#fourth grade chapter 02 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bonvoyagenoona · 4 years ago

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Countermelody (M) | 02: Tuning

Countermelody | Masterpost

Word Count: 21,119 (wtf i have gone insane i am so sorry) | read on ao3

Rating: 18+ / Explicit / Mature

Pairings: Yoongi x Reader

Summary

This new city has already invigorated your tired bones and shy heart. The people here seem kind and exciting. All sorts of interesting silhouettes are always shuffling about, and you write little stories for each person who passes you by. Even the stationery shop next door is warm and inviting, and you’re grateful that Mr. Kang offers you the manager job on the spot. But you get a funny feeling about things when he shows you the boxes in the back, the ones marked with red tape and the name MIN YOONGI scribbled on top. You wonder what makes this customer particularly special. You don’t know that the process of finding out will make you question why you ever moved here in the first place.

Chapter Excerpt

“So that’s Stationery Girl?” Hobi asks.

Namjoon turns and tries to peer through the shop window, but Yoongi nudges his shoulder into Namjoon’s chest to get him to look away before starting down the sidewalk.

“I thought we were coming in to get a glimpse of her?” Namjoon asks, reluctantly following.

Yoongi shrugs, readjusting his backpack and putting up his hood on top of his beanie to keep out the rain.

“You’ve been on and on about her for months now,” Hobi says, shoving his hands into his coat pockets.

“So?” Yoongi asks.

“So??” Hobi says incredulously, blinking at Namjoon, bewildered by Yoongi’s 180-degree turn on the subject. “So then why did you have us meet you here?”

“Kind of hard for us to give you a second opinion on whether you’re being too mean to her or not if you don’t actually let us see you interact with her,” Namjoon explains.

“I changed my mind,” Yoongi replies.

“Really?” Namjoon asks skeptically. “Because for as long as I’ve known you, you’ve never changed your mind about anything. I don’t think I’ve ever met anybody else more set in their ways.”

“I mix it up sometimes.”

“Sure. And when did you buy this, again?” Hobi asks. “Fourth grade?”

Hobi yanks Yoongi’s hood down and pulls Yoongi’s beanie up by the tip of the crown, just enough to uncover the top of Yoongi’s ears.

“Quit it!” Yoongi complains, his arms helicoptering fussily around his head while Namjoon and Hobi laugh.

“What inexplicably made you change your mind?” Hobi asks.

Yoongi pulls his beanie down over his ears, and partly over his eyes, before throwing his hood up again.

“...She was singing when I walked in.”

Content Warnings: Lots of backstory here too, sex toy smut, heatin’ things up!

Taglist 💜: permanent @purpleheartsfortae @btseditsworld @greezenini | countermelody @adventuresinwonderlust @min-yus (taglist open, add yourself here!)

Special Shoutout: Another incredible moodboard for Chapter 02 by the incomparable @purplehearts1996!! Omg this made me weep, absolutely gorgeous and wonderful and making me simp!!

02: Tuning

“So that’s Stationery Girl?” Hobi asks.

Namjoon turns and tries to peer through the shop window, but Yoongi nudges his shoulder into Namjoon’s chest to get him to look away before starting down the sidewalk.

“I thought we were coming in to get a glimpse of her?” Namjoon asks, reluctantly following.

Yoongi shrugs, readjusting his backpack and putting up his hood on top of his beanie to keep out the rain.

“You’ve been on and on about her for months now,” Hobi says, shoving his hands into his coat pockets.

“So?” Yoongi asks.

“So??” Hobi says incredulously, blinking at Namjoon, bewildered by Yoongi’s 180-degree turn on the subject. “So then why did you have us meet you here?”

“Kind of hard for us to give you a second opinion on whether you’re being too mean to her or not if you don’t actually let us see you interact with her,” Namjoon explains.

“I changed my mind,” Yoongi replies.

“I mix it up sometimes.”

“Sure. And when did you buy this, again?” Hobi asks. “Fourth grade?”

Hobi yanks Yoongi’s hood down and pulls Yoongi’s beanie up by the tip of the crown, just enough to uncover the top of Yoongi’s ears.

“Quit it!” Yoongi complains, his arms helicoptering fussily around his head while Namjoon and Hobi laugh.

“What inexplicably made you change your mind?” Hobi asks.

Yoongi pulls his beanie down over his ears, and partly over his eyes, before throwing his hood up again.

“...She was singing when I walked in.”

Namjoon and Hobi exchange knowing glances as the three of them gather at the crosswalk to wait for the light.

The trio has gone unnoticed by this city for quite some time, but having grown up here together, they know every single inch of cement, water, sand, and gravel that makes up the concrete of these streets. Their old high school is just a couple of stops away. Their family homes are in the suburbs, just within driving distance. And they all owe some sort of debt to each of the convenience shop owners within a five-mile radius. To onlookers, they were always just some punk kids who weren’t so much killing time as wasting it. But unbeknownst to those onlookers, greatness has always followed this trio, ever present in the raps and songs that they wrote together on weathered school bus seats, or in each other’s bedrooms, or outside on the convenience shop stoops, sharing the one snack that the three of them pooled their allowances to afford.

Onlookers would also fail to see anything impressive about the building that the trio eventually walks into. People know this nondescript edifice as an old clothing factory, long abandoned when the designs it churned out started to fall out of style. But now, this building houses their recording studio, a satellite campus that helps to discover local talent.

Local talent like this expert producing and songwriting trio.

And maybe, Yoongi thinks, local talent like you.

Namjoon and Hobi know how Yoongi’s mind works by now. The two of them wait to say anything to Yoongi until after they all shake and stomp themselves dry on the lobby welcome mats, breeze past security, head to the elevator bank, fly up to the top floor, turn the corner, and go down the long hallway to settle into their respective places in the huge studio that they’ve built together. Yoongi sits at the soundboard in the center of it all, manning mission control. Namjoon sits next to him, right by the door to the smaller, single recording booth. Hobi sits at the desktop to the side, just by the couch in the back, leading to the entrance to the larger recording booth set up for background vocalists and other instrumentalists.

Hobi and Namjoon watch Yoongi as he pulls out his infamous notebooks, and when Yoongi sighs and cracks his knuckles, Hobi finally says, “Alright. Let me guess. Her voice was a light, sweet, airy soprano?”

Yoongi raises his left arm into the air and shakes his sleeve. He checks his watch. A family heirloom. A big, gold, round face affixed to a thin, black, leather strap. “Where’s Sejin?”

“How many light, sweet, airy sopranos have we had in here?” Hobi goes on.

Yoongi sighs, rolling his sleeve back down. “Couldn’t say,” he replies calmly, as he starts switching monitors and soundboards on.

“Neither could I,” Hobi says, narrowing his eyes. “I don’t know the raw numbers, but I know for a fact that 100% of the singers that you’ve brought into this studio to try and perform that song have failed.”

Yoongi sighs and pulls up a track that they had been working on before the weekend.

Namjoon rests his elbow on the cushion at the edge of the control panel. He can already sense how long this day is going to be and anticipates that the only rest that he’ll get will be a quick nap with his forehead resting on that exact cushion.

And Hobi’s dredging up of the past isn’t exactly helping.

“We’re just not going to find another voice like his,” Hobi continues.

Yoongi stops and frowns. He glances sideways, over at Namjoon. “Can’t you do anything to stop this?”

“Stop what?” Hobi asks, annoyed. “Stop me from being right?”

Yoongi sighs and looks in Namjoon’s direction. “I was hoping we could at least wait until our coffees get here to talk about this.”

“This is between you and Hobi,” Namjoon says kindly, making sure to meet Yoongi’s eyes.

“Yeah,” Hobi pipes up, “so quit talking to Namjoon as if he speaks for me.”

Hobi walks over to them and rests his weight on the back of Namjoon’s chair, causing Namjoon to dip back before flailing forward and banging his funny bone painfully into the uncushioned part of the edge of the control panel.

“Look,” Hobi says, as Namjoon carefully rubs his sore elbow, “I hate talking about it as much as you do, but he made his decision. He’s happy at the new label. We have to respect that.”

“I respect it plenty,” Yoongi replies, turning back to his precious console and soothingly rubbing the spot where Namjoon hit it. “But it doesn’t change the fact that we have an incredible song that still needs a voice. And I don’t care if everyone’s struck out so far,” he adds, shooting a pointed look at Hobi. Yoongi’s eyes are set with such intimidating determination. “Once we find the right person, this song is going to be everywhere. I know it. I feel it.”

Hobi looks like he wants to argue, and Namjoon is gearing up to try and diffuse the situation, but thankfully, Yoongi finally pumps the brakes before they go hurtling off a cliff.

“I’d rather focus on our agenda for today. Let’s pick up where we left off. This bridge. Something still feels off about it.”

Hobi and Namjoon exchange half-sorry, half-relieved glances, when the door chimes, announcing a guest.

Yoongi presses a button on the console, and the door opens.

A tall, bespectacled man walks into the room with iced coffees for the trio.

“Thanks, Sejin,” Yoongi says.

“No problem,” Sejin says, grinning at them. “Need anything else before you get started? Maybe some breakfast?”

Hobi is about to answer when Yoongi replies, “We’re good. Thanks again.”

Sejin nods and smiles before leaving the trio to resume their work.

“I actually was hungry,” Hobi pouts, as the door clicks back into place.

“Then next time, you’ll probably want to hold your tongue until after Sejin arrives to take your order,” Yoongi replies nonchalantly.

Namjoon stifles a laugh.

Hobi frowns. “My point still stands.”

“And what point is that?” Yoongi asks.

“You need to stop trying to replace Jimin with another one of your shaky sopranos.”

“Well, interestingly, from what I heard this morning, Stationery Girl is an alto,” Yoongi replies, without so much as a glance Hobi’s way.

Namjoon cracks a grin and looks over at an annoyed Hobi.

The rain has only worsened by the time Yoongi, Hobi, and Namjoon are done for the night. The three of them huddle in the lobby, staring out at the storm.

“I’m still so hungry,” Hobi complains, glaring at the back of Yoongi’s head. “No breakfast. Worked straight through lunch. Why do we do this to ourselves?”

Namjoon places a hand on his growling stomach. And then he grins, an idea quickly forming in his mind. “Let’s be self-indulgent for once and go get a proper dinner,” he suggests. “We could take a company car.”

“We have legs,” Yoongi mutters.

“Would you like to use them to swim through the streets?” Hobi asks, taking note of the downpour.

Yoongi grumbles as Namjoon asks the security guard at the front desk to send a car, and Yoongi doesn’t stop grumbling until the three of them pile inside: Yoongi in the back, and Namjoon and Hobi in the middle.

“What do you think?” Namjoon asks, shutting the door behind him.

“The noodle place?” Hobi asks.

“That sounds good, especially on a day like today,” Namjoon agrees. He turns around to face Yoongi. “What do you think?”

Hobi and Namjoon are the only two people in the world who can read Yoongi’s silence and posture. This particular stance, Yoongi lying back in his seat with his arms folded and eyes low, means that though he’d rather be working or sleeping, he’s fine with the restaurant choice.

Namjoon gives the driver the address, and the three take a moment for themselves.

Namjoon likes to watch his surroundings on car rides. He particularly enjoys watching rain at night. He enjoys the fact that he can’t see the raindrops until they’re caught by the streetlamps, and he likes that his earbuds are drowning out the splashes. He enjoys playing with his senses like that. It makes him think about perspective, how, depending on what information is available to him, he sees different truths.

Hobi, however, craves connection to the outside world. He likes to scroll through his phone and catch up on what he’s missed throughout the day, being cooped up in the studio, and now, in this car. He lets out little grunts and whispers as he reads news headlines. He laughs at photos and videos from family and friends, and he catches up on gossip on social media and group chats.

Yoongi is already asleep.

Hobi slaps him on the knee to get him to wake up once they arrive at the restaurant.

Yoongi sits up and smacks his dry mouth, scrunching up his face and rubbing his eyes.

“We’re here,” Namjoon says, opening the door and hopping out.

“How long was I out?” Yoongi asks, checking his watch.

“Not long,” Hobi lies, before stepping out of the car.

Yoongi yawns, and then he joins the others.

They walk up the path and gather in the restaurant entryway, where they’re greeted by a smiling, familiar host. As they wait for the host to check for available seating in a private area, the trio scroll through their phones.

“Looks like we weren’t the only ones with a hankering for soup in the rain,” Hobi mutters, staring at his screen.

Namjoon curiously peers over Hobi’s shoulder.

Yoongi doesn’t angle for a view. He already sees what Hobi’s talking about.

In the corner of the private dining area is famous singer/songwriter Park Jimin, hanging out with his new composer/producer, Kim Taehyung. Hobi and Namjoon take note of the simple, burnt orange decorations behind them. The background of the selfie that Jimin has just posted, and that Hobi has just stumbled upon on social media, matches perfectly.

A familiar song starts to play.

“Ugh,” Namjoon groans, hearing Jimin’s voice on the speakers.

“They probably put it on once Jimin checked into the restaurant on the app,” Hobi concludes.

“Should we go say h---Yoongi?” Namjoon asks, watching as Yoongi heads over to Jimin and Taehyung’s table.

Namjoon and Hobi quickly follow, and Jimin sneers as they approach.

“Hey, losers,” Jimin replies. “Stalking me?”

“We showed you this place, asshole,” Hobi mutters.

Jimin smiles with self-satisfaction. “After all this time, you’re still the easiest to get a rise out of,” he tells Hobi, who shrinks and folds his arms.

It is still incredible to the trio to see how much someone can change in a year’s time. Jimin used to be a shy, humble kid who would do anything to be part of the group, not this snake, constantly pulling focus.

“You all know Taehyung,” Jimin hisses, his fingers slithering through the air and gesturing to his left.

Taehyung’s mouth is stuffed with noodles, but he smiles and nods politely.

Namjoon, Hobi, and Yoongi smile back. Taehyung’s been perfectly kind and civil to the trio about this whole thing. Though he has enjoyed writing for Jimin, he had no part in luring Jimin away from Big Hit and the trio’s team. Taehyung’s really just been trying to do his job, following his label’s directions and game plan as best as he can.

“Yoongi, I’m surprised at how you waddled all the way over here,” Jimin continues. “I know you’re not exactly a fan of flippant conversation.”

“I’m not,” Yoongi replies. “Just wanted to tell Taehyung that I really like the latest single.” He points to the ceiling speakers and nods once.

Taehyung grins and blushes. “Thanks.”

“Does it make you miss my incredible voice?” Jimin cooes.

Yoongi narrows his eyes. “Well, I don’t miss having to correct your pitch on each track,” he answers.

Jimin frowns, and Namjoon and Hobi exchange a couple of soft chuckles.

“Ex- cuse me?” Jimin asks.

Yoongi focuses on Taehyung. “I’m guessing you used Audity.”

Taehyung smirks.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Jimin demands, his eyes ping-ponging between them.

Yoongi looks over to Jimin. “When you go off-pitch you don’t always stay in one key,” he explains. “Audity lets you correct each note, manually.” He looks at Taehyung. “Right?”

Taehyung chews his noodles very slowly. But he doesn’t disagree.

Yoongi smirks with his own self-satisfaction, and Jimin nearly jumps out of his seat to wrap his hands around Yoongi’s throat.

“All high and mighty,” Jimin mutters under his breath. He huffs. “When was the last time you wrote a hit?” Jimin asks Yoongi coldly.

“When did you?” Yoongi asks pointedly.

Jimin pouts, and his cheeks turn red. “When was the last time one of your artists even charted? It’s been a little quiet over at Big Hit lately.”

By this point, Jimin might as well not even exist to Yoongi. “Eat up,” he tells only Taehyung, as the host returns to lead the trio to a table of their own. “You’ll need your strength. Believe me.”

Taehyung stifles a laugh, and Jimin frowns.

The host drops the trio off at their table with some menus and gives them time to decide on their orders. Yoongi sits with his back to Jimin, and Hobi and Namjoon try their best to focus on their menus until Jimin and Taehyung stand, getting ready to leave after they’ve quickly finished their meals.

Hobi looks over at Yoongi. “Are you OK?”

“I’m fine.”

Hobi grins. “Yoongi the Savage.”

“Yoongi the Soothsayer,” Yoongi argues. “If he knows what’s good for him, Taehyung should establish a strict production flow, or else it’ll come back to bite him.” His eyes narrow as they glance up at Hobi and Namjoon. “You both know what I mean.”

Namjoon and Hobi look at each other worriedly. But then, Yoongi sighs.

“And you both know that I can be particularly demanding. I know that I was pretty frustrating to deal with earlier. And I’m sorry.”

As Yoongi says it, he looks over at Hobi, who, in his infinite care and love for his dearest friends, has already forgotten how snippy Yoongi had been that morning. Hobi smiles easily and says, “After all this time, and everything we’ve been through? As far as I’m concerned, today was just a regular day.”

“I shouldn’t have brought up the pitch correction thing,” Yoongi says regretfully. “That was a low-blow. And obviously, Jimin is an extremely talented, one-of-a-kind singer. I don’t know why I said all that.”

“You were lashing out,” Namjoon points out.

Yoongi looks disappointed in himself, but Namjoon says, quickly, “But Jimin deserves it for being a cocky little shit.” Namjoon’s eyes soften as he watches Yoongi shrink. “And it’s alright to still miss him. We do, too.”

Yoongi crumples his lips into a moue.

He glances to his right as he sees Jimin and Taehyung walking toward the exit.

“We miss the old Jimin,” Yoongi decides. He turns sadly back to Namjoon and Hobi. “But that guy disappeared a year ago.”

The rest of the evening unfolds like most other evenings.

Namjoon and Hobi spend dinner talking about whatever’s on their minds, while Yoongi lets his mind wander. Sometimes, when conversation moves back toward work, Yoongi chimes in. But for the most part, Yoongi eats quietly, off in his own world.

He stays in that world, barely blinking as they jump back into their car, and almost missing Hobi’s stop completely, if not for Hobi bidding him and Namjoon a cheery goodnight.

But before Namjoon gets out at his stop, he pauses, taking a moment to check in with Yoongi.

“Are you OK?” Namjoon asks.

“Sounds like you’re worried about me or something,” Yoongi says nonchalantly.

“A little, yes,” Namjoon says, his serious expression undercutting Yoongi’s aloofness. “I know we’re coming up against deadlines, and we’re all stressed. But we’ll get through it. We always do.”

Yoongi relents. He exhales slowly, as if letting the air out of whatever stoic image he’s trying to portray.

“Let Jimin be,” Namjoon advises. “We’ll get another hit soon enough. Please get some sleep. And call me and Hobi if you need to talk.”

They clasp hands and pull their shoulders into one another, Namjoon patting Yoongi’s back with his other hand meaningfully.

As soon as Namjoon closes the car door, Yoongi gets back to what really has been clouding his mind all day.

It’s not Jimin’s voice.

It’s yours.

There’s something so familiar about it. Memorable. And reassuring. Yoongi can’t yet form the words, but he knows how he feels. Your timbre. It’s encouraging. Soothing. It’s sticking with him, taking precedence over everything, clouding every judgment that he’s made that day, from how to implement the suggested edits on the track with the broken bridge, to whether or not he should have put Jimin in his place.

Your voice is distracting.

And bad things happen when he’s distracted.

It was frustrating enough that you work in the one shop that he visits every day. Now, he knows, for better, or for worse, but definitely for sure, that he won’t be able to shake you.

The car pulls up to his building, and he thanks the driver before heading up to his apartment. He keeps all the lights off, able to maneuver through the living room and into his bedroom with just the glow from the street outside.

He still has a couple of hours that could be spent on work, but he already knows that all he’ll be able to hear in his headphones is you. It’s already happening. As he undoes his fly, the zipper on his pants sound like the downward chromatic run that you did so effortlessly. As he strips off his clothes, the faint thuds of fabric on the floor sound like the soft grunts that you sprinkled between the lyrics, when you were really feeling the groove. And as he climbs into bed, the flexing springs of his mattress sound like the smoky, throaty growls that you perfectly used for strong and meaningful effect.

He lies there, so wrapped up in you.

And you have no idea how pissed he’ll be in the morning as a result.

“Wait, you booked a gig?” Mr. Kang asks, grinning.

You smile. “A weekly gig,” you say.

Jungkook grins. “A weekly, paid gig,” he adds.

You chuckle at Jungkook’s sweet, friendly support.

The three of you are tucked away in the back office, just hanging out during the lunch lull.

“Don’t worry,” you hasten to add, “I don’t see myself leaving the shop anytime soon. It’s just a trial period, for about a month. And they can’t offer me much, so, we’ll see how things go.”

“They’d be silly not to have you as their permanent singer,” Mr. Kang says. You find his comment so endearing. He’s only heard you sing a couple of times, while the store was quiet, like now, but you love how much of a fan of yours he’s become.

“It’s impossible to be a permanent singer there,” Jungkook replies.

Mr. Kang snorts. “And why’s that?”

“Because the gig is in that spooky abandoned ghost lounge,” Jungkook jokes, making you roll your eyes and chuckle.

Mr. Kang’s eyes widen. “Wait, the old jazz lounge?”

You smile and nod. “Yes!”

Mr. Kang sighs. He sits back in his chair. “Hot damn, I loved that place!”

You and Jungkook exchange glances and laugh fondly at Mr. Kang’s reaction.

“I know it looks so old and scary now, but we used to hang out there all the time,” Mr. Kang remembers. “Me. The missus. Mr. Min.”

You grin, and when Jungkook looks at you, confused, you explain, “Yoongi’s grandfather.”

“All our friends,” Mr. Kang adds. “Literally everyone in the neighborhood.”

“It comes alive late at night, I swear it,” you say, meeting Jungkook’s teasing smile with one of your own.

Mr. Kang claps his hands together. “Well, that’s all the more reason for congratulations!” He smiles again. “Have you told your unnie about it?”

“She’s thrilled,” you reply. “She and Oppa want to visit, eventually. Maybe check out one of the shows.”

“I’d like to come sometime, too,” Mr. Kang says happily. “When’s your next performance?”

“I’m on Wednesdays at 10 PM,” you say. “I start tomorrow night.”

“Hmm,” Mr. Kang says. “Can’t do tomorrow, but I’ll talk to Mrs. Kang and see if we can make it next week.” He sighs. “She’ll need some convincing. 10 PM is way past our bedtime.” Then he wiggles his eyebrows. “But it could turn out to be another fun date night!”

Suddenly, you hear the door swing open, and the brass bell shake violently.

Mr. Kang’s eyes widen as he gazes at the door into the shop.

“He never comes this late.”

“Were we expecting someone today?” you ask, following Mr. Kang.

When you get to the store, you see Yoongi marching up to the counter, brow furrowed, eyes bloodshot, clothes disheveled, and hair a mess. He looks sloppy. Desperate, even. But he softens considerably when he unexpectedly sees Mr. Kang.

“Mr. Kang,” he says, stopping short of the counter. “Hi. Um, I thought you were out.”

“Just yesterday, for a doctor’s appointment,” Mr. Kang explains. “Are you OK?”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” Yoongi complains.

“Maybe it’s because you kinda look like shit,” Jungkook replies from behind you.

Yoongi looks like he’s about to launch into whatever tirade motivated him into the store and directly aim it at Jungkook’s idiotically kind face.

Until Mr. Kang steps in front of Yoongi and grins.

“How about you take a look at some Muji A6s?” he asks. “Just got them in.”

“I just picked up journals yesterday,” Yoongi says, his eyes flashing over to you.

“Is that why you’re here?” you ask timidly. “I-is there something wrong with them?”

Yoongi rubs his bloodshot eyes. “No,” he says, rankled.

“Honestly, Yoongi, what’s going on?” Mr. Kang asks. “What’s up with your eyes?”

“Yeah, and your face,” Jungkook adds. “And your hair. And your clothes. And your---”

“Didn’t get much sleep,” Yoongi replies. “I just came by to…”

He looks back over at you.

“...to say thanks,” Yoongi finishes, with his signature huff.

“Really? Because you look like you want to say something else,” Jungkook points out.

“I already told you that I didn’t get much sleep,” Yoongi insists, through gritted teeth. He sighs and looks back at you. “I wanted to say... thanks for... helping me... with my pen.”

“Oh. Well… you’re welcome,” you say genuinely.

Mr. Kang turns to you for more detail.

“The Lamy just needed some adjusting,” you explain.

Mr. Kang smiles. “Oh. Well, good, then.”

The smile fades a little as he keeps his eyes on Yoongi.

Because Yoongi is glaring at you. That’s the only way you can describe it. The look has such ferocious intensity that it can only be one of an antagonistic nature.

“But I do have a question,” Yoongi begins, his voice rumbling as it travels toward you. “If you are the kind of person who---”

Sensing more tumult, Mr. Kang intervenes, saying, “You know, Yoongi, I just want to say thanks for being so willing to adjust to the new way we’re doing things around here. The boss here is appreciative, too.” Mr. Kang looks at you with sparkles in his eyes. “Aren’t you, Boss?”

You nod, though you look nervous.

Mr. Kang goes on. “It takes a lot of patience and willingness from customers to---”

Yoongi sighs animatedly, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. When he finally speaks, his voice is a little higher pitched than usual. “Yup, yup, cool, OK, well, I’m gonna go back to work now.”

“You just came from work?” Jungkook asks. “Looking like… that?”

Yoongi grumbles to himself as he walks toward the exit, but he stops when he places his hand on the doorknob.

“You still have that gig tomorrow, right?” Yoongi asks, tilting his head a little in your direction.

“Yeah,” you say, “but if you’re busy or tired or something, you don’t have to---”

“I’ll be there,” Yoongi replies.

And then he’s gone.

Jungkook walks over to the window and watches as Yoongi quickly speeds down the sidewalk.

“What’s his deal?” Jungkook asks.

Mr. Kang sighs and shakes his head, chuckling to himself and saying, “I don’t know, but he’s just like his grandfather,” as he shuffles into the back office, and you all continue about your day.

It’s not long until Yoongi does the same, speed walking down the sidewalk in an angry waddle until he gets back to the studio, and Namjoon and Hobi swivel around in their chairs, peering up at him.

“So, where is she?” Namjoon asks.

“Mr. Kang and the delivery boy were there,” Yoongi says brusquely.

“She didn’t want to come,” Hobi tells Namjoon with a smirk.

“I didn’t get a chance to ask,” Yoongi insists.

“Like she would have followed you even if you did,” Hobi counters. “Look at the state you’re in. You look like a coked-out werewolf who’s in the middle of changing back into human form.”

Namjoon laughs wholeheartedly, and Yoongi glares at him.

“Sorry, but it’s true,” Namjoon says. His smile fades a little. “How many hours of sleep did you get, again?”

“Barely any,” Yoongi admits, lying down on the couch in the back.

“Then take today off,” Hobi says.

It’s become a refrain for him and Namjoon at this point, when Yoongi’s in one of his moods.

But neither Hobi nor Namjoon know just how infuriating this refrain has become to Yoongi.

“And how the hell am I supposed to do that?” Yoongi asks, finally snapping. “Jimin’s right. Nothing we make sounds good anymore. We’re going to miss every deadline because we keep going in circles. None of our tracks will end up on any of the artists’ albums, and Big Hit’s going to fire us. I take today off, and this all goes away.”

“Look, this is just an adjustment period,” Hobi reminds Yoongi. “I know the whole run-in with Jimin was awkward, but you were the one who came out on top in that exchange.”

“Besides, today’s just about cleaning this track,” Namjoon encourages. “Leave it to us.”

“I clearly can’t,” Yoongi says angrily, “because we all know what happens when I leave things to the two of you!”

The air in the room shifts when he says it.

Namjoon and Hobi wait as Yoongi takes a couple of deep but shaky breaths.

“How long are you going to torture us about that?” Hobi asks quietly.

Yoongi looks over at Hobi, wondering.

When Yoongi doesn’t speak, Namjoon adds, “Then how long are you going to torture yourself about it?”

Yoongi sighs and opens his mouth to speak, but Hobi shakes his head and raises his hand.

“Take today off, Yoongi,” Hobi repeats, turning back to his desk. “In fact, why don’t you take tomorrow off, too?”

Ashamed, and admitting that maybe Hobi and Namjoon have a point, Yoongi gets up and walks toward the studio door. Namjoon and Hobi resume their work and hushed conversation.

Yoongi’s fingers find the doorknob, and he runs his thumb along its circumference. He turns back to Namjoon and Hobi.

“Hey, guys, I’m really---”

“We know,” Hobi says, without looking back.

“Just go get some rest,” Namjoon replies. He looks over his shoulder, back to Yoongi, shrinking in the corner. “Please.”

You stare at the toy that you’ve placed at the edge of your bed.

They’ve sent you the wrong one, surely.

You reach over and pick it up in your hand. It’s so heavy. And comically huge. You almost need both of your hands just to hold it.

You start to bring it towards you.

But when you realize that the circumference of the tip is wider than your mouth, you bail.

“Nope. No way. Fuck that.”

You scramble off your bed, put your pants back on, and practically drag the gigantic, yellow dildo to the little cardboard island of misfit sex toys that you’ve created, each of them useless in their own special way. The tongues that can’t lick. The rabbits that don’t quite hop. And now, the dick that won’t fit.

As if to show off in front of them, your phone buzzes.

But you frown when you see that it’s a text from your mother.

Eomma (8:12 PM): So what, now that you’ve moved far away, you’re just never going to call us again?

You sigh as you hit the phone icon to call her.

“Oh, you are alive,” Eomma answers sarcastically. “Good. We’ll call off the search.”

You immediately regret your decision.

You look down and see your sad box of sex toys and decide that you can only take one reminder of failure at a time.

“Sorry, Eomma,” you reply respectfully, as you head into your bedroom and grab your headphones. You connect them wirelessly to your phone, and you slip them over your ears. “I’ve just been getting settled.”

“What’s that? Why do you sound different?”

“I put my headphones on.”

“You’re going to lose your hearing if you use those too often,” Eomma chastises you.

“Well, I’m literally a musician, so there’s kind of no way around it,” you say, before you make the wise decision not to let any other passive-aggressive statements leak out of your too-small mouth.

You grab your shoes, jacket, keys, and wallet, and you decide to have this conversation while taking a walk.

“You’re not a musician,” Eomma sneers. “The Cho boy is a musician. He’s a cellist with the national orchestra. The Haks’ eldest daughter is a musician. She’s a classically trained flutist.”

“Your daughter is a jazz lounge singer,” you reply. “What would you call that?”

“A joke,” Eomma replies, annoyed.

You sigh, but you take some solace in the fact that nobody is out on the street this evening, probably because the weather has dipped into frostier temperatures as of late. Your jacket isn’t doing much to keep out the cold. The only reason you’re able to stand it is because the anger that your mother evokes in you could melt Antarctica faster than global warming.

“I’m sorry, did you need something?” you ask, trying to redirect the energy.

“I need for you to tell me the truth,” Eomma says. “Your sister told us weeks ago that you’d moved away, and she keeps reassuring us that you’re doing fine, but today, she mentioned that she’s officially cut you off.”

“That’s true,” you say. “OK, well, if that’s all, then I guess I’ll go---”

“No, that’s not all, young lady,” Eomma grumbles. “How exactly are you paying your bills? Lounge singer tips don’t cover student loans.”

“I got a job,” you say, pausing in front of the antiques store. There’s a light on in the back, and you realize that the owner is there, arranging some furniture in the middle of the floor.

“What job?” Eomma asks.

“Unnie didn’t tell you that part?”

“No.”

“I’m sure she did.”

“No, she didn’t.”

“Are you doing that thing where you want to make sure one of us isn’t lying, so you ask us the same question to see if we say the same thing?” you challenge.

“Answer me,” Eomma doubles down. “What job?”

“I’m a stationery store manager.”

Eomma sighs. “Retail?”

“A manager of retail.”

Your brows knit when you see the owner of the candle store suddenly join the owner of the antiques store in the middle of the floor. She hands him a stick of some sort, perhaps some sort of antique fishing rod or backscratcher. She turns it over, probably describing its attributes, or where she got it from. But why this late at night?

“Unacceptable,” Eomma replies. “Your sister basically runs big tech. Your brother-in-law is a -- well, he’s an idiot -- but his video game company is just a couple of huge moves away from trading publicly. You’ve got to quit that retail job and move back home immediately. Surely one of them can set you up with a job that has more…”

“Prestige?” you say sarcastically. “Honor? Glory?”

“Money,” Eomma replies. “You know deep down that this isn’t going to work out, just like all your other endeavors that crawled to an embarrassing halt. Cancel all of your engagements and move back home at once.”

You’re about to give your Eomma a piece of your mind, but then you see something that stops you in your tracks. That makes your jaw drop. That makes your blood run cold.

The owner of the candle store suddenly strips off her shirt, revealing a full dominatrix outfit. She holds up the stick in the light as she barks her orders, and you realize it’s actually a riding crop. The owner of the antique store comes back into view, completely shirtless, with a ball gag in his mouth.

“No fucking way!” you exclaim, falling to your knees and ducking down so that they won’t be able to see you out the window.

“What did you just say to me?!” Eomma screeches.

“Sorry, Eomma, that wasn’t for you, I---”

“You’d better do as I say!” Eomma yells. “And you’d better hope your sister or your brother-in-law are able to take you under their wings! This joke has gone on long enough!”

“Fine, you’re right, I’ll call Unnie right now,” you rush, hanging up on your mother.

You dial Unnie, not to do as your Eomma asks, but to tell her about what you’re witnessing.

But she doesn’t pick up.

“Oh for god’s sake,” you mutter to yourself, catching another glimpse of the store owners’ debauchery.

You open your texts, and you see the latest one from Jungkook pop up. It’s a picture that he sent you from his latest modeling gig. It’s a swimsuit shoot, and it would be the most sinful photo in the world, from his wet hair pushed back, his sexy sneer, and his insane, immaculate body, if not for the ridiculously adorable text he sent with it:

Jungkookie (5:22 PM): My face looks so stupid in this.

You call him, and while you wait for him to pick up, you peer back into the store.

“Hey,” he says. “What’s up?”

“Where are you?” you demand in a stern whisper.

“Just left the grocery store. Ooh! Which reminds me! When you’re picking out avocados for your guacamole, how do you tell if---”

“Get over to the stationery store. Like, now. Sprint here if you have to.”

You hang up and stare into the window, mesmerized by how many times the candle shop owner takes the crop to the antique store owner’s thighs and ass.

You hear heavy footsteps stomping quickly toward your general area, and you whirl around to see Jungkook across the street, carrying ten full grocery bags, clutching them tightly as he paces in front of Mr. Kang’s store and worriedly searches for any evidence of you.

You call Jungkook’s phone again, and he raises his hand to press a button on his wireless earbuds to take your call.

“I’m here! Are you OK? Did someone break into the store?” he asks, panting.

“I’m across the street!” you whisper.

He turns around and sees you crouched by the antique shop storefront, and he quickly makes his way over to you, kneeling down next to you.

“What’s going on?” he asks, his eyes wide with fear. “Are you hurt? Are you hiding from someone? The store looks... fine?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” you say, waving off his questions.

Jungkook looks at you in desperation. He sighs and leans against the wall, stretching his legs out and letting his arms go limp. “What the fuck, Boss?” he demands, detangling his swollen, icy, purple fingers from his grocery bags. “I literally sprinted here! In fucking Timbs! Which I fucking scuffed!”

“Jungkookie, loooook,” you sing, grinning at him. You look into the window, and Jungkook turns around to follow your gaze.

The candle shop owner is now shoving a butt plug into the antique store owner’s naked ass and smacking him again with the riding crop. She places the heel of her boot into the small of his back, and the candle shop owner howls in a mixture of pain and delight.

“Whoa,” Jungkook breathes, making condensation on the window.

“Stop doing that!” you whisper, quickly wiping his foggy breath away. “You’ll give us away!”

“I don’t think they give a damn about anything going on outside of this shop,” Jungkook remarks, his eyes glued to them.

After you get your fill of the raunchy events, you help Jungkook carry his groceries over to your apartment, where you have promised to make him your now-famous guacamole as a consolation for calling him over.

Jungkook stays by your side in the kitchen, watching every single move that you make so that he gets the guacamole recipe right when he tries it himself. You chat as you prepare it, recounting and commenting on everything that you both saw.

“Candle Shop Lady is way more flexible than I would have assumed,” you reply. “That handstand that she did. Crazy.”

“Give the Antique Store Guy more credit,” Jungkook insists. “Four butt plugs? Did you see the size of the last one? A work of art. Truly.”

You shake your head. “I was too distracted by Candle Shop Lady’s furry costume change mid-way through.”

“The squirrel?”

“No, the unicorn.”

“Oh yeah, that was super cute!” Jungkook exclaims.

“It was weird to see her in all those colors,” you observe. “She’s usually draped in black.” You lean toward Jungkook. “I have a theory that she’s killed a man.”

“Maybe she’s killed again, and again,” Jungkook proposes. His eyes widen. “Maybe that’s where all the ghosts in the ghost lounge come from.”

You cackle together, and Jungkook watches you fondly.

“You know what must have been the weirdest part?” Jungkook adds.

“What?”

“The random game of UNO in the middle.”

“Yeah,” you agree. “I didn’t know you couldn’t put a +2 down after a +4 to make the next person get +6.”

“We really learned a lot today,” Jungkook admires, as you laugh and start scooping guacamole into a container for Jungkook to take home.

Your phone rings, and Jungkook looks down to see who’s calling: up pops a motion-blurry selfie of Oppa with his hand pushing Unnie’s face away.

Jungkook just laughs and holds up your phone to you.

You roll your eyes. “Let it go to voicemail.”

You move to wash your guacamole hands in the sink when your phone rings again.

“Who’s calling now?” you ask.

“...Shrek?” Jungkook asks. He holds up your phone to show you the picture of Shrek yelling in anger.

You smirk. “That’s Eomma.” You pump some hand soap into your palm. “Fuck that. Let that go to voicemail, too. I’m over it tonight.”

Jungkook lets out another laugh, but when he sees your face growing dim, he pouts.

“Wanna talk about it?”

You take a much needed deep breath. “Eomma called me earlier tonight,” you say. “She always pisses me off, but she really, really fucked with my head this time. She said that I wouldn’t succeed, and that I should just give up and come home.”

A look of familiar disappointment stretches across Jungkook’s sweet face. He meets your eyes, and he nods. You know that he knows all too well what that’s like.

“They’ll never get it,” Jungkook says.

“I’m not feeling down about being misunderstood. But I do feel down about gigging and not really building a career,” you say in dismay.

Jungkook leans his arms on your counter. “We’re fine-tuning.”

“The only finely-tuned thing about my Eomma is her breathtakingly cruel response to my disasters,” you complain. “Anyway, I thought it would be a good idea to take the call on a walk, clear my head. That’s why I was out in the first place.”

Jungkook nods, now understanding the full context of the night’s events. “I was wondering why you were out. Just getting a call from you made me worried. You’re such a hermit.”

“I know,” you say. “I’m usually in pajamas the minute I get home every day.”

“Which is like, what, 5:01 PM?” Jungkook asks, grinning. “But that won’t be the case tomorrow!”

You beam and pose for him, looking happily up at the ceiling.

Jungkook rests his chin in his hands and sighs. “How are you feeling about the gig?”

“Good,” you say confidently. “I think it’ll be a good set. I’m really happy with the songs I chose.”

“I’m sorry that I’m missing it,” Jungkook says, his eyes nearly tearing up again. He’s apologized over and over for taking a catering job on the same night, which you think is ridiculous, because he booked the job before you even knew about the lounge.

“Why are you sorry?” you laugh. “Don’t be sorry!”

“Well, I just want to be supportive.” He pouts at you. “Y’know. We black sheep have to stay together.”

“You are supportive,” you say. You slide the huge container of guacamole over to him. “Who else in my life, much less this city, would sprint in boots to answer my call?”

“Aw, Boss,” Jungkook says, grinning. “I’m not going to be the only one. I just happened to be the first.”

Your heart fills to the brim, and when Jungkook stands, pulling you into him and peppering you with little sniff kisses, your heart explodes.

Jungkook tries some of the dip as you re-pack the rest of his groceries so that he doesn’t have as many bags to carry. And then you say your goodnights.

When you return to the sink to finish cleaning up, you catch that your box of sex toys is still out in the open. You sigh, grateful that Jungkook hadn’t even stepped foot in the living room while he was over. There’s no way you would have been able to live that down.

You make yet another a mental note to store your toys elsewhere.

But you won’t do it tonight.

Tonight, you just want to wallow in self-pity.

You don’t put on any music. You finish cleaning up. And you climb under the covers.

You ruminate on the cold disappointments of angry phone calls and dumb cardboard boxes. You squeeze as much as you can out of the warm, secure feeling of Jungkook’s comforting arms around you. And you punish yourself with the knowledge that Candle Store Lady and Antiques Store Guy are having better sex than you.

As you introduce yourself to the crowd, you get a feel for how things will go. Everyone seems pleasant, but not raucous, and you’re appreciative for a calm first show. It’s refreshing. No drunken requests. No horny flirts. No boos. You’re actually getting more than just a smattering of applause. You’re getting smiles. Sometimes even some cheers.

But you do miss seeing familiar people in the crowd. Your old friends, fellow musicians and black sheep, the Jungkooks of your previous city. Unnie and Oppa wrangling a babysitter to steal away for a night out. And sure, your exes, gazing up at you in awe.

As you’re finishing your second-to-last song, you think you might actually see a familiar face weave through the crowd. Soon, he starts to stick out, and you start to get excited. He’s the only other person here under 60, but he’s the one with the hunched back, crouching painfully as he pads through the room.

He’s dressed in black jeans, a red, plaid shirt, and that ever-present beanie. Some of the other patrons glare at him, and he bites his lower lip, incredibly embarrassed, quickly pulling the beanie off of his head and ruffling his static-filled, sable hair. He grabs a table in the middle-back of the room and sits down.

Yoongi’s eyes meet yours, and you flash him an appreciative smile.

He nods and then looks around before getting startled by a waiter.

You chuckle into the microphone as you strum the last chord, and you grin at the continued applause, laughing gently as the waiter places a hand on Yoongi’s shoulder and takes his drink order.

“Thanks everyone, you’ve been a wonderful crowd,” you say, scanning the room and smiling earnestly.

All of these grandparents and retirees look so sweet, dancing, humming, or singing along to your covers. It’s not the crowd you picture for yourself. In fact, every time you do any sort of gig, it’s never the crowd you picture for yourself. You’ve struggled to find your voice, and your audience. But this lounge has already been incredibly good to you. You feel lucky.

“Here’s my last song. Hope you enjoy.”

You start thumbing the chords, and the song comes out of you, a perfect, smoky but sweet, contralto, trained over years of singing and humming the tune, started by your grandmother humming it to your grandfather over and over, before you knew what the words meant.

Your audience alights. Couples start to huddle closer, smiling suggestively at each other. You wonder how to tell your Unnie on your next phone call that you’re essentially your town’s retiree population’s fluffer.

Mid-way through, you feel a chip in your nail, and you hear Unnie’s reprimanding voice echoing from the back of your mind. You try your best not to get it caught on a string. If it catches, it’ll ruin the whole manicure.

By the last four, repetitive lines, you can’t deny it anymore. You’ve felt them on you the entire song.

Yoongi’s eyes.

You finally look back at him, and it’s like he can see through you. It’s like he can see your spine, and your gallbladder, and your lungs. You feel so exposed.

Your fingers play a little flourish, one that your grandfather taught you whenever your grandmother would start humming, and he’d start playing along.

Yoongi grins. Just a hint of a smirk, on the right side of his face. There’s a drink stirrer poking out of the corner of his lips. You think you see his eyes sparkle. You automatically smile back, but you’re not sure why you’re smiling.

The crowd applauds as your song ends, and you smile and give a little wave.

“Thanks, everyone. See you next week.”

You pack up your guitar, and a couple of listeners walk up to tell you how much they enjoyed your set. You thank them genuinely. People are so nice here.

The stage lights dim, and the DJ starts playing more old standards. You like the ones he plays. They’re always well-known and incredibly talented artists, but underappreciated tracks. That’s where you’d really like to live. You’d like to be the kind of musician that other musicians appreciate.

You look back up at Yoongi, who is scanning the room.

You pick up your guitar case and walk over to him, just as his waiter returns with two drinks. The waiter sets them on the table, on top of some cocktail napkins, and whispers to you an encouraging congratulations on a really nice set. You call a polite thanks over his way, as he leaves.

You turn back to Yoongi, but you notice the drink.

“Oh,” you say, eyeing the second drink, “are you expecting someone else or---”

“Nope, that’s your seat, and that’s your drink,” Yoongi says.

He watches you as you set your guitar case down and sit.

“What about you? Any other guests?” Yoongi looks around. “Where’s your delivery boy?”

“Also gigging tonight,” you say. “Catering job.”

“Cheers to the hustle,” Yoongi mutters, lifting his glass.

You clink.

You look down at the glass, trying to figure out what kind of cocktail it is.

“These are Manhattans,” Yoongi says.

You laugh. “I appreciate the commitment to the retro vibe.”

“Speaking of,” Yoongi says, “ Nice Girls Don’t Stay for Breakfast. Julie London. Nice song to end on.”

You smile. “Thanks.”

“I’m really sorry I missed the beginning,” Yoongi tells you. “Judging from that performance, your entire set must have been wonderful.”

You look back up at him, startled. “R-really?” you stammer.

“Yeah,” he tells you. “I enjoyed it. You’re good.”

You’re in shock. You never thought Yoongi would ever approve of anything you ever did, let alone compliment you as a musician.

“Just guitar?” he asks, eyeing your case.

“Some piano, too,” you answer.

“You only do covers?”

You shake your head.

Yoongi’s eyes seem to deepen with curiosity. “What’s your story?”

You shrug. “I just like to make music.”

Yoongi watches you, waiting to hear more.

“My family is pretty musical. My grandmother and my eomma sings. Appa plays drums. Unnie learned violin. My grandfather taught me how to play the guitar. I tried to study music in school, but I dropped out. And I’ve been trying to make a name for myself ever since,” you say.

“How’s it going?” Yoongi asks.

“Well, I’m here, so,” you chuckle gently.

“Yeah, and it was a great performance,” Yoongi repeats. “Is the rest of it going as well as tonight did?”

You’re still in shock.

“I’m singing oldies to a bunch of oldies,” you murmur, unsure why Yoongi isn’t getting how big of a fail this is.

“And they all seemed to love it,” Yoongi says. “They looked at you like you were Julie London. So I’m asking if you’re Julie London, or Julie Peck.”

You smirk at Yoongi’s unanticipated musical knowledge, comparing and contrasting the artist to the person she was before.

“I’m neither,” you say. “I’m just a joke.”

This makes Yoongi smile. He leans back in his chair, chewing on the drink stirrer as you take another sip of your Manhattan. “You should give yourself more credit,” he says.

You roll your eyes and shift uncomfortably in your seat. “What’s with all these questions, anyway?” you ask.

Yoongi gives you another once-over. And then he leans forward, clasping his hands together and resting them on the table. “You haven’t put this together yet? I’m sure I’ve told you what I do for a living.”

“You’re probably always too busy insulting me to start that conversation,” you chide.

“You’re probably always too busy breaking the cash register to notice,” he snaps back.

The two of you stare at each other, each burst of conversation like a chess move, requiring constant recalculation and reappraisal.

“I’m a composer and producer,” Yoongi explains. “When I heard you singing in Mr. Kang’s store, I thought about a song that I wrote a while ago. It made me very nostalgic.”

He takes the drink stirrer out of his mouth and points at you with it.

“Your voice has a certain sweetness, and a different depth. It’s an older charm. That’s why you sound so good covering Julie London.”

He sticks the drink stirrer back in his mouth and chews at it while he talks.

“I’ll bet that the people you met with before just didn’t know what to do with it. They probably told you that they didn’t see an in for a voice like yours in a landscape like this.”

You frown. Yoongi’s right. You’ve always felt like the people who met you, who said they believed in you, always saw something in you, but they could never see the full picture. You couldn’t either. You had, and still have, no idea of what is actually possible. Plus, Yoongi is moving too fast for you to comprehend exactly where you fit into all of this.

“Wait, my voice made you think of a song that you wrote?” you ask clumsily.

Yoongi smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Do you write, too?”

You nod and brighten. “I have a ton of songs. They come to me all the time.” And then you sink. “But I don’t really know what to do with them.” You sink lower. “I also don’t know if they’re any good. No one’s ever actually listened to them before.”

Yoongi frowns. “I know how that feels,” he tells you, nodding. And then he smirks again. “Tell you what.”

He takes a drink of his Manhattan, and then he fiddles with the corner of the red cocktail napkin, his hands under the tiny lamp on the center of the table, his fingers and veins bathed in a sultry red.

“Come by my studio. Meet my team. Work with me on this song. Let’s see what happens.”

You look at him skeptically. You’ve been fucked over in the past too many times to jump at this chance right away.

“No deal, no strings,” Yoongi says, as reassuring as he can be. “Sing a song for them. The one you just did, if you want. Or any other one. Doesn’t matter. They’ll love it.”

“You’ve dropped the first shoe already. Waiting for the second,” you reply.

Yoongi growls when he tells you, “I’m not like the others. I’m not asking you to pay for anything, not even your dues. There isn’t anything to lose here.”

You cross your arms. It’s clear that you’re going to need something more than flimsy requests from the guy who’s berated you for the past couple of months.

So, Yoongi fishes his wallet out from his back pocket, and he slips you his business card.

Your eyes widen at the embossed label. “You work for Big Hit?” You blink at him, feeling incredulous.

Yoongi smiles, and you get the impression that he never can get enough of the big reveal. You imagine boxes and boxes of business cards piled up in his studio.

A real, bonafide studio.

“Does knowing that change things?” Yoongi asks you.

“Hell yeah, it does!” you tell him, clutching the card so tightly that you almost crumple it. “You know, you should probably lead with this in the future.”

Yoongi chuckles. “Thanks for the advice.” He gazes at you. “Come to the studio. Make it soon.”

“Do you work on Sundays?” you ask hopefully.

Yoongi smiles. He knows the shop is closed on Sundays. “See you then. 10 AM. Bring that guitar to the address on the card.”

You grin. “Cool. I’ll be there.”

He downs the rest of his Manhattan, and then he stands. “Gotta go.” He reaches into his wallet again to pay for the drinks, throwing a sizable bill onto the table without so much as a blink.

“Uh, thanks,” you say, raising your glass.

“Don’t mention it.”

He smiles.

“Boss.”

And, like always, as quick as he appeared, he’s gone.

His phone buzzes, so Yoongi turns down the volume of the track that’s playing. He reads the text message that’s just come in, and he quickly responds. He turns down the volume of the track that’s playing, attracting Namjoon and Hobi’s attention to him as he stands up from the soundboard.

“She’s downstairs.”

Hobi turns back to Yoongi and frowns. “Who is?” He looks over at Namjoon. “Are we meeting someone today?”

Namjoon offers no answer and looks just as confused.

Yoongi tells them your name. When they don’t recognize it, he says, “Stationery Girl.”

“We’re working on one of our precious, few days off because of Stationery Girl?” Hobi complains. “Couldn’t you have just recorded the performance and sent us a video?” He sighs, growing more and more irritated by the second. “You know what, don’t even answer that. Yes. I approve. Sign her. There you go.”

“I fully intend to,” Yoongi replies, “but I need you to hear her. She’s perfect for where we’re going to take the song.”

Hobi scratches his head angrily. “Why do you have to bring us into this? Can’t you just be like any other psychopath and scribble about your obsession with her in those journals you buy at her store every week?”

Namjoon desperately wants to laugh, but he rolls his chair between them to allay the tension. There are bigger things to address. “Wait,” he says, looking at Yoongi. “You have an idea of where you want to take the song?”

“Yeah, and if you both hadn’t argued with me about skipping that stupid work thing Wednesday night, or even come with me to the lounge like I had asked, I wouldn’t have been late to her set, and you would have already seen how perfect this is going to be, and you would have had your Sunday all to yourselves,” Yoongi mutters.

Namjoon and Hobi exchange glances. They have to admit that the prospect of finally delivering on this song is intriguing.

“Well, let’s bring her up. Right, Hobi?” Namjoon asks, attempting to lead Hobi back into Yoongi’s good graces.

“Yes, let’s,” Hobi replies, only somewhat mockingly.

“Alright, then. I’ll be right back,” Yoongi says, walking to the door.

Hobi watches him go, and when Yoongi’s fingers grasp the doorknob, Hobi can’t help but let out, “Y’know, work events and connecting with people? That’s part of the job, too.”

Yoongi sighs. “It wasn’t a work event. It was a birthday party.”

“For Sejin!”

“For Sejin’s hamster.”

Hobi frowns. “Hey! He cares very much about Bora.”

Yoongi leans back and stares at Hobi expectantly.

“There was also free champagne,” Hobi finishes.

Yoongi draws a long breath. “Whatever. Just give me a couple of hours. It won’t take long.” He goes for the door again, but then he looks back at Hobi and Namjoon.

“About Bora, though. Did you, um, pass along my birthday card?”

Hobi and Namjoon smile fondly at Yoongi, thinking of the tiny, hamster-sized birthday card that Yoongi made out of some cardstock from Mr. Kang’s store.

“Bora loved it!” Namjoon gushes.

Yoongi smiles fondly, but then he catches himself, getting flustered and hastening his escape to the lobby.

That’s where you are now, still explaining who you are and why you’re there to a very stern security guard at the front desk. Even though Yoongi confirmed in his text that he was on his way, the security guard is one walkie-talkie call away from having you kicked off the premises.

“The only directions that Yoongi gave me were to come here at 10 AM with my guitar,” you say, exasperated.

“Sure, Ma’am. You need to leave. Now.”

“It’s Sunday,” you plead. “It’s my one day off. Why would I go through the trouble of getting dressed and walking out here to---”

“Don’t you think I’ve heard that one before?” the security guard laughs, shaking their head. “In fact, don’t you think I’ve heard all of this before? I’ve seen grown ass people dig through the trash outside to get one of these. If that one’s even real.” They laugh. “You know how many counterfeit ones I’ve shredded? I’m not at the front desk for no reason, and I don’t play around. My advice to you is that you leave voluntarily, and immediately.” The guard leans forward. “Besides. You don’t look like a real musician, anyway,” they sneer.

You take the jab at your looks rather easily. You’ve done what you can with the makeup and hair styling products that you can afford. The black dress and thick tights that you have on under your decades-old parka probably have tiny holes and rips in them, but you still think you look pretty cute.

But that’s not what you take offense to.

You take offense to the fact that musicians must look or be a certain way. You’ve been to gigantic stadium concerts where superstars have performed pieces that filled you with emotion. But for every concert you’ve been to, you’ve heard at least ten, regular, everyday people sing or play something that has made you weep. One isn’t inherently better than the other. All of them can exist together. All of them need to.

You let yourself frown at the security guard’s comment, but you do your best to keep from hurling not just a string but an entire rope of insults back. After all, this could be your big moment. You don’t want this story to be another frustrating anecdote that Eomma will tell to her book club.

Your saving grace is that you see Yoongi finally heading over, immediately able to spot you, given that the lobby isn’t at its weekday capacity.

“Sorry, she’s with me,” Yoongi explains to the security guard. “I forgot to put her name on the guest list sheet for today.”

“Ah, no problem, Yoongi-ssi,” the security guard chirps with a smile, a complete turn from just a moment ago. “Just need your signature.”

The guard hands Yoongi a clipboard with the guest sign-in form that you’ve filled out, and he scribbles his name on the designated line. The guard then hands you a visitor badge and wishes you a good day.

You pick up your guitar case and hold your tongue until you and Yoongi are alone on the elevator.

Yoongi notices your grimace.

“Everything OK?” he asks.

“That guard,” you mutter. “I don’t know who that person thinks they are. They kept trying to get me to leave. They threatened that they would have a team escort me off of the premises.”

“That’s my fault,” Yoongi explains. “I didn’t set it up right. I’m so, so sorry.” Another realization flashes through his mind. “I didn’t even explain the rules to you, did I?”

“Well, the guard covered it for you,” you grumble. “Basically, I’m not allowed anywhere without the employee who officially signed me in, and if I wander off anywhere without you, I’ll be shot on sight.”

Yoongi laughs and nods. “I know. It’s crazy.” But then his face dims. “Those rules do exist for a reason, though.”

You take a breath. “I completely understand. I mean, Park Jimin got his start here, didn’t he?”

Yoongi’s mouth sets into a straight, horizontal line.

“Exactly.”

Yoongi leads you down the hallway and to the studio, where Namjoon and Hobi stand and greet you. After Yoongi makes everyone’s introductions, Hobi shakes your hand and says, “Ah, Stationery Girl, it’s a pleasure to finally, finally meet you.”

You laugh. “What did you call me?”

Hobi’s eyes widen, and he looks at Namjoon, avoiding Yoongi’s piercing gaze. Namjoon just bundles his lips into a pained wince and shakes his head. He can’t save Hobi on this one.

“Uh, you work at, uh, Mr. Kang’s stationery store, right?” Hobi tries.

You nod. “Yeah, for a while now.” You smirk and turn to Yoongi. “Is that what you call me? Stationery Girl?”

“Why don’t we get you set up?” Yoongi asks, throwing looks as sharp as knives at Hobi.

When Yoongi turns his back, and you, Hobi, and Namjoon meet eyes, you give them a wink, letting them know that everything’s alright. It seems to help, and Hobi rests his forearms on the top of his head as he finally lets out the breath that he’s been holding.

It’s been a while since you’ve been in a proper studio. You love everything about them. The special architecture, acoustics, and aesthetics. You marvel at the work it takes to create a space like this. And just as humbling is the work it takes to create in this space. The hours people have spent. The tears people have shed. The fights and the heart-to-hearts people have had.

Yoongi, Hobi, and Namjoon watch you absorb your surroundings. They take it as a good sign that you’re so enthralled with their studio. It’s a place to be revered. In some ways, it’s their church.

“Where would you like me?” you ask, turning back to them.

Namjoon and Hobi take their usual places. “Check out both and choose the one you like,” Yoongi tells you, sitting down at the soundboard.

You take some time to explore, and you feel like the big booth is too cold. So, you climb into the smaller one instead.

“This OK?” you ask.

“Perfect,” Namjoon says, smiling at Yoongi. Hobi chuckles knowingly, while Yoongi keeps his eyes glued to the monitors.

You start getting set up, plugging your guitar in and getting your headphones set just right. You feel like a live wire. “What would you like to hear?” you ask into the mic, unable to stop smiling.

Yoongi switches on the comms between the booth and the studio. “Anything like we talked about,” Yoongi tells you, his voice in your headphones. “A couple of songs to start. Jazzy, and easy.”

Hobi blinks, and Namjoon raises his eyebrows. The comms click off, so you can’t hear what they’re saying, but they look a bit surprised and excited.

“Alright,” you say, still grinning. “Easy is easy enough. I’ll warm up with Nice Girls.”

Yoongi shoots you a thumbs up, and you begin to play. By the time you start singing, Yoongi, Hobi, and Namjoon are watching you very closely. At some point, Hobi smiles, and he turns to Yoongi, nodding emphatically as he shares a comment or two. Yoongi is harder to read, but when he shrugs and mutters something, Namjoon starts laughing, and Hobi rolls his eyes and turns back to you with a small grin.

You start to get a feel for Yoongi’s mind, as well. As you play and sing, he adjusts your levels. When he plays some of it back, you feel your voice expanding, warming, and filling. He creates a cocoon of you in a matter of seconds, and you can’t help but feel so seen, and understood.

“How was that?” you ask hopefully, after finishing the song.

The comms turn on, and Hobi and Namjoon applaud, big and genuine grins spread across their faces. You thank them and fiddle with your guitar a bit, adjusting them slightly, as the strings have warmed up in the booth. You look up at Yoongi, and while Hobi and Namjoon are talking and taking notes, Yoongi ever-so-slightly narrows his eyes, nodding just slightly as he pulls the corners of his mouth into a small smile.

It fills you with confidence that you didn’t know you were lacking.

“How about another?” Yoongi asks. “Same kind of feel.”

A song comes to mind. “How about a cover of a cover? Fiona Apple’s take on I Walk a Little Faster?”

“Nice,” Namjoon agrees, just before the comms switch off again.

You play a quick intro, and then you begin. You throw in a couple of runs, not too much to distract from the song, but just to show off a little. You make it so, so soft, heeding your grandfather’s advice to make it sound as if your voice and your guitar are coming from one being. When you’re able to do this particularly well, you get the kind of reaction that Namjoon and Hobi are giving you now, chins resting on hands, and sleepy, happy eyes paired with sleepy, happy smiles.

It’s even easier to do within the gentle and inviting form that Yoongi’s given to your sound.

And then you realize.

That’s what Yoongi means by friendly. That’s what he heard in his head that day in the store.

An invitation.

One much different than the ones that would be printed on the cardstock that you carry.

“Was that what you had in mind?” you ask.

Yoongi clicks the comms on. “One sec,” he tells you, and he clicks them off again.

He turns to the guys and launches into some sort of discussion, or explanation. You’ve learned to look away at this point. Watching strangers talk and only having their facial expressions and hand gestures to go off of can be incredibly misleading. You’ve learned to choose to read people as they’re listening to you, and to rid yourself of the pressure of trying to hang onto the conversations that come after.

The comms click on again, and you look up. “That was incredible,” Hobi replies. “We loved it.”

“Would you wanna try improvising on something?” Yoongi asks, as Namjoon starts queueing something up.

“Sure,” you say. “That sounds fun.”

“This is a song that I’ve been working on, the one I mentioned to you,” Yoongi replies. “It’s going to sound bright and poppy. We want to reshape it for your kind of voice and style.”

You smirk. You’ve never done that before. You’ve never been asked to, and it’s never occurred to you to try it. Then again, making something else your own might be better than trying to be all the something elses that other labels wanted from you.

“Ready?” Yoongi asks.

You nod, and the track starts. You close your eyes to focus on the music. Bright and poppy are understatements. The song is fast, and complicated, and there are tons of layered vocals bursting from every direction. And then something new happens. It starts to take a different shape. A melody dangles in front of you. So you grab it and hold on.

The song ends, and when Yoongi switches the comms back on, Hobi and Namjoon are in the middle of laughing. Yoongi’s chuckling along with them, and he asks, “What do you think?”

You smile. “Amazing. Everything felt so lush.”

Hobi, Namjoon, and Yoongi smile at each other, before Yoongi turns to you and says, “Do you think you could translate it into a different style?”

“I can try,” you say. “I heard something that I really, really liked. A throughline that guided me.”

Namjoon perks up. “You have something already?”

“Can I fiddle around?” you ask. “And maybe if you could play starting from the second chorus?”

The three of them exchange impressed glances.

“Sure,” Yoongi says, before switching the comms off and playing the track for you.

You quickly sketch the outline of what you want to do as you find the key and hang onto the core melodies that you want to incorporate. But then you find you’re losing information. YOu can’t hold onto all the ideas at once.

“Yoongi,” you say with a grin. “Mind if I borrow one of those Leuchtturms?”

He smirks and passes his notebook and pen to Namjoon, who passes it to Hobi, who gets up and brings it to you in the recording booth.

“Thanks, Hobi,” you say with a warm smile. Hobi grins and gives you a princely bow before exiting the booth and sitting back down.

You place the notebook on the empty music stand in front of you. You flip to a blank page and begin jotting down notes. You notice that Yoongi’s also handed you the Lamy fountain pen.

“This pen is amazing. Where’d you get it?” you joke, as you work.

You glance up and see Namjoon and Hobi smirking at Yoongi, who switches on the comms and says, “Some old man told me about it.”

You cackle brightly, making the guys smile fondly.

You don’t futz around with the lyrics for now. You focus on the composition and feel. And then, after a few minutes, you say, “Alright. Let me give it a shot. I’m thinking two guitar tracks, and three vocal tracks.”

You start to see the dynamic that this trio has. Hobi focuses on tracking, ensuring that every layer that you’re planning out is getting recorded properly, incomprehensibly speedy at doing quick fixes and cleans as you go. Yoongi focuses on mixing, an absolute genius at carving out the right listening space, somehow already stamping his signature on that warm cocoon that he created for you while you were warming up. Namjoon focuses on mastering, blending tracks together and finding the right balance for all the elements to come together as one.

You explain that you hear the instrumentation sounding far away in the beginning, slowly coming closer, and finally filling out during the climax of the song before falling away again in the end. Instead of being bright and instigating, the melody turns into something haunting, and the harmonies drip with melancholy.

It only takes about forty-five minutes, but by the end, the four of you are in the studio, listening to the final master on the speakers.

“Wow,” Hobi sighs, nodding. “It sounds completely different. It’s taken on a new meaning entirely.”

“Yeah,” Namjoon agrees. “Instead of coming at you full-force, it’s more about the aftermath.”

They turn to Yoongi, who just gestures to you. Suddenly, all three of them are looking to you for your thoughts.

Tears brim in your eyes, and the trio momentarily looks concerned.

“I can’t believe this,” you say meekly. “I just… I know it’s just a rough cut, but I can’t believe this exists. I can’t believe this was my morning. I woke up, and then I created.”

Hobi, Namjoon, and Yoongi seem to take your words to heart.

You laugh sheepishly, finding it increasingly difficult not to cry. “I don’t mean to get emotional. It’s just been a long, long time since I’ve been here.” You sigh, wiping a tear from your eye. “It sounds exactly like how it sounded in my head. And you guys just conjured it out of thin air. Amazing.”

Yoongi smiles. “You’re the one who conjured it out of thin air, Boss. We just wanted to shine it up for you.”

When you go to shake Hobi and Namjoon’s hands, they instead pull you into their arms and tell them how special of a day it was. They feel like kindred spirits. Old friends instead of new.

Yoongi walks you back to the lobby, and you wonder if he’s thinking the same thing. He’s nearly impossible to read, so you’re surprised every time he shares anything. But the next time he speaks is especially surprising.

“When do you want to start?” Yoongi asks, as he ambles along with you to the doors.

“Start what?” you ask.

“Start your contract,” he tells you. “Start out as a junior member of our production team. Start work on this pet project.”

You start laughing. “Stop.”

“I’m not asking about stopping things. I’m asking about starting things.”

“Oh, you have control over that, do you?”

Yoongi shoots you a sly grin. “I have control over everything. That’s just how I like to do things.”

As you pass the front desk, the security guard calls out a cheery, “Have a great day!”, but the look that Yoongi flashes them this time is more of a sneer than a smile. The security guard looks a bit nervous, and you don’t hesitate to flash them a haughty grin because you’ll never step foot in this building again.

Mr. Kang grins as you pull the iron gate down and lock it into place.

“What’s Mrs. Kang cooking for dinner tonight?” you ask him, standing back up and gripping your guitar case.

“Lamb chops,” Mr. Kang says excitedly. “What about you? Off to the studio?”

“Yeah,” you say. “And I’m bringing Yoongi’s Lamy delivery today.” You hold up a small box of pens. “He couldn’t swing by earlier, for some reason.”

“Well, you all have a great session tonight,” Mr. Kang says happily, giving you a small hug.

“See you in the morning,” you cheer, hugging him tightly before you both set off in opposite directions on the sidewalk.

You had no idea the kind of control that Yoongi really had, no more evident than the sweet deal that he nabbed for you: a contract to sing, compose, and produce exclusively for the company for one year. You work mostly outside of regular business hours, given your job at the store. It doesn’t place any major responsibilities squarely on your shoulders. And though you aren’t getting paid big bucks just yet, this is a substantial supplement to your income from the store. Not to mention that it could lead to so much more down the road.

You’re already one month in, and you still cannot believe that you aren’t in a dream.

You walk through the front doors of the building, and you catch your favorite security guard. You flash a toothy grin at them as you glide through security with your lanyard and badge. And then you head up to the studio.

When you open the door, you see something that makes you wonder if you’re not just in a dream, but if you’ve died and somehow gone to heaven.

Park Jimin is standing in the middle of the studio, grinning happily. He looks like a walking art installation, covered in all sorts of labels and trinkets, luxurious fabrics cut in all sorts of interesting shapes, silver and gold dripping from his beautiful frame.

Namjoon, Hobi, and Yoongi look up at you from their seats on the couch, and Jimin turns to fully fully face you.

“Oh, great!” Jimin exclaims. “Can I get another iced coffee?” He holds up his half-empty plastic cup. “This one’s pretty watered down.”

Your jaw drops, and all you can do is stand there.

“Uh, Jimin, this isn’t one of the assistants,” Namjoon explains. “This is---”

“Ah, sorry, right, we’re not supposed to do this with interns,” Jimin finishes.

“No, she’s not an intern,” Hobi says, putting his hand out to stop Jimin, “she’s---”

Jimin swivels back to you. “Look, I know this is supposed to be a great learning experience, and you’re supposed to be earning credit hours, and I know there’s some policy that stipulates that only assistants technically do these jobs. But do you think you could make an exception? For me?”

“This is our newest team member,” Yoongi says sternly.

Jimin furrows his brow. “Huh?”

Yoongi introduces you to Jimin, and a person standing next to him that you didn’t see in the blinding light of Jimin’s aura. “This is Park Jimin, and his composer-producer Kim Taehyung.”

“W-wow,” you finally sigh.

“Uh, nice to meet you,” Jimin says flatly. He stiffly reaches for your hand, and you shake it nervously.

“It’s incredibly nice to meet you,” you say, grinning.

Jimin smirks. “So, you’re the new me?”

Your face flushes.

“I used to work with these guys,” Jimin replies.

You stammer, so embarrassed that you didn’t know this. You turn back to Yoongi, and your mind boggles at what other crazy things you’ll learn about Yoongi and his gang next.

“Yeah, we came up together,” Jimin replies. “And then I made it big.”

“And then you left,” Hobi mutters.

You start to read the room better now. An awkward tension. Jimin’s flat reception of you. The trio’s relative silence and general lack of enthusiasm. Kim Taehyung cowering in the corner. You really don’t want to get caught up in it, but you have a feeling that things are much messier than they currently seem.

Jimin scans you from head to toe, and you feel judged.

“Well, I guess I’d better get going, now that the official team’s all here,” Jimin says, and you don’t miss the sarcasm in his voice.

He and Taehyung take their leave, pushing past you to step into the hallway, but not before Jimin hands you his watered-down iced coffee.

Hobi rises to close the door behind them.

Namjoon takes the cup from your hands.

And the trio dejectedly take their seats.

You aren’t sure how you can help, but you figure that it’s better to ask now so that you don’t get similarly blindsided later.

“Is this I something I should be in the loop for… or would you rather not talk about it?”

Yoongi digs into the small drawer set that each of you have for personal items. He pulls out a cigarette and lighter. “I’ll be up on the roof,” he mumbles, placing the cigarette behind his ear and walking out without so much as a glance to any of you.

Namjoon watches as Yoongi leaves, and when the door is closed, he and Hobi look up at you.

You take your place on the couch, and Namjoon and Hobi scoot their chairs toward you.

“What the hell was all that?” you ask, worried.

“Jimin used to work for Big Hit,” Hobi explains. “But he left because we had a falling out.”

“What happened?”

Namjoon sighs. “About a year ago, we were in the middle of a long session, here in the studio, on the night of Yoongi and his girlfriend’s anniversary dinner.”

Over the past month, you’ve seen instances of what Mr. Kang alluded to when you first met Yoongi. Sure, he was always annoyed, frustrating, and still a bit of a dick. But he did have a pure soul. And just the thought of grumpy old Yoongi begrudgingly sitting in a lavish restaurant, or a luxurious hotel room, at the behest of his sweet girlfriend, makes you smile.

“Ex-girlfriend,” Hobi corrects.

Your smile turns into an empathic frown. You were right. This was way messier than it looked to the untrained eye.

“He was already late, but he was getting ready to leave,” Hobi continues. “He just asked us to lock everything down before we left for the night.”

Hobi and Namjoon exchange glances, and Hobi sucks in his cheeks.

“When we finished our work, we turned everything off, but we didn’t lock Yoongi’s files down,” Namjoon says. “We weren’t actively working on any of them, but we needed some of the samples and reference cuts to take note of what changes we were making. We honest-to-goodness just forgot.”

Hobi folds his arms. “Even so.”

“I know,” Namjoon mutters.

“Did he lose some files?” you ask.

“Several,” Namjoon explains, “because what we didn’t know at the time was that Jimin and Yoongi were fighting.”

Hobi starts bouncing his knee anxiously.

“Jimin and Yoongi always butt heads. Anything could be a trigger,” Namjoon continues. “So, that night, Jimin was upset that Yoongi left. So...”

Namjoon rubs his hands together, and Hobi starts swiveling in his chair.

“...Jimin stole Yoongi’s works in progress, and then he ran off to a different label,” Namjoon says, finally.

“What?” you ask, stunned. “Wait, isn’t that, y’know, illegal? Or something?”

“I’m gonna start prepping the booths,” Hobi says, unable to stay still. He rushes to his feet so fast that his chair spins.

Their nerves are still so raw that Namjoon lowers his voice as he goes on. You understand. They’re reliving it as they tell it.

“Jimin’s new label is one of our larger sister companies,” Namjoon explains. “We both feed into one parent company. So, their lawyers claimed that Jimin wasn’t in breach of contract. He owns almost everything that we had. Everything that Yoongi wrote.”

Your heart sinks. “Yoongi must feel so… so…”

“Betrayed?” Namjoon asks.

“Traumatized?” Hobi asks, from across the room.

You frown. “Heartbroken.”

Namjoon and Hobi exchange glances. Yoongi had never described the experience as such, but your phrasing starts to help them make sense of the disappointed look in his eyes whenever Jimin pops up.

“You three grew up together,” you say. “Did Jimin grow up with you, too?”

Random memories of Jimin start to pop up in Namjoon and Hobi’s minds. Jimin cracking them up in the school yard before the morning bell rang. Jimin dancing in detention to get a rise out of their teachers. Jimin busking in the streets for snack money.

“We did,” Namjoon says, with a gentle laugh. “We even---”

The door opens, and Yoongi returns, his cigarette gone, but his lighter spinning between his knuckles. “Ready to get started?” he asks briskly, not looking at any of you.

You watch Namjoon and Hobi wordlessly fall into their places, and though you wish you could check in with Yoongi about how he’s feeling, you sense that this isn’t really how the group works. So, you wordlessly fall into place, too, getting up and grabbing your guitar, and stepping into the recording booth that Hobi prepared.

As you sit down on the stool and put your headphones on, your eyes fall to Yoongi’s distracted face. His eyes are soft. His nose is crinkled. And his pouting lips look red. Too red. Chewed and mashed in deep contemplation. The only place where Yoongi will let his blood show.

You and Jungkook stare out the window.

Antique Store Guy and Candle Shop Lady are sitting by their respective storefronts, both of them on their phones.

“It can’t just be a coincidence,” Jungkook mutters, his eyes peeled.

“No, totally,” you agree. “They’re definitely talking to each other.”

This saga is better than any television that you’ve watched or any movie that you’ve seen, weeks and weeks of ups and downs that you never would have expected the two of them to share.

Mr. Kang leans forward, slowly eating chips and guacamole, just as enraptured as you are. “How do you know they’re talking to each other?”

“Pay attention to their mouths,” you say. “When one stops talking, the other starts.”

Antique Store Guy says something with a smirk and a flourish of his hand, and Candle Shop Lady doubles over with laughter. Antique Store Guy beams with pride, and you think you see Candle Shop Lady staring at the wall that separates them, sighing and running her hand down the fringe of her latest black shawl.

“So what, they’re suddenly not fighting anymore?” Mr. Kang asks.

Jungkook twirls around and grabs the counter, glaring at you. “Oh my god! Boss! Have you not updated him?”

“I’m trying to watch!” you exclaim, waving your hands at them to get them to stop.

“Fine, I’ll do it,” Jungkook sighs, turning to Mr. Kang.

Though you have no idea what their conversations are actually about, Candle Shop Lady and Antique Store Guy seemed to have some sort of disagreement a few weeks ago, evident by them sulking and not having any kind of contact. Then, a handsome Mystery Man visited the candle shop, charming Candle Shop Lady with his smile. He started visiting the shop regularly, never leaving the store without some kind of purchase. Antique Store Guy would start waiting around for Mystery Man’s visits, and he would flip his sign from OPEN to CLOSED for the duration of time that Mystery Man would stay. Earlier this week, though, Antique Store Guy seemed to have enough, and he marched over to Candle Shop Lady and planted a huge kiss on her, right on the mouth, in front of a few patrons.

“When I sent over Candle Shop Lady’s order for the week, she told me that she was thinking about revamping her logo, including on her letterhead,” Jungkook says.

“To what? A riding crop?” you joke, making Jungkook guffaw and clap.

Mr. Kang furrows his brow. “What? Why is that funny?”

You and Jungkook exchange glances. “I don’t know, just seemed random or something,” Jungkook tries to explain. Neither of you have told Mr. Kang about the first night that you caught them and learned of their affairs.

“Is it?” Mr. Kang asks. For a moment, you wonder if he already knows, but then he adds, “Laverne used to be a champion equestrian.”

You slam your palm down on the counter repeatedly. “She was an equestrian?” you howl.

Jungkook holds his face, using the heels of his palms to cradle his temples. “Her name is Laverne?”

Yoongi walks into view, and the three of you feel the need to separate for some reason. He frowns when he explodes into the store, the brass bell already sounding exhausted.

He marches up to the counter, and you slide his order for the week over to him. He looks so pent up. Tense.

“Everything OK?” Mr. Kang asks, beating you to the punch.

Yoongi shakes his head.

Jungkook and Mr. Kang look confused, but you know what’s bothering him.

During the lunch hour, Jimin released a surprise B-side. It’s one of the stolen files from Yoongi’s works in progress. That must also be why he’s at the store so late in the evening, just as you’re about to close.

“I just have to lock up,” you tell him, as he places exact change on the counter by the register. “Wanna walk over to the studio together?”

“I’m not going back to the studio,” Yoongi mumbles, as he watches you place his cash in the register.

“What about the rewrites we were discussing?” you ask.

Yoongi shrugs.

You frown. It’s not like Yoongi to ignore a production schedule. You think he must have it pretty bad.

“We don’t have to write at the studio,” you offer.

“You’re welcome to use the store,” Mr. Kang says gently, actually softening Yoongi’s frozen expression a bit.

“Thanks, Mr. Kang, but I kind of just want to go home.”

“Wanna come upstairs instead, then?” you ask.

“Upstairs?” Yoongi echoes.

You laugh. You can’t believe Yoongi doesn’t know this about you.

“I live in the apartments next door. Upstairs.”

Yoongi blinks. He looks back at Mr. Kang. “You hired her because of the convenience? That explains a lot.”

Mr. Kang pouts.

“No,” you say sternly, “he hired me because I’m a Stationery Girl.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes, but he blushes a bit.

Jungkook smirks. “Well, I’m going to head out,” he replies, heading toward the back office.

“No one asked,” Yoongi calls over, and Jungkook throws up a middle finger in response.

Mr. Kang looks at you and Yoongi. “I guess I’ll head out , too,” Mr. Kang replies, taking his dip and smiling. “If you’re good with that, Boss.”

You nod, and Mr. Kang disappears into the back office as well.

As you gather your things, lock the doors, and pull down the iron gate, you realize that it feels weird to be the one leading Yoongi anywhere. You think that it’s because you’re a terrible leader, but then you remember what he told you about his affinity for control. But he wordlessly follows you outside, up your stairs, through your door, and into your apartment.

“Ahh,” Yoongi sighs, appreciative of how warm you’ve kept your home.

You grin as you watch him walk into your living room and take your apartment in.

“Cool records,” Yoongi replies, looking through the shelves that house your vinyls. “Some really good choices in here. ”

You smile. “Thanks.”

He looks at the ground. “Why are these in a box?”

“Oh, those are my ex’s.”

Yoongi nods.

“Are these his, too?”

You look at Yoongi with a furrowed brow.

Yoongi smirks at you and nods over to the box next to the box of your ex’s records. You blush violently, turning to your bookshelf to hide the horrified contortions that your cheeks and lips and eyes are pretzling into as you realize that Yoongi is looking at the cardboard box into which you’d been tossing your worthless, sloppily re-packaged sex toys after each terrible experience.

Why.

Do you keep.

Forgetting.

To hide them.

You’ve lived alone for way too long. You’re way too comfortable. You’re mortified, and the breath that you take can’t fill your lungs fast enough.

You wipe some dust off of your bookshelf and turn back around, painting on a nonchalant expression. “No, those are mine,” you say, as if you think it’s no big deal.

He kicks at the corner of the box, and something buzzes for a couple of seconds.

Yoongi’s nostrils flare and his throat clenches to keep his overwhelming laughter from spilling out. He folds his arms, and this time, he turns away from you, looking helplessly up at the ceiling as he tries and tries again to stifle any and all sounds. His body is shaking under all the effort it takes.

You grimace and rub your forehead. He gathers himself and turns back to you.

“Feeling frustrated?” he quips, with a soft smile.

Your grimace turns into a frown. He chuckles a little bit.

“Look, can you just ignore the box?” you ask.

“Sounds like it’s getting plenty ignored.”

You rub your eyes. “Just---! Can we not---! Songwriting, please---!” you stammer.

Yoongi lets out a couple more soft chuckles, a necessary pressure valve to keep any derision out from his laughter. He slips his backpack off of his shoulder and onto the ground next to the chair that he pulls out at your kitchen table.

Thankfully, the moment passes quickly. You work steadily for a while, wrapped up in all sorts of creative conversations. How best to resolve the bridge into the last chorus. If thorns are too trite of an image to represent lasting pain. Whether people will get the optimism and hope that you’re trying to convey by suddenly ending in a major key.

You’re in such a state of flow, and you’re having such an enjoyable time working together that when your eyes accidentally fall to Yoongi’s watch and catch the time, you almost don’t want to tell him what you’ve learned.

“So… it’s, like, 3:30 in the morning,” you eventually mention.

Yoongi’s eyes grow wide. “Fuck.” He checks his watch. “I’m so sorry. I’ll go.”

You watch him reach for his phone, but his crinkled lips paired with a moment’s hesitation tells you that he isn’t sure what he’s going to do. Studio’s obviously out. Bus? Futile. Yoongi already knows that the cross-town bus stops service at 1 AM. Rideshare? Could take ages to find someone this late. Order a town car? Company would need to wake a driver, and Yoongi doesn’t want to disturb anyone. Besides, there would then be a record of this trip, and if anybody got their hands on that record, it would look sordid, Yoongi leaving a recruit’s apartment at this time of night.

“You could just crash here,” you offer, “if you don’t mind the sofa.”

Yoongi frowns. “...I wouldn’t be bothering you?”

“It’s Sunday,” you remind him. “The shop’s closed. I’m off today.”

Yoongi looks at you, relieved. “Well, in that case, I… I think I will take you up on that, actually. Yeah. Thanks.”

You nod and smile. “No worries. Let me get you some stuff.”

Some lessons you’ve admittedly absorbed from your prim and proper Unnie and Eomma. You walk over to your linen closet, just next to your bathroom. You pull out fresh hand and full-sized towels, smiling when you get a whiff of their clean laundry scent. You go into the bathroom and set them on the counter next to the sink. Then, you crouch down and open the cabinets underneath. You pull travel-sized versions of a toothbrush, toothpaste, and face wash from your basket of just-in-case guest toiletries. You arrange them neatly next to the towels and nod to yourself. You quickly wash your face and brush your teeth so that you completely free up the bathroom, and then you go back to your linen closet.

As you pull out pillows, pillowcases, and blankets, it hits you.

What are you doing?

Now you’re inviting complete strangers to have a sleepover at your place? Eomma’s opinion you don’t really care about; she would have already chewed you out for being in your pajamas alone with a man who isn’t betrothed to you. But what about Unnie? You wonder if she can sense your terrible decision-making in her sleep, and you picture her bolting upright in bed, clutching her chest while Jin tries to talk her down.

Although, you wonder, is Yoongi a complete stranger? You’ve lived here for months. You’ve started nearly every morning with Yoongi’s disapproving gaze. And you’ve been working together for a while now.

Are you and Yoongi becoming… friendly?

You stuff the thought down, shake the pillows into their pillowcases, and close the linen closet door. There’s nothing you can do about this now. You already offered. You’ve made your bed, and Yoongi is waiting for you to make his.

You join him in the living room, and you smirk when you see that he’s been waiting awkwardly at the kitchen table after having packed away everything but his phone.

“You can make yourself comfortable,” you tell him, setting the bedding down on the sofa. “I put some toiletries and towels in the bathroom for you. And here are some pillows and blankets.”

“Thanks,” Yoongi mumbles, his voice sounding unsure, and his eyes glued to the table.

A soft laugh escapes your mouth, and Yoongi blushes.

“Are you OK?” you ask.

“Yeah, I just…” Yoongi turns to you and gathers his lips in a soft and grateful pout. “Thank you for today. For this. For everything.”

“It was fun,” you say, smiling. “I didn’t even realize how late it was. It was like we were just hanging out or something.”

Finally, Yoongi seems to relax, evident by the small smile that spreads across his face. And he seems to agree with you.

“Well, I’ll let you be,” you say. “Honestly, make yourself comfortable. Kitchen. Bathroom. Eat, use, or take anything you want.” You smirk. “That’s how I like to do things.”

He laughs knowingly, and you leave him to go to bed.

As you climb under your covers, you hear him start to shuffle around the room. The chair legs scrape quietly along the floor as he gets up. And then you think that you hear him make his way to the bathroom, the running of the faucet confirming your guess.

With two doors separating you, you feel like you have enough privacy to let yourself finally fall asleep. But sleep doesn’t come. You’re invigorated by the work that you both have just finished, the melodies that you co-created still bright and repeating in your mind. You’d hum them to yourself if you weren’t trying to get some shut-eye.

You’ve already turned off all the lights and electronics. You lie still, in the dark, eyes closed, trying to let sleep find you. Then, you toss and turn for a while. Forty minutes pass, but eventually, you admit that you need some sort of help.

You sneak outside and go to the kitchen to see if some tea might help settle you down.

You’re surprised to see that the blankets that you gave to Yoongi are still neatly folded on your couch. Instead of sleeping, Yoongi’s standing by your window, staring at the street below. Other than washing up in the bathroom, the only action that Yoongi has taken to get more comfortable is to put his headphones back on to listen to some music.

“...Yoongi?” you whisper gently.

He obviously can’t hear you. You wonder how long he’s been staring out the window. Will he stay there for a while? You wonder if you could make a cup of tea in that amount of time, getting what you need while staying completely unnoticed.

But then, in the window, Yoongi catches your reflection, standing there, just watching him.

He slides his headphones down to let them hang around his neck. He turns to face you, his eyebrows raised with worry.

“Did I wake you up?” he asks, concerned.

“No, no,” you reassure him, embarrassed at how creepy that must have looked.

“Can’t sleep either?” you ask.

Yoongi shrugs. You notice that his music’s leaking out of the headphones. Literally, his music.

“You’re not listening to it, are you?” you ask, but Jimin’s voice floating into the air confirms your suspicions without Yoongi having to. You smile softly. “You don’t have to torture yourself, you know.”

He thinks about what you’ve said. And then, he turns the music off. “If I didn’t wake you, then why are you up?” he asks.

“I was going to try chamomile to relax,” you explain.

Yoongi wants to say something and steps toward you, but as he does, his calf knocks into your infamous cardboard boxed island of misfit sex toys. When he looks down to see what he’s kicked, he smirks.

“Which one of these is named Chamomile?”

You scrunch your face up, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of so much as a chuckle at the sacrifice of your dignity. He mirrors you, forcing you into a giddy standoff.

“Tea,” you stress, once you know you can speak again without bursting into laughter, “I was going to make some chamomile tea.” You raise your eyebrows, mulling over his words seriously now. “Although, y’know, if things were better for me in that department, that’d probably also do the trick.”

Yoongi flicks his eyes up, daring to peer into yours. You feel him swim into your sclera, dance around your sparkling irises, but just as you feel him edging into the deep, dark pool of your dilated pupils, you feel him start to withdraw.

“I could… help with that.”

Flabbergasted doesn’t quite cut it. You sigh sharply and look down. “Um…”

You realize that you sound so skittish. And you understand that, given how perceptive and evidence-based Yoongi is when making his suggestions, he must have found something on your face that’s telling him to withdraw. No matter how infinitesimally small it is, it must be there. Maybe there’s a wrinkle, or a crease. Maybe your cupid’s bow isn’t quite sharp enough. Maybe the seams of your lips don’t quite line up.

“You mean like… give me tips?” you ask, keeping your eyes low.

Yoongi smirks at the term. “Well, I just have the one.”

One light giggle escapes you. You’re not looking at him, so you miss how Yoongi’s smirk grows into a toothy grin, and how he raises his chin slightly, excited that he got you to react, and proud that he’s already gotten your shoulders to relax, settling into a casual stance instead of practically brushing the bottoms of your earlobes.

“And what makes you think you can help me?” you ask, eyes still low, genuinely curious.

Fully outside of the boundaries of your gaze, he lets himself shake his head and smile. You’re not getting it, but it’s also admittedly really cute that you don’t understand yet.

“I’m a producer,” he tells you straightforwardly, his smooth baritone smile fading into a soft but serious pout of determination. “I produce.”

The collar of your sweater feels so much hotter than it did just a second ago. It’s calling your fingers to it, and you’re dying to adjust it, maybe fan some air in through it. But it’s like how the deep parts of you have been constantly demanding and failing to take advantage of your full attention.

There’s another growing itch that your fingers want to scratch. With your head lowered like this, seemingly out of embarrassment, you can’t stop staring at his thumbs hanging out of the front pockets of his pants, angled in a way that, well, directs your gaze straight to him. And you want nothing more than to reach your fingers out for the button of his pants, or stick your fingers in his waistband, or reach around to place your hands to fill his back pockets, too.

If you dare to move your fingers at all, even if just to adjust your collar, or somehow cover your eyes to hide what’s in plain view, Yoongi will know everything that he needs to know -- that even though he jokingly calls you Boss, he does hold a strange power over you.

“You… produce,” you echo, the word falling into your deepest register.

It unexpectedly oozes out of you, and Yoongi licks his lip at the sound.

He smiles at you confidently. When he looks at you this time, he doesn’t pause before jumping fully into your pupils as fast as he can, forever searing into your retinas a look equal parts wanting, curious, and subding.

“You have helped me quite a few times I’ve been in need,” he reasons.

His voice is as logical and clear-headed as if you were in Mr. Kang’s store, facing each other from across the counter. You know what he’s talking about. His weekly orders. His music. Even now, telling him to stop torturing himself with Jimin’s stolen track.

“I see an opportunity to help you back,” he replies.

“I’m still not sure I understand exactly,” you say.

Yoongi bites his lip. He looks down at the cardboard box and picks it up, silicone and plastic rattling.

“Let me try,” he offers.

Your eyes widen. It’s becoming a bit harder to breathe, and you are definitely sweating under your collar now.

“Uhh…”

The frontal lobes of your brain are telling you that this is a terrible idea. Things are finally going well with Yoongi. You understand him, somewhat. And messing around like this with him might jeopardize your chance at actually launching into the business.

But your primitive mammalian core threatens to shut down if you don’t give this a try. Your pussy is already wet; you’ve been clenching and releasing this entire time, unsure of how else to respond to Yoongi being so surprisingly seductive.

Maybe you don’t need something calming to help you sleep.

Maybe you need something to tire you out.

“...OK,” you say, your stomach dropping through the floor, presumably landing on your downstairs neighbors’ kitchen counter. “I’m… I’m game.”

Yoongi smiles. “Somehow knew you would be.”

You don’t know whether you want to slap him or kiss him, and when you have the thought, you get the impulse to slap yourself.

Yoongi looks around the apartment, eyes lingering on the sofa before peeking down the hall to your door. “Where would you be most comfortable?” Yoongi asks.

“My room, I guess?” you say, following his gaze.

Yoongi watches you for the cue.

After a moment, you take the plunge, and you lead him to your bedroom. He looks around at your soft white sheets and gigantic pillows. Your headboard, simple and short. Standard bedside tables, with matching simple box lamps on top. Comfy, plush carpet. A sparse but comfortable vibe. He doesn’t say it out loud, but he feels so at home here.

You fret at his silence. “Should I… Or, I-I mean…” You throw your hands up, exasperated. “What are we doing?”

Yoongi looks down at the cardboard box. “These are all clean?”

You nod. You leave out the part that you’ve only had to scrub each one once, each use ending in a wash of shame.

He takes the box and knees at the foot of your bed. He looks up at you as he points to the gigantic dildo, your most recent addition to the group.

“Rest assured that this one is staying put for now,” he tells you, and you laugh. You also feel a little relieved? Maybe it’s less about what Yoongi’s about to do, and more about the way that he’s making this a little lighter.

That’s right, you think to yourself. Light. Make it light. If you and Yoongi are friends now, which you seem to be, then this doesn’t have to be anything other than a friend helping another friend out.

You kneel next to him, watching as he pulls toy after toy out of the box and out of their containers. Yoongi inspects each toy, pressing each of the buttons like you did, and chuckling in surprise at a few unexpected buzzes or flashes. He’s so clinical about it, as if he’s filming some kind of tech unboxing video.

He finds the blue ring thing. The original toy.

“What’s this one?” he asks, holding it up.

“Oh,” you say flatly.

Yoongi grins. “Tell me.”

“Well,” you respond, sighing and rolling your eyes. You tell him about your ex, and some of the ones before him. How dismal they were at giving head. How they always left you wanting. How badly you crave what you haven’t had for so long.

“Never received that particular feedback, personally,” Yoongi says with a shrug, watching as the barely perceptible plastic nub moves in circles.

“Boastful, aren’t we?” you tease.

“You’d be surprised at what my tongue can do,” Yoongi tells you. Again, he speaks so simply and clearly. As if it’s just fact. But facts don’t make your pussy snap its jaws hungrily, like a chained up dog foaming at the mouth. Unless, you realize, Yoongi’s the one who shares them.

You wonder if you’re so soaked through that you’ve leaked into the carpet. You start to feel nervous, and your mind starts to wander away from the anxiety, dreaming up ridiculous things like how Unnie might be boling upright in bed, somehow sensing that you’re leaking juices onto the carpet while you have a guest over.

Yoongi brings you back to the room when he furrows his brow, draws the corners of his lips up, puffs out his cheeks, and shakes his head, almost reprimanding the toy like a bad student.

“That’s all wrong. Who would feel that?”

“Right??” you sigh in contempt.

“This is what you’ve been suffering through?” he asks, his voice dripping with pity.

You start to tell him more backstory. How you’re dying for a release. How you’ve resorted to toys because you aren’t sure about dating and hooking up with other people right now. Which friends said which things about which recommended toys. What they swore you’d be able to feel. How low your expectations have become as a result, not just in the toys, but your friends’ horrible opinions on such matters.

“Maybe your friends are having bad sex,” Yoongi points out.

You laugh, a full-bellied, resonant laugh that echoes through the apartment. Yoongi lights up at the sound.

“Well, I’m on the job, so don’t worry,” he says, chest puffing out with confidence.

“OK, well, I’m still game,” you preface, “but, and no offense, I just… I don’t know how comfortable I feel with you yet.”

Your eyes meet again, and he raises his eyebrows.

“With the music stuff, all your advice and guidance and input, I trust you fully,” you clarify. “Which is the reason why I’m even doing this. But this is… different.”

Yoongi nods. “Oh, I get it. But I was just planning on keeping my eyes shut and touching only the toys,” he explains.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but you weren’t expecting that.

“It just seems kind of hard sometimes with toys if you have to worry about how to hold them or angle them,” Yoongi goes on, still holding the blue ring thing and moving his arms awkwardly to display what he means. “I thought I could just sit here and do what I usually do at the studio. Y’know. Help you divvy up the work.” He points his finger at you. “You focus on the expression.” He gestures to himself with his thumb. “I’ll listen and adjust. Make it feel good. Make it feel right.”

Your breath catches in your chest. “A-a-and you just, like, came up with this idea?” you ask. “Out of nowhere?”

Yoongi smiles. “Haven’t you tested out toys with other people before?”

It’s embarrassing, but the thought never occurred to you to ask to do that. In your world, sex means fucking to orgasm, and toys are for when you can’t find someone to get you there. You always thought toys were replacements for people, not things to share with them.

And now, you feel silly.

Yoongi clears his throat. “I mean, we all have different experiences with it. I just mean that I’ve… y’know… had a lot of fun… testing these kinds of things out.”

You grin. “I get it.”

“So… do you still want to give it a try?”

You take a deep breath. “Yes. Let’s try it.”

Yoongi smiles, and you start to feel excited rather than petrified.

“Which one was closest to making you come?” he asks, glancing down at the cardboard box.

You scan the toys and refer to your mental spreadsheet of your experiences. You reach down for a small, relatively cheap vibrator that one of your friends said would leave you gasping and sore. It’s a funky shape, and it touts that its sonic help make it the quietest yet most powerful vibrator currently on the market. However, due to the funky shape, you weren’t quite sure which of its parts best suited which of your parts. It had gotten you close to orgasm once you gave up on trying to figure out how the toy worked and just shoved it between your legs to feel the vibrations, which weren’t as world-rocking as advertised or recommended.

Yoongi takes the vibrator from you, and he pats your mattress. “Get into whatever position you’d be most comfortable in, and then after I close my eyes, we can uh, y’know… we can start,” he instructs.

You smile as Yoongi stammers through that last part. And then you get onto your bed. You lie on your back, legs still pressed together, lest you divulge that it looks like your bottom half swam an entire ocean to get here.

Yoongi smirks. “Ready?” he asks.

“Ready.”

You watch him close his eyes, and then reach up for his beanie. He pulls the fabric over his eyes and unfolds the cuff down to the middle of the bridge of his nose, just to make sure he doesn’t see anything. You bite back a smile and choke down the simper that quickly forms in your throat. You can’t believe how cute and charming Yoongi actually is.

How cute and charming this whole thing is.

“OK,” he says, blindly aiming the vibrator in your general area, “are you ready for me to start?”

“Wait, sorry,” you say, scrambling to pull your shorts off, “I got distracted.”

“By what?” Yoongi asks, bewildered. It’s literally just the two of you in this room right now. You don’t want to tell him that you are completely distracted by him.

You chuckle as you reach down for your shorts and underwear, which are perhaps even wetter than you thought, but something stops you. You know you need to take off your shorts so that you can actually feel what Yoongi’s about to do, but you get the inclination that you also may be more comfortable doing this whole thing if you weren’t completely nude from the waist down.

“Can I…” you begin to ask.

Yoongi just waits.

“...Sorry,” you say sheepishly, finding it hard to describe what it is that you want. As usual.

“It’s OK. No rush,” Yoongi tells you.

You smile. His reassurance makes you feel better about getting this off your chest. “Um, is it OK if I… I mean, would it be bad if I left my, um… My underwear on?”

“Leave whatever you want on, and take whatever you want off,” he tells you. “This is your thing. And I can’t see anyway.”

“You sure about that?” you ask playfully.

“If I could see, I’m pretty sure---”

Yoongi stops himself and folds his lips into his mouth as he blushes bright red.

“What was that?” you ask, your heart racing.

You wait. It seems like Yoongi’s just hoping you’ll push past it.

But you’re too charmed.

“You’re pretty sure you what?” you dig, a smile growing across your face.

Yoongi frowns. “I just… I was gonna say that if I could see, I’m pretty sure that I wouldn’t be this calm,” he mutters quietly, bowing his head a little.

You giggle and can’t help but feel flattered.

He smiles when he hears you. “What?”

“You should do that more often.”

“Do what?”

“Talk like your lyrics do.”

He licks his lips. “Stop trying to stall. Are you ready for me or not?”

You take a deep breath and take off only your shorts. You toss them behind you, and they hit your pillow softly.

Yoongi’s head twitches when he hears it. “So, out of curiosity… What did you take off?”

“I’m ready now,” you say sweetly, ignoring him with a smile.

Yoongi grumbles as he props himself up on his knees and reaches the vibrator out to you. He reaches your pussy lips, and he feels the slight barrier that you panties provide.

“Chicken,” he teases, making you giggle again.

But then you notice something.

“It’s not on,” you remark.

“Just warming you up,” he says. “Jeez.”

You tuck the corners of your mouth in. It’s hilarious to you that he can’t see your overflowing pussy. He has no idea how he’s already warmed you up for this.

“Tell me,” he says.

Using only the vibrator, he parts your folds the best that he can, and slowly runs it up and down your slit, following the fabric of your panties with only very slight pressure. You admit that it does feel good, like it’s feeling you out. Trying to get to know you. He focuses the tip of it up toward your clit, and he makes small circles until he finally captures your awakening clit in a perfect round.

“There,” you say, throwing your head back onto the mattress and staring at your ceiling.

Yoongi lingers there and does another circle, and then another, as if loading and memorizing coordinates.

“Mmm,” you moan involuntarily, slapping your hand over your mouth when you do.

Yoongi smirks. “Wow. We just got started.”

“It’s not like I came or anything!” you counter, blushing angrily.

“What the fuck?” Yoongi asks, annoyed, doing more loops around your clit for good measure. “I wasn’t trying to be a dick about it. I just meant that that was a good sign.”

“...Oh.”

“Right?”

“Yes. Right. Sorry, I’m just. Y’know. Nervous.”

Yoongi nods. “Yeah, no, I get it. I… Just tell me if you want to stop.”

Throughout all of this, you keep vacillating between extreme excitement and extreme embarrassment. All sorts of new worries are piling into your mind. Like the fact that you still won’t come, and Yoongi will have to know that about you. He’ll have to see you not come. And what if he gets annoyed, or mad? Like you did, just now, out of seemingly nowhere? Like he does at the store? It won’t be your fault if you don’t come. Right?

Is it your own fault that you haven’t been able to come?

It certainly wouldn’t be his fault if you didn’t come.

“How’s it feeling?” Yoongi asks.

“Uh, good,” you say, though you had lost track of where he was for a moment.

He runs down your folds again, tracing every inch of you onto the cloth of your soaked panties. You drag your lips through your teeth slowly, starting to move your hips in response. He moves like that, sometimes doing more circles around your clit when he gets to the top before coming back down. And on one such pass, when you moan again, a little stronger this time, your hips develop a mind of their own, and you jerk up.

He cracks a smile. “Well, that’s definitely a good sign.”

You laugh in spite of yourself.

“I’m gonna turn it on, OK?” he tells you gently.

“OK,” you say, starting to pant a little.

He turns it on the lowest setting, and you realize that all of his stupid teasing really has paid off. When he circles your clit now, you can feel the vibrations deep in your abdomen. Your stomach is buzzing and heating up.

And you realize that there actually is a chance that you will come.

Instead of celebrating, your mind is awash with different anxieties. You’re still swinging wildly from excitement to embarrassment, but now you’re worried that you will come, and Yoongi will have to know that about you. He’ll see you come. He’ll know what you sound like. And how will that affect your dynamic? You’re already wary of jeopardizing your career, so afraid to succumb to the mysterious hold he has on you. Will he hold this power over you, too?

“Where are you?” Yoongi asks suddenly.

“Huh?”

“You stopped moving with me.”

“Oh, sorry,” you say, shaking your head and trying to get back into the moment.

“Why? Does it feel bad?”

You realize that you’ve missed the last couple of minutes. “I don’t know. Can you just keep going and I’ll… I’ll think about it?”

“Sure.”

He keeps tracing you, but now you’re just scared. You’re quiet for a long time, but you move your hips in lackadaisical waves to make it seem like you’re into it.

“What could make it better?” Yoongi asks thoughtfully, and you realize that he’s so perceptive with all of his senses that you’ll never be able to get anything past him. “What if I move differently? Faster?”

You sigh. “I don’t know.”

“Hmm.” He keeps moving at his gentle pace. “Do you feel warm?”

“No, I feel cold,” you mutter. And then you realize. Your panties are wet, but now they’re hanging out in the open, catching the air. They must be cooling things down. “Wait. Let me try something. Take your hand away.”

Yoongi obeys, and you slip your underwear off. Instead of tossing it back, you reach up and roll your underwear into your shorts so that there’s definitely no way that he can see how wet you got.

How wet he made you.

Just by talking and holding a piece of plastic.

You resettle at the foot of the bed, and you take a deep breath.

“OK, I’m back.”

“Back?” Yoongi asks, twitching his head toward the sound of your voice again. “Where did you go?”

“Nowhere,” you laugh. “I just… I’m ready to try again.”

Yoongi nods and presses the vibrator onto you, but you’re slightly more to your left than you were a moment ago, and he lands on the inside of your thigh. He adjusts by turning up the vibrations and slowly inching right, stopping when he gets to your entrance.

“Ooh,” you shudder.

Yoongi notices that the vibrator moves freely now. He smiles, but he doesn’t say anything.

He moves the vibrator back up to your clit, moving at a snail’s pace.

You start to rock your hips again, both of you completely missing the way your entrance winks, closing and opening with strength drawn from the vibrations setting those muscles off.

You sigh, your voice floating, higher-pitched than your other moans, and Yoongi knows you’re going somewhere with direction now.

He grunts and presses into you deeper, angling his wrist a little more with each circle so that different parts of the vibrator make contact with different parts of your sapid skin.

“Do you feel warmer now?” Yoongi asks.

“Yeah,” you say, “a little. It’s working.”

“Care if I add to it?” he asks.

“How?”

“Can I… breathe … on you?”

You shudder at the question. “OK.”

You feel Yoongi’s head move closer to you, and he lets out a warm, open-mouthed sigh onto your mound. The mix of the vibrator and Yoongi’s breath make it feel like someone is humming in pleasure while going down on you. You can’t believe Yoongi’s ability to craft a real, complete, and utterly human experience using only his hands and mouth, whether it’s while he’s locked in the studio, or in other private spaces.

A flash of heat sears across your abdomen, but you see it behind the lids of your eyes.

“Shit, I think you’re gonna make me... uh...”

Yoongi picks up on the nerves in your voice.

“Don’t think. Don’t speak. That is, unless you want me to stop.”

You bite your lip and whine.

You don’t know exactly what Yoongi’s doing, but you know he stays with you, putting more pressure on your swollen, throbbing clit and increasing the vibrator’s speed and strength when your hips start to move in waves again. The bigger the waves, the faster Yoongi goes.

And then Yoongi leans forward and sighs onto you again, grunting a little when he does.

Suddenly, everything disappears.

You’re bathed in a sea of white. At first, you think you’ve died and reached some kind of nirvana, but in hindsight, it’s the effect of your eyes rolling back and your lids squeezing just shut enough to keep you from focusing on any specific objects, while also still letting the light in.

You gather your sheets into mountain ranges between your fingers, gripping them tightly as you lose control. You’re trembling. And sweating. And moaning. You don’t know what you’re saying. You’re not sure if you’re even saying words. Just mumbling and whining as ripple after succulent ripple travels through your body.

And then, finally, you still.

“Yoongi?” you whisper weakly.

“Yeah?” he asks, his voice low, and quiet, and soft.

“I...”

You have been dreading this moment, but you need to tell him, and it doesn’t seem right to tell him without looking at him. You dare to open your eyes, and you see Yoongi still planted on the ground, waiting patiently for you, his beanie still adorably perched on the bridge of his nose, head tilted in the direction of your voice.

A warm smile curls across your face.

“That was great,” you say, still out of breath. “T-thanks.”

“Glad I could help,” he whispers, with a grin.

He sets the vibrator down on your mattress, and then he slowly gets up and turns toward the door. You giggle as he blindly feels his way around, clashing into the corner before reaching for the door handle and stepping into the hall.

“Need help with anything else?” he asks, his voice back to its usual clear, logical tone.

“God, no,” you say, laughing.

Yoongi purrs. “Whatever you say, Boss.”

Countermelody | Masterpost

<< 01: Dissonance | 03: Syncopation >>

#my fics #countermelody #bts fanfiction #yoongi x you #yoongi x reader #yoongi x y/n #min yoongi #producer!yoongi #producer min yoongi #suga x you #suga x reader #suga x y/n #bts #bts angst #enemies to friends to lovers #jungkook is babie #bff jungkook is growing on me #also mr kang is a puppy #PROTECT MR KANG AT ALL COSTS

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hansolmates · 5 years ago

Text

jjk; angel’s trumpet [03]

summary; one second, your life is flashing before your eyes and the next, you’re transported into a world exactly like your own. but the jungkook you meet in this world isn’t a renowned singer or your former almost-lover, in fact he has no clue who you are and why you know him so well. as you work to find your way home lost and confused, you conclude that you’re either dead or in the middle of the most wicked drug trip of your life. pairing; idol!jk x reader (f), alternatively film producer!jk x reader genre/warnings; fluff, angst, supernatural, idol!au, non-idol!au, alternate universes, themes of fate, language, alcohol consumption, mentions of smut in future chapters w.c; 5k a/n; we’re finally getting into some traction with the main plot! who are we liking more so far, w1!jk or w2!jk??

[02] [03] [04]-> masterpost

Instead of going to the doctor, you take a trip to the library. If Namjoon thinks your ideas are supernatural, you’re going to find someone who believes in the supernatural.

He calls you in the morning just to make sure you’re going to his recommended doctor. You fabricate a lie that the doctor friend he recommended is busy so you’re going to go find another one in the meantime. Just in case Namjoon decides to ask said doctor about your current mental and physical state, you want to make sure you cover your tracks. As much as you want to give it another go and help Namjoon understand your precarious situation, you weren’t up for another possibility of rejection.

You wanted to avoid Namjoon’s rejection so much that you’d rather turn to unconventional alternatives to finding your answer.

Unfortunately, Tony Stark and Steven Strange do not exist in this universe, and therefore you need to turn to more practical measures.

Seoul University has a zillion libraries, and you decide to go to the general library in the hopes you’ll find something in the subject of world-hopping. Unfortunately you haven’t been in a huge library since you were a senior in college, and the smell of paper, sad students and ink all but overwhelms you.

You’re about to start wandering when a young voice snatches your attention. “Miss,” you feel a tug at your belt loop, and you notice a little boy looking up at you with a pout. “I lost my way after using the bathroom and I can’t find the daycare.”

A little part of you wonders who on earth could’ve let a boy no older than five out of their sights, especially in such a spacious building. Alas, you smile and offer him your hand, suggesting that the two of you look for a map.

“Well it’s a good thing we found each other!” you say brightly, encouraging the kid to follow you to the kiosk, “I was just about to look for a map because I’m a little lost too, we can read it together.”

The boy tells you his name is Bogum, and you respond with yours and explain that it’s okay to get lost, especially when this library is so big. He listens to you with rapt attention, wide eyes as you spell out the words “daycare” using the little paper map you brought with you from the lobby.

Bogum and you stop in front of a plain room with a cheap powder blue baby gate, deep in the children’s section of the library. It’s there that you spot five or so children huddled over the flatscreen television, ‘oh’ and ‘ah’-ing over whatever film’s prattling on. You’re not surprised that Frozen 2 remains a sensation in both worlds.

Bogum opens the door first, and you make eye contact with the only adult in the room. He’s lean and friendly-looking, holding a child in their lap as they sing along to “Into the Unknown”. Your heart is caught in your throat, begging to be released as your eyes widen in surprise.

“Hobi!” you blurt instinctively, but you immediately clamp your mouth upon realizing. You really need to get used to this, but honestly how can anyone get used to this kind of situation? Hoseok will definitely be the fourth person you’ve alarmed in the past five days.

Hoseok’s jaw drops slightly, head tilted as the rest of the mini-crew train their eyes on you. You shrink in the presence of children, knowing from experience nothing gets by them.

“Is that your girlfriend, Hobi-ah?”

“Do you know her, Mr. Hoseok?”

“She looks scared, what did you do?”

The affronted man presses his lips in a thin line, “Dunno,” he answers vaguely. He seems unperturbed, hands settling in his traffic cone orange sweatpants. He gestures to the snacks in the middle of the room, releasing the children’s inner fire for food, “but it’s fruit snack time! Go ahead and grab your water from the cubbies, you can eat while you watch.”

The babies cheer, and you smile fondly as the kids rip open their packets and giggle over Olaf. You wish you could go back to simpler times.

“So,” Hoseok stands up, and gestures for you to sit at the small kids table in the back, “Do I know you? I don’t know if I know you, but I feel like I know you. Because you know me.”

Deciding you need to sit down for his bombardment you squeeze your legs into the worn Fisher-Price desk, running your nails over the crayon stains and pencil shavings. “Uh, no?”

“Did we have a class together? Hook-up? Friend’s hook-up that I tried to coerce into a threesome?”

“Ohmygod, there are children here!” you hiss, but Hoseok just smiles plainly, offering you a bag of fruit snacks that he snagged before the children emptied his bowl. You accept the gesture, unable to make eye contact.

Seeing the members out of their clan of seven is still jarring to you. You can’t imagine a world without the seven of them together. Like they always say, Bangtan is fate.

“I just wanted to return Bogum,” you say, crinkling the foil bag in your grasp, “and I’m actually looking for a professor who has her office hours here. I have uh, questions on my thesis on alternate universes.”

“Ah, are you referring to Professor Song?” you nod, “she cancelled her office hours for today, if you bothered to email her. And anyways, she doesn’t take kindly to questions on supernatural phenomena. Not since her latest book on paranormal channeling tanked.”

Your face visibly falls, dejected. You probably should’ve tried to schedule an appointment. “O-oh.”

“But as a non-judgemental soul, I would be happy to assist you on your ‘thesis’.” Hoseok air-quotes, noting that the kids are only in the very beginning of Frozen 2 and they have a whole hour and a half to their own devices. “And in exchange, I want to know the real reason as to why you’re looking for her, especially because you referred to me so excitedly as Hobi, and not Hoseok,” he crosses his arms, “and only my mother and sister have the right to call me that.”

You feel like a kid sent to the time-out corner, inevitably forced to fess up. It didn’t work out as well as you hoped with Namjoon, and you feared to be disappointed when Hoseok disagreed with you as well. Of course, you can’t blame them. If Hoseok came up to you and said he came from an alternate universe, you’d run for the hills.

But Hoseok is sweet and sincere, and he’s definitely not letting you go. In fact, he’s empathetic, already distressed from seeing you sweating and wringing the poor fruit snack packet.

He drags over a mini chalkboard cart, poised to take notes. “C’mon, I won’t bite.”

You frown, “Promise you won’t laugh at me until the very end?”

“Promise.”

Forty minutes later and in the turning point of Frozen 2, Hoseok has drawn up what looks like a convoluted flowchart detailing every single thing you’ve said up until this point. It reminds you of a child’s drawing, symbolizing all the dead-ends and turns of your life, but you’re sure Hoseok doesn’t want to hear that.

Within the first ten minutes of your story, Hoseok is shaking his head. “That’s crazy. C’mon, prove it. If we’re really friends in an alternate universe, how much do you know about me?”

Hoseok's face falls farther and farther into his lap as you respond with a straight face. His birthday, favorite foods, hobbies, music taste, and even feelings towards melodramatic movies are laid out in your words like a personal diary.

He crosses his arms, narrowing his eyes. “Tell a secret that you know about me.”

That stumps you. You make a face, stuffing a strawberry gummy in your mouth as you think about any conversation you could’ve possibly had with Hoseok in the past year. There’s a possibility that whatever happened to Hoseok in your world hasn’t happened in this one, but you have to at least try.

With as much confidence as you can muster you say, “When you were in the 3rd grade, your older sister was playing with sticks in your backyard and accidentally stabbed you.”

He narrows his carmine eyes, “Where?”

“Left breast,” you chirp, “under the nipple.”

Hoseok’s face twists like he’s in the 8th dimension, and he clutches his left breast comically. “You’re either psychic or telling the truth,” he marvels, nearly cracking the bud of chalk in his fingertips.

You fight the urge to sigh in relief, running a hand through your hair. You can’t believe that actually worked.

“Okay so obviously because I need to know my alter-self, what’s Jung Hoseok like in World One?”

“World One?” you snort.

“Yeah, since it’s your home world. This is World Two, because this is your second reality.” He says as if it’s the most obvious thing, waving his hands in the air.

“You’re a rapper and incredible dancer in the world’s top boy band.” and Hoseok doesn’t know whether to think you’re an impeccable actor or really telling the truth by the way you smile so tenderly. “And you managed to get your mom the barbeque restaurant she always wanted. Best place for pork belly wraps.”

And because you know he’s a softie for his mother, you already have a tissue stretched out for him, confirming that you have him convinced. Seeing it all laid out terrifies him, not because he’s scared of someone infiltrating his reality, but because you’re lost. You’re lost and you can’t go home and he can feel like he’s known you all this time. Not because you know every single fact about him under the sun, but something tells him you were meant to find him today.

“So, you got hit by a truck in World One, and end up in World Two just like that?” you nod again, and Hoseok starts to line up whatever code he’s created on the blackboard. “What were you doing before that?”

“I went drinking with my friend Sehlyung.”

“Uh-huh, and before that?”

“Got into a fight with the guy I love.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“Even worse, he ended up being the first person I met once I entered your world.”

Hoseok blinks, “That’s gotta count for something, right?”

Your face sours, “Impossible. Jungkook didn’t recognize me either.”

“Anything else happened that day? Perhaps something to do with the both of you? It can’t just be coincidence,” Hoseok insists, and you almost see the potential theories looming over his head.

Wishing you bought some aspirin on your way, you pinch your brows together. You’ve recollected that night one too many times that it’s been starting to overwhelm you. You hate thinking back to how harshly Jungkook rejected you. How much his words pierced you clean like you were soft and breakable. The twist in the knife was seeing him again in this world, only for him to reject you again for an entirely different reason.

“Wait,” you bite your lip, the final memory from your last conversation with Jungkook resurfacing.

“Maybe in another world, we’d work out. But not this one.”

“He said maybe we’d be together in another world,” you say slowly, the words sinking in your form like a key to a lock.

Hoseok snaps his fingers, a huge white grin beaming on his face. “Shit, this is straight out of the Twilight Zone or something. Cool!”

It’s then that the credits roll for Frozen 2, and the children are pouncing on him like leeches to a sweet treat. They laugh and beg for his attention, teasing him because he said the s-word.

“I’m sure this Jungkook kid has something to do with why you’re here—ow, Haneul! My hair is precious!” Hoseok is busy fending off kids and trying to continue your conversation. He gets up from the tiny chair to prevent them from reaching, and you follow suit. “In the meantime,” he reaches for your phone, typing something, “here’s some books Professor Song recommended to me when I was fascinated in alternate universes. Maybe they’ll help, I don’t know. But good luck, update me when you get a chance! I work here most days.”

“Thanks Hoseok,” and before you can second guess yourself, you find space between the children to wrap your arms around him. Thankfully, he doesn’t push you away, and hugs you back just as tightly. You can’t help it, and bury your face into his shoulder, trying to conceal your sobs. He even smells like World One Hoseok. You miss them.

The rest of your afternoon is spent in the library, searching for book after book regarding the supernatural and other phenomena. A little part of you hoped Hoseok would join you in your navigation, but he had a job and you had yours. He already offered you an ear and much, much more.

You feel a little stir-crazy, despite the fact that these books could contain important information, only Jungkook’s words seem to register in your brain.

“Maybe in another world, we’d work out. But not this one.”

You groan, stretching out your back so you could reach the final book out of Hoseok’s recommendations. You blush when your joints complain about your lack of exercise and sudden exertion of physical activity. This last one just so happens to be on the highest possible shelf. There’s really no need to have more than five books on supernatural phenomena, but you’re already here and it’s vermillion red cover is taunting you like a bull to its matador.

Fuck it. Making sure no librarians are watching, you hop on the first shelf, heels dangling in the air. You could climb trees like it was nothing when you’re a child, but ten years later you can feel all the joints in your body protest at the sudden bout of athleticism.

Alas, even with the added height you can barely reach the top, fingers brushing over the hardcover. You’re starting to sweat with nerves, thankful for the whirring of the icy air conditioner. With a sigh you attempt to climb on the next highest shelf, until the familiar smell of detergent and florals invades your personal space. Even his scent is the same.

“Y’know, there’s a help desk for a reason.”

Your shoulders slump as Jungkook wordlessly instructs you to get down from the shelf. You feel the warmth of his palm shadow your back, not touching you but prepared to in the event you slip and fall. With a cross of your arms, you hug your books to your chest, refusing to make eye contact as he retrieves the book for you. Call it being petty, or overly defensive because of past events, but you’re not ready to talk to Jungkook right now.

Conversely, Jungkook is piqued. He’s lived here for the past six years and it’s the first time he’s seen you in this library. Twice in the span of two weeks is definitely something worth noting, especially when his new co-worker just so happens to be friends with you.

In fact he’s excited, curious. He just entered the library, dropping off some proofs for his graduate school’s office when he spotted you in the corner of one of the shelves, determined. Something warm and light brings a smile to his face when he sees how endearing you look trying to get that too-high book. Despite the fact that he’s still on the fence about your sanity, he wants to make sure you don’t almost-die a second time from head injury.

“Here ya go,” He easily grabs the book and Jungkook is prepared to plop the book in your pile, but you’re hugging the others so tightly that he has to wedge it between two other ones.

You press your lips together as Jungkook goes into your personal space, miffed that you’re being a little defensive. After all, you’re embarrassed from the last time you saw him and you’re heart is beating wildly, confused over the man in front of you. It takes a wiggle before you concede, letting him tuck the red novel between two other larger books.

“Thanks,” you mumble, nodding at him once before swiftly turning the corner, skirt swishing.

The smile on his face is wiped clean when you don’t even bother to spare him a little eye contact.

“Hey, wait up!” he exclaims, and he’s immediately shh’ed by at least five students and an angry librarian. He deflates, giving sheepish bows as he walk-runs after you.

He feels like the tables have turned, now he’s the one chasing after you. Should he apologize for leaving you on the sidewalk two weeks ago? Should he offer to hold your books, or drive you home? Maybe not drive you home, because he brought his bike today and he fears that you may be traumatized by the fact that you almost ate pavement under his wheels. If he has to ease into it, maybe he could offer his phone number up as compensation for accidentally almost-killing you? Suggest that his number is for you to contact him as an IOU. Smooth.

You look over your shoulder briefly, suppressing a groan as Jungkook makes it painfully obvious that this is not the end of your interaction. He’s boring into you, looking past you and his eyes are dark with information. As much as you want to know what’s going on in his mind, seeing Hoseok and Jungkook within the same hour is wholly overwhelming, especially when you just laid your whole life story out to Hoseok in a daycare.

He’s now staring holes in your back as you hand over your books and work identification to the unsuspecting librarian, who chalks up your awkwardness between two friends toeing around a relationship. To the unsuspecting eye, it’s not out of the ordinary. You can’t just tell Jungkook to “kindly fuck off because I’m still processing your existence” because he’s really done nothing wrong. Inevitable, you let him heat your skin with his imploring eyes until he starts to squirm like a garden snake. He’s waiting for you, silently begging you to turn your head and acknowledge how hard his brain is working right now. This boy is always after attention.

Finally, you spare him. “Yes?” you say softly, keeping your focus on the bookkeeper checking you out as Jungkook hovers over your form.

“Uh,” he scratches his head, searching for words, “are you hurt? Y’know, from the other day?”

“Judging from the way I was prepared to climb the shelves, no,” you stuff the books in your tote bag, “are you hurt?”

“Uh, no.”

“Okay. That’s good.” You brush past him, making it a blatant point to stride out the first door you see.

Even with all the telltale signs, Jungkook continues to feel something. An urge, a bell, something. He doesn’t know what, but he’s compelled to follow you. For a small thing you sure know how to walk, and he has to pump his legs a little to catch up with your speedy form.

He follows you to the middle of the campus courtyard, where students are lounging about and studying or playing football. It’s already starting to turn dark, and the orange sky sits impatiently on your bodies as you try to walk as fast as possible to your apartment.

“Hey—hey, c’mon!” his long legs manage to get close enough to you, but he has to halt as soon as you stop, whipping around to glare at him.

Jungkook stumbles as you’re centimeters away from him, visibly annoyed. You’re super close, impossibly close to him. He holds his breath, fearing he’d fan your face and you wouldn’t appreciate his chicken-salad breath. He doesn’t understand why you’re upset, but he wants to jab a thumb between your brows and even out the adorable expression that pinches your visage.

“What, do you need something from a stranger?” you bite icily, and he doesn’t understand the pang in his chest when you refer to each other as strangers. It’s true, you are, but you don’t have to be so harsh about it.

“I, I just want to know why you knew my name,” he replies weakly, hands going up as if he committed a crime. “Back then, I’ve been confused ever since,” it’s wholly innocent, and genuine, “I just wanted to know if you’re okay, I guess?”

It’s then you soften, melting like the yolk in the sky. The strap of your bag digs in your palm, the leather probably indenting your skin.

“I got really drunk last night,” you concede, and at the very least it’s the truth, “probably woke up drunk too. I stumbled outside and when I saw you, and mistook you for another Jungkook I know.”

You’re pulling this excuse out of your ass, and you hope that someone watching you from above (or below) will give you a reprieve on this one. He seems to believe this notion, probably used to one too many drunk girls fawning over him half-sane.

“Another Jungkook?” he balks, mouth parting like a baby kitten, “a Jungkook with the same name and face?”

“Uh kinda, like Mario and Wario?” you say, and you know Jungkook will get the reference if he remains a video game lover, “what’s that called, doppelgangers?”

“I’m partial to Luigi and Waluigi, but I get it.” he replies with a small smile, proud to have gotten you to open up, even a little. “That’s cool. I’m sorry for freaking out back there.”

“Understandable,” you look at the grass crunching at your feet. You definitely understood, but it still hurt recollecting the way he pushed you off of him like a bug. “I’m sorry for mistaking you, I just kinda stumbled out of an apartment and got walking, I thought I was in a dream or something.”

“So uh, where’s this other Jungkook?” and it’s an innocent enough question, and he’s almost boyish about it, rocking back and forth with his hands in his jeans. “I’ve always wanted to meet my own twin, I just didn’t expect them living in Korea and having the same name. That’s like a two for one deal!”

You wince, avoiding the way Jungkook tries to bend down to match your eyes. “He’s uh, not around anymore. Completely gone,” you mutter.

Completely gone? Did that mean the person you were worrying about on the streets, the person who you worried over so thoughtfully in place of Jungkook, is dead?

Jungkook puffs out a breath of air, running a hand through his hair. Boy, does he feel like a piece of shit for bringing up tough memories. “I’m so sorry,” he gushes, voice cracking as he tries to get you to lift your head, “I was just being nosy, alright? The fact that you knew my name freaked me out and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. And when I saw you in the library I pounced but I realize that this is such a huge mistake and—”

“Jungkook,” you hold up a hand, a twinge of a smile barely grazing your lips, “I already told you, it’s understandable you would’ve been freaked out. Don’t blame yourself,” you size him up a little, looking up and down and he automatically straightens his back. He feels his ears heat beneath his hair, “but you look like the type of guy to be too hard on himself.”

He laughs, nodding profusely, “So I’ve been told.” Feeling lighter at the assurance of your feelings, he sticks out his hand, “then can we call a truce?”

It’s then you see it.

“Tiger lilies,” you marvel, hands reaching out instinctively to touch the tattoo adorning his arm. It’s the same design, same position, the dark ink vibrant as ever.

“It’s my birth flower,” he puffs out his chest a bit, feeling elated that someone appreciates the fine art he spent weeks drafting. Tattoos aren’t particularly popular in this area, so he can’t help but feel a little cheeky that someone’s attracted to them. He watches the way your eyes sparkle over the black ink, the most positive emotion he’s gotten out of you since meeting. “Tiger lilies, they mean—”

“Please love me,” you finish, letting go of his arms so it drops to his side. You finally look up at him, and your eyes prick.

He looks so much like him, it hurts. Seeing Hoseok and Namjoon also pained you considerably, but nothing compared to how much it ached to have Jungkook around, vying for your attention. How well you knew his body, and how much you wish you could hug him. Today he’s even dressed a little similarly to how you’re used to, soft and comfortable in black sweats and a Carhartt hoodie. But this Jungkook isn’t scarred by the industry, and it fills the curiosity that plagued you for days on end. Your Jungkook is always vibrant, but the one in front of you is radiant. He’s young, eager, and ready to take on the world.

Jungkook grins, impressed by your knowledge. He wonders about your birth flower, and whether you have it tattooed somewhere on your body. “Is that your birth flower too?” he asks, debating on whether or not it’s too late to ask you out for coffee because evening is approaching. Maybe dinner was more appropriate? But it would be like a date? Maybe pizza or McDonalds to keep it casual?

You see the gears turning in his head, and you feel like you’ve wasted too much time thinking. “Ah, no,” you flounder, rapidly shaking your head, “just some random information I’ve picked up.”

“Are you into flower meanings?” he tilts his head.

“Not particularly,” you say ominously, and you try not to ache when he seems disheartened at your lack of elaboration, “but I will be. I’ll see you around, Jungkook.”

You can tell he has more to say, especially because Jungkook is one to finish what he starts. But you can’t give him that satisfaction now, not when you’re onto something. You spare him a wave over your shoulder, not wanting to see the disappointment in his face when you leave him in the dust for a second time.

And with that unpromised promise, you go back into the direction of your apartment. You have some extensive research to do tonight.

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

W1.

Jungkook wakes up to the sun, and he bolts up in his bed.

“Hey!” he yells to no one in particular, knowing his voice is loud enough to echo throughout the dorm. “Why did no one call me? We had practice!”

Instead of passing out in the studio he’s wrapped up in his sheets, bundled comfortably as if he’s been in bed for hours. He’s almost disoriented, looking around the room and waiting for someone to barge in and tell him to hurry up and get somewhere.

After working on his music, the seven of them were supposed to meet up. The plan was to take a nap from ten to eleven, and be at the studio to go over some modifications to a new setlist. However, those plans evidently did not go through, because he had a full night’s sleep for the first time in weeks and that only happens if there’s a schedule cancellation or vacation.

He feels particularly antsy because he couldn’t work on anything last night. His mind was like tunnel vision, completely filled by visions of you and last night’s fight. It’s frustrating, especially when there’s so much he’s behind on already.

But today’s a new day. He takes his time in his room, popping out all his joints and doing leg and arm stretches on his mattress. For once, no one’s ushering him away to do the nth task. He mindlessly scrolls his phone, taking note of the insistence for him to return to social media but pins it away for yet another promise of next time.

Mindlessly clicking his phone button on and off, his wallpaper shows a picture of your back facing the sunset. An old, innocent picture that could be mistaken for a random shot Jungkook stole on an empty night in Dongdaemun. With a sigh he throws his phone somewhere between the sheets, rubbing his eyes. There’s nothing he can do now but move forward, and he takes that in stride.

But when he walks out of his room, the air feels terse. It’s strange, as if he could cut through the tension in the room with a butterknife.

He looks on in confusion to see all the other members settled in the living room, hovered over their phones. They’re all still in their clothes from last night as well, grave expressions on their faces.

Someone’s choked sobs are echoing from a corner of the room, and Jungkook is worried when he sees Taehyung sobbing in Hoseok’s arms.

“What happened?” he asks, brows knitting together as he walks over to Namjoon, looking over his phone.

Namjoon immediately presses his phone to his chest, concealing whatever is on the screen. Jungkook’s heart pangs at his block, because Namjoon isn’t one to hide things. He’s feeling cut out of a secret so deep that it must be either a secret, or something he shouldn’t see. “It’s,” he takes a deep breath, and Jungkook feels it. He feels that whatever Namjoon has to say is going to be hard.

Seokjin speaks up for the leader, bright eyes that always spark like fireworks now dim. “We got a call from Sehlyung early this morning. Before it got light out she—she was frantic. She said Camille wasn’t answering her calls after they went drinking.”

No. No.

“Then BigHit got a call from the hospital. They said a truck hit the curb, knocking her clean,” it doesn’t even sound like Seokjin’s speaking, just the shell of him, regurgitating information. “She’s alive, but it’s critical, no one’s allowed to see her until she’s stable. We don’t know when,” Seokjin bites his lip, choosing his words carefully, “or if, she’ll wake up.”

Jungkook doesn’t even register that he’s crying until Seokjin pulls him into his arms.

#jungkook fic #bts fic #goldenclosetnet #jungkook fluff #jungkook scenarios #bts scenarios

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joftw · 5 years ago

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⌠ LANA CONDOR, TWENTY-TWO, SHE/HER, CIS FEMALE ⌡ welcome back to gallagher academy, JOSEPHINE “JO” TRAN! according to their records, they’re a FOURTH year, specializing in RESEARCH & DEVELOPMENT + “MACGUYVER” SURVIVAL SKILLS & NAVIGATION; and they DID go to a spy prep high school. when i see them walking around in the halls, i usually see a flash of (black hair flicking off her shoulders, a sardonic smile, and a slightly clenched jaw). when it’s the (virgo)’s birthday on 9/02/1998, they always request their BEEF PHO from the school’s chefs. looks like they’re well on their way to graduation.

NAME: Josephine Pearl Tran

KNOWN AS: Jo

BIRTHDATE: September 2, 1998

ASTROLOGY: Virgo sun / Capricorn moon / Scorpio rising

HOMETOWN: New York, NY

RESIDENCE: Roseville, VA ( Gallagher Academy )

GENDER: Cis female ( she/her )

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Refuses to label, but she prefers women

HEIGHT: 5'3"

HAIR COLOR: Black

EYE COLOR: Dark brown

TATTOOS: Rose on her inner arm

KNOWN LANGUAGES: English, German, French, Spanish, Italian, Portuguese, Romanian, Vietnamese & learning Tagalog

IMMEDIATE FAMILY:

Steven Tran: Father, former spy, current night security guard

Kelly Do ( formally Tran ) : Mother, dental hygienist, estranged

Victor Tran: Older brother, Blackthorne alum, estranged

BACKGROUND.

Jo had grown up with a seemingly normal childhood, very much middle class. Her father -- her hero -- was a spy, while her mother was merely a dentist hygienist. Her older brother Victor was the first of the two siblings to develop an interest in the espionage career path. He was the one who found the best spy prep school to attend – and two years later, it only made sense for Jo to be in the same school as her brother.

Jo had never been incredibly girly, spending most of her childhood tagging behind her brother’s friends and picking fights with them. When alone, she spent her time building things, using old tech and parts of anything she could get her hands on to make something completely new. At eleven years old, she had single-handedly made a go-kart for one of her brother's friends, earning him a win in a drag race. Her father had always told her how easy she could make a career out of it one day, but Jo had only seen it as a hobby, something she does for fun.

Everything changed in middle school when Jo met Rose Park, who would become her best friend. Rose was from a legacy spy family, and she was everything Jo wasn’t: girly, cool, confident, gorgeous. The change in Jo was slow: ditching her brother ( who was now too old and cool to hang out with her anyway ) , actually caring about the clothes she wore, and developing an interest in boys and popularity -- if only just for Rose. By the time prep school came around, the go-kart building, tomboy was gone altogether, replaced with a “popular” girl who pretended she had the riches her friends did, and was welcomed in only because of her ties to Rose. And despite living a facade, Jo was happy.

It took a few years into their friendship for Jo to realize that she was in love with the other girl, but she'd never get a chance to tell her.

The Tran and Park families grew close with the bond of the girls. So when enemies of the Park began threatening the lives of their daughters, Jo's father offered to help in any way he could. He became one of the spies assigned as Rose's bodyguard. The threat began the beginning of Jo's senior year ; a few weeks into it, she had come down with a serious case of pneumonia. Her father had been on Rose duty that night had to leave his station a few minutes early to take Jo to the hospital. He had informed the next guard he had to leave a little sooner than usual -- mere minutes -- but when the next guard arrived at Rose's room, it had already been too late.

Rose's death changed Jo's entire world, starting with her family. Jo's father had not only lost his job, but became an enemy of the Park family, blacklisting from the rest of the spy world. As a result of this, Jo’s mother left her husband, and Jo's brother Victor made less and less contact with their father, until he stopped calling all together. Jo chose to stick by her father’s side throughout all of this, but carried the blame for Rose's death heavily on her shoulder for several years. It didn't help that all of her old friends also blamed Jo for Rose's death, and she was quickly outcast among them. Senior year could not have ended fast enough.

After graduating high school, Jo took a year off to get a job and help her father out financially. She had been accepted to Gallagher Academy not long after Rose's death, but Jo couldn't imagine leaving her father's side during such a hard time, nor did she feel like she deserved to go to such a prestigious school. Her dad had convinced her to defer her acceptance for a year. She didn't actually expect things to get better enough for her father to leave him after a year, but he had gotten a job as a security guard in a residential building and refused to let her stay home any longer. So she looked at Gallagher Academy as a fresh start for her and her father, building herself a career that would make them both proud.

GALLAGHER ACADEMY.

Despite the fresh start Gallagher provided, going back to school hadn't been a complete walk in the park for Jo, mostly because many ghosts from her past were also at the school. It certainly didn't help that Rose's older sister, Jude Park, enrolled the same year as her, and made it her mission to make Jo miserable. But after her senior year of high school, nothing would break her spirit or her pride. Jo was able to make friends in her classes -- even ones who she'd eventually call her best friends, a title she never thought she'd give to someone else -- and despite the initial struggle her first semester, she worked twice as hard to ace her classes. Jo made a new reputation for herself at Gallagher Academy, and while it may not always be the most positive one, it didn't involve her father or a dead girl.

Jo didn't love the addition of male students to Gallagher her third year, believing that they were a distraction and most of them didn't take the school seriously enough. ( Honestly, except for a few exceptions, she still thinks that. ) But with her third year came some exciting moments as well. She had been chosen for her first off-campus mission with three other students -- one old friend, one new friend, one enemy -- that involved a protest led by Georgetown students at what was once Blackthorne Institute. What was supposed to be a one-day event was turned upside down when bombs went off at the site, killing a few people and leaving Jo with a broken arm. The rest of the Georgetown protestors were brought into witness protection and to Gallagher Academy, believing it to be nothing more than a rich kid's school. And Jo, who had been undercover at the time as a fellow Georgetown student, had to continue her spring semester pretending to be one of them.

Though a major headache for her, Jo found herself growing attached to the Georgetown students. The continued mission throughout the semester was not easy, especially when she had been one of two third years to be assigned to secretly bodyguard the witsec students, after the campus was deemed potentially dangerous ( two dead bodies would do that ) . It had been tough once they learned the truth about Gallagher and how Jo had been deceiving them, but most were fairly quick to forgive, given the circumstances. But her defenses weren't lowered until the threat of the Brotherhood had been eliminated and the witsec students were able to go back home for good. Somehow through all of this, Jo still managed to ace all her classes.

Her third year also brought some resolution for her and the Park family. She was able to slowly rebuild a friendship with an ex-friend of hers, and even Jude Park and her managed to find some common ground, wordlessly calling a truce. The arrival of Rose's ex-boyfriend also brought back a lot of memories of her own feelings for Rose, and after spending years allowing herself nothing more than clandestine hookups with girls and refusing to acknowledge that side of her, she came out to her two best friends. Her sexuality is still something she's trying to navigate, especially how her traditional father who means everything to her would react to it, but with Jo's fourth year ahead of her, she has more important things to worry about.

PERSONALITY.

Jo’s incredibly ambitious, always striving for the best and not allowing herself any less. Though her parents had always been strict with grades and fulfilling her potential, her worst critic has always been herself, even at a young age. Jo knows her worth and knows when she's not reaching it, and will do anything to make sure she gets there -- even if it means ruining her sleep schedule or social life in the process. Right now her goal is to graduate from Gallagher and get herself the best possible job she can, so she can support her father and start a new chapter in her life. Though she loves being at Gallagher, Jo's very self-aware that it's only four years of her life, and nothing gold can stay.

She’s a little rough around the edges socially, a thick layer of sarcasm and disinterest surrounding herself that makes it hard to connect with people. This, of course, is intentional, because after the way her friends turned on her in high school, she doesn't have time for fake friends. Jo's a very private person, even with those closest to her.

Despite always putting herself first, she loves helping out when she can with other people's studies or career paths, so long as they show her that they actually care about what they're doing. There's nothing Jo hates more than laziness, and students who aren't at Gallagher for the right reasons.

MORE INFORMATION / HEADCANONS:

Her career ambitions have always been to pretty much become Shuri from Black Panther, though the witsec mission and staying undercover during her second semester of her third year does have her wondering if she should look into field agent careers as well.

Her only relationship was with some boy her junior year of high school. He was the best friend of Rose's boyfriend, seemed nice enough, and it was easy to get swept up in the excitement of her first relationship, though that giddy feeling didn't last. She only stayed together with him so long because of convenience, and he ended up dumping her once Rose died.

She had kissed Rose once, a few days before her death, though the two had never completely acknowledged it. The unknown reasoning behind it still kills Jo to this day.

Jo is a very healthy eater, thanks to it being drilled in her head by her mom as a kid. Her go to treat on cheat days is ice cream, which her favorite flavor is coffee, though she prefers vanilla to chocolate.

Her mother had sent her a card for her first birthday after leaving the family, which Jo had never opened and thrown it right into the trash. She told her father that if she were to write to her again, to not let her know. Jo hasn't heard from her brother Victor since he texted her to offer her good luck on her first day at Gallagher. It's not hearing from him that stings the most, especially now that he's a Blackthorne graduate and could be dead for all she knows.

Though her father’s always been her favorite, they hadn’t been very close until all they had was each other. He’s the one person Jo would put above herself, which says a lot.

She's left handed.

TL;DR: Jo is a techie wiz who takes everything seriously and struggles with being the best because of a broken family and ex-spy father who she wants to restore her family name for, after he indirectly killed her best friend that Jo was in love with back in high school. She’s pretty grumpy but means well!

CURRENT & WANTED CONNECTIONS HERE

#okay this is long but it's like 80% her original intro #don't look at me #gallagher:intro

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out-of-jams · 6 years ago

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Airplane Mode | Track 02: Daydream | jhs

Summary: In a world where a bruise marks the first touch of your soulmate, time is the only thing that matters. The marks take hours to appear, sometimes even days if you're really unlucky. Once First Touch is initiated, both parties only have a few weeks to find the other. From then on, the body begins to reject any form of sustenance other than the touch of the other. If one fails to find their soulmate in time, they starve to death. So what happens when your soulmate is a world famous idol?And you're just one fan in a sea of many who can't even speak the same language?

Pairing: Hoseok x Fem Character

Word Count: 3.2k

Genre: Fluff. Angst. Idol!au. Smut. Soulmate!au. Explicit language.

Warnings: This chapter contains swearing.

Previous | Next | Track List | Masterlist |

The soft click of a laptop closing reminded Eunjae of the top of a casket being nailed shut. Stretching her short legs out from their criss-crossed position, she slid the laptop from her lap to the mattress of the unmade bed.

She’d just finished sending out emails to her college professors to explain that she would not be in class for a few days. Well, at least she hoped it would only be a few days. Eunjae certainly couldn’t go out in public with three-fourths of her face bruised to hell and back. Seeing as how the bruises of First Touch remained on the skin until the touch of a soulmate healed the marks, Eunjae wasn’t exactly sure when she’d be able to show her face. Literally.

She didn’t know a whole lot about the biological side of how soulmates worked, but somehow the touch of the other not only provided sustenance, but it had healing properties too. Everyone, at least from what Eunjae had experienced with the public school system growing up, were taught the very basics of soulmate science.

Those who found their soulmate were automatically graced with a longer lifespan. The longest soulmate pair ever recorded had made it to the ripe old age of 210 years old. Since the touch of a soulmate provided the exact vitamins and nutrients that the body required to stay healthy, it also doubled to prevent sickness and disease. It was rumored to even be able to take away the feeling of pain as well.

That’s a perk, at least. Eunjae thought as she examined the backs of her hands. Miles’ apartment was quiet. He’d left not too long after talking her down from the panic attack she’d had in his bathroom, to run to the bodega two blocks down to pick up breakfast.

“You gotta eat good while you can.” He’d said as he tied up the laces of his shoes. “And it doesn’t get any better than a bacon, egg and cheese on an everything bagel. ”

He hadn’t been gone long, but Eunjae already felt empty without his warmth. Back sliding down the wooden headboard, she buried herself into his fluffy comforter, letting the calming scent of him wash over her. The silk sheets that she’d convinced him to splurge half a paycheck on tickled the skin exposed at the bottom of her rolled up sweatpants.

Eunjae and Miles had been pretty much inseparable ever since they’d met in second grade. She could remember that day almost perfectly. Eunjae had been surprisingly shy as a child, but Miles had shoved himself into the chair next to hers and declared them as friends. From that day on, they longest they’d ever spent away from each other had been when his family had forced him on a vacation to Florida for a whole summer.

So much for inseparable, huh? Eunjae clenched her jaw around the sob threatening to escape her throat. Now we’ll be a literal world’s apart.

The fear of being abandoned by her best friend turned the tears on her tongue to ashes.

Jung Hoseok’s attention wavered from Sejin’s disappearing back, to the doorway as he swiveled back and forth in his leather chair. Fingers tapping a nervous rhythm on the hardwood surface of the table in front of him, he pursed his heart-shaped lips. The rest of his members sat scattered around the long table of their hotel’s conference room.

Perched in his own chair next to him, Namjoon scrolled through the phone clutched in one of his hands. His rectangular glasses reflected the dim light of the screen as his eyes examined whatever webcomic it was that he was reading. Yoongi lounged back in his seat across from Hoseok, the green straw of an iced Americano from the Starbucks downstairs pressed between his lips. His catlike eyes were closed in exhaustion, long eyelashes brushing his pale cheeks. Hoseok wasn’t sure if the strong grip that Yoongi had on the plastic cup was to keep himself awake or to prevent a bratty Jungkook from stealing it.

Squishing himself between the elder rapper and Taehyung, Jungkook rested his chin on the singer’s arm to peer over his shoulder. Taehyung’s long fingers tapped vigorously across the screen of his phone, the sounds of some game they were taking turns playing echoing through the room. Seokjin and Jimin had left with their other manager, Hobeom, some time ago to find somewhere to scavenge breakfast from. Food, however, was the last thing on Jung Hoseok’s mind.

Hands spreading out on the surface of the table, palm up, Hoseok’s thoughts were racing. He’d woken up this morning to find his hands completely covered in bruises. The center of his palms were an ugly, dark fuschia and spread out into a greenish-yellow color around the heels of his hands and the tips of his fingers.

Hoseok had thought nothing of it at first, simply chalking it up to the results of a rough dance practice. It wasn’t totally uncommon for the man to come back from rehearsal with a few bruises after some vigorous floorwork. It took him a minute after waking up, however, to remember where exactly he was. Sometimes they traveled so much in such a short period of time that he couldn’t keep up with their schedule. It wasn’t until he’d glanced out the window of his hotel room and saw the spire of the Empire State building that he remembered where he was.

It was here that Hoseok realized that it’d been a few days since the last dance practice.

He’d been confused after that. Maybe he’d fallen at some point and just couldn’t remember? His body was so wracked with exhaustion that it wouldn’t have even surprised him. They were all worn-out from preparing for their upcoming comeback, and were still in the midst of promotion. So something as simple as accidentally bruising himself would be just a tiny blimp on his radar.

Taehyung was still asleep in his own bed, his soft snores cutting out as Hoseok shut the bathroom door. He’d pushed the thought from his mind as he stepped under the warm spray of the shower. The tired, aching muscles of his body relaxed under the steam and he took his time to enjoy a rare moment alone.

Hoseok loved what he did: making music, traveling, performing in front of an audience--his fans. If someone hit a redo button on his life, he knew that he wouldn’t change anything about it. With the adrenaline rush of being on stage and having a platform to spread love and positivity; Hoseok was living the dream.

However, once he stepped out of the foggy bathroom dressed only in a pair of whitewashed jeans, he got brought down into a harsh reality.

“Hyung, what are those bruises from?” Taehyung’s deep voice pulled Hoseok’s attention away from his grumbling stomach. Running a soft towel through his drenched hair, Hoseok squinted at Taehyung through waterlogged lashes.

“What?” He attributed his slow brain to the fact that he was still half asleep and therefore not as energetic as usual.

Taehyung shuffled away from his open duffle bag on the room’s table and over to Hoseok, blond hair a birds nest atop his head. Gesturing to the rapper’s hands holding the towel, he answered, “on your hands.”

Hoseok blinked in confusion and draped the damp towel around his shoulders. He held his hands in front of his face, exhausted brain taking a moment to process what was going on.

“Oh.” He shrugged before dropping to sit on the edge of his bed. Crossing one leg over the other, he waved his hands around. “I think I fell or something. I woke up with them like this.”

“Those look a lot like something I’ve seen before.” Taehyung fished one of the rapper’s hands out of the air to examine it more closely. He spoke like what he’d just said was not at all cryptic.

Letting out a laugh, Hoseok wiggled his trapped fingers playfully. He was used to Taehyung’s sometimes odd way of speaking, so he wasn’t at all phased. “With the rate that Namjoonie hurts himself, I’m not surprised. He’s always covered in bruises.”

“No, no.” Taehyung pressed, delicately poking a finger to the palm of Hoseok’s hand. “Online.”

“You look up bruises online often?” Hoseok asked in amusement.

Ignoring the rapper’s words, the corners of V’s lips turned up as he nodded to himself at whatever thought was going through his head. Brow raising in curiosity, Hoseok watched as his donsaeng’s eyes lit up.

“Hyung,” a sudden boxy smile spread across his face, voice raising slightly in pitch with excitement. “I’ve seen pictures of bruises like this online before. They’re not normal. It’s from First Touch.”

Hoseok’s stomach dropped in shock at the words, eyes widening and lips parting. He could vaguely remember reading a couple of news articles with that same phrase. Whatever leftover jetlag that he’d been feeling evaporated into the steamy air billowing out from the bathroom. One of the dimples in his cheek popped into existence as a smile slowly stretched across his face.

“Are you saying that--”

“I think you met your soulmate, hyung!”

The sound of a door opening snapped Hoseok out of his thoughts, bringing the present back into focus. Looking up from the spot on the table that he’d apparently been staring at while he zoned out, the rapper watched as Jimin strode through the open doorway. The handles of two large paper bags were held between his ringed fingers and Hoseok’s stomach rumbled when the smell of pancakes filled the air.

“Finally!” Jungkook groaned, throwing his head back against his leather chair in relief. “It took you long enough.”

“Yah,” Seokjin berated humorously as he entered the room behind Jimin. He waved around one of the drink trays held in his hands. “Get it yourself next time if you want quicker service.”

Yoongi snorted, deeming the moment important enough to open his eyes. He stirred the combination of melting ice cubes and bitter espresso in his plastic cup as he eyed the food being placed on the table hungrily. “Maybe if we starve him, he’ll finally contribute to buying.”

“Good idea.” Seokjin hummed as he seated himself in the open chair next to Hoseok. He watched as Jungkook ignored them to dig into the steaming bags of food. “It’s been how long since he’s actually paid for something?”

The elder didn’t wait for a response before turning in his chair to examine Hoseok. “How you holding up?”

“I don’t know about you,” Jimin interrupted before the rapper could answer, dropping into the seat next to Yoongi. His chair rolled back on the carpet, knocking into Yoongi mid-sip. That earned him a sleepy glare, which he ignored. “But I’m kind of excited. What do you think she’s like?”

“Why do you assume it’s a girl?” Yoongi questioned, using the sleeve of his black hoodie to wipe up the tiny drops of spilled coffee from the table.

“Well assuming that he met them at the fanmeet,” Namjoon finally spoke up without pulling his attention from whatever he was reading on his phone. “The likelihood of it being a girl are greater. There were some fanboys there yesterday, but not a whole lot.”

Giving up on beating Jungkook’s highscore, Taehyung dropped his phone onto the table and finally tuned into the conversation. Chin propped in his hands, he asked a very important question. “Well hyung, how many people did you touch yesterday?”

“That makes it sound dirty.” Hoseok huffed a laugh before leaning back in his chair. He hummed in thought, brow pinched as he thought back. Fanmeets tended to all blend into one another until the faces of each fan blurred around the edges. Sigh leaving his lips, he shrugged. “I don’t know. I touched a lot of fans yesterday.”

Jungkook snorted around the giant forkful of pancakes he stuffed into his mouth. Seokjin wrinkled his nose in disgust at the syrup dripping carelessly onto the table. “Wow hyung, so dirty.”

Rolling his eyes, Hoseok playfully kicked the maknae’s shin from underneath the table. Judging by the lack or response though, it must not have been hard enough.

“Sejin still on the phone with Bang PD-nim?” Jimin asked as he stabbed a straw through his to-go cup of coke. The earrings dangling from his pierced lobes tapped against his cheeks as he leaned forward to take a sip.

Namjoon nodded his head towards the door at the far end of the room. That one lead to a smaller, more private room that the manager had disappeared into almost an hour ago. “He’s still in there.”

“Do you think we’ll be able to find them?”

All eyes turned to a serious looking Taehyung. He stared down unblinkingly at the plastic container of food in front of him, fork hanging limply between his fingers. As if feeling all eyes on him, he looked up and spoke the words that had been at the back of each of their minds. “What if we can’t?”

“We’ll find them.” Namjoon reassured as he finally locked his phone. “Besides, we have plenty of time. It takes weeks for the side effects of First Touch to even kick in.”

“What about that one case, though?” Jimin questioned, blinking as attention focused on him. “The one a few years ago where that girl almost starved to death after just three days?”

The sudden silence in the room was thick.

Letting out a chuckle that sounded half-hearted to everyone in the room, Hoeseok attempted to diffuse the tension. “We’d better find her fast then.”

“So you assume it’s a girl too, then?” Ever the perceptionist, Seokjin cracked a joke to assist. He was rewarded with a roll of Yoongi’s eyes and a smile teasing the edge of Taehyung’s lips.

The door at the far side of the room opened, and out stepped a flustered Sejin. Attention focused on the phone he was slipping into the pocket of his pants, he stopped in his tracks when he looked up to see seven pairs of eyes staring back.

“How did it go?” Namjoon questioned, the anticipation in the room skyrocketing.

Sejin ran a hand through his black hair before straightening, staring back at the members through the lenses of his rounded glasses. He let the silence linger for a beat longer than necessary before a warm smile spread across his face. That was all it took for the tense postures in the room to relax.

“Good news.” His eyes met Hoseok’s worried gaze. “We found her.”

The room exploded in cheers and each of the members stretched around to slap a grinning Hoseok in congratulations. The rapper couldn’t help the bubbling anticipation and nerves mixing a cocktail in his stomach. He was relieved that the possibility of either of them starving to death was eliminated. Not only that, but he was elated at the thought of meeting the one person in the whole world that was destined for him. However, one nervous thought kept playing on a loop in his head.

I hope she likes me.

“I knew it was a girl!” Jimin slammed his fists against the table in victory. Yoongi rolled his eyes and pretended to be annoyed when the silver haired singer stuck his tongue out at him playfully. But the gummy smile on the rapper’s face gave himself away.

“Do you know her name?” Hoseok couldn’t help but ask.

“Wait a second.” Jungkook interrupted before Sejin could answer, raising his hand in the air like he was a kid in class waiting to be called on.

“Yes, Kook-ah?” Seokjin played along, waving his plastic fork at the maknae.

“If she met hyung at a fanmeet here in America, do you think she speaks Korean?”

The room descended into silence once again, each of them shocked at the fact that they hadn’t even thought of that. Mouth parting in surprise, Hoseok felt his eyes widen.

“That could be a problem.”

“If I move, I’ll die.” Eunjae groaned, limbs starfished on the shag carpet of Miles’ living room. Empty styrofoam containers littered the coffee table, crumbs spilling out onto the floor. Miles was spread out on the couch, one leg thrown over the back in a position that looked very uncomfortable.

“I think that was the best meal I’ve ever eaten.”

“You really shouldn’t have bought so much.” Eunjae mumbled, throwing an arm over her face to try and quell the nausea. After stuffing her face with two giant bacon, egg and cheese bagels and one can of Arizona tea, she felt ready to explode.

Miles had returned shortly after leaving, only to find Eunjae breaking down under the covers of his bed. He’d ended up dragging her out of bed and gently wiping the water from her cheeks, claiming that he had the perfect cure for her tears: breakfast. Eunjae had always found a strange comfort in greasy food, so she’d latched onto the distraction readily.

Now, however, she was starting to have some regrets.

“Don’t act all high and mighty.” Miles shot back, dangling an arm off the couch to knock into her shoulder. “You ate that food like a woman on death row.”

“Well,” Eunjae gave a small, sad smile that he wasn’t able to see. “I just might be one.”

Grunting with effort, Miles rolled onto his side so that he could stare down at her seriously. “Don’t even joke like that.”

“I’m sorry.” And she was. Eunjae wasn’t the type of person to let the sad thoughts that sometimes plagued her mind to show. But at moments like those, it was difficult. “I’ll stop.”

The sound of a phone vibrating cut through the tense atmosphere threatening to drown her, and Eunjae floundered for her cellphone with a feeling of relief. Her hand skimmed the carpet a few times before finally feeling the glossy phone case under her fingers. Bringing the vibrating phone to her face, Eunjae’s eyes narrowed in confusion at the unknown number on the screen. Shrugging, she hit the reject button before dropping it back to the carpet.

“What are you doing?” Miles all but screamed in her ear. Wincing, Eunjae turned her head to glare up at him.

“Why are you yelling?”

“Why did you reject the call?”

Brows raised, she scoffed. “Who actually answers calls from unknown numbers?”

“You idiot!” The boy smacked her on the arm at her stupidity. “That could have been him! Or his management. Or something! And you just rejected the call!”

Eunjae’s eyes widened at the realization and she smacked herself on the forehead. She vaguely remembered having to fill out her contact information on the virtual ticket she entered into the fanmeet lottery. “Oh my, God. I didn’t even think about that.”

“Obviously, you--” The phone went off again, vibrations jolting her ribs from where it lay face down on the carpet. Hand snatching it up, she scanned the number calling.

“It’s the same number.” She whispered, eyes still trained on the glass screen.

“Answer it!” Miles screeched.

Rushing to obey, Eunjae took a deep breath before pressing the phone to her ear.

“Hello?”

#bts #bts soulmate au #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #hoseok

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emilyknepp-blog · 5 years ago

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Readerly Exploration #5 02/26/2020

Tompkins - Chapter 10

Big Take Away: Teachers have many ways to plan literature instruction in their classroom. There are positives and negatives to all ways of organizing literature instruction.

Nugget: One thing that stuck out to me from this chapter was that guided reading was thought of as another way to do reading instruction. I was always under the impression that guided reading was used in addition to regular reading instruction.

“Seven Rules of Engagement: What’s Most Important to Know About Motivation to Read” by Gambrell

Big Take Away: In order to ensure that your students are actually learning, your students must be motivated and engaged in the topic.

Nugget: I thought it was really interesting how much they emphasized students being interested in what they are learning about. I also liked that they mentioned a lack of interest in reading can be a result of students lacking independent reading time. I think that independent reading time can increase student interest because they will be interested in a book that they get to choose.

Readerly Exploration: For this readerly exploration I decided to create a character sketch of my fourth grade reading and language arts teacher, Mrs. Hart. Mrs. Hart always motivated her students to read. Mrs. Hart is full of life and always encourages her students to make choices for themselves. She had a vast library full of books, of varying topics and at varying levels. Much like Dr Fischer, Mrs. Hart never told a student that a book was too difficult for them, and she never got upset with her students’ reading levels (even when I would walk to her desk for help with a word at least four times per chapter).

Mrs.Hart encouraged us to challenge ourselves, but more importantly she encouraged us to read books that we were interested in. Mrs. Hart would allow us to vote on books that we’d like to add to our classroom library. Then she would buy the books that we were most interested in. Mrs. Hart was the perfect example of a teacher that allows students to choose what they would like to read. As a result of this, all of her students are motivated to read. I decided to draw a picture of Mrs. Hart and her bookshelf.

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stilessdylanobae-ddixonlove · 7 years ago

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Some of us are Human - The Country Club and Lydia’s Lake House (Chapter 15)

Author: what_the_hell_is_a_stiles826

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall, Lydia Martin, Malia Tate/Hale, Theo Raeken, Derek Hale, Melissa McCall, Blaze, Jessica Eastman, Braeden, Rhiannon King, Issac Lahey, Liam Dunbar, Hayden Romero, Yeta Vanderness, Alan Deaton and Reader.

Summary: When another local goes missing, everyone is back on high alert. Deaton helps with the next part of the plan to stop the Jinn while Blaze and Jessica have their final sacrifice. Then the missing is randomly reported to be home safe after all, so the Pack takes a much needed break to enjoy their Fourth of July at Theo’s Country Club. Only, Jessica compelled the reporter to say what she wanted and no one has any idea it was false news.

Note: First of all, I’m sorry this chapter took me so long. To be honest, I was struggling with it a bit and almost scrapped it a couple of times. I wasn’t sure where I wanted to go with it (knowing my ultimate goal) I just couldn’t figure out how to get there. But here it is, I’m sorry if it sucks. Not really.

Warning: Cursing, Violence, Fluff.

Chapter Fifteen - Chapter Sixteen

“That’s all it says?” Scott asked his tired voiced mother over the phone as he pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“Just that she was severely dehydrated, had body shakes, very sensitive to light and sound. Her mother swore she was seeing things and that there was more going on but the doctor ruled it as drug withdrawal.” Melissa explained as she walked down the hospital hallway to return the file she’d been explicitly reading.

“Alright, well I gotta get back to class. Thanks, Mom.” Scott replied into his phone in the middle of Stanford’s large and busy hallway. He hung up with a sigh, figuring Stiles and Y/n’s hunch to be correct about Jessica being in the hospital during her transition. Then he remembered something else they’d said, something about Holly. He pulled his phone back out and redialed his mom’s cellphone.“Hey, I just remembered something else. Can you look up Holly Newman’s file? She had to have been treated there.” He asked desperately, leaving the hallway and giving up on school for the day to head home after a not so good feeling arose in his stomach.

________________________________

You woke up in your own bed for the first time in weeks. You didn’t have class today and took full advantage of sleeping in. You rolled over and rubbed your fists into your sleepy eyes, then reached to your right and felt the cold and empty sheets that Stiles would normally inhabit. The loneliness pressed on your heart for a few moments before you finally drifted back into a light sleep.

The clock read 12:02 p.m.

Your eyes barely fluttered open as you heard him sneak inside your room and felt him slowly climb in bed next to you. You snuggled your back up to his chest, happy he was done for the day. Somehow between the two of you, you were still managing to pass every subject. Even with everything going on back in Beacon Hills. It’d been quiet since Blaze disappeared, even the Jinn hadn’t made a recent appearance. You worried about what that really meant though.

“Morning.” You mumbled, still half asleep. Stiles pulled you in closer and smiled.

“Good afternoon.” He corrected you. It’d been another late night of homework and plotting before you both finally crashed. The plan was to meet up with Theo, then Deaton today and decide on your next move. Theo has taken comfort in a more local Country Club that he himself had purchased and you all were invited into later. It seemed like the perfect chance at a summer get away, for the time being anyways.

~A Few Days Ago~

During the events at Motel 66, Blaze had his own agenda. It’s why he needed you all distracted and miles and miles away. He’d finally gotten Jessica back to herself, after he lost count of how many blood bags she sucked down in an impressive amount of time. Then they initiated on finding their final sacrifice.

The Jinn, busy keeping all of you occupied that night wasn’t an option to help them anymore. It was up to Jessica and Blaze to find this final sacrifice and get it done and over with. They happened upon Yeta Vanderness, a local girl that was obsessed with dance. She’d been home schooled after the seventh grade and took multiple dance classes in the mean time. And now, she was in Jessica’s sights. Young, strong and alone on her way to Ballet class, Jessica followed her, using her vampire speed and heightened senses while remaining all too quiet. Yeta never suspected a thing.

Jessica grabbed her once she arrived at the studio and dragged her back to Blaze’s cabin.

~Present Time~

They were back at the Old Mill in a specifically small room, the walls covered in blackened boards and the floor scattered with ash. Yeta sat alone, tied up to the one pipe left standing, near the door. She could feel the ash sticking to her sandals and creating a gray dust underneath her pants. The air smelled of faint smoke and burned wood and plaster from the once sturdy walls. She had each arm draped around the large pipe, that strung from the ceiling and her hands tied together tight. She looked around, hardly remembering how she ended up here.

“Hello?” Yeta's voice cracked, it echoing down the empty hallway. She coughed up some dust and ash, her throat slightly burning. She tapped her metal ring that sat on her left thumb against the pipe, trying to make enough sound to locate help. “Hello!” She repeated a little louder.

Nothing.

Down that hall and into the open, darkened factory floor stood Blaze and Jessica preparing for their final sacrifice and how she’d bring Holly back to them. Blaze read over the spell in his hand me down spell book a dozen times, while Jessica prepared the buckets for her part. This final sacrifice would be the most important yet, giving Blaze all the power he needed. He had to prepare for that as well, knowing the timing of the kill along with the gathering of her strength and the draining of Jessica’s blood had to be done absolutely perfectly.

________________________

Meanwhile Stiles laid flat on his back, buried in blankets on your couch with his legs sprawled out and his feet nearly hanging over the edge as you had the left side of your body draped over top of his and the remaining half sinking in between the cushions. He ran his fingers down your soft, y/h/c hair and placed his free hand on your back. You wanted everyday to be like this; you never felt safer. You took in a long, deep breath, relaxing every muscle in your body against Stiles, closing your eyes. He flipped through the channels on your flat screen, stopping at the sound of a news channel reporting another missing girl.

“Yeta Vanderness, twenty years old and from Beacon Hills, California never returned home after ballet lessons a few mornings ago. If you see someone matching her description, we ask you to please call your local police department immediately.”

Then you opened your eyes as it all came flooding back. Jessica, Blaze, the Jinn and all their sacrifices. It’s not that you’d all given up. Derek and Braedon had continued searching with no leads as their relationship inevitably ignited with another spark during the tough case. Peter and Argent continued searching on their own terms as well, while Scott had missed even more school than you trying to find anything that might help. Anything that might stop this.

But now, someone else was missing. You had to save this one, you had to stop it.

“I think we should go find Lydia and Theo now.” Stiles spoke up. You slowly sat up, nodding in agreement.

______________________________

Scott marched into Derek’s apartment that afternoon after seeing the news himself. Malia was at Lydia’s family’s lake house with her and Theo, waiting and keeping an eye on things. Specifically Theo, whom she still did not trust. They needed a secluded place that everyone could meet and decide their next move together. Somewhere safer than Scott’s house and unknown to Blaze. Scott shuffled inside and pulled the large sliding door closed behind him.

“Derek!” Scott hollered as he turned. The tall werewolf came around the corner, topless and clearly with company. Scott cleared his throat awkwardly in realization. “It’s happening, they took someone else.” He explained. Derek scrunched his face, beyond frustrated by the difficulties of finding this one man. This one man who was a Witch and clearly knew how to cover his scent.

“What do you want me to do, Scott?” Derek threw his hands down. Braeden entered the room, tossing her hair up into a loose bun and walking to the fridge. “I’ve been trying to find the bastard for days.” He concluded.

“Well, we can’t just let her die.” Scott added. Braeden removed the orange juice from the fridge and poured herself a small glass.

“Maybe we need to try something different.” She joined in between sips.

“What do you mean?” Derek asked, curious about his lover’s advice on things. Scott shifted to face her.

“Maybe instead of trying to catch his scent or Jessica’s scent we should just think about where they might go. We checked the cabin, once. Maybe they’re there now. Or is there anywhere else you can think of that he might of taken her? Somewhere he’s gone before?” Braeden brainstormed as she leaned over the counter top with her juice. Derek scratched smiled at her, impressed and then he made eye contact with Scott.

“The Mill.” Scott added enthusiastically.

“I’ve checked there too.” Derek quickly replied.

“Okay, but now he’s found his final sacrifice. It’s where he took Y/n. We have to look again.” Scott pleaded, knowing he’d go alone if he had to. Derek sighed, glancing Braeden’s way before crossing his arms in thought.

“Alright.” He agreed. “What the hell does that place mean to him anyway? Why there?” Derek thought out loud. Scott thought a moment.

“I just figured it was abandoned and easily accessed.” Scott shrugged.

“Witches go to a place of meaning to them to harvest power. If he keeps going back there, it has to mean something to him.” Derek explained. Scott furrowed his brow and reached for his phone in his pocket.

“Head to Lydia’s lake house, both of you. Theo is there with something that could help us. I’m going to go talk to Deaton about it and then I’ll meet you there.” Scott told them. His phone vibrated in his hands and as he raised it up to see who texted him, Derek had another question.

“What about Stiles and Y/n?” Derek asked of your involvement.

“They’re on their way there already.” Scott showed off the text message he just received from his best friend before heading out to the Animal Clinic. Now that they had a piece of Theo’s revived soul, they needed to know how to use it. He planned to figure that out as soon as possible.

______________________________

“What’s wrong?” Stiles asked you. You turned to him in the moving, bouncy Jeep as you both made your way to Lydia’s lake house.

“What?” You questioned. He noticed how oddly quiet you’d been, staring out the window nearly the entire car ride. “Nothing.” You shook your head.

“Well, something’s on your mind.” Stiles noted. You sighed dramatically.

“I don’t know, it’s just this whole thing. We keep trying to save these people...” You trailed off.

“I know.” Stiles understood.

“It does feel like the Darach all over again. I keep hearing Cora’s voice saying ‘All you really do is find the bodies’ over and over in my head.” You lowered your head. Stiles reached over and placed his hand on top of your thigh. You looked up at him and slightly grinned, placing your hand on top of his.You took comfort in his touch the rest of the way, knowing it was time for action and to stop feeling sorry for yourself. The radio went to commercial and Stiles reached over to turn the volume down. But then you heard her name. “Wait, turn that back up.” You said.

“We are happy to report that Yeta Vanderness has been found alive and well as of a couple of hours ago. She was away with a friend and returned home to her family safe and sound.”

You turned to your boyfriend, who pressed his lips together in relief. You smiled at him, feeling much better about seeing your friends and sharing the good news.

News that you still had time.

After pulling into the driveway of Lydia’s lake house, you took a deep breath as you once again stared at the beauty of it. Every brick, every board perfectly in place with beautiful flower bushes and an endless line of trees surrounding it. Across the large and winding driveway was the boat shed, right on the glistening lake. Stiles turned to you and smiled, taking it all in with you.

“Shall we?” He asked kindly. You smiled and hopped out of the Jeep. He came around and grabbed your hand in his and walked you up the stone path. Stiles hadn’t been here in quite some time. He stared at the lake as he walked with you. He watched it crash into the dock when a large and speedy boat created a decent wake. It's been since Stiles and Lydia were still together and she just wanted to get away for a weekend. Despite how things were now, it was a good memory that Stiles still held close. “I’m glad her family didn’t sell this place.” Stiles admitted, turning back to you. You softly grinned as you slowly opened the front door after a small and short knock. It was enough to catch some of the rooms attention.

Inside smelled like freshly baked cookies and something with pumpkin, it reminded you of Fall. You noticed the lit up wax warmer on the coffee table, creating that delicious smelling aroma. The pearly white carpet felt unbelievably soft under your feet and you immediately understood why Stiles said what he said. This house felt safe, warm and comfortable.

Lydia, dressed in heels and a peach colored, knee length dress, looking as gorgeous as ever was seen sifting through the crowd with drinks in hand before she stopped in front of Parrish, who uncomfortably stood in the corner of the very large living room. Liam smiled and waved at you from across the room where he stood next to Hayden, who was lost in conversation with Malia. Derek sat rubbing his hands together on the sofa when Braeden grabbed his hand in hers and smiled at him, calming those forever nerves.

“Hey guys, about time.” Issac spoke as he appeared before the two of you. He handed you a glass of wine and gestured towards the kitchen you could barely see into. “Food’s in there. Uh Stiles, want a drink?” He asked, mainly out of respect for you. Your boyfriend shook his head while looking around at the room full of your laughing, slightly buzzed friends.

“Sure, thanks. What is this?” He asked. Issac turned back to you to answer Stiles’s question.

“Uh, well the girl was found. Safe. I don’t know if you heard-“ He started off.

“We heard. On the way here.” You corrected.

“Yeah, so Lydia decided to order in dinner and make some drinks. Everyone seemed pretty into it, we could all use some down time.” He shrugged.

“Hmm.” Stiles licked his lips. “Where’s Scott?”

_________________________

Deaton stood in the Animal Clinic in his familiar white lab coat, washing off some surgical instruments at the sink while Scott stood across from him, behind the examining table with his arms crossed.

“What if I told you, we got a piece of Theo’s revived soul. What would you say?” He asked his boss. Deaton spun around, wiping his hands dry with a towel.

“I’d say I’m impressed you got that far.” He shrugged. Scott deadpanned him, knowing he had to have some more helpful information.

“What would we do next?” He asked, letting his arms fall to then rest his palms on the counter behind him. Deaton threw the towel next to the sink, thinking about his answer.

“You’ve already risked so much-” Deaton began.

“Please, this is important.” Scott interjected.

“It always is, I’m afraid.” Deaton replied with a sigh. After a short pause, Deaton looked to the floor in shame. “Well, first you’ll need a Hunter.” Scott furrowed his brow, unclear where this was going and growing a little concerned.

____________________________

Stiles rinsed out his and yours wine glasses at the sink in Lydia’s kitchen. You smiled at him as you wiped down the counters and scraped off dirty plates of food into the garbage. Lydia came around the corner with more empty glasses. Everyone else had left to go to the Country Club with Theo.

“Oh, uh. You guys don’t have to help clean up, it’s fine.” Lydia awkwardly told you. You smiled at her, finishing off your duties by placing the remaining dishes in your hand into the dishwasher. The three of you were then distracted by the front door opening and closing.

It was Scott.

“There you are.” Stiles noted.

“Hey, guys.” He greeted you. “Malia already filled me in on Yeta.” He informed you all, after you’d already opened your mouth to tell him everything. “Where is everyone though?” You pressed your lips together in silence. “I told Derek and Braeden to come here.” Scott questioned his friends.

“They did. And then they went to the Country Club with everyone else. Theo invited all of us, but we wanted to wait for you.” You explained. Scott nodded.

“Wait, he doesn’t have the-“ Scott scrunched his face in concern.

“Don’t worry.” Lydia pulled the glowing syringe from her bag on the coat rack. “I’ve got it.” She concluded, shoving it back into her purse. He nodded. “So, what did Deaton tell you?” She asked him. Scott took a deep breath. It hadn’t quite sunk into his own brain yet. He needed more time.

“He’s looking into things.” He lied. “Let’s go have some fun at the Club. We deserve it.” He harshly swallowed.

______________________________________

You stretched your legs out in front of you, against the padded lounge chair. It was dark now, but scattered twinkly lights above the tables and bar kept things well lit. You watched Malia and Scott in the pool. They splashed and hung on each other, the glow from the pool light igniting their kicking legs below the water. You noticed Liam ordering more food at a nearby covered table with Hayden and Issac.

“I’m here!” You heard a familiar voice shout behind you. Issac stood and smiled. You quickly turned to see Rhiannon in her beach sandals and two piece approach the tall blonde and greet him with an enormous kiss on the mouth, throwing her hands behind his head. You grinned at the sight of your friends finally enjoying themselves.

“Last one in has to order me food!” Rhiannon yelled as she ran for the pool, diving into it and pushing water over Scott’s shoulders. Issac laughed at her, covering his face. He quickly followed, while Liam stayed and stuffed his face full of more free chips.

“Nice one, Rhi!” You teased as she plunged out of the water, pushing her wet hair down. She jolted your way, not knowing you were near.

“Y/n! Hey! Get in.” She asked you, pushing her bottom lip out as far as it could go when a stream of bright light appeared above you all in the sky and let off a loud boom.

Fireworks.

It only made sense. It was the Fourth of July, after all. You’d almost forgotten. The sky was illuminated by bright colors and everyone was looking up, totally distracted by them. Stiles finally returned from the bar with your drinks. He kicked off his flip flops and sat behind you. You cradled yourself in between his legs and happily accepted the fruity beverage he handed you. “Just in time for fireworks.” You turned a little to kiss him on the cheek before taking a sip. “I feel a little bad though.” You admitted, looking up to Stiles and placing your forehead against the bottom of his chin. He rested into you and placed his drink on the table to your right.

“I know. But Y/n, we’re in college. Having a night like this here and there is like a rite of passage.” He squeezed you against him, tighter and forcing a smile onto your face.

“It won’t take long for Blaze to take someone else.” You mentioned. Stiles sighed loudly, his breath gently blowing against your baby hairs.

“And we’ll go after him.” He confirmed. You both watched the night sky light up in blues and reds. The occasional waiter would come around to refill your drinks as the two of you remained snuggled up together.

__________________________________________

“It worked!” Jessica paraded back into the factory, overwhelmed with joy that her plan to compel the local news anchorwoman to say whatever she wanted went so smoothly. She plopped down in the window sill, absorbing the moonlight. “It’s been so long since I’ve been able to do that.” She sighed, happily as she watched Blaze move Yeta into a metal chair in the center of the factory floor and tighten her bonds.

“So they think she’s home safe?” Blaze asked for confirmation as he watched Yeta shed a tear from her tired, red eyes.

“Yep.” Jessica replied, hopping down from the window and proceeding to her chair that sat directly across from Yeta’s.

You’re insane.” Yeta snapped as another tear escaped.

“Well, that’s not very nice.” Jessica laughed. “Tell me, do you have any siblings?” She asked the frightened girl, as Blaze placed the empty buckets on each side of her. “I’ll take your pouty face as a yes. Wouldn’t you do anything for them?” She set her arms out to rest at her sides, her forearms face up. “What if one of them died?” She squinted her eyes at the final sacrifice across from her.

“Enough.” Blaze hollered. “Let’s do this.” He turned to Yeta, ready to drain the life from her. Ready to bring back Holly. Ready for it all.

_______________________________________

Back at the Country Club you watched the final mortar explode across the dark sky above you and your friends. Stiles had grown hungry and disappeared somewhere near the bar to order food. The pool sat empty while everyone who previously occupied it had gone to change. You noticed Scott exit the men’s bathroom and rub a towel through his damp black hair. He looked over to you and smiled, then headed your way. You scooted over and he sat down to join you.

“Hey.” He said, simply.

“Where’s Malia?” You smiled.

“Full moon.” He gestured up. “She just needed a break.” You looked to the bright, perfectly round moon having no clue that tonight was also a full moon. Malia had come a long way, but she was still the most effected by it.

“She alright?” You asked.

“She’s fine. Told me to stay, actually demanded it.” He shrugged. You giggled. “Where’s Stiles?” He asked, finally noticing his absence.

“Food.” You giggled some more.

“Ah.” Scott replied with a smirk. A few moments passed, and the Club began to clear out. You reached for your cellphone, reading the time to be 10:46 p.m. You’d in fact been laying low all day.

“You know I feel kind of bad.” You sighed, shoving your phone back in the cushion of the lounge chair. “Taking a beat like this, not looking for Blaze.” You added. He nodded, placing his forearms against his thighs and leaning forward.

“Yeah, me too.” Scott nodded. “He’ll find someone else.” He turned to you. “I hate waiting for that to happen.” You bit your lip in frustration. “But I think this is a good thing, maybe we needed to step back so we can come up with something better. I don’t know.” He sighed again. You nodded in agreement.

“Do you believe he can actually bring Holly back?” You gulped. “That something like that is actually possible?” You questioned your Alpha.

“I don’t know what I believe.” He answered honestly. “Kind of makes you wonder, doesn’t it?” He turned back to face you.

“What?” You tilted your head in wonder.

“If it is possible.” Scott licked his lips in thought. “The people we’ve lost...” He trailed off. His words sent a shock directly to your heart, realizing what he was referring to. You scrunched your face in worry and then let your expression lighten at the thought of seeing your best friend again; of seeing Allison again. You swallowed the pain in your throat, trying to shove the thought out of your mind. “It’s not like I would ever try. Hurt people to get her back.” He let out a breath, rubbing his hands together awkwardly.

“I know, Scott. I know.” You said, placing your hand on his shoulder to comfort his guilt.

“I guess I just feel guilty for even thinking it.” He shrugged. You wanted to tell him it was okay and he wasn’t a bad person for thinking about it. He loved her, and love does crazy things to people. But then his phone rang, interrupting the moment entirely. “Hey, Mom.” He answered her call.

Melissa-Good, you’re still awake.

Scott-What did you find?

Melissa-Well, it’s not good.

Scott-What is it?

Melissa-The reason that Holly Newman was admitted into the hospital that day...

Scott-She was attacked in the woods right?

Melissa-*sigh* Yeah. At first they thought it was another mountain lion. But Scott...

Scott-What? What was it then?

Melissa- A wolf. It was a wolf.

You noticed his frightened expression. Scott immediately feared that maybe Holly, Blaze, all of it was more connected to your world than you all thought. Which only made Blaze’s intentions that more terrifying. Was it a wolf? Or was it a werewolf?

“What is it, Scott?” You asked as he turned to you.

<<Chapter 14, >>Chapter 16

Thanks for reading! Again, I apologize it took me so long.

What’s the next step towards paralyzing the Jinn? Is what happened to Holly related to the Pack?

@seninjakitey

#teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf #dylan o'brien #dylan o'brien fanfiction #stiles stilinski fanfiction #stiles stilinski #stiles stilinksi x reader

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leadelbalaan · 3 years ago

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Leadel Antonio Balaan y Mendoza Majen: Dies Capítulo

How astounding it could be when a bookworm finds her bookkeeper? Reading novels, and fantasizing about love, Mom was able to find the man of her dreams that stays on her side. The first chapter is blissful, fulfilling, and amazing. The second chapter is somewhat blissful as well however rising action happens to present conflicts.

"10:06 a.m." Same time and year, yet on various dates. April 18, 2005, and May 02, 2005, when He decided to give another life and take one. How hard it must have been, Mom, to smile at me each day and covertly wail consistently at night? I hope my little hands grasping her finger somehow eased her despite losing her father. Mom appeared to exhaust herself since she turned out to be wiped out. I was five months old however had previously quit breastfeeding. I get it, she was in torment, but I was too…

In the third chapter, I had worn the same uniform my sister had used. I'm excited each time I go to class not because I want to learn but because I could ask Mom for ice cream every dismissal. She then would heave a sigh as my hands became sticky. Additionally, I got my most lovely gift. It was given on September 03, 2009; a baby brother that I had always requested. He's just about as large as his bolsters which were ball-themed. His hands were minuscule to the point that I needed to pause my breathing a few times just to painstakingly contact him. I was four around then, signed up for kindergarten. If ice creams fulfill me, Matt melts me in complete rapture. I'm generally amped up for each dismissal because I could see my sibling and play. I'll actuate my friends to play tag games however I generally end up at the stake. If I would rather not run, we'll play cooking games or hang out at the PC shop. There, I was playing Tekken with different children. Even though I can't chase them in the base contention, I was overcoming them in Tekken.

Yet, of that large number of blissful recollections, I was unable to quit pondering my kindergarten graduation. Sort of ordinary, however, yet my eyes were fixated on the medal my classmates were wearing. Dad was letting me know I could get one as well, however, the educator previously quit calling. To my disappointment, I told Dad "I'll have that too," while pointing to the medal of a classmate of mine who is still my neighbor. What a strange thought from a kindergartner though.

I want a medal but am too lazy. When I was in first grade, my teacher had generally chided me for not writing lectures. I simply can't stand writing. I loathe writing because each time I return home, it hinders me from playing with different children. I found diaries odd and exhausting. My schoolmates go purchase diaries with locks and gripe each time they lose their keys. I had a go at writing a diary once, however, I wound up discarding this because I can’t stand my penmanship. Yet, all things considered, I received my absolute first medal and feel like I'm drifting. Therefore, I sort of get roused to study, in some way or another eliminating writing from my abhorred list yet moving it to the least-likely list.

Who might have felt that those blissful moments already finished? On January 24, 2014, when the fourth chapter occurred. I was in third grade when our home was demolished. We had to continue to a new place and what we witnessed wasn't anything aside from rather tall grasses stacked up with broken glasses, consumed bits of trucks, and rough streets. It looks like a desert due to the outrageous hotness, however, this was by a wide margin more awful than the desert. I thought it was the most horrendously awful thing that could occur, yet there is more regrettable than most awful.

Our business collapsed, and I witnessed how my parents got into colossal battles. I needed to act like those games will empower us. However, by the day's end, I'll be trapped experiencing the same thing that suffocates me. I needed to awaken at three a.m. to prepare for my class. We have no energy source except for that little candle and walk distances to get water. At four a.m., we'll take off from our home to go to the school that to be sure got farther than our previous house. I even experienced starving but I just have Php 7 remaining. Watching the early afternoon show with the hosts laughing, I shut my eyes and attempted to contain my hunger through slumber.

In the fifth chapter, my siblings and I moved to another school. I trusted that it would be a great beginning but instead was a torment. Strolling along the foyer turned out to be so exceptionally troublesome as my legs were wobbling. Sitting in the corner which was my seat just showed how pathetic I was. Shut multiple times, I learned the concept of less talking and fewer mistakes. I got to the point where I was left staring in space right from the beginning to the end of the class. At the point when I was called to the front, I had been losing my solidarity and was regularly reproved for talking feebly.

I still excel in school, however, the spark was already lost. In some way or another, I recovered some of it when I was in fifth grade in light of my consoling teachers yet I lost triple when I was in sixth grade. I became a walk of shame and marching along the honorary pathway to get the medal that I used to yearn for no longer excites me. My family was there, but the damage to me has already been done.

Fed up with every reviled insight, this was the place where the sixth chapter occurred. I pledged that I will begin battling for myself and won't allow anybody to lay their filthy fingers on me. The bomb they planted has already reached zero. What my schoolmates had seen in junior high school was completely different. My feeble voice transformed into toxic assaults, and my wobbling legs turned into clenching fists. I stayed at the corner though, yet my eyes were done gazing into space. It was noticeable like an eagle waiting for its prey to fall into the snare those prey constructed.

I didn't menace them yet silently celebrated each time they fell. How satisfying it was, and raises my inclination to make everything harder for them. Using my intelligence, I turned into a dolt for attempting to come upon those individuals that were in any case not at my level. How forsaken it was arriving at the top, alone. It was a deafening silence, and for me to keep my sanity, I began holding a pen and paper and composed my regrets, my wishes, and my untold agonies. That it was so desolate to be on top however get no congrats yet rather unfortunate looks among individuals. I transformed myself into a beast, somebody who is more awful than being a domineering jerk.

On the off chance that there's one thing, I will be perpetually grateful for, it is the point at which I stepped back from the top and the seventh chapter occurred. I saw seven individuals who were all assisting me with the evening however I didn't ask. I moved away from the top and outstretched my arms. Gradually, I figured out how to relinquish the toxin inside me. My friends make me snicker, go with me to study with them, and eat at fast-food restaurants to ease the pressure. I figured out how to inhale air with esteem once more. We are there for one another each time we join contests, debates, quiz bees, poster drawings, and slogans. They are my strolling accomplishments, and I will be generally glad that they are my friends. They've seen me at my worst, yet they decided to remain. Now that I'm at my better phase, I want to reciprocate everything. I want to share my tears with them each time they battle, I want to be one of their foundations whenever they feel they'll collapse, and I want to share my accomplishments with them.

Notwithstanding, for us to mend, we should return to where everything began. The eighth chapter was about reconnection. Pandemic is cruel, however, there's a thing why I must be thankful despite these last days is because it permitted me to spend my time with my family which we seldom did before given the own battles that we looked through. I reconnected with God, which I forgot to call in the days of my sufferings. He was there when I was grieving, He was there when outrage dominated me, He was there and had some significant awareness of the untold torments I was writing, He was there when I had to have an operation, He was there when my disease nearly takes me, and as of recently, He's still with me, directing all of us.

In the ninth chapter, my friends and I parted ways but still connected. They will always be my favorite classmates. Now that I'm alone at New Era University, I don't feel unwelcomed by any stretch of the imagination. Most people are heartwarming, but the difference between being alone this time and before is that me being alone doesn’t feel pathetic anymore. My stay in the New Era gave me a new perception of how to look at situations from different angles. Wick individuals are those kids who were rarely saved. My significant stay in New Era empowers me to forgive the people who hurt me even though they didn't apologize.

In the tenth chapter, I still have no idea what is about to happen. But instead of fearing the future, I want to focus on what is happening today. Now that I reminisce about everything I’ve gone through, I realize that if you don’t want to let go of the anger you’ve held, how can you stand? How will the weight disappear? We must remember that there is freedom in letting go. Let your wounds heal because you still have far to go.

#autobiography

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cgreene1324 · 6 years ago

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Readerly Exploration 2 02/18/2019 Carolyn Greene

Readerly Exploration 2 02/18/2019

Reading 1:Literacy in the 21st Century Chapter 2 “The Reading and Writing Processes” (Tompkins, 2018)

Big Takeaway: In this chapter, the author details and describes both the reading and writing process and then compares them to each other.

Nugget:I really liked the author’s section regarding nurturing writing with English Learners. I think that this section was extremely important because this population of students need specialized support that sometimes teaching are not always aware of.

Reading 2:Literacy in the 21st Century Chapter 6 “Developing Fluent Readers and Writers” (Tompkins, 2018)

Big Takeaway: In this chapter Tompkins explains the components for reading and writing fluency as well as how to support older students who may not have mastered reading or writing fluency as young students.

Nugget:“By the time they reach fourth grade, most students have become fluent readers and writers.” (Pg. 202). This was interesting to me because after this point students who have not reached fluency will most likely struggle to achieve fluency.

Readerly Exploration: Read texts deeply in order to interpret, critique, and analyze the various layers of meaning a text might offer a reader: Learn something about the author of the assigned course reading(s) and use that to draw conclusions about the motivation behind the reading or the credibility/quality of the writing.

After reading four chapters of, “Literacy for the 21stCentury”, I decided that I should probably look up the author to learn more about her background. Upon googling the author, I learned that she passed away shortly before our textbook had been published. She taught at the university level for over 25 years. In her lifetime she helped readers and developing readers form the kindergarten level all the way through college. However, she is most remembered for her writing of college level textbooks. One memorable aspect of her career would be when she was inducted into the California reading hall of fame. Tompkins also spent a portion of her career working with teachers of all grade levels on multiple writing projects. The author was originally from Providence, Rhode Island. According to her obituary, however, she was an “army brat” and even spent some time living in places like Germany and even Verona, Italy. Her father was an officer in the Army. Tompkins had been retired and spent much of her time living in a home on Cape Cod. The obituary points out that Tompkins textbooks filled with practical strategies have helped thousands of preservice college students learn how to teach reading, writing, and English language arts. Tompkins impact of the literacy world for education will last long after her death.

Tompkins, G. (2017). Literacy for the 21st century: A balanced approach (Seventh ed.). Pearson.

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tsgnorthwestarkansas · 6 years ago

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Up Close & Personal with Tess Bleich of Savoir Faire

Tess Bleich at home in Fayetteville with son Finn and daughter Ellie. Photo courtesy of Jara Hill.

Tess Bleich, owner of Savoir-Faire (1 East Center Street, #170, Fayetteville, AR), is a Northwest Arkansas girl, through and through. She grew up in Rogers, went to the University of Arkansas and helped bring more fashion to more people in Fayetteville with the opening of her women’s boutique eight years ago. When Savoir-Faire opened, Tess hit the ground running. She hasn’t slowed down since.

When she’s not out hand-picking fabulous fashion options for her loyal customers, Tess is running the backside of the business, or busy being a hands-on mommy to her newborn and toddler, and even finding time to crush it in regular barre classes. And she always seems to do it with her own distinct tact, style and elegance (or, as the French call it, savoir faire).

We recently spoke with Tess about that French shop name, her beautiful babies and her business’s origin story.

Where did the name Savoir-Faire come from?

When I named the boutique, I really wanted it to mean something. Savoir faire is a French phrase that means having poise, tact, style and elegance. What stuck out to me about this phrase is that tact, style and poise are all qualities that I want to feel in my clothing. That’s what I want my customers to feel when they get dressed, too. If a customers can purchase an outfit that helps her feel tactful, poised and stylish, then my job is done.

What is the story of the moment you first realized your love for fashion?

It was more like an item, not a moment. It was a purple silk blouse. I was in the fourth grade and I had very specific ideas about what exactly I wanted to wear, and at that moment it was a beautiful, purple silk blouse. I remember every single piece of clothing I wanted and wore through the years, but my love for fashion really started with that blouse.

When did you realize you had a knack for styling?

When I was a teen I realized my sense of style was pulled together a little differently than most. My attention to detail with elements of an outfit were more than that of the average high schooler. That’s when I knew I had something special. I come by it honest though — my mom and grandmother are both very polished women so having a sense of composure with my attire is something that’s definitely in my bloodline.

What do you love most about being a stylist?

Being able to recreate an outfit in multiple different ways. It’s like a piece gets new life when styled differently. Also, what woman doesn’t want to be pleasantly presentable when going out into the world? I get to help women feel beautiful. And they do!

Is there a higher purpose you serve through your business?

I aim to serve the Lord to the best of my ability throughout everything I do. I feel really fortunate to be able to use my talent and passion in my career. Providing affordable style for women of all ages, to look and feel their best, is something that genuinely makes me proud. There’s nothing like feeling beautiful, as a woman, and to assist in women’s efforts to do so makes my heart happy.

What is your business's earliest success story?

I remember the day we opened on a Friday in 2011, I was so nervous I was shaking as I unlocked the door. Then, at 10:02 a.m., my first two customers walked inside. I didn’t sit down for three days straight. I didn’t stop for lunch; I didn’t stop at all. That experience of just opening the doors and having a flood of people come in was amazing.

What is a little known fact about you?

I recently became a mom of a baby girl named Ellie, who was born in August of 2018. I also have a two-year-old son named Finn. I didn’t take much time off when Ellie was born but instead I bring her to work with me every day! It has been a true growing experience, and has brought so much grace (and grit) to my life. Our office is a little like a daycare over on my side, actually!

Tess and her husband, Cody, live with their two young children right in the Downtown Fayetteville Historic District. Here they are pictured on their front stoop, which is within walking distance from Tess’s boutique, Savoir-Faire. Photo courtesy of Jara Hill.

What are some of your favorite ways to live locally here in NWA?

My absolute favorite way to spend any weekend, especially when the weather is nice, is walking around downtown Fayetteville with my family. We’ll amble to the Farmers Market on the square, where we will grab coffee and shop for meals. We love to walk around The University of Arkansas campus, or walk to Old Main and let Finn and the dog play. Fork & Crust Pie Company (600 North Mission, Fayetteville, AR) is a mile from my house, and it’s probably my favorite walking destination. Their pie is just amazing! I have a strong love for barre3 Fayetteville (1550 East Zion Road. Suite 8, Fayetteville, AR). There’s not a lot of me-time during this season of my life, so the time I take to focus on myself with barre3 does wonders for my overall well being.

We love this photo of Tess in her signature “feminine with an edge” style. Tess’s favorite quote on style: “I say, dress to please yourself. Listen to your inner muse & take a chance. Wear something that says, ‘Here I am!’ today.” — Iris Apfel

We noticed recently that your current Savoir-Faire concept on the Fayetteville square is in transition (with a big remodel/refresh!) so we are dying to know what’s in store?

We are thrilled for this new chapter of Savoir-Faire. The new concept remains tried & true to the heartbeat of SF with a fresh, new take envisioned by yours truly. Think one on one styling, drive up service for online orders, and styling soirées. I’m taking a more intimate approach in 2019 and have a pretty good feeling about it.

Shop Savoir-Faire (1 East Center Street, #170, Fayetteville, AR) to discover your own sense of style with statement pieces from Tess’ beautifully curated collections and to meet Tess (and baby Ellie) in person!

#livelovelocal #scouted #tsgnwarkansas #thescoutguide #savoirfaire #fayettevillear #fashion #style #local #northwestarkansas #nwarkansas #shoplocal

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starwriterulia · 8 years ago

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Forgiveness, Thankfulness and Remembrance - Chapter 4: Lollygagging Purposefully

FTR on Quotev

FTR on Tumblr: Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4

Chapter Summary (SPOILERS - For Reader Convenience): Eunju and Baekhyun roll through the block of ASWM and first block of Visual Arts. During the break, Eunju learns from Baekhyun and Chanyeol that Sehun and Luhan’s couple relationship is in ruins because of Luhan’s cowardice. Eunju realizes this is something that Haeun and Hyejae know about, but are unable to say anything about, because of the group’s body language when Sehun passes them with three girls. Eunju reflects this behavior, out of respect. We meet the remaining members of TWICE, as well as Jimin, Taehyung, and Hoseok, before the break ends. After Eunju cautiously brings up her concern for Luhan in the beginning of the second block of Visual Arts, Baekhyun says that he does not blame Haeun or Hyejae for not saying anything, and that he will explain the situation to Eunju at lunch break.

-❄❄❄ September 6, 2017. 10:02 AM ❄❄❄-

We quickly reach the second classroom on the left, which is three doors down because the first class has two doors. Baekhyun lets go of Chanyeol here, and Chanyeol grabs his hand, rubbing it. "So, Mr. Park is the ASWM and Foundations teacher, and is also Chanyeol's dad." Baekhyun says to me as I glance at the obviously bothered Chanyeol. "If the class works quietly, he lets them have a five minute break every fifteen minutes."

"He loves it when students ask questions, so you can always ask for help." Baekhyun turns to point towards the door behind him for a moment. "Mr. Beom teaches Pre-Calculus and Calculus, and he's great too. He lets his students write equations on the SMARTboard and help each other."

"Does every classroom have a SMARTboard? My other school had one almost everywhere."

"Yeah, same here." Baekhyun nods a little, then turns to Chanyeol. After a moment, he asks, "What?"

Chanyeol shakes his head. "Nothing. We can talk about this, later."

Baekhyun raises an eyebrow. "OK, then. I'll see you later-" He takes a step forward, and Chanyeol lifts his right arm. But, Baekhyun hesitates, and slowly turns to me.

I giggle and gently pat Baekhyun's back as I pass him into Mr. Park's classroom, which already has half of its students inside. "I'm OK with gay people, you two. I have no idea if you're trying to keep it a secret or if the school knows already, but I'll keep out of it."

"You're so weird..." Chanyeol mutters, turning his glare to Baekhyun. "And, you didn't even introduce her."

"Were we... that obvious?" Baekhyun cautiously adds, diverting his eyes to meet Chanyeol's. "And, I was about to! I just..." He crosses his arms. "Didn't expect her to figure it out, so quickly."

"You're not wrong, Chanyeol, I am weird. I'm a nerd who wrote a book about adolescence with historical and mythological references." I hear Mr. Park laugh a little from his desk, behind me, as two more students slip in. "And, you were a little obvious. I mean, tall, handsome guys don't drag short, cute guys around by the wrist just for shits and giggles."

Mr. Park gives a guffaw, a few students laughing as well. Baekhyun chuckles a little, but ceases when he catches the evident fire in Chanyeol's eyes. "I won't do anything with this information if the school's gonna lash out." I turn around and give a short bow to Mr. Park as another group of students file in. "Hello, Mr. Park. I'm Young Eunju, the Canadian transfer in your class." I raise my right index finger. "Would the school knowing about them be a bad idea?"

"Yes." Baekhyun and Chanyeol immediately answer.

"Hey, you two are fine!" I turn towards the rows of desks to see Hyejae in the fourth of six rows, which each have five desks, two seats towards my left. "The kids here only care about finishing math, forever." I giggle a little in response.

"Ah," Mr. Park claps his hands and stands up. "Welcome to SGHS, Eunju, it's very nice to meet you." Baekhyun pecks Chanyeol's left cheek, but he hardly takes a step away when Chanyeol grabs the smaller male's wrist and returns the kiss on Baekhyun's right cheek. Cute, oh my God, that's cute.

Chanyeol releases Baekhyun, who hastily passes Mr. Park's desk, his face red and his eyes on the floor. He drops his phone in the bin on Mr. Park's desk that holds other phones, then sits in the second row, three seats from my right. Mr. Park points after Chanyeol, who turns to Mr. Beom's classroom. "That's my son, his older sister is a news reporter. Only his mother, myself and his close friends know of their relationship."

"This school is full of teenagers, and there's always a student who's looking for trouble. That's why it's best that their relationship remains a secret. Everyone in my class has an assigned seat, so please find your name taped to the top of a desk. Please leave your backpack in front of my desk and your phone in the bin on my desk." I bow my head a little in understanding, set my bag in front of Mr. Park's desk, and place my phone in the bin.

I walk through the rows of desks to begin my search. Na Choongsik, Oo Joah... I'm not in the front. Gae Yeonho, Wang Kyeongjin... or the second row. Jang Sooji, Gwak Changjoo, Byun Baekhyun, Young Eunju. Ah, here I am; right next to Baekhyun.

I take my seat and place my binder on my desk as a distant buzzer goes off, then the bell chimes. "Where is that buzzer coming from?" I ask.

"That would be from the gymnasium locker rooms." Mr. Park answers, taking a marker from the whiteboard. "It's very loud, but that's so everyone knows to hurry up-" He keeps his eye and raised pen on the final student as they scurry to the empty desk. "-So they can leave and not be late." Mr. Park taps the air with the pen, then turns to the whiteboard.

-❄❄❄ September 6, 2017. 11:00 AM ❄❄❄-

The bell chimes, and everyone rises from their seats. "I will see you tomorrow during the double block." Mr. Park says, over the scuffling on the floor as everyone grabs their phones and backpacks. I exit the classroom with Hyejae on my left and Baekhyun on my right. Chanyeol latches onto Baekhyun's right side as we pass Mr. Beom's room.

"I'm surprised I'm not dead." Chanyeol says. "Mr. Beom doesn't like me much."

"Probably because you think you deserve everything on a silver plate, recently." Baekhyun snarkily comments, receiving a very intimidating glare from Chanyeol. I wave to Haeun as she joins our turn down the main hallway.

"Alright, I'm going to retrace my steps, I have Musical Arts, upstairs." Hyejae says.

"OK, see you, Hyejae." I reply, Haeun and I waving to her as she detaches from us. We pause as we come to the doors of the Visual Arts room, students still filing in.

"Alright, I guess I'll head upstairs to History." Chanyeol says, rocking on his feet impatiently. "I'll meet you outside for break, Baek."

Baekhyun gives a little nod. "See you. And, pay attention, you're really something else, today."

"Mhm." Chanyeol's eyes dart to both sides of the hallway. Seeing that nobody was paying attention, Chanyeol plants a quick kiss on Baekhyun's head, his left hand holding Chanyeol's upper arm before he just as quickly pecks the taller male's nose. Chanyeol catches my eyes and furrows his brows. "Would you stop staring, Eunju?"

I guffaw as the crowd dies down. "Sorry, Chanyeol. It's still cute, though." Haeun chuckles under her breath, and we enter the classroom. To the left side of the room is a shirt designing press, a deep, metal sink, and a long, wooden table.

Two tall, wooden cabinets stand at the end of the left wall and beginning of the forward-facing wall. The SMARTboard is just to the left of the teacher's desk, in the center-front of the long classroom, and sure enough, there's a pair of doors that lead into the old drama room between the cabinets and SMARTboard. There's a green screen to the right of the classroom with photography equipment, and a door into the Media Arts classroom to the left of the screen.

I make eye contact with the female teacher, who sits at her desk, and has blonde hair to her shoulder blades in small curls and light brown eyes. She gives me a small smile, then looks to Haeun as I hear Chanyeol and Baekhyun say farewell again. "Hello, Haeun."

"Hello, Miss Gyo." Haeun replies as Baekhyun takes a chair from the wall the door is on. "This is Young Eunju, a Canadian transfer student. I'm her STG." Baekhyun sits at the third and final row of tables; two tables are in each row.

"Ah, welcome, Eunju!" Miss Gyo smiles brightly. "Take a seat anywhere you'd like."

I nod a little, then Haeun and I each take a chair. I look to Baekhyun and ask, "Do you want to sit alone, this time?"

Baekhyun sits up in his chair, hastily. "Uh, no, sit with me, please. You're not annoying; you're nice to be around. I usually sit alone, it's kind of a nice change"

I set down my chair, and swing into it. "Well, it took me seventeen years to learn that you don't get nice things by being a..." I look to Miss Gyo. "Do you tolerate bad language in your classroom?"

"I'm not a fan of it, no." Miss Gyo answers.

I return my gaze to Baekhyun. "A mean, selfish, stubborn kid." Haeun and Baekhyun laugh a little, some students joining.

"How can someone so cute be so mean?" I widen my eyes as I look to the adorable short blonde haired girl who spoke. She giggles as I stare for a moment, and I giggle along.

"My foster parents treated me like I was super special." I answer. "I mean, my body is, but the rest of me isn't. And, you're cute, too! I'm sorry for staring, ah..."

"It's OK, I know I'm cute, hee." She tilts her head cutely. "My name is Son Chaeyoung, tenth grade. It's nice to meet you!" Chaeyoung beams, bowing a little in her seat.

"It's nice to meet you, too." I return the smile and gesture as the bell rings. Miss Gyo pulls up the course outline on the SMARTboard. Apparently, there was so many students who wanted to do the course, the school board decided to throw grades ten through twelve into one mixed class per semester. Miss Gyo says this might make the group projects more interesting, because everyone has a unique artistic style, and age groups also have differences.

Chaeyoung and I got along well, and she proudly showed me some of her sketches of her friends and scenery around campus in a large sketchbook she carries around. 11 o'clock makes itself known to us by the bell, and we rise from our seats. "I'll see you in ten minutes!" Miss Gyo shouts as we leave the classroom.

Chaeyoung jogs ahead into the hallway, then places a hand on the doorway as she makes eye contact with me. "I have to meet my friends upstairs in the music room. I'll see you after break, Eunju!"

"OK, see you, Chaeyoung!" I reply, waving to her. She waves back as she turns to leave, then we walk to the office doors. Haeun jogs ahead to catch the door as a female student releases it, then hands it to another female student as Baekhyun and I pass and thank the student. I immediately spot Chanyeol standing on the grass, a few feet away from the door, the Food Truck parked a little more than halfway down the sidewalk.

Chanyeol gives a small smile as he makes eye contact with the smaller male. "Hi, jagi."

Baekhyun inhales deeply as Chanyeol joins our advancing group. "Idiot, don't say that so loudly."

"I wasn't yelling, Baek, calm down. Besides," Chanyeol glances behind him, then looks to Baekhyun. "There's nobody within five feet of us to clearly hear me."

"I still don't want you to say it when he's around." Baekhyun growls, making direct eye contact with an approaching, very handsome, blond male student surrounded by three girls. As the student passes us, he exchanges an awkward look to Baekhyun and Chanyeol, who divert their eyes to the side. I follow the hint, looking at the ground, making out that Haeun and Hyejae bow their heads, too. After their footsteps had become soft, I look up to see Baekhyun heave a sigh, his eyes ahead, Chanyeol's dazed in the same direction.

I look to Haeun, who lowers her shoulders and frowns. Not her place to say anything, I take it? Baekhyun gives a short growl, then looks to Chanyeol. "What does he think he's doing? Luhan isn't going to come back for him. He's given up too easily."

"He's just confused, Baek." Chanyeol says. "All we can do is try to help him."

"I thought Junmyeon, Yixing and Jongin had that job?" Baekhyun whines.

Chanyeol looks to Baekhyun sharply. "Sehun is still our friend, and he's a good guy. Even if he did accept the stupidest deal, ever. And, it's Luhan's fault, too. If Luhan wants to be a man so badly, he should stop running away because he's so afraid to come out to the school. Come to school for once, for crying out loud, your boyfriend misses you..."

We come to the Food Truck, its hatches on the metal box that makes up the back of the truck opened. The lady who owns the truck, a school staff member who's in charge of restocking its supplies and cooking the small selection of hot meals it provides, stands on the grass, a few feet away. She takes money from students who show her what they're buying, placing the Won in her belt-pouch, and a male student assistant jots down what's been taken on a notepad. The chips and dried snacks are on the two higher shelves, while the candy, cookies and flavored water are on the lower two. There are hot potato wedges and mac and cheese in small cardboard bowls, and grilled cheese sandwiches in paper wrappings stashed to the left of the shelves under a yellow heat lamp and closed off to the cool autumn air by a plastic flap.

Hyejae takes a bag of dried seaweed while Haeun grabs a bag of spicy chickpeas. Hyejae turns to me and asks, "Do you want a bag of seaweed, Eunju?" Chanyeol grabs two bags of dried seaweed, one spicy, one not.

"Yes, but not the spicy kind, please." Hyejae takes another bag of seaweed, then goes to pay for both our items as Haeun pays for herself. I watch Chanyeol give Baekhyun the bag of not spicy seaweed, and Baekhyun eagerly opens it. Hyejae gives me my bag, then ticks her head back to the main doors to signal that we should head back. I follow her towards the doors, Haeun beside me and Baekhyun and Chanyeol trailing a little behind.

As a female student passes the door to Hyejae, I look back to see Baekhy-oh my God, who is Chanyeol and Baekhyun talking to? He's a Korean student with striking, dark brown eyes, and his brown hair is tidy, but I don't see the shine of hair gel in the soft, late-morning sunlight. His left arm is linked with a visually stunning Korean girl with long, glossy black hair and dark eyes that could compete with Haeun's. What a couple; I'll have to ask Haeun and Hyejae who they are. Baekhyun catches my wandering eyes, and gives an awkward smile and wave.

Aha ha, poor Baekhyun; these must be friends of his and Chanyeol's. I wonder if they're in the big group Taehyung was talking about, earlier? Sehun, Luhan, Yixing and Jongin must be, too, by the way Chanyeol and Baekhyun were talking about them. I think Baekhyun's a little upset that he had to detach from our group. His face depicts a unique, bubbly personality; today is probably not his best day.

"Eunju." Haeun snaps me out of my trance, and I give a short, embarrassed laugh before I continue into the school. Haeun chuckles lightly, and I steer my eyes away from the outdoors and let them rest on Hyejae's back as we walk down the grade 10 hallway. As we open our snacks, Haeun asks, "Do you wanna know the names of the couple you saw with Baekhyun and Chanyeol, Eunju?"

I nod rapidly for a moment. "Yeah, I wanna know who they are. Their visuals are amazing." Haeun and Hyejae giggle.

"Their names are Kim Junmyeon and Park Jihyo, both in twelfth grade." Haeun says. We turn right to continue down the grade 10 hall. "They've been together since tenth grade, and have always won the class vote for Couple of the Year." I coo, and Haeun giggles with a little nod. "They're really nice, too. You'll usually find them in the library."

"Is Junmyeon part of the big group of twelve?" I ask. "Baekhyun and Chanyeol mentioned a Yixing and Jongin besides Sehun and Luhan, too. Are they all part of the group, too?"

"Yes, they all are." Haeun nods twice. "Minseok and Zitao are part of the group, too. The remaining members are Yifan, Kyungsoo and Jongdae."

"And, is Jihyo part of the group of nine, with Mina and Momo?"

Haeun nods in confirmation. "I've been in classes with all of them, over the years. You can usually find at least one them either outside on the field, or upstairs in the music studio. They're all ambitious, busy people, and most of them are balls of energy."

"Wait," I pause as we come to the courtyard doors, Hyejae and Haeun stopping as well. "This school has two music rooms?"

"Yeah," Hyejae answers. "The one past the old drama room is for band and choir. The one upstairs is an actual studio, and is the Musical Arts classroom. It's just past the Information Technology classroom, at the end of the hall. There's a dance studio up there too, for Dance Club."

I intentionally drop my Korean and speak in English. "Damn, wow, this school has everything." Haeun bursts into laughter, but Hyejae giggles awkwardly, so I repeat myself in Korean. "I said, 'Damn, wow, this school has everything'." Then Hyejae burst into laughter. Smiling in satisfaction, I lead us down the hallway.

As we round the corner into the main hallway, I shriek as I bump into Dahyun, who also exclaims. Laughing as we recover, we make eye contact as we calm ourselves down. "Hi, Dahyun." I greet, then look to see she was accompanied with Jimin, Taehyung and another girl who is shockingly cute. I give a short wave, and Taehyung and the girl return the gesture.

"Hi, Eunju, Haeun and Hyejae." Dahyun says, waving to my friends. She makes eye contact with Taehyung and the girl. "Do you know Taehyung and Tzuyu?"

"I met Taehyung this morning when Haeun unnie and I visited the old drama room." I smile and look to the girl, Tzuyu. "Tzuyu is a new name to me, though! It's nice to meet you." I bow a little, and Tzuyu does the same.

"It's nice to meet you." Tzuyu replies. "What grade are you in?"

"I'm in twelfth grade."

"Oh, you're my unnie, too!" Tzuyu smiles. "I'm in tenth grade." I give a small 'ah!' in reply.

"So I've been told that you met-" Dahyun counts on her left hand. "-Minseok, Zitao, Mina, Seokjin, Momo and Jungkook, Eunju?" Dahyun asks, redirecting my attention to her. "They were with Taehyung, this morning."

"Yes, I met them, too." I nod a little. "I met Chaeyoung this morning, I think she's part of your group because you all seem to be in the same place."

"Yeah, that's true." Dahyun nods. "We stick together. Have you met Jihyo, Nayeon, Jungyeon and Sana yet?"

I shake my head. "Haeun unnie said that I saw Jihyo outside with her boyfriend, Junmyeon."

"Oh yeah," Dahyun tilts her head back. "They left us at the double doors on the left end of the science hallway just by the stairs. We should find the others so you can meet! Ah, but were you going anywhere?"

"No, we were just walking." Hyejae answers.

"Come with us, let's find them, together!" Dahyun exclaims. I nod in agreement, Haeun nodding a little and Hyejae nodding cutely. Dahyun links her left arm with my right, and we lead the others down the right hallway at the cross-hall junction. Singing warm ups come from the end of the hallway in the band room, and we peer inside to find the three girls Sehun was with, Sehun himself, Hoseok, and a Chinese male student who is breathtakingly beautiful.

Dahyun opens the door, and we quietly let ourselves in. As the door quietly closes behind us, Hoseok immediately notices Jimin and Taehyung. The girls, smiles washing onto their faces, trade waves to Dahyun and Tzuyu. Sehun and the other student glance to us, but return their eyes to the sheets of music on the black, metal stands. I recognize them to be singing the second verse (skip to 1:50) of At Gwanghwamun by Kyuhyun of the popular boy group, Super Junior.

After the song was finished, we give them a warm round of applause, the female music teacher joining us. "Beautiful! I hardly had to teach you anything, you know the song so well." She chuckles lightly. "Thank you to our audience for arriving at almost the perfect time, as well."

Dahyun and I lead our group as we applaud ourselves, laughing along with the performers. The three girls approach our group, binders containing papers in hand, while Hoseok, Sehun and the third male student set the stands aside. "Alright, the bell is about to ring. I will see you tomorrow during Break, then during Collaboration, if you are able to make it. Please make sure you come to the after school practice on Thursday!"

"Bye, Mrs. Jeung!" The long, light brown haired of the three says, waving enthusiastically to the teacher. The other girls say 'goodbye' as well, Hoseok joining us as Taehyung holds the door open for us.

"Goodbye!" Mrs. Jeung replies, waving in return as she approaches a desk near the door. Sehun and the third student politely excuse themselves as they pass our group, both keeping their eyes on the floor and wall as they speed away.

"Wow, Sehun is still really hurt about Luhan..." The same girl says, then looks among our group. "Hi, Haeun and Hyejae; who's this?" She makes eye contact with me as Sehun and his walking partner continue down the hallway towards the library.

"Sana, this is Young Eunju." Dahyun says. "She transferred here from Canada for her senior year."

"Oh, welcome to SGHS!" Sana beams, bowing politely.

"Thank you." I return the gesture, smiling as well.

Dahyun gestures to the mid-red haired girl. "Eunju, this is Nayeon-" She gives a small bow, which I return. "-And, Jungyeon." I bow along with the short blonde haired girl in greeting. "And now, you've met all of TWICE, the cutest and best in all of Korea!!"

Her fellow members screech with her, except for Jungyeon, who does so less enthusiastically. They giggle as they calm themselves, then Nayeon makes eye contact with me and asks, "Eunju, how did you get into SGHS?"

"I got a Languages scholarship and a Language Arts scholarship." I answer. "My major is writing." Nayeon gives an 'mm' in response as we turn left down the junction. "What classes do you, Sana and Jungyeon have right now, Nayeon?"

"Jungyeon and I have Yearbook, and Sana has Language Arts." Nayeon answers. "What about you, Haeun and Hyejae?"

"Haeun and I have Visual Arts, and Hyejae has..." I look to her. "Actually, I don't know about Hyejae."

Hyejae smiles as we come to a stop at the Visual Arts classroom. "I have Communications 12. I'm taking Language Arts next semester instead of an elective. The bell is actually going to ring soon, so let's meet around here, for lunch, if we can?"

"Taehyung and I can't make it, we have Dance Club upstairs at 12:25." Jimin says, looking to Hyejae.

"I think we girls can make it, Chaeyoung will definitely come after she's done helping in the cafeteria." Dahyun says, taking her turn to look at Hyejae. "But Jihyo, Momo and Mina might be with their boyfriends. We might see them, though. Jihyo's the only one of us you haven't properly met, right, Eunju?"

"Yes, that's right." I answer, nodding once.

Dahyun makes a soft hyuk. "Ah, we'll have to introduce her to you!"

"And, the rest of our group, too." Taehyung says. "Jimin and I shouldn't have a hard time finding them, either."

"Yeah, it'd be good to meet them, too." I reply.

"Alright," Dahyun says, linking her right arm with Jimin's left and taking Tzuyu by her other arm. "Let's go before the-" Ding! Ding! Ding! Dahyun drops her shoulders as we laugh at the coincidental cue. "See you, Eunju and Haeun!"

"Bye!" We reply to each other, the group of seven with Hyejae departing ahead to the staircase by the office doors. Chaeyoung passes them as they round the corner, and they greet each other before being forced to say goodbye, though they laugh through the entire meeting.

Chaeyoung beams as she approaches Haeun and me. "Hi, again!"

"Hi, Chaeyoung. More sketching of a bonsai tree, yay." I give a quiet applause on my rught palm with my left fingers, and Chaeyoung laughs as we enter the classroom.

"We're being marked on creativity and style, not accuracy." Chaeyoung says as we take our seats. Baekhyun had already returned, as well as the majority of our class. "Not a lot of art classes do that, our school is really special."

Baekhyun growls lowly in his throat, drawing my attention. "If special means that they allow students to skip a whole week of school and not call the parents, then yeah, it's special."

"You're talking about Luhan?" I cautiously ask. The carefulness didn't help one bit, Baekhyun still ends up glaring at me, like I've broken something precious to him. "Sorry, sorry, it's not my place to ask." I bow my head a little, warmth rushing to my face. Just as I could feel myself go pale as I stare at the table, Baekhyun slowly exhales, and I look up to him.

"If you're not doing anything at lunch, I can tell you while we eat. I imagine my friends will help." Baekhyun says, sucking in his bottom lip for a moment as he looks to Haeun. "I don't blame Haeun for not telling you." He returns his eyes to mine. "It's a sad situation, and it's affected a lot of people besides Sehun."

"Just..." Baekhyun exhales heavily through his nose. "Don't talk to him about Luhan, or anything related to Luhan. The last thing we need is for him to run away, too. But, just remember that it's not your problem or your fault, especially because you weren't here when it all happened, OK, Eunju?"

"OK, I understand." I nod twice, then the bell goes again to signal class, and Mrs. Gyo stands up from her desk.

-Forgiveness, Thankfulness and Remembrance-

WE: 4432 words, yep, that's enough! I feel like an accomplished author, when I have 3-5k words in a chapter. I'm really excited to show you what's next, you're going to love me and hate me at the same time.ヽ(´∇´)ノ Thank you for reading!

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