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jeonqkooks · 1 year

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our beloved summer | jjk (07)

You made a vow to hate Jeon Jungkook ever since he packed up and left you without a single explanation, but when he shows up at your door after years of radio silence, it turns out that maybe your resolve isn’t as strong as you thought.

pairing: producer!jungkook x songwriter!reader genre/warnings: exes au, fluff, angst, eventual smut, swearing, mentions of oc's mother because we know girlie is hella traumatized, mentions of drinking, mentions of an almost physical fight, abandonment issues, jk forgets to practice safe driving for 2 seconds, and uhmmm kissing 🤫, anddd that cliffhanger? 👀 rating: 18+ (minors dni) word count: 10.8k note (1): this is the longest it has taken me to update obs and i do feel pretty guilty about that. but it's finally here now and this is one of the chapters that i'm the most nervous about posting. massive thanks to @daechwitatamic and @/wintaerbaer (edited 2024: crossed out but not removed bc even tho she plagiarized obs afterward, she did beta this for me so i guess i still gotta give her that lmfao) for beta-ing this for me or else i would've screamed cried thrown up and scrapped the whole thing, and to @jeonwiixard for being a wonderful cheerleader as i was writing this, and to everyone in my beloved obs discord server for always being so sweet and kind and putting a smile on my smile every day since the server was created. also to my sunshine ☀︎ for introducing me to the song mentioned below bc HELLO is it not just one of the most obs coded songs ever. love you all my babies <3

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as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

Somewhere in the multiverse There's a me and you that works We never fuck it up We're out there still in love Somewhere in the multiverse Maybe that's enough

multiverse - Maya Manuele ft. PEMRBOKE

Sometimes, whenever you look up at the moon at night, you wonder if Jungkook is doing the same thing.

Even when you fall out of love with someone, it still hurts. It hurts because you once loved them so much it felt like the sky would collapse if you couldn’t be with them. It hurts because the love wasn’t taken from you, but rather it started slipping away on its own, more and more each day until you realize you’re holding onto nothing when there once was everything.

You can’t say that you’re too familiar with that kind of hurt though. You’ve never fallen out of love before.

You don’t think Jungkook is too familiar with it either, at least not when he left you.

You wonder if he thinks about you from time to time and gets sad. You think he does, because you know that he loved you. Something ended for him too. The memories that you shared were his memories too.

You hope that it’s painful for him whenever thoughts of you cross his mind, because that would mean that he cares. That a part of him still cares.

And if he still cares, then he might come back.

Despite the front that you try to parade around, there is a part of you that will always leave your heart vacant for him, regardless of whether or not he would return. It’s a scary thought, one that you would rather avoid at all costs, one that says there will be no one that you love more than you loved Jungkook. Maybe there can’t be another person that you will love at all.

You can come back quietly, like the wind slipping through the crack I leave in the window at night; or you can announce your return resoundingly like a sudden downpour quenching the summer heat. I don’t care. I kept your side of the bed empty and warm, waiting for you to come back. Hoping that you would come home.

[08:47] Yoongi: sure you don’t want me to drive you there? [08:48] Yoongi: i can pick you up in 30 [08:52] You: positive 🤧 i told you i already booked the train. it’s only 4 hours away [08:53] You: i’ll survive, yoongs [08:55] Yoongi: did you not watch Train To Busan? [08:56] You: ? [08:57] Yoongi: what if there’s a zombie apocalypse [09:00] You: yoongi if there’s a zombie apocalypse, how is your CONVERTIBLE supposed to keep me safe [09:01] Yoongi: i’ll put the roof up [09:02] You: stop talking [09:02] You: please stop talking. [09:03] Yoongi: 😡😡😡 [09:03] You: 😇 [09:03] You: gotta get dressed now though. i’ll see u when i get back? :) [09:05] Yoongi: fine [09:06] Yoongi: safe travels. text me when you get there :)

You plop onto your bed with a sigh, glancing at the bag that’s already packed and sitting near your wardrobe, lonely. You stay like that for a while, contemplating whether or not you should bail at the very last minute.

It was not on your bingo card that you’d be here, agonizing over your ex-boyfriend’s brother’s wedding. Nope. Absolutely no one saw it coming.

For fuck’s sake, why would they invite you to a wedding? A celebration of love? It feels like you’re being forced onto a prank show, just waiting for someone to jump out and scream in your face.

You learned that the wedding was for close friends and family only, so it would be a relatively small event, which makes it even more confusing why you were also asked to join. Maybe the world is changing too rapidly and you’re just a little old-fashioned for it, but you really don’t understand why your ex-boyfriend’s family would want you there.

Taehyung and Jimin were invited too; they’re Jungkook’s best friends after all. They’re practically an extension of the family, Jungkook’s brothers by choice. But Taehyung doesn’t come back from his work trip until the day of the wedding, and Jimin… Well, he just doesn’t want to go to a Busan wedding in the middle of winter.

So why are you even going?

You could’ve declined. Said you couldn’t attend because the invitation came in so late. Made up a work trip or a family emergency. There’s a plethora of excuses you could’ve used.

Or you could’ve simply said no. That would’ve been perfectly fine too. No one would even need to ask why.

But maybe it was because his mother had customized the invite with her own handwriting in the back. You would’ve missed it if you hadn’t spent hours meticulously studying the card like someone was going to quiz you. It wasn’t anything special - just We hope to see you there - but you think you’d feel really bad to decline after she’d made the extra effort to ask you to come.

When you told Yoongi that you would be attending Jungkook’s brother’s wedding, he didn’t seem upset. Still cool as a cucumber. Although if he was bothered by the announcement, you don’t think he would’ve let it show. It did take him a minute to take it in, but then he just pecked your cheek and asked if you could bring a plus-one. You both knew that you wouldn’t even if that was an option.

Pushing your body off the bed, you drag yourself to the bathroom to splash some water on your face. Then sunscreen. Then change into the clothes you’d already picked out last night. Your train doesn’t leave for another hour and fifteen minutes, but you want to be there at least twenty minutes early just in case. This is one of your only good habits.

You rub your eyes when you finally haul yourself outside, thinking you must still be dreaming because what is Jungkook’s car doing here?

You blink a few times, expecting the vehicle to disappear in a puff of white smoke.

Spoiler alert: It doesn’t.

The car is in front of you, but the man is nowhere to be found.

You stand there dumbfoundedly, contemplating whether you should wait it out for a little bit to see if he’s actually here. He comes running up to you a couple minutes later, holding two paper cups in his hands, one of them a chai latte. A memory you’d buried long ago comes rushing to the surface. It’s too early for you to be feeling.

“Hi,” he says, his warm breath coming out in a huff of smoke in the crisp morning air.

“Hi?” you mutter dumbly when he trades the bag in your hand for the drink. There’s a moment where you’re genuinely baffled, wondering if this is a memory reel playing right before your eyes. This is your Jungkook, wearing that same old smile whenever he used to come bounding up your dorm building so you could walk to the library together, where he would hang out with you during your shift if he didn’t have classes. “What are you doing here?”

You don’t remember telling him what time your train was, so he’d probably badgered it out of Taehyung or Jimin somehow.

“I thought I could drive us there,” he says. “I texted you about it.”

Well, that explains it. You don’t bother with his dozens of messages anymore. “Oh, uhm, I already booked the train.”

This doesn’t seem to faze him at all. “Free cancellation up to 15 minutes before departure.” Jungkook grins, clearly eager despite your obvious reluctance. It’s too early for this, whatever the hell this is.

When you told him that you had RSVP’d yes to the invitation, he was surprised that you even knew about the wedding. He even seemed nervous that day.

“What if I’d already left?” you ask.

He blinks, then stammers like a confused child. It’s cute, and you have to mentally slap yourself over the head for even thinking that.

“Then I’d go after you.”

How? you scoff internally. Unrealistic.

Regardless, not even an hour ago, you were declining Yoongi’s offer to drive you there. Now, you’re standing here, in front of your ex-boyfriend, contemplating whether or not you should go with him.

“Let’s go,” he says after a minute. “We don’t wanna be stuck in traffic.”

“I haven’t said yes.” Yet. “It’s a 4-hour drive.”

You don’t have to clarify what you mean. He understands it.

You both just stare at each other for a moment, the tension suddenly thickening with every passing second. Four hours on the road. Four hours alone in a car with Jungkook. That’s about two hundred minutes more than you think you can handle.

It’s like he can see right through you. “Don’t think about it,” he says, voice dropping lower. “It’s just a weekend. Everything will still be here for you to think about when we get back.”

In your head, it translates to: All of our shit will still be here when we get back. You can keep being mad at me then.

You hope that’s not true. You hope that when you get back, the things that keep you up at night will simply cease to exist. That in the two days you’ll be gone, a genie will materialize and solve all your problems for you.

Either way, it’s probably for the best that you aren’t mean to him this weekend. You’re stuck with him for the next 48 hours or so; it’ll only stress you out even more if you channel all of your energy into tormenting him. Besides, you’re already the ex girlfriend who has no place alongside his family. You don’t want to be the dark cloud raining on everyone’s parade too.

Maybe you’d already made up your mind when you let him take the bag from you.

For the first half of the drive, you were unconscious.

It’s a useless superpower that you have, the ability to fall asleep anywhere - literally anywhere, including in the passenger seat of your ex-boyfriend’s car while he escorts you to his hometown. Melatonin gummies manufacturers hate you.

You could’ve slept the whole drive, but around the second hour mark, you were startled awake when your body jostled forward, straining against your seatbelt uncomfortably. There was an arm trying to hold you back, despite the seatbelt having done its job well.

“Fuck,” Jungkook curses before he turns toward you, worry written all over his face. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, are you okay?”

You blink, still half asleep. “I’m okay,” you say. The minivan that Jungkook almost rear-ended continues on its merry way, carrying what seems to be a family of five. “What happened?”

He sighs, his outstretched arm retreating back to his side. “I got a bit distracted, that’s all.”

You take in your surroundings then. There’s barely any other cars in sight, no tacky billboard that sticks out like a sore thumb to catch your attention. There’s just the freeway, stretching on empty for all you can see.

“By what?” you ask.

“Nothing,” he says. “Go back to sleep. I’ll wake you when we get there.”

See, you have the superpower of falling asleep anywhere and everywhere, but once you’ve been woken up, it’s not as easy to fall back asleep.

That, and the fact that you’re hungry as shit.

You open your mouth, about to say no, about to offer to drive the rest of the way if Jungkook is tired, but your stomach doesn’t let you get a word out. It growls, filling the space of the car, making you want to chuck yourself out the fucking window and run all the way back to the city. This wouldn’t have happened had you taken the train, because if you had, there would’ve been food services and no one would be subject to hearing your stomach sing like it’s chewing out a small puppy in there. Life is nothing but an endless pit of embarrassment and despair.

Your arms hold themselves tighter around your frame, practically squeezing into your abdomen as you will it to please, please, please be quiet. Jungkook stares at you, and you can tell by the teeny tiny quirk of his lips that he’s trying to bite back a smile. He’s relaxed, but there’s still something hesitant on his face. It takes him a minute before he finally throws the question out.

“Do you want to go to that guksu place that we used-” that we used to go to, “you know the place. The one that’s right off the freeway?”

The sun is out today. The sky unfolds endlessly just outside the window, coloring blue everything your eyes land on. There are strips of clouds scattered here and there, like delicate strokes of white paint on an azure canvas. Even the winter cold has to soften.You bite into your cheek. Don’t think, that’s what he had told you.

Not much about this quaint restaurant has changed. The quirky decorations are still where they used to be, the windows still the same unique stained glass that you never came across anywhere else. You remember the elderly woman who runs the place, even if she doesn’t have a single clue who you are. The golden retriever you used to fawn over every time you stopped by, sits quietly by the door and watches the cars pass by, his fur now graying as weariness begins to settle into those old bones.

You would’ve been displeased if the place had changed, because, well, you don’t like change. But then again, this familiarity is dangerous. It tricks you into thinking that everything is still the same, even you and him. Deludes you into believing that you’re still in love and that he’ll walk out of here holding your hand.

Regardless, the first spoonful has you biting back a smile.

“How is it?” Jungkook asks.

It makes you feel all warm inside, and then a little sad, nostalgic.

“Tastes just the same,” you tell him simply.

“Hmm.”

He lets you satisfy your hunger in peace. It’s the least he can do anyway.

There’s a wall near the back of the restaurant, where people could hang polaroids of themselves and cute handwritten notes. You think if you dig through the hundreds of photos scattered across the space, you might be able to find you and Jungkook there, if you two haven’t already been thrown out long ago to make room for new memories.

He pays for your food after you’re both finished, despite some protesting on your side. As you leave, you’re busy thinking that if you could have a moment to marvel at that far-back wall of memories, if you could find a photo of you and him there, you would probably sneak it into your coat pocket.

It’d be another thing to add to your pile of Jungkook memorabilia - the old clothes in the back of your closet, the stack of dusty polaroids at the bottom of your drawer. You wonder if he keeps anything of yours, maybe an old t-shirt that you forgot to take back. It’s probably unlikely, but a girl can hope.

You miss the way Jungkook glances back, thinking the exact same thing.

You survive the rest of the drive with more ease, probably because of the food. You spend most of the remaining 2 hours leaning against the window, humming to the radio, closing your eyes but not really sleeping. You even forget to be nervous about what is to come.

That is, until the car pulls up to the venue.

It’s absolutely gorgeous, and a lot bigger than you imagined - a modern beach house overlooking the waters. It’s not as extravagant as one would expect to see when they come to a wedding, but considering the small crowd in attendance, this is more than enough. You see people rush in and out of the place even from far away - planners, caterers, the bridesmaids and groomsmen, probably.

You feel a bit comforted just watching this. His family seems to be doing a lot better than before. It’s nice to know.

You barely make it out of the car before someone calls your name, and pulls you into a hug that knocks the wind out of you. Although, when you catch the scent of her hair, you instantly know who it is.

Parents usually have a scent that’s distinct to only their kids, a scent so cozy and homely that no perfume can ever mask. You can only describe your mom’s scent with a feeling, specifically the feeling of your chest tightening, tingling with a bittersweetness that you never found elsewhere.

Strangely enough, Jungkook’s mother has always made you feel the opposite. She makes you feel relieved to be in her embrace, like she accepts you for who you are even if all you are to her, at the end of the day, is a stranger.

You hug her back awkwardly, hesitantly, in front of Jungkook’s dad, his brother Junghyun, and a girl you don’t know. You assume that she’s the bride-to-be, the main character whom this weekend revolves around. Sooji, you remember that was the name on the wedding invitation.

You get choked up suddenly, eyes turning glassy though you quickly blink it away. You’re not sure if you’ve had someone be so happy to see you. Bypassers might even think that you just found the cure for cancer.

For a second there, you wonder if your mere presence has ever made your mother this overjoyed.

You look at Jungkook for help, silently asking him to rescue you. Who else are you supposed to turn to if not him?

He understands that look. “Okay, mom,” he says, entangling her arms from you with ease, “Y/N’s tired from the drive. Let’s let her rest, yeah? I’ll show her the room.”

She ignores her son. “Honey,” she says, brushing your hair away from your face so she could see you better. “Thank you for coming.” She used to insist that you call her “mom”, or at least by her first name because “Mrs. Jeon” was too formal for someone she considered family.

You now have to opt for the latter, because “mom” isn’t an option for you anymore.

“Thank you for inviting me, Mrs. Jeon,” you tell her with a smile. You’re not really sure what else to say, but it makes you a little sad just calling her that.

She opens her mouth before closing it again, seemingly about to jokingly scold you for the formality before she recognizes the bittersweet look in your eyes. She just smiles at you then. There’s not much to be done about it.

You don’t know if anyone else sees how the moment is weighed down. Probably not. Maybe it’s just you and her who share this sentiment.

Jungkook doesn’t wait for his mom anymore. Sons, typical. He wedges himself between the two of you like a bulldozer and leads you inside the house.

Even though all you have is an overnight bag, Jungkook carries it for you all the way up to your room, which is only down the hall from his. Then he disappears pretty quickly afterward, saying something about his best man duties and putting out fires. He seems apologetic as he tells you this, but it’s not like you’re expecting him to babysit you all weekend.

You bore yourself to death in your room for a while, before you remember you have to text Yoongi to let him know you got here safely. Though, you stop short of telling him that it was Jungkook who drove you here. It’s trivial enough, right? You don’t want Yoongi to feel bad over nothing. You do, however, inform Taehyung and Jimin when you text them about it, to which Jimin only responds with a preemptively disapproving ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’

When you get too stir-crazy, you wander outside, hoping to explore the beach before it gets dark and colder. You try to stay out of everyone’s way, because a good guest is a quiet guest. You seem to be doing a good job. No one notices you, not even Jungkook’s mom but that’s because she’s the person you actively want to avoid the most. You don’t know what you’d even say to her if she gets you alone.

Everything is hectic, as one can probably imagine when it comes to wedding preparations. You haven’t had anyone close to you get married yet, so it’s safe to say that you’re pretty much clueless about all of this. You wonder what it’ll be like when your big day comes around, if you even ever get married. You haven’t thought about it in a long time. Why would you? You don’t really have a reason to think about this. It’s much easier to picture Taehyung’s or Jimin’s wedding day than your own.

Your opinion on having kids still remains the same, and you were never one of those girls who daydreamed about having a big and extravagant wedding, but it’s not such a bad idea to ponder about. You still think marriage is a scary thing - it’s one of the biggest commitments a person could ever make - but you’re not entirely opposed to getting married.

Why are you even mulling over this? Your time might never even come.

When you round the corner to get the steps that would lead you down to the beach, you run into Sooji and a woman holding a thick binder - must be a wedding planner. You give Jungkook’s future sister-in-law an awkward smile in greeting, which she returns much more gracefully before she tells the woman that she’ll be with her in a minute.

So now you’re stuck here, about to make small talk with a person you have never met before, and will likely never see again. Great.

“Hi,” you say, extending a hand. “I haven’t had the chance to introduce myself. I’m Y/N.”

“I’m Sooji,” she replies warmly as she shakes your hand, and you have to stop yourself from being a little weirdo and thinking about how silky her hair looks up close. “You’re Jungkook’s… friend, right?”

You purse your lips before nodding with a chuckle. The pause tells you that she knows, and you wouldn’t be surprised if she’s uncomfortable having you here.

“I’m sorry if this is weird. You probably don’t want a complete stranger at your wedding.”

Sooji shakes her head instantly, waving her hands around to dismiss your apology. “Please, it’s totally fine. Junghyun’s mom talked to me about it before we sent out the invites. I wouldn’t have agreed if I was really bothered. Don’t worry about it, seriously.”

“Why did you agree?” you ask, trying to sound as polite as possible. “You don’t know who I am.”

“I guess I was curious.” She shrugs, before laughing lightly as she says, “I used to think you weren’t real.”

“Huh?”

“She talks about you constantly. Never in front of Jungkook, of course. But she’s really fond of you, and you probably already know that doesn’t happen very often. She really does see you like a daughter. She made you sound too good to be true.”

You’re not sure how to respond to that. His mom still thinks about you, still talks about you after all this time. You’re just his ex-girlfriend, but she considers you her family. You don’t know what to do with this information nor the way it pinches your heart.

“I-” You purse your lips, fumbling with the responses in your head. You settle on a light laugh, because Sooji can probably tell that you’re struggling with the words too. “I have to be honest. I don’t know what to say to that.”

“You don’t have to say anything. I just thought you should know that you’re still very much loved here.” She gives you a kind smile, and it looks like she wants to tell you something else but decides against it in the end. Sooji’s eyes land somewhere behind you before she points in that general direction. “I have to go take care of an issue with the flowers, but look, Jungkook is here. Why don’t you ask him to show you around?”

And then she’s already off. Overall, what a… strange interaction.

You turn around to see Jungkook standing near one of the entrances to the house. As you watch him talk to someone - a bridesmaid, you assume, or just one of the other guests - you try not to think about the fact that there’s a stirring sensation in your stomach, and that it only intensifies when she throws her head back in a pretty laugh, a perfectly manicured hand landing on his arm like he’s the most charming person she’s ever met.

You don’t give it a name, don’t label it green in color even though you’re blue and he’s golden sunshine. You don’t acknowledge that it’s a feeling, because doing so would make it real and there are certain truths that you’d rather delude yourself into thinking are lies.

When Jungkook’s eyes catch yours and he cuts off the woman mid-sentence with a curt excuse me, you don’t acknowledge that feeling either, but it’s warm and it blooms in your chest as he makes his way to you. It’s something victorious, something that tickles your ribs.

He comes to you like you’re a destination he’s been waiting all his life to reach, and you certainly, adamantly don’t acknowledge the spectacularly dizzying feeling that swallows you whole when he places a gentle hand on your arm, his voice soft as he says, “There you are. I was looking for you.”

The familiarity, it’s catastrophic.

“I was just walking around,” you tell him. “There’s not a lot to do here. I was bored.”

“You have me,” he says. Probably not in that way, but you’d like to think that’s how he means it. “I don’t have any more fires to put out. What do you want to do now?”

You glance over your surroundings, still set on your original plans. You wanted to go alone, but you suppose you can let him accompany you. You check the time on your phone before asking, “Can we go down to the beach? I wanna see if we can catch the sunset.”

You used to do this whenever you came here to visit - walk along the beach, hand in hand, sunlight in your hair and the cool breeze holding you tight in the afterglow.

The keyword here is “used to”. Now, you have to stuff your hands in your pockets just so you don’t reach for him every time you shiver.

It’s late enough in the afternoon for you to see the moon faintly shine against a blue and orange backdrop. Sun and moon, together in the same frame. It feels symbolic somehow. You’re not really sure.

“The moon looks like an egg,” Jungkook observes astutely, taking casual strides next to you. It makes you burst into easy laughter, which makes him laugh with you too. You stop walking when you reach what you think is a good spot to watch the sky.

“Let’s sit here for a bit,” you say. It’s not the greatest idea - sitting idly by would only make you colder - but you just want to stop and look at the sunset. Once you’re seated in the sand, you respond to his moon remark, “That’s true, y’know. NASA said so.”

“Yeah,” he says, settling down beside you, “you made me read that.”

You’d forgotten about it, and you didn’t think that he’d remember. It’s freezing cold and the moon looks like an egg, but you’re not thinking, and you feel safe. Nothing can hurt you here, or at least that’s what you’d like to tell yourself.

You wrap your arms around yourself to keep from shivering, but you still shiver anyways.

“Are you cold?” he asks.

“A little,” you admit. “I should’ve worn a thicker sweater. But it’s o-”

He doesn’t let you finish the sentence, just smoothly takes off his jacket to put it around your shoulders.

You put your hands atop his to stop him. When you touch him, there’s an electric tingle that almost makes you flinch. He feels warm, still resembling a human furnace.

“No, you don’t have t-”

“Take the jacket, Y/N,” he says. “It’s just a jacket.”

The jacket smells like him. It only makes you want to crawl further into the warmth.

He seems more self-assured here, that’s what you notice. More like the version of himself that he used to be. Confident, sometimes borderline cocky. Annoying but oddly endearing, you came to love that about him.

His relaxed demeanor is understandable. You’re merely a visitor here, while this is his homeground.

“I’m curious about something,” he says after a while.

“Okay.”

“What’s the deal with Wednesdays?” he asks.

“You know how they say bad things come in threes?” You purse your lips, thinking it over, feeling something bitter in your mouth as you recall the events that led to this. “My parents got divorced on a Wednesday. I moved out of mom’s house on a Wednesday. And…” You hold your knees close to your chest as you hesitate to utter this last part, “we broke up on a Wednesday.”

You see the exact moment Jungkook mentally slaps himself, paling a couple shades as he tongues his cheek, not expecting his question to inadvertently lead back to this. It wasn’t your intention to guilt trip him. It was true that he dumped you on a Wednesday, but you don’t want the mood to turn sour, to have to mull over this again. Like he said, it will still be there for you to worry about when you get back. You’re not looking forward to returning to a shitshow, but what you’d hate even more is to tarnish the memories of this place just because you can’t keep from being vindictive for not even a weekend.

“I was born on a Wednesday too, so I guess bad things come in fours sometimes,” you continue, chuckling to yourself humorlessly.

A frown appears on his face almost instantaneously. “What is that supposed to mean?”

You shrug. Jungkook turns his body toward you, which makes you spare him a glance before you return your gaze to the horizon. His face is so serious that it’s almost funny. “Y/N,” he presses. “Why would you say that?”

“C’mon, it’s a joke. I was just being self-deprecating. Lighten up.”

“Why are you talking like that?”

“Like what? Contrary to popular belief, I don’t walk around with a thundercloud over my head all the time,” you laugh lightly. “I figured if there was a day to be nice to you, it should be today. And tomorrow, I guess.”

“This is you being nice?”

Funny how just a few weeks ago, you were fighting with him and calling him a hypocrite. Now, you’re sitting together, watching the sun set, trying not to be mean to him.

“I’m not picking a fight with you,” you say. “This is nice enough.”

“It’s not even my wedding.”

“Okay.” You glance at him again, letting words flow without a single thought. “I’ll be even nicer to you on your wedding day then.”

You don’t know where that even came from, but something aches the very second the words leave your mouth. The thought of him getting married one day makes you just nauseous, even though you always knew that it was a possibility. It might even be inevitable.

You clear your throat, waving the sullen feeling away. Your body shivers then, even after the added warmth of his jacket. Maybe you’re not shivering because of the cold anymore.

He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his eyes linger on the side of your face. The both of you keep tiptoeing around an elephant that follows you wherever you go.

You hug your knees close to your chest, watching the blue sky melt into the golden horizon, splattered with ribbons of cotton candy clouds.

You want to scooch closer to him and have him wrap his arm around your shoulders. This isn’t the spot where you used to draw your names in the sand, enveloped in a giant heart like two lovesick kids, but wouldn’t it be nice to imagine that it is?

“I was always really happy here,” you mumble to yourself.

You were, truly. This city was your pocket of hope, your piece of peace.

Being here brings back so many memories.

It’s the same feeling you get every time you pass by somewhere you used to live. The nostalgia of walking down the same road you used to walk every day until your shoes wore out. The familiarity of your surroundings. The bittersweetness of looking into a past you cannot hold anymore, of remembering the person you were at a certain period in your life, of knowing the things you do now that you didn’t back then.

You long for things you cannot change.

Nostalgia only grows stronger with time, you can always count on that.

He hums in agreement, before admitting quietly, “I miss you.” One pulls, the other pushes. The water wavers, like it’s touched by his words, simple but earnest. You’re touched too, somewhere in your heart, where you know you should be writing someone else’s name now.

Should?

“You’re pushing it,” you say softly.

“I know.”

You look at him. Maybe it’s because you’re back in the city that holds only good memories of you two. Maybe you’re hypnotized by the way the pink and purple hues kiss his side profile, making him feel like a fever dream and not someone you loved. Maybe it’s the cold, making you yearn for any source of warmth. But instead of returning his sentiment, you say, “It’ll pass.”

He meets your eyes. There’s something pleading in his gaze. All things pass eventually. Time moves forward, people move on. Bad things will pass sooner or later. Your worst heartbreak, your most arduous trials, your saddest moments, they will all pass.

And good things… good things will have to pass too, whether you like it or not.

Your fingers twitch from where they’re still holding onto your body. You itch to reach for his hand. You don’t tell him what he wants to hear, even though here’s a part of you that wants to say it back. In a better world, you would be telling him I love you too, instead of having to suppress an I miss you too.

“All things have to pass eventually. This will too.”

[20:05] Taebear 🐻: we could go to that bar near the gallery. Y/N likes the cocktails there [20:06] Mimi 🐥: kay kay [20:06] Mimi 🐥: soooooo next friday? [20:09] Mimi 🐥: why is y/n reading our messages. shouldn’t she be at dinner [20:09] You: i approve of the bar choice [20:11] You: if you didn’t want me reading your messages, you shouldn’t have sent them to the gc [20:11] You: and if you must know, i’m skipping dinner. i’m avoiding Jungkook’s mom [20:12] Mimi 🐥: understandable. i figured you would do that [20:13] Mimi 🐥: how’s it going? are we regretting going yet? i told you to just stay home and we could binge watch the office together [20:15] You: and EYE told you that you could be a good friend and go to this wedding with me but nooooo baby doesn’t like the cold [20:16] You: you could’ve visited your parents while you’re here you know. two birds with one stone [20:18] Mimi 🐥: babes my parents stayed with me for a whole month last month. i reached my quota for family face time [20:19] You: son and friend of the year 👏 [20:20] Mimi 🐥: 😎😎😎😘

[20:22] Taebear 🐻: hey [20:23] You: uh oh. am i in trouble? why is this not in the gc? [20:25] Taebear 🐻: lol shut up [20:26] Taebear 🐻: you okay? [20:28] You: feels like that could’ve been a perfectly good question to ask in the gc [20:29] Taebear 🐻: because it’s a serious question and we both know Jimin can’t be serious for one minute to save his life [20:32] You: why does it have to be a serious question? 🤪 [20:32] Taebear 🐻: 😕 [20:33] You: stop pouting. i’m fine [20:35] Taebear 🐻: are you? [20:36] You: i am! you don’t have to go all mama bear on me [20:39] Taebear 🐻: ha ha ha. you’re so funny [20:40] Taebear 🐻: want me to call you? [20:42] You: i said i’m fiiiiiine 🙄 [20:43] You: but also no because i told everyone i was tired and i’m pretending to be asleep in my room right now [20:43] Taebear 🐻: okay [20:43] Taebear 🐻: did you eat something at least? [20:44] You: i have a cup ramen in my room [20:45] Taebear 🐻: okay [20:46] Taebear 🐻: how was today? did JK make you wanna strangle him? [20:48] You: okay Kim Taehyung at least act like you have some faith in your friend lol [20:50] You: but mmmmmm it was ok. he was mostly behaving himself [20:51] Taebear 🐻: mostly? [20:54] You: we were down at the beach and he just told me he missed me out of the blue [20:55] You: Mimi is asking why no one is replying to him [20:57] Taebear 🐻: i can see that [20:58] Taebear 🐻: what did you tell JK? [21:01] You: i quoted fleabag to him [21:09] Taebear 🐻: i had to google that [21:10] Taebear 🐻: i still don’t know what that means [21:11] You: i know you don’t lol. you’re adorable [21:11] You: i’ll tell you when i get back. [21:13] You: ok bye i have to sleep early or i’ll look like ass in the morning [21:14] Taebear 🐻: oh. okay [21:15] Taebear 🐻: sleep tight. remember not to gorge yourself on booze tomorrow [21:17] You: thanks for the reminder. love you mom 🙄💕 [21:17] Taebear 🐻: :) [21:20] Taebear 🐻: you won’t look like ass btw

You clocked out right after you told Taehyung that you would. It wasn’t a peaceful sleep though. The anxiety simmering in your belly woke you up a few times throughout the night. You don’t even know why you were anxious. It’s not like you were the one who was about to walk down the aisle.

When morning finally came and you managed to untangle yourself from the surprising comfort of your familiar bed, you practically dragged your feet for the subsequent two hours, trying to get ready. As if that would actually slow down the passage of time.

You had to compartmentalize the things you needed to do in a mental checklist. Makeup. Hair. Dress. Stare at yourself in the mirror for half an hour and internally freak out while waiting for Jungkook to come get you from your room.

Now you’re sitting in the wedding hall, watching people filter into the room. It’s not even a lot of people, but you’re still overwhelmed regardless.

You feel so exposed, even though he’s the only one looking at you in this room of strangers. He’s been looking at you like that ever since he first saw you this morning, in a dress that you got just days before the wedding. You still don’t know if it’s entirely appropriate for your ex-boyfriend’s brother’s wedding - maybe a bit revealing - but it was the only one you could find on such short notice.

When you tried on the dress for Taehyung and Jimin a few days ago, Taehyung said you looked beautiful. Jimin said you looked decent, “six point five out of ten,” which translated to “pretty nice” in Jimin-lingo. That would’ve been enough if you were going to any other wedding, not one where Jungkook would also be attending.

You had wanted him to see you and regret ever leaving you.

It was a silly thought, just a tad adolescent.

You had wanted him to see you in your dress and be consumed with thoughts of you until he couldn’t even see straight. To be the only thing on his mind, you didn’t think it was a lot to ask for.

That was before he told you not to think about it and you’d been convinced to just go with the flow just for two days. It was before he actually did see you earlier today in your dress - a simple midnight blue satin cowl neck with a slit in the thigh - but you were the one rendered helpless and speechless. He had stared at you for a minute when he came to walk you down from your room, then he’d said, all breathless even though both of you were just standing there, “You’re beautiful.”

You’re beautiful, not You look beautiful.

You don’t know why, but you appreciated it.

It made your cheeks burn underneath your artificial rosy blush. Stupid, you thought to yourself when you two made your way to the main hall. Stupid for letting yourself get dizzy because of a single compliment from him.

You’re seated with his parents, which makes sense because you don’t know anybody here except for them. Well, maybe you know one of his cousins whose kid you and Jungkook used to babysit whenever their family was in the city, but you doubt that he even remembers you anymore.

When the ceremony begins, your heart instantly feels like it’s about to drop to the pit of your stomach.

You can’t lie to yourself. It stings.

It stings just sitting here next to his parents like a daughter-in-law, like a member of their family, watching his brother solidify his happy ending.

It stings that Jungkook is standing up there, looking as handsome as ever, but his eyes aren’t on the couple. They keep flickering to you no matter how much you try to pretend that they don’t.

It stings that even though you don’t think about marriage often - or maybe you just don’t allow yourself to - you can’t deny that the thought does cross your mind from time to time. Any time that you’d wander the corridors inside your head, you’d pass the doors that you keep unopened on purpose but there’s always that one door marked with a bright red X that you can never sidestep.

You watch Junghyun and Sooji with their teary smiles and shaky hands, shaky but happy. There’s a sudden clarity that this could’ve been you and him in another life. Forever is a lie, but you would’ve perjured yourself a thousand times for him. I do - you would’ve meant it.

You imagine yourself in Sooji’s place, and Jungkook, standing right on the other side, holding both your hands in his. A beautiful and radiant bride terrified of the altar. A dashing groom with a smile that could rival the sun and shoulders weighing heavier than he lets on.

It would’ve looked clumsy, but it could’ve been right.

You wonder if he’s wondering the same thing. Maybe he is. You hope he is.

When the ceremony ends with a kiss shared between the newlyweds, you wipe away the tears that well up in your eyes. The people around you do the same thing, but they’re doing it for the right reason, out of genuine joy for the happy couple. You don’t think you can say the same for yourself.

Some of the bridesmaids fawn over him. It’s reasonable, you suppose. One tends to do that in the presence of Jeon Jungkook.

You watch as they come up to him one by one to ask him to dance, watch as he politely declines until they’re all stalking away with similar pouts on their faces. You watch him until his eyes lock on you, sitting at a table near the back, nursing a glass of champagne.

He weaves himself with ease through the people making their way to the dance floor. When he’s in front of you, he holds out a hand.

“Dance with me?” he asks, his doe eyes working overtime to lure you in with their sparkles, though you’d rather stay here where you can easily go unnoticed until the night ends. “One song?”

“I don’t know how,” you say, even as you’re taking his hand and standing up.

“I showed you how, remember?”

“That was a long time ago.”

He squeezes you reassuringly. “Just follow my lead,” he says, walking the both of you to the floor. “C’mon.”

Once the music starts, your heels stomp on his feet at least three times before you start finding the beat to move along to. Muscle memory, or whatever, is bullshit. You remember absolutely nothing of what he showed you.

You’re grateful that the song is slow, because it makes it easier for you to follow the beat with your two left feet. He takes one of your hands in his, the other settling on the small of your back, guiding you to move in a steady rhythm.

You feel his mother’s eyes on the two of you, because she must be somewhere nearby, watching you like a hawk. You feel his gaze on your face while you keep yours on the knot of his tie, just trying to keep your composure and to not step on his feet with your heels.

The blur of white that you catch from the periphery of your vision makes you turn your head. Sooji and Junghyun are close by, swaying together slowly to the soft music, both of them glowing with happiness. She must sense your eyes on her, because she lifts her gaze up to meet yours. She smiles at the sight of you and Jungkook, and you smile back, because you don’t know how else to respond to that.

You don’t say it, but you do think it. Your fingers tighten around his hand ever so slightly.

Could that have been us?

If the answer is yes, then it would hurt.

If the answer is no, then it would hurt.

The point of your story is that it’s painful however you choose to look at it. There’s no other way to frame it. It’s just painful, because you’re never going to get any of it back.

You bite your lip, then turn away from the happy couple but you still don’t look at Jungkook. You look at your hand in his, and that’s when you see it.

“How’d you get that?” you ask, gently tracing the inch of slightly raised skin on his knuckles. You never noticed the scar until now.

“It was four years ago, I think? After Taehyung and I almost got into a fight, I went outside and… punched a wall,” he says, wincing as he recalls the memory.

His answer takes you aback. “You and Taehyung got into a fight?”

“Almost,” he corrects. “It was a long time ago. Didn’t they tell you?”

“No, they didn’t say anything. What happened?”

“Nothing happened.”

“If it was really nothing, you wouldn’t have punched a wall.” You frown. It makes you miss a few beats, but the song isn’t what’s important now, even if Jungkook is still trying to steer you back into the dance. “Taehyung isn’t violent. You aren’t violent.”

“I’m serious,” he says finally. “It’s nothing. We were just drunk and stupid.”

You know there must be more to it, that something must have happened or been said to trigger such a reaction from both of them. But you also know that you won’t probably get anything out of Jungkook if he doesn’t want to tell you.

You give up, for now. “Fine. If you say so.” You’ll just have to weasel it out of Jimin later.

The song comes to an end, before another one comes on. If Jungkook remembers that he only asked for one song, maybe he’s counting his blessings that you’re still here and dancing with him, because he doesn’t mention it.

For some reason, you pull your hand away from his, only to slide up his shoulder to lock both of your hands behind his neck. He seems surprised, but he does the same around your waist.

Jungkook’s gaze flickers to your lips briefly, then back to your eyes again. You find yourself doing the same and wonder what he tastes like after all the time you’ve been apart. Is he still as sweet as you remember? You used to tease that it was because of the excessive sugar he put in everything, but you knew it was really just him. The few inches between you are so inviting that it’s practically tempting you to close the gap. You could, easily in fact. Blame it on one too many glasses of champagne later if you want.

He looks younger like this, like the boy you loved, starry eyes and dimpled smile. His shoulders are always the most comfortable resting place, the crook of his neck your long lost home. This is nice, you think, to see him again even though it feels like a fever dream. Memories of your first date, your first kiss, come to life before your eyes so realistically that you could almost touch them.

Loved? That sounds funny to you.

The people you used to be, souls wrapped in innocence, when the world was nothing but the arms of the person you loved. You reach out, and the memories quickly fade from view. The only trace they leave behind is a speck of gold on your fingertips, a memento of charming naiveté for you to tuck neatly away in the corner of your mind, but also a reminder that ah, they only exist in the locket of your heart now. Because he has changed, and you think you must have too. Life, as they say, goes on.

“We made it. Kind of. That’s crazy,” you find yourself saying.

“Did we?”

“You don’t think so?” you chuckle. “We’re in a group chat with the Kim Seokjin who spams it with bad jokes on a daily basis. I’d call that a win.”

That makes him laugh. “If you put it like that, yeah, maybe. Sure.”

Other people might be fooled, but it doesn’t sound at all convincing to you. The light doesn’t really reach his eyes. You bite the inside of your cheek, thinking of how to translate the sudden poignant turn of the moment.

“It isn’t everything you hoped it’d be?” you ask.

His shoulders rise then fall quickly in a second-long shrug. “I thought it would make me feel more… fulfilled. But it doesn’t. Not really.”

The way he says it and the way he’s looking at you makes your heart dive. You understand what he means. You’re good at what you do, and you don’t need reassurance from anyone to recognize that. But sometimes, it doesn’t feel like it’s enough. Doesn’t feel like it’s real, like it’s validated.

When you landed your first big project, even before Yoongi, you were so proud of yourself. You were bursting with excitement but you weren’t happy, and you knew what the reason was. Something was missing that couldn’t be filled, not even with all your friends’ hundreds of messages of encouragement.

It’s beyond stupid, this feeling like your wins amount to nothing at all just because of one person. You wanted him there to celebrate every achievement with you and he wasn’t, and the milestones seemed incomplete without the presence of him. It doesn’t feel like you’ve accomplished anything because this always used to be a dream you thought you’d make come true together.

“It’s lonely,” he concludes.

It sounds like he feels the same way, like he wanted you to be there too.

He suddenly holds you tighter than you think he needs to, like he’s afraid to let go of you. You imagine that he doesn’t want to let go of you, and it makes you feel better for a second. But it doesn’t change the fact that he still did in the end. And he will have to when this ends.

What was the point of this? Why did he bring this upon yourselves when he seems to be as hurt as you are? All of this time, all of these years, lost to what? You could’ve been happy together but instead, you were both lost and miserable.

When the music stops - you lost count of how many songs it’s been - you pull away from him. He looks disappointed, maybe even a little hurt for some reason.

“I’m gonna get some air,” you say, already turning away from him.

“Y/N-”

“I need some air.” Then you’re weaving through the dancing couples despite Jungkook calling your name. How did he manage it? How did he not look back when you called out for him?

You hastily grab your coat on the way out. It’s not going to keep you warm, but that’s not something you’re even remotely concerned with.

It’s everywhere, you feel it down to your bones.

The wind wraps itself tightly around you, intertwining in your hair, slipping through the cracks of your fingers, caressing your face in a chilling touch. You greet the cold like a long lost sister, shivering violently with nostalgia. It was there for you more than your own flesh and blood.

Is that why you like the sea at night? Because it reminds you of mom?

It’s dark out here, barely anything is visible except for a lighthouse sending out light in the quiet of the night. You can’t see much, but you can certainly hear it. You’re not sure if the music is coming from inside the venue, or if it’s still ringing in your ears. It’s probably the latter; you’re too far away to be able to catch the music anyway. But regardless, the tune is quickly drowned out by the sea.

The waves crash violently against the shore like it’s out for blood. There’s a magnetic pull, as if it’s calling out for you. You want to go to it, to reach out and feel the cold outside of your body for once, but you stay there despite your legs itching to stand up and run straight ahead. Into the water and down under.

You could lie down and close your eyes for a moment. The sound of the water, as sharp and brutal as it is, nurtures a part of you somehow.

You just want to be alone. You don’t want to talk to Taehyung, or Jimin, or even Yoongi.

Oh.

Yoongi.

It’s a terrible feeling, knowing that you’re going to hurt Yoongi. Knowing that you’re going to kill this even before it has a chance to truly begin.

Truth be told, you can’t envision a future with Yoongi. There isn’t anything wrong with him, because he’s not the problem here. Yoongi is fun, he’s considerate, he keeps things light on purpose for you, until you’re ready to initiate something more serious. He’s good for you, even Taehyung thinks so.

But you can’t love Yoongi, not in the way that he wants you to. Not more than you love Jungkook.

There you go. Ruining things again.

Did you ruin Jungkook? Is that what happened?

The layers on you are no match for the sea at night. The wind hisses relentlessly, biting at any part of your skin that’s exposed.

It takes you back to that night. Almost everything does, actually.

Maybe that’s why you never even stopped to consider starting anything with anyone, because it always ends. If there’s a beginning, then there will be an inevitable ending. Love isn’t made to last and you aren’t meant to carry love with you. You’ve been abandoned twice. If it happens a third time, it’s a pattern, and then your hypothesis will only be proven. That the problem here is you.

You’d be lying if you said you haven’t wondered when it’ll finally be Taehyung’s turn to leave. He eventually will, right? That one’s gonna hurt.

Then, you’re startled when someone calls your name.

“What’s wrong?” Jungkook asks. The wind and the waves masked the sound of his footsteps walking up to you. When you turn around to face him, his eyes grow worried, almost panicked. “Why are you crying?”

You breathe out irritatedly before you hastily wipe at your cheeks. You didn’t even realize that you’d been crying. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine,” you say, though you both know it’s a lie. “I’m just tired. I’m going up to my room.”

He catches your wrist in a firm grip when you try to walk away. You wish he’d just leave you alone, but you knew he wouldn’t drop it just like that.

“I said I’m fine,” you insist.

“You were crying,” he says. “Did I do something wrong?”

He didn’t, at least not tonight.

God, you really don’t want to do this right now.

“Jungkook,” you warn. “Let go of me.”

You try to free yourself from his grip, hoping that he’ll get the hint and back off for now. Instead, he pulls you into his chest, where you struggle to escape from his hold until you realize your efforts are futile. He takes the wind’s place, wound tightly around you, so tightly that it’s nearly impossible for you to move.

You hiss out his name, but he doesn’t budge.

“Jungkook, can you just- Fuck!”

Damn him.

You realize he’s not giving up, which in turn makes you give up struggling, hoping that if you let this be a moment, then it’ll be something that can pass.

You’re just standing there, letting him hold you, letting yourself be held by the person who broke you in the first place. This feels exactly like where you’re supposed to be - in his arms, with your face hidden in the crook of his neck, his gentle fingers stroking your hair. There’s not a lot that you could do but lean into that feeling the same way you lean into him. One foot in the sand, one foot in the past. A hand on the doorknob of time, wondering if you should look back or look forward.

You want to be alone, but that never used to apply with him.

The wind stills, the sea calms. You remain unmoving too, locked in his embrace. You feel the faint rhythm of his heart, beating faster than you think it should. If you could, you would bottle this moment up and live there forever.

I miss you, you think.

I miss you.

Then your arms are around him too. It only makes him hold you tighter, and all you can think about is how much you miss him, how painful it is to miss him, how you feel like you’re being pulled apart at the seams from the weight of missing him.

Fuck.

Can you pretend that the last few years never happened? Is there a higher power that would allow you to go back to the night before that wretched Wednesday, when everything was still perfect? Hundreds of days of your life, can you pretend that it was just one long nightmare? When you wake up, you’ll be back in his humble apartment, tangled up together in his bed. Warm sunlight, your silken youth, and him. It was all you ever needed.

Again with the devastating familiarity. The city, the beach. His mother’s warmth that always made you reminisce about your own mother’s coldness. How Jungkook used to find you in moments like this and just stayed by your side until the dejection passed. He understood that he could never understand it the way you did.

You hear yourself sniffle, then you feel him press a kiss into your hair. Home is comforting.

Oh, you never want to leave.

You don’t want to leave, and that’s terrifying.

You allow yourself to stay there for one more second - one endless second - so you could commit to memory what it’s like to be with him. Back and forth. It’s always so easy to fall into him.

Jungkook releases you when he feels you loosen after a while, and you reluctantly meet his eyes as he tilts your head to face him. His fingers cradling your jaw, how warm and delicate they feel on your skin.

You swallow thickly, your mind going blank. He’s the only person you see, the only one that matters. His eyes flicker south, and even then you don’t make any move to run away, despite his loose grip on your waist telling you that you can if you want to.

You told him that it would pass, and maybe for him, it will. For him, it’s the city and the moment, making him feel like he’s caught up in a page that he’s turned over a long time ago. He was fine with leaving, and he’s been fine without you. It will pass for him, as much as it hurts you to admit it.

But not for you. For you, there’s only him. There’s nobody else but him. It’s always been him, no matter how hard you try to tell yourself that there will be another person you can love as much as you love Jungkook. You might only be a page, perhaps even a chapter, in the story of his life, but he’s your entire book. He’s volume after volume after volume, until he takes up the whole shelf and leaves no room for anything else, not even for yourself.

And now here he is - at the biggest turn in your career.

He’s a bad blood cell you can’t ever get rid of.

You’ll never be able to truly let go of him. How could you? When you truly love someone, those feelings will carry on forever. They’ll always have a piece of your heart despite an ending. When you look back on a certain period in your life, you’ll think to yourself, You’ll always be a part of me. I loved you then.

But Jungkook is a force of nature. He has your whole heart.

Years and years from now, when you look back on your life, you know you’ll see him everywhere. Even when you’re old and gray, and when faces all just blur together in a mosaic of broken memories and long lost youth, you know you’ll still remember him - the person you loved, the one whom you let slip through your fingers. The great love of your life when you were young.

Sometimes, you regret that day. You can’t help feeling like it was your fault too. Maybe you should’ve tried harder to keep him. You should’ve fought harder, should’ve held onto him instead of standing there and watching him leave.

He lit the match, and you let the house burn. It takes two to tango, two to break a heart.

You’re quick to let people leave. Oh, how you wish it could be that easy to let them go too.

It isn’t until your eyes mimic the flicker of his gaze that he leans in. You meet him halfway. For the first time in years, you feel like you could breathe, truly breathe. It’s achingly slow, like neither of you can believe that this is happening.

You sigh against his mouth when his tongue brushes your bottom lip, slips past the seal to devour you. It feels like a perfect dream. You could stay in this bubble with him forever, pretend that you’re the only two people who exist in the world and there’s nothing else, no one else, waiting for you in a city that seems so far away right now. The thought of him never left you, not even for a second. He’s always been with you everywhere you go, no matter what you do, always in the back of your mind.

He tastes like your youth, like remembrance. He kisses you like he’s still yours when deep down you know that you’re still his. The hand on your jaw is gentle but firm, and it makes you repeat a thought, I miss you.

Then a feeling, I love you.

Not then. Now.

I love you now.

I love you even when I shouldn’t. Even when it hurts. Even when you leave me. Even when you don’t love me more than I love you. If there comes a day where you love somebody else, I will still love you then. There will never be another person for me but you. My first and only love.

When he pulls away, you think it’s too quick, even though your lungs are grateful for the breath that you instantly inhale. You stare at his lips like you’re in a daze, mesmerized, wanting to chase them again. You don’t even know how you have it in yourself to utter these next words, but you hear your own voice saying them anyway.

You’re holding onto him now. Doesn’t that count?

“Let’s…” Your fingers tighten on the collar of his dress shirt. “Let’s go up to your room.”

note (2): so... what do we think?? will they?? won't they?? 😵 stay tuned for obs7.5 which will be dropping 29.09.2023! also i'm gonna pause obs muse asks for a little bit! 😬

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writingonleaves · 1 year

Text

i never could've seen you coming (i think you're everything i've wanted) - nico hischier

pairing: nico hischier x original female character

warnings: swearing, mentions of death and cancer, a substantial amount of grief, so much fluff, medical school inaccuracies probably, angst if you squint, way too many mentions of all three hughes brothers..like an absurd amount (but it's part of the plot, i promise)

title: "the blue" by gracie abrams

word count: 19.7k (whoops!)

author's note: got WAY too carried away with this one lol so you may see more of this little au bc i really fell in love with it. this turned almost into a study on found family / siblinghood?? i hope you all enjoy it just as much as i enjoyed writing it and creating this little world. takes place in the 2023-2024 season.

*****

In hindsight, it probably would’ve been smarter to live closer to work and actually be in the city. But when word got around — well, her mother telling her best friend — that Clementine was going to be even close to New Jersey, she had, in order, Luke, Quinn and Jack texting her within an hour of each other.

Lukey Hughes

Clemmy!! Congrats on the residency. Heard you’re gonna be across the river from jersey?? 👀

Quinny Hughes

Congrats on NYU! I’m happy you get to go back east even though I won’t get to see you as often. Don’t let Luke or Jack annoy you too much. Love and miss you! ❤️

Jacky Hughes

CLEMENTINE

you’re coming to new york????

you have to live with me please please please it’s not that far

and luke will probably be here next season and ik he’s your favorite

When Clementine Sandoval found out she was placed at NYU Langone for her combined emergency room and pediatrics residency, she thought two things. Holy shit, she actually has made it this far. And holy shit, she’s excited to go back closer to home, after spending undergrad and med school in the west coast. She’s found a love for California, but nothing beats the east.

She called Jack for his birthday days after the Devils got knocked out of playoffs. She doesn’t get to talk to Jack and Luke — any of the Hughes brothers, really — as often as she’d like. She sees them even less, ever since she left for California and they moved away to Michigan from Toronto. She always tries to see Quinn and Jack whenever they come out to play at San Jose, but otherwise, that’s it. She hasn’t seen Luke since the Hughes family graciously invited her and her mom to Luke’s draft almost two years ago. So whenever she does get a chance to catch up with her childhood friends, it’s always a treat.

It took Jack — and Luke — exactly 34 minutes over the phone to convince her to move in with them. The largest part of the discussion was how much money she’d contribute for rent. She was adamant to split it three ways evenly. Jack shot that down immediately, and that resulted in a slight — read: intense — disagreement (“I don’t give a fuck that you’re making $8 million a year, Jack Rowden. I’m paying my part of the rent.”). He refused to back down, and they came to an amount that she was semi-happy with, though she insisted that she’d be in charge of buying groceries. Deep down, she knows he and Luke will fight her on that too.

She finished out med school, went on a 10-day vacation to Europe with her friends and went back to her mom’s place in Massachusetts for a weekend, where she grabbed the key that Jack had shipped to her. Her mom helped her pack the car, and off she went to Hoboken, where she’d be living by herself in the extremely spacious apartment until Jack (and Luke) came back for pre-season in September.

Residency started off without a hitch, Clementine loving the fact that she got to actually work with patients more. The commute to the hospital isn’t ideal — a 10 minute drive to the station before hopping on the train for almost 45 minutes — but after years of having to drive around everywhere for years, it doesn’t faze her much. It’s a time to decompress after a long shift and reflect or wake herself up for the long day ahead, and it gives her time to read or listen to music or podcasts on the train. Some of her fellow residents live nearby and are always gracious enough to let her crash on their couch after particularly grueling shifts. The first two months are peaceful if tiring, the apartment always being a welcomed silence when she walks in.

Early September arrives, and she’s coming home after an overnight shift when she walks out of the elevator to the apartment. She thinks she might hear voices coming from inside her apartment, but they’re more likely in her exhausted brain, so she turns her key and pushes open the door.

It takes her a moment while taking off her shoes to freeze. There are voices in the apartment. She carefully walks towards the voices, heart starting to race, before it immediately calms down and relief washes over her.

“Jesus Christ! A warning would’ve been nice. I thought someone broke in.”

All three Hughes brothers turn their heads towards her, all looking a bit worse for wear probably due to the fact that it’s just past 7 am. Though it’s nothing Clementine hasn’t seen before. When your mothers are still really close after playing soccer together at UNH and both families happen to settle down in nearby towns in the suburbs of Toronto, you’ve all seen each other the morning after sleepovers. When you’re an only child and call these three your brothers, you’ve practically seen everything. They all blink at each other before someone — Jack — comes to their senses.

“Clee!” Jack exclaims, sliding in his socks across the floor to pull her into a very tight hug. She feels gross and probably doesn’t smell much better, but she can’t bring herself to care as she hugs Jack, smile widening when she feels both Quinn and Luke putting their arms around her as she’s put in the middle of a group hug. They eventually let go, and then she hugs them all individually.

She pouts, looking up at Luke. “This is so unfair. You’re so much taller than me now.”

Luke smirks, ruffling her hair. “Good to see you too, Clemmy.”

She beams up at him. “Happy birthday, by the way. Big 20!”

“Thank you.”

She yawns. “So what’s going on? I thought you two weren’t supposed to be back until next week.” She points at Quinn. “And what are you doing here?”

“Not happy to see us?” Quinn teases.

“Always happy to see you guys. But I did just have an overnight shift and I need to be in bed within the next 20 minutes.”

“We know.” Jack says excitedly. “Did you not suspect anything when I was asking specific questions about your schedule for this week?”

She thinks back to the last time she FaceTimed Jack. He did seem awfully inquisitive. She shrugs. “I’m too old and tired to question your antics anymore, Jacky.”

“You’re only 26?”

“And you just turned 20. I’m old.” she says to Luke as he passes her a glass of water. “Quinny, aren’t you supposed to be in Vancouver soon?”

“Yeah, actually. I’m only here for the day to go to the US Open and celebrate Moose’s birthday. I’m on a flight out tomorrow at noon.”

She pouts, but her heart warms at the reminder that these three are still so close. “So soon.”

“Captain duties, am I right?” Jack says.

It takes her a moment to realize what he just said before her jaw drops and she whips her head towards the eldest Hughes. “Are you serious?” Quinn just nods sheepishly. “Quinn!” She wraps him in another hug again. “That’s incredible. Oh my goodness. Congratulations!”

“Thanks, Clem.”

She places her hands on his cheeks. “I’m so proud of you. Not surprising at all though. Do Ellen and Jim know? I bet they’re pumped.”

“Yeah, they do. It won’t get announced until Monday though.”

“That’s awesome. Holy shit, Quinn.” She looks at the younger two. “So are you guys back for good?”

“I am. Jack isn’t. He has to go to Vegas for media day the day after tomorrow.”

She blinks. “I’m confused. Then why the fuck are you all here? You could’ve just gone to Vegas early or something. Or not make the trip here and come back when you have to be back.”

“To see you, duh. I wanted to see you on my birthday, and it’ll be awhile until we’re all in the same place again.” Luke shrugs. Like it’s not a big deal. Like they didn’t just fly from wherever the fuck to Jersey for barely a day before two of them have to fly back across the country because they wanted to see her and be together.

“God, I-just,” she yawns. “That’s so disgustingly sweet. And I love you three. I really do. But-”

“You need sleep, yeah. We figured. Well, good news for you, you’re not needed until later anyways!” Jack beams.

She blinks. “What’s later?”

“We’re heading to Aunt Lara’s to celebrate Luke’s birthday. Mostly an excuse for some of the family to gather one last time for the summer.” Jack says.

“Also to celebrate Quinn getting captain,” Luke adds with a small eye roll.

“And I’m assuming I’m coming to that?”

Jack blinks like she’s being ridiculous. “Uh, duh. And I know you have a day off tomorrow, so you can’t use that as an excuse. Geegs wants to see you. Everyone wants to see you, to be honest. Mom’s making your favorite just for you.”

She lights up. “Her pumpkin pie?”

“Yup.”

“I’ll be there,” she salutes to them as she stops at her bedroom archway. “Have fun watching tennis. I’ll see you when you get back?”

“Mmhmm. We’ll drive there together.”

“Brilliant,” she blows them all a kiss. “Goodnight. Or good morning. Whatever.” They all snicker as she goes into her bedroom, beelining for the shower.

She emerges from her bedroom again at around 1:30 p.m., her stomach begging for food. She wipes the sleep away from her eyes as she heads towards the kitchen. She reaches for the coffee machine and pauses when she sees a sticky note on the handle of the pot.

Left some pasta for you in the fridge. xoxo Quinn

She smiles, making herself a cup of coffee before opening the fridge and reheating the chicken alfredo pasta. She waits for the microwave to beep by checking her phone for the news and any unread messages (the only one being from Ellen, who’s thrilled that she’s coming by tonight.)

After eating, she realizes she should probably get something to bring tonight, and ventures a few blocks to a nearby florist. Fresh flowers can’t hurt, right? After she pays for the bouquet, she has a double take walking by the bakery she only treats herself to after an especially exhausting day. Luke has always been weak for chocolate chip cookies, and this bakery does them like no other. She grabs a box of a dozen.

Around an hour later, the front door opens again and Luke practically vibrates at the smell of the still-fresh cookies on the counter. All three of them dig in as she quickly changes, putting on a basic blue sundress and pulling out a sweater in case she gets cold. It feels like it’s been forever since she’s worn anything that isn’t scrubs. She spritzes some perfume on and ties on three very important friendship bracelets that have somehow not fallen apart even after almost a decade.

As expected, when she walks out, Quinn’s the one who notices what’s on her wrist first. He grins, surprised. “I didn’t know you still had those.”

She shrugs, fiddling with the loose threads. “They were very important to me. They still are.”

Jack stops chewing and his eyes widen, finally realizing. “Holy shit, Clee. We made those for you, like..”

“Right before I left for college? Yeah.” She takes the last bit of a cookie out of Luke’s hand. He doesn’t even bat an eye. “I don’t wear them as often anymore because I don’t want the possibility of them getting ruined or losing them at the hospital or anything. You know I wore them when I opened my acceptance letter into Stanford, right? And I wore them under my shirt when I had my interview with NYU.” She thinks she sees Quinn’s eyes water. She definitely knows she sees Luke swallowing roughly as Jack stares at her with some sort of reverence in his eyes. But she also knows her boys and just shrugs, changing the subject to make them more comfortable again. “We leaving soon?”

“Yeah. Let me just take a piss,” Luke says as he walks towards the bathroom.

“I call dibs after!” Quinn calls out.

“What the fuck?” Jack exclaims. “I need to go really bad too.”

“Just go to the one in my room, Jack.” She says, rolling her eyes. He huffs, giving Quinn a glare before disappearing into her bedroom. She sits down in the chair that Jack had just been occupying. “God, I can’t believe I’m gonna be living with those two. Am I regressing?”

Quinn snorts, “Probably. How is residency, by the way?”

She sighs. “Good. Busy and tiring and really fucking hard, but that’s to be expected. I’m currently in the NICU, so it’s been interesting seeing all the babies and the reasons they’re in there for. They’re also just so fragile, which, obviously, but it’s been good. I really love it.”

Quinn hums thoughtfully. “That’s badass, honestly. But everything you do is badass in my eyes.”

“Well, it’s quite badass in my eyes that one of my dearest friends is the captain of the Vancouver Canucks at 23.”

She feels a bit of a thrill at the blush that so easily paints his cheeks. “Nothing compared to you saving lives.”

“Hey,” she warns. “None of that here. We don’t do that.”

He just nods, leaning in to kiss her temple gently. “I’m sad that I’m gonna be seeing you less now, but I’m so happy for you. Least I’ll worry less about Jack and Luke now that you’re here.”

“Oh please. You’ll always worry about them.”

He hums, not even giving an answer because they both know the truth. She wraps an arm around his waist, tucking herself into his side and even though he’s standing and she’s sitting, she feels the most comfort she’s felt in awhile.

Nothing brings her peace like these three boys, who have always believed in her and loved her before she was anything. They could be shouting at each other and never let her get a word in and she would still feel right at home

Later that night, as she’s catching up with everyone and eating Ellen’s pumpkin pie, she’s reminded that this whole family has always brought her peace. Ellen has always said she’s like the daughter she always wanted and Jim has always been like a father to her, especially the last decade. Geegs treats her just like she treats all her grandchildren, fussing over her and insisting that she needs to eat more because “you must be so stressed all the time at the hospital, running around and saving lives.” Everyone important and close to them have always known that the Hughes brothers and Clementine are the kind of package deal that will always be strong, even if it spans countries. It’s the three boys and Clementine always.

As she watches everyone sing happy birthday to Luke, watching him tower over everybody, his face poorly lit with the candles, she places both her hands over her heart while he blows the candles and everyone cheers.

This chapter of her life is already shaping up to be pretty damn good.

…..

She’s had October 12 circled in her calendar ever since Jack convinced her to move in. The day of the regular season home opener of the Devils.

After her shift, she ducks into the staff bathroom and changes into leggings and a Devils jersey, Hughes and 86 on the back. Jack and Luke lost some sort of bet that had the latter pouting and the former in absolute glee. She had just rolled her eyes. She’d just wear her 43 jersey to the next game.

As she’s clocking out, one of her fellow residents and probably the one she’s closest to, Emilia, just raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t know you were a hockey fan.”

Clementine shrugs, swiping her ID card through the reader. She never distinctly mentions her relations to America’s Hockey Family or whatever the hell the media calls them unless directly asked, but she’s sure she’s dropped some hints at happy hour, especially when asked why she’s living in Jersey. “Practically grew up with three of them. Osmosis, perhaps.”

Emilia must connect the dots because she offers a small smile. “My husband’s a big Rangers fan, so don’t tell him I said this, but Jack’s fun to watch. He’s shifty.” She laughs and bids her friend farewell, walking towards the elevator.

Jack and Luke got her a seat in one of the boxes that’s reserved for family and significant others, the home opener bringing in a larger crowd than usual. She doesn’t know anyone, but that’s okay, because right when she walks into the box, a beautiful blonde strolls over and introduces herself with a big smile. You must be Clementine. I’m Ryleigh, she says, Dawson’s girlfriend. Jack told her to be on the lookout for her.

She makes quick friends with Ryleigh as they grab a drink and situate themselves. The younger girl introduces Clementine to Kristen, her adorable boy Henrik and Barbora and her sweet girl Adelka. She kneels down to play with both kids, mindlessly answering questions about her life from the women. It’s refreshing getting to speak to people about things that aren’t solely residency or medical school related.

God, she needs to get out more.

The opening night celebrations are fun, and she cheers extra loudly when Jack and Luke’s names get called. Everyone’s on a high after a 4-3 win, and Clementine dutifully follows Ryleigh and everyone else out of the box and some tunnels that somehow lead towards the locker room. Her stomach is filled, thanks to the food and the drinks, and she’s happily buzzing. She’s excited to be able to hopefully watch more games now that she’s living here.

Around 30 minutes later, both Jack and Dawson come out at the same time. She briefly watches as the couple embraces before Ryleigh turns to introduce Clementine, who smiles as Dawson wraps her in a friendly hug. She bids them both goodbye as they walk out.

“Clee! Did you see my goals?” Jack says after she hugs him, ruffling her hair.

She rolls her eyes with a smile, adjusting his collar. “Of course I did. Saw the two penalties too. Good game, Jackson.”

He beams like a child who just got a gold sticker. “Thank you.”

“Where’s Luke?”

“Taking his sweet ass time.”

She instinctively shoves him. “Be nice.”

Jack opens his mouth, no doubt about to say something snarky, before something beyond her shoulder catches his attention. “Neeks! Come here for a second.” She turns around to see maybe one of the prettiest guys she’s ever seen in her life. Obviously, she knows who Nico Hischier is, but goddamn, is he beautiful up close.

She sticks out her hand with a small smile. “Captain. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Just Nico’s fine,” he smiles, shaking her hand before running his hand through his hair. Gosh, he’s cute. “You must be Clementine. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

She automatically grimaces. “Oh no.” She turns to Jack. “Are you just as mean to me behind my back as you are to my face?”

Jack’s jaw drops. “Absolutely not! I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m so nice to you.”

Nico laughs. “It’s all good things, I promise. And anyone who has dealt with Jack since he was a kid is a good person in my book.”

“Hey!” Jack says indignantly. “Clee loves me.”

Both Clementine and Nico decide promptly to ignore him. “You’re living with Jack and Luke now, right?” Nico asks.

“Yeah. It’s cheaper than living in the city, and it’s nice to have them around again.” She says. Jack beams.

“You were out west before?”

Shit. Does Jack talk about her that much? “I was. I did my undergrad at UCLA, and then went to Stanford for med school. So the last eight years, I’ve been a west coaster.”

“But back east now?”

“Back east now.”

“For..residency? Right? Is that the next step?”

“Yup. I just started my residency at NYU in July,” she grins cheekily at Jack. “And now I get to bother this one all the time.”

Luke comes out and brightens up, adjusting his beanie. “Hi Clemmy!”

“Hey Lukey,” she goes on her tiptoes to give him a hug. “Good game.”

“Thanks,” he mutters into her shoulder before pulling away. “I’m hungry. Do we still have the chicken you made yesterday?”

She snorts. “Yeah. Unless someone ate it during the day.”

“Yay,” Luke says sleepily. “How was work?”

“Not as tiring as playing a game, I’m sure.”

Luke pulls a face. “Liar. You’re a doctor. And you deal with kids all day.”

“I’m barely a doctor. And I love kids.”

“Still.”

Jack snorts. “I think we should get the big baby to bed.” He expertly avoids Luke’s slap. “See you tomorrow, Hisch?”

Nico nods. “Get some rest, you two. Good game. And it was nice to meet you, Clementine. I hope I see you around more often.”

Clementine grins. “You too, Nico. See you around.” She puts her arms around both Jack and Luke’s shoulder. Or tries to. “Drive me home, friends.”

In the car, as she’s in the backseat and looking outside the window, after Jack discreetly nudges him, Luke turns around to look at her. “So, Cap, huh? He’s a pretty good looking guy.”

She immediately knows what they’re trying to do. “Absolutely not, Luke. You are way too young to be trying to set me up.”

“What?” Luke whines. “I’m just saying. I saw you two eyeing each other up.”

“You’re seeing things.”

“Wait,” Jack says, making a left turn. “Moose, you might be onto something here.”

“I know I am.” Luke says, in a matter-of-fact voice that it seems like only youngest children can get away with. “Clemmy, you have to admit that Nico’s cute.”

‘Okay, sure. He’s objectively attractive. I could say the same thing about you. Or Jack. Or Quinn.”

“Ew,” Jack says, like the middle child he is. “Also, you’re totally his type. Pretty. Smart as hell. Lowkey. Doesn’t care that he plays hockey.”

“I’m also a resident right now, so I got no time to date, Jacky.”

“You’ve never had time to date,” Jack points out. “When was the last time you went on a date anyway?”

“A few months ago!” She says hotly. She will not let them know that her romantic life has been dry for years.

“With who?” Luke shoots back.

“Another resident, actually. Thank you very much.”

Jack snorts. “And how did that go?” She pouts. “Exactly,” Jack says. “Maybe the key is to expand your horizons. Get away from the snobby doctors you always complain about.”

“Let it go, Jackson.” She warns. “Before I start harping on you two about your love lives. If you bring girls home, keep it confined to your rooms. And don’t even think about giving them my shit.”

They both cackle as the light turns green, exchanging knowing looks that Clementine misses.

…..

She’s coming back from a brutal overnight shift when a familiar voice asks her to hold the elevator door open. She blinks as Nico blinks back, dressed in a sweatshirt and sweatpants. He looks awfully cozy. She can imagine that she looks like she got chewed and spit back out.

She musters a smile. “Hey there.”

“Good morning,” he smiles back. “You coming back from work?”

“Yup.” She presses the button for 17 as the doors shut. “What are you and Jack and Luke up to today?”

“Not sure. I think some of us are going out to breakfast. Would you like to come?”

She chuckles, leaning her back against the wall. “I appreciate the invite, truly. I just feel like if I have to be awake for 10 more minutes, I might collapse.”

He bites his lip and stares down at his feet. She thinks it’s endearing. “Right. Sorry. Of course you’re tired.”

“Don’t be sorry,” she says. “Residency life is weird. Almost as weird as a hockey player’s.”

The doors open and Nico nods for her to go through first. “I don’t know about that. I live a pretty simple life.”

“Interesting way to define simple, Captain.” She teases. And he shrugs modestly. Clementine starts to wonder if there’s any arrogant bone in his body. He waits as she unlocks the door, closing it behind her. She walks in to see Jack pouring out a glass of juice and Luke sitting on the couch. “Found someone who may be of interest on my way up.”

She listens to Nico greet the two as she puts her bag down and lets her hair out of her ratty ponytail. “Wanna come to breakfast with us?” Luke asks with a hopeful smile.

“Sorry, Lukey,” she says apologetically. “I’m literally a walking zombie right now. Another time?”

He pouts. “Fine. I miss you though. I feel like you’ve been MIA.”

“I wasn’t the one who was just on a long ass roadie,” she points out, giving Jack a side hug.

Nico looks around. “You guys do something different with the place? It looks different from what I remember.”

“We gave Clee free reign to spice it up a bit when she came here in the summer.”

Nico hums. “It looks nice. More…”

“Lived in? Homey? Clean?” She jokes, downing a glass of water.

The captain laughs. She watches his dimples deepen and blinks to herself several times. “All of the above,” he says. “I especially like the pillows.”

She beams. “Thank you. My mom embroidered the pillowcases.”

“Are you sure you don’t wanna come with us, Clee?” Jack begs. “We promise it’ll be quick.”

“Next time,” she promises. “I’m so, so tired.”

Nico clears his throat. “The team’s having a Friendsgiving thing in a couple of weeks since we’ll be on the road during actual Thanksgiving. I don’t know if these two have mentioned it yet, but you’re totally invited. It’s just gonna be the team and their families or whoever else they want to bring.”

“Is it at your place?” Clementine asks.

“No.”

“So is it really your invite to extend? I don’t want to intrude.”

Jack rolls his eyes. “I was gonna ask you tonight. Hisch just beat me to it. It’s at Toff’s place. Of course you’re invited, so please come.”

She yawns. “Unless I have an overnight again, I’ll be sure to come. And even if I do, I’ll try to reschedule.”

“Atta girl,” Jack says. “You really need to get out more.” Clementine just flips him off, making Luke and Nico laugh.

“Enjoy your day, boys.” She calls out as she walks to her room. She hears them all yell out some sort of response before closing her door.

(As soon as she closes the door, Jack nudges Nico’s shoulder with his. “Make it less obvious, dude.”

Nico’s eyebrows scrunch together in confusion. “Make what less obvious?”

“That you’re interested in Clemmy.” Luke says dryly from the couch. “That’s basically our sister.”

“What?” Nico hisses, aware that she’s right down the hall. “I don’t-I mean, yeah she’s pretty. But I barely know her.”

“But you want to. You’ve wanted to ever since we showed you pictures of her,” Nico doesn’t even have the chance to defend himself as Jack smirks like the menace he is. “Don’t worry, Cap. One day you’ll catch her when she’s not sleep deprived and acting as an actual human being and you’ll be able to sweep her off her feet.”

Nico swallows. “She doesn’t seem like the kind of person who’d fall for that.”

“She wouldn’t. Which is why you’re perfect. So many of my friends throughout the years have tried to hit on her. Hasn’t worked once.”

“Aren’t you, like, four years younger than her?” Nico says. “That’s probably why.”

Luke scoffs. “Good point.” He’s been less pushy about it compared to Jack, partially because he’s not as comfortable with Nico yet and partially because he’s not Jack. “She’s a good one though, Cap. You’d be lucky.” He says.

Nico just nods.)

Early the next week when Clementine goes in, she finds out that one of her babies in the NICU she had been taking care of had died. It’s not necessarily the first time she’s dealt with death in her young career, but it’s still not easy. She goes through the rest of the day robotically, simultaneously trying to pick apart what she could’ve done differently while trying to forget about it completely.

The only upside — if there is one — was that she wasn’t there when the baby’s parents were told. Fuck, she’s not looking forward to when she has to do that one day.

During her lunch break, she calls Jack.

“Hello?”

“Jacky?”

“Clee? Is everything okay?”

She swallows. “I’m sorry. I can’t keep track. Do you have a game tonight?”

“No. Day off today. Game tomorrow. What’s wrong? Aren’t you at work?”

“Yeah. I am. Uh, what were you planning on doing tonight?”

“Nico’s coming over and we were just gonna chill. Luke’s going on a date, I think. Or doing something. Shit, I swear I told you.”

She blinks. “You probably did. I just, sorry. I haven’t been-”

“Stop apologizing,” Jack chastises. “How about we get take out from your favorite Greek place and have a movie night? I can tell Nico to come by another time.”

“No, no! Of course Nico can come. It’s your place.”

“It’s yours now too.”

She swallows. “He can come by. Greek food sounds really good though.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. I’ll order some. Do you want me to go into the city to get you after work?”

“Fuck no. Are you crazy? That would be the worst drive.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind. Clee, I don’t wanna-you don’t sound like you’re okay.”

She tries to steady her voice. Worrying Jack is the last thing she wants to do. “I’m okay, Jacky. I promise. As long as you have the Greek food ready when I’m home.”

“You got it,” Jack softens. “I love you, Clementine.”

“Love you too. I’ll see you later.”

“Bye.”

When she finally makes her way back to Hoboken, she feels a bit better. She hears murmured voices right before she unlocks the front door.

“Hey,” she greets Jack and Nico.

Jack barrels over, hugging her tightly with a smile. She involuntarily lets out a relieved sigh. “Lucky timing. I just got the food.”

“Lovely. Let me just take a quick shower and change and I’ll be right out.” She gives Nico a quick but friendly smile. “Hi Nico.”

“Hey Clementine.”

“Be right back.” She takes a quick shower and throws on leggings and a UCLA sweatshirt, choosing to let her hair air dry. When she comes back out, food from her favorite Greek place in Jersey that she discovered over the summer is laid out, along with a glass of iced tea. She could cry.

“Long day?” Jack asks.

She snorts, digging into her grape leaves. “You could say that. What’s been going on with you two?”

Jack knows her well enough by now that this is permission for him to ramble about anything and everything, from the more-than-usual brutal game last night against the Stars to how shitty his fantasy team is doing this week. Clementine just munches on her food while the two hockey players talk amongst themselves, her chiming in every once in awhile. She learns more about the girl Luke is currently on a date with (which isn’t saying much, because Jack barely knows anything and Nico knows even less) and complains that none of the brothers tell her these things. She only just found out that Quinn’s in a serious relationship. When Jack tries to protest with that fact she’s literally been on the other side of the country for the last eight years, she doesn’t wanna hear it.

She finishes her iced tea. “How about you, Nico? You got any siblings?”

“Uh, yeah. An older brother and an older sister.”

“You close with them?

“Extremely.”

“Do they tell you who they’re dating and do you tell them who you’re dating?”

He hesitates. “Usually, yes.”

She gives Jack a pointed look. “See? Be like Nico.”

Jack snorts. “Please. If I were more like Neeks, you would have no one to pick on. Nico’s too perfect.”

She raises an eyebrow, shifting her gaze to Nico and she thinks she sees him blush. Nico clears his throat. “I don’t know about that.”

“Also, never listen to Clee. I’m her least favorite. She always makes fun of me.”

“Not true,” she shoots back. “You’re all my favorites.”

“What are siblings for if not for humbling you?” Nico asks. “I’m sure if you didn’t have Clementine here around growing up, your head would be way bigger than it already is.”

“Captain’s got a point,” she sings, gathering their trash. She waves both guys away when they reach out to help. “Season’s been pretty good so far, right?”

“Thought you would be too scatterbrained to be keeping track.” Jack retorts.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t check the scores when I can.” She says, poking his side. Jack yelps.

“You know what? Maybe you deserve to be her least favorite,” Nico jokes. “You’re so mean to her.”

“Hey!” Jack protests.

“Thank you, Nico.” Clementine beams. “Finally, someone with sense around here. You gotta come around more.”

“Season’s going well, thank you for asking.” Jack sasses. “Oh, that reminds me. Trevor asked me if you were gonna come to the game when the Ducks are in town. Demanded, actually. Said that it’s been too long since he’s seen you and that he misses you. Not like you used to get to see him when you were in California or anything.”

She rolls her eyes. “When is he in town?”

“Sometime in December, I think.”

“Then yeah. I’ll be there. Not like I have a life outside of work anyways, as you always remind me.”

“You know Zegras?” Nico asks, before shaking his head. “Actually, yeah. Of course you do, if you grew up with Jack.”

“Not as well as you might think, though, to be fair.” She says, wanting to assure Nico that he isn’t completely wrong. “By the time Jack got into the development program, I was already out at UCLA. I was out there even before Quinn got into the program. Right at the same time, I guess. But you know, during the summers, wherever Jack is, Trevor usually isn’t far behind. He’s a good kid.”

“Clee kinda really is everyone’s older sister,” Jack says, passing a beer to Nico and a glass of wine to Clementine. “You should see how much Luke’s Michigan boys love her. And they’ve literally only met her once. Or never.”

Clementine waves Jack’s comment away. “It’s only because Luke calls me the most out of you three. And he’s my baby! I literally remember holding him when he was born.”

And the rest of the night is like this, as they exchange stories and memories, some she’s a part of, some she’s not and just likes listening to. Little mention of her work, which she’s so thankful for and knows in the back of her head is a purposeful play on Jack’s part.

Even though she already wasn’t around when Jack left for New Jersey, she worried about him, especially after his tough rookie year. She still remembers the occasional calls she’d get of him breathing heavily and stumbling over his words and how she could do nothing about it across the country except offer a listening ear and some big sister comfort verbally.

But now, watching Nico’s addicting smile and listening to his soft, comforting voice, she’s starting to see that Nico stepped up in that role so seamlessly and so well. It’s no wonder Jack always speaks so highly of his captain. Nico was there, and still is there, when she can’t be, whether it’s because she’s physically so far or just doesn’t understand because she isn’t a first overall draft pick. Sure, one could argue that it’s the duty of a captain. But she can tell it’s mostly because Nico is a caring guy.

That puts Nico pretty fucking high up in her good graces already.

(Clementine retires to bed soon after, not before making sure by text from Luke that he’s safe and good. Once her bedroom door clicks, Jack attacks.

“So…thoughts?”

“On Clementine?” Jack nods and Nico shrugs casually. “She’s great.”

“Come on, Hisch. You gotta give me more than that.”

“What do you want me to say?” Jack makes some sort of vague gesture and Nico sighs. “She’s quick, smart, funny. Deals with all your shit and you can tell she still loves you a lot. I didn’t-I mean, I knew you guys were close. I didn’t know you were that close though.”

Jack shrugs. “Yeah. Honestly I consider myself as close to her as I am to Luke or Quinn. She’s just, you know, been around for so long. It was really hard when she left for college, but she’s good at keeping in touch, which you know, thank god. Because I’m not. She came to all our drafts and she always makes the time to call or text, even though I know she’s busier than all of us combined with school and residency and all that.” Jack leans back into the couch. “It’s interesting to think about. With Clee, no one else except people who are actually close to me know about her, but she’s just as big a part of my life as my actual brothers. I mean, her mom’s the one who bought me the suit for my draft and Clee saved up to gift me the watch I wore with it. I don’t know. It’s interesting that you can think you know so much about someone but you’ll probably never get the full picture unless you’re there.”

Nico hums, taking in Jack’s impromptu but astute ramble. “She ever play?”

“Hockey?” Nico nods. Jack snorts. “Nah. Soccer was her thing. Was pretty damn good too, if I remember correctly.” The younger boy shifts suddenly to a standing position. “If you want to know more, ask her yourself, Hischier. I’m tired. Get out of my apartment.”

Nico rolls his eyes, but stands up anyways. “See you in the morning.”)

The Devils Friendsgiving rolls around, and with a large bowl of homemade Spinach Artichoke Dip and a couple bags of pita chips, she climbs into the backseat as Jack starts the engine and Luke fiddles with his phone to pull up the directions. She doesn’t have to go into the hospital until the afternoon tomorrow, so she’s looking forward to treating herself to a couple glasses of wine and getting to meet more people. Luke puts some country song on that Jack starts humming as he starts driving. Clementine folds her legs on the seat as her chin rests on her knees, looking out at the window as the trees blur. She kicks the back of Luke’s seat when one too many country songs play in a row, knowing that they know that she prefers other genres of music. Luke just grunts, before putting on some Noah Kahan and she hums in satisfaction.

The Toffoli’s house is spacious, and she shuffles carefully up the steps to the house behind Jack and Luke, careful not to slip on black ice. She slips off her jacket, passing the food off to Luke, before taking it back and walking into the warm home behind the boys. She just smiles and stands to the side as everyone exclaims at their arrival. She grins as Cat embraces her, thanking her for the invite. Cat waves her off and looks absolutely delighted when Clementine sets down the dip. Tyler pours her out a glass of wine and hugs her in greeting.

The journey to being a doctor has shaped Clementine to be good at remembering names quickly, which helps her tremendously as Jack bounces around to introduce her to everyone. Everyone is so welcoming and the sprinkle of kids around makes her smile as well. It’s lovely to see that this team loves hanging out with each other off the ice when they’re not obligated to. She finds herself chatting with…everyone and is almost surprised but absolutely delighted at how kind everyone is. Some of the wives and significant others don’t hesitate to rope her into future plans and their group as a whole and she feels touched. She’s not sure how much time and energy she’ll have to go to some of their gatherings, but it’ll be nice to have some more familiar faces in the city.

It’s when everyone’s starting to grab food does she find herself standing next to Nico, who had waved and nodded at her earlier when she walked in. “Hey Captain.”

Nico’s smile is blinding. “Like I’ve said, Nico works just fine.”

She shrugs with a chuckle. “How have you been?”

He sees her eyeing the potatoes and scoops some on her plate before he grabs some for himself. and she smiles at him in thanks. “Nothing new,” he says. “Just you know, playing hockey.”

She snorts. “Yeah, I bet. You had a sick goal the other night against the…Caps, was it?”

“Thank you,” he says as they both head towards two empty seats next to each other at the kitchen island. “You watch the games?”

“When I can. Not as much this season as I used to. It honestly used to be really effective background noise when I studied at school.”

His eyes track to her bracelets. “I’ve been wanting to ask you about those.”

“My bracelets?”

“Yeah. You wear them all the time. Is there any significance to them? If you’re comfortable telling me, of course.” He rushes the last sentence, eyes wide.

She waves him off with an easy smile, pointing at each one of them as she goes through. “Quinn, Jack and Luke each made me one before I left for college. Gave them to me right at the airport before I went through security. Had me sobbing on practically the whole damn plane ride. I don’t wear them to the hospital, really, but otherwise, it’s kinda just habit to put them on at this point.”

“You love them a lot,” Nico observes.

Clementine just smiles, watching Luke play with one of the kids. “I do. They’re good guys to grow up with. But enough of that. Don’t think I don’t remember the explanation you promised me last time, Nico.”

A playful smile on his lips, Nico finishes chewing his food. “Explanation of what?”

“How the hell you chose soccer over hockey, when soccer is the best sport, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Nico echoes, and her smile widens. “I mean, yeah. There’s not much to it. I kinda was good at most sports. I still love watching football, or soccer. My dad used to play professionally, so I still enjoy playing pick up in the summer once in awhile. My brother played hockey, and I wanted to do everything he did. And then…”

“You were really fucking good.” She finishes for him.

“I guess, yeah. You work with kids, right? Being their doctor?” She nods and he smirks slightly. “Even I know you have to be super smart for that. The journey to being a doctor can’t be easy.”

She chuckles a bit, feeling a bit flattered. “It has its moments. Definitely not the most simple career, by any means.”

“Anything specific with…what is it called? Pediatrics? I don’t really know how specializations work.”

“I’m actually doing an EM/Peds residency right now, which combines training in both the emergency room and pediatric medicine. There’s something about kids and the environment of an ER that I really enjoy, so putting those two together is..kinda the dream.”

“You’re incredible,” Nico says softly. And if she wasn’t blushing before, she definitely is now. Or is it the wine? “Seriously. That’s some amazing stuff. Is that common?”

“Combining residencies?” He nods. “No. Actually, NYU is one of the only teaching hospitals in the country that’s approved for this specific program.”

“So not only are you smart. You’re just the best of the best.”

She chuckles a bit and puts food in her mouth so she doesn't have to respond, because what the fuck? She’s thankful that Jonas and Nate join and divert their conversation so she can gather herself. She’s heard those words from people many times. Nico saying them shouldn’t have her stomach fluttering.

(Later that evening, Clementine, predictably, finds herself among the moms with young kids, sitting on the floor with her back against the couch, giving them attention and watching them so that their parents can relax a bit more.

She’s mindlessly talking and playing with Owen, Curtis and Reanne’s 3-year-old son, who’s at the age where he just loves to babble.

Reanne bounces her son on her knee. “This is Clementine. Can you say Clementine?”

Owen claps his hands. “C-cuh-”

Clementine can tell Owen is getting a little frustrated that he can’t pronounce her name. “Owen, you know him?” She points towards Jack, who’s sitting on the couch a few feet away talking to Nico, Curtis and Jesper. Jack catches them and waves with a big smile as their conversation trickles off.

“Unca Jack!”

“That’s right,” Clementine coos. “When Uncle Jack was as small as you, he couldn’t say my full name either. So he just called me Clee. Can you say Clee?”

“Clee!” Clementine nods excitedly and laughs with Owen as he says it again. “Unca Jack call you Clee?”

“He sure does. He still calls me Clee. And he’s a big boy now.”

Reanne grins, “Is that true?”

Clementine chuckles. “Yeah. Him, Luke and Quinn all called me Clee at one point. The other two don’t anymore, but I guess it stuck for Jack.”

Owen grabs one of his stuffed dinosaurs. “I like Unca Jack. He always buys me chocolate.”

All of them laugh as Reanne and Curtis shoot Jack a dirty look. Clementine snorts. “Busted.” Jack at least has the audacity to look a little sheepish as Owen doesn’t mind any of them, his attention back to making his dinosaurs fight each other. Owen hops off his mother’s knee and toddles over to sit in between Clementine’s legs, wordlessly passing her a dinosaur.

Nico’s fond smile stays glued to his face as his eyes track Clementine and Owen. Jack takes note.)

…..

It’s a brisk Tuesday morning in early December, and Clementine is still trying to find her way where she needs to go. She volunteered to spend a few weeks at Newark Beth Israel Medical Center from recommendation by her mentor, since Newark is short a few hands. She’ll probably get used to the hallways and which floors are what the day before she leaves, but she’s not complaining. She’s still in an ER. She’s still working with kids. And she won’t complain about the shorter commute, even if it’s only for a short while.

There’s a bit of a commotion outside as she’s making her rounds. Her curiosity causes her to scribble some last quick notes before stepping out of her patient’s room and clicking the door shut quietly so the 7-year-old girl doesn’t wake up.

“Hey Caro,” she stops another resident who’s walking by. “What’s all the commotion?”

Caroline grins. “You didn’t hear? Some of the guys from the New Jersey Devils are stopping by to see the kids. It’s always a whole day thing that’s a fun day. That’s why Doc told us all to clear our schedules as much as we could today.”

Clementine snorts to herself. No, she didn’t hear. “Ah. I must’ve not been listening or something.”

Caroline offers her arm. “You coming?”

“Yeah,” she latches on to the shorter girl’s arm. “You a Devils fan?”

“I grew up in Texas, so to be honest, no.” They both chuckle. “But the guys are great. And it’s always fun when they come around. The kids have a good time too.”

“I bet,” she says softly.

“Are you a Devils fan?”

She’s about to open her mouth to try and stumble through an answer, but they’re suddenly in a conference room and Luke is bounding over to attack her in a hug. “Clemmy!”

“Hey Lukey.” She pulls away and ignores Caroline’s confused but amused stare. “You and Jack didn’t tell me you were gonna be here.”

“We didn’t?” Jack grins, pulling her into a tight hug. “Well, surprise!”

Clementine just rolls her eyes as she waves at Jesper, Tyler, Dougie and Nico. Nico shoots her a quick wink and she gives him a shy smile before looking away.

“Sorry,” Jack addresses some of the staff who have been openly eyeing them. “Clementine is, uh, basically family. We actually live together, which she loves.” The whole room exclaims softly in understanding. Caroline gives Clementine a look that has her holding back a laugh.

Clementine just puts her head down with a smile and waits for everyone to come into the room for the official welcome. Her pager goes off in the middle so she has to sneak out of the room quietly. She catches Nico’s eye before leaving and he gives her an imperceptible nod.

She tries to keep out of everyone’s way as the players pop into various rooms to say hi to the kids and their parents. She poses for a few pictures at request from both PR departments, smiling the biggest when the social team asks for a picture of her, Luke and Jack together. It’s nice to see the kids really happy, and she does stick around in a patient’s room when Luke is reading a story to one of them.

“The kids like him,” she jumps slightly at Nico’s voice. He grimaces. “Sorry.”

She waves off his apology, staring at the scene. “Probably because he’s practically still one himself. I remember doing this for him when he was that age.”

“You’re a bit far away from Manhattan.”

“Yeah. I volunteered to come out here for a few weeks since they needed extra hands. I should be back at NYU after the new year. Had no idea you guys were gonna be here today. Would’ve warned everyone how annoying you all were.”

“You think I’m annoying?” Nico jokes.

“All hockey players are annoying.” She turns to Nico and flashes a smile. “I’m kidding. Thanks for coming. The kids always love it anytime professional athletes come in to say hey.”

“The least we can do,” Nico says with a shrug. “It’s probably my favorite event of the year.”

She nudges his shoulder, “I saw you earlier, with little Artie. You’re not bad with the kiddos either.”

“Oh, thanks. They’re sweet. That’s a big compliment coming from you.”

“Well, it’s a bit different for me when interacting with kids is part of my job,” her smile widens watching as Jude, the patient, is laughing at Luke’s exaggerated voices. “Let’s leave these two be. Come with me?”

Nico falls into step with her. “Where we going?”

“I gotta check in on one of our patients, who, if I know her, is probably painting some watercolor landscape while bickering with her sister. I’m sure your big brown eyes and smile can keep her entertained while I take some of her vitals.”

Clementine stops at a room, knocks twice on a door with a purple and pink sticker-covered name card taped on the front, Lacy spelled out in big block letters. She peeks her head in. “Hey. Mind if I come in?”

“Do I have a choice?” The 11-year-old girl sasses. Clementine rolls her eyes, shooting her 17-year-old sister Maisie a quick smile. Maisie just nods in greeting before turning back to her laptop.

“I’m bringing a visitor in here too. Be nice,” Clementine warns. Lacy just keeps painting. She opens the door wider and Nico follows her in. “You recognize this guy?”

Lacy looks up and snorts, though a small genuine smile appears on her face. “Any hockey fan living in the state of New Jersey would recognize him. Hi Nico.”

“Hi Lacy. It’s nice to meet you. Can I pull up a chair for a second?”

Lacy shrugs. “Sure.” Nico shakes Maisie’s hand quickly first before grabbing a chair and sitting by her bedside. Clementine gets started on her notes. “I saw your game the other night. Against the Wild,” Lacy says.

“Oh yeah? What did you think?”

“I mean, at least you guys won in overtime. It probably shouldn’t have even gone to that point.”

Clementine coughs to hide her laugh, Maisie admonishes Lacy, but Nico just chuckles. “That’s a fair assessment. You like hockey?”

“Yeah. I used to play. Before all this.”

“Oh yeah? What position?”

“Center.”

“That makes sense. You seem like you like to score goals.” She hums. Out of the corner of Clementine’s eye, she sees the girl offer a brush and a blank piece of paper to Nico. Clementine smiles to herself. Nico takes the brush. “You got a favorite player on the Devils?”

“Do you just want me to say you?”

“Not if it’s not true.”

Clementine chuckles, “Don’t hurt his ego too much, Lace. He might not be able to handle it. One to ten?”

“Three,” Lacy answers in reference to the frequency of pain scale she and Clementine have come up with. “My favorite is Dawson, by the way. You’re third on my list.”

“I’ll take that,” Nico says with a satisfied smile. “Who’s second?”

“Probably Jack. Or Haula. It depends on the day.”

Nico’s eyes light up as Clementine rolls her eyes to herself. “Jack, huh? Has Clementine told you that she knows him?”

Lacy stops painting for a second. “What do you mean ‘knows him?’”

Clementine gives Lacy a cup of water and waits for her to take her pill. “I’ve known Jack since he was born. Luke too.”

Lacy’s eyes pop open, and Clementine thinks that she would’ve mentioned this earlier if she knew that this was the reaction she’d get. Lacy’s been a hard nut to crack in terms of opening up to her. “Really? Quinn’s one of the best defensemen in the league, in my opinion.”

“I’ll be sure to tell him. He’ll appreciate that.”

“Pretty cool, right?” Nico remarks, carefully dipping his brush in water.

“Sorry I didn’t tell you earlier,” Clementine says. “I knew you were a hockey fan. I didn’t know you were a Devils fan. Isn’t your dad a Rangers fan?”

Nico grimaces automatically as Lacy nods. “Yeah, but red’s prettier. And the Devils are better.”

“That’s right. And don’t forget it,” Nico says.

“Hey, Lace. Dawson isn’t here, but do you want me to go find Jack and see if he’s around?”

“Sure. I don’t have my jersey though and I wanted him to sign it.”

“We’ll send you another one and he can sign that one,” Nico says. Maisie tries to protest but Nico just shakes his head. “It’s no problem at all. I’ll send you mine though. To convince you to move me higher on your list.”

“I mean, I won’t say no to that.” Clementine and Nico just chuckle.

“Be right back,” Clementine promises.

She closes the door and takes a moment to watch the two. Nico’s trying to paint some sort of sunset and lets Lacy guide his hand, listening intently as Lacy gives him some artistic advice. She’s never seen such softness in someone’s eyes before as Nico is looking at the young girl. And later, when Nico hands her two tickets for a game in January, it’s the most excited she’s seen Lacy.

…..

Clementine finds that she has Christmas Eve and Christmas Day off, so the three of them decide to do their own little Christmas Eve celebration — Ellen and Jim are heading to Vancouver to spend the holiday with Quinn and the various family they have out there — before going to Jack and Luke’s family again on Christmas Day. They ask her if Nico can join them Christmas Eve, before going with them to their family’s on Christmas Day, since his family can’t fly out this time around for the holidays. She immediately agrees, and digs her knitting supplies out from the few unpacked boxes in her closet and stops by the fabric store right by the hospital after work.

Later that night, after a game, Luke waves his greeting before stumbling into his room while Jack beelines to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water. He casts his eyes on Clementine on the couch, Canucks game on quietly in the background and a whole bunch of yarn on her lap, her fingers twiddling around knitting needles.

Jack raises his eyebrows. “Who’s that for?”

“Nico.” The lack of response has her raising her eyes away from her needles. “What?”

“You like him, don’t you?”

“As a person, absolutely. He’s very-”

“Fuck off. You know that��s not what I’m talking about. You like him. Like, stomach has butterflies and all that shit.”

She puts down her needles with a sigh, “Jack-”

“Listen, I know you’re just gonna deny it or whatever. Because that’s what you do. So, I’m not even gonna bother, but Clee. You could do a whole lot worse than Hisch. And he likes you too, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Jack. I’m not gonna date your captain.”

“Why not?”

“Because…I don’t wanna put you or Luke in a weird position.”

“That’s a dumb excuse. Who cares about that? Certainly not Luke and I.” He comes to sit next to her like an eager puppy. “I swear I’m not trying to set you up or whatever. Not intentionally at least. And I really won’t push and let it go if you want me to. But Clee, you seem so at ease around him. And it’s obvious that he just likes everything about you. It doesn’t have to be serious. But maybe just give it a chance before you just shut it down, okay?”

She nods, taking in his words. “Okay, okay. I will.”

“Promise?”

She rolls her eyes, but clasps her pinky with his. They’ve always taken their pinky promises very seriously. “I promise.”

Jack grins, his typical easygoing manner right back. “Good.”

After a lazy Christmas Eve morning and afternoon watching holiday movies, drinking hot cocoa and feeling at peace, she, Jack, Luke and Nico put on some Christmas music and make gingerbread cookies to bring the next day. She scolds the brothers as they start flinging flour at each other but she does it with a smile that hurts her cheeks and a heart that feels overwhelmingly full. “Silent Night” comes on and to prevent herself from fully bursting into tears, she leaves Luke and Nico to shape the cookies and drags Jack to dance around the kitchen with her. She thinks he understands, as he places a comforting kiss on her forehead, Luke looking on in solemn happiness.

(Nico notices all of their demeanors slightly shift, but he doesn’t press.)

At midnight, they all exchange presents under the twinkling lights of their tree. Nico looks surprised when they tell him they all have presents for him, which is funny considering he has presents for all of them. As the youngest, Luke goes first, and his smile is pure ecstasy, as he receives a really nice watch from Nico, new shoes from Jack and a bottle of cologne that she knows he’s been eyeing from Clementine. Jack’s next, as he gleefully reaches for his presents. Nico gifts him a customized Snapback that has Jack tackling his captain in a hug and almost tipping the tree over, and Luke gets him the newest AirPods to hopefully discourage him from “accidentally” putting his through the wash. Clementine gets Jack a nice leather wallet she saw at a vintage shop a few weeks back and he acts surprised that she knows what he likes style wise, as if she didn’t practically grow up with him and watch his heinous style turn into something passable.

Clementine insists Nico goes next. Jack and Luke get him a joint present of a massive box of assorted Swiss chocolates and Clementine thinks his eyes literally light up, excitedly talking about how you can’t get most of them outside of Switzerland. As Clementine hands him her present, Nico only raises his eyebrows at the large bag.

“Should I be scared?”

She scoffs, “Just open the bag, Captain.”

They all laugh, Jack and Luke eagerly watching as Nico carefully takes out the tissue paper. Jack laughs in recognition as Luke just shakes his head fondly when Nico pulls out a giant knitted maroon blanket.

“I know it seems a bit weird,” Clementine rushes to explain as he unfolds the blanket carefully. “But basically, when I started going to the boys’ games, I would get really cold sitting in the bleachers. So my mom taught me how to knit and I knitted myself a huge blanket, kinda like this one. The parents all saw me with it and eventually started asking if I would knit some for them. And I did, so it’s kinda a thing I like to do when I have time now. Makes for good presents too.”

Nico looks behind him to a similar looking white blanket draped across the couch. “Did you make that?”

She grins. “Yeah. I think that one was the one I gave to Jack right before he left for New Jersey. I know Luke has the one I gave him before he left for Michigan in his room.”

“It’s super warm,” Luke says.

“Clee doesn’t make these blankets for just anyone,” Jack adds. “She only just made one for Turcs last year after he had been practically begging her for years.”

Nico folds the blanket back up and reaches over to envelop her in a tight hug. She lets herself rest her head on his shoulder. “Thank you,” he says sincerely. “I love it.”

She just smiles, trying to tell her brain to calm the fuck down before she reaches out to grab Jack and Luke’s (and Quinn, he said to her over the phone this morning) gift for her. She pulls out a photo album and immediately starts sniffling. The first photo on the first page is of her holding Quinn at the hospital right when he was born. Written below, in what she recognizes as Quinn’s handwriting:

Clem holding Quinn for the first time. October 15, 1999. Orlando, Florida.

She flips through quickly, finding that it’s photos of her and all of the brothers throughout the years, before closing it and taking a deep breath. “I’ll have to look at this more carefully later when I can cry by myself in my room. Fuck. How long did this take you guys?”

“We got the idea when you told us you were moving in, but we really got to put it together over the summer,” Luke says. “It was also fun getting Mom and Maeve to dig up some of the pictures.”

She wipes her eyes before giving them both individual, loving hugs and sweet kisses on their cheeks. “Thank you.” It’s not enough. Nothing will ever be enough. But she hopes they understand.

“Well, I don’t know how I can follow that up,” Nico jokes softly.

“Stop,” she scolds him lightly, taking the wrapped box from his hands. She rips the paper ungracefully and opens the box. In the box are light pink scrubs. When she unfolds the shirt, she sees tiny bluebells adorning the right side, with her initials in delicate white cursive on the right.

Nico scratches the back of neck. “Jacky mentioned that pink’s your favorite color and I had Luke sneak into your closet one time when you were at work to grab me your measurements. My sister does embroidery for fun so, uh, yeah.”

She has to bite the inside of her bottom lip from smiling too widely. She already knows it’s going to be her favorite set. Before she can think too hard about it, she practically launches herself into his arms, half in his lap as Nico lets out a surprised grunt but easily catches her. She holds on a bit longer, even placing a quick kiss on his cheek before pulling away.

“Thank you. I love them.”

(Jack and Luke exchange the most obvious look, yet somehow both Clementine and Nico miss it)

The next day, they make the hour-long drive. Clementine calls shotgun, and has her feet curled up under her, white sweater stretched over her hands as Jack hums along to the Christmas music playing softly in the background. Nico insisted on getting flowers, which is all too much, but she, Jack and Luke are also bringing two bottles of some really fucking good wine so maybe they’re all on the same page. They’re the last ones to arrive, the house already filled with familial chatter, football on the TV, snacks on the kitchen island and alcohol free flowing. She watches as Nico is embraced like he’s been around for his whole life, even though realistically, he’s maybe only met a few of them in passing when they’ve come to a game. Geegs calls him handsome after .4 seconds of seeing him and she, Jack and Luke all snicker watching his cheeks turn red. It seems like it takes not even three minutes for him to charm every single damn person, especially when he gives Lara the flowers.

Clementine immerses herself in the cheer of holiday and family, happily answering anyone when she’s asked about her residency. She answers questions about it’s like living with the “terrible two” with ease and laughter, because as much as she likes to give them shit, it’s honestly been one of the best times of her life.

Inevitably, because she might not have their last name but has been part of the family for years, she gets a few questions about her love life, or lack thereof. Lara always jokes that if the stars were slightly different, her and Quinn — or maybe even Jack — could’ve ended up together. And Clementine agrees, because those two boys are so lovely and she knows them so well and loves them so much, but the stars are the way they are, and nothing will ever happen romantically between her and any Hughes brother.

Romance hasn’t really ever been seriously in the cards for Clementine, which is partially self inflicted. She had something in college that lasted for over two years, but since then, nothing has stuck. She’s always used the excuse of school and now residency, and it’s somewhat true. But even she knows she’s running out of excuses for herself.

As her eyes flit over to Nico, who’s across the room talking to Luke and Ben, one of their cousins, looking so fucking soft in his gray crewneck and dark washed blue jeans, hair too fluffy and the most heartwarming smile on his face, she tells herself to get it together.

After over two decades of being around hockey boys, she can’t be developing a crush on the captain of the New Jersey Devils.

…..

On the morning of New Year’s Day, Clementine tries her best to go about the kitchen quietly to make her breakfast, only to find Jack and Luke already there, sipping on their coffees.

“Morning boys.”

“Morning Clemmy.”

“Happy new year!”

“Happy new year,” she yawns. “Morning skate?”

“We’re skipping.” Her eyebrows shoot up and Luke just gives her a look. “C’mon, Clemmy. We’re not letting you do this alone.”

She swallows and her voice cracks. “You guys remembered?”

“Clee,” Jack says with a sympathetic smile. “Of course we did.”

Before she can control it, her eyes water and she sniffles. Luke comes up and pulls her to his side, allowing her to momentarily bury herself into his sweatshirt as she tries to gather herself. Above her head, Luke and Jack share a look as Jack wordlessly grabs a thermos from the cabinet and fills 3/4 of it with coffee, topping it off with oat milk. Clementine pulls away and rubs at her eyes.

Jack smiles at her. “Picked up some croissants from downstairs we can eat on the way. The florist should be open by now.”

“Yeah, yeah. Okay,” she turns to Luke again and pulls him into a real hug. She only forces herself to pull away so she can give Jack one too, before going to her room to change.

They stop by the florist downstairs and she picks out a bouquet of fresh daisies. She watches Luke mull over his options before choosing the white lilies as Jack automatically reaches for the pink peonies. He also cradles a bouquet of sunflowers, and when she gives him a confused look, he just smiles.

(“From Quinn. He specifically requested sunflowers.”

Clementine bites her lip, nodding, the image of toddler Quinn almost yanking the sunflowers in the yard in front of her childhood home before her dad stopped him and explained how flowers grow passing through her mind.)

The drive to the cemetery doesn’t take too long. They may be driving in from a different direction than she’s used to, but somehow, it’s like her body knows exactly where she’s going. Once they arrive, she quietly directs them to the right hill and she takes a sip of her coffee before opening the car door. She tries to take the flowers from Luke’s hands but he just softly tells her he’s got it. She’s a step ahead of the two as she leads them to the correct place.

She smiles as she comes close, seeing the semi-fresh bouquet of roses she knows her mother must’ve placed there three days prior, 28 years to the day they got married. She watches as Luke carefully sets down all their flowers, and she bends down to help him arrange them in a pretty way as Jack unfolds the large blanket. They all sit down and stare at the stone.

in loving memory of

Miguel Alejandro Sandoval

April 3, 1968 - January 1, 2015

beloved son, uncle, friend, husband and father

As she starts talking softly, some of her words floating away with the slight breeze, Jack hastily grabs her hand with his and intertwines their fingers tightly as Luke adjusts his long limbs so that his head is in her lap. She uses her other hand to play with his curls and takes a shaky breath as Jack places his head on her shoulder. She talks about how she’s back east now and how much she loves residency and how fun it’s been to live with Jack and Luke and how Quinn is captain of the Canucks now and how her mom, Ellen and Jim are doing well. She talks like she’s chatting with her dad over homemade paella on a Sunday morning, rather than in the eerie peacefulness of Flower Hill Cemetery, which is five miles away from the house he grew up in. Jack and Luke don’t say anything, but she doesn’t expect them to. She’s just grateful they’re here with her.

When they’re about to leave, the two boys request a few minutes without her and she just smiles, kissing her hand and touching the stone before walking away. She sits in the car and waits, watching as Luke leans his head on Jack’s shoulder. After six minutes, they’re all on their way back to Hoboken.

After lunch, Jack and Luke head over to…one of their teammate’s places to watch whatever football game is on. They ask, more than once, if Clementine wants to join, but she denies. They both then insist on staying, but she overrules them and practically shoves them out the door, promising that she’ll be okay and that she’ll see them later.

Around an hour later, she’s finishing up prepping some pasta salad for the week ahead when there’s a knock at the door. She hums to herself, confused. She’s not expecting anyone who doesn’t have a key to the place. She swings open the door.

“Nico?” She smiles, albeit confused. “Uh, Hi. Jack and Luke aren’t here.”

“I know. I just saw them.” She’s still confused, but she goes to the side to allow him to come in, closing the door behind him. He slips off his shoes and clears his throat. “Happy new year.”

“Happy new year. Not that I’m not happy to see you, but what are you doing here?”

“I just..I was at Nate’s,” Ah, so that’s where they went. “And Jack and Luke came in and we were all bummed you weren’t coming and asked why. They didn’t say much, if that’s what you’re worried about. But I, you know, as captain or whatever, asked them if everything was okay and they said it was and I asked if you not being there had anything to do with why they skipped practice this morning and you know them, especially Jack. He’s such a shitty liar. He just said that it may be a hard day for you today, and I wanted to see if you were okay.”

Clementine isn’t offended, by any means. Too much time — nine years worth of it — has passed for her to feel any animosity of any sort about a touchy thing like this, especially when it’s just Jack and Luke looking out for her. She just smiles, reaching out a hand to take Nico’s coat. “I’m okay. But if you really want to know, it’ll take a bit of time. I’m giving you an out, Cap. It is New Year’s Day.”

“I want to know everything about you,” he says, walking further into her place. She’ll have to unpack that one later.

“Tea or coffee? Or whatever disgusting protein shake Lukey has in the fridge?”

Nico snorts, settling himself down on the coach with the comfortability of someone who lives here. Then again, Clementine is reminded, as he unfolds the white knitted blanket, that Nico’s known the layout of this apartment longer than she has. “Coffee, please. Black is fine.”

“Abysmal,” she remarks, pouring out a cup for him and herself. She sets them down on the coffee table before smiling at him. “Be right back.” She goes into her room to dig through her bookshelf for a specific photo album that she only cracks open during January 1 of every year. It doesn’t take long before she paddles back to the living room, placing the album next to her coffee. She sits a respectable distance from Nico, but tucks herself under the blanket anyway. She watches him sip his coffee for a few moments.

“We were at the cemetery this morning. That’s why Jack and Luke asked to skip morning skate. We were visiting my dad. He died nine years ago today. Cancer,” she says, like she’s recalling a medical fact she read in her textbook. “He was, god, my best friend, really. And the best person, in my completely biased opinion. But maybe not. Miguel Sandoval, everyone used to say — still says — had a heart of gold and a smile as bright as the sun. He loved being outside. Worked as an environmental engineer. He loved chocolate ice cream. He hated mosquitos, always cursed them out in Spanish during the summer just to make me and my mom laugh. He always kicked the ball around in the backyard with me, even after an exhausting day at work. He made the best paella, made it pretty much every Sunday. God, he really did light up every room he walked into. He loved my mom. Loved me. And we loved him. Love him.” She reaches for the album and offers it to Nico, who slowly starts flicking through the pages. She looks on with him at the photos. “My mom, Maeve, and Ellen, Luke and Jack’s mom, played soccer at UNH together and just kept in touch throughout the years. My mom and dad met at UNH too. And then Ellen met Jim, and the four of them were so, so tight, I’ve been told. Double dates, all of that.” She smiles, looking at her mom and dad’s wedding photos. “Ellen was my mom’s maid of honor, and my mom was hers. They always like to remind me that I was in my mom’s stomach when Ellen and Jim got married. Anyways, I was 18 when he died, so looking back, I’m grateful that I even had that many years with him, but at the same time, it felt so short. 100 years wouldn’t have been enough time with him.”

“He sounds like an amazing man,” Nico says softly.

Clementine smiles with him. “He was. It’s easier now. Nine years is a long time. But during the few years after, it was really hard. I felt really guilty going to UCLA just months after he died. Was about to throw it away and go somewhere close to home instead, but my mom insisted, knowing it was my dream school. I felt guilty leaving her across the country, in a fucking different country, but it did help that she had people around to support her. It’s still not easy. This time of the year is always pretty hard on me. And it’ll never really go away. But time does heal.”

She takes a sip of coffee to gather her thoughts, as Nico continues perusing the album, laughing at some and cooing at others when the Hughes brothers start making an appearance. They stop at a picture of her father holding Luke right when he was born in the hospital, Jim proudly smiling in the background and young Jack and Quinn looking on. “My dad loved the boys and I don’t even think saying he loved them captures 1% of it. Those boys were his boys. If I didn’t have soccer games or practices, he was tagging along to all their hockey stuff after work and on the weekends. He didn’t know jackshit about the sport at first, but he eventually learned the ins and outs of the game because he wanted to support them. Did Jack ever tell you why he chose 86? Or why Luke chose 43?”

“I think Jack just said it was a family number or something,” Nico says. “Didn’t go much into it.”

“My dad’s birthday is April 3. 43. I think all of them wore it during their first year at the program. And then Quinn and Luke decided to go back to it in college and beyond, obviously. 43 doubled is 86, of course, but my dad, who was also a middle child, used to say Jack’s personality was so big and bold that it doubled his siblings’. The boys loved him just as much as he loved them.” By now, the tears are gushing down her cheeks. “Sometimes, I think that the three of them took the loss harder than I did. He never got to see them play for their country. He never got to see them get drafted. He never got to witness their first points in the show. And fuck, my dad would’ve cheered so loud. Would’ve been so proud. Probably is so proud, wherever he is. But, you know, during the big moments, and the little ones, we all know he’s there. I just know he is.”

“He is.”

She calms herself down a bit and chuckles. “Sorry, I know it’s a lot.”

“No, no.” They shift closer to each other and she leans into him as he puts an arm around her shoulder. “It’s not a lot. I-thank you. For telling me all of this. Thank you for trusting me.”

Clementine just shrugs, but the weight of her shoulders feels heavy. “I’ve never felt the need to justify to others what the Hughes family means to me, but telling people about…this usually gives them some context. I frankly don’t know if I would’ve survived and gotten through it without them. It’s more than just family friends at this point. It’s family, but it’s also something so much more. I get reminded everyday how lucky I am to have them.”

(She swallows, thinking back to her ex-somethings that could’ve been something more had they not let their insecurities show after finding out how three of her closest friends are not just guys, but nationally scouted hockey players, thinking back to a splattering of girls who she thought were her friends but subtly changed their attitudes when they tried to get Clementine to put a good word in, thinking back to some who brushed aside her own accomplishments to fixate on her pseudo-brothers’ careers. She’s never directly mentioned it to any of the boys. It’s not their burden to worry about. But even if they aren’t as smart as her, she thinks they have an idea)

Nico nods. She thinks he may understand, weirdly enough, despite the different circumstances. It seems like Nico just understands a lot. Nico smiles, setting the album back down gently on the table in front of them. “Your ability to love greatly. Your natural protectiveness. Did that come from your dad?”

“Yeah, actually. I love my mom, of course. But she’s always been more of the tough love parent. I think the protectiveness was more of just the situation I was put in, being the oldest out of all of us and also an only child. But the love…a lot of people who knew my dad say we’re very similar in that aspect. So thank you. I’ll take it as a compliment. That means a lot to me.”

She busies herself and sips on her coffee. Nico clears his throat. "You can feel free to tell me to fuck off, but I just…did your dad’s situation influence you to want to become a doctor?”

“Sorta. I kinda always knew that I wanted to do something in science, but it definitely solidified when he died. I did think about going the oncologist route, a doctor that deals with cancer, but I ultimately decided that it hit too close to home. I-I’d like to think that in a profession that’s dedicated to trying our best to save lives, that I have a perspective on death that helps me more than harms me. Helps the patient and their family more too, hopefully.”

“That’s an extremely mature way to look at it.”

“Jesus, Cap. Way to make me feel old. I’m only 26, you know.”

“With all the stuff you’ve gone through, you’re probably more emotionally, like, 37.” Well, he kinda has a point. “But seriously though. What a beautiful perspective.”

“I appreciate that a lot, thank you.” She snuggles more into the blanket, and therefore, closer to Nico. “Bet you didn’t think you’d get this to start off your year.”

She feels the ghost of his lips press to her hair and hopes he doesn’t feel her racing heart. “Perhaps not. But I’m pretty content with how it’s going so far.”

…..

For Nico’s birthday, Clementine asks Emilia, who’s Swiss, what some traditional Swiss desserts are. After getting a recipe for a semi-complicated cake from Emilia from her mother, she gets to work.

She makes two cakes, or Zuger Kirschtorte, the larger one for Nico and the smaller one for her, Luke and Jack. It takes a good chunk of her evening, but she makes it a whole thing, putting on the Devils vs Caps game, measuring ingredients and going back towards her laptop to make sure she’s following the recipe correctly. She’s momentarily grateful that both boys aren’t here, partially so they don’t distract her in case she fucks up but mostly so they don’t start teasing her. She knows they will eventually, but she would rather hold it off as long as possible.

The cake turns out really good, which is a bit surprising. Clementine’s always liked baking, but she’s not amazing at it. She carefully puts the larger cake in a disposable container, setting it on the counter to give it to Jack and Luke to give to Nico tomorrow morning, putting the smaller one in the fridge. Before she sleeps, she places a sticky note on the lid, “do not touch or i’ll kill you” written out in all capital letters.

(The next morning, Nico smiles when he sees that Clementine had sent him a short text reading “Happy Birthday Cap!! Enjoy your day :)” When Jack walks into the locker room, cake in his hand and beelining towards him, he’s confused.

“Special delivery for the birthday boy,” Jack says with a knowing smile.

Nico furrows his eyebrows. “From who?”

Jack nods to the card taped to the top of the lid. “Read the card and find out.”

Nico sets the cake beside him carefully as Jack practically skips to his stall. He ignores what he feels like are multiple eyes on him as he opens the card. He feels his throat dry up.

Captain,

Happy birthday!! It’s always a joy seeing and talking to you, so thank you for bringing that into my time in Jersey so far. I tried my best with the cake, so forgive me if it isn’t perfect, but I hope it brings you a sense of home.

With love,

Clementine

Nico takes a closer look at the cake and does a double take, before shooting her a quick text of gratitude and carefully putting it into his locker. Hours later, when he finally gets to try it, he closes his eyes in happiness, savoring the taste of a dessert his grandma used to make all the time when he was younger and thinks about the girl who made it.

Two days later, when Clementine’s at The Rock to see all Hughes brothers together on the ice as the Devils take on the Canucks, he’s hoping to catch a glimpse of her afterwards. After getting a hattrick, he’s on a high and he’s hoping even more to get a chance to see her afterwards.

He comes out of the locker room, tired but happy, and first sees Ellen Hughes’s unmistakably bright smile. He greets her politely, grin widening as she pulls him into a motherly hug. He shakes Jim’s hand before Clementine practically jumps onto him, congratulating him on his hat trick with a happy squeal. He can’t help but laugh and squeeze her just a bit tighter before letting go and ruffling Luke’s hair.

“Hey,” he lowers his voice so only Clementine can hear. “Thank you. For the cake. You really didn’t have to. It was delicious.”

“Really?” She says, tucking her hair behind her ears and bouncing on her toes. “Oh, I’m so glad you liked it!”

“How did you-where did you get the recipe?”

“One of my friends from the hospital is Swiss. I asked her, and she got it from her mom.”

All Nico can do is blink, because he’s so fucking touched that someone would go out of the way like that. He takes a second to look at Clementine’s beautiful smile and takes a deep breath. “I really appreciate it. Thank you.”

She just beams. Nico wants to bottle it up.

Right as he’s slipping into bed that night, he checks his texts one last time, furrowing his eyebrows when he sees a text from Luke from four minutes ago. It’s a Twitter link. Confused, Nico clicks on it. It’s a short clip of the broadcast from the game earlier, after he had scored his hattrick. It shows him celebrating on the ice, then pans the bench, fans, before panning to the Hughes family box. He smiles, watching as everyone cheers, but he immediately notices Clementine, in Quinn’s Canucks jersey nonetheless, jumping out of her seat first and raising her arms in excitement, clapping and shouting and smiling.

As he’s watching the video again, Luke sends another text.

Luke Hughes

Ask her out already

I’m getting impatient

Nico just dislikes the second text. He watches the video one more time before shutting off his phone.)

…..

Residency keeps Clementine crazy busy the next few weeks, that even though she wants to go to more games, she’s either working or too tired to drag herself to The Rock. She barely can keep her eyes open even when she puts a game on the TV, and is always fully asleep before Quinn and the Canucks on the west coast even take the ice.

But finally, on a cold Saturday, on their day off, she drags Emilia along to see the Devils face the Canadiens. It’s a plus that she gets to see Cole again, because Cole has the ability to always put a smile on her face.

Additionally, it’s a noon game, which is super rare. And Clementine takes that as a chance to host a small little thing at their place afterwards with an open invite to any of the players — on both teams — and their families. She can’t keep track of who knows who in the small world of professional hockey. She’s getting some of her residency friends to come too.

If she has the energy and time to host something, she’ll do it. She used to love hosting in college and med school, even if it was just something as simple as a potluck. She’s aware it’s the middle of the season and they can’t go crazy, but she loves filling her home with love and conversation.

Right after the game, she and Emilia both bolt out of there, Clementine momentarily thankful that they coincidentally parked close to the entrance so she could fight her way out of the lot within a decent time. Luckily, a lot of significant others offered to bring something or pick something up, so she and Emilia don’t have to prepare that much. Once they reach the apartment, Emilia helps Clementine out with her giant charcuterie board before taking out the tray of lemon squares she had made the night before and starting to cut them.

Soon enough, everyone trickles in seemingly one after the other and Clementine is bustling around, making her rounds. She practically pounces on Cole, smiling at the sight of his smile and demanding him to catch her up on everything.

She’s so busy mingling that she forgets to pour herself a glass of wine even though the bottles have already been opened. She doesn’t really realize it until she feels a tap on her shoulder and turns around to see Nico with a smile paired with a glass of wine in his hand.

“For you,” Nico says softly. Somehow, it stands out above the loudish volume chatter in the apartment. “Got the last of it in that glass. Figured you might want some.”

She accepts the glass with a grateful smile. “Thanks, Cap. This one is one of my favorites.”

“I figured,” he says. She raises an eyebrow. He smiles a bit shyly. “On Christmas, you brought two bottles of that when we went to see Jack and Luke, and well, your, family. And I’ve seen at least one bottle of it at the apartment every time I’ve gone in recently and I know for a fact that Luke doesn’t like wine and Jack doesn’t know a shitty one from a good one.”

She snorts. “You’d think that allowing them to sneak some from my glass at family dinners for so long would’ve given them some taste. Instead, Luke has decided that a shitty beer is always his go-to and Jack’s go-to drink is a margarita like a psychopath.”

Nico chuckles, amused. “Bashing on Luke’s drink of choice is fair, even if I don’t agree, but what do you have against margaritas?”

“Many of my not-so-great moments in college have started with tequila,” she says with a shudder. “Even the smell of it makes me want to throw up these days.”

He laughs as she sips on her lovely wine. “Party animal back at college?”

“I wouldn’t say so. But work hard, play hard was the motto for a lot of my friends, and I wasn’t always strong enough to ward away their pleas.” She nods at him. “How about you? Is your drink of choice actually beer or are you normal?”

“I’m not picky. Beer’s pretty huge back home, though. So it’s what will usually be shoved in your hand whether you like it or not.”

“I went to Zurich two years ago for a friend’s wedding. It might be the most beautiful place I’ve ever been to.”

“Zurich’s great,” Nico smiles, his eyes flashing in a way she hasn’t seen before. “The whole country. It’s beautiful. It’s home. There’s nothing like home.”

“You miss it during the season? Or are you used to it by now?”

“Mostly used to it. It makes it all the more special when I do go back in the summer, you know? Also, it’s nice to have Siegs, Schmido and Timo here. A little taste of home even though we’re so far from it. Remind me again where home is for you? Toronto, right? Or Michigan?”

She chuckles. “It’s tricky. I grew up in Toronto, but my mom lives in Boston now. And you know, I was out in California for so long. So Toronto, but also Massachusetts, but also California? I don’t really know. But I’m also going to be in Jersey for the next four-ish years at least, so right now, it’s New Jersey.”

“And you’re happy with that?”

Clementine looks around the apartment with a giddy smile. “If it’s gonna look something like this, I think so.”

“Clem!” She turns her head to see Cole bouncing towards her. He halts quickly though. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You’re good, man.” Nico says, shooting one last smile at Clementine. “Enjoy the wine.”

“Thanks for getting it for me.” He nods once and gives a friendly pat to Cole’s shoulder before walking towards the living room.

Cole looks between Nico’s retreating back and Clementine, a mischievous smile growing on his lips. She narrows her eyes. “I don’t like that smile, Coley. What do you want?”

“Nothing! It’s a lovely little thing you have here. Thanks for inviting me.”

“Anytime. You looked great out there earlier.”

Cole puffs out his chest a bit and she refrains from rolling her eyes. “You think?”

“Well, I’m not an analyst. Or a coach. Or an expert of the game of hockey in any way. So take all my opinions with a grain of salt.”

“Sure,” he says, leaning his hip on the counter behind him. “But with the amount of hockey games you’ve watched in your lifetime combined with how much you’ve been surrounded by it all your life, I’d say you could give even the best analysts at The Athletic a run for their money.”

“Not by choice,” she grunts.

Cole just smiles. His default expression, which Clementine can’t help but just adore. “Sure, Clem. Sure.”

“You’re being weird. What do you want?”

“For years you’ve been around hockey players. For years you’ve been around them flirting with you. And you finally crack because of the Swiss captain?”

She plops a few nuts in her mouth. “Whatever Jack and Luke have been feeding you, ignore it. You should know better.”

“They’re not feeding me anything, thank you very much!” She gives him a skeptical look. Cole, like the weakling he is, cracks. “Okay, maybe they have. But I’m also not blind, Clem. Hischier’s well-liked in the league. I think you two would be good together.”

She points at him playfully. “It is not your job to be thinking about these things.”

“Then whose is it?” He shoots back, playful smile still on his face but with a more serious tinge on the edges. “Clem, we’re not 16 anymore. Give us some credit. Let us matchmake a little.”

She snorts. “With love, absolutely fucking not. I know Jack has this fantasy in his head that I’ll date his captain and it’ll be all great, but he needs to chill.”

“He told you that?”

“More or less. He’s not subtle.”

Cole shrugs. “I’m not pushing, Clem. I’m not Jack or, even worse, Trevor. But just, I don’t know. Maybe it’s not just a fantasy in Jack’s mind. He adores Nico. And you know he thinks the world of you. Maybe he actually sees something there. I don’t think he’d encourage it so much or fuck around with that just to fuck around. You’re some of the most important people in his life.”

Clementine sneaks a look at Nico, who’s literally just existing, and she can’t help but smile. At the sight of his smile. At the sight of him talking to Emilia. At the possibilities. But she turns back to Cole with a dimmer smile. “I don’t know, Coley. It’s not that-Nico’s amazing. He’s honestly just so…good. I don’t think he has a manipulative bone in his body. I just feel like I come with so much baggage, you know? No one’s gonna want that.”

Cole makes a noise in his throat. “Okay, first of all. It’s not baggage. It’s life. Everyone comes with some sort of baggage, so that’s stupid. Second of all, you have so many people who already love you despite the ‘baggage.’ What’s adding one more person to that list?”

She just hums. Cole offers her a smile, before switching topics to the Taylor Swift concert he went to last summer, which she knows he’s bringing up just to rile her up.

…..

On April 3, Clementine wakes up for work, to see that Jack and Luke are already awake, much to her surprise. She looks to the kitchen island and sees a plate of blueberry pancakes. She smiles sadly — her dad used to always make blueberry pancakes for breakfast if the boys were over. She doesn’t say anything and just hugs them both tightly as they all dig in. She has to run to work, and kisses them both on the cheek before heading out, promising to see them tonight.

After her shift ends, Clementine ducks into the staff bathroom to change. No jersey this time, but a cropped black Devils crewneck she cut herself with skinny jeans. She bids farewell to her coworkers before swiping her keycard and hopping on the train to Madison Square Garden. She’s meeting up with Emilia, who had the day off, and her husband Tony to watch the Devils take on the Rangers.

She’s grown to love The Rock, but going to a game at Madison Square Garden is pretty cool, even if she gets playfully chirped by Rangers fans multiple times as she walks in. She happily sips on her rum and coke, chatting with Emilia and Tony as she sees the seats slowly fill with blue. Hockey is always fun to watch, but she hasn't been to a game yet that has a rivalry quite like this one.

As the game starts and she naturally gets into it, she finds herself having a moment where she wishes her father was in the empty seat next to hers. Luke scores a goal, and for a split second, her fingers itch to reach out to hug him as if he was there. She shakes it off and just keeps cheering and playfully getting up in Emilia and Tony’s faces while trying not to spill her second rum and coke for the night. Seeing the 43 on Luke’s jersey makes her emotional and she bites her lip to keep herself together.

Afterwards, after a tough 2-1 loss, she bids Emilia and Tony goodnight as she tries to find the path to the locker rooms, even though she always insists that she doesn’t need an all-access pass or whatever, especially at an away game. But Jack and Luke always insist (“We’re literally all going to the same place after anyways. And this one is at MSG. We gotta make sure you haven’t been injured by their fans.”) and she’s learned to pick her battles with them.

It’s a nice enough night out, so she decides to wait outside instead of inside the hallway, texting Jack and Luke that she’s outside the exit. She ends up chatting with Jared, one of the guys on their equipment team, about how his daughter is just about to finish her first year of med school at UMass before the doors swing open. As usual, she gives Luke and then Jack comforting hugs, kissing their cheeks and ruffling their hair. Various members of the team start trickling out and she greets them all with smiles, chuckling softly as Dawson wraps her in a tight hug.

Since MSG is decently close to Newark (without traffic, that is, which is practically impossible for New York City), a lot of the guys drove together to come to the arena this morning. So she watches as they debate who’s getting in whose car, since apparently it has to be different from this morning because of who lives where and a bunch of factors Clementine doesn’t understand. As long as she’s getting home somehow, she doesn’t care.

She’s tuned them out so it takes Jack calling her name twice for her to pay attention. “Sorry. What’s up?”

“Do you mind riding with Neeks?” Jack says, waving his hand around. “We have a bigger car and it’s easier if we drop off Nate, Holtzy and-”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s fine,” she turns to Nico. “You sure you have room? I can always just take the train back.”

Nico snorts, “Jack and Luke would kill me if I had you going back on the train this late. I have plenty of room in my car. I’m just taking Bratter back.”

“Only if you’re sure,” she says, before nodding at Jack and Luke. “See you both at home.”

(She misses the look that the boys all give Nico)

She insists that Jesper take the front seat, practically shoving him and quickly climbing into the back, making Nico laugh. Somehow, the traffic in Lincoln Tunnel is bearable and they’re in Jersey City in just over half an hour. Clementine hops out to give Jesper a hug once they reach his place before sliding into the passenger seat.

Nico hands her the aux cord, as Jesper had been auxing earlier. She gives him a look. “Are you sure?”

He looks behind him before pulling back on the road. “Why wouldn’t I be?” She hums in response, satisfied, before shuffling one of her playlists. “When do you have to go into work tomorrow?”

“Uh, not until after lunch.”

“Perfect. Are you hungry?”

“A bit actually, yeah.”

“Wanna grab a quick bite to eat and maybe a drink? I know a place that’s pretty close to here.”

She looks at the side of his face with a smile. “Yeah,” she says softly. “That sounds great.”

Nico catches her eye quickly, and smiles back. “Okay, great. Yeah.”

Within 10 minutes, Nico parks his car in the parking lot of a beer garden. It’s lively, but not crowded enough to overwhelm her. The outside patio is beautiful, and Nico just looks behind her with an encouraging smile. Without thinking, she grabs his hand and they walk in.

He confidently strolls up to the bar, greeting the bartender, who seems to recognize him and greets him with a friendly handshake, causing her to let go of his hand. The bartender, Adam, he introduces himself as, is already filling up a pint of beer for Nico as he asks her what she wants to drink. She orders herself a rum and coke. He asks if Nico wants “his usual” for the food order and Nico nods, also adding something else that he says too fast for Clementine to decipher. But Adam just nods, before saying he’ll put the order in and goes to prepare their drinks.

“You come around here often?”

Nico shrugs. “I guess. A bunch of the boys do. It’s a good place to hang out and grab some food.” They both grab their drinks and Nico leads her to the outdoor patio with his hand hovering over her back.

She slides into her seat, putting her hair up and taking a sip of her drink. “I’m sorry about the loss.”

“It’s not the end of the world, since we’ve already clinched playoffs…”

“But it still sucks?” She finishes for him. He nods, and she offers a sympathetic smile. “I get it, especially against the Rangers, I’m sure. But you guys still skated really well.”

“Thanks.” He smiles over his glass. “How was your day?”

Clementine blinks repeatedly, her throat suddenly feeling rough. It’s more likely that he’s just asking to be polite, but the fact that after a tough loss, he’s interested and cares enough to even ask. He must notice something shift in her eyes because he softens, hands itching to grab hers. She does the job for him, grabbing his hand probably too quickly. But before she can think too much on it, he loosely intertwines their fingers on the table.

She clears her throat. “Honestly, not the best. Ending on a good note though.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

She chuckles weakly. “Would you even wanna hear it?”

“Of course I would.”

She finds nothing but sincerity in his eyes. She takes another sip of her drink. “One of the our cancer patient’s chemo results came back ineffective, which is just…so fucking shitty. Docs aren't deterred though and they talked with the kid’s parents today about targeted therapies which is good…” she trails off with a shrug. “Just being in the room as they broke the news, it…I don’t know. It’s always tough. Had me thinking.”

“Back to your own dad?” Nico asks carefully.

Clementine nods, surprised that he remembered. Before she can respond, their food comes and her stomach is happy seeing the large tray of loaded fries in front of them. They dig in for a moment and she nods. “Yeah.”

“Do you do anything special to celebrate? For his birthday?” He asks.

“Nothing really set in stone. I always try to do something, whether it’s watch his favorite movie or listen to his favorite songs. Something small and personal. I’m usually not in town to visit his grave, but my mom tries to go. He used to always make blueberry pancakes, so Jack and Luke made some this morning, which was sweet.”

“Jack and Luke know how to make pancakes?”

She snorts. “I’m just as surprised as you are. Yeah, so nothing crazy. Called my mom during my lunch break just to make sure she was all good.”

“What does she do?”

“She’s a teacher. 5th grade. So 10 and 11 year olds. She loves it. All the teachers have their own little group. She has her summers off to travel and spend time with family and friends.” Clementine pulls out her phone, quickly finding a picture in her camera roll of her and mom earlier this year at her graduation. “Good old Maeve. Irish to the core and proud of it, yet still can curse you out in Spanish pretty well. Says that that was one of the first things my dad taught her when they were in college.”

Nico laughs. “I still automatically switch to Swiss-German when I wanna curse and chirp. It takes a couple of seconds to translate to English in my head. But sometimes it just sounds so much better in Swiss-German that I wish people could understand.”

“Do you think in Swiss-German still, or do you think more in English?”

“It depends. I would say day to day, definitely Swiss-German. But if I’m at the rink and I’m, you know, talking to the team and stuff, usually English. I’ve trained myself in games to think pretty much in English now, since it’s so fast. But if I’m tired, my brain just switches back to Swiss-German.”

“That makes sense.”

“Do you speak any other languages?”

She wipes her fingers on her napkin. “I speak enough Spanish to be able to get by, though it’s not as great as it used to be. Apparently I was fluent as a child.”

“Is all your family in the states?”

“Nah. Every year during the summer when I was a kid, we used to go to Spain and Ireland to see family over there. I haven’t gotten to go back there in a few years, but I’d like to at some point.”

Nico hums, just as a waiter comes with a plate of two large chocolate chip cookies. Clementine grins at Nico, who just nods at her to dig in. “Where in Spain is your family from?”

“Seville area, so more south.” She smiles, picturing Seville in her head, some of the rum and coke finally hitting her. “I loved getting to see where my dad grew up. Playing soccer in the fields where he played. Eating at the small restaurants he used to eat at. Remember when you asked me where home was?” Nico blinks for a moment before nodding. “I think I lied. It’s physical places sure, but it’s always been more of the people for me. And their joy and where they feel the most joy. So if we’re basing it off that, home could be Seville. Home could be Cork in Ireland. Home could be Toronto. Home could be Boston. Hell, home could be fucking Michigan with Q, Jack and Lukey even if I’ve only been there, like, three times.”

“Well, where’s home for you at this second? Right here. Right now.”

“I don’t know. Everywhere? Nowhere?” She looks down at the table, eyebrows furrowing at herself at how emotional she’s getting. She blames the rum, from just now and earlier at the game. “That’s a depressing answer. I’m sorry. I guess, I just, when Luke scored tonight, the 43 on the back of his jersey, for a split second, I thought my dad was sitting next to me. I reached out to the empty seat next to me like he was. But he wasn’t. And I’m so, so sad he wasn’t.” She sniffles, “I’m sorry. Fuck. This isn’t-”

“Hey, hey.” Nico assures, holding her hand across the table again. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, okay? Nothing. I promise.”

She doesn’t let any tears fall and just stares into Nico’s comforting eyes with a small laugh. “I feel like you’ve seen me emotional a decent amount considering how short of a time we’ve known each other.”

“That’s okay. Emotions are good.” She chuckles again and his dimples grow deeper. “I-I figured today might be hard. I wanted- I wanted to check in and make sure you were okay.”

“So you only asked me to grab food for ulterior motives? Not just cause you wanted to hang out?”

His eyes widen almost comically. “No! No. I-I love spending time with you. I just-”

“Relax, Nico. I’m just messing with you,” she giggles as he rolls his eyes. “I appreciate it, though. Really. I think you’re too kind to me.”

“I’m just the right amount of kind to you.”

She watches as he finishes off his beer and has a sudden urge to lean across the table and kiss him.

…..

(That night, when she comes home, she expects Jack and Luke to be asleep. They aren’t. Instead, they’re both sitting on the couch, some random hockey game on quietly in the background. Their heads snap in her direction as the door clicks shut.

She immediately holds up her hand. “Don’t even. I don’t wanna hear it.”

“Hear what?” Luke says. “That you’re fucking our captain?”

“Crude, first of all. Untrue, second of all. And third of all, and most importantly, you guys are annoying.”

“You’re deflecting,” Jack sings.

“You haven’t asked me a question,” she shoots back. “Goodnight, you two.”

They both groan. “Can you both just get over whatever the fuck you two have going on and make it official?” Jack whines.

“Goodnight,” she repeats, walking to her room. “Don’t forget breakfast tomorrow!”

She collapses on her bed and screams into her pillow)

…..

If Clementine’s completely honest to herself, making it to the home games for the playoffs is a priority because she just wants to be there just as much, if not more, than she wants to be there to support. Hockey with stakes is nerve wracking, but it’s also a completely different game than the regular season. Even after what could be the most bone-tiring day of work, she’s excited to have the next month or so be filled with as much hockey as possible. She doesn’t even try to fight when Jack and Luke automatically put her name down for a ticket for every home game. Even if she won’t be able to make it come the day, she’ll just leave it for one of their friends. She heard that some of Luke’s Michigan friends are trying to make it out, to which she’s simultaneously elated by but also dreading. Their apartment will not be quiet for the foreseeable future.

The day of their first game against the Penguins, she doesn’t have to go into the hospital, since she had just done two overnights in three days. She sleeps soundly until 2 p.m., and crawls out quietly, knowing both Jack and Luke’s door are shut as they’re taking their pregame naps. She pours out a cup of coffee, makes herself a sandwich, before settling on the couch with a textbook beside her and her notebook on her lap.

She hears Jack and Luke start getting ready, shower heads running and closet doors opening and shutting. When they both come out in their game day suits, she insists on taking a picture of the both of them, to which they both groan at. They relent, and she sends the picture to Ellen, Jim and Quinn, before squeezing them and telling them good luck, promising them that she’ll see them afterwards.

After they leave, she starts getting ready, humming to herself as she heats up the flat iron to put some waves and volume into her hair. She figures she has the time, and she hasn’t done anything to her hair in awhile.

As she’s about to put the flat iron to her hair, someone knocks on the door. She rolls her eyes and yells out, “You two have keys, you know? Use them for once.” No response, just three more knocks. She huffs in annoyance, sets her flat iron down and walks to the door.

“I’m going to fucking kill-oh.” It’s Nico, in his perfect game day suit with his hair styled perfectly. “Nico. Hey. Aren’t you supposed to be-”

He kisses her.

Oh.

He’s still kissing her, both his hands on her cheeks and she finds herself fisting his shirt. He’s still kissing her, and she doesn’t want him to stop. He tries to pull away, but she pulls him back in, and she smiles against his lips at the little noise that comes out of his mouth. He tastes like mint and home.

He does eventually pull away, flushed and delighted and flustered. “I have to go.”

“You have impeccably shit timing, Cap.”

They both chuckle. He takes a hold of her hands. “I know, I know. I’m sorry. I just had to.”

“Why?” She’s not letting him go that easy.

He squeezes her hands. His stare is making her feel the most seen she’s felt in awhile. “Well, I-I have a long answer that I don’t think I can think of right now. But the short answer is that I like you. A lot. And I’ve wanted to kiss you since the day at the hospital and every day since.”

She swallows, straightening his shirt that she messed up. “Go. I’ll see you after the game, yeah?” She kisses him on the cheek before forcing herself to back away. With one last grin, he shoves his hands in his pockets and turns around. She leans her hip against the door frame, “Nico?”

He turns back around in the middle of the hallway, “Yeah?”

She grins, fondness in her skin and bones. “Good luck. You’ll be great.” With one last salute from him, she closes the door. She leans her back against her door and lets out a little squeal.

…..

(The second Nico walks out of the locker room, all she can see is him. His hair is messy as all hell and he looks exhausted, but his face lights up, and for the first time, she knows it’s because of her.

Without another word, she walks over to him and kisses him. It’s hard to ignore the cheers and whistles from the other people around them, but she ignores them, catching her breath with a giggle. She finally hones in on the other people in the room. Dawson’s grinning, Ryleigh shoots her a thumbs up, Curtis is audibly ‘aww’ing, Jonas is yelling something that she can’t understand but Nico can, judging from his blush.

“Ew,” Nico and Clementine whip around to see Luke with his nose scrunched up. “Like, I’m happy that you two finally, you know, got your heads out of your asses, but ew. I don’t wanna see it.”

Jack, who’s right next to him, is just grinning. For once, he’s saying nothing. Clementine’s suspicious. She narrows her eyes at him. “Nothing to say, Jacky?”

“Nothing Hisch doesn’t already know,” the two centers exchange a look that has her whipping her head between the both of them. “He’s just lucky we already played Vancouver so he doesn’t have to encounter Quinn.”

“You guys are ridiculous,” Clementine scolds. “Leave him alone.”

“Never, especially not now. Now he’s really stuck with us.” Jack beams. “You gonna ride with Cap or are we taking you home?”

She pokes Nico in the side. He looks down at her with a sweet smile. “Drive me home?” She asks.

“Always.”

For herself, but more to annoy Jack and Luke, she kisses him one more time. They both groan as Clementine feels Nico’s smile against her lips.)

#k writes #hockey fanfiction #hockey fanfic #devils #new jersey devils #nico hischier #nico hischier fic #nico hischier x oc #jack hughes #luke hughes #quinn hughes #nico hischier blurb #hockey blurb #nhl fic #nhl fanfiction #nhl blurb #nhl

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pastel-greene · 1 month

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The Daughter | king!sukuna x curse user!reader

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 - Magnets | Chapter 3

Summary: The mother of curses happens upon a blind child and decides to impart a portion of her power to them as an experiment of sorts. The power morphs the child in their image until they are part curse and part human. So what happens when they get employed by the King of Curses? Will humanity bloom as newfound emotions flow between the two? Or will they usher in an era of never ending terror?

Notes: not all of this will be canon, it will be loosely based off of the jjk universe :) taglist is open, comment on any chapter to be tagged in future ones

Genre: female reader, fluff, angst, ‘loads’ of smut, violence, sukuna true form but like not with the weird face lmao just double set of eyes and arms, dark reader

Warnings: profanity, explicit smut (two dick sukuna, sadistic sex, biting, oral m & f receiving, pet names, more to be added), violence, depictions of gore, dark minds cause yk, mentions of rape, toxic relationships, chaotic neutral reader, trauma, possessiveness from reader and sukuna, torture, vampire themes (reader’s blood is infused with the Mother of curses so if a curse user is to drink it it basically gives them a temporary stat boost bc what can i say vampire sukuna seems hot), and more to be added as story progresses

Word Count: 6.4k

This work contains mature content, so absolutely no minors I will block you if I find out :)

Sukuna’s POV

Screams ring out in his ears as he plows into the concubine beneath him. Tears fill her eyes and blood trickles from various bite marks he has left across her body. Her hands helplessly pull against her restraints as her thighs beg to close and bar him from the assault he’s laying on her insides. Both of his cocks stretch her to lengths she doesn’t have as she writhes in pain, his pace so brutal he thinks he hears her pelvis crack. She tries to form pleas for him to stop but her tongue doesn’t let them pass, as she knew he might just kill her on the spot. So she just spasms there screaming and accepts the assault.

He couldn’t care less about her pain, he almost wanted to completely destroy her, slam into her until she splits into two and finally shuts the hell up. But that would affect his relationship with her father. He controls a substantial farming operation that keeps the land from starving. In his youth, he would have just slaughtered the world and been done with it, but what’s the point in being King if there is nothing? He had found that some people had an ounce of worth for their intellect. They may not be worth a damn as fighters, but they created things he had come to enjoy. Like this delectable slut crying beneath him. Her curves were full, her skin soft and supple, her eyes always so full of fear driven obedience. A perfect fuck toy in his array of options.

He slams into her rougher causing her eyes to go wide as he penetrates her cervix. She is so perfect yet so fucking disgusting. She no longer felt right, her obedience no longer made his cock twitch, her perfect skin no longer held the attraction it once did. She was weak, pathetic, and not you. You. A cocky bitch just begging to be knocked down a peg. Begging to be forced down with his weight and torn apart from the inside. Would you scream for him? No, you wouldn’t be that boring. You would be calling him dirty names no one else would dare to. You would hurt him every time he hurt you and fight him every step of the way for dominance. You wanted to fuck him? What a joke. You didn’t know what you were asking for, and if he decided to, it wouldn’t be your choice to begin with.

His cock finally starts twitching inside the useless sow beneath him as he pictures fucking her. He hated that it was so difficult to touch you, he wanted to feel you more. He wanted to bury his face in your neck and get lost in your smell. He wanted to cover you in his smell so he could inhale the birth of your combined scents. He wanted to bite you until your skin broke and leave you covered in bruises from his mouth’s assault. You would look so fucking pretty marked as his. Even better if his claim to you reached even your insides. He would cum in you over and over again and keep you too full of his cocks for any of it to escape. He wanted to marinate your insides with his seed until they would only wet for him. He wanted you in his bed covered in blood, sweat, cum, and tears as you took him better than any other bitch could and begged for more instead of pushing him away. Fuck yes, focus on that picture, yes, yes, yessss.

With a few more pumps he was filling his concubine’s holes with his seed until it came bursting out past his cocks. He panted a few times before looking down. He felt a wave of anger wash over him at what he just thought of. That girl is a peasant, a run through whore with no respect. He didn’t want to fuck you, he wanted to put a spike through your eye socket and let your nude corpse hang from his throne. It took everything he had to not take his anger out on the passed out girl beneath him. It wouldn’t bring him real pleasure anyway and would cause more trouble than it was worth. He pulled his cocks out and used her sheets to wipe them clean before grabbing his robe. He had more hearings to attend for the day and a good idea of how he was going to let off steam. For the villagers’ sake, there better not be many.

(Y/N) POV

Your new servants had come not long after Geto left. They took your measurements and went over design specifications with you before taking down your preferred booze. You had spent the rest of the day in your room, taking a mental inventory of everything you now had. Your room was ridiculously huge. You genuinely weren’t sure what to do with everything in it. You had a large mat for sitting and a table in the middle of it that you had decided to move to the side of it. You doubted there were enough people here to need the other side available for seating, and the newfound space gave you room to workout on. You knew there was a shared training space, but you figured you could occasionally do it here if there was someone already there. You figured you had pissed the King off earlier and wanted to avoid him when you could, because you knew your smartass mouth would end up losing you visitation days. You don’t think Uraume liked you either. Geto might be fun to spar with, so you probably wouldn’t run if he was there.

You looked around at your empty shelves. You asked the servants what people usually filled them with, and while they weren’t sure what the other sorcerers put in them, they guessed relics, personal items, or books. You weren’t one for keeping stuff as you considered most of it to be clutter, but you wondered about where you could get books. You thought of the anatomy and science books Ireiri used to keep and sometimes show you parts from. You missed her. You missed Kento too. Your whole life was miles away. Or well your old life. Until further notice this was your new life. You sighed as you pulled back the curtain to look out the large window that acted as one of your room’s walls. The sun was starting to set. They were probably just waking and would soon find the letters you had sent for them explaining that you would be working here for a while and not to worry. You were going to let yourself continue to steep in useless emotions when there was a knock on your door.

Before you could respond it swung open. The King himself sauntered into your room like it was his, and well technically it was but you would still call it rude. You bowed your head to him and kept your eyes on the floor as he walked up to you and sniffed.

“Good girl, not a drop of alcohol in you. I didn’t know you were capable of following rules after your earlier outburst”, he said while towering over you.

“What can I say, I am full of surprises my King.”

“King Sukuna, address my name in all of its glory”, he said with what you were sure was a pompous grin.

“Forgive my error King Sukuna. I didn’t mean to hurt your name’s ego”, you said knowing damn well you shouldn’t but couldn’t help it. You wanted to rip the stick out of his ass and beat him with it.

A loud crack echoed throughout your chambers as you felt a slap land on your cheek for your insolence. The impact caused your head to slump to the side, before you cocked it up at him with blood ridden smirk. He had busted your lip, so you straightened your stance and let him watch you lick the blood from the corner before resuming your bow.

“Crazy brat”, he said while thinking about how well you took his strength. Most people would have been left with their heads facing the wrong way from that hit, but instead you smirked through blood tinted teeth. “And to think that I had come bearing gifts. I don’t think you deserve them if you can’t keep that mouth under control though. Naughty bitches shouldn’t be rewarded”, he said with a smirk while using one of his hands to tilt your chin up. “What happened to the good girl that greeted me?”

You fucking hated these pet names. You knew he was just taunting you, but you also knew you would have to comply to get your gifts and for him to leave. And you really wanted a drink at this point. “I sincerely apologize King Sukuna”, you said as you continued to stare up into his eyes. His upper set stared back into yours while the bottom set looked down at the blood smeared across your lip.

“Let me touch you without you leeching my power and I will consider it forgiven.”

You really didn’t want to but knew that there wasn’t really a way around it. Constantly disobeying him wouldn’t be fruitful in the long haul and definitely wouldn’t help you get out of this any quicker, so you sighed and slightly titled your head while still looking at him, “You may touch me for now”.

He chuckled at your allowance, “Why, thank you. How graceful of you to allow your King to touch you.” His hand reached out to your lip before his tongue appeared and lurched out, licking up the residue of your blood. You went to jump back at the unexpected appendage dragging across the side of your lip, but his hand grabbed your hair and kept you still. A feral look started unwinding in his eyes as he tasted you. A look you knew all too well. He was absorbing the Mother’s nectar that pulsed through your body, nostrils flaring as his senses became overridden.

“If you take too much at once your heart will stop— regardless of how strong you are. It will fuel you and boost your abilities, but it is a double edged sword. Not to mention I would die and you would be forever cut off from it”, you said hoping it would convince him not to give into the bloodlust that covered his features.

You weren’t wrong. He could feel his power grow, his blood pumping into his muscles, his ears could hear the smallest of sounds from a mile away, his eyes could see things in what felt like a bird’s eye view and zoomed in one at the same time. Is this how you always were? Was your body this in tune with everything around you? His skin was on fire. He could feel yours with such detail, the warmth it radiated, the power humming through it. If he concentrated enough he felt like he would be able to feel your feelings.

He shoved your face away from him and stepped back, “What are you?”

“A vampire”, you said with as straight of a face as you could.

He blinked a few times as his jaw hung open. “A vampire? They’re real?”

You burst out into a tearful laugh and slapped your knee, “No, of course not! But you should have seen the look on your face, it was almost cute”, you said before composing yourself and quickly trying to fix what you were sure was another mistake, “I apologize for joking with you King Sukuna. It just seemed like it would be funny. I am not a vampire, but I cannot tell you why my blood is like that. I have no issue serving you or allowing you to help yourself to it on occasion, but there are some secrets I must keep. Keeps things fun and fresh, y’know?”

No. He did not know. All he knew was that you were the most insufferable brat with the biggest balls he had ever met. You had just lied to and humiliated him and then laughed in his face. Then told him you would continue to keep secrets from him for your own entertainment. Honestly, he was baffled. He never had to deal with insolence like this. Most people would have never dared talk to him like this, and if they had, they would have been struck down on the spot. If you weren’t growing more and more useful by the day he would have already killed you. Maybe he could tie you up and use you as a blood bag, or kidnap one of those friends you wrote to. That would likely end up with an all out brawl between the two of you and as much as he hated to admit it, he didn’t want to kill you. So he just pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

Awh, you actually felt a little bad about how flustered he looked. He had opened and closed his mouth a few times before resorting to the classic sigh and bridge pinch. You guess there actually was a chance he had never been joked around with at length.

“I am sorry King Sukuna, truly. My joke was insensitive and disrespectful. I truly didn’t mean anything deeper than to get a laugh out of me and maybe you. I am sorry if I have upset you”, you said with your brows knitted together.

Pity. You were giving him pity. As if he didn’t feel angry enough, you were now looking down on him. “Give me your hand”.

You were confused and slightly nervous given the dark look swimming in his eyes, but you obeyed and placed your hand within his. Within a split second he was applying a crushing force to it, your bones breaking under his temporary boost in strength. You bit and sucked on the inside of your cheek to keep from releasing any noises or tears for him.

“Beg for forgiveness”, he said while digging his fingers in between the bones of your hand, blood dripping onto the floor. He watched as you stared up at him with anger lashing behind your pupils. He could feel your urge to fight him right there, but his urge was the same. He had put up with your cheeky remarks but for you to so openly look down on him as if he was weak enough to need pity was a line he wasn’t going to let you cross without consequence. He spread his fingers as the ligaments holding your knuckles tore apart. Tears swelled in your eyes but refused to pool over the edge. That’s it, cry for him.

God you wanted to take him into the realm in between and tear him limb from limb. You wanted to stab your energy through each of his wrists and wrap it around his hands before slowly pulling them off his body. You wanted to watch him scream in pain for you, but you knew that would be a shortsighted win. So you swallowed your bitter pride and begged. “Please, King Sukuna forgive me.”

“Beg harder brat”, he said while clenching his fist, your bones starting to snap sideways through your skin as blood now poured onto the floor.

You hated begging but fucking hell your hand hurt. You had experienced pain before but never have you not been able to end it. You hated him. Fuck joking around with him. Fuck letting him touch you. Fuck letting him experience your blood. He didn’t deserve any of it. He was a spiteful little shit too cocky for his own good. Maybe you could say screw it to the whole deal and just fucking end him here. Maybe your Mother would accept him as a gift and he could become a mindless slave for her and bow to you both. Fuck, you’d be damned if he would make you run to your mother for help though. You would turn him into a slave on your own. It may take time, patience, and groveling, but you would find a time to strike. Send your magic right into his mind and never let go. Poke holes into it until he is just a puppet for your amusal. And then you would walk him around the realm, leashed and on his knees for you. A good boy. Fucking asshole, you would ruin him, “Please King Sukuna, please forgive me. I am so sorry for what I said. Please stop hurting me. I promise I will be better for you, I will be good for you.”

Looking down at your teary eyes, the watered down blood residue on your lower cheek, your mangled hand drenched in red, and hearing you beg to be good for him had his cock twitching on the spot. He pulled his fingers out of your hands and licked the blood off of them, relishing in the feeling that washed over him again. “If you would just be a good girl for me all the time I wouldn’t have to hurt you like this, your words are so pretty but those eyes still look like they want me dead. Close them.”

He wanted you to close your eyes? To go back to seeing the world in black? Fucking asshole had no idea the depth he was torturing you with such a simple command, but if you resisted he would know. So you closed your eyes and felt his hand wrap around your throat and pull you up towards him, “You are mine, brat. I own you and you will obey me one way or another. Do you understand, pet?” He brushed the hair around your face as he waited for your response.

“Yes, King Sukuna,” you managed to get out in a choked gurgle. He is right. If he could see your eyes right now, it would all be murderous intent.

He licked along your jaw to your ear before pricking it and licking up the blood that pooled, “Good girl”.

The King had left shortly after that and to your surprise allowed your gifts to be brought in. You wasted no time downing a few shots before looking at the hand he had mangled earlier. It had healed before he had even let you go, but you were still pissed. Talk about no sense of humor. You make a few jokes and he shreds your fucking hand and treats you like an object. You punched the air a few times as your frustration built. You needed some sort of release. Sex, yes. Sex would be a great release. Someone to burn off some of your energy so you could calm the fuck down. But there was no one to do it with. Ughhhh you hated it here and it had only been one day. You sighed as you stared down your empty glass. Kento would know how to calm you down. He would have you seeing stars and forgetting all your troubles within minutes.

You decided to cut your losses on sex and go for a walk instead. You hadn’t been given a curfew, so you had your servants take you down to where the river hugged the border of the shrine. You drank straight from the bottle as you sat with your knees up to your chest and looked into the water. It felt so calm, so free, so peaceful. You think that if you were to die you would want to drown and allow your body to float to the bottom and never be found. You could deteriorate into the water until you were one.

“Rough day”, Geto asked as he walked up to where you were sitting.

You were sure he already knew the answer so you just scoffed.

He sighed at your response or lack thereof. “Hey, hey, HEEEEY—.”

“WHAT”, you shouted before giggling at his use of your own antics.

He gave you a smile before coming to sit beside you, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Okay we don—.”

“Just what is his problem? All I did was joke with him and he tore apart my fucking hand? I would just not speak to him and avoid crossing paths, but he came into my room. How the hell can I avoid him if he comes to me? I am obviously going to say something stupid, because that’s apparently just a me thing, so why make situations that don’t need to happen? He is just insufferable”, you interrupted. You were so frustrated with your situation, but saying it out loud also made it sound childish. You were just as much to blame for this mess. You should know to just speak to him as little as possible and play along with his delusion to make your life easier. It felt simple enough until he actually spoke. Everything he did got under your skin, you hated everything about him.

“Are you done?”

“Oh fuck you too”, you said while taking another drink. “I know I should just keep my mouth shut and that I am part of the problem. I have just never had to answer to anyone like I do him. I am strong enough to not have to bow my head, yet here I am, constantly forced to look at the floor.”

“You two are so alike”, he said quietly, “you’re both so strong that your first thought is to deal with things through violence. It is like two opposing magnets trying to make a connection, you just constantly fight for dominance.”

He wasn’t wrong. You hated that you had to be the one to analyze your behavior and not him but maybe that would be easier. Without really thinking you laid your head on his shoulder, “Thank you for talking with me even though you don’t really like me.”

He looked down at where your head lay before looking out at the water with you, “I know I am such a saint helping the perpetually needy”, he said while smiling which earned him a light punch in the side. “You’re not all bad. If anything, this is the most exciting things have been here since the war.”

“I know, right? I’m funny and exciting, dammit. Finally, someone here sees it”, you say with a drunken hum at the end. This, right here, was nice. It felt like being home. You smiled and gave another hum before sitting up. “I should probably go back to my quarters, thank you again for talking with me.”

“And here I thought you were going to burden me with carrying you back to your room after drooling all over my shoulder”, he said while also getting up and brushing himself off.

“I had considered it, but I figured I had burdened you enough for a day. Check back in tomorrow, yeah”, you say with a smile while waving your hand carrying the empty bottle of tequila and heading back to your room. Your servants followed you close behind, making sure you didn’t trip over any of the steps on the way.

You woke early the next morning and had your servants take you to the training area. You started with a good amount of stretches as you tried to calm your mind. Currently, your goal was to play along with Lord Spooky, so you could minimize your interactions with him. Life here was probably going to be lonely, but you were supposed to start actually training as one of Sukuna’s guards in a few days. You honestly didn’t know what all that entailed. He already ruled most of the land and didn’t have any immediate enemies, so what was your purpose? Uraume was basically his personal secretary and Geto traveled to deal with diplomatic issues.

You moved your body into a handstand as you continued to ponder. Would you continue your job as an assassin and kill those who defied him? That was the only real guess you had, because why else would he need you? He didn’t know about your blood when he first met you, so you doubted you were called to be a refillable potion for him. Did he know about your ability to enter people’s minds? Were you here to get inside people’s heads and find out just how loyal they were? To weed out potential traders before they even have a chance to act? You had absolutely no idea and this train of thought had obviously derailed from the calming track on the spiraling one.

You took in a deep breath as you continued to hold yourself upside down. You thought about your time with the Mother. She was way more cruel than he was, but she had a right to be cocky. She could wipe anyone off the face of the earth with just a thought. She is as old as time and could outsmart any creature. So why you? This wasn’t the first time you had asked yourself this question. You had no idea why she spared you and you don’t think she really did either. She would always just say curiosity and leave it at that. You wondered if you were making her proud with this decision. You knew that curses had been on the rise ever since you started working and that the ones you created were vastly different than hers or the ones organically created, but it didn’t feel like enough. Maybe that’s why you chose to serve Sukuna. He had obviously been gifted when it came to cursed energy and was cruel like Mother, like you too in a lot of ways. Deep down you are hoping he will show you the path to making Mother proud, but maybe it is just a lie you’re chasing down a rabbit hole.

You let out a sigh as you stood up from your position, shaking out your wrists and rolling your neck. You hated how lost you felt in your own thoughts, so you decided to stop thinking all together as you tapped into your energy. You could feel it expand around you as your senses changed. You could feel the energy of everything around you in greater detail than before. You could see the faint life forces of the bugs around you, feel the energy of the wind that surged into your being, see all of the servants working on the shrine and the fear that possessed them to scrub until their hands cracked. An all too familiar presence crept closer to where you were. You knew they had been walking this way for quite some time, but also knew they had already sensed you, so running was obsolete. You stood at the edge of the training grounds barefoot. To most onlookers, it looked like all you were doing was standing there. But those who could see cursed energy, could see it very faintly drapsed across the area like a spider web made of mist. Letting you know everything going on down to the smallest detail. If you wanted you could enter someone’s mind or simply listen in on conversations happening behind closed doors. You could even pool your energy into an area and create a curse if you so felt the need.

Sukuna cleared his throat as he drew closer onto the field. “Good morning King Sukuna, my apologies. I didn’t realize you used the training grounds in the morning. I will leave you to it”, you said while bowing and turning to take your leave.

“I didn’t say you could leave, pet. Continue your training, it was in your stipulations after all”, he said while walking towards the center of the training ground.

You really didn’t want to stay, but you had no choice, so you decided to continue to work on your body control. You went from a push up, into a handstand, into a one handed handstand pushup, and then back down to repeat. The Mother had taught you that one of the most effective ways to truly control your cursed energy was by learning how to control your body. You worked in slow controlled movement, allowing your energy to run along your muscles like water.

Sweat began to form on your body and visibly swam down your muscles since the top you decided to work out in was the equivalent of a modest sports bra. It wrapped around your neck, curved down from there to over your boobs, before connecting with itself in the back. You hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but now that Sukuna was here, you felt a little exposed. It’s not that you were shy about your body, but you could feel his gaze wondering over to you. His type probably has smooth skin free of scarring and devoid of muscle like a doll. Not that his type mattered to you. Because it didn’t.

“What exactly are you training by doing that”, he probed from above you.

“A key to expanding your understanding and control over your cursed energy, is to feel the general energy within you body and how it flows. Understanding how it flows and being able to feel it at any given time allows you to guide it. Which allows you to enhance certain parts of your body at a second’s notice. If you add cursed energy to the regular energy, then the effectiveness multiplies, King Sukuna,” you said through steadier breaths than he expected. To him, the concentration looked like strain, like you were having a hard time when it actually sounded like you were doing nothing when you talked.

He got down beside you and started copying what you were doing, but let out a frustrated groan,”I don’t feel anything. It isn’t working.” You weren’t looking at him but he could see your lips twitch into a smile. Brat.

You stopped your cycle and knelt beside him, “I can show you how to do it, but it would require me to touch and look at you, King Sukuna”.

“Wow are you asking me permission to touch and look at me? I never thought I’d see the day,” and he wasn’t lying. Part of him loved you asking him permission, but the other missed your rudeness. He didn’t regret punishing you yesterday, but now he was worried you might start treating him like everyone else did.

“Yes, King Sukuna. I figured it would be in my best interest to start following more of the rules”.

You weren’t smiling at him, you weren’t trying to joke with him, you were talking to him with complete indifference. He didn’t realize you would be that upset over what happened. Your hand was obviously fine now, so why were you being so cold? “You have permission for both, but if you fail to teach me, I will punish you again.” He knew that probably wasn’t the best choice of words but it definitely sparked something within yours eyes. He watched as you bit the insides of your cheeks, obviously trying to withhold a shitty remark. He wanted to hear it, though.

You took a deep breathe and swallowed what you wanted to say, “I will do my best to please you, King Sukuna.” He even hated the way you said his name with respect. He liked the way played with the vowels before.

“First, you should take a really deep breath. Feel how it fills your lungs and provides your body with oxygen”. He watches as you take a deep breath and motion for him to do the same. With a slight eye roll over how stupid this feels, he follows suit. He can feel it enter through his nose and how the muscles in his body soak it up.

“The feeling is faint but that is how your energy feels when you focus on it. Now let’s start in a narrow pushup position”, you don’t move but motion for him to. He gets into position with all four of his arms on the ground. You tell him to slowly descend and really allow himself to feel how his muscles work. He starts going down, but doesn’t feel anything.

He groans again, “It still isn’t working. I am beginning to think you are just lying and I should shred your other hand.”

“You will not shred my fucking hand due to your lack of fucking patience to follow a simple direction. I am not lying and my teaching will work if you would just shut the hell up and listen”, you cleared your throat as you remembered you were supposed to stay composed, “King Sukuna. So please just listen and follow my instructions”.

There you were. He knew he was being annoying, but he had to find some way to get you to act like normal again. “Wow and here we were doing so good on manners”, he says while going back into position. He starts going down quicker than he was supposed to so you put your hand against his chest.

“You need to go slower than how I was. It is easier to feel the energy when your motions are so controlled it looks like you aren’t moving”, you say keeping your hands on his chest and guiding him down. He looks up at you while you do it and you know your face is a little pink. His chest is firm and warm. You wonder what it would feel like to lick and bite his muscles. His skin is softer than you would have imagined and he smells so good. He smells like jasmine and petrichor. It beckons you to pull his hair back and kiss down his neck before crawling into his grasp. You want to know what it would feel like to makeout with him while his other mouth sucks on one of your nipples. He has so many hands to make sure no part of you lacks attention. You quickly pull your thoughts out of your loins as you focus on his energy. You begin to see it flowing throughout his muscles and start tracing the patterns with your fingers.

He can feel the way your fingertips ghost over his skin as you continue to avoid eye contact with him. With how big you talk, he didn’t think you would get like this just from touching his bare chest. Not that he was really one to talk. The way you were ever so lightly touching him and staring at his body, occasionally meeting his stare, had him thinking all kinds of thoughts. He thought about how your skin tasted and felt against his tongue. He wondered about how your tongue tasted, how your cum tasted. How that snarky mouth would feel wrapped around his cock. He wanted to know if you could control your inside muscles like you’re showing him and milk him like he has never been milked. He wants to see the face you make when you cum and he wants to be the one you make it for. He wondered how it would feel to have you straddle him and lay against his chest as he stroked your hair. Stupid little thoughts really.

He was so caught up in them he almost didn’t feel the flow of his energy under your fingertips, “I can feel it now. I can feel the energy flowing through me.”

You clear your throat and remove your hands from him, “That’s good. Once you are confident you have pinpointed it, start moving at the speed I was through the motions”, you say while scooting away a bit to give him room.

He continues through the motions until he has it down. He does it for a few minutes before asking how to imbue it with cursed energy.

You tell him to stop and sit up. You bring yourself closer until your knees are touching and grab two of his hands, putting them in between your own. “I am going to put my cursed energy into the energy in your hands. I won’t let it travel any further from these two and you will be able to feel it. I just need to show you how it feels, because it isn’t a process I can explain since everyone’s energy is a little different. But once you feel mine moving with your natural energy, your body should be able to figure out how to do it.”

“An inch past my hands and my other two will snap your neck, okay?”

You can’t help but smile and roll your eyes a little, “that is fair.”

You hold his hands and close your eyes as you focus on releasing a sliver of your energy into his fingers and through his palms. He watches you closely, the way your eyes flutter under your lids as you concentrate, the way your lips and chest move in sync with your breathing. He doesn’t know what he is feeling or why, but it isn’t not nice. He almost never wants this moment to end, but then he feels it. He has added cursed energy to his body before but it has never felt so connected. It is like he can feel every fiber of his being, control every atom. His own cursed energy wraps around yours, making you shiver slightly, before letting go of his hands. Your energy leaves with you and his continues to race from his hands throughout his whole body.

“This…this is incredible. I feel like I am actually alive for the first time”, he says in a quiet tone for only you two to hear.

“I am glad I could help, King Sukuna.” You get up and dust yourself off. “I think it is about time for me to wash this sweat off, though,” you say as you begin walking towards your quarters.

“Will you train in the morning again tomorrow,” he asks to what seems to be to both of your shocks. He didn’t even realize the words were coming out until they were spoken. What were you doing to him? Earlier, he wanted to tear you limb from limb, and now he wanted to never stop being touched like how you just did.

“Do you want me to?”

“What you do matters little to me”, he says in a very disinterested tone as he gets up and tries to regain his composure.

“I will be.”

“I said it didn’t matter. Now stop looking at me and speaking so casually, brat”, he retorts as he starts doing the training he originally came to do.

“Yes, King Sukuna”, you say with a small grin as you bow before leaving the training grounds.

Crazy. You were going to drive each other absolutely crazy one way or another.

Notes: this one is a bit shorter than the last but the next one will probably be quite long and will most definitely have them fucking. I hope you all enjoyed it ;) some more notes about this chapter

- Geto didn’t like the reader previously because he didn’t believe in the rumor he had heard like the King. He believed they were just an alcoholic with a knack for spreading lies. This is why he had so much hate for them in the beginning. He opens up to the idea of liking them when they practically managed to kick his head off without him even being able to react. This also makes it easier to laugh at their shitty jokes since he isn’t in such a mood over being near them anymore. When they come out in the garb he prefers to see women in he is shook. He knew that they had attractive features but he didn’t think they were his kind of attractive. The he watched them mouth off to Sukuna (something he has always wanted to do) and live?? And keep up with his attacks and literally stun all three of them?? Yea, he was kinda like damn I didn’t know you got down like that. He is by no means in love with them but he wouldn’t be against a good fuck. He is okay with being friends though as they keep things interesting.

- Sukuna fucking hates the reader and wants to annihilate them. But also hold them against his chest and brush their hair. He wants to show them levels of pain they didn’t know possible. But also wants to be the one to comfort them and make them feel better. He doesn’t love the reader, but also wants to be around them for more than just sex or power. He doesn’t understand why he is drawn to them and doesn’t want to kill them, but it has been happening since before they arrived. Mans had someone stalking them for quite some time. He hates how they mouth off and disrespect him, but also hates when they don’t. He will hurt them for not being able to keep up with his ever changing whims and then comfort them while telling them to be better from no on. Is it toxic? Duh, it’s Sukuna babes. He is not a soft or even reasonable lover… yet anyway. Who knows where they’ll end up.

- The reader was aware of someone stalking her but anytime they noticed them, their energy immediately disappeared. They have had many people watch them and plan to attack them in the past and they slaughtered all so they didn’t think too much about it. She has the same emotional conflict as Sukuna. There is obvious sexual attraction, but also he is a complete asshole, but so sweet sometimes. She is no saint, nor is she fragile, so maybe she deserves that kind of love. She can always dish it back out if she chose. Sukuna would secretly love it because no one has ever been able to truly hurt him. But realistically they are two kids that were dropped on their heads into cursed energy apparently. Born to be monsters, but who knows if that will be all their legacies leave.

Taglist: @missroro

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jishyucks · 1 year

Text

Gloves & Dittany ‣ cyj

‣ pairing: slytherin!yeonjun x gryffindor!reader

‣ genre: fluff, hogwarts!au, idiots-to-lovers (on reader’s part), sorta slice-of-life

‣ wc: 13.7k

‣ summary: ❝Sure, your heart might have skipped a beat or two because of Yeonjun, but it was just a momentary flutter, a reaction that didn't hold any significant meaning… Right?❞

↳ Alternatively, where Yeonjun’s flirtatious nature leaves you no choice but to doubt his evident feelings for you and, in turn, dismiss any emotions you may be developing for him

‣warnings?: reader is just,,, confused all the time, prob poor attempts of 'flirting' bc idk how to flirt, side characters may potentially be more entertaining than the mains, reader tends to make playful threats to their friends

‣ an: big thanks to @hoonieji (<3) for reading over more than half of this to build my confidence! anyways the amount of revising this went through is horrifying but I hope it was all worth it! it's so bittersweet that I finished this bc I enjoyed writing it :( I'm going to miss this pair a lot,,, anyways, hope you all enjoy!

‣tags: @flowerjun @forever-in-the-sky2 @yxnjvnnie @cookiehaos @ioveastera @yeonyeonyeonjun @fireheaurt @agustdiv1ne — couldn't tag @shwizhies

I. HEARTS IN HERBOLOGY

Over the years you've spent at Hogwarts, your love for Herbology has blossomed into a deep passion. Contrary to what your peers say about the class being boring and useless, you believe they couldn't be more wrong. Herbology is an underrated and misunderstood subject that offers unique elements not found in other classes.

At first glance, certain plants looked welcoming, but from what you’ve learned, the most attractive herbs can be the most deadliest. This could even work the other way around. Growth patterns of the plants can directly affect its magical properties, which explains why the professors created emphasis on the care for plants.

Although Herbology looked like any other ordinary subject at Hogwarts, there were a lot more layers to its content. You suppose this was the reason why you grew to love the subject.

“What’s the difference between you and those flowers over there?”

Enter Choi Yeonjun. The main reason why advanced Herbology isn't the perfect class for you, and you mean that in the kindest way possible. Yeonjun is something else. While you hope to simply enjoy the class, he sees it as an opportunity to engage in endless conversation. You once joked with him that his voice could win a competition against a mandrake for being the most ear-piercing, but, surprisingly, he took no offense to this.

To make matters worse, a significant portion of his chatter is dedicated to shamelessly flirting with you. Despite months of this routine, he always finds new ways to keep things interesting, and you have to admit, it's quite impressive.

It was strange how all this had even started. You and Yeonjun were only familiar with each other because he was childhood friends with your fellow house member, Changbin. But after an encounter with the pair at Hogsmeade, Yeonjun started becoming quite adamant about making his presence known to you. And regardless of his motives and advances, you’ve, since then, been choosing not to indulge in his actions.

If you were given a knut every time someone asked you why you never gave him a chance, you’d be rich. Hell, you’d be bathing in galleons if you did, because this was Choi Yeonjun we were talking about. The one and only Choi Yeonjun who could practically steal hearts without the use of some silly charm pulled straight out of a textbook. He was reasonably one of the most attractive guys in the entirety of Hogwarts and his personality was one to adore, so you weren’t surprised with the persistent interrogation of those interested in him.

Though every question was worded differently, each one becoming more and more creative than the last, you hit them with the same, lazy explanation that you knew never left them satisfied.

“I just don’t see him in that way.”

Yeonjun stands by your side, hands comfortably nestled in gloves, which completely disregards Professor Longbottom's instructions that the gloves were not necessary for today's class. He looked ridiculous being the only one wearing the heavy-duty gloves. You hold back a laugh as your gaze follows his pointing finger, which leads you to a cluster of asphodels.

You look up at him, “One is an accessory to a deadly sleeping potion.” You’re cleaning up your area, making sure dirt is only where it was supposed to be.

“Y/N, c’mon~” Yeonjun whines, “Just play along.”

“Okay,” you huff, “What is it?”

Yeonjun stands quietly for a short moment, lips pressed together, “Now you made me forget what I was going to say, but it was something about you being pretty.” Yeonjun turns to put some pots away, leaving you unamused.

Although Yeonjun continues to make such advances, you admit that his playful personality was endearing. Just a few months ago, you regarded Yeonjun as nothing more than an annoyance, constantly looming around even when unwelcome, sort of like a wedgie. However, as time passed, you couldn't deny the odd bond that had formed between the two of you.

Just recently, you had reluctantly admitted to yourself that he’s grown on you to the point where you realize that the day would feel incomplete without his babbling. On a good day, you might even consider him your friend.

When Yeonjun returns, he flashes you a smile, “Do you have any plans for the weekend? Maybe I can take you to Hogsmeade.” He bends down slightly and reaches out, “You have a bit of dirt on your nose.” You feel his finger graze your nose for a quick second before it’s back at his side.

“I’m afraid I already do,” you hummed. Since the period has ended, you grab your belongings and take your leave. With no surprise, Yeonjun is trailing closely behind you.

Yeonjun’s lips were moulded into some sort of pout, brows furrowed, “Maybe the week after?”

“I have plans that week, too,” you say promptly, though you weren’t even entirely sure if you did, “Sorry, Yeonjun.”

Yeonjun narrows his eyes at you but you don’t catch him doing so. Instead, you’re dead set on finding your best friend Yena by the courtyard. Before Yeonjun could let out a sigh, he takes a big step forward and spins so that he’s facing you. Yeonjun executes this with ease. He’s quick on his feet and the next thing you know you’re walking into his chest.

“Don’t apologize.” Yeonjun grabs your wrist and swiftly pulls you to the edge of the hallway so you both aren't blocking the stream of students, “There’s always another week…” He pushes his lips towards one side of his face, eyes looking to the side. He was deep in thought, “Maybe you can come to the final game of the season? I know your house isn’t playing but it would be nice to have the support… I’ll even let you wear one of my extra uniforms… maybe some facepaint?” Yeonjun’s eyes light up at the thought.

“Yeonjun,” you say sternly.

“As a friend?” Yeonjun’s head is tilted to the side, brows knitting as he brings his lips into a pout, “Please?” His eyes pour into yours, making it hard for you to avoid his gaze. He’s waiting intently on a reply.

“I’ll… think about it,” You stall.

Yeonjun smiles, satisfied with your answer. Before he speaks up once again, he hears his name being called from across the hall. It was Wooyoung.

“I’ll see you later, beautiful~”

You groan and call out before you’re out of ear’s reach, “What did I tell you about pet names, Choi Yeonjun!”

Yeonjun turns to acknowledge you, but instead of saying anything to excuse himself, he sends you a wink before reaching his friend.

As expected.

You huff, shaking your head before you finally turn to the courtyard, where you immediately see Yena kicking dirt underneath one of the smaller trees. She pulls up her robe slightly, engrossed in watching the dirt particles defy gravity and form swirling clouds.

You say nothing as you approach her, laughing underneath your breath.

“You took so long I started growing white hair,” Yena jokes. She drops her robe and stands up a bit straighter, “Where to?”

When Yena finally catches a glimpse of your face, her brows furrow, “What’s wrong?” She leans forward to analyze your expression, eyes running back and forth across your face.

“Nothing’s wrong,” you say, “Let’s start heading for the hall.”

Yena clicks her tongue against her teeth and grabs your wrist, “I’m not stupid, you know. I can easily tell that something’s up. So, what’s up?”

“The sky,” you say wittingly. Yena gives you her stern, rather motherly, look, causing you to break immediately, “Yeonjun asked me to ‘hang out’ again.”

Her eyes widen, brightening, as a smile appears on her face.

The thing about Yena is that, despite understanding that you genuinely do not have feelings for Yeonjun, she still clung onto that ship for dear life. It was quite amusing watching her squeal over the smallest interactions between you both. You could say she was more delusional than Yeonjun was.

“Please tell me you said yes!”

“Well… I didn’t say no?” You look over at her, “I just told him I would think about it.”

“Progression!” She exclaims, “Character development!”

“Oh, shut your mouth,” you groan. You look around to make sure no one associated with Yeonjun was around, “I don’t even think he’s being serious.”

You and Yena are nearing the great hall and the smell of food is drifting out the big wooden doors and up your noses. You both are walking rather slowly, moving to the edge of the corridors to keep out of the other students’ ways, “Why would you think that? From how long he’s been at it, he seems rather serious about this.”

“Yen…” you sigh, “Have you seen the way he interacts with other people, better yet, girls? I don’t want to give him a chance because it already seems like he’s just doing this for fun. I don’t wanna be… sought after for entertainment.”

Yena throws an arm around your shoulders, “If you think that, then tell him you can’t go. Simple.”

“The Choi Yena telling me not to hang out with Yeonjun?” You scoff, “Please.”

“I’m actually giving you helpful, wise advice and this is what I get?” Yena huffs, “Fine. What I really wanted to say is that you should give him a chance. Who knows, he can actually be serious about you and you might end up liking him back.”

You shake your head, "Not until I know he has genuine feelings for me. Besides, I would have given it a shot if I had as little as a single cell in me that was interested in him. But, as you already know, I don’t.”

Yena eyes you down as if it were going to knock the honest truth out of you. But it doesn’t, because you were telling the truth. You have no feelings for Choi Yeonjun.

“Now let’s go eat,” you grumble, “Because you say the most unpleasant things when you’re hungry.”

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

When Yeonjun reaches Wooyoung, he’s greeted with a big fat thwack to the back of the head.

“Ow!” Yeonjun jumps, rubbing the area that the other had smacked, “What in Merlin’s name was that for?” The two begin making their way down the corridor, keeping a look out for Changbin who they should be crossing paths with sometime soon.

“For being a lovesick fool,” Wooyoung shoots, “Get yourself together!” He slaps Yeonjun’s back, “Why are you wasting time over someone who clearly doesn’t like you back when you can literally be with anyone else you want?”

Though Yeonjun knows that Wooyoung means well, he can't help but feel a twinge of offense at his friend's statement. He could go on about the reasons why he’s still trying, but he knows for certain that Wooyoung could not care less.

Frankly, when Yeonjun sets a goal for himself, there is no doubt he’ll be working towards that goal with no uncertainties. And this trait easily applies to this situation.

Yeonjun really likes you.

Sure, he doesn’t know the tiniest, intricate details about you, but based on what he’s heard through Changbin and things he’s learned while talking to you in class, he has this rather strong urge to get to know you better.

And he’s serious about this.

At a loss for words, Yeonjun blurts out the first thing that comes to mind, “She’s different.”

Wooyoung blinks back at his friend, “You better not be serious.”

“I’m just summing things up, Wooyoungie,” Yeonjun flicks Wooyoung’s shoulder, “I don’t take you as a guy who likes hearing things about feelings.”

“True that,” Changbin butts in. He slides in from a nearby classroom, briefly greeting the other two wizards.

Wooyoung glares at Changbin, “Do you even know what we were talking about?”

“Yes,” Changbin shrugs, “Y/N. Yeonjun. Who else?”

Wooyoung hums, “And you support Yeonjun making a fool out of himself?”

Before Yeonjun can shoot a remark at Wooyoung, Changbin quickly interjects, “Well, no, but I just want to see where it goes. Plus, Y/N didn’t explicitly say she didn’t like Yeonjun.”

“Wait, really?” No one notices but Yeonjun’s eyes light up at the information.

Changbin nods, “I mean to me at least. And you’d think she would tell me because you and I are friends. She just says that she has her own reasons or something.”

Yeonjun smiles to himself. That’s all he needed to know.

II. DOUBTS AND DUNDERHEADS

Yena’s reading the ingredients of a newly learned potion as you scan over the list yourself.

“You know, I don’t get why we’re even making this potion,” Yena grumbles. As you prepare the cauldron, Yena leaves the table to grab the ingredients, plopping them down carefully in an organized manner, “It’s much more dangerous than Amortentia, don’t you think?”

“I can see why you think that,” you chuckle under your breath. You eye the ingredients that Yena has set down, using your finger to track each one of them, “You forgot the moondew.” But seeing that your friend had already settled in her chair, you took it upon yourself to grab the plant at the bench at the back of the room.

“Moondew… moondew…” you mumble. You look around for the plant, shuffling back and forth in hopes of it catching your eye, “Where are you?”

Before you know it, the herb is being dangled right in your line of sight, causing your eyes to cross for a brief second, “Here you go~” Your eyes flicker up and you immediately spot the green lining of the sleeve.

You reach up to take it from him before turning around, “Thanks.” Yeonjun was standing rather close to you, though it wasn’t a creepy proximity. He’s just… tall. So to him you could guess that the distance between you both wasn’t as close as it was for you.

“Anything for you,” he hums and sends a smile and a wink your way.

You groan and shoot him a look, walking right past him, “Choi Yeonjun, is this your way of asking for me to give you this potion?”

He feigns hurt, “No. And even if it was, I know you wouldn’t do it.” Yeonjun follows you to your bench and you see that Yena’s placing the ingredients in order of which to drop in first. She smirks at his presence.

“And how would you know I wouldn’t?”

“I don’t know actually,” he shrugs, jutting his lip out in a pout. Yeonjun takes a step back to his bench, which was conveniently the one next to yours and Yena’s, before he continues, “I just feel like you wouldn’t.”

You furrow your brows right as Yena adds wormwood infusion into the cauldron. Your nose crinkles, “If I were you, I wouldn’t trust your gut.”

Yeonjun mindlessly takes the same step, gesturing for Wooyoung to go ahead with the next step, “I have a good intuition!” Yeonjun sounds like he’s genuinely trying to convince you of his secret powers.

“Well, okay, what number am I thinking of?” You add the asphodel into the cauldron before turning to look at Yeonjun. From the way his eyes were looking off to the ceiling, lips resting into a pout, you can tell he’s thinking.

“Eight.”

“Wrong, it was two.”

“Hey, you could have easily changed the answer!” Yeonjun exclaims, giving you the accusatory finger, “Cheater.”

“I thought your intuition was good,” you say, “Doesn't your intuition say something about if I really did cheat or not?” You make sure Yena’s stirring the mixture the way the textbook had instructed. She even went ahead to plop the sloth’s brain into the pot.

Then your professor speaks up, “Remember, students, that the hardest part of this potion is the stirring, please please pay attention to the stirring patterns.”

The entirety of your attention is brought back to your cauldron, you and Yena taking turns adding the needed components of the potion before preparing yourselves for the stirring. Meanwhile, Wooyoung and Yeonjun have already started stirring the mixture.

“Counter… counter… clockwise…” Wooyoung says slowly, making sure that Yeonjun’s stirring in the same direction as he instructed. When Wooyoung realizes that he’s on the other side of the table, he gasps, “Wait, that’s my counter, counter, clockwise!”

Yeonjun’s eyes widen before stirring the mixture the other way as if it would cancel out the stirs that he’s already completed. Then it dawned on him, “You dunce! It’s the same for you and me—”

And right as Yeonjun finishes his sentence, the mixed elements burst onto Yeonjun, leaving him covered in an odd-coloured substance.

Screams of surprise echo through the room before the same individuals burst into laughter, seeing that Yeonjun was now drenched and filthy. Yena was laughing out loud, fingers gripping the edge of the table to keep herself stable. You were trying your best not to laugh out loud, pressing your lips together to hide the growing smile on your face.

When the situation finally clicks, Yeonjun knocks himself out of his state of shock, using his own robe to wipe the substance off of his face. It was sticky, so there was a good amount of resistance keeping him from successfully cleaning himself up.

Now you feel bad.

You watch Yeonjun for a few moments to see if he truly needed help. But when you realized that he was practically hopeless on his own, you sighed and stood up, grabbing the boy by the wrist, “Professor, may we be excused? We will be back before class ends.”

He nods, allowing you both to leave. And at that, you’re dragging the long-limbed Slytherin out the door of the classroom. You take him down the stone corridor and towards the girls’ washroom. Your steps echo against the walls of the hallway as you fast-walk towards the end of the hall. Once you reach it, you sit Yeonjun down on a nearby window ledge, “Stay here, I’ll be back.”

Yeonjun nods, making himself comfortable. He watches you leave and disappear into the bathroom for a good thirty seconds before you return with one hand full of wet paper towels and the other with dry ones.

You start wiping off the gunk from the boy’s face, starting at his forehead and working your way down his face. You're half an arm’s length away from the boy, still trying to keep distance. You’re surprised at how easily the potion slides off his face with the help of water.

“I thought you were good at potions,” you grumble, “Next time you need to be careful… you’re lucky that the potion doesn’t get absorbed into skin because this situation could have been worse…” You continue scolding him under your breath, but it was so quiet that even the closeness between you doesn’t allow Yeonjun to hear what you’re saying.

You don’t notice the way Yeonjun is looking at you. His eyes are crossing just to catch a proper glimpse of your focused state, flickering between your lashes to your cheeks, and your lips… He mentally shakes his head to rid of all thoughts clouding his head, squeezing his eyes.

“You know, I don’t need help to clean myself up,” Yeonjun says, but his expression completely contradicts his words as he grins at your actions.

You freeze and take a step back to reassess the situation, “You’re right.” You hold the paper towels out to him, “Here.”

“Wait, but I do need help.”

You sigh and start wiping the remaining stuff off of his face, “You’re a dunderhead, you know that right?” You put pressure onto his cheek bone for a moment and plaster a playful smile on your mouth.

Yeonjun snickers, “Yeah, a dunderhead for you.”

Your smile drops from your lips and you frown, “Oh, shut up.” His face was basically clean from the potion. All that’s left was the dried liquid in his hair and some lingering on his robe.

“It’s true,” Yeonjun sighs. He wonders why you’re so against him and his advances. It’s not like he’s done anything wrong to you. You haven’t even given him a chance.

You roll your eyes and attempt to scrape off the dried up potion that was clinging on to his hair, “I’m guessing you’re a dunderhead for Chaewon and her friends too.” There’s a slight tone of passive aggressiveness in your voice but you don’t notice.

“What do you mean?” Yeonjun’s ears perk up, genuinely confused.

You let the question sit, finding the appropriate way to explain to Yeonjun what you meant. It was a difficult thing to put simply and you and Yeonjun were currently bound by time.

“Yeonjun I…” your eyes search Yeonjun’s as if he could physically hand you the help you needed, “I don’t believe you actually like me.” You almost cringe because it sounded as though you were accusing him of lying, but this was truly how you felt.

Yeonjun’s eyes widened, “W-what? Why do you think th—”

“You flirt with me—a lot—but you flirt with other people too,” you explain, “One second you’re calling me pretty and treating me nice and everything that, I admit, someone who likes that person would do… but the next you’re doing practically the same things for another person… How am I supposed to believe that you like me?”

Not that it mattered—you didn’t even have feelings for the boy—but it was good that he knew for someone he actually was interested in.

Yeonjun is taken aback by the confession. Is this how you felt the whole time? Is this why you haven’t actually given him the chance to take you out? “How can I prove to you that I’m serious?”

“You’re an expert at flirting, aren’t you?” you retort, “I’m pretty sure you can figure that out yourself.”

III. A SLYTHERIN’S EFFORT

After confronting the Slytherin about your feelings towards him and his actions, there was a period of complete silence over the following days. It was like radio silence—as if something had gone wrong with the antenna and you were forced to scramble to fix it. Encounters with him in the halls or in class were kept minimal by the boy, only going as far as saying a hi and goodbye before going on his merry way.

Judging from his actions, you took it as a confirmation that Yeonjun really didn’t have feelings for you. This realization evoked mixed emotions within you. Sure, you’re glad that you got him off your back, having the peace and quiet in herbology that you used to have. But you’d be lying if you said that you wished that Yeonjun would still speak every once in a while to fill that silence.

It was odd if you think about it. Why did Yeonjun even ask how he could prove his feelings for you if those feelings were non-existent? Was that just part of the ‘fun’? An attempt to get your hopes up before stopping altogether?

Ouch, you think, shaking your head to get rid of these thoughts from your head. If Yeonjun didn’t actually like you, he could’ve just said so. But hey, you should be ecstatic that he's finally done with this whole act, right?

At least he’s making it easy on you.

That is until Yeonjun came unannounced to the Gryffindor table one morning. He, surprisingly, did not don the smirk he often wore on his lips. Instead, his lips were curved into a gentle smile, his eyes mirroring the same warmth.

“Morning, Lions,” he greets.

“Changbin’s still at the dorms,” you mumble, dipping your head to sip on your soup.

Yeonjun shakes his head, “It doesn’t matter. I’m here for you.” He held out a small, white plastic bag toward you. It was full, but you weren’t quite sure with what.

You guess that Yeonjun read the confusion on your face, quickly following up his disorderly actions with, “My mom usually sends snacks and I asked her to send these for you.” You hear Yena almost choke on her food, but she shuts herself up by downing water.

Odd. “Oh… thank you?” You’re not even sure how to act, reaching out for the bag before sticking your nose into it to catch a glimpse of the aforementioned snacks. And funny enough, this is what catches you off-guard.

They were your favourite snacks—ones you couldn’t get here or at Hogsmeade.

“How did you know I liked these?” Yeonjun warms up at the way your eyes light up. You look up at him and thank him again.

Yeonjun shrugs, “You might have mentioned them a few times during herbology. Anyways, I gotta go back to the table. But I hope you enjoy those!”

“I will,” you say mostly to yourself. You set the bag on your lap and stare at it, puzzled.

“Ooo—”

You clamp your mouth over Yena’s mouth and side-eye her, “Shut your mouth right now or else I’m lodging a breadstick down your throat.”

Yena’s eyes widen but she grabs your hand and peels it off her face. She whispers, “I thought you said Yeonjun didn’t like you.” You nod, “I did but… No. I don’t think this means anything.”

“Are you crazy?” Yena’s eyes look like they’re about to pop out of her head, “He remembers what you’ve told him and he’s asked his own mother to send you these!”

You don’t look at Yena because she’s right. The process into actually pulling this off is… sweet. And thoughtful.

With a dismissive shake of your head, your gaze falls on the closest person, who happens to be Soobin, “Binnie, can you please pass the breadsticks?”

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

“Why do you like herbology?”

The question causes you to freeze, gloved-fingers stuck in the dirt when you try to process Yeonjun’s question of the day. When you look over at him, you realize he wasn’t even looking back at you. Instead, he was fiddling with the herbology textbook sitting on the table, flipping back and forth between the pages of today’s lesson.

You let out a sputtered "Huh?" as your head tilts to the side in confusion. The question seemed to have come out of nowhere, leaving you uncertain whether it was asked out of genuine curiosity or sheer boredom.

“I never really asked you why you liked the class so much,” Yeonjun takes a quick glance at you through the corner of his eye, “I mean well. I genuinely want to know.”

You wanted to continue questioning what was going on. First the snacks and now this?

Was Yeonjun broken?

Your mouth had opened just a bit in preparation to interrogate the boy, but since he had made it clear that he was being serious, you shut your mouth before mustering up an answer.

“There’s just something… interesting in the fact that all the plants we deal with can be used to create things that can either benefit or create drawbacks to a person’s life. Others have such useless purposes, too, but I still find it captivating that plants can do things you could hardly expect… Like mandrakes. They’re god-awfully annoying, but they can help heal curses and stuff.

“Then there’s dittany… I think it’s easily one of my favourites. They can help heal wounds easily so they come in handy in a lot of situations… like my grandma’s created her own ointment recipe with dittany and it’s done wonders in my family. I guess the main reason I like herbology is the idea that we can somehow use these things to help people. That’s what I prefer, at least.”

When you finished speaking, you realized that you have never said that out loud to anyone before. It was something that never came up in conversation—a topic you knew no one cared about—yet here you are blabbing on to Choi Yeonjun about your love for the subject.

“Wow, when you put it that way, herbology does sound cool.”

You furrowed your eyebrows and looked at him, “You’re saying that as if you’re not in an advanced class right now.”

The softest grin appears on Yeonjun’s face as he pushes his textbook away from him, “I know. But herbology isn't the main reason I’m here.”

“Then, what are you doing here?”

“For you.”

The corners of your lips lift at the brief appearance of the playful Yeonjun you were familiar with. Of course, you think.

Before you could even question further, Professor Longbottom launched into another rant about the day's lesson, drawing your attention away from the strange, indescribable sensation that was slowly taking over your heart.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You were on your way back to the hall for dinner having taken a stroll around the castle grounds after a nap. With workload becoming heavier and days growing shorter due to the time of year, you were hoping to clear your mind while sightseeing.

You couldn’t say it worked, though.

All your mind could do was wander back to the topic of the upcoming defense of the dark arts exam, the feeling of anxiety continues to creep up your neck despite the efforts to get rid of them. The subject was not one of your strengths, as your strong distaste for dueling led to a lack of effort in the class.

Now that a practical assessment was coming up, you weren’t sure how you were going to do… and frankly you didn’t like doing horribly in your classes.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

You gasp quietly at the sudden presence of Yeonjun, who’s wearing an odd combination of his quidditch uniform and training attire. In his hand he’s holding his broomstick. By the looks of it, he just came from quidditch practice.

"I don't think it matters that much," you let out a lackluster, breathy chuckle and continue walking towards the castle. Yeonjun adjusts his pace to match yours, even though his long limbs seem eager to move faster.

“That look on your face says otherwise,” he shrugs, “But, do not worry, you still look as pretty as always.”

You stop in your tracks and glare at the boy, who halts two steps too late.

“What?” Yeonjun questions, “It’s true.” He recognizes a specific glint in your eyes and Yeonjun realizes that this was not the time to be flirting, “In all seriousness, though, what’s wrong?”

Yeonjun takes you by surprise once again and you almost stumble in your steps from his efforts. It was nice to see that Yeonjun did have this side of him. While you've grown fond of his playful personality, it's refreshing to witness him in a different light.

You think about what you want to say to Yeonjun. “I think it’ll help more if you just tell me about your day,” you tell him. You needed distraction from the near-overbearing stress that you’re experiencing. In hindsight, you realized that taking a stroll alone may have been a mistake. Being left alone with your thoughts was never a favourable situation for you or for anyone.

Yeonjun immediately understands the situation, and before you know it, no questions asked, he begins to tell you all about his quidditch practice.

Yeonjun’s position was the team’s beater, so he spent the entire practice with his fellow house member, Jongho, who was also a beater, hitting bludgers back and forth to get used to what strength they needed to exert to send it going any way they wanted.

“We were just hitting it back and forth,” he says, “Like we always do. But this time, we decided to use our non-dominant hands to hit them.” Yeonjun swings his left arm as he continues, “And, you see, Jongho’s left handed so we made this a competition between just the two of us to see who was better with their other arm.

“So we went back and forth. It was hard at first, but he and I started getting… cocky about how I was doing better. It was actually terrifying because, you know, the rest of the team was just there… they could easily have been hit and all. But since, we’re the best beaters in this entire school—” Yeonjun sends a prideful smile your way and you can’t help but scoff, “—we didn’t let that happen–”

“Until?” you butt in.

Yeonjun’s eyes widened, “I can’t believe you think there’s an ‘until.’

“Am I wrong?”

Then, Yeonjun's eyes narrow and he tightens his lips into a thin line. "You're lucky you're cute..." he remarks, reaching out to poke your cheek. Surprisingly, you let him do it. "Anyways," he continues, "That was until we remembered that we also have a coach... guess who's at the infirmary with a bruise as big as a crab apple?"

You gasp, “I thought you guys were Hogwarts’ best beaters?”

Yeonjun exclaims, “We are!”

“Then why is your coach in the infirmary?”

“Accidents happen!” Yeonjun defends himself, “He’s alright, though. The nurse says he’s going to be back in shape by tomorrow.”

The conversation turned out to be much more enjoyable than you had anticipated, and before you knew it, you were already approaching the doors of the hall. You could see other students trickling in, and your eyes instantly caught sight of Yena through the doors.

“That’s good to hear,” you stifle a laugh, “Anyways, I gotta go, I’m starving.”

As you’re turning to leave, you’re stopped by Yeonjun, who has reached out to grab your wrist, “I hope your problems will be resolved soon.”

A warm feeling tickles your chest and you let a genuine smile appear on your lips, “Thanks, Yeonjun.”

With that, you give him a small wave and head inside the hall to join Yena and the other students for dinner, feeling more at ease than before.

IV. THE GLOVES

If given the chance to describe your best friend in one word, you’d say spontaneous. Since the day you met her, she has the habit of making a decision in one moment and then completely changing course in the next. It was a trait of her’s that you found rather impressive, because you could never live your life like that. But despite being impressed, it's still hard to deny that it doesn’t occasionally frustrate you.

Last night, Yena was determined to study for the upcoming dark arts exam over the weekend—you even agreed to study with her (which wasn’t the best option on your end)—but upon waking up at right at noon, she’s decided to give up on this goal and, instead, take an impromptu trip to Hogsmeade. What’s worse was that she’s dragging you along with her, practically giving you no choice but to tag along.

Although you had no plans for the weekend but to begin studying, you were planning on staying in the dorms because temperatures were dropping to an uncomfortable low. You were in no mood to visit Hogsmeade since it did take a great deal of walking to get around. But since Yena would not shut up until you agreed to come, you were now digging through your trunk, trying to find the pair of gloves you swear you packed.

“Y/N, make haste!” Yena exclaims from downstairs, “Time is ticking!”

“If you keep speaking like we’re in the nineteenth century, I will not make haste,” you yell back. There’s a sudden urge to bang your head against your trunk. Your gloves were nowhere to be seen and now you have to accept the fact that Jack’s going to be nipping your fingertips during the entire trip.

Slamming the trunk shut, you let out a deep huff and pull your coat sleeves down over your hands.

This will have to do.

Yena makes a beeline for Honeydukes the second you make it onto Hogsmeade grounds. She’s hauling you along with her, and you do nothing to protest.

“My supply of jelly slugs are dwindling,” she mutters, throwing the door open before stepping foot inside. The warmth is comforting, especially since the two of you had been walking in the cold for the past 20 minutes, “Changbin took two packs because apparently I owed him.”

You look at her, “Why did you even give them if you weren’t even sure?” Yena’s arms are filled with jelly slug packages, cradling them as if she gave birth to them.

She shrugs, “I was actually convinced I owed him until I thought about it.” She secures the sweets and looks over at you, “Don’t you want anything?”

You scan the selection of candies and chocolates surrounding the both of you, “I suppose I can use some gum for studying.”

“Ooh, you’re right! Grab me a pack too, please!” She’s jutting her chin to gesture towards the pack of gum laid out on a nearby shelf, thanking you when you grab a pack for you both, “I’ll pay for it since I forced you to come with me.”

You don’t protest again, “Fine by me.”

Plopping all the sweets down onto the counter, you immediately see the look of horror on the employee’s face. You can read her mind—probably thinking that Yena was crazy. “I-is that all, sweetheart?” Yena nods and slides her a note before even waiting for the total.

On your way out, she’s already ripped a pack open, snacking on the slugs, “Want one?”

Before you can even reply, a male voice butts in, “Don’t mind if I do!” To accompany it, a hand slides in from your left and straight into Yena’s new bag of jelly slugs. This slightly startles the both of you, stumbling away from the new presence.

Yena groans, “Seo Changbin, you literally have the ones I gave you back at the dorms!” Yena tucks the candy into her sleeve and gives Changbin a crossed look—one that could kill.

“Wait, I want one!” Wooyoung appears from behind Changbin, who’s closely followed by Yeonjun. Both boys have their chins tucked into their jackets, hands stuffed deep in their pockets, “May I please have one?”

Yeonjun waves at you, and though you couldn’t clearly see his mouth, you can tell he was smiling because it reaches his eyes. You wave back and you couldn’t help but mirror his expression.

Yena blinks for a quick moment, but then moves slowly to give the Slytherin a single slug, “Only cause you asked nicely… unlike someone over here.” She shoots Changbin another deadly glare before moving on, “What are you guys doing here?”

Wooyoung uses his thumb to point toward the castle, “We were just about to head back. You guys?”

Yena shrugs, “I’m about ninety-percent sure we were going to head back, too. Unless you have somewhere to go, Y/N?” Your best friend’s looking at you, waiting for a reply.

“Oh, uh…” you shake your head, “No.”

Yeonjun beams, “That’s great! We can all walk back together?”

You don’t notice the way Yena smirks before she agrees on behalf of the both of you, “Sure, why not?”

And before you know it, you find yourself walking alongside Yena and the boys, witnessing Changbin and Wooyoung playfully shoving each other off the path. Yeonjun takes long strides beside them, unsurprisingly condoning the play-fighting. Yena’s busy picking out specific jelly slugs from her bag, occasionally looking up to make sure she doesn’t stumble over a rock or tree root.

“If you guys hit me, you’re getting hit back,” she mutters, attention still directed towards her sweets.

Meanwhile, you’re freezing your arse off at the rear of the group. You feel the chill in the air seeping into your bones and you’re desperately blowing warm air into your hands in hopes that you won’t get frostbite.

As the castle grows closer with each step, you feel the urge to break away from the group and sprint ahead, painfully longing for the warmth of the castle. Your hands are numb, and at this point, you’re afraid that you’re never going to get sensation back, even if you go as far as sticking your limbs into fire.

The thought makes you panic. Sure it was a bit unrealistic, but still your mind rushes past a bajillion different thoughts that involve things you did with your hands. Herbology, crocheting, playing sports… what if you can’t do those anymo—

“Here.”

You blink to suck yourself back to reality, shaking your head to grasp how Yeonjun was now directly in front of you. His arm is extended, handing you something that you don’t quite recognize at first. After taking a closer look, you realize that he’s handing you over his own pair of gloves.

“Huh?”

“Gloves.”

“I know what they are,” you say softly, “But for what?”

“You’ve been breathing into your hands since we left Hogsmeade,” Yeonjun points out, “So put these on. I can take them back when we get to the castle.” He nudges the mittens towards you, urging you to take them. “Take them.”

You can’t help but feel your cheeks heat up at the gesture. “I’m okay. Besides, you need them, too.”

You attempt to walk around the boy but he stops you, "I don't want to see you freeze. It's either these gloves or... I hold your hands to warm them up." His voice trails off with a playful hint, and you can't help but feel your heart flutter at the thought. But as quick as the feeling came, you knock some sense back into your head before you hastily pluck the mits out of his hands.

“Good,” he grins, patting your head through your toque. As you slide your hands into the gloves, you realize they're a bit too big for you, causing them to slip off easily. You ball your hands into fists and stick them into your pockets. Then Yeonjun asks, “Hey, have you thought about the game?”

To be honest, the invitation had almost slipped your mind amidst the recent events. However, now you find yourself more open to the idea. But before you could confirm that you were willing to go, the yelling of both Wooyoung and Changbin interrupted your conversation.

Yeonjun apologizes and groans, making a beeline to the other two to calm them down.

“I swear it wasn’t this far of a walk to Hogsmeade.” Your best friend stuffs her hands into her pockets and sinks her head behind the collar of her jacket.

“No, I’m not carrying you to the castle,” Changbin looks like he turned his head 180 degrees to look back at Yena, but it was just his coat giving you the illusion.

“Who in bloody hell said I wanted to be carried by you,” Yena gags. She bends down to pick up the nearest pebble before chucking it at Changbin’s leg. The latter flinches, and again, his head spins to look at you both. He sends Yena a dirty look before maturely continuing on (mainly because Yeonjun already gave him a warning).

The five of you trek back to the school grounds in near silence, the exhaustion evident in your steps as the chilly weather envelopes the area. You wonder if Yena actually regrets going to Hogsmeade on such a gloomy day, but when you look over to check how she’s doing, she’s munching on the jelly slugs with a content expression.

As the Slytherins break off, Wooyoung bids a simple "goodbye," forcefully dragging Yeonjun along with him. He knows damn well that Yeonjun’s going to spend an extra 10 minutes talking to you when all he wants is to get back to the dorms to take a nap.

Wooyoung’s so quick to leave that the two disappear in the blink of an eye and you’re not given the chance to return Yeonjun’s mittens. Though, it was also on you for not remembering to give it back.

Yena notices how you’ve slipped the mittens off and are now staring at the pair as if they hold some sort of enchantment. “And you still haven’t fallen for him yet?” Yena smirks, eyeing the item of clothing in your hand.

“Gross, why would I?” Your face scrunches and you hold the gloves out to Changbin using your index and your thumb, “Take them. Give them back to him.”

“Please,” Yena scoffs, “Don’t lie, I know you’re all warm and fuzzy for Yeonjun.” Yena playfully pushes Changbin's arms away, preventing you from giving him the mittens, “And don’t give those to the poor boy. Return them yourself.”

"Poor boy?" Changbin questions, raising an eyebrow in confusion.

You groan, “I’m not all ‘warm and fuzzy’ for Yeonjun.” You look down at the gloves in your hands, “Obviously, I like him better than before but my feelings for him aren’t romantic.”

“Poor boy?” Changbin repeats, but seeing that you and Yena were absorbed in your own conversation, he gives up.

The three of you finally reach the portrait of the Fat Lady. Yena rolls her eyes, “Mmmhmm… it’s just a matter of time before you actually start liking him like that.” She mutters the password and soon, you’re making your way into the common room. It was miraculously empty.

“What do you even mean by that?”

Yena throws her head into her hand and palms her face, “My sweet, sweet Y/N… Think about it. Not too long ago, you were constantly complaining about Yeonjun and how irritating he was. Now you’ve just confessed that you like him better than before. Guess what the next stage is?”

“Best friends,” you answer, attempting to seem nonchalant about the subject.

“You guys talk more than he and I do,” Changbin points out, snickering, “And we’re best friends.” Yena nods eagerly, gesturing to the boy as if he’s made a life-changing statement.

You shrug, “That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Hmm, I don’t know about that,” Yena speculates, “Can I point out that you were in a bad mood the four days Yeonjun barely spoke to you?”

“I was in a bad mood because of the potions exam,” you justify, “And I have you as a partner.”

“Okay, fair, but you have to admit it wasn’t all just because of that,” Yena pushes.

“I won’t because it was all because of that,” you facepalm, “You’re just saying anything at this point.” “You can’t tell me you didn’t feel at least something after all those things that’s happened this week,” Yena remarks, raising an eyebrow and crossing her arms in a challenging manner.

“Things?” Changbin’s eyes grow wide, “What things?”

“They mean nothing,” you repeat, “Just… friendly random acts of kindness, which I do appreciate. Nothing wrong with it.”

“There’s also nothing wrong with admitting that you like him at least a smidge,” Yena frowns, “I know you’re a softie at heart, and I know there’s no way that you didn’t feel all warm and fuzzy at least once.”

As Yena continues to probe about your feelings for Yeonjun, your stubborn nature kicks in, and you find yourself reluctant to admit what she’s assuming. Sure, your heart might have skipped a beat or two because of Yeonjun, but it was just a momentary flutter, a reaction that doesn't hold any significant meaning.

Right?

Besides, you weren't ready to admit something to others that you hadn't fully come to terms with yourself.

So you shake your head and deny, “Nope. Not once.”

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

If Yena saw how much of a fuss you were making over something as simple as returning Yeonjun's gloves, she would tease you relentlessly. So you figured that this would be a solo quest, one that required not being caught by Yena.

You stand at the doors of the hall, gloves clutched in your hands as you try to search for the Slytherin. The hall was busier than you thought, but it wasn’t intimidating. You’re not even sure why you’re worried about this. You were simply handing the gloves back and telling him that you were going to the game as friends. It really didn’t mean anything.

A sense of relief washes over you when you spot Yeonjun fooling around with Wooyoung and Changbin in a relatively empty area. This means that you can get this over with. Hand them over, tell him, then you’re done. Simple.

Working up the courage to do it, you slowly make your way down the long room, gripping the gloves tightly with one hand. When you’re near, it's Wooyoung who first catches sight of you since he happens to be facing your direction. He utters something that you couldn't quite make out, but it's accompanied by a gesture that catches the attention of Yeonjun and Changbin, prompting them to turn around.

Yeonjun lights up, which you only interpret as a smile, before he waves at you, “Y/N!”

You don't know why you’re suddenly shy, feeling yourself shrink under the attention of Yeonjun. You grin back and give them all a small wave before you take small steps, “I forgot to return these the other day.” You hold it out to him. Your arm begins to shake at the slightest, so you steady it with your other arm.

“Did you really forget or did you want to keep them?” He teases, sending a wink before gently retrieving them. He thanks you.

You feel your cheeks heat up and you shake your head, “I forgot to… if it weren’t for Wooyoung who dragged you away.” You give the other Slytherin a look, “And… before I leave, I didn’t get to tell you yesterday that—”

“Choi Yeonjun,” a female voice rudely interrupts your sentence. You’re slightly shoved to the side by another Slytherin who you were not familiar with (nor did you care), taking your place in front of Yeonjun. Changbin looks like he’s about to tell her off, giving you a sympathetic look.

“Kim Hyunji,” Yeonjun greets, “What brings you here?”

You start playing with the sleeves of your wool sweater, growing impatient despite the fact that the new presence has barely been there for a minute. The words being exchanged between Yeonjun and the girl soon turn into an unintelligible babble, leaving your mind unable to grasp their conversation. But judging by the way the girl grew gradually closer to Yeonjun, you didn’t need to know what was being said. The exchange goes on for a bit too long for your liking and you can feel your brows dropping to form a scowl.

As you recall the recent interactions with Yeonjun, you realize that amidst all of them, you forgot that Yeonjun was still the flirt that he was. Sure, it probably came naturally to him, but witnessing him flirt with another girl evokes a foreign feeling that tickles your chest.

“I’ll see you there, then?” Yeonjun’s words are suddenly clear and you feel something tap your chest.

“Of course I’ll be,” she replies, a smirk forming on her face as she turns to leave.

The second she’s gone, Yeonjun turns back at you, eyes softening, “Sorry, Y/N, she tends to do that a lot… what were you saying?’

As if you’ve experienced an emotional whiplash, you freeze and lose the words that you previously practiced in your head. Your mouth opens but nothing comes out.

What was happening?

“Y/N? Are you okay?”

You swallow nervously and, in a hushed voice, you say, "I-it can wait." Without wasting a moment, you swiftly leave the room, your hand instinctively moving to your head as you try to make sense of your confusion.

Finding the nearest bench outside of the hall, you sit down and catch your breath, unable to focus on anything else that was going on around you.

“Y/N?” Your eyes meet Yena's, and without hesitation, she takes the empty seat next to you, her brows furrowed with concern. “What’s wrong?”

You’re chewing on your bottom lip, trying to explain exactly what you’re feeling, “What does being jealous feel like?”

Yena hums to indicate that she’s thinking. She presses her lips into a thin line and looks around, “I think the best way to describe it is kinda like… you want to squash whoever you’re jealous of with a boot.”

You’re not sure if that was even an accurate way to describe jealousy, but the way Yena describes it is exactly how you felt with Hyunji. Sure, you’d never ever condone physical aggression, but if you had the power to pull her out of that conversation with Yeonjun like a mandrake, you would.

“Bloody hell,” you mutter. Because why in Merlin’s name would a single cell in your body be feeling jealousy in that situation? You have no right being jealous of this girl. Not when you don’t have feelings for Yeonjun.

Yena’s ears perk up and lean closer, “Bloody hell? What do you mean bloody hell?”

Unless… you do have feelings for Yeonjun.

Which could explain every odd thing that’s been happening to you. The way you practically dreaded the days when Yeonjun spoke to you so minimally. The way Yeonjun has made your heart skip more beats than one. The way you were feeling jealous over some girl you’ve never met before.

Maybe you did have feelings for Yeonjun and maybe it was time that you had to accept them.

“And what does it mean if someone makes my heart race?”

Yena’s jaw drops, finally processing what’s going on. You didn’t even need to explicitly say Yeonjun’s name to indicate that this was about him. She saw it coming. But she doesn’t want to ruin the moment. She’ll let you tell her yourself, “Depends… is it in a good or bad way?”

“I suppose…” you blink, “Both?” Confirmed, Yena holds back a smile, “It means you like that someone a lot.”

V. AND THE DITTANY

No you weren’t avoiding Yeonjun on purpose.

You do embarrassingly admit that you’re afraid to see him after the whole ‘realizing your feelings’ ordeal, but it's as if the universe decided to give you a break today and made sure you and Yeonjun wouldn't cross paths.

By some stroke of luck, or perhaps the mischievous workings of fate, today was a day that you and Yeonjun did not share one class apart from herbology, which had miraculously been cancelled at the very last minute. It seemed almost magical that you didn't cross each other's paths at all during the entire school day.

To be wise with your time, you took the day away from Yeonjun in an attempt to think the situation through. Because what do you do now?

Do you just drop the bomb on him like, ‘oh hey, I like you by the way!” Or should you keep it a secret for a bit to build momentum?

Yena was quick to advise that you should confess ASAP, “And preferably at the quidditch game! Imagine how cute! You’re cheering for him and only him… and when the snakes win, you’re going to be there and—” Then you interrupted her because you weren’t completely sure if that was even the best way to go about it.

But if you think about it, Yeonjun was a simple guy. You could tell through the way he did decide to show you that his feelings were genuine—bullocks! He paid attention to all you had to say in herbology, asked his own mother to send your favourite snacks just to give them to you… he didn’t hesitate to make you feel better the day you were stressed for an exam.

Hell, even before you confronted him, Yeonjun had been showering you with the sweetest gestures that you could only now fully appreciate.

If only you could knock some sense into your past self.

“The library will be closing soon,” you look up and find the library’s student assistant, an apologetic smile sitting rather awkwardly on his face. With a nod, you wait for him to leave, giving yourself a moment to gather your thoughts. You begin collecting your things, the fatigue from the long day making your eyes feel strained and exhausted. Almost as if they could pop out of their sockets with the slightest blink.

As you make your way back to the Gryffindor dormitories, you hear shuffling far behind you before you suddenly hear your name being called out. You turn around to see who it was, and to your surprise, it's Yeonjun, running down the empty corridor with his arms waving frantically to get your attention.

When he finally catches up to you, you greet him with a shy smile, “Yeonjun.”

“I haven’t seen you all day,” he says, a pout appearing on his lips, “I was looking forward to herbology because I finally got to see you, but curse Professor Longbottom for eating bad soup.”

Your stomach flutters at his nonchalant comment and you feel shoving your head into the nearest bush, “Yeah, haha… What are you doing here?”

“I was just going on a stroll to clear my head,” he grins, “Are you heading back to your dormitory?”

You nod.

“Well, let me walk you back then,” Yeonjun offers and you don’t protest. If you hadn’t seen Yeonjun all day, at least you had this, “Don’t want evil creatures creeping up on you.”

You give him a look, “Don’t be silly. There aren’t any evil creatures on the school grounds.”

“I know,” Yeonjun snickers, “It’s just an excuse for me to walk you anyway. But my intuition is telling me that you would have let me regardless.” He leans forward and down to your height, pretending to search your eyes for answers, but you don’t budge.

“Your intuition is wrong,” you say, trying to avoid eye contact.

“Never. At least, not this time,” Yeonjun shakes his head, “Anyways, I’m happy I bumped into you because I was going to ask you if you’ve decided on coming to the game.”

“That… that was what I was going to tell you the other day with the gloves but—”

“But Hyunji, I know,” Yeonjun nods, “I know it sounds like I invited her to the game but since she’s a Slytherin, she was going to go anyways and—” Yeonjun sighs and pauses to find words to explain the situation, “I want you to know that you were the only one I invited.”

The tone in Yeonjun’s voice takes you by surprise. You can tell that he still has his mind set on proving to you that he has feelings for you and no one else. You frown, “Yeonjun… I know you’re only telling me this because of what I told you that day during potions but… I want to tell you now that I believe you.”

Yeonjun’s face lights up and questions, “You do?”

You nod bashfully, “I realized it that day on the way back from Hogsmeade.”

Yeonjun wishes he could tell how much that meant to him, a feeling of relief washing over him like soft waves, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For believing,” he grins, “It’s one step closer to making you like me.” Yeonjun winks before his eyes squeeze shut, breaking into a wide smile. His expression fills with an exaggerated appearance of triumph.

“Hmm, we’ll see about that, Choi Yeonjun,” You laugh at the irony, “Anyways, I was saying that I will be going to the game.”

“You are—”

“For Jongho,” you tease, “The best beater of the team.”

“You don’t even know Jongho!” Yeonjun exclaims, “How can you—”

“I’m joking,” you poke the side of his arm and roll your eyes, “I’m going for you. The only one who invited me.”

“In that case, I’ll lend you some facepaint and my extra jersey—” He stops when he sees the look you’re giving him, “Just the face paint then?”

Although a small part of you would have wanted to wear his jersey, you were still currently keeping your feelings to yourself. Rejecting the jersey before and suddenly accepting it would look a bit too suspicious, “I suppose that would be fine.”

You don’t realize that you’re at the portrait and you can’t help but feel a bit bummed that the walk was over. It was too short. You barely had the opportunity to talk with Yeonjun about anything else, “I’ll see you then?”

Yeonjun nods, a smile reaching his eyes, “Yes I will.”

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The day of the game, you, Yena, and Changbin found yourselves in search of ways to pass the time before it was time to head for the pitch. There was truly nothing to do, so you all opted on taking the longest route around the castle possible.

The three of you were dressed in any green item of clothing you could find in your packed clothes, agreeing that it would have been odd if you all showed up in Gryffindor attire. If you were there to cheer for Yeonjun, you all had to at least look the part.

Yena takes the opportunity to fill the silence, bubbling with excitement as she talks about the day's upcoming events, specifically your plan to finally confess your feelings to Yeonjun. She knows that you weren't keen on going along with her previous ideas, so she gave you the freedom to come up with your own plan. “Tell me what you’ve come up with.”

“Well,” you begin hesitantly. Truthfully, you have not found the time to think the plan through, opting to just ‘wing it’ when the time came, “I was just thinking of simply telling him?”

“That’s the most rubbish plan I’ve heard in my years of living,” Yena blinks.

Changbin snorts, “I don’t even think that’s considered a plan.”

You scowl and give them both a look, “I just don’t want to make too much of a fuss.”

“I know you don’t,” Yena blinks, “But there’s something missing.”

“This is going to be gross,” Changbin grumbles, completely ignoring the problem, “I don’t want to see you and Yeonjun getting all mushy-gushy around me!”

You physically jump, “You could have used any other term and you settled for ‘mushy-gushy’...”

“I’m serious!” The boy exclaims, “I support you two… getting together… but please don’t be those couples that do PDA in the halls.”

“You really think Y/N would do that? She would never…” Yena scoffs. Then she looks over at you with a slight glint of fear in her eyes, “R-right Y/N?”

You nod, “Never. And I give you both permission to knock me into my senses if I do.”

From a distance, the sound of rapid footsteps reach your ears, gradually growing louder and closer.

“Why… in Merlin’s… beard… are you all… the way…” Wooyoung gulps as if he could catch his breath easier, “Back here?” He’s clutching items in his hands and he holds them out for any of you to take them, “Yeonjun said… oh, bloody hell.”

You watch him catch his breath for a couple of long moments before he starts again, “Yeonjun said he forgot to give you these.” Reluctantly, you take them to get a better look. Turns out, it was just two small cans of silver and green face paint, “He was going to give you them himself but he was called in by the coach for a pre-game talk.”

“You ran to find us just for this?” you say, “You could have just met us at the game.”

Wooyoung shakes his head, “Nope, I was sent to find you.” He takes in the outfits that you three were wearing, “It looks odd seeing you all in something that isn’t black, red, or gold.”

Something in Wooyoung’s comment causes something to click in Yena’s head, brows shooting up, “Jung Wooyoung, can you help us out?”

“Depends…” Wooyoung says carefully, “What’s in it for me?”

“I can’t believe you made me steal one of Yeonjun’s extra uniforms,” Wooyoung groans, unamused. He’s out of breath again, having to run back to the Slytherin dormitories and to a chosen meet up spot next to the bathroom.

“We’re not stealing, we’re borrowing,” Yena rolls her eyes, grabbing the jersey from Wooyoung, “Besides you could have said no.” Without another word, your friend grabs your wrist and pulls you into the bathroom.

“Put it on,” Yena says, “And then we can paint your face.”

“You seem more excited than I am,” your voice is laced with equal parts intrigue and nervousness. Finally giving in to wearing Yeonjun's jersey (and without him knowing) was something even you didn’t expect, especially since you had turned down the idea before.

“It’s ‘cause there’s nothing to even fret about,” Yena scoffs, helping you tug the larger jersey on, “Okay, now for the facepaint.”

Yena was wrong. Sure, you knew Yeonjun’s feelings for you were reciprocated, but there was just something about confessing your feelings that was downright terrifying.

Positioning herself in front of you, your best friend blocks your view of the mirror, and with a mischievous grin, dips her fingers into the paint. Without any hesitation, she begins painting the right side of your face, her touch gentle and precise. You can feel her fingers tracing a swoop underneath your eye and on your cheek bones. With the same maneuver, she moves to the left side of your face, creating another swoop, but this time, just overtop your brow bone.

“And for fun,” Yena presses dots on your left cheek and right brow bone to create a reverse image on your face, “Okay, now take a look.” She backs away from you, letting you look into the mirror.

You couldn’t help but cringe at the silver and green paint on your face, not to mention the green jersey you were donning. You looked like you were a Slytherin, which in this case was a good thing, but it still pained your inner Gryffindor.

“You look cute, even though you’re wearing green and silver,” Yena smiles, “Anyways, we should get going. The game starts soon and we need good seats for your boyfriend to see you~”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you groan childishly. She drags you back out the bathroom, causing you to stumble out through the doors and in line of sight of Wooyoung and Changbin.

“He will be soon enough.”

“Traitor!” Changbin jokes, pointing to you, “Gryffindor’s got a traitor!”

“Can you shut your mouth or I’m stuffing it with the first critter I find in this castle,” you say through gritted teeth.

Changbin puts his arms up in a feigned surrender, “Can’t believe you’re doing this all for Yeonjun.”

“You look pretty Slytherin-y,” Wooyoung nods in approval, “You’re going to knock him off of his broom.”

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

“Welcome to the final game of the season!” The announcer, Soobin, delivers, “Today… Slytherin versus Hufflepuff!” Soobin’s voice is followed by whoops and whistles, livening up the stands. You’re cheering alongside everyone else, feeling the nerves begin to dissipate as your attention is directed toward the game.

You can see the players are making rounds in the air, getting a feel of the pitch before the game begins. Your eyes try to spot Yeonjun, who, at first, was nowhere to be found.

“Where is he?” you whisper. The players zoom by so quickly that they appear as mere blurs, their movements too swift for your eyes to track.

Slowly, the players start taking their positions at the center, facing each other as they wait for the referee to release the snitch, the bludgers, and the quaffle. And there, right by the goals, you spot him, positioned next to who you assumed is Jongho. You feel a kick of energy take over your system and you begin shouting for the green team (mostly Yeonjun).

As if he had a sixth sense, Yeonjun feels your gaze on him. When he manages to find you in the small sea of people his face lights up. His nose scrunches up as he playfully waves, all before he puckers his lips and sends a blown kiss your way.

And although you’re supposed to be used to Choi Yeonjun’s flirty antics, you’re left stunned and internally screaming, unsure of how to react in that moment. You're lucky Yeonjun doesn't catch sight of all this, too busy refocusing on the game that was about to begin.

“The game begins! The Hufflepuffs have taken possession of the quaffle!” You hear Soobin’s voice boom over the speakers.

Although you weren't much of a regular at Quidditch games like the other wizards, you did understand the appeal. The current game was thrilling, both teams proving their worth as the score remains neck and neck. But to be embarrassingly honest, the first two periods seemed like a blur to you, as most of your attention was shamelessly focused on Yeonjun.

“Make sure your eyes stay in your head, now,” Yena teases, leaning over to whisper, “You have all the time in the world after this.”

“Am I being that obvious,” you freeze, eyes widening.

Yena nods, “Yeah, but only to me because I know. I don’t think anyone around here would notice you staring at him.”

Changbin butts in, “I noticed.”

“And no one asked,” Yena redirects Changbin’s head to the game.

Just as Yena leans in to whisper another comment, the booming voice of Soobin echoes through the speakers, announcing, "Slytherin's Choi Yeonjun is currently taking on two bludgers!"

Your gaze snaps towards the pitch, searching for Yeonjun in the sky. True to Soobin's words, you spot Yeonjun veering away from the bludgers that chase after him. The determination etched on his face is evident as he’s trying to carefully time his swings to counter the oncoming attacks. Jongho trails closely behind, swinging his bat in an effort to redirect at least one bludger off course, but his attempts fail.

“Can bludgers even do that?” Wooyoung yells, “They can’t, right?”

Changbin and Yena shrug while your attention is still entirely on Yeonjun. “C’mon, Yeonjun,” you mutter underneath your breath.

Everyone around you seemed to be holding their breath, their eyes fixated on Yeonjun. It feels as if time has slowed down, with the entire crowd sharing a collective sense of anticipation. The other players were, for the time being, long forgotten, completely uncertain about what’s going to happen next.

Was Yeonjun going to be able to out-fly the bludgers or was he going to be knocked?

As you watch Yeonjun continue to fly, you can't quite tell if the bludgers are picking up speed or if he was slowing down. But you’re sure of one thing, the gap between Yeonjun and those bludgers was closing in fast—so close that you found yourself bracing for impact.

“He’s hit!” Soobin yells through the microphone, which was closely followed by a whistle.

Your eyes widen in shock as Yeonjun, in a desperate attempt to regain balance on his broom, slips and loses control of the broom. Before anyone could even process what was happening, the broom shoots straight to the ground, taking Yeonjun with it.

You're left speechless, leaning over the railing of the stands in disbelief, desperately trying to catch a glimpse of what was happening. A group of adults rush to Yeonjun's aid, their faces etched with concern and panic. It doesn't look good from where you're standing, and a wave of worry washes over you.

“I-I need to go down there!” you speak before you think. Your grip around the railings is so tight that your knuckles are ghost white.

Yena shakes her head, “I know you want to be sure he’s okay, but look how much people are down there already.” She’s right, there were tens of people already surrounding the boy and it wouldn’t be a good idea adding to the chaos.

“Bloody bludgers,” Wooyoung mutters, “Since when did they do that? I’ve never seen bludgers do that.”

Your heart’s pumping, beating against your chest while you try to anticipate any news on Yeonjun. The stands sound like beehives, eyes trained on the situation happening down below.

“Ladies and gentleman,” Soobin’s voice returns through the speakers, “I have been informed that Slytherin's Choi Yeonjun will be okay but will be taken to the infirmary for care. The game will start again shortly.”

“I’m leaving,” you say flatly.

“Wait, Y/N,” Yena stops you, “I don’t think they’ll let you visit him right now, if that’s what you were thinking.”

“I’m going back to the dorms,” you frown, “I can’t keep watching the game if I know Yeonjun’s hurt.”

“I’ll come with you, then.”

And you don’t refuse her offer, mainly because you’re still stunned by what just happened, before bidding the boys goodbye.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The following day, you made it your mission to visit Yeonjun in the infirmary. According to Wooyoung, hadn't returned to the dorms overnight, so you expect that he’s still there and resting.

“Hello, sweetheart,” the nurse behind a desk greets you, a smile reaching her tired eyes, “May I help you?”

You glance into the infirmary and notice that only two beds are occupied. They were both indicated with privacy screens, “I’m here to visit somebody. He was brought here last night. Choi Yeonjun.”

She nods and you watch her gentle smile slowly transform into a knowing one, “He’s in the occupied bed to your right. I believe he’s still asleep, but you can wait for him to wake up if you’d like.”

You thank her and quietly make your way to Yeonjun’s makeshift room. There's this nagging feeling that visiting him is a bit strange, like you're going out of your way for a guy you're not supposed to be crushing on. But then you remember that Yeonjun is also your friend. Friends check up on each other when they're down, right? So, here you are, paying him a visit like a good pal.

You peek around the screen and see that Yeonjun was, in fact, asleep. Your eyes catch sight of a broken left arm and some bandages that were wrapped around his other arm and his head. He was laying on his side, using his good arm to support his head.

You couldn’t help but frown at the sight of an injured Yeonjun, sitting down at a chair already pushed up near the bed.

“Damn, bludgers,” you mutter, scanning over his injuries one more time. They weren’t the worst injuries, but they were still injuries that needed to be treated.

Treated.

You gasp quietly, almost forgetting what you had brought with you. Digging into your pocket, you fish out a container of ointment that you and your grandma had managed to concoct a few weeks before the year had started. It was the ointment with the dittany. The one you remember telling Yeonjun about.

You swear by your grandma’s recipe.

Leaning back in your chair, you run your thumb over the lid of the container, deep in thought. The room is filled with an overwhelming silence, and Yena's voice echoes in your mind, urging you to confess your feelings to Yeonjun and make him feel better. However, you decide to prioritize his well-being for now, putting your confession on hold and focusing on ensuring that Yeonjun is okay.

Then you can practically hear Changbin gagging from how awfully ‘mushy-gushy’ the decision was.

Air shoots out of your nose when you huff out a laugh.

With a sigh, you shift your focus back to the injured boy who was still sound asleep.

At least who you thought was sound asleep.

As you turn your attention back to Yeonjun, you catch him staring right at you, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. It's almost as if he had been waiting to get caught in the act.

“Yeonjun!?” You exclaim, nearly jumping out of your seat, “Why are you just sitting there and staring at me!?” The nurse shushes you, and you quickly quiet down, collecting yourself. You’re tempted to hit his shoulder, but you remember that he’s injured, “How long have you been awake for?”

Yeonjun doesn't bother answering your question; instead, he leans in, locking eyes with you. The look he gives you is soft, and his lips form a gentle smile. You feel your cheeks heat up, your chest doing the same as you shrink back into your chair.

“What?”

“You like me.”

You freeze and begin to panic. How were you supposed to react to that? You were supposed to be having a conversation about how he was feeling… if he has a concussion… you were supposed to be giving him the dittany ointment you brought with you… but not this.

“N-no I don’t!” you try your best to keep composure, gulping a growing lump in your throat.

“Why else would you be here to visit me?” Yeonjun’s nose scrunches, “You care about me.” His head tilts to the side, still training his eyes on you, “I think it was about time.”

At this point, your heart’s running a mile a minute and the room’s growing hot. What were you supposed to do? You were still in the position to deny everything. That, no, you weren’t here because you liked him. You could say you did care about him but as a friend. It worked. Besides, you were here strictly to make sure he was well. Not to confess.

But then again, this was practically an opportunity that was beckoning for you to go for it and take the chance. Yeonjun was making it easy for you. So, why not?

"And what if I do like you?" You narrow your eyes at him, a playful smile forming on your lips. "Did you forget that you like me, too?"

“Wait, what?” Yeonjun’s eyes widen and his jaw drops to his chest, “You’re not joking right?”

“Joking about what?”

“A-about you liking me,” he stammers. Yeonjun shuffles in his bed, trying his best to sit up, “I-I was just joking about you liking me… I didn’t think that… you’d actually agree to it.”

“Why would I joke about that?” you frown.

“I-I don’t know,” Yeonjun begins to play with the edge of his blanket. He’s a stuttering mess and he can’t seem to muster up the confidence he’s always had around you. It was an odd feeling. He’s never been on this end before, “You’re really… not joking?”

“I would never joke about that,” you shake your head.

“A-are you sure you’re not joking,” Yeonjun repeats, “Like really?” He hopes that he’s not visibly sweating through his bandages and that you can’t hear the hint of nervousness in the tone of his voice. There was even a part of him that thinks that he’s just woken up in a dream and in reality, he’s still passed out on the infirmary bed and recovering from his fall.

What… What if he’s not actually alive right now and his brain is shamelessly walking through his dreams?

Nope. Too much.

He knows that this was real life solely because he could still feel a mix of both stinging and dull pain in his broken arm.

“Choi Yeonjun, I really am not joking!” you groan, frustration evident in your voice. "Do I need to provide you with evidence? Because I can't even pinpoint when I started liking you! It just... happened, okay?"

Yeonjun takes a moment to gather his thoughts, his expression shifting. He realizes you're not joking. Like, really not joking.

You really do like him back.

At the realization, a surge of confidence washes over him and that playful smile that you’ve grown familiar with appears on Yeonjun’s lips.

"You can... prove it to me with a kiss," he suggests, his voice tinged with anticipation. Yeonjun can’t quite read your expression, so he quickly follows up his cheeky proposal with, “Only if you’re okay with it! But I’m just… saying that I’m okay with it.”

Yeonjun's gaze drops, and he focuses on the imprint of his toes in the blanket as he waits for your reply. He hears you shift in your chair and soon he feels a looming presence right by his cheek. He feels a rush of warmth from your breath, causing a shiver to run down his spine and momentarily freezing him in place.

With a mix of nerves and excitement, Yeonjun squeezes his eyes shut, his heart pounding in his chest. He's not entirely sure what to expect, but the hopeful part of him believes that you might be leaning in for that suggested kiss. Just as he thinks you might lean in for the kiss, he feels a gentle peck on his cheek.

You pull back, a mischievous grin spreading across your face. "There," you tease.

Yeonjun's cheeks flush a tint of red, “T-There?”

“Was that not enough to prove it?”

He pouts, “I was… expecting it to be…” Yeonjun gestures to his lips in the cutest way possible. He appeared to be genuinely confused, brows furrowing, “To be…” He’s too embarrassed to say it out loud.

You playfully roll your eyes and lean in once again, aiming for a gentle peck on the corner of Yeonjun's lips. But Yeonjun's curiosity drives him to turn his head toward you, causing your lips to meet.

The contact of his chapped lips on yours catches you off guard, sending what felt like jolts of electricity through your body. For a moment, you consider pulling away, afraid that you've made a mistake, but the gentle hold of Yeonjun's arm around your forearm anchors you in place, easing your nerves. It was like his own way of saying it was okay if you were okay with it too, allowing you both to melt into the kiss.

There’s a brief second that you both forget that you’re sitting in the infirmary of the castle, the world around you fading into the background. All you could hear is the muffled sound of your heart knocking against your chest, and you’re hoping and praying that Yeonjun doesn’t hear it.

Just as Yeonjun brings himself to deepen the kiss, you’re both interrupted by the voice of a certain Gryffindor, “This is exactly what I was afraid of!”

You turn to find Changbin with a bouquet of flowers (which he had obviously picked from the castle grounds’ bushes) and a rather appalled expression on his face. He lets out an exasperated groan before turning away, muttering under his breath as he walks off. His voice fades off into the distance, “I’ll be back later… won’t be mushy-gushy my arse… I wonder if there’s a spell that’s equivalent to bleaching my eyes…”

You and Yeonjun exchange a glance and burst into fits of laughter, unable to contain the hilarity of the situation. Of all people, it just had to be Changbin who walked in at that moment.

As the laughter subsides, you both catch your breath, still wearing wide smiles on your faces. You and Yeonjun settle back into the moment. The interruption may have momentarily disrupted the moment, but it also added a touch of light-heartedness to the intensity of your feelings.

“So…” You say, “Did I prove it to you?”

Yeonjun's warm gaze meets yours, his voice filled with certainty, "That was more than enough to prove it."

If you made it this far, I want to thank you so much for taking the time to read this! It would be cool to hear what your fav part/'chapter' was (I'm a curious person)! If not, it's okay, I'm still thankful you read this! <33

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dont-offend-the-bees · 1 month

Text

Lived My Whole Life Before the First Light

Omg here we are. At the end. I'm sad, I've been having such a blast with you guys this week! But all good things... Anyway, this is a strange one, rambling and mournful but hopefully with some sweetness. I hope it makes you feel things, I hope it gives you something, I hope we part on this final day of Painland Week as friends and confidants 💛 Huge, huge thanks to the organisers of Painland Week for putting this magical event together! Special love on this day goes out to @mellxncollie , who has been creating amazing gifs all week and has made beautiful ones for this very fic. It's been so so wonderful to collab with you and everyone should go and look at these wonderful creations at ONCE. Warnings for canonical character death (sorry, Charles) and the stuff that comes with it (i.e. refs to bullying/hatecrimes), non-graphic injury description, and just general mournful grief vibes all round. But hopeful ending bc let's face it, we all know how this played out! 7.3k, M-rated, available on Ao3. Thanks again, @painlandweek!

"Colour! What a deep and mysterious language. The language of dreams."

~ Paul Gauguin

Edwin Payne had always possessed a thirst for knowledge. As a child, he'd wished to learn just about everything there was to learn — every fact in every field. He'd been told, many times, that he could live to be a hundred years old, and still not have enough hours to do so.

Edwin had most certainly not lived to be a hundred. But he supposed that if you added his sixteen years of life to his seventy-three of death, he was getting rather close.

The dead years, however, had been far from conducive to study. Knowledge was hard to come by in Hell. Found either in burnt and bloodied books scavenged from individual damnations, or delivered in the form of cruel trials. He'd been taught a lesson or two in his time, but not on anything so polite and pedestrian as geometry. Edwin's key area of personal study in Hell had been one thing, and one thing only: how to escape from it.

It had taken seven decades, a slew of disembowelments and innumerable failed attempts, but at last he'd passed his final exam with merit. Or at least, a version of him had. But there wasn't much to be done for his original self, whose body lay mouldering on the dollhouse floor beneath a thousand savaged duplicates.

Best not to dwell on it.

He supposed he should have been upset about where the door to Hell spat him out. Not many people would be happy to return to the place where they'd met their untimely, violent demise. But to Edwin, after a small infinity in the blackest pit, stepping back into St. Hilarion's hallowed halls felt like greeting an old friend. Well, friend might be a tad generous. More of an acquaintance, or perhaps a second cousin one barely tolerated. Not a person one enjoyed spending time with, but nonetheless a familiar face.

For a day or so he'd wandered about in a bit of a daze, glancing over his shoulder for any sign he'd been followed from the depths. He'd drunk in every familiar feature, and puzzled over the unfamiliar ones. It was a small change in the grand scheme of things, but he suspected they'd replaced the drapes. They were a lighter grey now than they had been in his time. He wondered what colour they'd chosen — or for that matter, what colour they were in the first place. He'd never thought to ask.

Then on his second day of wandering, he'd stumbled across the old library. And that, for several weeks, had been that.

He'd probably had dreams about this, in his youth. Dreams of being left to his own devices, surrounded by books. All the information he could inhale, with no interruptions. Not even from the other boys. Their voices had startled him a few times, and he was always wary when a gaggle of them descended on the library. But he'd quickly realised that none of them could see him, and so long as he turned the pages quietly, he was free to continue his reading unmolested.

And he did so, continuously, for days. Not even boring old human restrictions like hunger, tiredness or eye strain could stop him now. He read everything he could get his hands on, brushed up on everything, filling in the gaps of the last decades. On the future that had been robbed from him, subsiding into history while his back was turned. He'd sat in his own shellshock when he read not only about how the so-called 'war to end all wars' had concluded, but also how little time had passed before the next one. He'd blushed and skimmed the pages pertaining to the nineteen-sixties free love movement. He'd gazed, thunderstruck, at the moon through the library window; wondering what the Earth must have looked like to the man they put up there.

All these years he'd been trapped in the gutters at the deepest depths of suffering, reaching up towards the light; all that time, humanity had been reaching, too. Up, up and up, all the way to the stars.

It became habit, after that, to gaze at the moon in between books and chapters. An opportunity to gather his thoughts on what he'd just read, to file away the facts, to jot down the most pertinent in his notebook. It was rather a meditative process.

Or at least it had been, until the night he'd seen something else beneath that moon. Something tragically earthbound amidst the gently illuminated greys of the grounds. A hunched and trembling shape against the trees, lurching by Edwin's window. A boy, on the run — his pursuers baying for blood like wolves at his heels.

They could put a man on the moon, but some things never changed.

It would be the first time Edwin had left the library since re-discovering it. Holding aloft the pilfered lantern he'd been using to read into the night, he trod carefully through the darkened corridors. The majority of staff and students were in dorms or common rooms by now, voices a soft patter, bleeding with the light under the doors. No one marked Edwin, or came to investigate the lantern floating past. Though some extinguished their own lights and hushed their voices, mistaking him for a warden. Edwin didn't wish to scare anyone, but he drew some comfort from it. He'd grown tired of being pounced upon in long, black, twisting hallways. How comforting for once to be the root of fear and not merely its captive.

Edwin had to search a little while, but he was already familiar with the best hiding places. It wasn't long before he was creeping up to the attic, minding his ghostly tread upon the stairs. He didn't wish to cause alarm, or send the boy deeper into hiding thinking his assailants had found him.

He crossed the threshold, and at once heard a shuddering intake of breath as the harsh white aura of his lantern bounced off the walls. He supposed there was no disguising the glow. He hung back a moment, conflicted. All he wanted was to offer some light and warmth, but perhaps a floating lantern would be a sight too much for the terrified boy. Well, it was too late for that, now. He stepped into the room proper, peering past the flare of his lantern to the source of the sound. A shivering bundle on the floor, tucked into a nook behind the shelves. Trying to be as small as possible and, by and large, succeeding.

Wide, hunted eyes stared into the light. A voice, low and wary, spoke.

"What do you want?"

It was then that Edwin realised the eyes weren't looking into the light. They were looking at him. He glanced behind himself, just to make sure, but he wasn't mistaken. "You can see me?"

It was also when he noticed something equally perplexing happening to the light. It had started to look... less white. No, in fact it no longer looked white at all, but it had not dimmed, and it bore no resemblance to any shade of grey Edwin had ever seen. It was... he didn't even have the language to describe it. If he had to choose a word, he could only say it looked warm. He'd never seen anything like it. Not in seventy years of Hell, nor in his life before. It simply defied description.

He tore his gaze from it. There were more pressing matters to attend to. "I... I thought this lantern might help," he said, still dumbfounded. He approached, with care — this boy was clearly a victim in this circumstance, but there was a defensive set to his jaw. A wild look in his eyes. A creature caught in a trap was as liable to bite a rescuer as an attacker. "You can simply extinguish it if those boys come up here."

The guarded expression cracked, vulnerability bleeding through. As Edwin drew closer, he noticed that the strange new quality of the light was reflected where it hit the boy. There were notes of something else beneath the pallid grey tones of his skin, something richer. Just as something beyond simple black glistened in his enormous eyes.

"You saw them?" the boy rasped.

"I did. I went to school here a long time ago." Edwin knelt before him, bringing the light closer to the lad’s face and marvelling, quietly, at the strange tones that sprang into sharp relief. Whoever this young man was, Edwin's very perception of the world appeared to be shifting in his presence. "We had bullies, too."

He looked so weak, curled up and trembling. He certainly wasn't weak, Edwin suspected that much. Peeking out from beneath the blanket were shoes and trousers of a kind he'd seen these modern boys wearing out on the sports pitch. The lad was no delicate flower, but at this moment, at the mercy of his wounds, he was helpless.

And if he could see Edwin... then his fate was already sealed.

Edwin looked at the boy levelly, at the fear in his strange eyes. He'd seen that fear upon countless faces these last seventy years, on the wretched souls crying out for respite from their torment. He'd worn a similar expression some decades ago, when a careless act of cruelty had damned him, too.

"Rest assured," he said, gently, offering the lantern. "I shan't hurt you."

He could see the moment the boy decided to believe him. His shoulders slumped, his breath escaped in a rattle of relief. He reached out from his blanket shell, and flashed a sliver of that curiously saturated skin at his shoulder. Against the stark white of the sleeveless vest he wore, the difference was now undeniable. Not grey, not white, but something altogether different. Like his eyes, like the metal at his throat and ear that glimmered in the lamplight. Tones Edwin had never seen before, couldn't even name.

It couldn't be...

"Cheers, mate," said the boy, shivering as he brought the lantern closer. "I'm freezing. Never been this cold in my life."

Swallowing, Edwin nodded. "It's the least I can do."

The boy's lips twitched in a feeble half-smile. "Yeah? You mean you can do more?"

Probably not as much as he'd like. But Edwin nodded again. "Of course."

The light shone upon the boy's face and the dark, waterlogged curls of his hair. Steeped in that impossible hue.

"Stick around a bit?" he asked, his voice very small indeed. "Bit lonely up here..."

Edwin had not come here with any plans to stick around. He'd wished to help, of course. But to say he was unaccustomed to dealing with people was a tremendous understatement. He'd planned to drop off the lantern, check the boy was alright, and slip away without a fuss.

But the boy was clearly not alright, half-alive and fading fast. And he'd seen Edwin, asked him in no uncertain terms to stay. Asked him with all the broken hope in his voice and all the impossible buried, blooming hues in his eyes. And if those colours meant what he had always been told…

Well. How could Edwin begrudge his own soulmate a last request?

"My name is Edwin," he said, as measured as he could manage. "Edwin Payne."

The boy grinned. It wobbled at the edges. "Charlie," he introduced himself. "Charles Rowland."

Edwin hummed. Charles. A pleasant name. Respectable. He thought it rather suited the young man. "A pleasure to meet you, Charles."

Charles chuckled, drawing the lantern closer to himself. "Pretty bloody brills to meet you, too, Edwin."

The colour — for it surely was a colour, Edwin knew of no other word or explanation — of the lantern seemed to pulse, then settle, stronger than before. It illuminated the feeble grin upon Charles' drawn face in hues as yet unnamed.

Edwin would have to find some names. Compare what he could see with what he'd been told, what he'd read. Identify what he could.

While he still had the chance.

"Best thing to happen to me all night," Charles mumbled. "You showing up."

Edwin wished to tell him things could only improve from here; but he knew it to be a lie.

"It is the color closest to light. In its utmost purity, it always implies the nature of brightness and has a cheerful, serene, gently stimulating character. Hence, experience teaches us that yellow makes a thoroughly warm and comforting impression."

~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

"Just didn't seem right. Letting that kid get beat on 'cause he's from Pakistan," said Charles.

His socks peeked out from the blanket, bright white in the lamplight. Interesting — a part of Edwin had always presumed that white would look vastly different with the rest of the spectrum unlocked. It didn't, but there was much less of it. The world was full of more off-whites in more hues than Edwin could've previously imagined. Charles' skin wasn't dissimilar. Pale-ish, but bearing pleasant warm under-and-overtones that made Edwin's look near-translucent by comparison.

"I mean, I'm half Indian," Charles continued. "Why am I so different?"

"That is a fair point," said Edwin, thoughtful, harkening back to some of the history books he'd skimmed of late. "They were the same country back when I was alive."

Fascinating how the times changed, new lines drawn in the sand. Fascinating, and frustrating. In the time Edwin had been gone wars had started and ended, entire countries had been ruptured, borders reshaped. And yet some of life's most persistent mysteries remained unanswered.

He'd not looked much into it, but it seemed little advancement had been made in understanding of the so-called 'soulmate' principle. It had been a frequent enough phenomenon to be common knowledge in Edwin's time, but no one ever had any real explanation for it. Plenty of spiritual explanations, of course. But it seemed no one could point to any tangible scientific reason why a person, upon hearing the voice of a certain other person, had the entire hidden colour spectrum revealed unto them. An entire dimension of the visible world remained inaccessible to the vast majority of the population, and still no one knew why, or even how. Clearly, there was still much research to be done on the subject.

And clearly, the notion of this mysterious person as a 'soulmate' was romantic drivel. Charles seemed a pleasant fellow, but he was a fellow. And two boys could hardly be soulmates, could they? No God-fearing Christian would embrace the concept if that were the case. So no, Charles couldn't possibly be his soulmate. Perhaps the phenomenon represented something else entirely. Like minds? Charles seemed an easy boy to get on with — and Edwin seldom got on with anybody. He even felt at ease sitting beside him on the hard attic floor, nearly touching. Perhaps Charles was simply his universe-appointed fastest friend; the one person in creation who could truly understand him.

Or maybe it was a cosmic fluke, a quirk of biology. Maybe it could have been absolutely anybody in the world.

Yes, that was probably it. Nothing deeper at play than that.

Still, it was a pity Charles would be dead before the night was out. Soulmate or not.

(Definitely not.)

"Right..." Charles mumbled. Followed by a frown. "Wait, what?"

"Hm?"

"What d'you mean 'when you were alive'?"

Edwin looked at him. Charles still seemed rather small, rather sorry. A chilly little lump, all curled in on himself, even now they were side by side and of a height with one another. He looked cold, sallow. Not even the warm hues of the light Edwin had tentatively designated yellow could hide it, cheerful though it may be.

"You ought to move around a bit," said Edwin, standing smoothly. "You must keep your circulation going."

It would do no good, of course. But who knew? Charles might be hardier than Edwin gave him credit for.

"Edwin," said Charles, all seriousness. "What d'you mean when you were alive?"

Edwin's brow twitched. He held out his hand. "Get up, and I shall tell you."

Charles took his hand — and startled. "Fuck — you're colder than me, mate!"

"And for good reason. Come, now. Two or three quick laps of the room. I'll hold the lantern."

"Red lips are not so red as the stained stones kissed by the English dead."

~ Wilfred Owen

Edwin had heard some truly hideous sounds in his time. Crunching bones, squelching organs, agonised screams. And yet somehow, the wheeze of Charles hacking up water from pulverised lungs was among the worst to date.

"Are you alright?" Edwin asked, hands clasped upon the table — lest he risk something overfamiliar like a pat on the back.

"I'm fine," Charles deflected, voice hoarse and unconvincing. "Just answer my question.

Charles was looking worse by the minute. The warm tones of his skin that Edwin had grown so fascinated by were receding under sallow grey. A new colour was blooming, in and around his eyes; in the puffy lids underneath, in the spiderwebbing veins across the whites.

This colour was not nearly so puzzling — the veins were a dead giveaway. Edwin had read more than enough crime literature to be able to identify the colour of blood.

So, this was the famous red. A bold colour, possibly quite charming in the right context; which this most assuredly was not. Edwin was no physician, but he'd read a number of medical textbooks. Charles bore all the hallmarks of a man bedevilled with internal bleeding. It was not a matter of whether he would die, but of what would kill him first; the cold, or the injuries.

He tore his gaze away. Anger, bitter and harsh, had him by the throat, had his fists clenching together until his gloves creaked. Who were those wretched boys, to lay hands upon Charles? To break him so? This boy who, insofar as Edwin could tell, hadn't a bad bone in his body? Whatever Charles was to him, soulmate or not (definitely, definitely not), he was his. He was supposed to be his, and soon he would be dead, and Edwin understood, now. Understood how people found themselves mired in Hell's fifth circle, swamped in wrath and rage. For no reason, no reason at all, those boys had taken Charles’ life without a care. Taken his life, and the colour from Edwin's eyes, all in one fell swoop. Soon both would be gone; and if Edwin ever found the hooligans responsible they'd have a formidable haunting on their hands.

"Nineteen thirteen, to..." he counted one, two, three, slowly. Collecting himself. "Nineteen sixteen."

"Bullshit." Charles cocked his head, a small smile of disbelief upon his lips. It was a charming expression, in its impertinence. "When did you go to school here for reals?"

"Nineteen thirteen to nineteen sixteen," Edwin repeated, slower. "I am dead, Charles."

Charles laughed. Edwin raised his eyebrows — and pretended not to be fascinated by the flash of not-red in Charles' mouth, his tongue and gums. What was the word for a light red, again? He was sure he'd read it somewhere...

The laughter died, and Charles' eyes went wider still. "...Oh."

There was more of that not-red than Edwin had thought, actually. The shells of Charles' ears, where the dawning light from the window glowed through translucent skin. He'd never considered that a person's ears might appear a different colour to the rest of them. How many secret tricks of the light had he been oblivious to all these years? How many more had he yet to discover? How many would he never get the chance to see for himself?

Just how much more could possibly be stolen from him?

"I... I dunno if this is, um, bad to ask, or what, but..." Charles swallowed. "How'd you die, mate?"

His lips, too, were redder than the rest of him; although that was fading, rapidly. Cooling at the edges. Edwin suspected that wasn't supposed to be the case.

"As I said," Edwin replied, sadly. "We had bullies, too."

"Then leaf subsides to leaf.

So Eden sank to grief,

So dawn goes down to day.

Nothing gold can stay."

~ Robert Frost

He had Charles move around again, though it was clear it would serve no purpose. He was delaying the inevitable. Charles was all but shutting down already; the occasional boost to his circulatory system was hardly going to bring him back from Death's door.

But perhaps Charles would beat the odds. Why not? He seemed a resilient fellow. Perhaps he would, indeed, outlast the night, see another day. Perhaps help would arrive. Perhaps Edwin could give him the push he needed to survive this if he only persisted.

Besides, he couldn't let Charles seize up and expire just yet. Charles had questions and damn it all, Edwin would answer them!

"Actually, you can move around any space however you like," Edwin explained. "It is not that you cannot touch things, you just cannot feel them."

A blessing in disguise, on occasion. Though Edwin had done his utmost to fill up this nook by the window with whatever musty blankets and futons he could salvage, he doubted the floor was comfortable. He himself sat with his knees tucked up to his chest, bracing for discomfort he couldn't feel. It was far from ideal. But he supposed that a hard floor was the least of Charles' problems.

Charles was rapidly declining. That cool tinge upon his lips was growing more prominent, his coughs harsher and more visceral-sounding. But here, at least, he seemed as snug as Edwin could make him. Swaddled like a babe, tucked up against the cluttered old shelves. Perhaps this was warm enough to get him through. It certainly seemed warm, with the yellow light burning merrily on.

It glowed not only off Charles' skin and his eyes, but a myriad small reflective surfaces strewn about the forgotten nook. Edwin was particularly taken with the shimmer of it off what appeared to be a dented instrument — possibly a tuba? — near Charles' head. Metals had always looked very similar to one another, in Edwin's grayscale vision. Now he could see the metal of the horn was a somewhat deeper shade than that of, say, the earring Charles wore. Finally, he could see first-hand the differences between the precious and non-precious metals. Alas, he had few of them to choose from, and little way of knowing which was which. He supposed it safe to assume that the instrument was brass, hence its orchestral designation.

But the metal Charles was wearing was his favourite so far. It had a little of the yellow about it, but richer, more lustrous. Edwin found himself quite transfixed by the way it fluttered and flickered in the light.

He was familiar with the saying all that glitters is not gold, of course. But for want of further evidence, gold seemed as good a guess as any.

"It's stupid, but... I think I'd miss kissing," said Charles. He looked right at Edwin, earring and eyes twinkling with the motion. He did have... handsome eyes. Edwin simply must figure out what colour they were. Of a similar hue but different tone to his hair, to the old wooden shelves at his back. "Do you miss kissing?"

"Mmm-mmmm," Edwin mumbled, with a small shake of his head. "No. Not as such."

How many people had Charles kissed, he wondered? Surely not an abundance, they were of a similar age. Had he kissed someone this month, this week? Today? Before his lips grew cold and chapped, when they were... oh, what was that word for a lighter red? Pink, yes, that was it.

Then again, perhaps he went about with painted lips in every day life. He already wore some sort of cosmetic on his eyes, after all, so maybe it wasn't a stretch for a modern young man. Imagine. A boy, staining the lips of his paramours with lipstick when he kissed them...

Goodness. The world really had moved on.

Edwin cleared his throat. "No," he repeated, firmly. "No, I don't miss kissing."

He supposed it was fine that Charles liked it, though. And maybe he'd get the chance to do it again. He just had to hold on a little longer, outlive the dawn chorus, until the teachers noticed his absence and sent people searching. Then he could keep on living, and kissing and whatever else he wished to do and Edwin...

Well, Charles probably wouldn't have much use for a ghost friend. But at least Edwin could keep the colours. Just a little while longer.

Charles chuckled. It was a bit of a sadder sound than the last time Edwin heard it. "Must've had some shit kisses in your life, mate."

Edwin smiled, tightly. "Something of that ilk."

"Shame we weren't mates," said Charles. "I'd've..."

"You'd have... what?"

A smattering of colour returned to Charles' face, then. It might've been a trick of the light, but Edwin could've sworn his cheeks warmed. "I'd've... well, I'd've found you someone to snog, wouldn't I?" he laughed, drawing his blanket closer around his chin. "Got some fit mates from my old school. And the birds proper fancy the brainy lads."

Edwin frowned. "The... birds?"

"Y'know. Lasses. Girls."

"Oh." For whatever reason, Edwin felt... disappointed. And not just at the apparently abysmal state of modern slang. "Yes. Girls."

He cocked his head, watching Charles carefully. He was a very good looking boy. And he wasn't Edwin's soulmate, couldn't be, but...

Edwin cleared his throat. "Charles?"

"Yeah?"

"Do I look..." He wavered. "...Unusual, at all? To you?"

Charles blinked. "Um. Well. Outfit's a bit retro." His eyes widened slightly, a dash of mortification. "Not being rude! I like it! It's... it's cool."

Edwin rolled his eyes. "I don't mean my outfit, I mean... have you noticed anything different about this room since I walked in?" he pressed.

"Well, yeah."

Edwin inhaled. "You have?"

"Yeah."

He leaned in closer. "What have you noticed exactly?"

Charles smiled weakly. "Well. It... feels a lot less lonely. With you here. Warmer, too." He chuckled. "Daft as that sounds. With you being dead, and all."

Edwin's fingers flexed on his knees — all he could do to stop himself hugging them, wretchedly, to his heart. "Yes," he agreed, dully. "Daft, indeed..."

"Green makes me think of silence, or maybe it’s loneliness. I get the feeling of a terribly distant star."

~ Kobo Abe

Edwin had only ever known one person ‘fortunate’ enough to meet her soulmate.

Aunt Florence had always been a bit of an odd duck. Flighty and fickle, a perpetual embarrassment to her brother — Edwin's father — whose job it had been to lend financial support to her spinster lifestyle. As she alleged it, she'd found her soulmate in the late eighteen seventies. For reasons undisclosed (to Edwin, at least) they had never married. Edwin had never had the pleasure of meeting her mysterious match.

She had always seemed very fascinated with the world around her, Aunt Florence. A trait she shared with Edwin; though while his interest lay in facts, hers lay in aesthetics. He’d seen her dedicate hours to the study of a singular rose petal in her garden. Edwin was told she could do quite beautiful things with oil paints, for those with eyes to see. They were passable, too, in black and white, but lacking dimension.

Once, when Edwin was about nine or so, Aunt Florence had taken his chin between her willowy fingers.

"What lovely eyes you have, my boy," she'd said, in a smoker's croak. Uncouth for a woman to smoke, particularly one of her social standing, but she'd never much cared what others thought of her. Her tobacco-stained nail had nipped his chin as she held him close. "Your mother's eyes. Sea green... You'll find yourself someone who can appreciate them, won't you?"

Edwin, of course, had had no idea what green was, and little desire to find out. Not if finding a so-called soulmate was the prerequisite condition. He was of an age where the fixation that grown-ups seemed to have on kissing one another was both vexing and perplexing to him. A phase of his life that, to be frank, he'd never entirely left behind. He'd extricated himself from Aunt Florence's talons as politely as possible, and given her a wide berth for the rest of her visit.

The next time he'd seen her, she had taken one look at his eyes, and burst into tears.

They all ended the same way, these soulmate stories. It was a law of nature. Death was not neat, or particularly fair. No matter how blissfully happy the pair, someone always had to leave first; and when they did, the colour left with them.

Some, at least, got time to enjoy it all. Before their love — and their colour — died away. A few decades, or years. Months, even.

Some, like Edwin, got far less. Hours, if that.

And some, like Charles Rowland, got no time at all.

"They're out of the dark's ragbag, these two

Moles dead in the pebbled rut,

Shapeless as flung gloves, a few feet apart —

Blue suede a dog or fox has chewed.

One, by himself, seemed pitiable enough,

Little victim unearthed by some large creature

From his orbit under the elm root.

The second carcass makes a duel of the affair:

Blind twins bitten by bad nature."

~ Sylvia Plath

"Shut up, mate. That is brills."

Edwin was inclined to agree. Especially now he could appreciate the full effect. He'd been aware, of course, that his form seemed to partially dissolve into a mirage when he passed through solid surfaces. He'd been unaware that the mirage seemed to possess a certain hue. Not unlike the hue beginning to bleed through the filthy window.

The pre-dawn light was different to the majority of the colours Edwin had identified so far. It was colder. Greyer. Pale and stark against the opaque black silhouette of the distant treeline (interesting, how the trees still seemed black in this light. He wondered if he'd get a chance to see this green he'd heard so much about before the night was over.) If Charles' face was warmed by the yellow lamplight, it was cooled at the edges by the seeping tones through the glass.

This, like the red and the blood, came with an easy reference point. Everybody knew that the sky was supposed to be blue.

Seemed Edwin finally had a word for the sickly tint of Charles' lips.

"Why don't you fall through the floor?" Charles asked, puzzled.

"There are many, many, so-called ghost rules," said Edwin, sagely. He had, after all, spent several weeks conducting his own personal study and compiling the rules himself. "I shan't waste your time listing them."

"Well, I only asked about the floor, didn't I?" said Charles, a teasing lilt to his lip. Honestly, the cheek of the man.

"Because I choose not to fall through the floor," Edwin replied, in utterly falsified exasperation. "Happy?"

Charles had a certain way of smiling; one that spread up from his grinning mouth and into his eyes. Despite the cold, miserable state of the rest of him they fairly shone with warmth, a merry humour. A knowing gleam that said 'look at us, in on the joke'.

Edwin had never been in on the joke, before.

Charles chuckled; and Edwin did likewise, helpless to the draw of it. The magnetic sound. It had his lips lifting of their own volition — even as his heart sank further and further into the floor.

The blue devils, that's what his father had called it. On those rare occasions when he acknowledged Mother's low mood, or found Edwin weeping silently upon his bed. "You've just got the blue devils, my boy. Chin up, now, and soldier on. You've better things to do than mope."

He could feel them, now, those blue devils upon his shoulder. Cold, heavy, and the colour of Charles' bloodless lips. Weighing Edwin down like stones in his pockets. He hadn't felt hot or cold in decades, but now he felt as Charles must have done with the chill lake pressing down upon him, filling his lungs. And unlike Charles, he wasn't sure he possessed the tenacity to break the surface before the bubbles stopped.

He'd fought his way from the pits of Hell itself, and yet this climb seemed more insurmountable by far. He was no longer fighting his way from the dark to the light. There was no light above the surface of this icy water, no light at all. The light was here, the entire spectrum of it; above was only grey, grey, grey, as far as the eye could see.

"Oi," said Charles. He looked so very tired; but still inquisitive to a fault. "What other cool stuff can you do, then?"

Edwin huffed. "I can travel through mirrors, if you must know."

Charles' blue lips parted, breath escaping on a wonderstruck wheeze. "Wicked."

He ought to be more careful with his breaths. He couldn't have had all that many left to draw.

"We love the sight of the brown and ruddy earth; it is the color of life, while a snow-covered plain is the face of death."

~ John Burroughs

Charles Rowland passed away in the small hours of the morning. Edwin didn't even need to look up from the page; he just watched the pinkish tint bleed from his own ghostly fingertips, and made a deduction.

Even before his passing, Edwin hadn't looked directly at Charles in some time. He hadn't been able to bring himself to. The colour in his ailing new friend had diminished all but completely, his skin a sallow patina, his lips a cracked grey slate.

Edwin had only come to know colour on this night, and already he could feel its absence like a hole in his heart. He understood, now, why Aunt Florence had dragged herself so mournfully through her twilight years. Going through the motions of existing. Colour, for Aunt Florence, had been life; without it, there was simply no point living.

Somehow, Edwin found his voice, and he read on. Because Edwin was no Aunt Florence, arty and flighty and prone to outpourings of passion. Edwin was his father's son; he soldiered on. No matter what.

But the ache in his chest persisted, despite his best efforts to quash it. There had been so much yet to see. He'd never witnessed the colour purple — an expensive hue of which he'd heard a great many appreciative things. He'd never seen a flower, any flower, in full bloom, or watched one of those famous sunsets.

In the end, he never even got to see what his aunt meant about his eyes. But he had no reflection anymore, so. Perhaps that one was always a lost cause.

On the topic of lost causes; there was someone else in this room with him, yet. Someone who'd lost far more than a fleeting glimpse of creation in technicolour.

""— I cease to believe,"" Edwin finished reading with a soft, forced chuckle. To no response. He looked up to find Charles standing tall, gaze turned to the window. It was the first time all night he'd been without his blanket; and the first time he'd borne not the slightest shiver.

Well. At least he would never be cold again.

"Not enjoying this one?" Edwin prompted, gently. "Carrados the blind detective was just becoming quite popular in my day."

When Charles turned around, of course Edwin already knew what he would find. Knew what his own eyes would fall upon when they followed Charles’ gaze.

But knowing did not prepare him for the reality. The cold, desaturated tableau of Charles Rowland's demise, illuminated like a crime scene in the stark white light of the lantern. How a person so vital, so vibrant as Charles should be without blood and colour defied all reason. And yet there he lay; bereft of hue, and of life.

Edwin swallowed, and closed the book gently upon Max Carrados. "When you could see me, I knew it was too late."

Charles was silent. For the first time all night. Silent as the grave.

"But I simply..." Edwin hesitated. "I did not want to scare you."

In the corner of Edwin's eye, the lantern guttered and died. Good. It didn't seem right; all that light upon Charles, and not a drop of warmth in it.

"Well. Glad you didn't say anything." Charles' voice was stronger, now. How different he sounded, without the rattle of lake water in his lungs.

Charles looked at his hands. As did Edwin. How strange they appeared, in the bleak grey of Edwin's impoverished eyes. How unsettlingly close to the pallor his skin had taken on in his death throes. And yet he wasn't pallid, not in the slightest. Standing tall, unchained from his ailing flesh, he was more wholly and healthily Charles than Edwin had yet seen him.

"Doesn't feel like I imagined. Being dead," said Charles, thoughtful. "Feels okay, doesn't it?"

In truth, there was nothing remotely 'okay' about this situation. Edwin felt... robbed. He felt robbed. Because he would never know the colour of Charles' skin when it wasn't frozen grey, or beaten black and blue. He'd never see this Charles, standing tall in the dawning sunlight, the way he was designed to be seen. The way he was chosen, by God or fate or an impossible quirk of biology to be seen, by Edwin. Only by Edwin. For he was Edwin's, no more could he deny it.

And Charles would never see Edwin. Not the way Edwin saw him. Because by the time they met, it was already too late. Because in a wretched twist of fate, Charles’ soulmate — his unfortunate, unorthodox soulmate — was dead in the ground before Charles was even born.

And Edwin had thought Hell to be cruel and unusual punishment.

"I sincerely wish we could have been friends for longer," said Edwin, dropping the magazine and standing from his seat on the old trunk. "But Death will come for you, now. You should go with her when she arrives."

He turned, and began his brisk march to the door. What's done is done; and Charles was, unmistakably, done. Done in and done for, done in just about every sense.

So Charles would be off, now. He'd be off, and Edwin would just have to carry him, too. In his head, with his facts and his torments and a thousand tiny heartbreaks. What was another one, in the grand scheme of things? What else was there to do in this fugitive afterlife but keep his chin up, and soldier on?

"Well I'm not ready, am I?” Charles called out. “I don't wanna go somewhere else, yet."

Edwin faltered. Turned. Charles was watching him.

"What if I stay here for a bit with you, instead?" said Charles, preposterously.

"Then you will always be running from her," was Edwin's quick, logical response. But Charles was still watching him with those... those damnably appealing eyes, and he felt the need to defend his case. "Also, I'm not good with other people. And I only just came back to this school after escaping Hell, so. I'm out of practice, to be perfectly frank. So. When the light comes. You stay, and I go."

He smiled, tightly, and turned once more. There. He'd avoided mentioning Hell all night, but it was done, now. No boy with a lick of sense would —

"Well, I'm aces with other people."

… He simply could not be serious.

"Pretty chuffed you got out of Hell, mate," Charles continued, maddeningly blasé. "That sounds hard. Nice job."

Edwin turned on him, incredulous. "That is not how you make decisions," he snapped, taking a challenging step towards Charles. "Just based on whatever you happen to be feeling in the moment!"

"It's how I lived my life."

Charles turned his head, looked down at his own body. Edwin couldn't bring himself to do likewise.

"Doesn't seem all that different now."

Charles looked at Edwin, unflinching. And what a different creature he was, free of cold and pain. Lithe but lax, eyes slightly narrowed in almost catlike contemplation of Edwin. He stood before a hellbound soul, near naked and freshly dead, and yet the easygoing slope of his narrow shoulders bore no strain.

He shrugged, nonchalant. White light glimmered from his dangling earring. "Looks like you're stuck with me.”

For a moment it was nigh on impossible to believe he hadn't seen it, too. Hadn't seen the spectrum unfold when Edwin said his name. Because how else could someone look at anyone, let alone Edwin, with such certainty? As if he'd never been more sure of anything or anyone in his tragically short life.

Breathtaking was not a word Edwin liked to use lightly. In fact, he preferred not to use it at all. Who had ever seen something so rare, so staggeringly beautiful they'd lost their breath? It was the sort of word Aunt Florence would have used; flowery and hyperbolic.

It seemed Edwin owed her yet another apology.

Light flared in the corner. Their eyes leapt to it. It was of no colour that Edwin could see and yet he could feel it, deep in his soul, he knew its shape and colour; blue. A kinder, softer blue than that of bloodless lips and dreary skies. The wild blue yonder that he was barred from forevermore; the one that awaited Charles Rowland with open arms.

Charles looked at Edwin.

Edwin looked at Charles.

Charles smiled, soul glowing lantern-bright in those dark, confident eyes. He didn't move, not towards the light or away from it, but he held out his hand. Planted like a tree, unbending, unbowed. His roots sunk deep into the loamy earth of life; his branches beckoning Edwin into their boughs.

Oh, thought Edwin, when he understood — didn't see, simply understood — the colour that had been gazing back at him all along. That's the word I was looking for.

Thirty years passed, fading into memory, and with them faded the sting. It was hard to mourn the loss of colour when one could scarcely remember what it looked like in the first place. Those fleeting hours blended and blurred amidst the grey years, lost to time; a single hand-tinted frame in a hundred miles of monochrome celluloid.

Though he tried to remember, Edwin struggled to visualise the yellow light that had bathed their faces; the gold that glinted at the cut of Charles' jaw. Pink lips, red veins, the blue stain of death. Such things were impossible to note down in a world of black ink and white pages, and his aide-mémoires soon failed him. The colours fluttered away into the past, scattered to the winds of memory like his mother's smile, his father's voice, Aunt Florence's smoky laughter and the roses she painted on the guest room walls.

But though he could not recall the exact shade of Charles' eyes, nor compare them to any other — not even his own — Edwin knew something about them. Just as he knew Death's light shone heavenly blue. And for once in Edwin's long and tormented afterlife, he felt truly fortunate. Because he'd been allowed to experience only a fraction of what the visible spectrum had to offer; colours he could count on less than two hands.

And yet somehow, by some stroke of luck, he'd seen the best one nonetheless.

"At breakfast that morning I had been struck by the lively dissonance of its colours. But that was no longer the point. I was not looking now at an unusual flower arrangement. I was seeing what Adam had seen on the morning of his creation - the miracle, moment by moment, of naked existence."

~ Aldous Huxley

Thank you for coming on this journey with me, my darlings 💛 Love to hear your thoughts! Reminder to check out Olly's amazing gifs! This one took a little while to come together, bc in my first draft Edwin's feelings/progression were a bit all over the place. But I realised that all the sections of the attic scene (not including the very first one/my inserted flashback about Aunt Florence) could track along the five stages of grief quite nicely and that gave me a good framework to loosely follow, starting in his denial of the implications and ending in devastated acceptance of what he's lost. As to why he didn't like, *tell* Charles, well, what would you do? Be honest? If you were a dead Edwardian ghost boy and you found out your actual soulmate was not only another boy, but a doomed one? One who isn't even seeing what you're seeing. Maybe he thought Charles wouldn't believe him, or would take it badly. Maybe he thought telling him would sway him unfairly into staying when Edwin believed he should go. I think he will tell him, one day. And Charles is gonna be PISSED that he kept it from him so long xD For the quotes, I tried to stick to things Edwin could possibly have read, so pre-1989 things, as I like the idea of him using literature as a framework for understanding what he's seeing. It was really interesting writing about colour from the perspective of someone with no reference for it! Some of the quotes might have ended up anachronistic by a couple of years, tbh people are *shit* at sourcing their quotes and while I could source authors easy enough it was hard sometimes to isolate what specific book/anthology the piece came from, or what year it was published. If I'd have had more time I would have done more digging! Anyway, that's about all I got right now. I dunno when I'll be back, probably (hopefully) in a few weeks with the next chapter of Lonely Bones. In the meantime please, feel free to continue chatting with me in the comments, on my tumblr, come be a pal, I've had the time of my life with y'all this week and I'm not ready to get off this train just yet! Until next time! 💛

#painlandweek #painland week #payneland #dead boy detectives #dbda #my fanfic #PHEW #WE MADE IT GUYS #i think there's some things about this one i might have tweaked/restructured given a little more time #a few things i would have gone into more as well #idk if it's a thorough an exploration of the concept as I'd planned #but all in all not half bad!#and working with olly has been an honour and a delight!!#thank you so much everyone who's been cheering me on this week 💛💛💛#and now i have time to finally go and read all the great stuff you've been writing!!!

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luvelylili · 2 years

Text

LOA MOTIVATION COMPLIATION

for this post i literally just compiled a bunch of motivating things i’ve seen being said over time by multiple wonderful blogs throughout tumblr with regards to the law of assumption.

the intent of this is to basically serve as a pick-me-up for whoever needs a little encouragement with their manifesting, regardless of where you’re at with your journey. the post ahead is filled with the kindest words from some of the kindest souls on this app, all in one place to help anyone in need, anytime.

whatever your motivation for seeking this post, i just want you to know that if you’re spiralling, having doubts, reacting to the 3d - even if the 3d is crumbling to pieces around you and all you want to do is crawl into a hole and never come out again (believe me, i’ve been there!), i want you to know that this is temporary, and that everything you see around you is completely malleable.

breathe. it’ll be alright, you’ll be alright. and now, with this in mind, enjoy. <3

———————————————————————

“★ The things you hear and see in your 3D that contradict your manifestation don’t exist in your 4D. Therefore they aren’t real or relevant because 3D will only materialise whats in your 4D and will get rid of the things that contradict your assumptions. WITH PERSISTENCE.” - @sutheworld

“from this second I will only beleive what I say to myself as true , I don't give a f*ck about anyone saying anything about me and I will only beleive my story and my delusion.

If I get any opposite, intrusive thoughts I will supress them with a single shush and if I say don't come after me I'm not the same old person the thoughts won't come.” - @rayjane

“be kind to yourselves. you’re allowed to have off days, you’re allowed to be demotivated and you’re allowed to feel negative emotions. you’re human after all and it would be unhealthy if you didn’t have your down moments. however, you’re not allowed to give up on yourself. you’re not allowed to quit and throw away your power. none of that. you’re getting your shit. that’s a given. if you affirm, persist and don’t take no for an answer, you will get what you want. don’t overcomplicate the law - as long as you don’t go against your affirmations by doubting yourself and entertaining intrusive thoughts, you’re doing everything right! trust yourself, and do it for you!! that’s the most important part - you’re the operant power, this is your reality and you will get what you want. all it takes is some discipline and persistence! i believe in you, and i’m so proud of you for being here reading this right now!” - @luvelylili

“in reality, your desires are already yours from the beginning. you just need to persist in this fact and the 3d will follow bc it is the law.” - @itssjustjade

“you will NEVER understand the law when you live vicariously through the success and words of others. don’t you think you’ve learned enough? aren’t you ready to feel peace, freedom and GET WHAT YOU WANT??? like hello???

what do you want to work for you? WHAT DO YOU WANNA DO? got it? now do that. and don't ever be a slave to your senses. always think in your favour because there is no separation between you and your desires, regardless of what anyone or any circumstance has to say.

you have it. its done. relax. you cannot mess this up unless you say you can.” - @starsscriptures

“this whole world is your oyster. EVERYONE AND EVERYTHING OUTSIDE OF YOU IS POWERLESS, YOUR ASSUMPTIONS AND DESIRES ARE WHAT MATTERS. LIFE HAPPENS FROM YOU AND THERE IS NO OPPOSING POWER IN THE UNIVERSE. YOU ARE LITERALLY AN UNSTOPPABLE GOD. THE WORLD BELONGS TO YOU BABY 😽💗” - @iivenusii

“You are God, you control everything in your reality. You create and you created everything in your reality. Nothing or nobody can do anything to change, ruin or take away your power/manifestations. Its all yours. It's all from you. There's not a single thing in this world that isn't created by you. If you can create them, you can change them.” - @koreanbarbie

“literally you can have whatever you want, whatever you freaking what. just assume, thats your only job isnt that so easy?? like..all you have to do is THINK & ASSUME, its yours and it shall be yours because thats how the law works theres no ifs or buts. whatever you assume naturally and persist into that assumption..will come into fruition, so you making this whole law of assumption journey difficult for you please remember that its EASY. you’re making it harder for yourself.” - @cinefairy

“Start acknowledging your power. You’re the only person who has the power to change your life. The 3D isn’t what’s defining you, it’s just a reflection of your 4D. You’re so powerful, you can change your reality in seconds. You’re the only Creator, everything must conform to your thoughts. You manifest absolutely everything!!!You don’t need a plan B, you will have everything you want my love.” - @angelicbarbiedoll

#loassumption #motivation #manifesting #self concept #affirming #law of assumption #law of the universe #neville goddard #affirmations #dream girl #best self #loa motivation

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ggwritesstuff · 2 years

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heyyy i have this request for like 1970 elvis or something like that, or basically any one you feel like writing for … can you do a fic where elvis and the reader are together and right before a show they’re basically like begging for him but he has to go on and the reader gets upset and frustrated and so they let someone flirt with them in the crowd during the show and they can tell he saw them bc he started acting really different and sarcastic on stage and then afterwards he gets really jealous and basically drags you to his car on the way back home and while you’re in the car he does like one thing like maybe getting really close to them in the car with like a rough, angry voice and the reader has an orgasm and he acts differently than you’ve ever seen him and when you get home he does like everything to you bc he knows he’s the only one who can ever truly please you???

Safety.

pairing: elvis x reader

warnings: absolute filth. smut. 18+ mdni. reader is a major brat. elvis has a jealousy kink problem. some degradation. elvis is a major tease. mild fem masturbation. some face fucking. creampie lol. a little bit of elvis being in his feelings. one tiny mention of infidelity. prob missing some so as always please read at your own discretion <3

a/n: 70s elvis does absolutely sinful things to me. i am a whore. thank u anon. i am sweating. i am feral. this is very long. like i said my smuts are always slow burns for some reason lol. i think this is the filthiest thing i have ever written. it got a bit fluffy at the end.

a/n part 2: i don’t proofread or else i’ll delete everything and never write again lol enjoy and pls excuse any errors. feedback is always encouraged, and i hope i did your idea justice anon <3

You felt pathetic.

You were pathetic.

But you couldn’t help it. He just had this affect on you that made you feel like a bitch in heat.

You basically had him pinned against the door of his dressing room, your legs wrapped around his torso and holding on for dear life while your face was nuzzled into the crook of his neck. The angle made it so easy to reach that one spot on his neck you knew he couldn’t resist giving into.

“E.P., five minutes ‘til curtain, let’s move.” A stage hand knocked on the door.

“Darlin’ please, I gotta go, alright?” Elvis pried you off of him, setting you back on your feet. “I love how much you want me, baby, but I can’t be goin’ out there as hard as a rock and end up messing another suit.” He joked, alluding to the incident of his comeback special.

“Fine, go.” You huffed, your sexual frustration seemed to get the better of you in the moment.

“Don’t be catchin’ an attitude with me. I’ll take care of you later, I promise.” He said sternly, cupping your cheek with his hand to pull you in for a quick kiss before running out of the room, only a minute to spare until the show began.

You were pissed. You know you shouldn’t have been, but you couldn’t help it. He always left you such a desperate mess for him, you were starting to think he got off on denying you.

His dramatic introduction echoed throughout the area. You turned to the mirror behind you to fix yourself up before you headed out to watch him perform. You stopped at the bar for a drink before going to your table, lord knew you needed one to keep your composure for the next hour.

Vodka soda in hand, you made your way to your seat to join the rest of the Memphis Mafia. You watched from the crowd as the man you adored moved in ways that created thoughts you were sure would bar you from the gates of heaven. You were entirely hypnotized by him.

He knew damn well what he was doing to you, too. He glanced in your direction, locking eyes with you as he let out such an obscene grunt that gave you flashbacks to the night before. You felt a flutter between your thighs as you recalled those events.

It’s like you both were playing a game of chicken, waiting to see who would snap first.

Your arousal began to feel overwhelming, your cheeks burned up when you felt yourself clenching around nothing. You stood from your seat on weak, shaky legs and made your way back to the bar where it was a bit less humid. The bartender brought you another drink and you sat on the stool, turned around to continue watching Elvis on stage.

Suddenly, a tall figure appeared in your peripheral vision, taking a drink from the bartender. “How’s the show been?” He asked, subtly biting at his lower lip.

“Oh, it’s been good.” You said, not really paying him much mind.

“I’m Collin.” He extended his hand, inviting you for a handshake.

You were still so aroused by Elvis’s little torturous game that even a handshake from a man of average attractiveness set your nerves ablaze.

“Y/N, nice to meet you.” You looked up at him with innocent doe eyes, giving him the look that would have had Elvis bending you over the bar making you scream his name. You tried to push the thought out of your mind, focusing back on Collin.

You would never cheat on Elvis, though. This little back and forth with Collin was simply some harmless flirting. Just a little something to get Elvis riled up. You knew he was constantly scanning the room in search for you, you caught his eyes a handful of times in your conversation with Collin.

The night went on until the last song of Elvis’s set, his eyes were glued to you and Collin for the duration of it. You turned your head to meet his gaze, you’d never seen him as green with jealousy as he was in that moment. You decided it was time to head backstage before the song ended so you said goodnight to Collin, placing a hand on his broad shoulder as you walked away and practically having a staring contest with Elvis on stage. You already knew you were in for it tonight anyways.

You made your way backstage again, watching from the side as the curtain fell in front of Elvis. He rose from his kneeled stance and beelined right towards you.

“Let’s go.” He said sternly in your ear, his hand was placed on the small of your back, ushering you forward as he shouted a general goodnight to the crew. Security opened the back door for him and he lead you to the car, opening the door for you.

“What the hell was all that at the bar?” He asked as he climbed in. He was trying to keep his composure but you could see right through it. He was furious. You had him right where you wanted him. You shrugged in response as you tried to keep your lips from curling into a smirk, but he saw right through that.

“That’s how you want this to go tonight?” Elvis raised an eyebrow at you. “Y’know, baby, I was gonna go real easy on you tonight. I was gonna make love to you.” He placed a hand on your thigh, squeezing it harshly as he started the car. “But I don’t think that’s what you want. I mean, why would my angel go and act like a little slut if she didn’t want to be treated like one, right?”

You were already soaked when he swiftly shoved two long, calloused fingers in you. The sudden feeling of fullness caught you off guard, but it was more than welcomed. Your back arched away from the seat and a high pitched whine escaped your lips.

He chuckled at your reaction, curling his fingers inside you and turning you into putty in his hands. “Fuckin’ drenched. This for me or for the guy you were makin’ googly eyes with at the bar, huh?”

“All for y-you, El. Been soaked all night cause of you.” You admitted, clinging to the seat for stability as Elvis continued to work his fingers in you as he drove home, his other hand gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles went white. He was pissed, and you couldn’t have been more turned on.

Elvis threw the car in park as soon as he pulled into the driveway. He stepped out and walked around to open your door because he’s still a gentleman despite his jealousy fueled rage and the ever tightening of his pants as his own arousal grew. Without words, he offered his hand to assist you in getting out of the car.

Once you were on your feet, he stopped you before you could walk inside. “Here’s how this is gonna go, darlin’. You’re gonna take those panties off and give ‘em to me. You’re gonna walk inside and I’m gonna take that cute little dress of yours, and you’re gonna go wait on the bed for me.” Elvis explained. You were a bit shocked by this level of dominance from him. He always had a bit of a dominant edge to him in the bedroom but this was different. It was exciting.

“Yes, sir.” You said quietly, biting on your lower lip.

“Panties now, please.” He demanded, holding his hand out as he waited for you to peel them off and place them in his hand. He toyed with the fabric between his fingers, feeling just how damp you had been all night. “What got you all wet and needy, princess?”

“Just watching you all night.” You breathed out as he ushered you in the house and unzipped your dress, letting it fall to the floor. Before you could go upstairs to wait for him like he said, he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you flush against him. He went in for your neck, and instead of the sensual kisses you were used to, you felt his teeth biting at the skin, letting your blood rise to the surface and coloring your skin, drawing a moan from you.

“Upstairs. I’ll come up when I come up. No touching.” He stated, calm yet still stern. A light smack on your ass nudged you upstairs.

Now upstairs and waiting like he said to, you debated with yourself on whether you wanted to be good for him or be a brat. You were still a bit annoyed with him for leaving you all hot and bothered before the show. That was enough to make up your mind. Brat it was.

With your mind now made, you got yourself comfy on your shared bed, legs spread wide as you disobeyed Elvis’s order not to touch yourself. You wanted to push his buttons a bit tonight, and you were desperate for any stimulation you could get. You trailed your fingers down to your core, gathering some of your wetness and gliding a finger around your clit. You almost could have came right there from how turned on you were. Quietly at first, whimpers tumbled from your lips, but your volume increased as your pleasure did.

Elvis’s footsteps were heavy coming up the staircase, you could hear him grumbling something under his breath until he reached the bedroom. “My god, you’re like a bitch in heat. Too damn turned on to keep your hands outta that pussy.” He scolded, you could only moan in response to his degrading words as you watched him remove the robe he had changed into after sending you upstairs. Standing only in his boxers, he made his way over to you on the bed, taking your hand away from your clit and prohibiting any further pleasure for the moment, ignoring your whining protests.

“Kneel on the floor, gonna put that mouth to good use.” He ordered, pulling his cock out from his boxers and giving it a few strokes while you assumed your position at his feet with your mouth open. “Look at you, such a good slut for me.” Elvis marveled at the sight beneath him, tangling his fingers in your hair as you took as much of him in your mouth as you could. “Fuckin’ shit.” He groaned out as the warmth of your mouth enveloped him as much as possible. With hollowed cheeks you continued to take him as deep as you can, gagging around his length when he hit the back of your throat.

“Hold on-“ He muttered, stilling your movements. You stared up at him with those doe eyes that drove him to the brink of insanity with his cock still in your mouth, running your tongue around whatever surface of skin you could. “Shit, doll- Lemme fuck your pretty face.” He managed to get out. You gave him a slight nod allowing him to use you as he pleases.

Just like that, he was animalistic. He used your hair as leverage as he mercilessly thrusted himself into your mouth, relishing the feeling when you would swallow around him. Strings of profanities left his plump lips before pulling out, his tip left your lips with a small pop. You whined at the loss, but he brought a hand to cup your cheek, gently stroking your face with the pad of his thumb and sucking on it when he ghosted it against your lips.

“C’mon, up on the bed.” Elvis offered his hand again to help you up from the floor. He sat you down on the silky soft bedsheets, resting his hand on your thigh once again. “Tell me something- you ever think about goin’ and finding another man?” He asked, laying you down gently.

“No, sir. Just want you.” You confessed, beginning to squeeze your thighs together for some sort of friction as your desperation continued to grow.

“Why is that, doll? You love me?” Elvis asked, sneaking his hand down to pry your legs apart, letting his fingers drag themselves through your folds and smirking to himself at the feeling of your wetness and the way you writhed under his touch. “Or is it cause you know ain’t no other man can make you this messy just barely touching you?”

Something about that question did something to you. He was right. He knew he was right. This man could play you like a fiddle without even touching you. “B-both.” You stuttered while Elvis indulged himself in toying with your pussy that was now unbelievably sensitive due to how aroused you were. You were already overstimulated, seemingly just by his mere presence.

“Tell me, mama. You tell me I’m the only one who could make you cum just by listening to me gruntin’ and groanin’ up on stage and I’ll give you the world.” He said sweetly, teasing his middle finger at your entrance before filling you with it and making you cry out.

His demeanor had softened compared to earlier, he was calmer, not as angry. But he was still jealous that you had given Collin more attention than you did to his show, and this was his way of getting the reassurance he craved. This was how he was finding the security he feared losing.

“The only one, Elvis, please.” You were begging for more at this point.

“That’s right, mama. ” He cooed in your ear, removing his fingers from you and positioning himself between your legs that were now shaking. Elvis lined himself up with your entrance, enjoying the sight and sound of you all strung out under him, all strung out for him, whimpering for him.

Without warning, he snapped his hips forward, plunging into you with a groan. You cried out as he filled you, hands instinctively flying to his back where your nails anchored themselves for stability as he rutted into you. His thrusts were desperate, it was almost as if he was trying to get even closer than just being inside you.

The last several hours you had spent so hungry for him were coming to a head, the coil in your belly had been wound up so tightly, you worried that he would have you cumming around him in less than two minutes.

“Don’t you ever go ‘round thinking you’ll get this feeling from another man.” Elvis said as he wrapped his hand around your throat with just enough pressure to dizzy you, filling you with ecstasy.

“All yours, El, I promise.” You panted while he fucked himself into you, muttering under his breath about his good little slut as he lost himself in between thrusts. His sweat dripped from his forehead and onto your chest, a slight sheen blanketed your breasts.

“That’s right, angel. All mine.” His thrusts turned sloppy as soon as he reached between your hot bodies to paw at your clit, you were squeezing his cock like a vice and he wasn’t sure he could last much longer.

He slowed his pace while he toyed with your clit, savoring the sensation of how you clenched up around him; it nearly sent shivers down his spine. The pressure and speed he applied to your clit combined with the way he was hitting that sweet spot within you with each stroke brought you right to the edge, verging on tumbling off at any moment now.

“l- fuck, I’m close-“ You managed to form the words, you could hardly recognize your own voice.

Elvis lifted his head from the crook of your neck for a moment. “Go ‘head, and cum for me, doll”. He allowed, increasing the speed of his thrusts again as he neared his own climax. “Cum for me like I’m the only one who can make you cum, cause that’s right, isn’t it?”

And oh god, did that do you in. His desire to be the only one for you. You clutched his strong arm as your orgasm tore through you; chanting his name like a prayer, like it was the only word in your vocabulary. Elvis was right behind you on that ledge, toppling over along with you. His hips stuttered in you as your walls contracted around him and he found his sweet, sweet release spilling inside you with a strangled moan. You rode your orgasms out together, his hips slowing as you squeezed around him, overstimulating him just a bit until he pulled out and collapsed next to you.

Your chests heaved in time, glistening with each others sweat as you caught your breath. Elvis regressed into a bit of a vulnerable state. “Don’t go pullin’ that shit again, darlin’. Can’t be letting my girl get swept away from me.” He mumbled into your skin as he nuzzled himself into your bare chest.

“I know, honey, I’m sorry.” You lovingly stroked his hair that was now laced with sweat. “You’ll always be the only one for me, I promise.” You reassured him with a kiss to his forehead. Elvis snaked his arm around your waist, beginning to drift off to asleep. You followed not far behind him, wrapped up in each other’s embrace.

This was safety. This was security.

#elvis presley #elvis x reader #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley fic #elvis fluff #elvis presley smut #elvis presley fluff #elvis 2022 #austin butler #austin!elvis x reader #austin butler x reader #austin butler smut #austin butler fluff #austin!elvis

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perenial · 1 year

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gene im so glad you said this cause I haven't seen anyone else comparing it to the book as source material for like character and tone but i am So sure that if terry was alive the season would not be like this but i fear good omens fans dont realise how big a factor the lack of terry's influence is?? or like they forget that good omens was never just neilman???

ok before i go any further: i rly don't want to detract from anyone's enjoyment of the season and everything im going to say comes from a place of love for a) the original novel (& season 1 to a certain extent bc it got me back into it lol) and b) tv as a medium so like peace and love on planet let people enjoy things etc etc

but

like u said, terry's influence on the book was enormous – what makes gomens gomens is the balance of his genuine warmth and precise understanding of humanity tempered with neilman's sardonic voice and general like.....savvy approach to storytelling? i guess u could call it? anyway what rly helps the book is that it took them years to write it, passing ideas back and forth and rewriting each other's work until their voices blended seamlessly and a well structured capital-s Story was created. when i praise the book for being self-contained i think a huge part of that comes from the circumstances in which it emerged: two authors with complementary styles writing in a v particular time period where they had both the space to play with their ideas and the constraints of the novel as a storytelling format from which to craft something extremely specific.

adaptations are a tricky business and a tv version of gomens produced literal decades after the book was always going to have some unique challenges, but i don't think that's a bad thing bc the challenges could prove to be creative opportunities to take both the established audience and those new to the story by surprise. my biggest hot take here is that i don't think translating a story into a different medium means it has to follow the original narrative exactly, bc each medium has its own ways of communicating information and these structures, rules and traditions in turn inform what that story is. what matters more than following a story beat-by-beat is capturing what that story is about at its core, what themes and messages and ideas it works through and how.

all this is to say i never expected tv gomens to be a perfect reproduction of the book and if it had it been, it probably would have been worse off for it. that being said, there are parts of the book – like u said, its tone and character – that needed to have some fidelity in order to pull it off, and for the most part s1 did that bc it was still working predominantly within the bounds of the novel & its core ideas. while i did have some issues w how neilman & amazon adapted some details and characterisations, i generally rly liked s1 – it reminded me of why i loved the book and it was just generally fun to watch.

s2 was. not that fun to watch

a few positives before i go ham w the critiques:

the hair & makeup + costumes were fantastic (although i feel like s1 was slightly better re: makeup?)

the sound design & score made some of the more awkward scenes bearable and thats no mean feat imo

david & michael gave incredible performances w what they were given – michael especially managed to salvage aziraphale enough that his complete 180 didnt feel completely tonally dissonant (more on this later)

the detail of the sets is NUTS and i genuinely want to see more of hell bc of how intricate and fun the props look

i actually like gabriel/beelzebub!! their getting together montage worked for me, although they could have spent sliiiightly more time establishing what it is they like abt each other so much + why gabriel wanted to stop armageddon 2.0 so suddenly

the opening scene, although not on par w the novel's & s1's, was visually gorgeous and thematically resonant (although neilman owes me royalties for ripping it off from this shitty fic i wrote back when raphael!crowley was all the rage lol)

now w THAT being said:

like i said yesterday, the pacing was fucking awful. flashbacks are hard to work w at the best of times and the way they were used in this season felt so needless, especially the 40s one in ep 4 that takes up like 90% of the episode. in both flashbacks + present day there were scenes that dragged for no real reason, dialogue that looped back around on itself to stretch out the runtime, and weirdly enough places where there should have been character & plot work where there just,, wasn't any?? for example, maggie & nina's night locked in the café – some parts of the dialogue in later episodes made out that they'd had some rly deep conversation abt how they feel about each other or even that they'd had an affair, but that isn't clear from those scenes in the café. i'm not saying we had to see that conversation in its entirety but that there needed to be more connective details – either in dialogue or direction – that gave that part of the story coherence.

(there were pacing issues w the editing too but i don't want to jump down the editor's throats on this one bc im more focused on writing & direction issues)

the second major problem that i mentioned in my tags yesterday is the protagonist shift, which is an issue that started in s1. aziraphale & crowley are side characters in book gomens – significant ones, yeah, but still somewhat peripheral to adam (& anathema who counts as a deuteragonist imo). this works incredibly well w who they are as characters: they're Just Some Guys who happen to be involved in this epic biblical-level bureaucratic nightmare and importantly, they don't want to be in the spotlight. the arrangement was created so that they could explore what it meant to be themselves away from the Big Narrative; literally any time they get involved in larger affairs is bc the plot is alive and caught them unionising on company time. the last fucking chapter is adam (& god) being like haha u guys are alright keep it sleezy and letting them go. like. hello. neil u let them go.

but then!! tv gomens s1 does something interesting at the end w the body swapping addition that i dont totally hate – it gives aziraphale & crowley the extra bit of character work that brings them slightly more adjacent to their book selves. see i kinda view tv a/c as the younger, less settled versions of book a/c; they're still caught up in the immediacy of being key players and haven't fully realised that earth is their home. i haven't watched s1 in a while but one scene i remember rly clearly is crowley throwing all those astronomy texts in the air and angsting abt when he was an angel; i remember it bc his anguish in that scene feels a lot newer and rawer than book crowley's feelings about falling. when tv a/c do their bodyswap, it gives them the chance to land a blow against heaven/hell in a way that solidifies their allegiance to earth in a way that more closely resembles what book a/c have been abt the entire time (still adjacent, though. not parallel).

the reason why this works is that it does one final pivot to orient aziraphale and crowley as almost-main characters in a manner that makes sense in relation to a) their book selves and b) the position the tv show has placed them in. a combination of factors made tv a/c feel a lot less mature than their book counterparts but at the end of s1 they're sort of facing the same direction the book ended in, albeit through their own flashy late 2010s means.

when s2 was announced i was.......apprehensive bc to me, that felt like a satisfactory ending. i get the impression that amazon saw how wildly successful the adaptation was and was like oh shit we could make way more money out of this and neilman, having all those undead darlings that he and terry killed in the process of whittling the book into a workable novel, jumped at the chance to resurrect all those half-realised ideas. but not only were those ideas probably discarded for a reason, they've either been laying in wait for years unworked or they're new inventions, which means they weren't molded in the way that the book had been. like i said before, book gomens underwent years of rewrites and creative collaboration, and i think that process was what made it so good; s2 didn't have that. even if some of terry's ideas made it into s2, his influence is still missing bc he and neilman weren't in dialogue the same way they were in the book (and in some ways s1 bc i know terry was involved in the process of adapting gomens to screen before his death).

i don't think it's a case of newer fans forgetting terry so much as it is the context of terry's involvement being so removed from the current circumstances that certain aspects & discourses (i.e. is the s2 finale queerbaiting (no), does binge watching change the viewership experience (yes), etc etc) about the show overshadow other discussions that would usually be taking place. and before anyone says it's a case of neilman forgetting terry, i definitely don't think it's that either bc thats. yknow. wildly disrespectful. but also there are larger systems and structures at play than one writer no matter how much beef i have w him and his decisions, bc ultimately he's just one guy (a powerful and wealthy guy, but just a guy) and there's a wider cultural shift happening rn towards rehashing old stories without understanding what made them successful in the first place, and that same culture just doesn't allow for much, if any, constructive discourse analysis

so yeah

#replies.txt #Anonymous #god this is so long and rambling i hope it makes sense lmaooo #i have further thoughts on the general fic-y feeling of the season but that wasnt rly anon's question so i'll save that for another time #good omens #good omens spoilers

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stardustizuku · 2 months

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I’m re reading this one Manhua abt a Saintess (for anyone interested is called ‘Saving My Sweetheart’). And I’m enjoying it but I’m as always, taken aback by this branch of narrative that focuses on Saintess as the moral backbone of a series.

Everything she does is good. Everything she cares for is justified. Every single action she takes against the (usually female) antagonist, no matter what it is, is correct.

This happens in Manhua but it’s also extremely noticeable in manga and webnovels - and why I find so groundbreaking what AoB did.

For starters, most of the narrative surrounding the Saintess thing is a sham.

Not like an actual sham, Rozemyne has some divine powers and incredible intellect, but when she’s given the title there’s no direct divine intervention to call her that. It’s an entirely made up title to justify her antics.

Two, she’s never given the moral high ground because she is a Saint. In fact, part of early AoB is about her understanding the way the world works. While, yes, she’s extremely empathetic and clings to her previous world morals - this is never framed to either the characters or the audience as something noble.

To the characters, this makes her weak. Naive and a bit dumb. Trying to resolve everything she deems “incorrect” with solutions that lack any nuisance to the way the world works, creates more problems.

And to the audience, is framed similarly. Which I kinda commend bcs, learning to understand a culture different than your own without trying to shape it to your own, is an extremely complex issue even western shows struggle with (looking at you game of thrones).

And three, and perhaps more interestingly to me, the way they discuss “devoted attendants”. This is, characters that are extremely loyal, to a “if anything happened to her I would die” kinda way.

And Hartmut is an exception, as it is Clarissa. They’re both obsessed with Rozemyne for seemingly no reason other than her power or Saint title.

But every other person who would pull an “I would die for your smile” thing, has a reason for doing so.

With Mathias being someone who was destinied to die, if not for her. Roderick has a terrible life and his only solace was the kindness that Rozemyne showed unconditionally even to him.

Perhaps shown in the most over way, it’s is Gretia. I love her. Her POV chapter at the end of P5V11 is really interesting, showing exactly what the mentality of these people have. They were destined to die and only saved by an extreme act of kindness by someone with inmense amounts of power.

Angelica has a similar situation, in which she was destined to be the shame of her family, unable to fit in, had it not been for Rozemyne. She saw value in Angelica, even when her own family didn’t.

And highlighting the fact that not EVERYONE is like this, is also refreshing.

Cornelius is very devoted to Rozemyne (I call him a SisCon as a joke but he very much loves her), but not in a crazy type of way. Leonora does too. As well as best girl Lieseleta.

Like everyone has a very in depth reason for being loyal to Rozemyne. They don’t follow her just because she’s a Saint, or some strange power compels them to.

It’s Rozemyne’s actions and the context with which they function in Noble society, that makes them look up and eventually worship her.

#ascendance of a bookworm #honzuki no gekokujou

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mrskreideprinz · 2 months

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rhine x oc!august | minors dni

warnings: oc x canon, selfship lore, august goes by she/her as does rhine, toxic relationship, rhine has a short temper, hurt/comfort (i say comfort very lightly), angst, wrote this in tumblr drafts yeehaw.

a/n: they are gay alchemists your honor. i was gonna delete this whole thing but i decided to sleep it off and look at it tomorrow (today) and i'm glad i did because after reworking some things i genuinely enjoy this <3 anyway yeah a sneak peek into august and rhine's relationship hehe. not tagging anyone bc nervous foaisjdoiajsd

“Well.. that was uh..” August stared at the mess the two of them had created, coughing and waving away the black smoke enveloping them.

“A disaster.” Rhine replied bluntly, peeling off her gloves as she walked away. “Clean this shit up.”

“Uhm, Rhine, I was uh well, I was wondering..” August trailed off, fidgeting with her fingers and staring nervously at Rhinedottir.

Rhine groaned and spun around to glare at her. “Spit. It. Out.” She grew tired of her games.

August laughed nervously and cleared her throat. "Although, the experiment fell flat.. horribly.. dreadfully so.."

Rhinedottir snapped at her. "To the point, August!"

"Okay, well, what I'm trying to say is. Even though, everything was an absolute failure we are now closer to the truth and that's gotta count for something.. right?" August smiled, bearing her teeth in a nervous fashion.

Rhine turned around and walked towards a desk littered with various research notes and rummaged through the weathered paper. "No."

August frowned. This was not the answer she wanted, but it is the one she should've anticipated.

"I will not sit here and celebrate failure." Rhine opened up a large book filled with various of bookmarks. "Now, come here and help me."

August walked slowly over towards Rhine, anxious yet determined to turn the situation around. She wrapped her arms around her from behind and nuzzled her head against the back of Rhine’s neck. August knew all too well how much stress Rhinedottir was under. Or rather, how much pressure Rhine had put on herself. She needed some reprieve from all those late nights she spent working tirelessly.

“Rhine..” August’s voice was soothing yet teetering on the edge of a scolding. “How about you take a break with me. We could do something together?” She suggested, but Rhinedottir wanted absolutely none of that.

She let out a heavy sigh. “No, we have work to do.”

Still, August refused to back off. She begun to massage Rhine’s shoulders and hum something softly. Rhine growled and crumpled up a piece of paper she had clenched in her hand. Regardless, of how much she tried August could not seem to get her to relax. It was almost impossible.

“Will you get off of me?!” Rhinedottir shouted. “You’re pissing me off.”

August felt a part of her crawl back to life that she thought had long since died. Her ears flattened back as she let out a quiet whine. She only wanted to help, she hadn’t meant to..

Rhine sighed and pushed herself out of her chair. If there was one thing she despised more than failure it was August's incessant need to make everything worse than it already was. While August had retreated to cowering in a nearby corner of the wall, avoiding any and all eye contact with her supposed lover, Rhinedottir was more preoccupied with creating an open spot on the nearby couch for the two of them.

"Come here." She spoke calmly, trying her best to hide her frustration.

August shook her head. Still, trying her hardest to hide the tears that had betrayed her by falling down her face. She bit the inside of her cheek and stared down at the floor to avoid making eye contact with Rhinedottir. Foolish girl. She should've never forgotten how cruel the woman she loved truly was. How could she forget that a wolf would always take the chance to cage its fangs around a fawn's throat. August knew better than to trust someone like Rhine. Unfortunately, it was all she'd ever known, it was second nature to her. So, why wouldn't she trust Rhine? Why wouldn't she look into the eyes of the devil and smile.

Rhine spread her legs slightly and patted her thigh to signal August to approach her. "I said come here."

August sniffled and walked slowly towards Rhinedottir. For as impatient and selfish as Rhinedottir was she had an unusually high tolerance for the messes August created.

Eventually, August slowly walked towards Rhine and cautiously climbed onto her lap, hiding her face into Rhine's warm chest. It was surprising how feeling Rhine's heat and listening in on the steady thumping of her heartbeat did more for August's well being than anything had in quite a long time.

Her fingers curled around the fabric of Rhine's shirt. "S-Sorry.. for being s-so stupid.." She confessed shamefully.

Rhinedottir placed a comforting hand on the back of August's head and hummed a familiar song. August was well accustomed to this. Rhinedottir would lash out, feel the tiniest bit of regret upon seeing August pout, then she would give in and reassure August all was well even if it wasn't true. Especially if it wasn't true.

Neither of them said a word. For August it is because she is content, thawing herself out of her shell made of ice, but Rhinedottir is simply silent to enjoy one of the rare moments where August isn't agonizing over her or something she'd done wrong. Although, perhaps she could admit that the warmth resting underneath her palm was comforting.

#petal.selfship #selfship: rhinegust

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taeiris · 5 months

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if I’ve already sent this ask before I’m so sorry, I’ve got adhd, but how did you find your art? (I’m in my questioning phase)

hihi!!! no problem! i think i have some kind of glitch with asks bc when i go look for them it says i have 3, but when i check it, there isn’t any so im sorry if any of u have ever sent asks and i havent answered them it’s probably bc of that😭

but anyways lets get on it!

finding you art style is not smth simple at ALL. ive been drawing my entire life!!! and ive had a bunch of different styles until now, they kinda used to change every few months or so, i was always happy with them but it never really lasted??? and i always had at least one part of the process of it to dread doing, for example, coloring.

it wasn’t until recently i FINALLLYYY found a style im 100% comfortable in.

it really takes experimenting and finding what elements of creating art you love and enjoy the most. for me, i used to mostly do traditional art, just pencil or ink sketching and i would OCCASIONALLY color them. so i really used to enjoy kinda the messiness of the pencil on trad mediums and stuff? and i never rlly found a way to translate that element to digital art which is the one i enjoy the most now.

brushes are very important! it depends on the look you like. since i like that pencil feel, i use a pencil looking brush! (softy from esbenlash’s procreate brush set) and i also got a paper feel screen protector for my ipad to enhance the experience🔥

i found i mostly enjoyed doing lineart and didnt rlly look forward to coloring, i didnt find my past styles enjoyable bc they kind of felt restricting in that area? since i didnt find a way to make it more abt the lineart and less abt coloring that i liked (ofc theres plenty! i just didnt find one for me)

so tbh i think what mostly influenced the style i enjoy the most now is film, and baroque art!

i had recently seen:

Crimson Peak (2015)

The Shape of Water (2017)

and ofc

Stranger Things DUHHHHH

and i fell in love with the way the lightning was, heavy dark shadows and moody lights, and tried to match my style to it and found that it highlighted all the things i enjoy doing the most while drawing! so thats where i am now

special mention to the one movie im obsessed with currently

The Crow (1994)

also has the similar style

all that + experimenting, studying other’s art i liked and finding elements to integrate to my art, ANDDD music also played a huge part in it. so as you can see for me its about kind of combining aspects of every single piece of media i like 😭

its not gonna be the same for everyone, but its always good to have a guide so i hope this was useful for you and anyone else! im always willing answer any art questions :)

don’t worry too much about speeding up finding your style, it’ll come to you eventually, so focus on enjoying the moment and learning, take mental notes of what you like and don’t like!

sorry this is kinda long as hell… but i like rambling

#perfect opportunity to show off these shots from my fav movies teehee #art truly is all one!#i love getting inspired from multiple medias and combining it into drawing #ari answers asks

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copias-sewer-rat · 1 year

Text

Against the forces of Heaven and Hell, just us.

PART 1|PART 2|

What does really mean to fall? As an angel that question wasn’t unfamiliar to you. Moreover, you have been questioning the heavenly gospel for a very long time. It all started when you met a human-loving demon and ever since then you had strayed from heaven’s path.

⸸tags: Good Omens AU, no serious tw (for now) but maybe sexual innuendos and foul language, around 4.5K words, Copia goes by he/they and the angel has no pronouns so it fits everyone who reads. Hope you enjoy this first chapter!

⸸ my masterlist ⸸

⸸ read it on Ao3 ⸸

I. ENJOY THE SILENCE

“Tis one thing to be tempted, Escalus, another thing to fall.”

William Shakespeare - Measure for Measure

----

18/8/2023

'There is something beautiful about demons. You might think it is ineffable, but I’ve had enough time to think, to know what is so special about them, let me tell you. Mainly, they get to experience all the pleasures that humans create for themselves without any sort of negative consequence. Exquisite food and refreshing beverages are those pleasures that we angels can indulge in but can never take too far. Demons can also enjoy the sin of the flesh without repercussion -not that I am interested, just curious…- Demons get all that, but we get to love and trust God, and that is more than enough. I have no doubt about God’s love, but humans portray the enjoyment of another one’s body in such a pure way it makes me a tad jealous.'

----

You put your diary down, not really sure how to continue something like that. You decide to focus on something else. The painting before you is mesmerizing. The Kiss, by Francesco Hayez, portrays the most tender embrace between a man and a woman. The image is still, but you swear that you can see the man gently caressing the face of his lover, and the woman trying to put her hands around the man’s neck. The painting was part of a temporary exhibition. It was brought from Milan to the Galeria degli Uffizi in Firenze-or Florence as English people say-. There is where you spend most of your time, contemplating your existence as an immortal and holy being.

Looking at the picture, you begin to reminisce about how your love and understanding of human art and knowledge, and as a result of humans themselves, had started in the first place. Your arrival to Earth had been long ago, exactly the day when the Great Library of Alexandria had burned down in 48 BC. The pain for all the knowledge lost was enough to make you come down from heaven, but it was too late. You had been interested in humans for a while. Curious about those creatures God had created so long ago in her image. However, your appreciation of humans was always done from the distance of your heavenly office.

The Library of Alexandria was an astonishing building, so enormous in size and in meaning. Formed by structures of white and grey stone with beautiful engravings, all of it surrounded by a luscious garden and the glorious city of Alexandria itself. It was the place the humans had erected to keep their precious knowledge for all eternity. So, when you saw the fire start, you had no choice but to come down. You had gone down to Earth without permission. The punishment would be severe but nothing compared to what you were feeling by seeing those flames. It was knowledge being destroyed without salvation, you had to do something, and maybe that thought alone made you a bit selfish. Despite that, not even a miracle could help restore so much without being too obvious.

Not everything was bad that day, however. There, between the clouds of smoke and the heat from the flames you had met your very first demon. For sure, it would have been a negative experience if it hadn’t been for him. They stood there, in the exact middle of the library, looking everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Their beauty was ethereal and androgynous, which felt a bit dangerous. Their hair, long, wavy and soft brown fell gracefully over their shoulders. Also, two locks of hair on the top of his hair were raised as if to give the impression that he had horns, bold choice. Lastly, he wore a black tunic, which was very fitting for a demon. The demonic look was completed by pointy ears and a couple of mismatched eyes, one white and one green and… freckles. They were very light but also distributed throughout the whole face and making it look like a map of the night sky. But that wasn’t all. It seemed that the demon had smeared some of the ash on his eyes, maybe as some kind of human disguise that you didn’t understand, or even to celebrate his demonic deed.

You were about to blame him for the fire until you noticed the look on his face. He seemed tired and in distress. A pain equal to yours for the loss of words, art and knowledge.

“I assume this wasn’t your doing? Judging by your expression…” The demon suddenly turned to you, a bit taken aback. He hadn’t noticed your presence until that very instant, and for sure they weren’t expecting an angel.

“N-no, i- it wasn’t. But it wasn’t a human act either.” - You did not know that demons stuttered…- He looked down and you could swear you could hear the cogs turning in his head.

“You then believe this despicable act to have been caused by another demon?” He shook his head. “Not exactly. If this had been planned or acted by my kind, I would have known.”

“Are you insinuating this was a plan from my side? Preposterous! It is impossible. God would never allow something like this to happen!” The demon chuckled bitterly at your words.

“You haven’t been down here a lot, huh, angel?” He savoured that last word as if he hadn’t said it in a long time. It was your time to shake your head. “God and her archangels like to do things like these from time to time, or even allow them to happen, just to test humans and have some fun.” You could not believe your ears. You hadn’t read anything of the sort while in heaven.

“How do I know you are not lying to me? Why put that ash around your eyes if it is not to disguise yourself?” The demon rose an eyebrow at your accusation.

“Ash? What are you-?” He touched his eyes and looked at his long-nailed fingers. “Oh… I hadn’t even noticed. It was so anguishing here during the fire… I tried to save everything I could, but some of the scrolls broke on my hands. Maybe I smeared the ash on my eyes without noticing…” He looked defeated, but still gave you a toothy smile. His fangs were big and shiny. You felt your cheeks heat a bit… weird.

“Ahem. Well, if it is any consolation… I believe you, demon. But I do NOT believe that this was heaven’s doing.” The demonic creature tilted their head.

“Stay a bit longer on Earth, angel. Then you will see.” You were surprised at their suggestion. They probably could see it too because you heard a chuckle.

“Are you trying to tempt me?” The demon fully laughed at your question.

“Clearly not, angel. Do you find Earth tempting by any chance?”

“It is not like that. But obviously Earth is where temptations and sin become a reality, you could be planning something.” You scoffed. They smiled at your words and for the first time, you could truly see that their demonic nature.

“Then we are lucky that you seem to be such a… pure and incorruptible angel…” An awkward cough escaped your lips, but your eyes could not leave the demon’s mismatched ones. You thought to yourself that he didn’t know you, that you didn’t know what you are capable of yourself, and that scared you a bit. You decided to put up the front of the perfect angel and keep the conversation going.

“I should get back, there is a lot of paperwork waiting for me… after this… But even if I did accept to stay here… I wouldn’t trust anybody who is so rude that they don’t even introduce themselves in the first place.” The nameless demon snorted at your comment, made a deep but gentle reverence and looked back at you.

“The name’s Copia. What about you, angel?” You told them your name and they hummed. “Bel nome. It suits you.”

“What was that?”

“Mm? Oh! Italian. It is a language that some humans will start speaking in a few centuries, it is my favourite one, so I am learning it in advance.” That was endearing. He was interested in human culture as you were, even more, if that was possible.

“I think I will hang out on Earth for a bit, then… I will ask for a transfer, I know an angel in the heavenly administration that owes me a favour. Maybe I can investigate what’s going on, and learn a thing or two about humans.” Copia nodded.

“Angel, you won’t regret it, I assure you. Humans are the most delectable little creatures. I would also like to know the reason for the fire. Maybe we can even work together.” Suddenly the demon Copia was right beside you, nudging at your side.

“What a crazy idea! We belong to different sides. Neither of them would allow something like that!” To your words, Copia exhaled exaggeratedly.

“You would be surprised to know how little do hell and heaven actually care about what happens here.” You turned to look at him with a brow raised.

“That I cannot believe. Heaven cares a great deal about the humans, I have read about it.” Copia crossed his arms, as if about to lecture you.

“Antagonizing hell and caring for humans are two different things, angel. Heaven and hell only want to be on top, like greedy lovers who secretly hate one another but cannot stop fucking. It is a game of power, humans are only the pawns.” You blushed at his choice of words.

“What are you saying, demon?”

“I am saying that there are beings like you and me that love humans because they are deeply interesting and complex, but that is not the norm. I would like it to be though.” Me too, you thought. You also thought about the nature of the demon right in front of you. He was so different to those you had heard about up in heaven. You were told they were arrogant and selfish creatures, but Copia didn’t seem like either of those things.

“How do you know so much? Who are you?” To your question, Copia gave you a guttural laugh.

“That is a conversation for another time I am afraid, angel. After all, we just met. I cannot give away all my secrets on our first encounter.” You felt your cheeks heat again as the demon’s eyes glistened with an emotion that you didn’t couldn’t quite place yet.

You hadn’t noticed, but during your conversation with Copia there had been black clouds forming above you, and then something started to fall. You extended your hand and grabbed what seemed to be floating flakes.

“Do you know what is this, Copia?”

“Well, humans would call it snow. Which is very cold, previously-condensed water falling to the Earth. But this isn’t it. This is ash from the fire, a reminder of my failure.”

“You did not fail… you couldn’t have known.” You were surprised by your compassionate tone. You were having compassion for a demon.

“Thank you for the kind words, but I do not deserve them. I am a demon, remember?” It was like they just read your mind.

“It is taking me a bit to actually believe that, Copia. And snow sounds beautiful, I wish I could see the real deal.” You smiled at him.

“You will someday, angel. I am sure.” There was a somber aura to his tone, as if he wasn’t entirely sure about it but wanted to believe that it would happen nonetheless.

As the flakes continued to fall, both of you were starting to get covered in ash. The feeling on your skin was not an unwelcome one, it felt soft and gentle. You touched your arm, taking all the flakes that had fallen there and making a trail on your skin. Copia looked at you with an amused look. Then, you looked at your ash-coated fingers and thought of something. You turned so Copia could not look at your face. The ash was easy to manipulate, dark and velvety, and in an instant you had copied Copia’s ‘eye makeup’. With a twirl of your feet, you showed the demon your new look and he rose his eyebrows.

“How do I look?” You said adorably cupping your face.

“With all honesty, I don’t think it is too flattering on you, angioletto.” You smiled.

“I imagined so. You looked so cool, I wanted to give it a shot.”

“Cool, huh… I guess it adds to the demonic look.”

“It is more than that, I think. It accentuates your eyes, gives them depth and character.” You stepped closer, getting on your tiptoes, trying to prove the statement to yourself. Copia rose his eyebrows again. There was also a small tint of pink on his cheeks.

“I-in any case. I think is time for me to go.”

“Oh… then wait for just a second.” Very gently you took a carcass of a scroll that was at your feet, put your hand over it and miracled it back to its original state. It was a tiny miracle, nobody would notice. “We cannot do this with the whole library sadly, but not everything is lost, Copia. There is always hope, and we will find out why this happened.” You handed him the scroll, it seemed to be a poem, but you were not sure of what. Copia gave you a puzzled look. “Have this as a memento, as a reminder to keep loving humans, no matter what.”

Copia extended his hand and grabbed the scroll. You were sure that it was an accident but his fingers brushed yours, just for a second. You felt the heat of his skin, and even for a moment, it felt intoxicating. That is when it all began for you, since then you became obsessed with the human idea of connection and all its derivatives.

Copia took the scroll and hugged it tightly.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“That is perfectly fine, Copia.”

You smiled, said your goodbyes to them and left.

----

The leader of your heavenly section was pissed, but ultimately they let you get off with only a warning. They didn’t even notice the miracle. It was then time to visit the administrative section of heaven that was in charge of assigning angels to Earth. It was a section that not many visited, most did not want to spend time there. For a second, you remembered your conversation with Copia. How he had told you that heaven and hell didn’t care at all. Maybe he was right. You reached your destination: the desk of the angel that owed you a favour.

You had helped them a while ago to get the post they currently held. The angel did not want to work much. They wanted to be in a section that did not receive many visits or paperwork. You suggested the Earth dispatch section, talked to the right people and the angel was transferred. You did not think at the time that little favour would help you in the future, but you were glad it did.

You told the angel that you wanted to be dispatched to Earth. They asked you for how long and you answered that indefinitely. They looked at you as if you were the weirdest being in existence. Maybe you were. After a lot of convincing, your wish came true.

The first day on Earth was difficult. You had been dispatched close to Alexandria and so you decided to look for any clues that would point towards the reason for the fire or even its culprit. Sadly, when you got to the destroyed remnants of the library, almost every salvageable piece of art or literature had been ransacked. You felt defeated, and it was only your first day on Earth. This is what you always wanted, a purpose linked to humans. You weren’t going to give up so easily.

It was difficult to navigate the library, or what stood of it. Pillars and debris making inaccessible some of its most important sections. After a couple of hours of investigation without any luck, you were properly ready to give up. Suddenly, something caught your eye, you don’t remember how, it was like an instinct of some sort, but then you saw a section that wasn’t there before. It was also destroyed in its majority and everything inside was burned to the ground, but there was a name on the entrance, the name of the section which you learned later, it translated to English as: ‘The Shared Archive’. You decided to give it a shot, to try and find anything of worth, and you did.

Inside a pile of ash, you found a scroll, it seemed intact enough, so you took it. You didn’t know what it said at first, but time later when you were able to translate it you were shocked by its content. The scroll said:

“Cain kills Abel - Heaven +1; Abel kills Cain - Hell +1”

----

You rise from your seat. It had been an hour since you had put your diary down. People were starting to look at you weirdly, but you don’t care. The gallery was about to close for the day so you took your leave. You had been reminiscing for far too long, and you were late. The streets of Florence were as always full of life, with locals enjoying the afternoon and tourists taking pictures and enjoying the beautiful sights that the city had to offer.

After a short walk, you reached your shop, an antiquary, full of paintings, statues, books and everything that could come to mind. The sign at the door said closed, but the door was unlocked… weird. You stepped inside, not very sure about what was going to happen and-

“You are late, angioletto…” Copia’s voice surged from the shadows, a white eye piercing through the darkness of your store and looking directly at you.

“Dear, you scared the living heaven out of me!” Copia chuckled.

“Good, you deserve it. We are late. I made the reservation for 9 pm. It is 9 pm and we are not there.” You put your hands on your knees and gave Copia a small apology bow.

“I am very sorry, dear. I lost track of the time.” You hear Copia’s steps slowly getting closer to you and then a gloved hand graces your shoulder.

“It is okie-dokie, I know you would. That is why I moved the reservation to 9.30 pm.” You rise very slowly with an annoyed look on your face.

“You scoundrel of a demon! You are incorrigible… You made me worry for nothing!” Copia laughs uncontrollably, wiping a tear that had formed in his green eye because of the laughter. You feel embarrassed and a bit angry at him, which is noticeable by the red on your ears.

“It is quite impressive that you made it here before the sunrise. Were you at the Galleria degli Uffici again?” You press your lips, feeling seen by the demon.

“Em… yes…” The words come out timidly. “There was a new exhibition, I had to see it. You know how I am…” Copia smiles fondly and his fangs shine with the light coming from the outside.

“I know, I know… once again angioletto, that is why I changed the reservation. However, if we don’t make haste my efforts would have been in vain.” You nod, leaving the diary on the entrance table and making your exit with Copia by your side.

----

The sun has set, and the lights of the streetlamps mix with that of the full moon, drenching the city of Florence in a dreamy atmosphere as if had been painted by Claude Monet himself. Thanks to the ethereal shine of the city, you can now observe Copia who walks silently right beside you. He is wearing black gloves with golden nails on the outside. A long black coat covering a black turtleneck and the crimson suit pants he always likes to wear. Very smart and expensive black Italian tailored shoes cover his feet. The look is complete as always by the accessories: a silver upside-down cross necklace adorning his chest, a metal earring on his pointy left ear with the symbol of that band he likes to help sometimes and a pair of round sunglasses hiding his mismatched gaze -you had told him a thousand times that it wasn’t necessary, that wearing sunglasses in the dark would attract more attention to him rather than the fact that he had a white eye and a green eye, he didn’t care, he likes the drama-.

His hair was still long, over his shoulders for your disappointment, but still long. He has taken some of it in a ponytail and the rest is set loose- except for the curls on the top that look like horns, those are always there-. He now also has a few white hairs which he has miracled for himself to make everyone think that time passes for us, I think he likes feeling like a silver fox. He has also been rocking the facial hair for a couple of years now, with sideburns and a pencil moustache to be exact. To top it all off, he always wears a bit of makeup, ever since he could after you had met him actually, a black upper lip and some black eyeliner and eye shadow. Some things stay the same however, you can still see the freckles that have always adorned his face. You love his freckles.

“Do I have something on my face?” Copia asks, you have been staring for too long. Bollocks.

“N-no, I was just wondering why you were wearing the sunglasses during the night again. Everyone is staring at you.” You try to excuse yourself.

“Oh, so you don’t like when everyone looks at me? Do you want me all to yourself, angel?” Your excuse bites you in the arse and now you are beet red, luckily there isn’t much light and Copia might not notice.

“On the contraire, my dear. You are too precious to keep to myself, that is why everyone is cheering your name when you help that little band of yours… They can’t get enough of you.” You frown at your own words, you just wanted to take the iron off the conversation, but you just ended up being crushed by an anvil of your own creation. Copia stayed silent at that, expression unreadable under the dark veil of the city.

Copia and you were nothing, just associates. You had been just that for centuries, always side by side. You helped humans, you enjoyed the pleasures of a human life, you spent your time right beside the other and also lived your own lives, but nothing had ever happened between the two of you. Not that it could ever happen, you are an angel and they are a demon, being together would be sacrilegious and most certainly it would make you fall. If you fell, there would be nothing left for you, all your heavenly purpose gone, just because you indulged in your carnal desires. Even if you did, maybe Copia didn’t feel the same towards you. You had heard all about his one-night stands and his participation in orgies from that insolent satanic Papal figure that Copia calls a friend. Nonetheless, there had been moments during your partnership when Copia’s behaviour had made you think that something else would be possible. Lingering touches, furtive looks and thoughtful gestures made you fall more and more. You weren’t falling, but you were falling. That scared you plenty, but it was harder trying to deal with Copia’s absence for weeks at a time helping the band which left for heart aching in pain. You decided to stop thinking about that.

----

At 9.25 pm you both enter your favourite restaurant. A very typical Italian restaurant that served Copia’s rigatoni of choice and your favourite pizza. With time it had become your spot. It wasn’t just a restaurant anymore, it was a place to meet and share information, to celebrate, to release stress by eating or just to spend time with one another. The restaurant was quite humble and very aesthetically Italian, which for you was a plus. Many of the eating spots throughout the city had become tourist traps, so you were grateful to keep the little spot intact. You had to help a couple of times with some miracles to avoid bankruptcy, but nothing too serious, just for the benefit of the family that owned the restaurant.

Carlo, the older son of the owner, has already your table prepared with your water and Copia’s wine, you sit and make your usual order. Apart from that both of you stay silent for a while, the awkwardness from your previous conversation still lingering in the air.

“I have to tell you something…” Copia finally breaks the silence.

“What is it?” You ask, taking a sip of your water.

“Do you remember when I sent you a message a couple of weeks ago when I was on the European tour?”

“Yes, you mentioned that you had found something, but you said nothing else…”

“Well, that was because I wasn’t quite sure, but now I am. I have found something.” You open your mouth slightly, not knowing what to say. “I have found a scroll, angel. One that is legible.” Your mouth opens completely and your eyebrows rise in surprise.

“Are you sure? We have been tricked before.” Copia nods.

“I know, that is why I have checked with my contacts…” You huff.

“You know I don’t like your ‘contacts’.”

“Yes, well, we have no other way of telling if it is real.” You stay silent, looking at your water.

“Have you translated it already?” You look back up to Copia’s eyes, looking for an answer and the smiles.

“Yes, and it is a very important one…”

“What-” Instead of telling you, Copia hands you a piece of paper. On it, there is a picture of a scroll with a writing in old Latin and under it a translation written in pen:

“Judas betrays Jesus +1 hell; Judas stays with Jesus +1 heaven”

----------------------

Here is the very first part of the Good Omens/Ghost AU with our dear Copia as our personal Crowley (also I am back at using song titles for the chapters). I have a lot of plans for this AU (even little side stories and drawings) so get hyped! This doesn't mean that I have abandoned other projects, I just had an ADHD moment with this fic so I had to do it. Let me know what you think as always and thank you for all the support.

#the band ghost #ghost #papa emeritus iv #cardinal copia #fanfic #thebandghost #papa iv #ghost the band #copia #papa copia #papa emeritus iv x reader #cardinal copia x reader #cardi c #good omens au

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