits with what looks to be a ripped sheet of paper with a logo printed on the edge, which you recognize to be from M’s notebook is laying on top. Your fingertips graze the paper, the corner of the bill revealing it to be twenty bucks, which causes you to gasp in surprise considering his breakfast, which you give him a discount due to his customer loyalty and overall politeness, is a whopping $3.20. Your eyes then drop to the note which you observe is written with purple ink:

‘Sorry, had to run.

Keep the change. And I really do hope that you’re okay.

Hoseok : - )’

For safekeeping, the note from Hoseok is folded neatly within your wallet where small treasures gifted from friends remain. Though not highly superstitious, you still consider these reminiscent trinkets as good luck charms, something to bring a smile on your face when you need it the most. Jingling keys are the only sound reverberating in the parking lot before the thumps of your shoes bounce up the stairs. The lights are off as always when you finally enter your home though the vacancy of the atmosphere doesn’t feel like a home plaguing the persistent dread of loneliness. You did, however, inform your mother about the breakup during your drive to the apartment, her muttering under her breath how she knew something was up, yet you dwindled whatever excuses you could to defend him. Though defending him at this point leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

Shoving off your shoes, you hastily prepare for a shower, cleansing the sadness off your frame before drying your hair and throwing on some pajamas to then laying a fresh uniform out for work the following morning. Gazing around the room, you gather the pale white of the walls only decorated with sparse posters of favorite artists as well as replicas of items that have featured in shows that you and… Jeongguk enjoyed. Swallowing roughly, you flit your stare to the dresser drawer where pictures of your family and friends are held in small frames; though you and Jeongguk hardly ever took pictures together, photography or simply delighting in the scenery and family was something the two of you shared. Your fingertips nestle upon the mahogany surface where the smooth wood has a chill to the touch despite the small clouds of dust collecting at the tips of your nails. Wiping the lint onto your sweatpants, you grimace at how unclean you have been as far as maintaining your room, but once you’re home after a long day, it’s hard to get back into the routine of keeping the apartment spotless. Especially when the only thing you desire is to hide under the comforter as if to avoid being reminded of reality.

Intending to power clean on your next day off, you rake a tired hand through your hair, pausing to then wrap your arms around your waist for comfort. It is the jar at the corner of your bedside table that prompts a dreary mist to your eyes. Just a large mason jar filled with extra money in tips that you’ve been able to salvage despite bills, and the first-night discovering Jeongguk’s departure, you sifted through every item in the closet until you found it, where you had originally kept it hidden. IRELAND, printed in bold letters, proudly sticks to the center of the jar reminding you of the plan you had to surprise him, one day, with tickets to both of your dream destination for a romantic getaway. If there was one place the two of you dreamed more than life, it was to escape to Ireland for as long as you both could, to view the scenery hand in hand with triumphant smiles of ‘we made it’ planted across the both of your faces.

When the two of you met, you had just started college, soon discovering college wasn’t for you, but Jeongguk, bright-eyed with a thin-lipped smile, drew you in like no other. He kept you going until you finished out the school year- your family member offering you a job as a waitress, where you work now until you found something that interested you for a lifetime. Jeongguk is a pharmacist, but during his prerequisites, was how the two of you were first introduced; one thing led to another, and before you knew it, he was holding your hand in the hallways; sneaking kisses between classes; gifting you with fortune cookie quotes every time he ordered take out on late nights of essays and online quizzes; snuggling you on the weekends when the two of you were too exhausted to finish an entire movie; driving you at odd hours of the night to purchase your favorite snacks when mother nature came to knock on your door; random adventures to gaze at scenery whether it be the mountains or the beach; and endless conversations of each of your dreams discovering the two of you shared a deep love for a trip to Ireland.

But that dream ended all too soon. Died the moment he wrecked your heart. When tears threaten to spill onto your cheeks, you step to reach for the jar, deciding to hide it away once again. Out of sight, just like the memories, you wish would disappear from your mind. Once under the covers with the hope of feeling safe and sound, you can’t help but miss his presence- pressing the space of the mattress behind you, cuddling his warm face to the back of your neck. The pain seeping into your chest is nearly excruciating mingled with the pleading of not wanting to think about him, but there’s no use.

Jeongguk was your first everything. First kiss, first boyfriend, first roommate, first time, first love. He was the first man to have such a hold over your heart, and you never imagined that he would just let it go- just like that.

Let you go- just like that.

It was two years later when the two of you were both financially stable enough, that you found this apartment and moved in together. And, nearly one year later after that, only weeks leading to the renewal of the lease, here you are, in a chilly bedroom, all alone, with no answers to the million questions as to why.

Why.

Sniffling back the little tears that managed to escape onto the bedsheets, you long for this turmoil to end, restlessly turning onto your back where your eyes squeeze shut.

If there’s anything you wish for, even on countless dandelion seeds,

it’s to be happy again.

The last gulp of your protein shake hits the spot, trekking from your car to the entrance of the restaurant, you mentally prepare yourself for the day ahead – the same repetitive routine: greeting your fellow coworkers with kind smiles along with checking up on their well-being as a good manager and a person does, scamper to check on occupied tables, and take orders of arriving customers once they’ve been seated. Time zips past and while rounding the main counter to check on refills and starting another pot of coffee, you notice Hoseok sipping from his mug, prompting a double-take because a prolonged realization reveals you hadn’t quite recognized him right away without his hat on. Curly tendrils frizzle along his forehead and you take in his innocent eyes sweeping the wall above the kitchen opening where picture frames are present. Approaching him, you observe a black watch adorning his left wrist where he still holds the mug to his lips, and next to him rests a brown paper bag which you assume holds a snack of some sort.

“Hey, Stranger,” you grin at him, and you notice dimples embellish his face from where he returns the smile, settling his beverage before him. “Don’t you get tired of seeing the same little ole’ faces every single day?”

“Not at all,” he chuckles, “It’s practically my job!” Running his fingers along his jaw, then returning to fold his hands in front of him to lean on his elbows. As much as you hate to admit it, no matter how internally it is, you feel guilty at the budding attraction you have welling beneath your sternum that a light shade of pink etches your cheeks. Hoseok has always been a handsome man, but you never seemed to notice until you really started to merely look at him.

The question comes out a little quicker than expected, “Pancakes with chocolate syrup?”

“Pancakes with chocolate syrup,” he nods once in confirmation.

“Coming right up,” you wink, turning to enter the kitchen, bellowing, “Hoseok’s usual!”

“On it like a faucet!” Seokjin’s voice echoes back to you. Turning on a heel, you continue your grand customer service, tending to as many tables, as you can until Hoseok’s order, is up.

“Alright, new number,” he suddenly says as you set his plate of steaming pancakes onto the counter, “Between one and ten, but not seven nor ten.”

Chuckling, you eye him suspiciously at the randomness of it all, yet you’ve always found it delightful to answer questions- it’s fun to search through your own mind and list your interests and hobbies; it’s quite a nice distraction from the bustling of the restaurant, though the crowd has dimmed down enough to have a few minutes with Hoseok. “Uh, five?”

“Okay! What is your favorite food?”

“Ooo,” you coo, placing your palm on your chin while you lean forward upon the counter. It’s not the norm for you to do that, but with fewer people around to be able to stare, the more comfortable you feel to slack just a tad bit. “Beef bulgogi,”

“Next,”

“Next?”

“Next number,”

“Oh!” Shaking your head once you understand, you concentrate to remember which numbers you haven’t said yet, “Two?”

“Favorite animal?”

“Okapi. Eight,”

“Favorite season?”

“Spring. Four,” Sprinting to check on the remaining folks finishing up their plates, you refill drinks and dispose of empty dishes before rushing back to see what question four will be. You find the anticipation to be silly, but a good silly because for once you feel an excitement you’ve been needing for a while.

“Favorite game?”

“Uno. One,” there is only a few more questions to juggle while you rush back and forth between tables and something dawns on you.

“Favorite music genre?”

“Pop- hey, wait a minute,” Hoseok’s eyes widen as if startled while he puckers his lips, seeing the way your hands rest on your hips where you tap your fingers against your apron, a teasing glare pins him in place. “This game is rigged.”

“Oh?”

“How come I’m the only one answering all the questions?”

There’s always the annoying cues that tend to interrupt when you reach an interesting point in your job, and when you straighten your posture, you notice what looks to be a party of ten entering the building. Vague familiarity brushes over a few faces, potentially previous consumers, all wearing business attire, but when your gaze lands on one of the men, a jolt of pure terror begins to ram harshly against your rib cage. Hoseok notices the way your frame became rigid and with furrowed eyebrows, he turns enough to look behind him not hearing your footsteps shoot forward to seat the group. Clicking your purple pen, you shakingly jot down their drink orders after welcoming them, trying with all your might to swallow down the overwhelming sense of nausea.

“Well, how are you, dear?” Mr. Jeon, Jeongguk’s father, though with a kind smile, greets you. Clear glasses are poised on the bridge of his nose, and despite his bout of disapproval upon you being a waitress, there seems to be not one smidge of tension amongst him which you are taken aback by, and you force to hide your bewilderment with a polite expression.

“I’m doing very well, Mr. Jeon. How are you?” A blush heats over your chest from the stares looming at you from the rest of the table, and all you can wonder is what made Jeongguk’s father come to this particular restaurant? And, why today of all days? Why ever? You understandably can see it being a coworker who loves this restaurant offering this to be where they eat today but didn’t Mr. Jeon know that you worked here at this specific location or did he simply forget?

“I’m doing well,” he nods as if contemplating his answer, “How has the job been treating you?”

“Good, as always,” you nod, wishing nothing more than to melt into the floor. “I’ll be right back with your drinks,” swiftly bowing, Mr. Jeon awkwardly clears his throat.

“Of course, of course. I’ll let you get back to work,”

It doesn’t take long to get all the beverages ready, and once you take their food order, you clip it up for Seokjin and Von, ducking into the restroom where you can fill your lungs with a much needed deep breath. Fighting the urge to hyperventilate, your hands curl on either side of the sink, gripping so tight your knuckles whiten. Holy shit. The coppery taste of blood heightens your senses and you realize you have been gnawing on your lips much harder than usual. You can’t even raise your head enough to look in the mirror without the risk of vomiting, so instead, bending close enough, you turn on the spigot, to feel tiny flecks of water nicker your nose, rinsing your mouth with lukewarm water. 

Persuading whatever you can to calm down, you try convincing yourself how you have met the man before, how he was practically your father-in-law at one point, yet the intense feeling of your heart pounding was still present. You are so shaken up my Mr. Jeon’s presence, you pace back and forth once you part from the sink, pleading with your stomach to not release the breakfast you had earlier. Thoughts of Hoseok seem to mingle, hoping M has been able to tend to him to make sure he doesn’t need anything else, and you find yourself amazed by just the mere thought of his smile bringing you at ease even if for a moment. He always seems so happy, and in a way, you envy him for it, although you know realistically speaking, no one in the universe has a perfect life no matter how you slice it, but at least some can find their happiness again which you long for desperately.

Scolding yourself, you are not sure how long you remain hidden within the bathroom, and when your belly decides to simmer down, you press your eyes close and whisper some form of encouragement before returning to the bustling floor of the restaurant. Realizing in slight chagrin, you notice Mr. Jeon and his company have been digging into their plates, and you thank your lucky stars for M because you know she is the culprit for making sure your job is still being maintained.

“Ah, there she is!” Mr. Jeon proclaims, swiping his napkin briefly over his mouth.

“I apologize for my absence, I can grab pitchers for some refills-” you start, observing some of the glasses being halfway consumed, but Mr. Jeon waves a hand to stop you.

“No need. Ms. Monica informed us that the delivery truck had arrived. I didn’t know you were the assistant manager now. I can’t believe my son hasn’t told me!”

M saves the day yet again, and before you can breathe a sigh of relief, your breath hitches instead, “Hasn’t?” What does Mr. Jeon mean by the present tense? Maybe Jeongguk… never felt the need of informing his parents since they originally disproved of your waitressing to begin with. Trying to prevent the urge to scrunch your eyebrows, you try to keep a nonchalant demeanor as you continue speaking after realizing Mr. Jeon hadn’t reiterated, “Why, yes! Yes, I am now the assistant manager. I was promoted around the same time your son was.” Flinching, you still have a hard time saying his name aloud, and you hope to the heavens that Mr. Jeon didn’t notice as you fondle with the hem of your apron, your fingertips evidently numb.

Elbowing one of his coworkers he chuckles, “She’s got him wrapped around her finger. It’s been that way for years. I can’t even get the couple to visit us anymore,”

“Mr. Jeon,” you try to say at the daunting discovery you have unraveled, but your words die on your tongue.

“Say, how is Jeonnguk doing?” Lightheaded, you hardly hear the question, much less the feel of a tender hand being placed upon your shoulder.

“He’s good!” M’s voice snaps you back to reality as you dizzily reach over to refill a drink from the pitcher M had set on the table.

“Yeah,” you reply in clear discomfort, “He’s doing wonderfully I suppose.”

When the men are finished with their meals, you and M collect the dishes and silverware before bringing their checks to collect payments; Mr. Jeon nods his goodbye when the group gathers to exit the restaurant. Appearing into the kitchen, the chefs are too busy cooking to notice, and M follows suit, “[Y/N], if you need a minute-” M’s voice is thick with worry especially when she notices your eyes pooling with unshed tears.

“He doesn’t know,” your voice cracks, “Mr. Jeon doesn’t know that we broke up,”

M’s expression is incredulous after the confusion dissipates from her eyes, but she squeezes your hand to provide whatever strength she can give. Jeongguk’s father is unaware of the breakup, and here you are made a fool because of it, or that is how you see it.

“Maybe something bad has happened to him?”

“No,” you sigh, not wanting to relive the memory, “he left a note that said ‘I’m sorry,’ written on it. That’s how I know that he did this willingly,”

Silence drifts between you and your best friend for a few minutes before she pulls you into a crushing hug. Relief to have such a wonderful support system, you return the hug only letting a few more tears fall to retain your composure.

“I’m telling you he’s running because he’s ashamed of something, hence why he never said anything to his family,” M reminds you of the advice she gave what feels like a lifetime ago, “He will realize what he lost in due time, but for now, just focus on you. Maybe there are some things individually he needs to work on himself... Though that doesn’t change the fact that he should have communicated, but see this as an opportunity to find yourself, too.”  

“You’re right,” you pull away, inhaling a slow breath before letting it out, “Maybe I just need to switch up my point of view,” even though you long for closure that may never come, but at least you can try to recover without knowing the full story. Maybe it is possible. “Thank you,” you whisper swiping under your eyes one more time, until you remember a certain, handsome customer you were originally serving. You gasp with enlarged eyes, “Hoseok!” Completely forgetting to check on him, you want to kick yourself for losing focus on your job despite the circumstances, and when you sprint out of the kitchen, your shoulders fall when seeing that his seat is no longer holding him. The empty mug rests on top of the plate that has leftover chocolate drizzle dolloped sporadically from where the pancakes were devoured; stepping to collect the dishes, something else encapsulates your sight.

Laying on the countertop sits what shows to be another twenty-dollar bill which once again stuns you from how cheap Hoseok’s breakfast is, but what rests beside the tip is what moves you to tears as a tiny gasp muffles into your palm. A circle of four yellow dandelions emerge in your line of vision, the fragrance of them greeting your nose. Once you’re close enough to fully absorb what you’re seeing- there laying in the center, encompassed by the golden petals,

is a white sphere of dandelion seeds still supported by its faded, green stem.

You would be lying if you said you weren’t disappointed when the following morning Hoseok never arrived for his routine breakfast, especially since you have the day off tomorrow. With your heart anticipating to thank him for the gift he left for you, you try to busy your mind with your job, so that the overwhelming thoughts of the regular didn’t occupy every crevice of your brain. But of course, it doesn’t one hundred percent work because the constant questions spin through, what if he went out of town? How long will he be gone? What if something bad happened? Maybe he had to work extra early even though you haven’t the slightest idea where he works. What if he is visiting a friend? Family? …Girlfriend?

Shaking your head from the foolish inquiries, you wrestle with the anxiety until lunchbreak, grabbing your packed sandwich from the fridge and sauntering to the picnic bench outside. Once again, not any customers were occupying them, and with the sun being high in the cloudless sky, you are thankful for the weather providing a cooling breeze. Halfway into your sandwich, your attention is so consumed by the article you are reading on your phone, the sudden slap of an item hitting the wood of the table causes you to jump before you realize what it is.

Uno. An Uno box is staring back at your wide eyes as you swallow whatever food you hardly chewed. Trailing to see who brought the card game, your heart flutters when you meet the smiling eyes of Jung Hoseok.

“My goodness you scared me!” You release a string of giggles in response to the adrenaline dimming and partially because you are happy to see him, a lot more than you expected.

“I’m sorry about that, it was kind of my intention, but not really,” he teases, descending across from you, his cap sitting perfectly upon his head to where his curls still decorate his forehead. You want to bring up the dandelion seeds and mention how much they mean to you even though you are not sure where to begin. Even combing through your memory, you can’t think of a time someone left you something so thoughtful.

“I’ll get you back,” you grin playfully, reaching for the box of cards with vengeance in tow, “I am quite the extraordinaire at Uno,”

“Ah, your confidence is astounding,” his smile widens, “But, I think you have met your match.”

“Bring it on,”

A few games pass with competitiveness you never knew you had, and it draws mild attention from customers about to enter the restaurant, but you could care less. When deciding on the final game, you discard.

“You forgot something,” Hoseok’s mischievous smirk sparking a dimple, flitting your gaze back to him, your mouth forms an ‘Oh’ in confusion,

“Uno.”

“Oh shit!” You slap a palm to your forehead, listening to your component cackle as he hands you four cards from the pile. The game prior, you each had one card left, and when you for sure thought you had him cornered, he placed a draw four WILD card onto the pile. “I give up,” you lean back with a deflated ego, and a lopsided grin, “You win. Again.”

“I’ll go easy on you next time,” he winks, a small flutter awakens within your chest, but you attempt to disperse the gnawing feelings that you can’t explain. Reaching for the cards- to stack neatly to return to its box- Hoseok’s fingers brush yours with the same intention. Awkwardly, you pull away, letting him pile the cards where they belonged, the feel of his fingertips still lingering on yours, a subtle blush creeps onto your cheeks. To distract yourself, you check your phone for the time, your heart falling in disappointment when you only have seven minutes left. Though you will not admit it to yourself, you aren’t disappointed in the fact you have to return to work, you are disappointed that your time with Hoseok has to end for the day.

“Thank you by the way,” you murmur softly, yet loud enough for him to hear. Hoseok looks up at you after stuffing the cards in the box as if confused on what you mean. “Honestly, thank you for everything. The questions, bringing the card game… And the dandelion seeds.” You smile timidly, “I don’t think you realize how much it’s helped distract me.”

Nodding, he doesn’t break eye contact, his smile so kind you can hardly ignore the flickers within you increasing, “Anytime. I can tell you’ve seemed down lately, and I know what that’s like, so I figured, why not find ways to help.”

The way your heart moves at his words, you are so touched that phrases dissipate from your tongue and in replacement, Hoseok is met with a look of awe dawning your expression. How can someone be so incredibly kind? You have known him for two years yet he has done more for you in such a short span of time that you realize you have gradually been gaining your smile back, especially when around him. When the two of you stand, you round the table in the direction of the restaurant and your shoulder happens to brush his arm.

“For you, Ma’am,” Hoseok stops, turning to face you fully to perform a courteous bow as he gestures the card game toward you.

“Oh, Hoseok, no you don’t have to do that!” Out of shock, your hands cup his that are still holding what happens to be another gift for you, the warmth of his skin prompting the reddened hues of your cheeks.

“I insist,”

“Hoseok, you really don’t have to,” but you lose the battle for as you head back into the restaurant, a giddy smile remains on your face as you tuck the box of cards safely into your purse.

Even as time passes into a few weeks, you find a day off leads into sleeping in until eleven in the morning which also results in you cleaning the entire apartment until it is spotless. Despite the ongoing guilt exhausting you inwardly, you store nearly everything of Jeongguk’s in a spare closet where it will stay away from your line of vision until you have the guts to rid of everything that you know he will never come back for. Lemony scents envelop each room, and you carry the final, hefty trash bag to the dumpster exasperated from the constant moving. Although, accomplishment is a wonderful feeling especially when you nibble on some lunch, soon turning to fall back onto your made bed. Closing your eyes for a split second, a sigh of relief brushes your grinning lips, your arms sprawled out on either side of you; when your phone vibrates on your dresser, the loud noise against the wood scares you at first as you jump suddenly with enlarged eyes, sporadically reaching for your cellphone where the familiar initial of your best friend appears.

“What did you do,” you tease.

M scoffs, “Bold of you to assume that I’m the culprit! Alas, I am sitting here alone on my lunch break, and thought I’d call to check up on you. Everything okay?”

“My apartment smells like lemons,” you reply with a wide smile.

“Oh! It was that bad?”

“Yeah,” you laugh, remembering that you need to put the vacuum you used earlier back into the laundry closet.

“No wonder why you haven’t invited me over. Now, I’m not as offended,” M jokes, munching on what you assume is a chip.

“You can come over tonight if you’d like,”

M sighs, “I would, but Yoongi is wanting to introduce me to his BFFLs’ that he’s made thus far.”

“From college I presume?” You wonder, imagining all the insults M is probably practicing just in case if she needs them.

“Yes, I think they’re majoring in the same thing, but I don’t remember.” M munches on another chip, “If they’re cute, do you want me to hit you up? You know, get them to slide in them DMs.”

“Do you even know their names?”

“Of course, I do!” M gasps, “Taejoon and Namyung.”

When the two of you manage to calm your laughter, M then shares some words of encouragement, the two of you finishing the call once the end of her lunch break nears. Roaming around the apartment, you take in the clean atmosphere, breathing in the lemon scent, and letting the sunlight shine through the windows along the furniture, bringing a subtle warmth to the air. Peace. Returning to your room, you hook your phone to the charger, your eyes pan over the dresser until they land on the dandelions you were given a few weeks ago. A small smile forms on your lips. The petals have completely dried although the scent persists; the sphere that holds numerous wishes disguised as seeds remains resting above them though the stem is shriveled.

Hoseok has asked you several questions, learning new things about you every day. Even when you try to learn at least one thing about him, something always interrupts, or he avoids answering and distracts you with another question that piques your interest. Ever since he witnessed your breakdown with the plates, it’s like he hasn’t let a day go by where he’s not finding a new way to make you smile. To make sure you’re okay. Your eyes still trained on the dandelion pile; a sudden urge awakens within you. Reaching for the withered stem, you rush out of the apartment, trampling down the steps until your bare feet find the large area of grass behind the complex. With the sun still beaming, the heat encompassing your skin, you bring the cloud of seeds to your lips, closing your eyes before making the wish that is dying to be whisked away in the breeze.

You make your wish- gently blowing at the loosening seeds- one by one they are captured by the wind, and with hopeful eyes and a promising smile, you watch until the seeds disappear into the unknown.

For the first time in a long time,

you are actually excited for the days ahead.

Hoseok fidgets with the gold watch as he tries to attach it onto his left wrist. It’s been years since he’s seen the watch, but his sister came to town from college weeks ago, surprising him with it. Taking a brief look in the mirror, Hoseok then heads to his car, his gurgling stomach waiting for the pancakes- a routine he has done for so long he’s forgotten how many years it's really been. Once arriving, his eyes trail the restaurant for you, his pending gift he has waiting at home isn’t finished quite yet, so when he discovers that you happen to be off today, he settles in the same stool, M bellowing his order to the cooks in the back.

M retrieves Hoseok’s coffee, him taking a sip, letting the heat of the liquid warm his figure; he gazes at the pictures on the wall. One frame, particularly, he searches for and once his eyes land upon it, it brings a sense of reminiscence from his childhood. In the picture, it has Hoseok as a young boy, his smile is so wide that his eyes disappear, his cheeks rosy, and his hair was much darker; a strong arm is over his shoulders revealing his grandpa with an equally large smile. In front of them, sits two plates with heaping layers of pancakes- chocolate syrup drizzling along the cakes with whipped cream swirled on top. Off to the side sits a coffee mug, something his grandpa couldn’t live without. A cup of coffee every single morning to start off his day. Adorning his grandpa’s left wrist is the golden watch, the one Hoseok finally found the strength to wear this morning. Hoseok’s grandpa brought him to this restaurant for breakfast every single time he came to visit him; some of the fondest memories Hoseok will hold in his heart forever.

Hoseok’s grandfather meant everything to him; always telling him stories, encouraging Hoseok to be the best man that he can be, sharing words of wisdom, and cheering him on with every obstacle thrown into his path. The day that his grandfather was diagnosed with cancer was the day that changed Hoseok’s life. Hoseok was applying to colleges during the time; his dream of becoming a dance teacher one day nearly dissipated until his grandfather refused to let Hoseok give everything up for the sake of his life. Though stubborn, Hoseok continued seeking out colleges while the looming process of watching his grandpa, who was once full of life, slowly withering away before his eyes.

Hoseok’s heart nearly tore into millions of shattered pieces, but there was never a night that he didn’t visit his grandpa in the hospital, sharing memories until his grandpa would drift to sleep. The night his grandfather passed, he gripped Hoseok’s hand with tears brimming his eyes. 

“I am so proud of you, son,” his chin quivered, Hoseok’s face falling into a pained expression as every suppressed emotion nearly drowned him. Hoseok held onto him- sobs escaping him until his grandfather’s last breath. The family remained in the room behind him, knowing how much of an impact Hoseok’s grandfather had left on him.

It took a few years before Hoseok ever stepped foot into this restaurant again. Refused to even drive by it when visiting his parents- taking back roads to avoid any pain he tried healing from. When he first moved back into this town, after attending college nearly seven hours away, he finally found a form of strength to visit the restaurant that held the most memories. There was just one thing that he never expected.

Walking into the restaurant fresh out of college, Hoseok remembers hands in the pockets of his jacket, the smell of breakfast foods enveloping his nostrils, as the joyous conversations of people flooded his ears. When his eyes found the picture of his grandpa, he swallowed the lump in his throat, almost turning to leave, when:

“Welcome!” His eyes landed on a pair of glimmering eyes, vanishing all ounce of pain that was building within his chest. “You can sit anywhere you’d like!”

His lips parted at first, but one thing he knew, was he couldn’t take his eyes off the smiling waitress as he forced himself to walk- finding a stool at the counter.

“What can I get you today?” She beamed, pulling out a pad of paper, clicking the end of a purple pen in preparation to take his order.

“Uh,” Hoseok lost his train of thought for a moment, but the waitress waited patiently, as he scrambled to decide. Quickly, he glanced up at the picture of him and his grandpa, returning his eyes to the waitress, “I’ll have some coffee, and pancakes with chocolate syrup, please,” he smiled.

“Perfect. Coming right up!”

Hoseok watched as the waitress disappeared into the kitchen, her ponytail bouncing behind her- completely entranced by her beauty glowing from within. Even when she served him the pancakes, he thanked her, her smile never left the whole entire time he was there. As he occasionally glanced in her direction, her smile never left even for the customers occupying the rest of the spaces in the restaurant. In a way, he envied her smile, wishing he could give some light to the people surrounding him.

He came every day after that. Ordering the pancakes and coffee to start his day off before going to teach his dance classes at a high school not far down the road. One day, whenever the waitress came to check on him, he was halfway finished with his plate, “So, how is work for you today?” The question left his mouth before he could even stop himself. “Anything new?” The waitress leaned onto the counter,

“Good so far! We have a trainee coming in today for a working interview,” she said with excitement. “We’ve been needing more help around here as you know. But that’s not even the best part.”

“Oh?” Hoseok’s hands folded in front of his chin, interest in his expression.

The waitress looks ahead, her smile remaining planted on her face, “She has purple hair. I’m telling you right now her and I are going to be the best of friends.”

Hoseok couldn’t help, but chuckle at her statement, “Is that-?”

“My favorite color? Most definitely.” She glowed, soon scurrying off to check on the rest of her section.

The memory fades as M settles Hoseok’s order in front of him. “Thank you,” he says, digging into the layers. If there is one thing that Hoseok hadn’t expected when he returned to this restaurant for the first time in years,

It was that he would ever meet a ray of sunshine like you.

As two weeks pass, Monday decides to take its turn- you roll out of bed, readying for the day, getting to work early to prepare for the food truck’s arrival. Chef Seokjin typically comes to help- carrying the heavier boxes you may not be able to handle all by yourself. Once everything is stocked, the remaining workers begin to file in, clocking in for their shifts and double checking the floor to make sure everything is crystal clean.

“How are you, [Y/N]?” Jimin asks, his sweet smile reaching his eyes as he wraps an arm around your shoulders.

“I’m doing well, Chimmy Chim. How are you this fine morning?” You hug him tight, his thin waist nearly swallowed by your embrace. Jimin is like the younger brother you’ve never had since you are an only child, he seemed to fill in that space for you whenever he first started working here. Every now and then, he comes to ask for advice on how to win LenLen’s heart, one of the fellow waitresses who also greets you with a hug every Monday morning when she arrives for her shift.

“I’m doing well. Guess what? Your advice worked.” He shimmers, his fluffy, blonde hair curled along his forehead.

“Did you plan everything out?” 

“Yes, I did,” he promises. “Even down to the dessert. I’ll update you on everything after the date.”

“Okay, good. Because she’s standing right behind you,” Jimin’s eyes expand into saucers as he jumps to look behind him.

“You’re rude,” he chortles, playfully nudging you to realize LenLen hasn’t arrived just yet.

“I know, but I’m the best manager in the world. You can tell my relative I said so,” you wink. As soon as opening hour comes around, hordes of elderly couples and middle-aged people flood the booths and tables, sending every worker into a whirlwind of action. Whenever it slows down a bit, M meets you behind the counter, “So, I may have lied about something,” M begins, sucking her lips in as you turn to face her.

“Oh my, where do I need to meet you to dispose of the body,”

M rolls her eyes, “Oh, shut up, I haven’t killed him.”

“Yet,” you emphasize, leaning onto the counter.

“Okay, well I almost did, but that’s not the point. You see, what happened was- Remember Yoongi’s BFFLs’ I told you about?”

“Vaguely. What about them?”

“Well, those dipwads thought it was a good idea to not correct me on their names. And Yoongi was in on it.”

“No, they didn’t,” you chuckle, your friend’s embarrassment resonating in her features. “When did they decide to break it to you?”

“Last night, when they laughed so hard, they nearly urinated.”

“Remind me of their names again?”

M ponders for a moment, “Taejo- Sorry, Taehyung and Namjoon.”

“That’s not too far off though. Is it?”

“According to them, it is,” M shrugs, “But it’s okay I’ve renamed them to something much better.” M takes a hairbow and pulls her hair into a ponytail, your ‘humor me’ look waiting as she meets your gaze.

“What are their new names?” You blurt when the anticipation starts to overwhelm you.

“Tool and Nutbread,” M says nonchalantly, looking up to see three guys waltz in, “Speak of the damn devil.”

When you turn to look, you recognize Yoongi immediately, his silver hair curly as his eyes scan around the room until they lock with M’s, a gummy smile spreads across his face. Beside him stands two, very tall fellows, one wearing a black beret, flecks of green hair poking out near his ears; the other male, a slight bit taller, his dark hair parted on top of his head. You follow M until you reach the group, Yoongi offering his hand to shake yours first.

“Yoongi, this is my best friend, [Y/N].” M introduces, Yoongi bowing slightly.

“I’ve heard a lot of good things. Nice to meet you,”

“Same to you,” you say now turning to face the other two gentlemen.

“[Y/N],” M now gestures to the one with the beret. “This right here is Tool. And, this big shot right here is, Nutbread.”

You try to stifle the cackles wanting to erupt from your throat, but you hold a wide smile as you shake each of their hands, chagrin manifesting in their expressions.

“M is never going to let us live this down, is she?” Nutbread, who you assume is Namjoon, says, his face scrunching in a cutesy smile revealing dimples on his cheeks.

“Not at all,” you admit, as you and M seat them.

“It’s okay, we’ll get her back. I happen to be a prankster on the side.” Tool, who you assume is Taehyung, says pointing a finger at M with a boxy smile.

“If that were the case, then how’d you end up with super glue in your shampoo,” M shoots back. Taehyung awkwardly runs a large hand over his hat.

“That hat’s not coming off. Is it,” you muse.

“Maybe,” he pouts.

“That’s what happens when you mess with Monnie,” Namjoon banters.

“You’re next, Nutbread.” M utters, Namjoon’s eyes widening simultaneously to the whole table erupting in boisterous laughter. Monnie… you realize, there’s only one other person who calls M, Monnie. When the ding of the doorbell sounds as it does nonstop throughout the day, you turn to see Hoseok, your breath hitching. Normally, he heads straight for his typical spot at the counter, but this time he takes a seat at a booth, his countenance grim as his eyes examine the wall holding several picture frames. You have always noticed his sweep of the walls, but you never can figure what it is he is looking for. Before you greet him, you prepare a coffee, walking to his table to set it in front of him.

“Different view today?” You ask, his brown eyes meeting yours. You take in his facial features, the shape of his eyes, how smooth his skin appears, the pink of his lips, as well as the perfect line of his jaw. He’s so handsome you nearly want to faint. Hoseok smiles at you, his loose, brown shirt complimenting a ripped pair of black jeans, and you notice on his left wrist, he’s wearing a different watch this time. “Oh wow, I really like your watch.” You compliment, the golden hues of it glistening in the sunlight protruding through the window.

“Thank you,” his smile widens even more as if it’s possible, “It was a gift.”

“Well, it’s very nice. I’ll be right back with your pancakes,” you say, waltzing into the kitchen to alert the chefs of Hoseok’s arrival. Checking on other tables, you head back to the kitchen to retrieve Hoseok’s order. Once returned to the floor, there is a hesitant halt in your step for you notice a young woman sitting across from Hoseok at his booth. Something about her is familiar. If you remember correctly, she has been here a few times before- she never orders anything when she does come, and she’s always extremely polite to every employee who happens to wait their table, but who is she? Jealousy is a funny thing, yet you suppress the subtle feeling down, trying to talk yourself into how silly you are for even worrying.

“Hello!” You greet, setting Hoseok’s pancakes onto the table. “Can I get you anything to drink?” You offer.

“Oh, no thank you! I don’t need anything,” she smiles up at you, noticing the way her tight-lipped grin and her brown eyes appear conversant to you.

“[Y/N], this is my sister, Ji Wo.” Hoseok introduces, his hand gesturing toward her, and all you can do is stifle the tremendous sigh of relief at receiving this news. Yet, you are still confused as to why you were even worried to begin with. Is it possible that… You may have feelings on the man seated before you? Is that even a prospect?

“Oh wow, I see the resemblance! It’s so nice to meet you!” You smile, her saying the same, you turning to leave the two alone since you’re uncertain how often the two get to see each other. Rounding the counter to refill some drinks, M comes up to you.

“How’s Hoseok’s sister doing?” M asks, glancing over at the booth. You look at M with furrowed eyebrows.

“How’d you know that’s his sister?”

M tilts her head, “How did you not know that’s his sister? She only comes once in a blue moon. I’ve asked Yoongi about her, but he doesn’t know much. Hoseok’s not much of a talker like he used to be.”

“Wait,” you wave a hand in the air as if to pause time, “Yoongi and Hoseok know each other?”

M stares at you blankly, “What do you mean Yoongi and Hoseok know each other? They’re roommates you, dork!”

“Oh,” you gasp when you remember M telling you about Yoongi moving in with a roommate who M also mentioned was his childhood best friend; back when she made you visit her on the night you attempted to call him for the first time after the breakup. “I didn’t know his childhood best friend was Hoseok. And, no wonder why.. I noticed Namjoon called you Monnie, which is what I’ve heard Hoseok call you before.”

“Oh yeah, Yoongi calls me Monnie, so that’s my name at my house. But anyways,” M gains her train of thought, “after Yoongi moved away they lost touch, the most they communicated was over video game headsets.”

Snickering, you shake your head, even though you feel like there’s more about Hoseok than what he’s letting on. Gazing at him, his smile still on his face as he conversates with his sister, a strange longing tugs at your heart, and it happens to be so obvious your best friend can’t help but flash a hopeful yet knowing smirk.

“You know he’s single, right?” M’s voice disperses your trance, and you whip your head around to stare at her. M raises her hands immediately in defense, “I’m just saying.” She then heads back to the floor to check on her tables, you do the same. The hour whisking by in the blink of an eye, you find yourself cleaning tables, looking over your shoulder to see the empty booth Hoseok and his sister had originally occupied. Diverting your attention, you take empty dishes to the kitchen sink trying to ignore the ache of wanting to be around Hoseok which you’ve been gradually growing used to. When you head to the main counter, you bend down to wipe at the cubbies, ridding of dust that has collected along items related to pens, paper, boxes of straws, and other pocket items waiters and waitresses can swiftly grab when able to.

The clink of something pangs the counter causing you to stand upright. To your surprise, Hoseok plants himself into the stool, his smile showing his dimples as curly strands of hair fall into his eyes.

“Welcome back,” you say, closing your mouth that happened to be ajar, “You want more pancakes? Already?” You tease, the nervous tension easing from your shoulders. Your eyes then land to what caused the clinking sound seconds ago, a mason jar holding thick, yet neatly cut folded pieces of paper are piled within it. “What’s this?” You point, your eyes meeting Hoseok’s.

“It’s a jar full of questions,” he replies, sliding the mason jar toward you. A purple string is beneath the lid and you catch a strand between your fingertips. You’re speechless. Never in your wildest dreams would you have ever imagined being gifted something so sweet. Even with… “You can draw a question or more a day if you’d like.”

“And what do I get in return?” you press, “I believe I deserve answers about what your favorite things are, correct?”

Hoseok looks at his folded hands before returning his eyes to search yours, “You do.”

“So, how about with every question I draw, we both answer,” you challenge. “I’m tired of only knowing that your favorite number is seven,”

“Okay,” he agrees, “Deal.”

With a victorious smile, you lift the lid of the mason jar, thankful not many customers are in your section for the moment.  “Wait,” you pause when the sudden thought hits you, “Aren’t you going to get tired of this? Asking me so many questions?” You can’t help the curiosity, especially when you were so used to running out of things to talk about before.

“Not at all. There are always questions to ask. Even if it’s the same one every day, there’s always a ‘how are you?’ or ‘how was work today’ or even ‘did you have fun with your family today?’ I know some people don’t see it that way, but-”

“I do,” you murmur. There is always a conversation. Which is something you never realized you yearned for until now. When you hold his eyes a moment too long, you clear your throat, regaining your attention to the mason jar, carefully unfolding the first piece of paper you draw, reading the question aloud, “Who is the most inspiring person in your life?” Setting the piece of paper to the side, you take a minute to think about it, not knowing M is behind you pointing at herself- Hoseok stifling a laugh as M then turns to disappear into the kitchen. “I’d have to say, my mom.” You reply, M walking out of the kitchen just in time to hear your answer- slumping her shoulders which Hoseok catches in his peripheral vision. Oblivious to the whole situation, you just continue talking, “My mom always told me I could conquer anything if I put my mind to it.” Still looking up at the ceiling in concentration, you reiterate, “I’d have to say M, too.” M fist pumps in the air as she passes behind you once again, Hoseok completely entertained by the whole scene, finding your cluelessness about your best friend’s shenanigans cute. “She has saved me on many occasions. I don’t know what I’d do without her.” You now turn to Hoseok, “Your turn.” You demand. You watch as Hoseok joggles at the watch you complimented earlier, a sadness clouding his eyes.

“My grandfather,” he says, leaning forward, his hands so close they nearly touch yours. You wait as Hoseok swallows, gathering his words before speaking, “He used to bring me here when I was younger.” His tired smile barely reaches his eyes, “We would always get-”

“Pancakes with chocolate syrup,” you say in shock, the realization dawning on you, “That’s why-”

“Every day,” Hoseok nods, “He was my best friend. The picture of us on the wall here, it gives me strength every time I see it.”

“Hoseok, I’m so sorry,” you whisper, fighting the gesture to hold him in your arms, but you refrain from moving.

“It’s okay,” Hoseok promises, his eyes never leaving yours, “My sister gave me his watch, and coming here every day I get to remember him,” Hoseok pauses, his features suddenly becoming timid, “And every day I get to see you.”

Your heart immediately leaps at his words, and before you can respond, a group of women walk in and take a seat at a nearby table. “I’m sorry, Hoseok, hold on,” you whisper, irritation rising in you, but you repress it. Once you give the ladies their drink orders, you walk back to the counter, seeing Hoseok holding another question in his hands.

“Where is a place you have always wanted to travel to?” He reads and you can’t help but pause at the question- it catches you off guard, bringing a face you don’t want to think about to your mind.

“Ireland,” you murmur, your gaze falling to your twiddling hands, “Me and J-” You stop yourself, wincing at your almost mistake, “I’ve always wanted to go there since I was zero it feels like.”

“Why haven’t you?” Hoseok wonders, but, once again, before you can answer, another ding alerts you when an elderly man comes to sit at the counter. You quickly set the mason jar within a cubby behind the counter. “I better go. More questions tomorrow?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Hoseok smiles, and you rush to ask what drink the customer would like, your heart slightly falling when you feel Hoseok’s presence exit the restaurant.

Time ticks away to reveal how much emptier the mason jar has become, and the more questions you answer, the more you are finally learning about Jung Hoseok. It is like you have forgotten what a broken heart feels like, and though you will never admit it internally, Hoseok has threaded every piece back together in ways that you can’t reiterate. He happens to be a dance teacher at one of the local high schools which springs the explanation of why it’s ‘practically’ his job that he sees the same faces almost every day; he went to an University seven hours away to obtain his degree, and he has had a passion for dancing his entire life and is thankful to have a job where he can teach his dream. He happens to be addicted to Sprite and has a stuffed animal that is a horse named Mang gifted to him as a child by his Grandfather. Your favorite is knowing he has a dog named Mickey and that he loves his hair being messed with when he is trying to sleep which you ridiculously find enticing, but never plan to tell him.

Laughter has been the main contributor between the two of you- sharing your most embarrassing stories, cracking jokes whenever the restaurant calms, and as the days continue to pass, your excitement to come to work every day has never been so motivating, and for the first time in a long time, you’ve been going to bed with a smile on your face.

When the final folded piece of paper is staring back at you in the mason jar, you note the relief in Hoseok’s eyes as you reach in carefully, grasping the paper between your fingertips. Dramatically, you slowly unfold it, Hoseok tapping his fingertips on the counter nervously.

“You okay?” You tease.

“Never been better,” He tilts his head, his bucket hat shading his restless eyes.

When you finally open the final question, your eyes scan it as a gasp escapes your lips- the pace of your heart quickens as you swallow anxiously, joy rising within you, “Will-” You read, “Will you go on a date with me?”

When your gaze meets Hoseok’s, his contagious smile spreads across his face, his eyes shaping into crescents, “Well, I thought you’d never ask.”

-

A myriad of dates leads into relishing in new memories you have developed with none other than the source of your smile- Jung Hoseok. Twirling in a daze around your apartment, Hoseok makes it to you, helping you out of your jacket and turning to hang it on the coat rack sitting next to the front door.

“Do you really have to go?” You say softly, dreading the thought of him leaving for the night.

“I know, but we both have work in the morning, and we need sleep,” he reminds you, holding his arms out to invite you in. Hoseok walks you to your apartment after every date, enveloping you in a long, warm embrace before heading home. Without an ounce of hesitation, you cuddle into his chest, his cologne caressing your nose as his arms tighten around your back. His chin rests on the top of your head and the two of you rock from side to side, so delicate, and so full of serenity.

“Maybe- Maybe I don’t want to. Slee-” The words disappear on your lips once you break away just enough to gaze up at him, his proximity so inviting, his lips parting the moment your eyes flicker toward them, the desire to cling to him and let out all your emotions for him with what you’re longing for encases your mind. You swallow as your breathing increases, nerves swallowing every part of you, and Hoseok’s eyes bore into yours, reading every inch of your soul. You’re not sure what to do as panic fills you, especially when Hoseok leans closer, reading your mind more than you’d like to profess. When his nose brushes yours, you close your eyes, a sudden flash of Jeongguk’s face triggers you, and you drop your head in astonishment. “Hoseok,” you choke, “I’m sorry, I- I’m sorry, I- I can’t- I’m not-” You can’t even talk, stammering as you run a shaky hand through your hair.

“No, no, [Y/N]. You’re fine,” Hoseok settles his hands on your forearms to calm you, “I promise.” His words are so soft, you’re shocked you heard him, “I’m going to head out. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” And with that, he gently squeezes your arms, his eyes trying to hide the sadness behind them, he then turns to walk to the door, the clicking sound of it shutting causes you to slam your eyes shut, burying your face in your hands.

“Shit,” you whisper. Regret amalgamating every fiber of your being, your muffled breaths warming your cold hands as you try to numb the pain deep in your chest. What the hell is wrong with you!? Bringing the back of your hand to your mouth, your chin quivers. You want him. You’ve been wanting him for a long time. What the hell is wrong with you!? You fucking lov-

And with that, something ignites within you. You are in love with him, Jung Hoseok, and nothing is going to tear that or him away from you. You are ready. Determination running through your veins so rapidly that you gain your composure. “Hoseok,” you whisper. “Hoseok, Hoseok wait!” You shout, throwing open the door as you stomp down the stairs faster than you thought you were capable of. “Hoseok!” You say, your eyes frantically searching for him along the darkened parking lot, “Hoseok, wait!” When your eyes find him, he pauses, turning to face you with concerned eyes and parted lips, “Hoseok!” You say as you race to him, your heart flying beneath you as tears stream down your face.

“[Y/N]? Are you-” He begins, but you don’t give him a chance. Grabbing the front of his jacket with both of your hands, you yank him to your level, crashing your lips to his, clutching onto him for dear life. It takes him a second to register what is now happening, but his kiss eases, his hands finding your cheeks as he moves his lips so effortlessly with yours. Your hands find the back of his head, stroking his hair as every ounce of love pours out of you- every memory churning- every moment Hoseok has looked at you with his beautiful smile- every jig he’s tried to dance on dates- the way his warm hands feel within yours- the way he says your name- the way he steals your heart every chance he gets- there are no words. Not one word to describe the infinity of love you have for this man capturing your soul right now. Your heart has never burst with so much elation, happiness swarming the two of you that it’s as if fireworks are igniting in the sky, exploding into numerous colors, covering the world with their soaring flecks of flame.

His kiss so passionate, you become lightheaded, the two of you pulling away just enough to stare into each other’s eyes- breathless, but you don’t care. You cup his face, with a wide smile, you whisper,

“Stay.”

-

There isn’t the slightest hesitation, the pair of you hardly make it up the steps, not able to veer away from the continuous kisses, not one thought of fear in someone walking outside to see the two of you lip locked in desperation as if the night is going to end too soon. His palms keep their hold upon your face, bruising your lips however long you allow him. You are not even certain how you both accomplished making it to your bedroom, but the way breaths mingle, you are ecstatic to know that Hoseok will not be going home tonight after all.

Thrusting him onto the bed, you hover above him, soaking in the sight of his messy hair and heaving chest, covering his mouth with yours once more before raking your fingers through his frizzy curls, mesmerized by the sensation of his hands sliding along your back so carefully, the thought of you developing his senses as you always have, his heart pounding in unison with yours because the happiness you bring him is showing in his every kiss, every smile, every word, every touch. He is so gentle in how he keeps your body molded to him, and the painstaking longing you feel as it grows immensely, you crave the feel of his skin.

Pulling him to sit up, you throw a leg over him into the classic straddle planting a slow kiss before yanking off his shirt, he is so dazed by your beauty, and the way you keep him so close, his eyes never leaving your nervous face as your fingertips grace along the buttons of your shirt. His breath hitches at the sight of your bra, cupping your breasts perfectly, his mouth watering with the desire to kiss the tops of them but he remains respectful. When your shirt sends a soft plop to the ground, you gradually move your hands to unclip the garment, revealing your chest in all entirely as his fingers grip at the comforter. Tilting your head seductively, you nod in permission, the tips of his fingers reaching to trace skillfully in feathery tickles, arousing you to the point you feel a warm gush within your core.

But Hoseok takes you by surprise. Placing a tepid kiss on your lips, he then kisses each corner of your mouth, hands never leaving above your bosoms, he then kisses your cheeks, so sweetly, you’re almost in awe of his reaction; he then kisses your nose, your temples, either of your closed eyelids, your forehead, to then returning another soft kiss to your tingling lips. It is as if he wants to prove that he cares more for you than just what you two are longing to finish as the night drives on, and just when you gasp into his kiss, his fingers find your nipples, the sensitive touch making the desire grow even stronger than before, your heat clenching in a need for him, and you desist from begging for him. Moaning, your tongue circles his- his kisses are so addicting you hardly can think straight. Gliding two fingers along his chest, you fumble trying to unbutton his pants and not long after he shimmies from them, you follow suit, curling your bare legs around his torso as the pair of you hold each other tightly, enthralled in the way his heated skin feels on yours, entangled frames still sharing passionate kisses, not wanting anything to end.

Enlightened by the way he spins you to cautiously laying you onto your back, his lips suck along your chest, your abdomen- kisses planted all across your skin, his frame scooting farther backwards before you feel the fresh air sweeping your vulva, his hands grabbing your thighs causing a high pitched whimper to escape your tensed frame. It has been so long since you have felt a sensation as this, and as Hoseok’s panting breaths sweep your vulva, so then follows opened mouth kisses tickling along the quivering skin enhancing the anticipation to an ultimate high as you hold your breath wishing he would dive in.

And when he does, the moans release, his tongue slowly flattening along your core before moving up and down so lovingly, you could finish now with how much he is arousing you. He picks up the pace after a minute, sloshing his tongue over and over, taking in the taste of you, not wanting to miss a drop as you whimper at the growing sense. Stopping him, you take the time to pleasure him, performing what you hope satisfies though just being with you in general is enough for Hoseok. He never dreamed that he would have a chance with you though he wished for it, and here you are, kissing him back, asking him to stay, professing your feelings even if it’s through intimacy.

Finding himself above you, bodies pressing together in the dead of night, time is no longer a concern. Nodding toward him swiftly after getting lost in his eyes, he places a devoted kiss before he brings his hand to his being, placing it at your entrance before slowly thrusting in. He moves in you, your legs tighten behind him as he smothers your mouth with more kisses, with each stroke, the power of your climax is building to its peak as you gasp his name in pleasure. His pelvic movements increase the more you plead and when the climaxes hit, your thighs tightening as the ecstasy releases, he collapses beside you, burying his nose in your neck as you gleefully intertwine your fingers with his. Completing the night with a happiness you thought you would never find again.

And waking up to Hoseok every morning henceforward, has become your new favorite thing. Especially with his arm always being laced around your waist, his gentle, slow kisses along the back of your neck. The way his eyes light up every time he so much as glimpses at you, and all you can think, as your smile never dims, is this what it’s like to be happy again? When he lingers above you after you both freshen up, his frilly hair tickles your forehead, your hands run along his bare chest, landing on his shoulders then tracing to his neck, you are so captivated with him, you forget about the world still turning outside of your bedroom walls.

Hoseok has never felt this way for anyone before, not until he met you. The first day back in the restaurant a couple years ago, he never dreamed he would ever awaken to you cuddled in his arms, longing for his embrace, and leaving traces of kisses upon his face, giggling at his jokes, wanting to learn more about him, the same as he wants to learn everything about you. His finger runs along the side of your face as he cherishes every ounce of your beauty shining from your heart out onto your glowing countenance. The words he’s been dying to say are waiting to leave him, your gaze never faltering as he inches to press a loving kiss on your lips.

“I love you,”

You’re stunned at first, the evidence is held by the way your heart skips, but you have never felt joy so astounding as it waves across your heart, your hands still placed behind his neck, you’re nearly speechless, the words close to escaping your lips-

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

“Ah, shit!” you groan, shutting the alarm clock off as the two of you hastily get ready for work. Arriving at your job lately has been filled with light teasing, and prolonged questions especially when your coworkers have noticed the change in your step, dancing around the tables, humming little ditties, snapping your fingers until you take someone’s order. Hoseok still comes to get his pancakes on a daily, the two of you remaining professional although you’d do anything not to bury the desire to smother him with kisses all over his handsome face.

One morning, after Hoseok left the restaurant to head to work, M appears by your side, slamming her crossed arms on the counter.

“He said it, didn’t he,” She accuses, her knowing grin meets her eyes. You can’t stop the smile forming on your lips, as you continue to fiddle with a bracelet Hoseok gifted you. “He did!” M gasps, pulling you into a tight hug. Your best friend has shipped this relationship since the beginning, she has proclaimed, and there is no one else you’d want to share your joy with than her. “Double date this Friday?” She beams whenever you both pull away.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you smile, pulling her into another hug.

As another month slips away into time, many days of Hoseok hugging you from behind, cornering you with sultry kisses, asking you questions you’d never think he’d come up with, gifting you with his presence in every way he can. You’ll never get tired of him, you’ll never get tired of this, you think inwardly, gripping the front of his short-sleeved, flowery shirt hanging loose on his frame.

“Oh,” Hoseok groans, “Why do you do this to me?” He smiles, stealing a quick kiss. Once he pulls away, you can’t help but tease.

“I’m not done, yet,” pulling him to your lips again, feeling his smile once you do. You fall back onto the couch, his dark green ballcap still remains on his head, as his figure tangles with yours, getting lost in your kiss as he deepens it. His warm hand grips your waist causing your shirt to rise to reveal exposed skin he then caresses as his other hand rests beside you. Hands cupping his face, your thumbs stroke his cheeks, your gasps light as he trails his lips along your neck.

When you then return to kiss him, his warmth overtaking you, a knock on the door sounds. Jolting in surprise, you raise your head with furrowed eyebrows, taking a second to register it. You both are confused since you haven’t been expecting anyone.

“Maybe it’s M,” you shrug. Hoseok and you straighten your clothes, him fixing his fluffy bangs and setting his hat straighter. Walking to the door, you unlock the deadbolt, slowly opening it to reveal who is waiting behind it. When your eyes fall upon the figure, the shock engulfing you nearly shatters your entire being, your eyes widening as the pain stabs every millimeter of your entirety.

Jeongguk, your long-lost past, stands before you, hands in his pockets, his eyes holding sorrow as he swallows panicky, trying to gather his words and failing. You can’t move, you’re frozen in place, your words robbed from you, as you feel the world turn ice cold. “Hi,” he murmurs, his brown eyes barely holding your gaze, your hands wanting to tremble as one grips the door handle, the other gripping the door frame until your fingertips are ghost white. When Hoseok notices your tense shoulders, your body rigid, concern immediately dawns on him as he steps to stand by your side.

“[Y/N]?” Hoseok says. You turn to see him, his eyes staring ahead of him to discover your ex-boyfriend whose eyes enlarge at the sight of Hoseok who reaches to rest a hand on your back to steady you. Nausea wallows in the depths of your stomach, your fingertips brush Hoseok’s free wrist, him immediately meeting your frantic eyes. As if he reads your mind, he nods once in understanding ‘I won’t be far’ his eyes read, then flickering one more intimidating look at Jeongguk before turning into the apartment. You opened up to Hoseok about the breakup, but never once did you think the past would come to haunt you, especially now that you have given your heart to someone else. Someone who deserves it. Swiftly you close the door behind you, swallowing once before looking up at Jeongguk, tears pooling in your eyes as your body trembles, the pain so overwhelming, you’re surprised you’re still standing.

Jeongguk begins softly, “[Y/N],”

“Where have you been?”

Your tone is angrier than you expect, but can you really blame yourself? He left you without a warning, leaving you feeling worthless, trying to figure out how to manage the pain without any explanation. Without any closure. Jeongguk is tense, his dark hair covers his forehead, his thin lips part as he lets out a weary sigh.

“[Y/N],” he whispers, “I’m so sorry, I-”

“You’re sorry!?” You breathe in astonishment, still fighting the tears wanting to trail continuously down your face, your arms hugging yourself tight to suppress the shivering. “Seven months without a trace, and you’re sorry!?” Your whispered voice reveals the agony, Jeongguk wincing at the pain he’s caused, shame hovering his mien. How can someone you used to admire, someone you used to shower with warm embraces, share an irrevocable love betray you in the blink of an eye? It’s something you will never understand. Everything you once adored about him has faded with time, the pain subsided, you almost forgot about him entirely, until now. “Did you not think I deserved a warning?” You question, “A conversation!?”

He stares up at the dark night, his tired eyes trying to hide the tears threatening to spill onto his jacket. “I’m sorry, [Y/N]. I didn’t know what to do. I felt stuck. I felt-”

“And you didn’t consider that maybe I needed to know that?” You raise your hand in irritation, none of what he’s saying makes any sense. “I loved you.” You choke back a sob, “I would have done anything for you. How could you just dismiss it like that didn’t mean a damn thing to you?”

“[Y/N],” Chin quivering, his hands leave his pockets reaching in your direction.

“No!” you cry, backing away from him, “Don’t touch me.” Jeongguk settles his hands to his sides, not meeting your gaze as large tears stream down his cheeks, longing to comfort you though he knows he’s lost all opportunity to do so. “Tell me why,” you wipe at the tears, preparing yourself for whatever truth he may reveal, “After three years together, tell me why.”

Jeongguk runs a hand through his hair, his wounded expression hesitant, “It was the same routine every day.” He confesses, his voice thick with repressed pain, “I felt like I was living the same day on repeat over and over again until I just- I couldn’t take it anymore.” The words cut like knives, deep into your heart, tearing at you leaving gaping wounds in their wake. Jeongguk had become bored with you. He became so bored with the life the two of you lived, that he just left it all behind to obtain whatever he thought he would find. Now it all makes sense, the nights he stopped holding you close, the empty conversations, the distance you brushed off as him needing space, it all comes back to you at once. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I wanted to see the world. I wanted to-” Words die on his tongue as he clenches his jaw, “I wanted to-”

Anger bubbles as your hands form into fists, “Hold on,” you mutter through clenched teeth, pulling the door open, stomping to the bedroom, Hoseok’s voice calling your name, pain searing through you as you thrust open the closet door, tossing things out of the way until you find it. Gripping it in your hands, you trample back to the doorway, shoving it in Jeongguk’s hands, him nearly dropping it to shatter in pieces. When he turns the jar, his mouth opens in surprise, the word Ireland stares back at him.

“What?” He breathes, his voice hardly audible.

“I was saving as much as I could for a trip to Ireland. For us! For you!” You say through clenched teeth, the anger still boiling as you try to steady your breathing. You can tell he’s alarmed, and if he thought he was abashed enough as it is, nothing tops the humiliation he feels as his eyes remain glued to the jar full of money meant for a dream the two of you could have lived together.

“I don’t- I don’t know what to say,”

“Seems like you never did,” your comment is harsh, but you stand your ground because if there is anything you will not do, is to let him think for one second, he will ever stand a chance of winning you back. “I wasn’t enough for you.” You shake your head slowly, “I see that now,” Reaching for the jar, Jeongguk hands it to you in defeat, his heart torn in so many pieces for what he’s done, he knows he will never forgive himself for what he did to you. To someone who loved him unconditionally. To someone, he wished he would have realized he had when he had you.

“[Y/N], I’m so sorry, please. Just please know that,” he whispers, his eyes pleading as your heart wrenches at his words, wishing the pain of this situation would officially heal. Your quavering hand searches for the door handle behind you, your demeanor resonating nothing but true anguish. Staring at his face, his dimples visible from his pressed lips as his chin trembles, tears reappearing in the eyes you used to get lost in, the line of his jaw you used to trace dreamily every morning when first waking up, every desire to hear his voice is gone. Disappeared forever in the past where memories of him will linger but will never be longed for. With one more stare, your body weak from the shock, you gather enough strength to let it all go. To let him go.

“Goodbye, Jeongguk,” you whisper, turning the knob to the front door, “Goodbye.”

You don’t look back, and you don’t plan to. Shutting the door behind you, your back remains against it as you squeeze your eyes shut, wanting to slip to the floor, but instead you set your Ireland jar on the ground. Your body feels so drained from all your nerves being shot that you’re not sure what else to do other than to remain frozen in place.

“[Y/N]?” Hoseok’s voice is barely a whisper. Opening your eyes, you meet Hoseok’s, his lips turned down in a devastated frown, his heart broken at the pain he sees you’re going through. With a quick pace, you walk toward him, collapsing into his arms, the wails escaping you as every tear you’ve tried to hold back stream like waterfalls down your face. You can’t find any words, just crying the hurt away, Hoseok holds you tight against his chest. When your sobs gradually cease, Hoseok notices the jar near the door, and with respect, he kept his distance from the door earlier, letting your conversation between you and your ex-boyfriend remain private. Pulling away, you follow his gaze, guilt overwhelming you because you never told him about the savings jar. Mostly since it was originally created with the idea of going with a previous partner. Now, it’s simply savings for yourself, though it will take some time for you to see it that way.

When Hoseok picks up the jar, he reads the logo in the center, shock overwhelming him. Little do you know, ever since you told him months ago that your dream was to go to Ireland, he also has been putting extra money in a savings jar with the intent on surprising you one day. Though he wants to tell you, especially with how surreal this whole situation is, he doesn’t. Between the money you saved along with his, he knows that it’s enough to cover the cost of the whole trip between you both. Inwardly, he comes up with a plan, if his job is okay with it, and possibly your job, then maybe he can continue arranging your surprise after all.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, hugging yourself tightly in order to find some comfort, sniffing back at the sting of tears brimming your eyes.

“Why are you apologizing?” Hoseok sets the jar on the coffee table in front of the couch, immediately pulling you into his arms. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

Hearing his words moves you, and you cling to him, never wanting to let him go as long as you live. You’re not sure what else to say or do other than to hold him, letting his arms bring a comfort you’ve fallen in love with, his fingers stroking the line of your spine, his warm lips moving to press a tender kiss on yours. When he rests his forehead against yours, your hands hold his wrists as he cups your face, the both of you enthralled with each other without even having to use words. You pull away momentarily, just enough to stare into Hoseok’s soft, brown eyes. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” you whisper for only him to hear. When Hoseok’s eyes reveal tears, he’s tried so hard to hold back, his bottom lip trembling, you finally say the words you’ve felt within your heart ever since the night of your first kiss with him,

“Before you gave me the dandelion seeds,” Tears spill onto your cheeks, your voice wavering, “you asked me what the biggest wish I ever wished was,” you recall, the memory swarming in your mind feels as if it was lived just yesterday, “At the time, I honestly wasn’t sure. Not that I really had a second to answer you, but one thing I longed for, especially at that moment, was happiness.” You wet your lips, Hoseok’s eyes never leaving yours as he listens to your every word, “A few days after you gave the dandelions to me, I did make a wish.” You admit, a smile adorning your face, “I realized that every time you walked into those doors, I never stopped smiling. Every time you saw me, you took the chance to know me, finding a way to make me smile again and again,” you look down timidly for a moment, a sweet giggle escaping your lips, “When I made my wish, Hoseok, I wished for you,” Hoseok’s arms squeeze you closer, his face cuddling to yours as joy flies within his soul. You meet his gaze one more time,

“You are my happiness, Hoseok,” your heart soars, “And, I love you with all I am.”

Four months later…

“Hey, Hobi?” You bellow from your bedroom as you shuffle through your drawers, “I swear I put it in here,” you mutter to yourself, tossing each article of clothing out of the way to glimpse for what you’re looking for.

“Yes, [Y/Nickname]?” Hoseok’s voice calls back to you, the sound of his footsteps nearing. When he pauses at the door frame, he leans against it, an amused expression on his face as he watches you struggle, his hands slipping into his jeans’ pockets.

You briefly glare at him trying to stifle the grin wanting to tug onto your lips, “Where is my flower crop top, you know, the one I wore recently? I swear I put it in the drawer.”

“Did you check the closet?” He asks, and you pause for a moment.

“I did,” you murmur, putting your fingertips to your mouth as you begin to chew at the bottom of your lip, “I wanted to wear it again this weekend when I have a girl’s night out with LenLen and M.”

You’re in your work uniform in preparation to leave in the next ten minutes, and you’re nearly driving yourself mad by not being able to find your current favorite top.

“Did you check the laundry? The washer?” Hoseok questions, you are nodding in reply.

Raking a hand through your hair, you heave a heavy sigh, “I’m just gonna go make some toast real quick. I’ll just look for it tonight,” You notice in your peripheral vision, Hoseok chuckling to himself, but you brush it off, throwing some toast into the toaster. After a minute, it’s ready and you set it on a plate spreading some of your favorite jam along the crusty slice. When warm arms encompass you from behind, you nearly melt, leaning your head back as Hoseok plants a warm kiss on the side of your neck. “I loathe you,” you joke, your smile so wide, butterflies tickle your tummy, you turn enough to steal a quick kiss, letting the sensation of his lips linger. When you desire for one more, instead you’re greeted with a likewise smile,

“I didn’t know people like to kiss somebody they despise,”

“Oh,” you playfully slap his shoulder, returning to the toast you’re eager to stuff your face with. “I need to leave for work.” You state, taking a large bite from your breakfast.

“No, you don’t,” Hoseok’s words catch you by surprise as you turn fully to face him, the toast still in your mouth for your second bite. A few strands of loose hair fall into your face.

“I wish,” you groan, taking a third bite of the toast, “But, ya girl’s gotta make a living somehow.” You shrug, turning back around to unplug the appliance.

There’s a pause for a moment, your gorgeous boyfriend eyeing you, his dark, fluffy hair close to covering his soft eyes. “What if-” He begins, inching closer to you, “What if I were to tell you that you really don’t have to go to work today?” Slowly, you turn to face him once again, staring at him in confusion, “I’m serious, what if I were to tell you that for the next two weeks you will be off work? Too far away to be available for them to call you in?”

Eyeing him suspiciously, you cross your arms, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips, “Well, it’s Monday, don’t you have to work?” You counter, your toast mostly devoured at this point. When Hoseok chuckles, you playfully scoff, rolling your eyes, “You’re so full of it.”

You nudge your shoulder to him as you brush past, reaching for your purse and car keys, preparing to walk out the front door.

“You really don’t have to go to work today,” Hoseok, still laughing, you whirl around to face him, your hands landing on your hips in humored irritation. “Or, for the next two weeks if I’m being precise.”

“Jung Hoseok,” you huff, “if you do not tell me what the hell is going on, I will knock you into yesterday so fast-”

“Whoa, whoa,” he holds his hands out in mock defense, he’s still laughing it takes him a moment before he continues, “I mean you can totally do that if you’d like, but I would hate for the second ticket to Ireland to go to waste.”

What. Did he just say?

Your limbs are limp, freezing in place, your jaw drops, your eyes widen, tears of shock pooling along your eyelids, “What?” You breathe, your purse falling from your arm as well as your keys from your numb fingers. “Did you just say?” Hoseok nods, your heart hammering beneath you as you gaze at the love of your life standing before you with his never-ending smile.

“You’re not going to work for the next two weeks because you will be in Ireland,” his words are loving as he speaks, “With me.”

“You mean it?” Your voice comes out in an excited choke as adrenaline rushes through your veins. “Hoseok, do you mean it? Is this for real!?”

“I mean it, [Y/N]. One hundred percent,” And with that, you sprint to him, jumping into his arms, he lifts you up, spinning you around multiple times, tears streaming down your face in pure happiness.

“WE’RE GOING TO IRELAND!” You shout, him setting you down, the two of you enveloped in each other’s arms, swaying side to side as you cry into his shoulder. A dream you have dreamed for so long is finally coming true all because of the man standing right before you. Gasping, you pull away,

“I need to pack!” You freak, your fingers gripping his biceps absentmindedly.

“Already done,” Hoseok chirps, his eyes dancing when you meet his gaze with furrowed eyebrows.

“What about M and LenLen?”

“Were in on it the whole time,” He winks.

“What?”

“I already packed our bags,” He muses, “The top you’re missing? Amongst many other articles of clothing I managed to sneak past you, are awaiting in packed bags in the trunk of my car.” You stare at him in amazement, so speechless you’re not even sure if you’re comprehending what he’s saying by the shock overpowering your mind. “Also, LenLen and Monnie planned that trip to distract you from becoming suspicious,” Hoseok pinches your chin with his fingertips, “Oh,” He says, “Our flight leaves in less than three hours, so I don’t know about you, but I think we should get going.”

“Well,” You breathe, “What are you waiting for, slowpoke!? Let’s go!” You grab his hand, dragging him headfirst through the front door, locking it behind the two of you as you both jog to his car, his laugh echoing in the air- the both of you are ecstatic for the journey ahead. Once the two of you arrive at the airport, you both figure out luggage and board the plane, Hoseok lets you sit at the window, your eyes gazing at the land below you, your fingers intertwined with his, basking in the scenery you never dreamed you’d finally see.

As your eyes remain outside the window, Hoseok’s eyes remain on you as he falls in love with you all over again- watching you stare at the earth below in astonishment, every now and then nudging him to peek outside at whatever captured your vision. Unbeknownst to you, he has so much more in store. He planned this trip from beginning to end, and though nervous jitters surround his heart, there is nowhere else he’d rather be, than right by your side,

holding your hand until the end of time.

Greenery sways in the wind, the deep green losing its glisten as the sun sets ahead, the cattle spread across the field grazing among the grass, the purple and orange hues reflecting in the sky as a gentle, warm breeze wisps through your hair. Hoseok closes his eyes, his chin pointed upward enjoying the feel of it all the same as you are, the land so immense it’s as though the few dirt paths never end. His fingers are interlaced with yours, a mason jar on the center of the table- previously refilled with numerous questions he had yet to ask you- two freshly picked dandelions lay on the other side of the jar, the deep gold of the petals vibrant, their fragrance meeting your nose as you inhale the sweet scent. Ireland. A land you’ve longed to tread for so many years, and here you are, sitting in the country, basking in the scenery encompassing the two of you.

“There’s one more question left,” Hoseok speaks, a loving grin forming on his pink lips when your dreamy gaze meets his.

“I know,” you whisper, him squeezing your hand. Staring at the final piece of folded paper at the bottom of the mason jar, with your free hand, you reach into it, noticing it is held down by one small piece of tape. That’s funny, you wonder, scraping at the corner of the tape as tediously as you can. Struggling, you hardly notice Hoseok rising to his feet, scooting off to side out of your peripherals, his fingers leaving yours momentarily to adjust at his shirt collar. Once the tape loosens just enough to remove from the bottom of the jar, you bring the folded paper closer to you, using both hands to carefully unfold it.

The second you register the words staring back at you, tears brim your eyes as a gasp escapes your lips, bringing your fingertips to your mouth, your gaze turns to land upon Hoseok, kneeled before you, tears welling in his own eyes as his lips tremble, reaching into his pocket to reveal a small, black velvet box, your heart pounding within your chest as you let out a breathy cry.

“[Y/N],” Hoseok begins, your fingers covering beneath your eyes as you wipe every tear that pours. “When I first met you, there was something about you that made me want to know you more and more every day.

Maybe it’s the way you smiled at me every morning when I arrived at the restaurant. Or, the way your eyes lit up the moment you greeted someone at every table. Or, your cheery voice when you’re around your friends and family. Or, the way you stay strong despite what is thrown at you.

But what really got me, what really inspired me, is the way that you see the world.” You gaze at the man before you, getting lost in his brown eyes, your heart soaring with his every word,

“Wishes instead of weeds. Something that is seen to be negative, you see as the most beautiful source to decorate the earth. Something that you can wish on to bring positivity. To bring hope.” Hoseok pauses, a tear streaming down his face, “I knew when I met you that you were someone special. But, that day, that day particularly, I knew right then that I wanted you in my life regardless.” Hoseok wets his lips, as another tear spills on his cheek, “Forever,” he breathes, “[Y/N]?” He opens the velvet box exposing a beautiful, shimmering diamond ring, “Will you make my biggest wish I’ve ever wished come true, and marry me?”

When your wide smile adorns your face, an excited gasp leaves your lips,

“I thought you’d never ask!”

[writingwip]

A fic I probably wont finish but the thoughts there. Anyone’s free to take it up if they want. Basically Five wakes up and finds out he’s the god of a cult. Klaus better explain this one in .5 seconds or Five’s gonna have his head on a stake. 

Five had found himself sat on a throne of sorts, expression wild and confused. People were lined up on both sides with fruits and drinks held neatly on platters and kneeling stiffly with faces respectfully angled downwards. They all had on similar clothing, soft flowing fabrics that draped over them but fit nicely, deep blues and soft beiges. The room was lit with candles and incense that made him feel sleepy and lightheaded. 

A bizarre experience is how Five would put it. Bizarre and slightly amusing and confusing and interesting. 

He had caught the eyes of a figure standing out among the rest, closest to him and wearing slightly altered clothes. He had a little cylindrical hat with funny symbols Five realized were his math equations, only if all the letters and numbers were shoved into one image haphazardly made to look semi-symmetric. His eyes lit up as they made eye contact and a smile quickly took over his face. Five already wanted to punch him. 

“Awake at last, my lord,” and oh jesus, he was being called a lord. What had he gotten into this time? “We have long awaited you to arise. Welcome back, dear lord,” and the man deeply bowed. Five wasn’t sure whether to run yet or see where this was leading. “Lord Klaus had predicted today would be the day you awoken and joined us once again. Such divinity has blessed us and we had quickly gotten ready for your arrival.” Klaus? What had that oaf done? Five sighed and stood up. 

He had been sitting criss-cross on a soft, velvet pillow sat on a raised platform. Surrounding it were more candles and a burning stick of incents strong enough to make Fives head dizzy. This was ridiculous. 

“Where is Klaus?” Five asks the man. He seemed downright euphoric that Five had spoken, let alone directly to him. He was quick to fully stand and reach his hand out, offering support as Five’s legs wobbled. Five shot him a glare and raised his hand as a warning. He would slap this man if it came to it which, judging by how he’s acting already, it will. 

“Lord Klaus and Lady Vanya are awaiting you in the congregation room,” The man says quickly, shuffling forward slightly before turning back to Five to see if he was following. As if he were a child. Five sneered and walked in front of the man if just to prove a point. He felt an ache in his chest and eyed the food platters suspiciously, taking an apple off of one. The woman who was holding it squeaked and when Five looked away he heard a bang. He was pretty sure she passed out. Five had half a mind to tell everyone to fuck off but his head was too busy trying to figure out what was going on to really put the thoughts into action. He wondered idly if it were poisoned or drugged, but quickly pushed that thought away. These people were way too adoring of him to try to touch him, let alone poison him. Plus, he was almost sure Klaus wouldn’t let a weird cult drug him. Almost. He shoved the apple into his mouth and made it to the end of the room, pushing the two doors open with a grunt. 

Sweet, succulent fresh air invaded his lungs. It wasn’t choking in incense and body heat. Thank god. The door opened up to a bright room with an arched dome ceiling entirely made of glass. Sunlight streamed in and lit up the white pillars supporting it all, dancing across the fresh green leaves that decorated the walls and sat prettily in the center of the room. It had soft looking benches lining the walls, though other than that it was barren. It was a room made to look pretty and that’s about it, apparently. Such a waste of space. Five stepped in and looked around. There were three doors on each wall. Five looked back to the man trailing behind him and gave him a pointed look. The poor buy was sweating bullets. 

“Right this way sir,” He stumbled out and veered off to the left. The air was fresh and crisp and slightly cold, like a cloudless october morning. It made his fingertips cold to the touch. He rubbed them together and followed the man. 

“Who are you?” Five asked, just so he could stop calling him ‘the man’. He jumped up at the broken silence and looked nervously towards Five. 

“I’m the head priest, my lord. Priest Bence, of your religion, sir,” Five’s brow rose at ‘your religion’ but otherwise didn’t comment on it. He’d grill Klaus on it when they got there, for now he’d like to enjoy the pretty scenery and let his stiff joints loosen up and pop. 

They ventured through a few more rooms with similar architecture, though some were more furnished than others and were obviously meant for people to hang out in. It was all very cozy and bright, something Five wasn’t much used to. 

With a final push of a door the lighting changed. It was still bright but it shone with a dulled yellow glow. Soft pews lead up like dominos to a stained glass window portraying… something. Five couldn’t really wrap his head around the colors, though they were obviously meant to represent a silhouette of a scene. Five wasn’t much of a visualiser anyways. 

Directly below the intricate glass were his siblings. Two of them at least. Klaus was sat on a bright pink bean bag chair that looked wildly out of place front and center in a church setting, gesturing bodily as he narrated whatever odd story Klaus spun. Vanya was standing, leaning against the wall and looking at Klaus with a smile. 

When the door closed behind them, the two looked up. Smiles, soft and warm and kind and so uncanny directed at Five, were immediately on their faces. 

“Five…” Vanya said, voice choked up as if she were about to cry. Five really hoped she wouldn’t because he was lacking in social skills and wouldn’t know how to comfort her. Thankfully she seemed to be holding it in. 

“Five, buddy! We’ve been waiting like, forever for you! Took you long enough, sleeping beauty!” Klaus was grinning ear to ear and even he seemed a little choked up. What was going on? Five made his way up to his siblings as they patiently waited. Head Priest Bence trailed after him like a lost duckling all the way, making as if to grab for Five then quickly putting his hands back. It was odd and awkward and Five just wanted him to leave. 

When he got in front of them Vanya leapt in for the kill, hugging Five tightly and burrowing her head in his shoulder. Klaus was standing now, kicking the bean bag slightly to the side and squeezing the two siblings. 

“Group hug!” Klaus laughed. Fives fingers twitched. There was silence for a second before Klaus looked directly at Head Priest Bence. “Dude we’re having a moment. Go, shoo, off to the dinning hall or whatever,” and before he could even finish his sentence the man was out the door, eager to accept any of their orders it seemed. Five watched him go with detached amusement. He pulled away, though both siblings looked dejected. He couldn’t find it in himself to feel bad. 

“What the hell’s going on here?” Five asked first, arms crossed loosely over his chest. Vanya and Klaus looked at eachother knowingly. This can’t be good. 

“Straight to the point as always, Five-o!” Klaus grinned. Vanya snorted and rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, it’s good to have you back. It's… it’s been a while,” she said and her eyes fogged up again. 

“How long exactly?” Five glowered. He felt like he wasn’t going to like this answer. The two siblings sent each other looks again. He really hoped they didn’t learn telepathy or something. Vanya looked away first and Klaus looked victorious. 

By god they did, didn’t they?

“It’s uh… it’s been a couple… hundred… years?” She stutters out and looks at the opposite wall with great interest, fiddling with her hands. Five wants to either slam his head through the stain glass or scream into one of the very soft pillows. Possibly both if he positioned himself right. Klaus looked at him with a shit eating grin. He knew exactly what this was about. 

Five could settled for neither of those options and instead wanted to punch his brother directly in his stupid nose. 

“You really are sleeping beauty with your hundred year rest,” Klaus grins. 

It would be so easy. He could probably break his nose.

Surprising even himself, Five showed an impressive amount of restraint. He only punched him in the gut. Vanya choked on a giggle as Klaus hunched over. 

“I wasn’t even the one to tell you,” he wheezed out pathetically. “This is totally unfair.” Five scoffed. 

“You know damn well Vanya’s my favorite,” and Klaus said nothing to that, admitting defeat and slumping down to the floor. Five looked down on him like a lion looks down on a prairie mouse. Vanya smiles goofily next to him, crouching down and patting Klaus’ back. 

“Why didn’t you guys just, i dunno, wake me up?” Five hisses, arms tightening around himself. Vanya opens her mouth to reply but Five cuts her off, “And before you say it’s one of those self-induced healing comas, I know I had like a thousand viles of that kick start you could have pumped into me”. They’re both quiet. 

Klaus still seemed winded so Vanya spoke up after a few hesitant seconds. “Your lab… may or may not have… blown up…” She smiles nervously. Five clutches his arms tightly against his chest and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath in and letting his tense shoulders unwind. He opens his eyes and smiles back. 

Vanya screams, sharp and ringing, and books it towards the door. Klaus is scrambling to stand up and clutch the bean bag up to his face, cowering in a corner. Five’s smile widens and a vein throbs in his head. 

He had been awake for less than twenty minutes and he already felt a headache ebbing its way into his temple. 

With pinpoint accuracy he picks up the nearest object, a wooden pedestal that was probably supposed to have a book on it, and chucks it directly at Vanya. She’s out the door in time, however, and now there's a wooden pedestal halfway out the door. He hadn’t been trying to actually hit her, he never would, but hearing that sentence had him teetering the line more than he had ever thought possible. 

By the way she said it, she definitely had something to do with it. 

Five looks over at Klaus with a cold glare and he flinches deeper into the small corner. He sighs, head in his hands, and takes a minute to compose himself. Klaus peaks his head over the bean bag and gives him an innocent look. 

“Okay, I’m fine now,” Five declares and Vanya shakkily opens the door. Wood Splinters rain down from the gaping hole only plugged up by the pedestal itself. She creeps up to him, though she has no real fear lining her shoulders. 

“So let me get this straight. I was out of commission for a few hundred years and since none of you could wake me up, you decided to start a cult,” Five practically growls. Klaus is now stomach-down on the bean bag, kicking his feet to make it slide back over to his siblings. 

Klaus makes a placating expression of contemplation before shrugging. “Yeah pretty much,” He says. 

Five contemplates murder, for just one second. One beautiful second. 

“And why am I a part of it, pray tell?” Five asks, annoyed. He had made it specifically clear that he didn’t want to be a cult leader or a ‘god’ a good few thousand years ago after the train wreck that was his first and last cult. At least, it used to be his last. He was genuinely confused, knowing his siblings would comply with at least those restrictions when asked to. Vanya's face screws up a bit, looking almost pained. 

“When you, uh, were attacked and put in that state, we weren’t sure where your body was. We’re still not entirely sure. We just got word a few hundred years ago that there was a small cult forming around an ‘immortal sleeping child’ and we were willing to take a gamble and look into it,” Vanya muttered out, seemingly embarrassed. So they had lost his body then? How?

“What happened? Why was I attacked in the first place?” Five asks, walking over to Klaus and sitting next to him. He leaned heavily onto the beanbag and Klaus shuffled over, though Five never climbed on. 

Vanya’s fingers grew somehow more twitchy. “That's the thing…”

Klaus beat her to it, though his usual happy air was completely gone. He looked serious for once. 

“It was one of us, and we don't know who”

[thecagedsong]

Forgotten Light: Chapter 10: Departure

A/N: Hey, going to be a little iffy on the posting schedule. Taking a huge test in 12 days and I have to study all day every day. Take this one though, one of my favorite chapters. I do wonder if the story would be better if I didn’t have so much of the plan laid out beforehand.

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11

Chapter 10: Departure

Everyone was sweating as Agad, the last of their group, reached the High Judgement Pavilion. Only Patton was missing, already on his way to scope out the dragon temple. While they didn’t tell Seth directly, Patton was probably going to use their infuriatingly peaceful flight as a distraction for when he entered.

Seth had spent the afternoon getting everything ready. Whispering to people to pack up and where to go, modifying the treaty to let their mounts out, trying to collect items. Tess had found him and spelled out the names of the demons in Kendra’s journal, and it was only when she spelled out “Tailizar” that he connected that name with demon that had confronted him in the dreamscape. Agad had promised to see if he could locate any of these demons, and Seth stuck their names with Patton’s list of ways to reach the Phantom Isle. He really needed an adventure log. He let Tess keep the journal of secrets, since no one else was going to use it.

“All right,” Seth said, rubbing his hands together. “I see everyone has brought their suitcases, like I said. You’re probably wondering what is going on, and the answer is that all humans and Satyrs are leaving Wyrmroost right now. I’m going to give being caretaker back to Marat, Agad will do what he wants, but the rest of us are heading out.”

Everyone started asking questions at once, but they weren’t letting Seth answer them. Every time he tried to start, someone else would jump in with a point.

Marat struck his staff on the ground, demanding silence. He nodded back at Seth.

“Right, I’ve thought this through and talked it over with Agad and Marat. We’re expecting an attack tonight, and the biggest weakness is the barrel, so we’ll be taking that with us. There’s a spy in the keep I’m going to have to leave Marat to deal with, but to be honest, he’ll probably be able to handle them a lot better than I could.

“We did what we were brought here to do: kept Wyrmroost from falling, strengthened the treaty barriers, and we saved a couple of castles and insulted the dragon king while we were at it. There’s no reason for me to be here, or any of you, and as cool as it has been being the caretaker, I have a couple of leads on finding Kendra, and that’s more important.”

Grandma asked, “How will you get Celebrant to agree to the change in leadership?”

Seth grinned, “Celebrant doesn’t have to. He’s no longer caretaker, revoked by our local dragon slayer. He’ll be angry, I’m counting on it, but no magic says he can tell us to do anything. We’re skipping the Fair Folk bit again, but they already confirmed Marat once, and what are they going to do, write a slightly angry letter?”

“And how do you expect to leave peacefully?” Grandpa asked, arms folded.

“The flying mounts,” Tanu answered before Seth could.

“Yep,” Seth said. “It may have skipped your notice, but we acquired some new wings for our friends. We fly down to the nearest town with a car rental, and we can be back in Fablehaven by tomorrow. To make things easier on our friends, we won’t have them fly us the whole way. And we’ll have some nice stables waiting for them at Fablehaven when they arrive.”

“And the Dragons?” Newel asked. “I still haven’t heard how we’re getting around them if they decide it isn’t poor taste to eat poultry and red meat in the same meal.”

Doren slapped a hand to his head, “Of course, the Cloak of Innocence.”

“I would normally be loathe to test the cloak against multiple dragons,” Agad said, “As they are undoubtably watching us, but it is a short trip, the numbers within the cloak’s ability, even with the mounts. The cloak has also proven effective against dragon fear, ensuring you retain the ability to stay seated.”

“Oh, and we’re taking the barrel with us,” Seth said, not remembering if he had already mentioned it, “Marat, did we get anything for that?”

Marat waved a golden feather, “This will significantly lighten the barrel, making it possible to carry if secured correctly.”

“Cool, any other questions?” Seth said, “We’ve been keeping this underwraps, hoping to be able to walk right out of here. Celebrant isn’t going to expect us to just leave, certainly not in broad daylight, which makes this the perfect time.”

“Wait, does this mean we’re going to be riding horses?” Newel asked, absolutely affronted.

“Actually, it’s not so bad,” Doren admitted quietly. “I had to, in order to stay with the littles. Felt a little off, but it won’t kill ya.”

“Look, I would really like you guys with me,” Seth said, “But if you’d rather stay here…”

Newel huffed, “Now I don’t appreciate being strong armed, I’ll go, but it’s unnatural is all.”

“So Marat, how do I do this?” Seth asked, and the dragon avatar stepped forward.

“First you’re going to have to denounce Kendra as a caretaker. You were appointed together as one, and you are both required to make decisions regarding the mantle. Kendra has been gone for long enough, that you can officially declare her as having abandoned the post, and accept all the responsibilities as sole caretaker. Hold the staff, hold the amulet, and repeat after me.”

Seth accepted the staff and repeated what Marat told him to. If Kendra had her memory, she would be so mad over what he was accusing her of: abandoning responsibilities, disregard for the treaty, and in her absence, he accepted sole power and responsibility for the preserve.

There was a glow from both the medallion and the tip of the staff. When it settled down, Agad stepped forward.

“Seth, remove the medallion from around your neck,” he instructed. He did so. “And repeat after me.”

Seth recited the same oath that Marat had asked him to take a little over a week ago.

“Do you, Marat nee Camarat, vow to protect the outside world from the living beings at Wyrmroost, and to shelter the living beings at Wyrmroost from any outside threats?”

“Yes,” Marat said, his head bowed.

“Then as the current caretaker of Wyrmroost and as master of Blackwell Keep, of my own free will, I hereby confer my stewardship over Wyrmroost to Marat nee Camarat, including all rights pertaining to a designated and official caretaker of this sanctuary together with all privileges available to the master of Blackwell Keep.”

Seth placed the medallion over Marat’s head, and they shook hands.

Agad let out a breath, “It is done. You have done this war a great service, Seth Sorenson.”

“Hey, maybe this isn’t goodbye forever to Wyrmroost,” Seth said, smiling, “It’s been fun, feel free to call on my services again after we get Kendra back.”

“We will try to let you grow up first,” Agad said. He walked to the side of the pavilion, it was fairly large, and waved a hand towards the stables.

A minute later, those who hadn’t yet seen the mounts were appreciating them. Tess looked like she had gone to heaven.

“I get to ride one?” Tess asked, bouncing.

“You’re going to be with your brother,” Agad said, smiling at her. “His steed is the majestic flying camel, Bagak.” Tess squealed and ran up the camel, talking a million miles a minute.

“Do I have to ride with her?” Knox complained.

“Bagak is the most secure,” Agad said, “We don’t have saddles that accommodate wings. Make no mistake, Tess is possibly the most important member of this party. Without her, everyone fails.”

Seth, meanwhile, was making introductions, “Grandma, this is Glory. She’s Kendra’s mount, and one of the mute luvians. Glory, would you be willing to take my grandma out of the preserve and to the outskirts of the city?”

Glory neighed and stomped once for yes.

“You are quite beautiful,” Grandma admired offering her hand and waiting for affirmation to stroke, “And Kendra picked you because you like Jane Austen, right?”

“Captain!” Seth called, pulling Grandpa behind him. “Patton’s gone, he was only a stingbulb, but I’m hoping you’d be willing to take my Grandpa?”

“I remember Patton was only temporary,” Captain said, “as a group, we have decided to stick together and give your goals what aide we can. I would be honored to carry your esteemed elder.”

“The honor would be mine,” Grandpa said bowing.

Seth found the dark gray stallion, and asked quietly, “Rodolfo, are you sure you’re okay leaving Lomo behind? I’d understand if you wanted to stay by him. He’s the only one you agreed to carry.”

“I heard you with Captain, and I stand by that. Lomo also encouraged me to stay with your group. Frustrated by his own race’s neutrality, he encouraged me to assist you in what I can,” Rodolfo told him.

“Good, I’m glad to have you with us,” Seth said, “You get the strangest riders. Go easy on them, they spook easily.”

Rodolfo seemed amused as he followed Seth to where the satyrs were standing apart from the group.

“Newel, Doren, this is Rodolfo, he has volunteered to carry you out of here,” Seth said. “I told him to go easy on your two because you’re scardy cats and this is unnatural.”

“I resemble that remark,” Doren said.

“You sure he’s up for carrying both of us?” Newel asked.

Rodolfo snorted, “I could carry you both and another besides.” Then he calmed down, “I swear that you will have safe journey on my back.”

“Sorry,” Newel said, “We’ve just never gotten along well with Centaurs, and have never met Luvians, but you seem an alright sort, I suppose.”

Seth left to find Nobel, who was waiting for him.

“Sorry about that buddy,” Seth said, “That was my last bit of being in charge for a while, had to do a good job of it. We’re going to be following Tanu and Charlemagne out of here, right?”

Nobel stomped once.

“Good, alright. If dragons try to bother us, I’m going to be the one talking to them. I won’t be focused on staying with the group then, you’re going to have to do that for me.”

Nobel tapped once again, then tossed his head. Seth smiled, “Yeah, I so got the coolest one.”

It took longer than Seth liked to get everyone mounted up and settled. Grandma made sure everyone had their weapons firmly put out of reach so that no accidents killed them all by disrupting the cloak of innocence’s power. The barrel ended up tied alongside Captain, weighing as much as a feather thanks to the magical item. They made sure Tess knew all the people and animals inside the protection of the cloak. Finally, they were ready about 5:30, which gave them a little over three hours before sunset.

“Until we meet again,” the caretaker brothers said in unison. They didn’t look anything alike, but their manners matched in that moment as the two dragons in human form bowed to the party.

“Lead on Charlemagne,” Seth called. They took off, and the heat fell away as they soared on the breeze. Seth decided to start counting, see how long it would take for a dragon to attack them.

He got bored and stopped, but it didn’t take long for one to approach.

“And where are you going, little caretaker?” a female voice asked. A black dragon surged from the surrounding woods into the air beside them.

“Oh, I’m not caretaker anymore,” Seth said, “I gave that over to Marat. Celebrant’s tantrums got boring; they aren’t worth my time.”

The dragon pulled back and a surge of green fire surrounded them, deflected by the bubble of Tess’s cloak.

“Now that was rude,” Seth said, as the breath weapon subsided, “Here we are, trying to leave peacefully, and you try to set us on fire.” He leaned forward on Nobel and stoked his neck. Dropping to a whisper he said, “Stay steady, don’t spook.”

There was a grunt Seth couldn’t interpret, but it was strong enough that Seth leaned back.

“Celebrant did not accept this change! He was not aware. You lie.”

Seth shook his head, “Take it up with the caretaker, Marat is back at Blackwell Keep. It might be hard, since Celebrant tore down the roost. The Somber Knight stripped Celebrant of his caretaker status, and since it’s no longer his business who is caretaker, we didn’t feel the need to inform him of the change. If he doesn’t know, you should hurry and tell him.”

The black dragon took off with three harsh beats of her wings. Not even the wind affected them, instead slipping around the barrier.

“Seth, here’s an idea, maybe don’t taunt the dragons?” Doren called back with a strained voice.

“Seconded,” Grandpa called from in front of him, “Protection from magical fear is all well and good, but we don’t need to make this experience anymore terrifying than it already is. Everyone okay?”

A round of affirmatives came, the silent horses whinnying.

Calvin flew up close on Thistleton.

“Should I try scouting like last time?” Calvin asked.

Seth shook his head, “Stay within the cover of the cloak. We don’t know how far we can stretch this bubble, and everyone staying together would be better. Go up to Charlemagne and ask how long until we reach the barrier.”

“Aye sir!” Calvin said. “Let’s go Thistleton!”

Calvin came back and reported forty minutes until they reached the boundary. Seth took out his spy glass and pointed it towards Sky Hold, but couldn’t focus it right while moving. He put it away and hoped. Hoped the black dragon was a chatterbox, discrediting Celebrant even further. Hoped she wasn’t as fast as she looked, and it would take her at least thirty minutes to make it to Sky Hold. They had bet a lot on this plan, and Seth really, really, really hoped it would work.

Ten minutes of fairly smooth flying (they had a small detour away from a herd of Peryton), and Seth was starting to feel hopeful. A dragon came up, but didn’t speak, just flew beside them, then dropped back down. Then twenty minutes down, twenty minutes to go, Calvin confirmed that they were on track.

A roar echoed along through the air, startling several flocks of birds, and even a couple of their flying mounts falter.

“Steady,” Grandma called.

“Seems like Celebrant just got the news,” Seth called to everyone.

“Pull in tighter,” Grandpa said, “As close as possible without jeopardizing speed. The less stretched the cloak, the better it will be able to protect us.”

Their mounts obeyed, and Seth started tapping his thigh nervously and checking over his shoulder towards Sky Hold. Five minutes later, according to his watch, because it felt like thirty minutes to him, Seth looked back and saw the streak of adamantine silver wings pushing towards them. Seth forced himself not to look back again.

“What is the meaning of this!” Celebrant demanded pulling to a stop in front of them. Their mounts reared in the air at the block.

“Keep going forward,” Knox called when their mounts pulled up. “he’ll be forced back, just like the first time I was here.”

“He’s right Charlemagne,” Seth called, “Keep going.”

Hesitantly, the mounts started forward again, and Celebrant snarled as he was the one forced back.

“I will not be ignored!” he roared. And it was exactly as terrible as it had been the day he and Kendra had had their interview.

“Uggh,” Seth said, wrinkling his nose, “I see you didn’t take my advice about the breath mints.”

“Do you admit to fleeing your post caretaker?” Celebrant demanded. “I would destroy you for your insolence!”

“As I told your spy,” Seth answered, “I’m not the caretaker. I gave the job back to Marat, and you can’t complain. The Somber Knight fired you for doing a terrible job! Go take it up with Marat back at Blackwell Keep. We’re leaving.”

Celebrant roared again, this time with the full strength of his breath weapon. Four other breath weapons joined from the rest of his entourage.  

Calvin flew up beside him, and as quietly as he could, said, “The barrier is weakening by the Satyrs.”

Oh no. He was used to Kendra holding the magic item, Tess didn’t have the same magic juice in her.

“Tell everyone to get ready to dash,” Seth whispered back. Calvin took off and he took a deep breath.

“Celebrant!” Seth roared back, hoping he was about  “I’ve met babies with better manners than you! We are leaving Wyrmroost in peace. You lie and cheat and still can’t beat a couple of kids. How does it feel to screw up so many times in just two weeks? Now leave us alone, you spineless piece of shit!”

“LANGUAGE!” Grandma yelled.

“Sorry!” Seth yelled back, “Celebrant, back off you piece of rotting troll dung! We’re leaving and there’s nothing you can do about it!”

The breath weapon ceased, and Celebrant looked more livid than Seth had ever seen him. “YOU DARE INSULT ME! I WILL BURN YOUR BONES TO ASH AND FEAST UPON YOUR HORSES —” Celebrant was forced to the side as Charlemagne charged forward.

 “The gate is in sight!” Tanu called.

“YOU FLEE LIKE COWARDS AND FLAUNT OUR CAGE! YOU WILL DIE HERE, SETH SORENSON!”

 “And your mother was a chicken nugget!” Seth shouted over his shoulder, clinging to Nobel with all his might.

Celebrant swiped with claws at the barrier, forcing it to turn temporarily opaque. Another dragon, brown, attacked from above, and the black one struck above the Satyrs, their shrieks were barely heard over the large cracking sound of their barrier.

Options, he needed options! The moment the cloak broke they were all dead. Why hadn’t he claimed the bow from Kendra?

The bag of winds! Seth scrambled, and pulled the small sack out of his adventure kit.

“I have the rear!” he called to his family over the crack of the brown dragon attacking again. “Everyone keep sprinting.”

Nobel resisted a little, but let Seth tug him exactly behind Bagak. He readied the bag of winds as the black dragon swiped. The shield was remaining opaque for longer and longer. The black dragon chomped at the shield, and it shattered. With a roar, Celebrant dived directly for him.

Seth waited until just before Celebrant reached the fading shield, angling it to catch on the flat of his wings. He braced as much as he could without losing his hold on Nobel. Seth opened the bag as wide as it would go. The protection, currently a cracked shell, vanished under his attack. Celebrant was blown off course, his swipe missing—

Celebrant vanished, along with his allies. Seth blinked at the empty sky. Gazing downward, gone were the lush, colorful trees. There was no Blackwell keep in the distance, and no enormous mountain peaks where Thronis watched, probably laughing.

It took a second for the cheering of his friends to hit. But it hit like the colder air and Seth collapsed against Nobel and he dropped the bag of winds. Calvin caught it and flew it back up to him.

“You were awesome,” Seth said to his horse.

“No, you were amazing!” Newel said, inching Rodolfo closer. “We thought it was our turn to become barbeque!”

“Indeed,” Rodolfo said, “You and Nobel showed great courage.”

“I don’t know about you guys,” Seth said, “But I can take a little break before we do that again. And I need a hamburger. Now.”

Doren and Newel absolutely agreed.

[oneletteredwondered]

Hi! Sorry to bother you, I just have a question. I just joined tiktok and am thinking of creating a mascaraed Roman au, but I have no idea how to start or if I should or if it’s too soon... I absolutely adore your high school au and was wondering if you have any tips or wisdom?? Thank you!! 💜

It's never too soon to AU XD

My suggestion would be, if you have some sort of storyline you want your AU to follow, make a word doc and start writing out little plot points/scenes you would like to include in your story.

For example

Roman wears gold

Janus wears red in 'revenge'

Roman freaks out

Get your base down first so you know what you're working with.

After that it's a matter finding audios that fit your scenes. Scrolling through tiktok for audios or songs you like or think fit your AU, keep an open mind cause ANYTHING can be twisted to your story if you think about it. This does not mean find anything and try to shove it in, but find things close and keep your AU in mind when audio hunting. Once you find a sound you like, copy link of the audio itself or video that gave you inspiration, or write down what audio you want, and add it to your doc.

For example

Roman wears gold - dissolve - link here

Janus wears red in revenge - so this is love - audio needed

Roman freaks out - he was very charismatic! (princess and the frog audio) - link here

Keep doing this until you have close to if not all of your sounds necessary for your scenes. There's no rush to complete this. You will most likely find things that fit your AU half way through filming or planning, do not be afraid to put them in your doc.

When hunting for audios or finding sounds that work, change up the length of your videos. Do NOT only make 45 seconds-minute long videos. And do NOT only make quick 5-15 second videos. When thinking about your AU, figure out which parts needs quick moments and which parts need to be drawn out. You are telling a story and a movie, make it cinematic.

For example

Remus never ending pick up lines are goofy and hold no weight to the story other than funny. Can be short.

Remus figuring out he actually has feelings for Logan is a major point for Remus, it holds weight to their arc and development. Longer time frame.

Sophie suggests: if you have the ability to do so, video/audio editing skills or app, so this way you can make or change audios to fit your needs even better, or add more flare to your videos.

If need be, or just for brain purposes, you can always add a choreography bit, possible dialogue options, or a brief description of what you want to happen in the video to your doc so things that happen near the end, you know what you're supposed to be doing or planned originally.

For example

Roman wears gold - roman walks by janus, slo mo, petty- dissolve - link here

Janus wears red in revenge - looks at the camera, dialogue 'see something you like pretty boy?' - so this is love - audio needed

Roman freaks out - roman having a MOMENT - he was very charismatic! (princess and the frog audio) - link here

Then you can film to your hearts content!

You can film all of them in one go, or split it up how you want, and save multiple drafts. Try to put them out in order as best you can, that's the whole point of the doc and plot map. Once you put a video out, copy link of your own video, and add it to your doc to keep track of what you need to film/is out already/sitting in drafts ready to go.

For example

Roman wears gold - posted - link to video here

Janus wears red in revenge - in drafts - so this is love - link here

Roman freaks out - needs filming - roman having a MOMENT - he was very charismatic! (princess and the frog audio) - link here

Save the audio link until the video is posted just in case you decide to refilm a scene.

I would recommend making a hashtag for the AU so people can find your story easier. Something that is simple and not too long but gets the point across.

For example

One sanders sides high school alternate universe = onesshsau

It'll be tempting to make your AU hashtag like Romanmasqueradeau but that's long and you only have so much space in your description. Shorten words, make it sweet and simple. Tag all your videos appropriately.

In your description of videos, put a little quip about the scene itself.

For example

In the roman wears gold video, the description is "when you wear your totally not a crush favorite color to get his attention but you're still petty".

Which is.. very long to be fair but lol and in return:

In the janus wears red for revenge video, the description is "two can play at that game".

Something that gives the viewers a little more to the story to hold on to.

Sophie suggests: you can always put backstory in the comment section to give yourself more space to talk about a scene, tell the viewers where to find it. "Backstory in comments" works pretty well.

For the cover clip, choose a banner to go with the clip. Keep the banner the same throughout the whole AU so people know which videos are and are not a part of your AU. If you plan your videos out well enough, you can even add 'parts' to your banners so people know where to look next.

For example

The banner for the hs au is... : HS AU.

If the AU was planned better, the banner would have been : HS AU pt 4. And for duets: HS AU pt 4.2.

This way people who join the AU mid way can click your hashtag, see the part markers, and know exactly where to go next to get the full story in order.

In the event you find an audio you want to use for your AU but the timing has passed(aka you already put out videos that come later timeline wise) you can still use the audio. In the description/comments you would put something along the lines of "what happened after/when -insert moment here-" and for the cover clip banner add .5 to the number marker.

If you plan on doing this AU on your own, caption videos properly, make things duettable if you want to encourage interaction, but make sure that they are stand alone available so people who don't see a duet can still get the full story. You can always duet yourself and add captions to the blank space above the video should you wish.

Something I've seen other creators do is put a poll or "what should they do?/pick an option" in the video captions or description. I would recommend NOT doing this. You may want the interaction from the audience, but then you'll need to make sure your plot map and audios match up with the choice and that it's something you want to happen as well. Also. If you don't get a lot of audience interaction, you may be disappointed, and that uh, sucks.

Something else I've seen is self duets where the duet part is all black and has a paragraph of the scene so people can have the story line more fully that way. That's a personal choice to make for yourself if you want to use this method. Snail(1_1snailxd) has used this method before if you want an example. They do plenty of AUs too if you want to see another creators process.

Keep your outfits and lighting consistent unless necessary for change in the story arc.

Since this is your AU and your page, you can post the videos for the AU whenever you want. Every day, every other day, every specific day. It does not matter. I would space them out if you can, or at least not post more than three videos for your AU a day. Give the viewers something to anticipate in your story line and a schedule that works for you.

Remember you are making this AU for you and it's what you want to see come to life. Be proud of the things you create.