#he tells u all these lies about ‘love’ and ‘this is just what family does stupid!!!’ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dkfile · 1 year ago

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gold rush

❛ everybody wants you, everybody wonders what it would be like to love you. ❜ ━gold rush, taylor swift

word count | 19.2k (19,220) genre | fluff, angst, slowburn, exes to lovers, summer au ━ gn!reader

though there is no denying that kim mingyu was once a big part of your life, you believe that the pain he’s left you with is long gone; he is a memory, and that is all he will ever be. but then you get home, and he’s there, and maybe you have to reconsider just how much you’ve moved on.

★ warnings | brief mention of injury/scars/blood, alcohol consumption, suggestive if u squint, seokmin and minghao meddling, i think thats it tell me if i missed anything ★ author’s note | it’s finally here!!! this took me longer than i thought it would, i really thought it’d only be on the shorter side (shorter side in dkfile means >10k words) but. this is literally 19k. i lied to myself i guess. hope u guys enjoy tho !! lmk your thoughts :D

In movies, summer signifies new beginnings. The sun’s radiance is bright enough to blind, the ocean glimmers underneath its attention, the sand is warm to the touch. Ice cream drips down your fingers and makes them uncomfortably sticky against the humid breeze. Some people come home, others leave, but they all have the intent of starting their new chapter right. Summer is about growth. It is about moving on.

It is not supposed to be about Kim Mingyu.

seok ☀️ > can you pls pick up the phone > i’m sorryyyyy that i lied to you ☹️ > forgive me!! 😓💔🙏 > do you need me to grovel? because i will

You scowl.

When you came back from college, welcomed home with open arms by your family and childhood friends, you were reassured that a certain boy — with golden skin, starry eyes, and your crushed heart in the palm of his hand — would not be back in town. Foolishly, you looked past the mischievous quirk of Minghao’s eyebrow, and the sheepish wince painted across Seokmin’s face when you expressed your delight at having them all to yourself.

There would be no ex-boyfriend to thwart your plans, no boy to drown your summer in gasoline and set it aflame.

But then your shopping cart bumps into someone else’s at the store, and when you look up, the bane of your existence is staring at you, open-mouthed and wide-eyed.

You vaguely remember the rather sharp inhale Seokmin took from behind you before you scoffed, incredulous and irritated, and harshly stated that Seokmin could finish grocery shopping by himself. You do not want to associate yourself with the traitor and the liar your so-called best friend has become.

Seokmin claims you’re being rather overdramatic. He swears he didn’t know Mingyu would be home so soon.

(“So soon?” you repeated when you picked up Seokmin’s fifteenth call ten minutes ago. “What does that mean? That you knew he was always going to be coming home?”

“…Listen—”

You hung up).

You find yourself sitting in the skatepark a few blocks from the mart, legs curled up on the bench and your chin resting on your knees. As the sun begins to dip below the horizon, the occupants slowly pack up and leave, until the sounds of wheels against concrete is replaced with the murmur of cicadas and the laughter from the occasional passerby.

The warmth of the wood seeps through your denim shorts, percolating across your body until you are hot underneath your clothes. Despite the heat of the day giving way to the mellow cool of the evening, sweat forms on your upper lip and hairline, an indicator that it’s too hot to sit out here and contemplate every choice you’ve made up until this moment.

Still, you stay; you’re not sure why. You never quite liked it here, had only enjoyed it when you were surrounded by your friends and their saccharine laughter. The scars on your leg are painful reminders of the multiple falls you took when he was teaching you how to skate.

(Sometimes, on bad nights, you still feel the ghost of his fingers on your waist and your wrist, guiding you on his board while children much younger than you zoom by).

You never left this area without a new injury, whether it be a bruise on the shin or a scrape on the knee.

Memories of what once was linger.

You do not remember what you had for breakfast this morning, or what show Seokmin recommended to you a few hours ago, or what car your dad was planning on buying.

But you remember Mingyu. You remember his smile and his sweet cologne and the way his hair fell into his eyes whenever his shoulders shook with laughter. You remember what it feels like to be in his bubble; it feels like you’ve been dumped into molasses — you become aware of your every move, and time begins to move just a little slower, as if you are trying to savour every moment before he disappears.

You feel him before you hear him.

That’s why you’re not surprised when he talks, his voice soft from where he stands behind the bench. You imagine him with his hands tucked into his pockets, staring at the empty ramps (he is not looking at you. You would know if he was looking at you. His gaze would burn more than a thousand wildfires).

“I thought they told you.”

Your voice comes out hoarse. “They told me you weren’t coming home.”

“Oh,” he doesn’t sound surprised, but he stills offers an apology. “I’m sorry.”

“Why? You’re not the one who lied.”

A quiet heartbeat passes. “Right.”

Your fingers drum against your calf. “How did you find me, anyway? Did Seokmin track my location?”

“No,” he murmurs. His voice has been quiet ever since he arrived. “I just… figured you’d be here.”

You swallow a large lump in your throat. “Oh,” you say weakly.

“Yeah,” he responds. There’s a brief moment of contemplation. He knows there’s a line he cannot cross, but he tries anyway. “Do you want a ride home?”

Your response is immediate and firm, and its harshness is enough to break the calm façade he unintentionally built around the both of you. “No. I’ll walk.”

“It’s hot,” he argues.

“I don’t need you, Mingyu,” you bite back. He clamps his mouth shut as unease settles in the pit of your stomach. “I don’t— I’ll be fine.”

He seems to hesitate; you aren’t sure how long he stands behind you, searching for a response.

Then, as if it pains him to say: “Okay.”

“Damn,” Minghao falls into Seokmin’s shoulder as they both laugh at your stumbling, “You suck!”

“Hey,” Mingyu barks, though he looks more like a puppy than the intimidating boy he imagines himself to be, “it’s not like you’re any better!”

You know Mingyu’s only saying this to make you feel better — Minghao is, arguably, the best on wheels out of the four of you — but the sentiment still warms your heart. At your smile, Mingyu’s annoyed mien is replaced with a grin of his own. He reaches over to squeeze your cheek.

“I believe in you,” he declares.

“As much as I appreciate what you’re doing,” you begin, stretching out your arms to balance on the board, “I don’t think I’m ever going to master this.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Mingyu huffs, hands hovering over your sides once the skateboard begins to move, eyes trained on your feet. “By the time we get out of here, you’re gonna give Minghao a run for his money.”

You sigh. Mingyu was always one for wishful thinking.

“You really think I’ll be able to do this by myself in half an hour?”

Mingyu hums hopefully.

The sun has already begun to set, and you had promised your parents you’d be home for dinner. With fall around the corner, the days are slowly becoming shorter, a constant reminder that your last year of school is upon you. Next are college applications, then admissions, and conversations about your future that you aren’t quite ready to have.

But you’ll worry about that when you need to.

Because right now, there is the skate park, the late summer breeze, and Mingyu, who shrieks along with you when you lose balance. His arms grab onto your waist, bringing you back to the ground as the skateboard continues to roll down the concrete. Right now, there is the furrow of his eyebrows, the mixture of disappointment and amusement swirling in his eyes, and his forehead pressed against yours.

“I thought I told you not to zone out,” he says with a slight shake of his head. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

You shrug, pecking his nose before pulling away to chase after the skateboard. “You’re so dramatic. The worst I could’ve gotten was a scraped knee.”

Mingyu scoffs. “So? I don’t want you getting hurt under my watch.”

“You’re my boyfriend, not my babysitter.”

“Well, I might as well be,” he argues. “You’re more accident prone than me.”

Laughing, you jokingly say, “Guess that means you’ve finally met your match, Kim.”

People used to say you and Mingyu were made for each other.

It is something you’ve tried to forget, but the fact follows you around like a shadow. This town, small and aware of the breakup, can’t seem to wrap their heads around the fact that you and Mingyu are no longer extensions of one another.

At some point, you hoped that people would understand your discomfort whenever he’s mentioned, but the fact of the matter is that you and Mingyu had been a package deal from when you were in diapers up until the end of senior year, and when you’re intertwined with someone for that long, it’s just as hard for you as it is for everyone to forget that part of yourself.

When you stop by the pharmacy, you don’t ask about him (you have no reason to), but the pharmacist still informs you that you’ve just missed him; when you see your mother’s colleague, she gushes about how nice it must be to see him after all this time (you do not have the heart to tell her otherwise); when you buy a pack of Sprite bottles for Mrs. Boo’s annual summer barbecue, the clerk asks if you know if he’s going to be in attendance (you say you have not talked to him in three years, and the clerk tilts his head in confusion).

Your patience has been worn thin by the time you arrive at Seokmin’s house.

“Hello, sunshine,” Minghao drawls when his attention settles on you. He watches you scowl before setting your bag on the armchair and taking a seat beside him on the couch. “How was your morning?”

“I’m ditching,” you declare, brushing off his question.

“Ditching what?”

“The barbecue,” you deadpan. “What else?”

“Now, why the hell would you do that?”

“Minghao,” you say blankly, “would it kill you to use your brain for once?”

“Are you calling me stupid?”

Seokmin enters the living room, carrying three cans of iced tea, all of which he places on the coffee table. He throws you and Minghao a look of annoyance. “If you guys are going to argue, please don’t do it under my roof,” he gestures around the room, “it kills the vibes.”

You roll your eyes but mutter an apology under your breath. Beside you, Minghao quips, “Y/N decided ditching the barbecue would be a good idea.”

You’re used to Seokmin’s mannerisms by now, so you don’t even flinch when he waves his arms around in disbelief. “What?” he exclaims, crouching in front of your legs and taking your hands into his. “Why the hell would you do that?”

Minghao hums. “That’s what I said.”

“Put that brain of yours to good use.”

“They said that to me, too.”

Seokmin huffs, knowing better than to let your quips deter him. “Please don’t tell me this is about Mingyu.”

You quirk an eyebrow, to which Seokmin scoffs, letting go of your hands before plopping down in front of you, even though there’s a free spot on the other side of Minghao. They scrutinize you for a moment, Seokmin’s eyes narrowed and lips twisted into a frown while Minghao stares blankly, showing no emotion or an indication of what’s going on inside his head.

It does nothing to make you feel comfortable.

You aren’t a stranger to Minghao and Seokmin’s examinations — they’re experts when it comes to breaking you down with analyzations and calculating eyes. But you haven’t been home in three years, and being on the receiving end of something as intense as this is startling, if not a little troubling.

(Being the only one enduring this, absent of a certain boy, is unsettling as well, though you’d rather die than admit that).

Seokmin nudges your ankle with his knee. “You know you’ll regret not going to this thing,” he says, eyes sparkling with amusement when you bristle. “You haven’t seen the Boo’s in forever, too. They’d be sad if you miss it.”

“Imagine how Seungkwan would feel,” Minghao adds, poking your arm to look at him, and continues to do so when you don’t. “He’d be miserable.”

You pout. “I doubt it.”

“You were in the same badminton club for five years,” Minghao argues softly, “I think he would be.”

Seokmin states, “And you’re not the type of person to let someone down, are you?” He pauses for a moment before adding, “Well, other than me and Minghao, on occasion.”

You cross your arms, leaning further into the couch as you avoid eye contact. You’re adamant on skipping, but Seokmin and Minghao know you better than anyone else, so they know exactly how to word their sentences and fabricate their bribes to get you to agree. They know, as long as you keep this up, the entirety of your summer will be spent in the four walls in your house, the only place in town guaranteed to not have Kim Mingyu.

And it may be pathetic, really, to continue letting him affect you like this.

(But it has always been you and Mingyu, Mingyu and you. He is part of your soul. There is a void in your chest that’s the shape of him. How are you supposed to erase all memory of someone like that?)

A painted fingernail pokes your side, a knee bumps your shin. Your friends look at you, hopeful.

A sigh.

“Okay, fine.”

“Can I ask you something?”

You hum, collapsing on the bench beside Seungkwan, his newly dyed platinum blonde hair appearing orange under the setting sun. Sweat trinkles down his frame but his breathing remains even, showing no sign that he just finished playing a rather intense badminton game a few minutes prior.

“What are you guys doing after you graduate?”

You take a sip from your water bottle in hopes the liquid will make it easier to swallow the lump forming in your throat. You have never minded these types of conversations, though the reminder of the future creates a pit in your stomach that only continues to grow larger with each passing day. And, knowing Seungkwan, you know there is more to his question than college applications and major declarations.

“What do you mean?”

“You, Mingyu, Minghao, and Seokmin,” Seungkwan elaborates. “You’re all going to different colleges, right?”

Pursing your lips, you risk a glance at him, only to find that he’s staring ahead. “Minghao’s going abroad, yeah, and Seokmin’s thinking of staying here,” you explain, voice low. “Mingyu and I are going to be together, though.”

At this, Seungkwan turns to you, eyebrows furrowed. “You two are going to the same university?”

There is something about the way he asks this — unsure, withdrawn, and cautious. You see the flare of uncertainty in his eyes, and it’s enough for your heartrate to quicken.

“Yeah. Why?”

He opens and closes his mouth. There is war in his head. Very rarely do you see Seungkwan at a loss for words. He is usually so quick on his feet, so witty, so talkative, and the silence that falls between you both is painful and nerve-wracking.

Should you be worried?

“Nothing,” he eventually settles for, ignoring the silent question in your eyes. “I was just thinking about how nice that would be.”

You decide to believe him. It is so much easier to be ignorant, you think.

(But it is also much more painful later. You do not allow yourself to dwell).

“Why’d you ask, anyway?”

“I was just talking to Vernon and Chan, and I realized we all want different things,” Seungkwan sighs, squeezing his eyes shut. “We won’t all be together much longer. It feels… weird.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you think you guys will be able to stay in touch?”

You shrug hopefully. “I think so,” you say, shifting your gaze to the horizon, “we’ve been friends forever. It’d take a lot to break that up.”

The scent of tangerines and aftershave fill your nose as you’re ambushed by a boy bursting with energy, bouncing on the balls of his feet while he resides in your arms, squeezing you tight as he spews angry statements that all come from a place of love.

Seungkwan is grinning by the time you pull away, grabbing you by your wrist and dragging you further into the backyard to catch up with other people. He doesn’t dare leave your side — he’s convinced you’ll slip away and disappear if he does — and you’re thankful; you don’t have the energy to steamroll through conversations today.

Though it’s humid, the warmth you’re engulfed in is a product of the Boo household. It is homely and welcoming and an embodiment of everything you’ve ever missed about home all in one lot. You should be happy to be here, surrounded by people you haven’t seen in years as a consequence of your avoidance, pulled into an endless pool of memories and nostalgia.

But you cannot shake it, the uneasiness.

You feel it as soon as the gate swings open and he enters, carrying two large Tupperware containers, one filled with brownies and the other with lemon squares. You feel it when he flashes his signature smile, canines as pearly white and blinding as you remember, and it still fills you with a sickening sense of joy.

“I’m gonna go get a brownie,” Seungkwan announces, loud enough to snap you out of it. “Do you want one?”

“No,” you decline, forcing yourself to smile even when you feel a burning sensation at the back of your head. “Thank you, though.”

Seungkwan nods and makes his way to the refreshments table, but not before wagging a finger in warning, “Don’t leave without saying goodbye!”

You frantically search the backyard, looking for any sign of Minghao or Seokmin, or maybe a superhero of some sorts to pull you away so you don’t disintegrate in the presence of Mingyu.

In your periphery, you see him excuse himself from conversations, eyes flickering towards you with a determination you aren’t unfamiliar with. It’s remorseful and desperate, and it reminds you of an instance in the skatepark a few years ago, you in his sweater and drowning in heartbreak and sorrow.

Someone swings their arm over your shoulder.

“Hey,” Minghao murmurs, steering you further into the backyard, away. You can’t help the sigh of relief that escapes you. “You okay?”

“Fine,” you grit your teeth.

“You’re gonna have to talk to him at some point,” he says, dropping his arm once he’s decided you’re far enough. “I feel like it’d do the both of you some good.”

“I have nothing to say to him,” you protest. “And I’m sure he has nothing to say to me.”

“I really don’t think that’s the truth.”

“It is.”

“You were in love with him,” he says. It slips out of his lips so easily, as if he were talking about the weather or the shapes of the clouds. You wish you could mutter an admission like that — accept something like that — the way he had. “And he was in love with you, and it ended badly. That is more than enough of a reason to talk.”

It ended badly. You always associated a statement like that with relationships that ended in screaming matches or slamming doors. Ones where a simple argument escalated into one that finalized a conclusion, ones where there was nothing in the room but anger and exhaustion that overpowered the love.

You’ve never associated it with how your relationship with Mingyu ended. The sun was rising, and birds were chirping, and you were standing in the same spot you asked him out, the same spot he asked you to prom, the same spot he murmured three simple words into your ear before you fell asleep on his shoulder on the park bench.

It didn’t end because of a fight. Sometimes, you wish it had — maybe then you’d feel differently about everything, about him.

It just came to a halt, and he had been the one to step on the brakes.

“Talk to him,” Minghao urges again, sympathetic but firm. “You don’t have to do it now, but just do it before you leave. Don’t you think you deserve some closure?”

You find him talking to some of your classmates from your graduating class. They hang onto every word he says, face alit with curiosity and admiration, because some things never change, and he has been put on a pedestal since birth. In the hallways of the high school, his name is on the trophies, he’s beaming in most of the pages in the yearbook, he is this town’s pride and joy.

But you know him.

You see him smile and you’re not blind to the discomfort and falseness behind it. He doesn’t want to be there, you think, and your thoughts are proven correct when he glances up to look at you, and his mask slips by a fraction. For a moment, you see sincerity, a glimpse of the Mingyu you once knew.

Someone taps him on the shoulder and, as you predicted, he puts the mask back on.

You hate that you still know him like the back of your hand.

He is leaning against your frame, playing with your fingers, when he asks the question.

“How do you do it?” he wonders, looking up briefly to meet your questioning gaze before returning his focus on your hands, tapping them to the beat of an overplayed pop song.

His head has dipped down, allowing you to rest your cheek against it. “Do what?”

“Talk to everyone like that,” he says, using his free hand to gesture towards the backyard filled with the people you’re currently hiding from. The both of you sit on the staircase by the front entrance, away from any prying eyes. “They were hanging onto every word you said. They’re practically in love with you.”

You snicker. “What, don’t tell me you’re jealous?”

Mingyu matches your teasing tone with a playful lilt of his own. “Oh, I am. I’ve got some competition.”

You nudge him with your shoulder. “Don’t be too upset when I pick Mrs. Boo over you.”

He hums. “No promises.”

A blanket of comfortable silence falls over you. He fidgets with your hands, brushing his thumb over your nails, and tracing the lines of your palms with his index finger. You close your eyes, listening to the fading chatter of the town and the faint sizzling of meat on the grill.

“I should be asking you that, y’know,” you eventually mumble. Mingyu’s movements stop. “You’ve got the whole town wrapped around your finger. I’m pretty sure everybody loves you.”

To get you to open your eyes, he pokes your cheek. “The same could be said about you,” he responds. “Besides, people only like the idea of me. What would they say if they found out my room’s never clean and I cycle through the same two pairs of socks year-round?”

You wrinkle your nose. “God, remind me to buy you a pack of socks from the store next time I’m at the mall.”

He laughs, an unpleasant snort involuntarily escaping his nose. “I’m serious. They don’t like me. They like the illusion.”

You finally look at him, meeting his softened gaze and mellow smile. “And that doesn’t bother you?”

“No, not really,” he shrugs, but there is a minuscule halt in his voice that you don’t catch. “The only opinion that matters to me is yours.”

You’re convinced Seokmin and Minghao are saints.

(You would never admit this, though. They would never shut up if you did).

For the entire 40-minute car ride, they manage to keep the calm, filling the silence with anecdotes about people you have only heard about through irregular video calls, and arguments about who should be in control of the music. Eventually, they settle for handing the aux over to Mingyu, who meets your gaze through the rearview mirror before clicking on a familiar playlist and looking out the window.

After the first five songs, your face heats up as you remember bashfully making him a playlist back in high school. You settle into your spot, hoping the battered polyester of Seokmin’s car seats will swallow you whole.

When you agreed to tag along on their trip out of town and into the city, Minghao and Seokmin didn’t bother hiding their surprise, especially since they made it clear Mingyu was going to be in attendance. Seungkwan even offered to let you carpool with him, Vernon, and Chan, but you declined — you might as well suck it up, seeing as you and Mingyu are going to be in the same vicinity for the rest of the summer.

Still, you can’t help but regret your decisions as you squirm in the backseat behind Seokmin, who’s fiddling with the A/C, listening intently to a story Minghao’s telling about some scandal involving two classmates he’s never talked to before. You’re thankful for their nosiness, because it gives you some level of comfort and helps you ignore Mingyu’s fleeting glances from the passenger seat.

“The professor’s a hardass so everyone was convinced they were fucking,” Minghao says, leaning forward in his seat. “Turns out he was just her stepdad, who suffered from a chronic case of favouritism.”

Seokmin snorts. “Out of all the conclusions to jump to, that’s the one they picked?”

Minghao quirks an eyebrow. “You of all people should not be saying that.”

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”

As Seokmin and Minghao begin to bicker for the nth time that evening, your gaze slides from the window to the Snoopy trinket hanging from the rearview mirror to the mirror itself, and you can’t find it in you to be surprised when you see Mingyu already looking at you. An unsaid question dances in his eyes, wary and timid.

Are you sure this is okay?

You gulp, worrying your lips between your teeth before shrugging. Yes, it’s fine.

He raises his eyebrow. This is the first time you’ve acknowledged him tonight.

Really?

You shrug again. Really.

And you leave it at that, turning again to look outside.

Seokmin takes fifteen minutes to find a decent parking spot, so when you finally enter the nightclub, you’re prepared for the scowl on Seungkwan’s face when he spots the four of you. He scolds Seokmin first and receives a flick to his forehead in response, which only angers him more. Before you can meet his wrath, you slip away, moving to enter the booth and letting Mingyu and Minghao get the brunt of Seungkwan’s rage and disappointment.

“Y/N!” Chan exclaims when you settle next to him, wrapping his arms around your torso to give you a brief hug before sliding you his unfinished pint of beer. “I haven’t talked to you in forever!”

When you take a sip of the alcohol, you try your best to hide your grimace when the lukewarm liquid hits your tongue. “I talked to you at the barbecue two days ago.”

“Well, I missed you. Sue me,” he throws his hands up in exasperation. Across from you, Vernon hides his amused smile behind his own pint. “You come home after, what, three years? Forgive me if I’ve become clingy.”

“Didn’t know you missed me so much.”

Vernon’s eyes are dripping with mirth. “He went broke from using all his coins at the fountain in town square,” he says, laughing when Chan shoots him daggers. “He went there whenever he was free and was wishing you’d come back—”

“He’s exaggerating,” Chan huffs. In retaliation to Vernon’s teasing, Chan takes his friend’s pint of beer and chugs it down until there is nothing left. “I only wished whenever Mingyu was home, he was so mopey, he would’ve been happier if you were here.”

You freeze.

“Okay,” Vernon interjects, pushing himself out of his seat to move all the empty glasses away from Chan, as if doing so will help the situation. He throws you an apologetic look, though it lacks his usual sincerity. “That’s enough for tonight.”

Chan whines. “But I wanted to do tequila shots with everyone.”

“Drink this first,” Vernon instructs.

Chan grumbles but accepts the glass of water Vernon gives him.

Before you can say something about Chan’s offhanded comment, the rest of your friends climb into the booth, and Vernon and Chan ease their way into their conversation as soon as everyone’s seated. You lean back, cowering behind Minghao and Chan’s frames as Seungkwan makes a joke you barely catch and Minghao repeats every story he told on the journey here.

You try your best to engage in the conversation, really, but it’s been so long since you’ve been with this group of people. As they discuss events you were never there for, snippets of a summer you weren’t part of, the awkwardness begins to build in your stomach, because it was never supposed to be like this, you were never supposed to feel left out.

If the person you were a few years ago saw you now, you know they’d be a little disappointed. Maybe they’d pity you, too.

The consequences, you suppose, of never coming home.

Sighing, you gesture for Minghao to slip out of the booth so you can get out. You say something about going to the bar to get another drink, and he nods, squeezing your shoulder — his silent way of telling you to stay safe — before letting you go.

You try your best to avoid any stumbling individuals, wrinkling your nose and murmuring apologies that get lost in the noise when you can’t avoid bumping into someone. With a glance over your shoulder, you make sure your friends aren’t paying any attention to you before making your way towards the exit.

It’s a warm evening, but it’s cooler than it is inside, and you relish in the temporary peace before you have to inevitably make your way back. They’ll notice if you’re gone too long, and they’ve always been easy to worry.

“Hey.”

A tall frame enters your periphery, clad in a loose white t-shirt and light-washed jeans, staring ahead at the passing cars. You ignore the way his face falls when you shuffle further to the side, away from him.

Your history aside, Kim Mingyu has always run hot. Before, you wouldn’t mind — before, you would’ve been clinging onto him — but time has passed, and you aren’t the same people you were back in high school.

A part of you misses it. There is something so comfortable about Mingyu that you can only describe in insignificant memories, like when he moves you to the side furthest from the road, or when he wraps his scarf around your neck because the cold is nipping at your nose, or when he buys mini versions of your skincare products to keep in his house for when you’re too tired to drive back home.

It's almost homely. Like a hug, maybe.

(You missed it a lot, at first, his aura. Whenever you needed it most, you’d lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling, and instead of sheep lulling you into slumber, it’s him. Way back when, he’d rub circles into your wrist to help you fall asleep, and you think of it then, because it used to bring you so much comfort).

(In your dreams, you murmur his name — Mingyu, Mingyu, Mingyu — like a prayer, like an incantation).

“I’m sorry.”

You jolt in surprise. Not at his voice, but at the apology. “Why?”

“You’re uncomfortable.”

“I’m not,” you protest with a frown. “I’m just… I couldn’t think of how to contribute to the conversation, that’s all.”

“Oh,” Mingyu says gently. He looks relieved. “So, you’re okay that I’m here?”

“Yeah, I mean, they’re your friends, too.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

A quiet moment passes, and you see the relief begin to crumble.

“Yeah, I don’t mind that you’re here,” you offer. The next sentence slips out before you can stop it, “I’m glad, actually.”

His eyes widen in surprise. “You are?”

You shift uncomfortably on your feet, wincing. “A little. I haven’t seen you in a while.”

Before this month, you only saw him through Instagram, glimpses of his life that were curated to make his life seem special and happy and void of any worries. You only heard about him — the real him — when his name accidentally slipped out of your friends’ or your family’s mouths.

You can’t help but think that it wasn’t enough.

“How’s school?” he asks, subtly moving so he’s slightly facing you.

“It’s alright,” you answer. “Stressful, but that’s a given. My roommate got a boyfriend, though. He leaves his shit everywhere and he acts like he lives there.”

A soft chuckle leaves his lips. “Yeah, I know, Minghao told me.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “Oh? Why would he tell you that?”

“I asked,” he shrugs. You finally, really look at him now, and your confusion is evident. He seems unfazed by it, but you can see the crimson slowly climbing up his neck. “I ask about you sometimes.”

“Why?”

You know why, you think. What’s the point in asking when you already know the reason behind his actions and intentions? Your soul is intertwined with his, it has been for a while, but you can’t seem to accept it.

You still hurt.

Minghao’s right. Maybe the closure is needed.

“Because I care about you,” he confesses, trying his best to hide his yearning. “You were my best friend, and I want to know if you’re still doing okay.”

Your fingers shake, so you stuff them into the pockets of your sweater. “And what do they tell you when you ask?”

He hesitates, scanning your face while he plans his best course of action. The wounds haven’t closed, the stitches were poorly sewn, and blood spills out of the cuts he left like the damage he’s done is fresh.

“They tell me that I should ask you myself,” he says, “But sometimes they take pity on me, and they’ll tell me things you’ve told them. Like the roommate situation, or the barista who fucked up your order, or how you scored the highest on an exam— congratulations, by the way.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “Thank you,” you reply meekly.

“It’s no problem,” he responds. Contemplation flickers across his face before he adds, rather reluctantly, “I’m proud of you, you know.”

You feel the same way you did when he first confessed, like an immature and blubbering teenager, full of hope and optimism and dreams of what could be.

“Mingyu—”

“I mean it,” he interrupts. “I’ve seen the stuff you’ve posted, and I should’ve congratulated you then, I know that, but—”

You give him a small smile. “Better late than never.”

He flashes you a grin, the same one you’d longed to see, the one you used to humiliate yourself for. You would’ve done anything to see him smile like that — a smile that isn’t put on just for show, but one that’s genuine and blinding. It’s something reserved for certain people, those who have seen through the illusion that was created for him, those who have seen it and still love him for who he is, despite his faults and imperfections.

He nods. “Better late than never.”

Despite your best efforts to squash your delight, your heart escapes your desperate grip, and it soars.

It’s cold.

The ground has frozen over, leaving jagged pieces of ice all over the concrete. The snow, previously a crisp white, has turned brown due to its contact with cars. The wind is cold, persistent, it refuses to let you forget about its existence with each gust.

On the other side of the parking lot, you see your friends whisper amongst themselves before one of them throws his hands up in exasperation and stomps over to his car, a beat-up vehicle with torn polyester seats and discarded bubblegum wrappers on the floor. He’s grumbling something under his breath as he settles into the driver’s seat and leaves without so much as a goodbye.

It’s cold, and something’s wrong.

Your eyes find Mingyu’s and your stomach sinks.

Something’s wrong, but you’re unsure whether you’ll find out what it is tonight.

“Hey,” you say once he’s in earshot. He stiffens at the sound of your voice. “Is Seokmin okay?”

“Yeah,” Mingyu says. “I’ll just apologize tomorrow morning.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing big.” He tightens the scarf around his neck and turns to walk towards his car. You follow, because with Mingyu you always do, and look at him over the roof as he digs in his pockets for his keys.

You clench your jaw, uncomfortable (when was the last time you’ve felt unpleasant around him? Things have started getting weirder since everyone started sending in their college applications). You wonder if you should push for answers, but you stop yourself before you can open your mouth. You’ve never done something like this before — Mingyu has always told you everything; secrets between the two of you are scarce.

He unlocks the doors. “Is it okay if we stop by the convenience store before I bring you home? I gotta buy some ramen for my sister.”

He looks tired. Maybe you can ask him about what happened another day.

“Yeah, sure.”

He nods in thanks and enters before another gust of wind hits — it’s harsher this time, as if it’s sending you a warning.

You really should’ve brought your own scarf.

When your family yells for you to open the door, the last thing you expect to see on the other side of it is Kim Mingyu.

Your ire is gone in a flash.

“Um…”

Mingyu winces. “Hi. Sorry, I— your brother called me, he said it was an emergency, and I was worried, so—”

“Mingyu!” your brother yells excitedly, running out of the kitchen before throwing his arms around Mingyu’s torso. “You’re here! Thank God, Y/N was ruining the cake—”

You scoff loudly. “What the fuck, Daeshim? You’re the one who put in salt instead of sugar—"

“Get in, get in!” Daeshim says cheerily, throwing you a glare. You narrow your eyes in return, ignoring how Mingyu’s hands brush against yours when he makes his way towards the kitchen after toeing off his shoes. Daeshim pokes you. “I’m telling Mom you swore.”

“What are you, five?”

Daeshim sticks his tongue out. “Add some money in the swear jar.”

“I hate you,” you deadpan. Your eyes flicker to the white sneakers neatly placed by the other footwear, worn from years of use. “Why did you ask him to come here?”

Your brother shrugs. “He usually stops by, anyway, to help for Mom’s birthday.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah,” he says sarcastically, gesturing for you to move so he can shut the front door. “Are you sure you guys broke up? Cause when you didn’t come home for the summer, he would still check up on us and stuff, and he’d always ask about you. It was so weird. It felt like I was a child of divorce.”

You smack him on the head. “Can you not say that about my relationship?”

“Well, it’s not a relationship anymore,” he quips.

You tense, crossing your arms so you don’t give Daeshim the delight of seeing your clenched fists. “You know what I meant.”

“If you don’t want to stay, then go. But he’s not going anywhere until Mom’s cake is done.”

“Why not? We were doing just fine without him.”

“Are you serious? You know he’s better at baking than you ever will be.”

“Okay, rude.”

“It’s true—”

“Uh, guys?” Both of your heads snap to wear Mingyu peeks around the corner, his amusement thinly veiled behind his distress. “Your kitchen’s a mess.”

Daeshim grins, pointing his finger at you. “Y/N’s fault!” he exclaims before heading to the kitchen.

You poke your cheek with your tongue in annoyance, watching your sibling nonchalantly disappear from your line of sight before you focus on Mingyu. He’s leaning against the wall now, hands shoved in his sweatpants and his head tilted to the side. He looks at you like he’s studying you, trying to find a sign of any kind that he needs to leave.

He must’ve found nothing because he stays.

You clear your throat, straightening your posture. “It was not my fault.”

His lips quirk up. “Oh, I’m sure.”

He disappears before you can retort.

(He’s always been good at that — leaving before you have a chance to fight).

When you finally join them in the kitchen, there’s a familiar baby pink apron around Mingyu’s neck, already splattered with cake batter as he whisks something in a steel bowl. Daeshim is crouched in front of the fridge, putting containers of leftovers on the floor in search of something. You kick his leg with your foot, throwing him off balance, and you both give each other matching scowls.

“Don’t put the Tupperware on the floor.”

He rolls his eyes but picks them up without argument, placing them on the empty counter by the fridge. You don’t understand why he couldn’t have done that in the first place, but Daeshim is notorious for making terrible decisions.

You don’t miss the way Mingyu’s eyes soften when he sees you. “You’re gonna help?”

“I came with the intention to supervise Daeshim and make sure he doesn’t accidentally set something on fire, but…” you shrug, “I could help, yeah.”

“Perfect,” Mingyu grins. “Can you get the baking pan?”

You do as he asks, handing it over to him over the kitchen island. “You’re gonna put it in the oven already? Daeshim was complaining about the batter so much he almost convinced me there was no saving it.”

Mingyu snorts as he cautiously pours the mixture into the pan. “He was just being overdramatic—”

Daeshim snaps from his spot near the fridge. “Are you guys just gonna talk about me as if I’m not here?”

“—it was only a little runny,” he assures, making sure not a drop of batter ends up on the floor or the countertop. Once he’s done, he brushes his hands on the apron and wipes his forehead with his arm. “Can you put it in the oven? You guys preheated it, right?”

You hum in confirmation, carefully placing the tin in the oven as Mingyu steps over Daeshim to try and get to the sink. You frown at your brother, who’s been scouring for something since you walked in. “What the hell are you even looking for?”

“Strawberry milk.”

“I drank it all.”

Daeshim huffs. “Of course you did.” He stands, slamming the fridge door with a dramatic flick of his wrist before hastily making his way out of the kitchen and towards the exit. “I’m gonna go to the convenience store to get some.”

“Wha— No, you have to help clean—”

“Can’t hear you!”

There’s a few more footsteps and the sound of Daeshim struggling to put his shoes on before the door inevitably slams shut.

You don’t let the shock of your brother’s irritating audacity bother you for too long. The way your fingers swipe through your phone to find his contact is lightning quick, but the first call is sent to voicemail and before you can even try his cell a second time, you find that you’re blocked.

Prick.

Mingyu’s humming catches your attention. You look up from your phone to find him with his back against the sink. “Voicemail?”

“Blocked.”

Mingyu snorts. “Of course.”

You send him an awkward smile before turning away so you don’t have to face him. You and Mingyu haven’t spoken since last week on that trip out of town; after the two of you slipped back inside, no words were exchanged except for an apprehensive goodnight when Seokmin dropped you off at home.

With friends as nosy as your own, privacy is hard to come by, but now, in their absence, there’s nothing more you want than a buffer. The tension’s become more palpable without a third party, and your palms are getting clammy at just the thought of searching for an excuse to kick Mingyu out of the house without hurting his feelings.

(Why do you care? He hurt you first, didn’t he?)

“Hey,” Mingyu calls out tentatively. “Do you want me to help clean up? It’s a mess in here.” When you don’t reply, he adds, “I don’t want you to do this all by yourself.”

You take a look at the kitchen around you and decide that you don’t want him to leave, either.

“Okay.”

Mingyu grins. “Okay.”

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to find a system that’s not messy or chaotic or involves stepping into the other’s path — you and Mingyu have always been like that, like a cohesive unit. The feeling that shoots through your veins at the realization that you still are is nothing short of euphoric.

Before you know it, the kitchen is clean. The surface sparkles as Mingyu swipes a finger at it to see if there’s anything he’s missed, looking up at you with fleeting disappointment.

You think he’s about to announce that it’s time for him to go, but he surprises you when what comes out of his mouth is a question instead.

“Can I ask you something?”

You press yourself against the counter, thankful for the kitchen island acting as a barrier between you both. “Sure.”

“If we…” he pauses. Regret already begins to fester in his skin, pulled down by the weight of his frown and the pinch in his eyebrows. “Uh, never mind.”

Your heart lurches in your ribcage. “Mingyu—”

“It’s fine,” he assures but his smile is tight, and his tone says otherwise, “I should probably head back. I’ll — uh — I’ll see you?”

You gnaw at your bottom lip. “Yeah,” you say, ignoring the way your heart begins to crack as Mingyu unties the apron and slips it over his head. “Yeah, I’ll see you.”

A worrying cloud has attached itself to you, nibbling on every last bit of your sanity like a parasite. Because something is wrong, you’re sure of it, even if everyone around you acts otherwise. Seokmin still laughs and makes bad jokes, Minghao still scolds you for not bundling up more when it’s so cold outside, and Mingyu still attracts attention and reaches for your hand and pokes your cheek whenever you’re not paying enough attention to him.

Everything is normal.

(But…)

“Does this look stupid?” Mingyu asks, staring at the banner he’s hung up.

Minghao grabs a macaroon from the table and rearranges the assortment, so it looks like he never laid a finger on it. “Yes.”

Mingyu huffs before turning to you. “Is it really?”

“It’s a little crooked,” you say, taking your eyes off him for a moment when Minghao presses the macaroon into your palm after making a face to suggest he doesn’t like it.

As Mingyu assesses the best way to fix the Happy Birthday! banner, Minghao starts poking at the pile of presents. You frown, kicking his ankle with your foot in an attempt to get him to stop. He only flicks your shoulder in response.

“Don’t touch those,” you hiss.

“I’m just trying to guess what other people got him,” Minghao retorts.

You deadpan, “You’re sizing up the competition.”

“Yes,” he confirms, “I need to make sure my present is better than all of these.”

“You got him a gift card to Party City. I didn’t even know they had those.”

“He can use it for Halloween!”

“Halloween is nine months away.”

“Oh, whatever,” Minghao grumbles. “Seungkwan will find some sort of use for it. All that matters is that my present isn’t the worst one.” He turns to you, jabbing a finger at your shoulder. “Hey, wait, what did you get him?”

You push his wrist as a scowl takes over your previous amused expression. “What’s it to you?”

“You’re a horrible gift-giver.”

“That’s not true!” you object, immediately turning to walk over to Mingyu, who’s staring at the banner in distress. “Gyu! I need to ask you something—”

“Nuh-uh, you can’t ask him, he’ll agree with you!”

You mockingly pout at Minghao before tugging Mingyu’s sleeve. “Hey, babe, question.”

Mingyu’s more than happy to have his attention on something else, letting his hands that were previously taping up the banner fall onto your shoulders. “What’s up?”

“I’m a good gift-giver, right?”

A moment passes. You scoff. Minghao cackles.

“Listen—”

“What the hell?”

“I love you and everything,” Mingyu begins, “but you really aren’t.”

“I hate you.”

“You don’t,” he says quickly. “You love me. Even though you gave me a terrible birthday present last year.”

“You said you liked that apron!”

Minghao pipes up, “There’s a reason why he leaves it at your house, Y/N.”

You gasp, pointing an accusing finger at your boyfriend’s chest. Before you have a chance to defend your honour, Seokmin comes barrelling into the rented community centre, carrying two boxes of used decorations.

“Hey, guys,” he exhales, out of breath, dropping the large containers on the floor with a relieved huff. “So, the guests are coming in, like, twenty minutes, and Chan’s getting Seungkwan here in forty-five, so that should give us enough time to finish decorating… Mingyu, I thought I told you to deal with the banner?”

“It’s not cooperating with me,” your boyfriend whines.

Seokmin rolls his eyes before stomping over to the wall to fix the banner himself. Mingyu follows, grabbing the tape on his way so he can help. They don’t talk, at least not at a volume that allows you to hear what they’re saying — it’s only heated whispers that are exchanged, and you catch a glimpse of Mingyu’s nervous expression before it disappears completely.

He looks over his shoulder and flashes you a smile and it’s the same one you’ve seen him give everyone else. It’s a mask.

This isn’t something you should be on the receiving end of.

You open your mouth to say something — to say what, exactly, you aren’t sure — but Minghao tugs at your wrists and holds up a packet of balloons.

“We should start doing something before Seokmin gets mad,” he says before dragging you out of Seokmin and Mingyu’s earshot.

It’ll be okay, you think. This will pass over and your friend group will still be as close as you can be once university comes and you and Mingyu pack your bags, leaving this small town behind.

(But your worries refuse to let go; they’ve seeped into your bones, and you think their weight may crush you until you’re broken beyond repair. But ignorance is bliss, isn’t it? That’s what you’ve always said to yourself. And you’ve never needed to worry about something like this, whatever it is, before).

Everything will be fine.

Everything will not be fine, and you aren’t sure why Minghao thought it would be, but he was unbelievably wrong.

A rainy day has caused a picnic in the park to turn into a board game night at Seokmin’s house, and a homicidal game of Monopoly (a skit between Chan and Seokmin had been the last straw before Minghao flipped the board over) quickly transformed into a homicidal game of Twister. Before you is a jungle of limbs, and you’re glad that you were fast enough to volunteer to spin the wheel so you wouldn’t be caught in the inevitable crossfire.

“Left hand, red.”

Chan’s complaints come immediately.

“Chan,” Seungkwan warns, “I will kill you if you try to push me off.”

“I haven’t even moved yet.”

Seungkwan mocks his words with a high-pitched tone that barely resembles Chan’s voice before Minghao scolds them to cut it out and hurry up. Chan scoffs indignantly before moving his hand to a free red circle, struggling to find his balance.

“Are you good?” you ask blankly.

“Fine,” he grits out, “Just go so it gets to my turn faster.”

“Go slower!” Vernon exclaims from beside you, the first to be eliminated with his phone in one hand and a handful of popcorn in the other.

“Fuck you, Vernon!”

You spin the wheel. “Hao, right foot, green.”

Minghao huffs, but his new position, although uncomfortable, has given him the perfect opportunity to sabotage Seokmin. Almost as if they can sense your thoughts, your friends look at each other, one mischievous and the other in warning, before Minghao fakes a move, successfully luring Seokmin into his trap when the latter flinches and flails like a fish out of water before landing on his side.

Seokmin groans, sitting up and rubbing his ribcage as everyone laughs. He looks to you, giving you those puppy-dog eyes that always manage to worm him out of any undesirable situation he’s ever found himself in, but you only shrug helplessly in response. Seokmin sighs, flicking Minghao’s forehead, before making he settles beside you in all his pouty, wronged glory.

“It’s okay,” Vernon says from your other side, phone speaker pressed against his ear as a video of what just occurred plays on the phone. The sound of Seokmin’s yelp of surprise from 30 seconds ago causes your lips to twitch upwards. “You’ll get them next time!”

Seokmin leans into your shoulder. “Y/N! He’s making fun of me!”

You pat him reassuringly. “You’ll survive, don’t worry.”

“Hey!” Seungkwan interrupts. “Spin the wheel! It’s my turn.”

“Okay, okay! Right foot, blue.”

Much to your surprise, the rest of the game goes by smoothly with Seungkwan as the victor. Chan is beside himself, grumbling with his arms crossed as Seungkwan mimics the fall that led to his demise. When Chan opens his mouth to snap back, Minghao reaches over Vernon’s lap for the remote to increase the volume of the TV.

Once their argument has died down, Chan suggests, “Does anyone want to play Cards Against Humanity?”

“Lame, absolutely not,” Seokmin replies instantly. “I’m hungry.”

Seungkwan makes himself comfortable on the armchair. “Pizza should be coming soon. Who ordered it, anyway?” Mingyu raises his hand. “What did you get?”

“One cheese, one pepperoni.”

Chan boos, making a comment about the mediocre order which Mingyu skillfully brushes off, immune to his friends’ instigations after years of receiving them.

Minghao pokes Mingyu with his foot. “Can you check to see what time it’ll get here?”

Mingyu unlocks his phone while Vernon begins complaining about having to register for classes first thing tomorrow morning. His whines are halted, however, when Mingyu sharply inhales a breath and clears his throat sheepishly.

You raise an eyebrow. Everyone in the room knows what that means.

“Oh, what did you do now?”

“Seungkwan! What makes you think I did something wrong?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

Mingyu shakes his head before turning his phone so the screen is facing all of you. The screen says the order’s been good to go for the past five minutes, but— “I accidentally ordered for pick-up, not delivery.”

Chan rolls his eyes. “Then go pick it up.”

“What?”

“Well, it says the order’s ready, right? Go pick it up.”

“But I’m so comfortable here.”

“And we’re hungry.”

“Why does it have to be me?”

“Whose fault is it that the pizza guy isn’t on Seokmin’s doorstep right now?”

Mingyu huffs, clearly having run out of retorts. He’s quick to admit defeat, pushing himself off the couch and adjusting the hoodie that’s ridden up his torso. You watch his every move, ignoring Minghao’s gaze.

Just as he begins searching for his car keys, Minghao pipes up, “You shouldn’t go alone, though.”

Mingyu frowns. “Huh? Why not?”

“Because you’re clumsy and you’ll drop something.”

“Can’t you guys put some faith in me—?”

“Y/N could go with you.”

Mingyu closes his mouth, trapping any more complaints behind his teeth. You stare at Minghao like a deer caught in headlights.

Vernon is the first to protest, eyebrows furrowed in concern. “I don’t—”

“Mingyu’s clumsy and he’ll drop something,” Minghao repeats impatiently. He shares a glance with Seokmin, who seems to understand Minghao’s intentions in milliseconds.

“Yeah, and we can’t let Y/N go by themselves because the last time they drove they ran over my mailbox.”

You squawk in protest. “That was when I was sixteen, I—”

“And I’ve feared you every time you’ve gotten behind a wheel ever since,” Seokmin says. He swiftly dodges Seungkwan’s questioning nudge and Chan’s panic, giving you the biggest smile he can muster before letting his eyes land back on Minghao.

Minghao looks at you, apologetic and stern all at once. “The ride will only be, like, ten minutes. Five minutes there and back,” he shrugs, turning away to face the TV. “You’re both adults, you’ll be fine.”

You think you might strangle them.

“Okay,” Mingyu says from behind you. You look at him, he stares back. “We’ll be okay. Right?”

He’s offering you one last final chance to back out. Your fingers twitch at your side before you gulp, nodding. “Yeah, we’ll be okay.”

You’re shoved out the door before you can even blink, wearing Seokmin’s old Crocs instead of the sneakers you had arrived with (“These are faster to put on, make haste, make haste! Get out of here, I want my pizza!”). You sink further and further into the passenger seat as Mingyu pulls out of the driveway, trying your best to focus on anything besides him.

But it proves to be impossible. The air freshener is the same as it was all those years ago, the same cheap dog bobblehead is on the dashboard, the pack of gum he’s left in the cupholder is the same one he used to buy in bulk at the supermarket. Nothing in here has changed, as if the vehicle is stuck in time, refusing to move forward despite all the years that have passed.

Mingyu must’ve noticed you staring at the gum because he picks it up and hands it to you in silent offering. You shake your head, and he puts it down.

The awkwardness might as well eat you whole.

The radio does nothing to ease the tension when the next song that plays is about heartbreak and being left behind while everyone moves on. Your sanity is hanging on by a thread that might snap if you’re in this car any longer.

In the corner of your eye, Mingyu opens his mouth to speak, but he decides against it when the pizza parlour comes into view. He swiftly parks by the front entrance, and once you get out, you notice that the car is centred perfectly between the lines.

You suppose he’s gotten better at driving over the years. The last time you were here, he’d parked so crookedly your stomach hurt from laughing.

“Hey,” Mingyu says, staring at you quizzically. “Are you good?”

“Yeah,” you murmur, slipping past him when he holds the door open for you. “Thanks.”

He walks up to the counter, saying his order number to the employee and nodding understandingly when she explains that one of the pizzas had been dropped on the floor and they’ve gone to remake the order. He returns to you — beside you, as if it has always been his rightful place — hands tucked into his pockets as he sways on the balls of his feet.

This must be some form of torture, you think. Minghao and Seokmin have done this in retaliation for every bad thing you’ve ever done to them.

(“Seokmin and I love you both,” Minghao confesses over the phone, face blurry due to your unpredictable wi-fi, “You know that, right?”

“I do.”

“And we really think you should talk to each other,” he says, and even though you’re not looking at your phone, you can tell he’s staring at you in that analytical way of his while you try to finish an assignment. “Maybe it’ll do you some good.”

You sigh. “Hao—”

“It’s been three months. Let him explain.”

“I did,” you hiss. “He was the one that left.”

Silence. You rub your temples.

When you finally look at Minghao, he’s remorseful. “Sorry,” he murmurs, flopping onto his bed and letting his camera pan up to the ceiling. You can no longer see his face, but you can hear the despair in his voice. “It’s just hard, being in the middle of this.”

“I’m not asking you to pick sides.”

“I know that,” he argues softly. “I just want everything to go back to normal.”)

You dig your nails into your skin as Mingyu begins humming to a song playing over the speakers. It’s one that they’ve been playing for years, a pop song that will have to be pried out of a radio host’s dead, cold hands.

It’s a song Mingyu despises.

(It’s so catchy, though, he used to tell you, ashamed. You need to save me from it).

When Daeshim had called you at the end of the semester, the first thing out of his lips was a question about your return. You had agreed with reluctance, and he said something about how long it’s been, how time heals all wounds, that nothing should hurt anymore.

But three years cannot erase a lifetime.

You foolishly thought it could. When you arrived, you pretended you didn’t see an old photo of him taped on your closet door. When you first saw him at the supermarket, you ignored the way his hand twitched to reach over to you. When he talked to you outside of that nightclub, you evaded the familiarity of his warmth like it was a virus.

You foolishly thought it was enough. You built a wall of indifference around yourself, but it had begun to chip away just as quickly as you constructed it. It was never foolproof. It was never made of stone, but of cards.

One glance from Mingyu and it all comes tumbling down.

“Minghao told me a few days ago that you wanted to talk,” Mingyu says once the song has ended.

“Yeah.”

“But you don’t want to.”

“Not yet, no.”

“Well,” he says, taking a step towards the counter when the employee calls out his order number, “whenever you’re ready to, I’m here.”

“Something’s wrong.”

He understands what you mean. You’re not referring to the TV that won’t play the movie or the takeout that tastes a little off. You look at him nervously, afraid to break the flimsy spell of calm he’s enchanted on everything he touches.

“Yeah,” he replies, gripping the armrest tightly.

You blink at him, waiting for something he won’t offer. For a moment, he thinks you might push, but you have never been one to do so; you have always believed that doing something like that only throws you down a road of hurt.

So, he shouldn’t be surprised when you eventually nod in defeat.

“Well,” you say with a smile reserved for strangers you can only pretend to care about, “if you need to talk about it, I’m here.”

Four friends occupy a small corner of the skatepark. One of them is on the ramps, appearing in the air to do a trick before disappearing from sight. Another is rolling down the concrete, hands stretched out to maintain balance.

Two sit in the shade, watching.

“Do you think they’ll talk soon?” one of them asks, a taller boy with light brown hair and a beauty mark near the apple of his cheek.

The other, dressed in all black despite the sweltering heat, runs a hand through his mullet. “I don’t know, Seokmin. Probably. Hopefully.”

“Do you think they’re mad at us for forcing them to get the pizza?”

“Yes.”

Seokmin snorts, but his amusement is short-lived. He continues to observe his friends as they stray further and further from each other. He catches the way they glance over their shoulders in concern.

“They’re stupid, aren’t they, Minghao?” he finally says. The boy beside him hums in agreement. “Were they always like this in high school?”

“I don’t think so,” Minghao replies. “If they were, I don’t know how I managed to survive.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“Hypocrite.”

Seokmin sticks his tongue out. Then, quietly, as if the other two friends will hear, he says, “Well, they need to hurry up and talk. I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” he grumbles. “Maybe if I just told Y/N about it sooner, or pushed Mingyu—”

“Probably,” Minghao interrupts before Seokmin can concoct any more what-ifs from his brain. His stomach churns at the numerous possibilities he will never see. “But there’s nothing we can do it about it now.”

“Maybe things would be better if we did things differently.”

“Yeah, but the past is the past. Besides,” he sighs, watching one friend trip on his way towards them and the other struggle to stop themselves on the board, “this isn’t our problem to fix. I don’t think it ever was. We’ll just leave it to them.”

“You really think they’ll work it out?”

“God. I really hope so. It would put all of us out of our misery.”

Spring has long since bled into winter when you find yourself at the skatepark, wearing a sweater that was never yours with your heart dangling from its sleeve. It’s chilly at this hour of the morning when the world is quiet and your denial is prominent, and it gets even colder when your name falls from Mingyu’s lips and his touch is uncharacteristically icy against your skin.

You rip your wrist from his grasp and hurt flashes across his face before he takes a step back.

“I—” he gulps, “you shouldn’t run out like that.”

He purses his lips, and you notice how chapped they’ve gotten over the past few days. Everything about him has roughened up — it goes farther than his dry hands and the unruly state of his hair; he’s grown distant. He looks at you with a mixture of emotions you can’t explain, his words have are clipped, and you aren’t sure how long this behaviour would’ve gone on for if you hadn’t caught him signing up for classes at a university he never told you he was going to attend.

“You lied to me.”

He exhales shakily. “I know. I’m sorry, I—” he rubs a hand over his face because he doesn’t know what to say. Mingyu isn’t like this. People would kill to own even a sliver of his charisma; it’s so easy for him to talk himself out of things, but the words have died in his mouth before they even reached the tip of his tongue.

“You—You should’ve told me,” you stammer. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Mingyu has never felt this moronic before, standing before you and stretching his hand in your direction only to watch how, every time without fail, you take a step back as if any contact from him will result in third-degree burns.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, “But you were already so worried about all of us growing apart after graduation, and I didn’t want to add onto that stress. So I kept putting it off, and I shouldn’t have, I know that, I just—” his face falls, “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

It takes everything in him not to flinch when your anger flares. Your resolve is rotting away to dissolve into the morning air; he thinks, offhandedly, that the molecules of your decaying calm have collided once again and found purchase over his head. A cloud to loom over him, made up of your melancholy and his guilt.

“You didn’t want to hurt me,” you say incredulously, in a tone so hurt that Mingyu’s heart drops. “Well, look where we are now, Mingyu.”

He doesn’t like the position he’s put the both of you in. He doesn’t like how this conversation is tainting every happy memory he ever had at this skatepark. He wonders if he’ll see your hurt expression every time he closes his eyes.

This could’ve been avoided, he’s aware of that. Seokmin made sure to voice his disapproval every time they crossed paths, Minghao’s veil of indifference was slowly crumbling with each passing day, and Seungkwan — who made the mistake of being around when Mingyu let it slip that his post-graduation plans didn’t match yours — grew more nervous than all of them combined.

For as long as he can remember, everyone he knows has never done well with secrets. He’s always been a firm believer that they’re parasitic, the reason behind every downfall he’s ever had the displeasure of witnessing. But that was before he had a secret worth keeping.

(It does not matter if it’s worth it or not. At the end of the day, he was right all along. They are infectious, deadly little things).

Soon after he was born, it was common belief amongst townsfolk that he would change the world. It did not matter how; they would support him regardless. He thinks his entire being may as well have been made from diamonds with how he was created to be the star of something he never asked to be part of.

It’s exhausting.

The university you two had chosen at fifteen-years-old was perfect for you. When you took the virtual tours and exchanged messages with its students, you looked like you had stepped right out of a fairy tale. But it was two hours away from this town, so far yet so close to the very thing that’s been draining him of energy, and he quickly came to realize last summer that your dream school was the last thing he wanted.

But you would’ve followed him anywhere. If it weren’t for his, Minghao, and Seokmin’s insistence, you would’ve chosen to stay at home, because you never liked the idea of leaving everything behind.

That’s where you and he differ.

And he couldn’t take that from you.

Because you and him were always believed to be cut from the same cloth — model students, the perfect fit — but everything he touched tarnished and everything you touched turned to gold dust. He’s hidden behind an illusion all his life, but he knows for a fact that you’re meant to go above and beyond every expectation that’s ever been set for you.

Who is he to get in the way of that?

(He’s sure the only thing that’s setting you back is him. It has always been him. It’s only a matter of time before you realize it, too).

“I love you,” he confesses suddenly, startling you to your core. “And I’m so sorry.”

You look at him warily. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I fucked up,” he says.

“Yeah, you did.”

“But…” he trails off. When your eyes meet, something ignites inside of you.

(You have always known him better than any of them ever could).

“Mingyu—”

“Maybe it’s for the best if we—”

“Mingyu.”

He closes his eyes and hopes it’s enough to push the tears back. “I love you,” he says again, but his lips are quivering, and a sob threatens to escape the confines of his throat. “I love you so much that it physically hurt to do that to you, but it was for the better—”

Disbelief engulfs you in an instant, and you take a spontaneous step towards him in your surprise. “You’re not making a lot of sense right now,” you say, frantic, “I’m still really fucking mad at you, but we can talk this out, because I have no idea what you’re—”

“Just listen to me, Y/N, I don’t think—”

“You listen to me, because—”

“You deserve so much better than this, don’t you know that?” he snaps, shrinking into himself seconds later. His voice shakes with frustration. This hurts him beyond your imagination, but he’d do anything for you, even if it ends with him sporting wounds that will never heal. “And I’m holding you back, and I— I can’t do that to you. Not anymore.”

A sob melts into your words before you can stop it. “So you think the best way to fix that is to move across the country?”

“There were better ways to go about it,” he admits. “Ways that wouldn’t have ended like this, but I stand by what I said, Y/N.”

“Don’t do this, Mingyu. You don’t get to—” you stutter, inhaling hastily to regain your composure before looking him through your teary vision, “—you don’t get to break up with me over something as stupid as this.”

“I don’t deserve you,” he says it like a mantra, like it’s engraved into his brain and there’s no use trying to rid him of it.

“You don’t get to decide that!” you exclaim. “And even if that was true, it doesn’t matter to me. We love each other, Mingyu, isn’t that enough?”

You go to cup his face. This time, it’s he who takes a step back, and his heart screeches in pain at the sight of your crestfallen face.

“Maybe if I—” he runs a hand through his hair and tugs at the strands, forcing himself to continue, “Maybe if I loved you less, I’d let myself be selfish. But that’s not the case. That’s never been the case.”

That day you do not leave the skatepark with a scrape on your knee or a new bruise on your shins. But you don’t leave unscathed, either.

Your heart has been ripped from your chest, and Kim Mingyu carries the remnants of it with him.

Mingyu always liked people-watching.

He’d tell you it was nice to be on the other side of the microscope; to observe, not be observed. On the trips out of town, he’d sit anywhere that was bustling with people and make up stories about anyone who caught his eye: he’s cheating on his wife with his high school sweetheart, or she’s talking to her estranged cousin and she’s threatening to get a restraining order, or that little boy was meant to be a twin but he ate his sibling in the womb.

“That guy’s still in love with his ex-girlfriend even though they broke up a decade ago,” Mingyu says, subtly nodding towards a man supervising his child on the ramps.

The snort that escapes you dents the discomfort hanging in the air. “He reached out to her on Facebook, and it turns out she’s coming to visit.”

“They’re going to meet in the city. He told his wife he has work stuff.”

“His wife’s suspicious. She’s definitely hiring a PI.”

“But the PI sucks, he’s a fake and a scammer. He ends up tailing the wrong guy.”

“And the wife spent good money on him, too.”

“But she doesn’t really care since she paid the investigator using her husband’s money.”

“Good for her! It’s what he deserves for cheating.”

You smile, pressing your legs against your chest as you watch the kid soar through the park on her rollerskates. Her laughter’s loud, and you allow it to ring in your ears to momentarily distract yourself from Mingyu.

It’s overwhelming being here next to him. You’ve been here multiple times since you’ve come home, but the nostalgia and ache of watching him from afar does not compare to what you feel now that he’s by your side, sitting stiff on the park bench with his hands clasped in his lap. The dull throb in your chest becomes more prominent when he glances and catches your eye, hiding his yearning beneath a thin veil of indifference.

You turn away, and that’s enough for him to adorn the last bit of confidence he has. “Why’d you call me here?”

Resting your cheek against your knee, you murmur, “You know why I called you here.”

It does not matter that he’s known you almost as long as you’ve been alive — a room full of newborns would realize that he’s here because you want an explanation.

Closure really would be nice.

“Okay,” he breathes. “Ask me anything.”

When you slipped out of your house this morning, full of anticipation, you thought that it’d be hard for you to find the words. But you’ve stuffed the curiosity down your throat long enough. For years, all you could feel was a weight on your esophagus; the air you’ve been inhaling and expelling is nothing if not tainted with heartbreak, and you crave the feeling of fresh air again — something that’s free from the insecurities and the anguish and everything in between.

“Back then, did you tell Minghao we fought?” you ask. “Because he seems to think that we did. Every time he called me that’s all he would ask. Have you and Mingyu stopped fighting?”

He tilts his head. “Would you not say that was a fight?”

“Well, no,” you reply. “You just ended it, and I was trying to get you not to.”

Mingyu flinches but he’s quick to recover. “Nothing could’ve changed my mind back then.”

“Why?” you demand, unable to hide your despair.

Mingyu finally looks at you without tearing his gaze away. He’s exhausted, and you aren’t sure if it’s because of how early it is or if he’s just as drained from all of this as you are. The limbo between forgiveness and disdain was never made for the weak.

“Listen, I—”

“You told me you didn’t deserve me,” you say, “You don’t get to decide that.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, “I thought I could’ve been enough for you — I tried to be. But you always had everything planned out and I didn’t, I was living with a façade and you weren’t, and I— I just couldn’t do it anymore.”

Clenching your jaw, you say, “So, you moved.”

“I loved you,” he says quickly before you have the chance to ask him otherwise. “That was never the problem. I was scared. I guess part of me wanted to let go while you still thought I was worth it.”

“Don’t say that, Mingyu.”

“I know, I know,” he replies. “I’m working on the self-worth. It’s hard to come by.”

It hits you then, like you’re standing in the ocean as a large wave of water looms over your figure. You used to watch as everyone fawned over Mingyu as if he was untouchable, a divinity amongst men. You used to watch and lust for the days where you would turn out to be exactly the person he deserved to love.

But while Mingyu ached to be the person everyone made him out to be, you saw past your own desires and those who desired him. Through all that was carefully crafted, you saw him for who he truly was.

And you loved every inch of him. So much so that you’re convinced you’ll never be able to feel this way for anybody else.

“For what it’s worth,” you say, “back then, you were it for me. I would’ve loved you regardless.”

His gaze softens and, for a moment, sitting next to you is the same boy from all those years ago, who accepted your proposal for a date, who asked you to prom, who tattooed eight letters into your skin before slumber took you over.

“If we…” he begins carefully, “If I did things differently, do you think we could’ve made it?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe. I’d like to think that we would’ve,” you nudge his shoulder in hopes that being playful will lighten the mood. “But none of that matters. We’re here now, and we talked.”

“We talked,” he nods. “We used to be terrible at that.”

“Not the best at communication, sure,” you smile softly. “But at least we fixed it. Better late than never.”

He bites the inside of his cheek to stop his own smile from growing any larger. “Better late than never.”

The sun envelopes you in a warm hug the moment you sit down, a companion in the serene summer’s day. Sand sticks to your skin, adhered to it by the sweat, clinging to you as if you’re its last hope to live.

The tranquility is interrupted by a screech, and you bet with closed eyes that it’s either Mingyu, who left a while back to get some ice cream and probably dropped it, or Chan, who decided to build a sandcastle close to the ocean despite the various protests he received in response.

You crack an eye open just as the water retreats from the shore. Chan stands before his unfinished monstrosity, staring in distress, while Vernon gives him a look as if to say I told you so.

From where he lies beside you, Seokmin announces, “If it makes you feel any better, it was a little ugly.”

“You said five minutes ago that it was good!”

“I was lying to you.”

“Yeah,” Seungkwan agrees, toeing the area where the castle once resided. “The moat was fucked up, too.”

“It was a moat.”

“And yet you fucked it up.”

Chan gives them an unsavoury gesture before instructing both Vernon and Seungkwan to help him make another. Reluctant but compliant, they take the pails you’d bought last minute at the dollar store and settle themselves farther away from the shore.

Seokmin salutes them for good luck before glancing at his phone. “Is Mingyu still at the boardwalk?"

Minghao hums. “Yeah, the line for ice cream’s probably long.”

“Okay, good,” Seokmin says before poking your shoulder aggressively, ignoring your complaints about how easily you bruise. “Gives me time to interrogate you.”

“Interrogate me?” you ask incredulously. “About what?”

He raises his hand, and you prepare yourself for the worst. It’s over for you the moment Seokmin begins listing things off his fingers. “You willingly sat in the backseat with Mingyu on the way here, you willingly talked to him for the entire car ride, and you willingly offered to go with him to get ice cream.”

“Hardly things to interrogate me over.”

“Hardly things to interrogate me over,” he mimics. “Don’t be ridiculous. Are you guys dating again?”

“What?”

“Ah. Have you two eloped?”

Minghao snorts as he opens the cap to his sunscreen. “Don’t be ridiculous. They’re just engaged.”

Seokmin places a hand on his chest. “Oh, thank goodness—”

“Are you guys insane?” you shriek, briefly scanning the beach in hopes nobody heard your friends’ remarks. “We just talked yesterday.”

“Oh,” Minghao muses, throwing the sunscreen over your head for Seokmin to catch. “And that’s it?”

“That’s it,” you confirm. “What else would there be?”

Minghao shrugs as he rubs the cream onto his arms. “Nothing, I guess.”

A noise escapes Seokmin’s throat, something akin to disagreement. You whip your head to face him as he raises his hands up in defence. “What is it?” you ask him.

“I just…” he waves his hand in the air with a small pout on his lips. “I’m confused, I guess. Everything’s resolved now? Just like that? We’re all friends again?”

“I wouldn’t say we’re friends,” you huff. “I don’t know what we are, either. But we have the rest of the summer to figure that out, so why the rush?”

Seokmin leans back on his elbows. “Well, whatever the two of you are, I’m glad you two talked, it was long overdue.”

Minghao nods in agreement.

From a few feet away, Seungkwan’s voice is loud amongst the waves crashing onto shore, the families relaxing under beach umbrellas, and the seagulls soaring through the sky. “Mingyu!” he exclaims in disbelief. “You didn’t drop any!”

You can’t catch a good glimpse of him without craning your neck, but his voice alone is enough to quicken your heartbeat. “Yeah, I know,” you hear him say, “I told you guys I’m not completely hopeless. Seven Drumsticks, all in perfect condition. Vernon, did you want the original flavour?”

It only takes a couple moments before he’s in your line of sight, standing in front of you with the sun’s blinding rays crowning his head like a halo. He grins, letting his sunglasses slip down his nose so you can see his eyes, and hands you a cone.

“Thanks,” you say.

His grin widens, just a little. “Don’t mention it. Hao, which one do you want?”

Once everyone’s finished their ice cream (and after a long debate that occurred due to Chan innocently asking for advice on what to do about his roommates back at his on-campus apartment), Seungkwan manages to find a beach volleyball court that’s unoccupied and persuades everyone to participate.

One set to ten points turns into the best out of three, and when your team begins to buckle under the pressure, Seungkwan suggests something with a sinister grin. “Losing team has to get buried under the sand and stay there for fifteen minutes.”

“Ten,” Seokmin negotiates.

“Twelve.”

“Five.”

Seungkwan squints. “You can’t go lower, that’s not how a negotiation works.”

“One person from the losing team gets buried under the sand for ten minutes and has to pay for dinner,” Chan says.

Seungkwan snaps his fingers before pointing to him. “Deal.”

It all ends, as expected, with Seungkwan’s team victorious. The three boys on the other side of the net exchange high-fives before returning to you and your sullen teammates with cocky grins. Minghao urges all of you to play a game of rock, paper, scissors to decide the true loser of today, and though you feigned indifference when you fumbled the last ball, the mask speedily cracks when the last two people left is you and Mingyu.

(“A duel between lovers,” Chan sighs dramatically. Minghao pinches his side).

Your eyes meet his, and something flickers in his expression. Gone too quick for you to decipher, but something in the back of your mind tells you that you should know exactly what he’s about to do.

Seokmin booms, “Rock, paper, scissors!”

You ball your hand into a fist and Mingyu curls his fingers into his palm except for two.

“Scissors beats rock,” Vernon slaps him on the back sympathetically before pointing at the ground. “Get comfortable, dude.”

With the amount of eagerness your friends exhibit, Mingyu is buried in minutes, stiff under the copious warm dust he’s under. Seokmin, with sand sticking to his hands, ruffles Mingyu’s hair and laughs when the latter crinkles his nose in disgust. Taking his sunglasses from his bag, you place them on the bridge of nose and brush off anything that got on his face.

“Thank you,” he says.

“Don’t mention it,” you echo. “I’m sure you’ll have fun here.”

He kisses his teeth in annoyance. “Oh, I bet. Once I get out of here, I’m gonna have tan lines on my collarbone.”

You smile. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I can stay here with you.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Really?”

“You’re here for ten minutes by yourself and the reason we lost is because of me,” you say, wincing at the memory of Seokmin and Chan shouting for you to retrieve the ball despite it being too far away for you to save. “It’s the least I could do.”

“Maybe,” he murmurs. “Since I let you win rock, paper, scissors.”

You blink at him. “I’m sorry?”

“You always choose rock.”

“What? Then why’d you choose scissors?”

Mingyu attempts to shrug and scowls when he can’t.

You flick his forehead. “You didn’t have to do that for me.”

“I wanted to.”

“Of course,” you snicker. “And how are you finding it underneath all that sand?”

He doesn’t even bother to pretend to be nonchalant. “Oh, it’s the worst. It’s slightly better with you here, though.”

You turn to look at the sea. “You can’t just say stuff like that.”

“Why not?” he pouts. “I thought we were going to tell each other stuff from now on. You know, communicate better.”

“Well, still.”

“I’m just saying what I’m thinking!”

“You’re ridiculous.”

He laughs, loud and boisterous and it heals something in your very being. There’s a mirth in his eyes you haven’t seen in a long time, and you yearn to hear it again. Mingyu has always been beautiful, but he’s even more so when he’s happy, a boy so golden he could rival the sun and the stars in its beauty.

And he would win, you think.

(What you don’t know is that Mingyu thinks the same of you. Many things have changed, but one thing that never will is how much you shine. The sky and all its confidants, try as they might, would never rid you of your luster. To him, they’ll never prevail).

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you question.

He smiles. “No reason.”

Considering the fact that you spent a good part of your childhood running around the mall and giving into the urge of buying things you’ll never need, it’s a surprise that you forgot just how busy it gets during the summer.

(“Wow,” Mingyu had said. “You avoid me and this town for three years and suddenly you forget everything about it?”)

(He, along with everyone you’ve grown up with, will never let you live this down).

It’s a miracle the four of you even found somewhere to sit in the food court — a booth, no less. Part of you wonders if Seokmin sweet-talked a family into giving up this table for him, and you feel only a sliver of pity for whoever has to eat in an area that’s affected by the vibrant rays of the sun.

Once Minghao and Seokmin have returned from buying their food, they send you and Mingyu off to get your lunch with the promise that they’ll wait for you both before they start eating. Mingyu walks ahead, careful not to trip over anyone as he observes the signs of each food joint you pass, and glances over his shoulder to make sure you haven’t gotten lost in the crowd amid his indecision.

“What are you getting?” he asks once the two of you can hear each other above the many mallgoers.

“Don’t know. Pad Thai, maybe.”

“Nice. I was thinking getting a burger at Burger King, but…” he gestures towards the long line and winces. “I don’t have the patience for that.”

“So?”

“So, what?”

“What are you going to eat then?”

“Oh,” Mingyu frowns before shrugging nonchalantly. “Pad Thai it is, then. I think that has the shortest line.”

“Really? When we passed by KFC it didn’t look too bad—”

Mingyu turns, pointing to the Thai place across from you. “Pad Thai! Let’s go before the line gets any longer,” he proclaims, wrapping a hand around your elbow and gently tugging you towards the smell of stir-fry.

It’s easy to fall back into rhythm with Mingyu — so much so that it scares you, just a little. While you assumed it wouldn’t have been too weird once the barrier of the old relationship was removed, you hadn’t thought it would’ve been this comfortable. You assumed everything would be stilted for a short period before the puzzle pieces returned to their places, but this was unpredictable. This is familiar (everything with Mingyu always is); more familiar than riding a bike, or the scar on your knee, or your mom’s tendency to hover over you now that you’ve returned.

His skin against yours all while offering to lend you his jacket and pay for your food could be seen as simple acts of friendship — and if it were anybody else, you would agree, but your ties with each other, since the beginning of time, have regularly toed the line of romantic. It is a fact you cannot deny, and trying to do so would be like saying the sky is green or oxygen isn’t a requirement for survival.

The void in your chest used to be in the shape of him — freshly eighteen and brought down by his expectations along with everybody else’s — and you have tried other remedies to heal it: avoidance, sinking into other people’s sheets, tossing every physical memory you have of him in a box that you never ended up donating.

Who knew that the void would be filled by the same boy who caused it? Only this time, he’s standing in front of you, a little taller, sporting a different haircut, and learning how to live on his own terms.

“Fuck,” he says as he digs through his wallet. “I think I don’t have any cash to pay with. Man, I really didn’t want to use my credit card today.”

“It’s fine,” you say. “I’ll pay. You already gave me your jacket even though I said you didn’t have to.”

“You were cold,” he argues. “If you didn’t want me to give it to you, then maybe don’t get cold next time.”

You scoff. “Well, tell whoever’s managing the A/C to turn it down. It’s like stepping into a freezer in here.”

Mingyu mutters — something along the lines of so dramatic — before he shifts the position of his open wallet in his hands and continues digging for bills that aren’t there. What is there, however, is a photo all too familiar.

You place a hand on his wrist to stop him from moving. “Hey, is that a picture of me?”

Mingyu freezes. Then, he pulls away from your grip. “No.”

“Okay. Then who was it?”

You stare at each other for a beat too long, interrupted by someone asking if you can move up the line, and it’s only then that Mingyu turns away, bashful, and murmuring, “Okay, fine. It’s you.”

You try not to let the giddiness get to you. “And why, exactly, do you have a picture of me in there?”

“It’s not just you,” he lies. “Minghao and Seokmin are also in there.”

“No, I don’t think so,” you reply matter-of-factly. “I got a good glimpse, and I think it was just me.”

He tuts. “Believe what you want to believe.”

“I’m choosing to believe the truth.”

He sulks, taking another step towards the register. “You’re finding this too funny for my liking.”

“I’m not! I think it’s cute,” you object. “Why is it in there in the first place?”

“Maybe I just wanted to put it in there, it’s a good photo!”

“Of course.”

“You’re photogenic,” he adds. “Besides, what’s wrong with keeping a photo of my friend in my wallet?”

The question escapes you before you can think twice. “Is that what we are?”

Mingyu quietens, uncertain. Then, after rapidly fighting an internal battle, he says, “Before everything else, you’re my best friend.”

You nod because that’s the case for you, too. “But?”

His digs his teeth into his bottom lip before he opens his mouth, the answer on the tip of his tongue.

“I—”

“Next, please!”

Mingyu flinches, but it only takes a glance at the long line behind him before he’s grabbing his credit card. “C’mon,” he interlocks his pinky with yours. “Order what you want, it’s on me.”

“Mingyu—”

He gives you a smile. “It’s fine,” he assures quietly. “I want to.”

(In his wallet is a candid polaroid — a person on the beach, laughing at a joke made by someone who hasn’t been photographed. The picture has no crinkles, either because it’s deeply cherished or because it’s new — maybe both is the case.

It replaces an older photo, one that’s years old, taken while he was in high school of the same person. Still candid, still radiant, still laughing. He’s treasured it for years, but he decides it’s time to relocate it. Maybe when he gets back to his apartment, he’ll put it on his fridge. It was looking a little empty, anyway).

Mingyu doesn’t particularly like it here. It brings up old feelings he’s working to retire as well as a medley of insecurities and unease.

But he would be lying if he said that the bad was the only thing this town has to offer.

The skatepark brings comfort, a corner of the world where freedom comes from touching the sky in the seconds his board lifts from the ground, a playground of cement and ramps and splintered benches found under trees that have been alive far longer than he has. It comes from his friends’ homes; Seungkwan’s spacious backyard and Seokmin’s living room where drink rings litter the coffee table as a consequence of never using the coasters.

It comes from the people. It comes from his family, who hugs him tight and listens to every concern he has under the sun. It comes from his friends, a group of rambunctious people who he has too many inside jokes with, and who drag him into shenanigans he has no option of backing out of.

It comes from you. Comfort always comes from you.

From where he stands in the corner, he watches you scour the karaoke song book, protesting all of Chan’s suggestions before entering a number onto the TV. Then you squint at the lyrics on the screen before you begin singing.

The others in the living room are in awe, captivated despite your inability to hold a note. Your gleeful smile makes up for what you lack in the singing department, and Mingyu supposes he’s no different than everybody else when you meet his eyes in the crowd and his palms begin to sweat. You hold his gaze for far too long, causing you to lose your spot in the song, and you sheepishly turn away before trying to make up for your mistakes.

He stays until the end, the loudest to clap despite your score being nothing exciting (it’s exciting to him, and that’s all that matters), and raises his hand in greeting with a silent promise to see you later when you’re pulled into a conversation with someone you used to play badminton with.

He ducks into the kitchen before he’s forced to engage in more small talk with another person. His footsteps quicken along with his growing desire to grab another beer, hidden behind the soda cans Seungkwan shoved inside for the party.

(Mingyu doesn’t entirely know what or who this party is for. He only recalls the texts between him and Minghao three days prior:

hao 👨‍🎨 > party at seungkwan’s on saturday

mingyu > not coming

hao 👨‍🎨 > 😐 ok ur loss > y/n is tho

mingyu > … i’ll bring my mom’s brownies).

Mingyu opens the can the moment it’s in his hands, relishing in the temporary sound of fizzing before taking a sip. The only straggler in the kitchen is him; everyone gathered in the living room the moment Seungkwan turned the karaoke machine on. He situates himself so he can see just through the threshold, keeping an eye out for the moment you’re free so he can pull you aside to talk.

About what, he doesn’t know. Winging it has always been his thing.

“Yo, Mingyu,” Seokmin greets as he makes his way to the fridge. “What are you doing in here?”

“Hiding.”

“It’s nice to know some things haven’t changed,” Seokmin quips, digging through the variety of drinks, “you’re still a loser.”

“You love me.”

“Oh, of course, that was never in question. It doesn’t change the fact that you’re a loser.”

Mingyu rolls his eyes. “I hate you.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What are you looking for?”

“Sprite for me, beer for Vernon.” He stands to his full height and cranes his neck to look at Mingyu around the fridge door. “Was that the last of it?”

“I think so, yeah.”

Seokmin doesn’t look that defeated when he grabs two cans of Sprite. “Maybe that’s for the best. He’s drunk enough as it is.” Off Mingyu’s confusion, Seokmin adds, “I know, he never gets wasted, but he’s on the waitlist for a screenwriting class, so he’s upset beyond repair.”

“And he’s always saying everyone else is more dramatic than he is.”

“Right? He’s only second on the waitlist, too.”

Mingyu laughs but his eyes involuntarily flicker back to the door to see if you’re still talking to other people. He frowns when he notices you’ve disappeared from where he spotted you last, and he debates taking out his phone and texting you to ask where you are.

Seokmin kisses his teeth. “Are you sure you want to stay in here by yourself? Y/N probably wants to talk to you.”

“They’re talking to other people. I’m fine waiting it out.”

Seokmin looks like he’s going to oppose Mingyu’s decisions, but he opts for shrugging instead. “Alright, if you say so. Don’t wait too long, though.”

“I won’t,” Mingyu promises. Seokmin begins his trek back to the living room, one soda dangling from each hand, when Mingyu suddenly calls out, “Hey, wait.”

Seokmin falters awkwardly in his step before turning around with furrowed eyebrows. “Yeah?”

“I, uh,” Mingyu rubs his neck, wincing. “I don’t think I ever apologized.”

The confusion on Seokmin’s face is wiped away to be replaced with triumph. He points an accusatory finger at his friend while his voice echoes in the four walls of the Boo kitchen. “I knew it! You did steal my beanie, you liar, the next time I visit you, I’m taking it back, and it better be in good condition! I can’t believe you took it with you across the country, that’s so fucked up—”

“Huh? No, what?” Mingyu says in disbelief. “For the last time, I didn’t steal your beanie—”

“Okay, sure, then who was it, then?”

“I don’t know!”

“Then what are you apologizing for?”

“For not listening to you!” Mingyu exclaims. “Back then, you told me to tell Y/N the truth and I didn’t listen when I should have. If I did, you and Hao wouldn’t have been put in the middle of everything.”

“Oh,” Seokmin makes a face and waves him off. “Don’t worry about it.”

“But—”

“You made a mistake. A stupid one, yeah, and I’m probably never going to let you live it down, but,” he smiles gently, “we’re okay now. Just focus on what you’ll do about… you know.”

“…What?”

“You know,” Seokmin parrots. “Y/N. I mean, you still love them, don’t you?”

Without hesitation, Mingyu responds, “Well, no fucking shit.”

Seokmin makes a noise of satisfaction before turning on his heel. Over his shoulder, he singsongs, “Don’t fuck anything up!”

Mingyu scoffs. “I won’t!”

With each passing minute, the night gets livelier, and Mingyu ends up re-entering the living room and talking to other people despite his internal insistence not to. It keeps him busy, momentarily distracting him from the way his heartrate spikes at the thought of speaking to you tonight.

In the middle of his conversation with a former basketball teammate, a microphone ends up in his hands, and before he can blink, he’s pushed in front of the TV. It takes him a moment too long before he realizes that he’s been forced to sing a duet with you.

(Behind the couch, Minghao snorts at Seokmin’s devilish grin.

“I thought I told you to stay out of it.”

“I am!” Seokmin says, “I’m only giving them a slight push in the right direction!”)

The timer begins counting down.

Five.

“Just so you know,” you begin, “Seungkwan and Chan are going after us. We have to score as high as possible.”

Four.

“I don’t think we can manage that, to be honest.”

Three.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re great at singing, so you can make up for how bad I am.”

Two.

“I don’t—”

One.

“Believe in yourself, Mingyu.”

You bring the microphone up to your lips and begin to sing, and he can only follow your movements.

It takes an unfathomable amount of willpower to stop himself from staring at you for the song’s entirety. He clenches his fist as he recites the lyrics, but when it gets to the bridge and it’s your turn to take the reins, Mingyu lets his guard down, his hand falling limply to his side as you laugh through your part.

He has never been an expert in love — few of the decisions he’s made in the name of it have seldom ended well — and when he was younger, the only thing he ever knew regarding it was you. Before, he thought that wouldn’t have been enough, that in order to be the person you deserved, he had to know more.

However, he’s older now, and things change with time.

You glance at him and the butterfly in his stomach rapidly flaps its wings.

(Other things don’t).

He doesn’t even know the song’s ended until arms wrap around his neck. He stumbles backwards before he forces himself to find his footing so he can properly return your excited hug. Mingyu pays no mind to the score flashing onscreen, nor the claps coming from everyone else; all he can smell is your shampoo, he feels your breath on his skin, and that is much more important than a karaoke score ever will be.

Seungkwan says, “That’s not even a good score.”

You loosen your grip around Mingyu so you can look at Seungkwan, and he immediately yearns for more. “Be quiet, this is the best I’ve gotten all night,” you retort. You turn to face Mingyu again, shaking him by the shoulders. “We did good! I told you to believe in yourself!”

Before he can reply, you’re pulled apart by Chan, who’s itching to take his turn. He rips the mics from his and your hands, and you slip from Mingyu’s fingers once again when Vernon asks you if you can help him look for another can of beer.

He exhales in defeat, accepts Chan shooing him away with grace, and slips outside.

He leans over the porch railing, staring at the watercolour sky, a mixture of pink and orange and yellow.

Mingyu hangs his head, wondering just how many more times you’ll get whisked away before he even has a chance to utter a word. He prefers smaller gatherings, because at least then he’d be able to talk to you with ease.

He’s not quite sure how many more times he’ll be able to stand by and watch you go before he loses his mind.

Behind him, the door slides open, and he assumes it’s Seokmin telling him to get a move on. But the footsteps sound different than his friend’s, and he immediately perks up when a familiar scent reaches his nose.

“Hey.”

Your frame enters his periphery, your university jacket hanging on your shoulders with the sleeves covering your hands.

Mingyu straightens. “Hi.”

You settle beside him, shoulder to shoulder, and Mingyu immediately relaxes. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, “what makes you think I’m not?”

“You’ve been hiding from everyone since the night began,” you answer. “You don’t wanna be here, huh?”

“Of course I want to be here.” You raise an eyebrow at his lie. “Okay, fine, I don’t really want to be here.”

“Then why’d you come?”

“…I thought it would’ve been fun.”

“Really?” you snort. “Do you even know what this party is for?”

“Well… no.”

He expects you to roll your eyes, but instead you sigh in relief. “Okay, that makes me feel better, because I don’t either.”

“Well, I only came because Minghao told me you’d be coming,” he confesses.

You tilt your head in confusion. “I only came because Seokmin told me you’d be coming.”

He furrows his eyebrows and spares a glance through the glass doors at his friends. “…Huh.”

You huff, following his gaze. “I swear they always have their nose in our business.”

Mingyu looks back at you. “You have to admit, though, they’re pretty good at luring us into parties we don’t want to attend,” he smirks good-naturedly. “Who knew you still had a soft spot for me?”

Turning away from him, flustered, you grumble, “Shut up, don’t act like you didn’t come here because you wanted to see me.”

“I’m not!” he proclaims. “In fact, I’m pretty sure I make it pretty obvious that I like seeing you.”

“You’re so cheesy.”

“Only for you.”

You lightly punch his arm when the laughs that escape his lips grow louder. “I thought I told you that you can’t just say stuff like that.”

“Why not?” he hums. “I mean what I say, Y/N.”

“I’m not saying you don’t, it’s just…” you place your arms on the railing, leaning forward to avoid eye contact, “It’s confusing, that’s all.”

Mingyu faces you while you face away, watches how you stare at the setting sun instead of him, and his heart clenches. When you went your separate ways, he craved to be near you again, but even next to him, you still feel so far away.

(In hindsight, maybe he should’ve planned out how to go about this beforehand).

“You used to say stuff like that all the time,” you explain. “You know, before, uh—”

“Yeah,” he murmurs.

A million scenarios flash through his mind; different results depending on what he says next. He’s typically so good at saying the right thing — his words got him out of trouble and charmed his neighbours — but he’s found that his voice fails him whenever he needs it the most. When he tried to muster the courage to tell you about everything, he was never able to, and he gave into the false reassurances his mind offered that all would be alright in the end.

But none of that matters, you had said. We’re here now.

“You know what I never understood?” you ask.

“What?”

“You don’t like it here. Not a lot, anyway,” you start, “so why did you keep coming back?”

“Well, my family’s here, you know. So are our friends,” he gulps. “And I thought you would be, too.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” He nudges your elbow. “Can I ask you something?”

You chance a glance at him. “Sure, yeah.”

“What you said the other day,” he murmurs, unblinking, “about how I would’ve been it for you, has that changed?”

“Why are you asking?”

He bites the inside of his cheek as his cheeks begin to redden. “Do you really need me to say it?”

You frown. “Say what—?”

“I love you,” he blurts out. “And I know that might be kind of weird, since a lot’s changed since we last saw each other, but that’s the one thing I haven’t been able to shake. Not that— not that I ever wanted to— I just… I think it’s a part of me. Like I was born with it.”

You look at him, eyes glassy, unable to speak.

“But y’know what’s weirder?” he adds. “I’m pretty sure I’ll never get sick of it.”

It’s his turn to face away, turning towards the sun as you stare at the side of his face. The silence drenches the backyard like sudden, thunderous rainfall. For him, it’s unwelcome, and his eardrums echo with his confession.

He tries his best to hide his lovesickness, but the intensity of his longing prevents him from doing so. For the entire summer — perhaps for years, really — he’s been pushing it all down. He’s tired of it all. Of hiding, of pretending, of brushing off his esurient desire for you.

“It’s not weird,” you say, finally, saving him from his misery.

“Sorry?”

“You said it’s weird that you still love me,” you muse. “But I don’t think it is. It wouldn’t be fair of me to.”

His lips part. “What do you—?”

“Of course you’re it for me, Mingyu,” you tell him frustratedly. “You have been since the beginning of time. I don’t want you to go a day without believing it. I know what it’s like to live with you and to live without you, and I really prefer the first option.”

Mingyu’s pretty sure his brain short-circuits.

With quick movements, he inches closer to you, eyes flickering down to your lips before he asks, “Really?”

“What do you mean, really? Why would I—?”

“Can I kiss you?” he interrupts, slowly moving his hands closer to your face. “Please?”

He’s sure the longing in your eyes is wild enough to rival his.

(What an odd turn of events, is it not? Despite being on opposite sides of the country, you used to believe there weren’t enough miles between you and Mingyu for you to heal properly. But now, with his lips hovering over yours, you’re beginning to think that he is not close enough).

You take his face into your hands, and you kiss him.

Mingyu stumbles, surprised by your fervor, but matches it with ease. His hands move from your face to your waist, pulling you flush against him as he moves to have his back against the railing. Your fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck, and he surprises himself with a moan at just how much he’s missed it — your hands pulling at his locks, his lips against yours.

He used to pray for this.

When you pull away to catch your breath, he chases you, too dazed to acknowledge your amused mien. You go to peck his lips to soothe him, but he makes sure to hold you against him, his hunger far from satiated.

He stops himself for a moment, breath hot on your skin. “Do you wanna get out of here?”

You smile against his mouth. “I think that’s the best idea you’ve had all night.”

“I feel like you’ve been faking it.”

“I have not.”

“You definitely have. Skateboarding isn’t that hard.”

Mingyu throws his arm around you in defence. “Hey, give them a break, Minghao.”

“Yeah!” Seokmin pipes up, “Y/N was just terrible at it because they can’t balance at all.”

“You know,” you grunt, crossing your arms, “I thought you guys would be proud of me for finally managing to skate across the park without actually falling.”

“I’m proud of you,” Mingyu says, pecking the side of your head. “And I think that’s all that matters.”

“Thank you, I can always count on you having my back,” you say, leaning further into him and pointedly glaring at the other two boys in front of you.

Seokmin waves you off. “Hey, I think this might be the first time ever you didn’t get injured at the skatepark.”

You go to protest before frowning. “…I think you’re right, actually. That’s so weird.”

Minghao snorts. “Maybe we should teach you some tricks then.”

You glance at Mingyu, and he seems to really be considering it. “Oh, absolutely not. Are you trying to kill me?”

“I’ll teach you the easy ones!” Mingyu begins, standing in front of you so he’s all you see. He places his hands on your shoulders and squeezes them in reassurance. “You’re already a pro at just skating around, so this should be a piece of cake!”

“Mingyu,” you whine.

“Please,” he matches your tone. “I like teaching you stuff! It’ll be fun!” he lets go of your shoulders and rolls the board so it’s by your feet and offers you his hand as if you’ll need help getting on. “I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

Your wariness is squashed the moment he flashes you a soothing smile.

You sigh. “You promise?”

He crosses his heart. “With everything that I have.”

Without a second thought, you place your hand in his.

He squeezes it immediately in a silent vow:

I’ll be here to catch you if you fall.

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meistwentyinchheels · 2 months ago

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having many thoughts about percy (he drives me insane) idk what the kf devs put into this man, but i swear i'm addicted. like the more i learn about him the more obsessed i become,,,i think i'm mentally ill

anyways since i think a lot about him (and my kf mc, may. might actually drop a lore post on her at some point) i will now be sharing some of those thoughts. also have a strong feeling this post is gonna end up pretty long just as a heads up lmfao

also a lot of this is just speculation on my part and me trying my best to analyze the little amount of information we have as of the moment. just as a disclaimer, anyways!

out of the three love interests i genuinely think percy might be the angstiest route for the following reasons (under the cut):

like first off, the devs have mentioned in the past that one of the routes will have a forced breakup to serve the greater narrative (this was mentioned a really long time ago tho so it might've been subject to change, but since we have nothing that proves otherwise i am running with it.) and i do not believe in any way that it could be elio,,,unless the devs decide to throw us a curveball lmao jamie is still an option and he was my first thought when i found out about the breakup route, butttt i doubt it'd be him. so from process of elimination that only leaves percy. he's also the only one out of the lis that has been in relationships before and judging from past asks i'm assumingggg that those past experiences most likely still affect him.

second, every single mention of his family has been vague at best and there's been ZERO mention of his mother. in the asks only his dad has ever been mentioned and also in the studying event if u go off with percy and elio, go to check out the polo club and choose to stay back with percy he'll mention that he moved to the states with his dad. normally people would mention both parents, but percy didn't so it's likely his parents divorced at some point? also i had a whole ass supposedly sound argument here, but it got disproven bc apparently his step-dad also came with them to the states??? like yes it does still prove that his parents r divorced, but it can also imply he has 2 dads. that's so funny i love it. okay moving onto my actual point!!! since percy is a child of divorce it's likely also affected his view of love and romantic relationships. possibly in a skewed way, but who knows so that does add to the angst factor QUITE a bit

finally, percy's avoidant and deferring nature. during the festival event if you split up and then go to check out the festival games you end up running into percy, which is when the game tells you that he tends to defer to what others want and seems to be perkier exploring the games by himself. there's also a few occasions in-game where if the mc tries to ask percy about himself he tends to either A. brush the topic off or B. push the attention onto someone else (usually elio?). so i'd assume that he dislikes talking about himself? which would mean it would take him a good while to open up. which isn't inherently a bad thing, but it can also cause communication issues so. sigh.

is this flimsy evidence? yes! but do i care? no! also i would do a deeper dive into this if i was actually good at analyzing character behaviors,,,and if not for the fact that at the time i'm writing this it's 1am on a school night. there's also so many other things i could have talked about!!! like his name!!! maybe some other day. so like. do with all this information what you will. bc i certainly will!!! i have so many ideas!! many angsty notes!!! be prepared.

#keyframes vn #perseus tozaki #percy tozaki #author ely's shenanigans #if i'm wrong on any of this then PLEASE tell me #also ty to the discord server for correcting me bc i would have 100 percent embarrassed myself on here if they hadn't lmao #anyways!#i think a lot about percy #need to gently hold him in my hands #then squish him

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sadseungmin · 7 months ago

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not sure if u do yandere content but yandere!felix that’s sweet and kind at first but after he lures u in he shows his true colours that he’s actually sadistic, manipulative and isolating after he finds out u have hanging out with ur male friends for way too long.

also can i be 🎧 anon? :D

♡ dating a yandere lee felix ♡

yandere lee felix x afab reader | dead dove | nsfw (MDNI)

p.s. i hope this is to your liking, 🎧! if you're not too shy, tell me in my dms, ok?

p.s.s. and of course you can be 🎧 anon! ^^

⚠︎ tw: mentioned forced breeding, physical violence, & murder

『 ↳♡･ﾟ yandere!felix is sweet & kind...until he isn't. ೃ⁀➷

Felix, with his charming smile, galaxy of freckles, and endearing demeanor, effortlessly captures hearts. To all who know him, he is the epitome of kindness and warmth, a beacon of light that draws everyone in—including you. However, beneath this sweet exterior lies a dark, obsessive nature that he meticulously conceals until he discovers you've been spending too much time with your male friends.

"Why do you need male friends? Aren't I enough for you, darling?"

♡ *̥˚ yandere!felix lures you in *̥˚ ♡

Felix's initial approach is nothing short of perfect. He showers you with affection, attention, and thoughtful gestures that make you feel like the center of his universe. He listens intently, remembers every detail, and always seems to know exactly what to say to make you smile. Felix is patient, never rushing the relationship, instead allowing it to blossom naturally—or so it seems.

What exactly about Felix lures you in...?

yandere!felix is charming & attentive: he makes sure every interaction is meaningful, creating a sense of deep connection.

yandere!felix makes thoughtful gestures: small gifts, surprise dates, and heartfelt compliments are his tools to win over your heart.

yandere!felix is patient & understanding: he gives you space and never pressures you, creating an illusion of a healthy respectful relationship.

"I saw this necklace and just had to get it for you. It's your birthstone, isn't it? The shade of the gem matches your eyes perfectly, darling. You should wear it to our picnic date later today. Oh, I didn't tell you? I planned for us to have a late lunch by the Han River!"

♡ *̥˚ yandere!felix shows his true colors *̥˚ ♡

Felix's façade begins to crack when he notices you spending time with your male friends. His once subtle jealousy soon morphs into an all-consuming obsession. The mere thought of anyone else having your attention drives him to the brink, revealing a darker side he had carefully hidden.

How does Felix show his true colors...?

yandere!felix uses subtle manipulation: Felix starts to express slight discomfort whenever you mention your male friends, planting seeds of doubt and guilt.

yandere!felix is showing increased possessiveness: He becomes more clingy, insisting on spending more time together and subtly discouraging interactions with others.

yandere!felix makes veiled threats: Felix's sweet words take on a sharper edge, hinting at the consequences of betraying his trust.

"I don't like you hanging out with them. It's obvious they want to take you away from me! They only spend time with you because they want to defile you—they want to fuck you. Do I need to put a baby in you, darling? Do I need to pump your cunt full of my cum to give a nine-month reminder to your little friends that you're mine and only mine?"

♡ *̥˚ yandere!felix is sadistic, manipulative, & wants to isolate you *̥˚ ♡

Once Felix feels he has secured your trust and affection, his true nature begins to emerge. He no longer hides his jealousy and possessiveness, instead using them as tools to control and isolate you.

How does Felix demonstrate these three traits...?

yandere!felix uses isolation tactics: Felix gradually cuts off your contact with your friends and family, using guilt trips and emotional manipulation. He convinces you that no one truly understands, loves, or cares for you like he does.

yandere!felix has sadistic tendencies: Felix takes pleasure in your discomfort and fear. he may resort to psychological torture, such as gaslighting, to make you doubt your own sanity and rely solely on him.

yandere!felix is manipulatively controlling: He carefully monitors your every move, controlling who you talk to, where you go, and what you do. Any act of defiance is met with punishment, disguised as concern for your well-being.

"Darling, you're being irrational and hurting my feelings. I only want what's best for you. If I were the 'sick individual' you claim I am, I wouldn't care to protect you from those losers you call friends. They don't love you; they don't care about you like I do. They wouldn't die for you like I would. There's no one in this world who can love you better than myself, sweetheart."

♡ *̥˚ yandere!felix is a psychopath *̥˚ ♡

Felix's possessiveness continues to escalate to terrifying levels, and he decides a more permanent solution is needed to ensure you remain his forever. His mask shatters completely, revealing a violent and murderous psychopath.

How do you know Felix is a violent & murderous psychopath...?

yandere!felix uses physical violence to instill fear & intimidation: Felix's temper becomes unpredictable and flares uncontrollably, with outbursts of anger that keeps you in a constant state of fear and submission. He begins to physically harm you, using your fear and pain to assert his dominance. Bruises (on your face, neck, torso, and limbs) and cuts (on your thighs, torso, and back) become a grim reminder of his control.

yandere!felix has muderous intent: Unable to tolerate any perceived threat to his relationship, Felix finally resorts to murder. He meticulously plans and executes the killings of your male friends, ensuring that they never come between he and you ever again. His murders are not crimes of passion but cold, calculated acts. He ensures that no evidence can trace back to him, using his charm and ethereal good looks to maintain an alibi and an innocent image.

yandere!felix uses psychological torture: Felix will taunt you with knowledge of his crimes, using your fear and guilt to further isolate and control you. He revels in your terror, taking sadistic pleasure in your helplessness.

"I got you a gift as an apology for slapping you earlier; it's a ring. You know I love you more than life itself, right? It hurts me more than it does you when I have to physically correct you. Anyway, the ring looks familiar, hm? Your friend—Chan, I think his name is—came over looking for you during your nap time. He accused me of keeping you hostage and said you're afraid of me. And, well, he threatened to get the cops involved if I didn't let him see you. So, I had to kill him. But before I disposed of his body, I noticed this ring. I think it will look much better on your finger than it ever did on his. Silver complements your skin tone so beautifully. Oh, y/n, don't cry! He was going to have you taken away from me. Chan left me no choice, darling."

#lee felix #lee yongbok #skz lee felix #skz lee yongbok #lee felix x reader #skz lee felix x reader #lee felix imagines #skz x reader #skz headcanons #skz imagines #yandere skz #yandere lee felix #yandere!lee felix #yandere!skz x reader #anon request #sadseungmin

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hetaherr · 1 year ago

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scent of tomorrow

: childe, thoma, wriothesley, kazuha, wanderer

: fluff, a little angst if u squint, all about smells

super self indulgent, literally thought of this in the shower lmao okay bye happy reading and reblog to win your 5050s <3

childe

scent is one of the senses you should put to use when childe is around. it is known to see and to feel is a privilege given that the man is often travelling in his line of work. but i implore you to not take smell for granted, for in his abscence all that shall be left in your home is the scent of his presence. you find yourself sinking into the cold and empty bed, the smell of him freshly out the shower will waft through the room, eventually dissipating in the following days. you remember his muscular arms wrapping around you shamelessly, a cheeky smile adorning his tired face as he begins to tickle you. take a whiff and it smells of water, clean and refreshing, it's slightly minty and it feels pristine. there are floral notes like the orange blossom, you can make out the innocence and playfulness- much like the purity that is his love for you. it's weird how the first time you met childe, the air was grim and smelled strongly of metal. it isn't hard to guess why, he looked intimidating and seemed far away. but now he was yours, all you can think about is how much you miss his joyful and refreshing antics- much like the aroma he brings and makes any space immediately feel like home.

thoma

though far away, you often find yourself transported into the charming yet quaint town of mondstadt. or at least what you pressume to be mondstadt. thoma smells like a freshly baked apple pie, vanilla and apple- and a little cinnamony as you've mentioned before. "my cinnamon boy" you will say while snugging into him on a cold rainy inazuma day, he feels warm and the smell of vanilla feels oddly comforting and relaxing. if you think about it he smells like walking into a kitchen with the oven on during christmas. he smells like the feeling of running fingers through your hair, cozy as you listen to him ramble about his day with the kamisato clan. it is the perfect feeling of nostalgia and pure comfort, the embodiment of fall. there is something so homely about his scent that makes you want to call your family or childhood friends again, he reminds you of the innocence of youth that is forever unattainable. he smells like the remembrance of the past and the security of the future that lies in his warm embrace.

wriothesley

there is something so on brand as you see those 3 in one soaps sitting so awkwardly in your shower, squeezed inbetween your fancy bottles of shower gels and all kinds of face and hair masks, body scrubs to keep yourself feeling clean. i suppose to this man, one bottle will do, and being clean is a 2 step process. however it's funny, he'll come home and a teasing grin will fall apon his face while chasing you around the living room- despite being exhausted from work- for a hug. "no hugs until you take a shower!" you can try shouting, squirming as he catches you. but trying is really all you can do. you can smell the musk that is his sweat, it's a little woody yet it makes you feel so very secure and safe- similar to the fortress he runs. a true sign of his hardwork, it may be a little gross as you return his hug- groaning as usual. but as he relishes in your touch, you can smell the lingering scent of that ridiculous soap he insists on using, it smells like jasmine. so pure and weirdly sensual as he tells you yet again that "i've missed you". its fascinating how his scent does such an accurate job at reminding you of his honesty in his work and in loving you. you may complain about his sweaty hugs and his odd taste in soaps but you do hope that the both of you stay in each other's embrace for just a little longer, before it's all washed away down the pipes.

kazuha

an honest laugh sounds across the beach, kazuha's hand unconsciously moving a piece of your hair away from your face as he listens to you speak. "you just smell different from how i imagined..." the sheepish remark sparks the feeling of surprise within his chest. when you first set eyes on the wandering samurai, the image of autumn and beautiful maple leaves falling from trees appears within your mind- a reasonable thought. but it couldn't be further from the truth. kazuha smells like summer, he smells like white musk and coconut. it's a little woody, fruity and floral at the same time, similar to his calm yet charming nature. it reminds you of the way he is able to remain so composed like the tranquil ocean while he manages to fluster you with his flowery words. at times you can faintly smell the sea breeze, salty and citrusy- but the scent comes and goes as does he, never staying in one spot for too long. under the sun as you lay with him atop a warm rock feeling the breeze, his scent is vast. one moment it feels like splashing in the ocean under the sun and the next it feels like watching the waves crash against the shore under the moonlight. he smells like the way you romanticise being at the beach, whether you are playing with your friends or sitting in a hammock, just watching and existing. be glad that everytime he is away, the beach will always feel like home.

wanderer

there is something so peaceful about waking up in the early mornings of spring, the crisp air and morning dew is something so miniscule yet so easy to love. but all you chose to look at is how his mouth is agape, brows slightly scrunched together, the motion of his chest falling and rising is the only thing moving in the still environment that surrounds you. at this moment as he wakes, you are greeted with the delightful aroma of lavender. unlike his usual stubborn and harsh behaviour, the scent of lavender only enhances how calm and tranquil it feels. it makes you laugh at how different his personalities seem throughout the day. his eyes narrow at you as his arm that drapes lazily across your waist pulls you closer. you can smell the aroma, surprised at how long it has lasted, you like how it reminds you of his devotion to you. there are times he smells like bergamot too. it smells like the sun, citrusy and a little playful. it dispells the shadows of despondency and anxiety, he smells like breathing the fresh air of morning walks. he smells like hanging the fresh laundry in the afternoon on a sunny yet windy day. the mixture of scents remind you of the elegance and purity that he is. a man capable of change and love, after being brought his sun.

#genshin impact x reader #childe x reader #thoma x reader #wriothesley x reader #kazuha x reader #wanderer x reader #scaramouche x reader

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lynnthefrenchtoast · 8 months ago

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why lyney x aether just makes sense

no traveller ship has ever rlly worked to me (other than ayaka bc it was very heavily hinted in canon) UNTIL TODAY. HERE IS MY FORMAL DISSERTATION ON WHY LYNETHER WORKS

neither of them have pairs - genshin purposefully does this thing where they pair up characters (eg: chongyun & xingqiu, jean & lisa) which is why there are so many popular ships in the fandom. i think lyney's effective pair is meant to be lynette & aether doesnt have one bc hes meant to be a player-insert but that leaves SO MUCH ROOM bc when you think about it the closest thing lyney has to a love interest IS AETHER

siblings - both of them are elder brothers and both are TWINS . they also both have a youngest sibling figure (freminet and paimon; dont tell me paimon isnt a younger sister figure bc if u open a modern au ALMOST ALWAYS she is presented as "aether and lumines younger sister") their backstories are similar (losing their other half) so they canonically understand each other (There's nothing in the world I treasure more than my family, so I know what it must be like for you -Lyney, Friendship LV4) THIS LEADS INTO MY OTHER POINT

the "i see past your mask" trope - this is a very popular trope (and one that ngl kills me everytime i read it bc it preys on the human desire to be fully understood) BUT it was made for lyney . if youve watched ouran highschool host club HIKARU AND KAORUS "we are the only two who understand each other... until haruhi arrived" IS NOT DISSIMILAR TO WHAT COULD HAPPEN WITH LYNEY, LYNETTE AND AETHER . and lyney was BORN to fit this trope bc he already has the whole fake, charming, extrovert persona he puts on. ("Actually, the real me is nowhere near as outgoing or chatty as I appear. (...) I think people would feel sorry for the real me." -Lyney, friendship LV6)

narrative - a big thing about ships is they need to have a faucet for tension . like xingyun is extremely hinted in canon but its nowhere near as popular as kavetham and zhongchi. why? because theyre just childhood best friends. nothing interesting about it. zhongchi especially is hugely popular bc of the potential for reconciliation after the osial arc (zhongli's "im sorry for manipulating you. it wasnt all fake i swear" sorta thing) AND YK WHAT ELSE HAS THAT??? FURINA REVEALING LYNEY AS FATUI IN THE TRIAL "im sorry for lying about my identity. it wasnt all fake" the core that makes ships like satosugu and zhongchi tragic is the betrayal of trust, and, well... ("Nothing could make me happier than having your trust." -Lyney, Ascension 4)

binary opposition - why is satosugu so popular? probably because its the whole 'cruel murderer villain' vs 'strongest hero' trope and audienced like sun vs moon . okay . AETHER IS LITERALLY THE HONORARY KNIGHT OF MONDSTADT, HERO OF LIYUE, ENEMY OF ETERNITY, FIRST SAGE OF BUER and lyney is THE FUTURE SUCCESSOR TO THE HOUSE OF HEARTH . the villain of genshin impact (currently) is the fatui so you cant get better than this.

canon hints - even if ships would theoretically work well and have potential for tension, they need to be grounded in the source material. so does lynether have that?

"Hmm, your eyes are like topaz, precious, pure, and lovely. I like them! I've decided — I'm going to put on a show just for you."

"I thought it was the radiance of the sunlight on my skin that I felt — turns out it was your radiance all along!"

"I should probably emphasize again that I'm rarely so open with anyone — I guess it's because you're not just anyone."

"It seems we're both keenly interested in each other. Well, know that the honor is mine! Haha, relax. I couldn't ever tell lies to your mesmerizing eyes — not even if I tried!"

"Doing all this for me... Are you trying to steal this magician's heart, by any chance? Well, in that case, congratulations, my dear apprentice — or should I say, "companion." For you have succeeded!"

canonically, lyney gets upset when aether thinks abt other things when hes in fromt of him. HES LIKE A POUTING CHILD THAT GOES "pay attention to me!!!" LMFAOO

the rainbow rose, need i say more? lyney literally gets flustered when lynette brings it up too pfft

most of the stuff he says can be attributed to lyney just being a flirt but in cases like the rainbow rose scene where he literally does it BECAUSE HE KNOWS AETHER WOULDNT GET IT... there is no platonic explanation bc if there was, if it meant Friendly Love THEN THE DEVELOPERS WOULDNT HAVE ADDED THE NOTE ABOUT LYNETTE NEVER GETTING ONE considering shes the most important person to lyney...

in conclusion, ive rambled for too freaking long but THEY WORK . AND THERES ALSO POTENTIAL FOR A WHOLE LONG DISTANCE YEARNING ARC BC AETHER ALWAYS TRAVELS SO... FANFIC WRITERS CHOP CHOP

#lynaether #genshin lyney #lyney #genshin impact lyney #satosugu #zhongchi #kavetham #aether #genshin impact #genshin aether #fontaine #lynette #paimon

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clubdionysus · 8 months ago

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[BAD DECISION #10] Blonde

warnings: b is in her bleach era. love that for her!! jaykay is in the chapter for like 1.5 seconds and still manages to be the best thing about it. also if u think wow holly sometimes your chapters end very similarly, uhhh yes. ur right. mainly because my brain is smooth but also because jungkook is a creature of habit! it’s within his character traits! not because im stupid! even if i am!

soundtrack: space - audrey nuna; blonde - maisie peters

wc: 3.5k

bd total wc: 540k (on-going)

minors dni | AO3 | series masterlist

You suppose you really shouldn't be surprised when Seokjin leaves you on read. It happens as soon as he escapes the city, just like it always does.

It's always the same; he'll come back to town for a few days - to visit friends, his family, or maybe for a haircut with the only barber he trusts - then leaves just as quickly as he comes.

The predictability of it all would be funny, you think, but your knees are getting worn out from how many times you fall for it; his charm, his deception, his pretty lips that soothe the burn of his selfish choices.

He'll be radio silent for a while, and then suddenly, as if he's finally changed the batteries in his walkie-talkie, he won't be. It'll most likely be when he's on his way back to town in a few months time.

The saddest part is that you know you'll want to see him when he does. Will have the burning desire to show him just how well you've been; how well you've coped without him.

Most of all? You'll want him to know just how much you don't need him.

Inevitably, he'll end up in your bed, and you'll end up all in your head - again - overthinking and underestimating just how easy it is for him to drop you. Forgetting just how badly he fucked you up, only for him to remind you in the most callous of ways.

When Danbi comes home on Thursday night - three days since Seokjin's last message - she knows exactly what's happened. You've got a special kind of pout reserved for Seokjin-related upsets. It's always a little soft yet incredibly hard to break.

"You gotta stop letting him in," she says over a glass of red. She hates the taste, but loves the soft buzz in the pit of her stomach. Though she's much better suited to Moscato, Danbi will never turn her nose up at free wine.

If she knew why you were drinking it, she might consider rejecting it.

Seokjin's favourite. You'd bought it on the way home from work. Just couldn't help yourself.

Had figured that at least when you hugged yourself to sleep that evening, your lips would taste like his used to do, on the nights when he'd tell you that you're the most delightful thing he's ever laid his eyes upon. Would be all giggly. Wine drunk. Happy. In love.

But it's been a while since he did that. Feels like a lifetime ago, now.

You shrug as you let the ruby red liquid swirl in your glass. Fighting against your feelings feels like swimming against the tide.

Always struggling to breathe. Never winning. Failing. Falling.

"I don't know how to, Dan."

"But you do," she insists.

And she's right. Of course you do.

His number has never been blocked, but a simple restriction of access to you would solve so many of your problems.

Thing is, you kind of like him still being your problem. At least that way, on a technicality, he's still yours. Kind of.

Every time he comes back to the city, it's still your bed that he ends up in.

Never for the night. Just for an hour or two - but for long enough for you to convince yourself that he can't stay away.

The lies you let your mind whisper are insidious. You're irresistible. He's still just as affected by you as you are by him. He can't possibly leave you.

And yet he does, each and every time.

He doesn't ever let you go. Not fully. Whenever you think you're getting over it, he shows up just to get you under him; his thumb, his spell, his body.

You're halfway through the bottle of wine when Danbi tells you once more that you need to get Seokjin out of your hair.

You've reached the end of it by the time you're grabbing your purse and heading for the closest Olive Young.

It's just down the street, by the crossroads that lead into town, and the staff there have seen you in worse states. A little tipsy has nothing on the mascara-stained eyes they used to be greeted with during the worst days of the breakup.

"Sure about this?" Danbi asks just to check before you take the boxes in your hands to the counter.

"Absolutely not - but he always hated me blonde," you grin a little sardonically. The happiness that comes with this change will be temporary, but you have to remind yourself that so was he. "At least even if I can't resist him, he'll resist me."

Peroxide and perhaps a little fried, your blonde hair had caught his attention in the early days - but you had dyed your hair dark in a bid to keep it.

He'd said some bullshit in a conversation amongst friends about his preferences, and how he favoured the 'natural look'. You weren't together at the time, not officially - but everyone there was a friend of his. They all knew you'd be going home with him. It only took two boxes of dye to get him asking to be exclusive. A week later he was introducing you to his friends as his girlfriend.

Funny what a little bit of conformity can do for a man who loves playing by the rules.

You assume his desire to tick the boxes and do what is expected of him is also why he was such a bellend when it came to the glitter you liked to dust yourself in.

Nobody's perfect though, so he was willing to overlook it. Was just one of the flaws he perceived in you. When you love someone, you accept them.

He ultimately never grew to love it, but for a while, you thought he might.

Bleach boxes in one hand, another bottle of wine in the other, you waste no time and head straight for the bathroom. Danbi follows you right in. She's always there to lend a hand or at least provide a Spotify playlist to get you through your woes.

Folding the powder into the developing lotion by the sink, you know your bleach-induced bathroom antics could get you a spot in a Brad Mondo video.

All a little haphazard, you're without a mixing bowl and brush, so are having to use an old takeout container and a plastic spoon, instead.

It's not quite how the instructions suggest you should mix it all up, but no good ever comes from following the rules.

You'd tried for Seokjin, and look where that got you.

Unlike him, trusty Tupperware has never done you dirty before. No reason why it should now.

Danbi sits on the closed toilet seat, legs crossed, a small bottle of bubbles in her hand. The bubbles had been a Christmas party favour from the office job she'd quit four months ago. Rediscovered when she'd been cleaning her room earlier that day, Danbi had taken to blowing pretty little bubble flurries your way all afternoon.

Your reflection is captured in the peacock sheen of the bubbles while you study your rapidly developing hair in the mirror.

You haven't bothered to change out of your shirt. It's not yours. One of Seokjin's. It's navy, and you hope the bleach ruins it.

"I think I've fucked up," you say all rather calmy, talking about your hair and not the shirt. It's not the end of the world if you have. Just hair, you always think.

Danbi shrugs. Has clearly spent too much time in your company, because she echoes exactly what you're thinking: "Just hair, babe. It'll grow."

That's the joy of your friendship; you both encourage each other with the same dumb remarks whenever you feel like you've reached the point of no return.

After all, if you can't go back?

Go forward.

"Plus," she adds, blowing more bubbles instead of taking a breath. "You can just chalk it up to being your hot mess era."

"Been in that for months already," you smile at her in the reflection of the mirror. You prod a little at your roots, and know that you definitely should have waited a little longer to work the bleach up to them. Bollocks.

You've done this enough times to know you'll end up with a gold band haloing around the top of your hair thanks to how easily your roots always lift. Nightmare.

"Exactly, so you may as well look the part," Danbi encourages. Worst influence going, she is. Also the best at times, too. You find comfort in the fact she won't always say what you want to hear, but what you need to hear instead.

The conversation dissolves into empty chatter, gossip about Danbi's dog walking clients, mentions of Taehyung and how he's still trying to talk her into a mates-rates discount despite the fact they aren't actually 'mates'. She asked you about your Bartender That Smiles, and you say he's all good - before you have to insist there's nothing going on there.

"He's got issues with his ex," you explain.

She rolls her eyes. "Don't they all? Boys and their first loves, I swear to God."

"Not sure she was his first," you defend, though you're not sure why. The thought lingers as you rummage around for an old tube of toner that you know you have hiding in the bathroom cabinet somewhere. It's been a while since your hair was pale enough to take toner, so it's been pushed right to the back.

Danbi is shooed from her perch on the toilet seat and into the living room as you let the shower run to heat it a little.

The first crash of water against your skin is lukewarm. Tepid. Unappealing, but necessary.

You hate anything other than boiling-you-alive degrees Celsius, but know you need to be kind to your hair after the torture you've put it through. The water runs cloudy until the bleach is rinsed out, and then it runs purple thanks to your silver shampoo. It pools around your feet and seeps into the drain. Wishful thinking has you hoping memories of Seokjin will do just the same.

It's just to preemptively tone it, but you can't help but worry about the pigment taking too strongly on your roots.

The ash toner you found in the cupboard is in a box by the sink. You plan on putting that over the top of whatever mess your hair is anyway, but it doesn't hurt to get a head start on the process.

The water glistens a deep violet, briefly coating your skin - and for some reason, all you can think about is Jeongguk, and how you'd really like to be downing a Purple Starfucker (or five) with him right now. He really is the perfect distraction.

Still, you have a task at hand. You rinse your hair; ring it out. Sigh as you frown at the mess that greets you in the mirror - lilac roots, a yellow band haloing just like your thought it would, and silver ends. Brilliant.

It's as you're sitting with Danbi in the living room a little while later - body wrapped in a towel that isn't half as fluffy as Jeongguk's favourite, ashy toner smothering your peroxide blonde hair - that you notice your phone flash on the coffee table.

Danbi clocks it first, and stifles a laugh as she reads the screen. "Isn't that the guy from the club?"

You assume she means Jeongguk, and are a little perplexed to see it's Jimin's name on your screen instead.

"Yeah... Jimin. Smooth talker, shit shagger."

"A glowing review."

"Hey, I still let him think he was good," you say as you reach for your phone to read his message out loud to Danbi. "You guys out tomorrow night?"

Sipping on her wine, Danbi raises a brow. Shakes her head in confusion. "He hoping for round two?"

"Fuck knows."

It's just gone midnight, so you consider maybe he's thinking about his desire for a hook-up, and is hoping for a safe bet in the form of you.

And so you don't reply. If he double texts, you'll just lie and say you've fallen asleep.

The scent of your toner is beginning to give you a headache, so you go to rinse it and bid farewell to your final day as a brunette.

Sleep evades you. Doesn't want to let go of who you were, apparently. Wine makes you sleepy, and yet you're wired as if you've just had a triple shot americano.

But then it's three in the morning, and all you can seem to smell is the deep conditioner you bathed your hair in that evening.

Somehow, when you look to the empty space beside you - delicately ruffled, a dent prevailing in the pillow - you convince yourself that you can smell fig leaves and coconut. The notes of his favourite aftershave linger like the ache in your chest. It's hollow, and you can't work out why it hurts quite as much as it does.

If there's nothing there, how can it be so painful?

You sniff back tears that fail to truly form and pull your phone from beneath your pillow. It's hard to move your fingers when they're tangled up in puppet strings that Seokjin is refusing to let go of, but eventually you manage to tap through some Instagram stories in a bid to distract yourself from him.

Inspirational quotes don't do much for you, nor do the engagement pictures of people you haven't given a second thought since graduation. There's an abundance of them. Smiling faces. Diamonds, or maybe just cubic zirconia. Fresh sets of nails, hands that are pink and warm from the heat of whoever's been holding them.

It's a curious thought; what people who haven't spoken to you in years must think of you now.

You were the one who was going to succeed. Going far in life, made for a boardroom, would look incredible in a pantsuit - and yet you're working in a cafe, first-class degree of no more worth than the tissue paper you flush down the toilet.

See, you switched out life goals for glitter. You wear it like armour; protect yourself from the world around you. Who cares about seriousness and success when you're a constant disco? Not you. Could never be you.

Or at least, you hope that's what people think. Hope that no one realises you're covering yourself in artificial shine; like a canvas in acrylic because you were too impatient to watch the oil paint dry.

One day you'll glow. Glow for real.

For a while, you thought you had been with Seokjin.

All you see when you look in the mirror these days is tarnished silver; copper alloy pretending to be much more than what it really is. Your skin will turn green eventually.

There is, however, one person you've managed to fool.

When his story pops up - a repost of tomorrow night's paint party event at Dionysus - you find yourself clicking through to your DM thread without much thought. You know he's at work. Know it's a 50/50 whether or not he'll get back to you before your mind begins to berate you again for how miserable you feel.

It's a simple message - hey - and you're pleased that it's met with an equally simple reply not even a minute later.

JustJK: To what do I owe the pleasure?

You decided that 'I'm about to cry over my shitbag ex so chose to message you instead' probably won't be Jeongguk's favourite thing to hear, so you opt for a little white lie.

You: Just wondering how the kids are <3

Part of you worries he won't understand what the fuck you're on about - but of course, he does. He's Jeongguk. Gets you better than you get yourself, these days.

JustJK: Missing their mother.

JustJK: Perry the Pigeon almost fell earlier.

JustJK: Roger the Robin looks like he has a broken wing.

JustJK: Must be one of yours. Inherited his mother's wonkiness <3

With each message that comes through, your smile grows wider in the midnight darkness of your bedroom.

You: Careful or I'll file for joint custody.

You: Get poor Roger away from his father's cruel remarks </3

There's an ease to how you joke together, both aware of how unserious you are. There's no second-guessing, no worrying about saying the wrong thing. If you do, you'll say sorry and move on. No harm, no foul.

JustJK: Your appeal won't hold up in court, Byeol.

JustJK: You've neglected them ever since you spawned them.

JustJK: Haven't even paid them a visit!!!

Laughter stifles in your throat as your body curls up into a more comfortable position. The audacity of this boy, you think, ignoring the way he manages to get you entirely focused on something that isn't your own despair.

You: You've got full custody!!!

JustJK: And you're still allowed to come for supervised visits!!!!!

JustJK: smh and to think you call yourself their mother.

JustJK: I'm their mother now.

You pout at your screen, and whine a small little 'nooo'.

You: They need me :(

JustJK: Come and see them, then. They miss their mother.

You: Tomorrow?

He reads the messages instantly, but takes a little longer than usual to reply. It worries you slightly. Makes you more aware of your surroundings. The scent of Seokjin's aftershave begins to permeate the air once more.

Until, all rather suddenly, it doesn't anymore.

JustJK: I'm not working tomorrow night, but Jimin's insisting on going to the paint party - you coming?

You: Will Perry the Pigeon be there?

JustJK: If he falls before I leave for the club, then yes.

It's not a bad proposition. One that quite intrigues you. One that has you agreeing, and him telling you to fuck off and go to sleep. He's got work to do, he says.

It's actually quite quiet at the club - Yeonjun just caught him looking at his phone with a dumb smile a few too many times for Jeongguk's liking. Doesn't wanna get caught out again.

Especially doesn't want him catching onto the fact that there's a reason Jeongguk's eyes light up like Disco Balls when he looks at his phone.

Yeonjun doesn't really have friends who are girls, Jeongguk reasons with himself. Won't understand that he's perfectly capable of having a little flirt without it meaning anything more than that - after all, isn't that just what banter is? Friendly flirting? He does it with the boys all the time. Doesn't mean fuck all. Just fun.

Jeongguk's a couple of years older than his cerulean-haired coworker, and has learnt the hard way that you really shouldn't escalate friends above the level of purely platonic. One day Yeonjun will realise this.

For now, though, Yeonjun'll shag anyone who looks at him in the right direction. Has probably already ruined a few good friendships. Doesn't even realise he's done it.

Jeongguk trusts himself not to make the same mistakes he's made in the past with you. Thinks that he's pretty happy with how things are. Has missed the dynamics of friendships with girls. Is looking forward to Monday movie night with you and Danbi again.

And yet when he gets home to find Perry the paper pigeon on his bed, he can't help but smile.

You wake up to a picture of the fallen bird in your DMs - and even though you'll whine and complain about it when you see him that evening, all you can do is smile, too.

JustJK: Looks like we're having a wholesome family trip to Dionysus tonight.

You: Mummy and Daddy reunited at last <33 Perry will be so happy.

JustJK: It's okay, you don't have to lie.

JustJK: I know you're talking about yourself, not Perry.

Jeongguk doesn't send the message where he tells you not to call him Daddy. Knows you'll read into it; tease him about it. It's not like he's got a thing for it, or anything, he just... maybe wouldn't be opposed to it, and so he'd rather not be called it when he's having casual conversations with you. Wouldn't wanna get flustered.

Part of you already knows this. Is precisely why you'd said it. It's not really your style, not the kind of thing that gets you going.

But it is also exactly why you choose to end your next message with, 'See you tonight, Daddy x'.

You're laughing as you send it.

And as he receives it, Jeongguk groans. Buries his head into his pillow. Crumples Perry a little in the process. Whines.

"Don't fuck this up, Jeongguk."

AO3 | MASTERLIST | NEXT

#by holly #jk #jeongguk fanfic #jungkook fanfic #Jungkook Fanfiction #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #jungkook ff #jeongguk fic #bartender!jungkook #BD #bad decisions #bangtan #bts fanfic #dappleddaisies

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vaccariia · 2 months ago

Note

Omgg I love your keyframes fanart, your mc is sooo pretty <333. I need to hear your thoughts on Elio !! (If you feel like sharing ofc, I've been obsessed with him and i wanna know what other people think lol)

M.....MY FIRST ANON ASK????!?!? MY MC IS PRETTY?? AND A FELLOW ELIO FAN????? THANK U!!!!!

anon, you are opening the metaphorical pandora's box in me. i played the extended demo a few more times because i wanted to see elio again FOR RESEARCH so i think i'm ready to put my thoughts into paper

(Uhhh disclaimer, this is my first time doing something like this, normally i just keep my thoughts to myself. So everything under here is merely speculative and things i made up LOL)

(Also I took some screenshots and used them to reinforce some of my statements. Game and characters are not mine, they belong to blank house, etc. etc. please do let me know if screenshots are not allowed, i'd be more than willing to remove them from this post!)

______________________________________________________________

I want to begin by citing a post from the devs . Said post contains an ask summarizing the LI's into three words. For Elio, he's given the following descriptors:

Sweet, sensitive, wild Determined, hopeful, friendly

(First line is how the devs would describe Elio, second line would be how Elio probably sees himself)

And for the most part, the traits DO check out!! He's sweet, especially when he's with his boys <3 We've also seen him be considerate with the MC and others (i.e carrying groceries for mc and refilling bottles, among other instances)

But I do want to say that despite his wild and impulsive tendencies, he does have a more delicate side to him

When MC tags along with Percy and Elio for a snack run, they have the option to check out a plant stall manned by the horticulture club. It's in this part where he reveals to MC that he knows a lot about ferns, but there's a particular set of lines that made me feel that there's something more to Elio than he lets on

His reaction to seeing the staghorn fern and recounting his childhood tells me that Elio had some rather fond memories from his youth.

i'm probably projecting here, but he can also get a bit homesick because of it. (imagine being in Hawai'i your whole life and then having to move to NY for school. Guy probably had a hard time adjusting at first. I mean granted it's the same country, but different states still have different norms and values to go by)

Additionally, I find it quite interesting that Elio doesn't give himself credit (Or downplays himself) sometimes. Like, man was fighting for his life when he was being stickered by Rory. Ooor the part where he says that the gang doesn't have to celebrate his birthday

This leads me to assume that he's the type to look out for others and has the tendency of putting himself second...

I'm guessing Elio is also a big family man, judging by how fondly he speaks of his siblings. Aaaaaand he could also potentially be a bit of a hopeless romantic because he's hopeful about wanting to experience a love that's similar to his parents someday <3 <3 <3

So yeah, there! Elio is true to his name; a jovial man who embodies the light of the sun. He is loved by all, (except for most animals, i'm sorry </3) and he reciprocates that love tenfold. He's competitive and lively, but he can also show a softer side if he wants to hehe

Tl;dr: I LOVE ELIO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

#keyframes vn #elio kealoha #ask #THANK YOU FOR THE ASK ANON #I'LL TAKE ANY CHANCE TO GUSH ABOUT ELIO #keyframes mc #quincy de luna

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skatingbi · 11 months ago

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WELCOME TO PART 3 OF MY SANJI WITH HETEROCHROMIA SERIES!!!!

Oh my god. Yall are insane. 700+ Notes for part one of this series alone is crazy (Crazy? I was- *gets shot*). So heres part 3. I'll probably have to publish all this onto AO3 soon bc shits getting outta hand, but I like posting on this silly little site so I'll still be posting on here.

Uhhh this was posted WAY later than I anticipated bc i had a gnarly depressive episode and had to enroll into uni, but there aint no way id abandon this series, its too fun and i love experimenting with my baby writing style as i call it.

Okay thats it, just thank u all sm for enjoying my silly little series :) u guys are so sweet!!

P.S. Constructive criticism is OKAY! I havent written fanfic in like...10 years so since middle school. Im a baby at this and I understand if I may have several errors so pls lemme know if theres grammar mistakes!

Sanji With Heterochromia Series Part 3 below 🔻

Sanji lied. He does like the idiot. More than he's willing to admit. A few days after their conversation, Zoro distances himself. It leaves a nasty feeling in his gut similar to nausea but different from actually wanting to throw up. It feels apprehensive. He's waiting for something, but he doesn't know what yet. Sanji hates it. He hates how confused he is and how much he actually wants Zoro to touch him again. He hates the burning linger of scarred knuckles on his cheekbone that follows him wherever he goes.

He hates these feelings because he never learned how to really process them. He doesn't know if he has to blame himself, his shitty excuse of a father, or Zeff. Well, maybe not Zeff. The old man had enough on his plate while raising him as it was. Sanji decides to blame it on Judge because honestly, the root of most of his issues stems from that shitty old man anyway. Placing the blame on someone does little to actually help, but it's a distraction from his growing realization of how much he cares for Zoro.

He cares for Zoro. No, he holds an unreasonable amount of affection for the scarred swordsman that haunts his thoughts now more than ever. Fuck questioning sexuality when it's undeniable that he's absolutely whipped for the big idiot. Theres no room for denial anymore, not when his touch had become branded across Sanji's skin for the foreseeable future.

Stress cooking does little to soothe him and it's the same with smoking. At least Luffy gets to enjoy snacks to his hearts content. Its the little things, he tries to tell himself. He also reflects on his conversation with Zoro. How he honestly felt afraid of what he felt when the swordsman confronted him. He felt afraid of someone genuinely caring for his emotional wellbeing. He's anxious over what that means, what it would do to him if Zoro truely meant what he said. All the things voiced about him and the implications that he's...handsome in the eyes of Zoro.

Sanji is emotional. It comes with him being sentimental as well. He's the black sheep of his biological family in every way. He loved too hard, and got hurt too fast. He loved even when it ended in betrayal. Secretly, he loves unconditionally. What would happen if he loved Zoro like that, and what if it already happened and he's too late to stop it? Would Zoro hurt him just like everyone else has? Would he be pushed away eventually after the thrill of their theoretical short lived relationship?

It keeps him up at night, that conversation replaying in his head as he stares at Zoro's sleeping silhouette. He falls asleep to his breathing, echoing throughout the room over everyone else's breath and snores. He wakes up every morning before the sun greets him and pretends nothing happened in his dreams where Zoro's gentle touch and admiration lingers softly over his mind.

Zoro knows. Well, not exactly. He's not a mind reader like how Luffy seems to be, but he knows that distancing himself from Sanji is actually doing the opposite of what he thought it would do. At this point, the swordsman isnt sure where to go from here.

Sanji's actions contradict his words. Sanji stares at Zoro. Not so much that it's s uncomfortable but it's enough to be noticeable. Sometimes he swears he can see Sanji's eyes dart across his face and down to his lips before looking away. It's confusing. Didnt Sanji hate Zoro's advances towards him? Because thats what they were in hindsight.

Zoro was unconciously flirting with the cook in his own weird way. And yeah, he's a little stupid for not realizing the implications behind his actions at first, but it all started as genuine curiosity. He didnt mean for it to affect their rivalry. Now, he's not sure where to go from here.

It's driven him between a rock and a hard place and unforfunately for him, Nami decides to intervene again. This time, Nami drags Zoro to her and Robin's shared room on the Sunny for privacy and possibly interrogation. He's certain that this time he wont be able to escape. Unfortunate.

"Okay, so heres how this is gonna go," Zoro and Nami are now seated across from each other, where theres two beds and enough room for decent sized dressers on each side. Zoro sits on what he assums is Robin's bed with his arms crossed, "You will tell me everything- And i mean it! I will know if youre lying -and I will help you. Im sick and tired of you both being miserable and gay! It's giving everyone second hand embaressment." She demands, narrowing her eyes with a challenge for Zoro to protest or say no.

Zoro is smart enough to know what is and isn't a losing battle. This is one of those. Nami can be terrifyingly persistent once she sets her mind on something, and today it seems to be resolving the weird and awkward tension between him and Sanji. The swordsman resigns himself to his fate quickly and prepares himself to be trapped here on Robin's bed for the foreseeable future.

"Fine witch," Zoro sighs, "But if you tell anyone I will not be responsible for my actions." He huffs out in acceptance for his inevitable interrogation.

"Oh please like that'll actually scare me. Plus besties never snitch." Nami rolls her eyes. She gets comfortable on her bed and look at zoro expectantly. He rolls his eyes and relaxes his posture a bit.

Zoro starts talking, beginning with the first instance of his realization of Sanji having dual colored eyes, leaving out a lot of "unimportant" details. He mentions the second, and the third instance, and their conversation from a few days ago and how he tried to respect Sanji's establishment of a boundary and how he's confused now that Sanji stares at him. Nami listens with her chin resting on her fist and nodding along the way, surprisingly not interrupting once. He finishes speaking and he knows his face is red with embaressment, but he feigns nonchalance and waits for Nami's input.

"Zoro," Nami sighs, "Youre the dumbest bitch I know." She says while giving the man a look of sympathy, but not one that actually means it. More like the look of someone who is so incredibly done with your shit that they have no choice but to tell you so.

"What the fuck, Nami!? Im not dumb!" The swordsman retorts loudly.

"Anyways," his best friend ignores his arguing in favor of getting to the task at hand, "Luckily, this is fixable. For making the entire crew feel awkward for two weeks, I'm adding a 200 percent tax increase to your debt." She smiles mischeviously, and thats when Zoro realizes that one, he's never getting out of debt, and two, he's been forced to accept Nami's help in unfucking up his unconcious attempts to flirt with Sanji.

"First order of business is that you have absolutely no game." Nami begins with a shit eating grin to match the absolutely insulting statement. Zoro briefly reconsiders their friendship.

"Shut the fuck up I obviously do." He rolls his eyes. Nami gives him the look. The one where her eyebrows are raised and her chin is tilted down slightly, matching the frown. It's that look she makes when she's trying to say 'Are you sure?' or 'Reconsider what you just said.' and it grates at Zoro's already increasing agitation.

He decides not to entertain her with a reply.

"Anyway," Nami sighs, massaging the space between her eyes with her thumb and forefinger to stave off a growing headache, "Im teaching you how to flirt. No, you cannot work out in front of Sanji- dont give me that look you muscle brained idiot!" She says while looking at Zoro's ever increasing looks of annoyance and audacity, because first of all, no he definitely was not going to do that, and second of all, it could hypothetically work. Probably.

"Fine," He huffs. He'll let the witch do whatever. It's not like theres anyone else he can talk to on the ship about this anyway, "No promises that I'll actually do what you tell me."

"Fucking- oh my god why am I friends with you?!" Nami complains before flopping down on her bed, groaning loudly at Zoro's malicious cooperation. Zoro basks in the momentary power he has in this situation.

For the next few hours, Nami allows Zoro to stay in the womens quarters for the sole purpose of learning how to actually flirt. He's not sure if shes a reliable source, being a lesbian and also having a girlfriend already, but if he voiced this opinion out loud the redhead would probably kick him out. He only restrains himself because this room is the only one so far where he feels the least amount of awkwardness regarding his situation with Sanji.

Robin stops by every now and then and gives him a smile. It doesnt make him feel very comfortable but it's the thought that counts. She doesnt say anything about him being there, anyway. He makes an effort to at least not lay on the bed he's sitting on, though. He may be lazy but he does hold enough respect for the women in the crew to not fuck with their shared safe space.

Suddenly, it's the evening and dinner is around the corner. Nami shoves a barely enlightened mossy swordsman out of the womens bedroom to finally be free of that headache. Also known as a crash course to flirting with your rival/friend/whatever the fuck else they got going on.

Zoro makes his way to the gallery, taking his time to look out and observe the oncoming sunset that bathes the sky in shades of pink, orange, blue, and yellow. It would be a pretty sight to fall asleep to, he thinks, but the cook would kick his ass off the ship if he decides to sleep through dinner again.

Entering the gallery, everyone except Nami is already there. She's right behind him a second later and taking her seat at the kitchen table.

Numerous conversations are heard as food is served. Franky and Usopp are wildly talking about different types of projectiles the sunny could use, Nami and robin are talking amongst each other in low voices, giggling in between sentences. Chopper and luffy are laughing together, and Zoro goes to sit next to luffy like he usually does. Just as he sits down, the cook lands a kick to his mid back, making Zoro scowl.

"The fucks that for!?"

Sanji rolls his eyes while placing plates of food down for the crew, "For being late, dumbass."

"Nami is late too!"

"And? She'd never be late on purpose, Marimo." as Sanji speaks, he dodges the hilt of Zoro's sword to his side instinctively and has the audacity to give a cheeky grin.

Dinner passes by normally. Everyone's loud conversations meld together gradually and soon everyone except Sanji and Zoro leave. Zoro takes his usual spot beside the cook, drying dishes and leaving them on a towel afterwards so they can both put them away.

Zoro has half the mind to bring up Sanji's staring, but decides against it. It leaves the air silent, neither him nor Sanji speaking up as they finish their side work for the night. Even then, Zoro's unable to speak when Sanji immediately leaves afterwards without a word.

The kitchen feels empty without their bickering, and Zoro is determined to bring that life back into it. He just needs to figure out how.

Despite Nami's advice, Zoro has an idea. If the idiot cook doesnt see what he sees (His pretty face first of all, but Zoro thinks of his strength too. How Sanji easiely brushes off conflict like it's nothing despite the injuries that'll heal far faster than his own), then he'll make him see it. Frilly words never were Zoro's style, anyways.

One night before they all go to sleep and Zoro takes night watch, he corners the blond in the bathroom. Nami would probably be kicking his ass because of his timing, but a mirror is needed for his plan to work and the bathroom is the only place with one other than the women's bedroom.

When Zoro enters, Sanji turns to look at him before going back to washing his hair, his back towards Zoro. "Leave me alone, Moss, I'm im not in the fuckin mood," He grumbles to Zoro, who stands there waiting for Sanji to stop talking.

"Nope, I need a mirror for this and for you to listen for five minutes." Zoro replies, and when Sanji turns to argue his protests are gone from his lips when he sees a look of determination. Confused, annoyed, and also curious, Sanji doesn't reply.

Zoro walks up to Sanji until he's standing right behind him. The swordsman moves to kneel so they're relatively at the same height, but the stool makes Sanji slightly taller as he sits there and eyes Zoro warily.

"Whats going on with you, Moss? I'm trying to wash my hair." Sanji says, and Zoro can tell an insult dies on his tongue when he places his hands on Sanji's shoulders.

Zoro turns Sanji in front of the mirrior in the bathroom, the stool Sanji is seated on creaking lightly and scratching against the tile. Sanji remains speechless, still unable to brush off Zoro's palms on his bare shoulders like how he'd usually do.

"Tell me what you see, cook" He says, uncharacteristically soft underneath the edge his voice always seems to have. Sanji flinches when the swordsman's calloused hands tuck his frings behind his ear, displaying his face to them both.

"What the hell is up with you? Did Luffy hit your head too hard?" Sanji furrows his eyebrows at the mirror and looks at Zoro. Zoro huffs and rolls his eyes.

"Just tell me what you see about yourself, shit cook, I'll leave ya alone after or whatever." He grumbles back, the baritone of his voice vibrates against Sanji's back. It reminds him of Zoro's compliment, his face too close to his while they stand on the deck of the Sunny just days ago. He chooses to ignore how it makes him shiver.

He looks at himself in the mirror, and his first instinct is to look away. Zoro, being the perceptive bastard that he is, notices and squeezes his shoulders in a way thats strangely reassuring.

"It doesnt have to be fancy, cook, I know you like to use big words 'n shit so don't make your brain fuckin explode." Sanji bristles a bit at that but bites back a nasty insult so he can entertain Zoro's weird exercise on his own self reflection.

In the mirror he always sees his mom at first, but with both eyes uncovered and his hair pushed back for once, he sees himself. The first thing he sees is his eyebrows and eyes. He decides not to bring up his eyebrows.

"Well, for your information I see my eyes, but you already know that."

Zoro stays silent, and Sanji shuffles in his seat. He's suddenly aware he was literally in the middle of rinsing his hair of shampoo a few minutes ago and the entire situation is both awkward and uncharacteristic of Zoro in multiple ways. It's out of character, and he should have kicked out the moss ball when he had the chance, but now in the too small bathroom of the Sunny he feels like it's only him and Zoro. It leaves a weightless feeling in his chest, settling in with the creeping anxiety of looking at his own reflection. The contrasting feelings make him hesitate before he speaks.

"I see.." He hesitates, not knowing exactly what Zoro is getting from this or what he wants to hear, "My eyebrows, I guess. Wait, you've never seen both at once." Sanji chuckles at that, because his eyebrows are certainly something. The curl points in the same direction, but it's unnoticeable with how he wears his hair.

"Yeah, they're weird as fuck." Zoro mumbles, and the blond has to laugh or else the swordsman's voice would get to his head.

"Okay, I also see freckles. Those are new. Only started showing up when I joined you all." And Sanji now notices how the freckles cluster on the bridge of his nose, his cheekbones, and his shoulders. They're scattered everywhere else on his body.

Sanji starts to realize the point of Zoro's questioning now. He looks at the fogged mirror, just visible enough to notice how his blush not only spreads across his cheeks but also down his neck. Embarrassing. This whole situation is embarrassing not only because of where they are but also because he's realizing that Zoro is trying to make a point that is too close to unearthing his insecurities. He would have expected this from Luffy, but sometimes he forgets how Zoro's intelligence is masked behind his swordsmanship and how much he sleeps during the day.

And he's naked, but honestly thats the least of his problems at the moment.

"I see my hair, I guess?" Sanji tries to only focus on his face. Its not easier, but it also sets up a mental boundary. Zoro hums, looking at Sanji through the mirror. Sanji hesitates before speaking again, "My hair is actually wavy," He thinks about his mom's wavy blonde hair, and how he always thought it looked pretty even before she passed, "Its damaged, though. Straightened to hell and back with one of those hot combs."

Sanji thinks back to the hot combs. They were old as shit, the kind that needed to be heated up with a flame. The memories make him chuckle a bit, and Zoro smiles back. The same smile he wore when they sparred on the deck, with his dimples visible yet again to confirm to Sanji that he does have them.

His smile makes his heart skip a beat, like drums he'd hear in one of those old instrumental CDs he kept in his room as a kid. Before he has the chance to back away, to push Zoro out the door and forget this ever happened, Zoro straightens his back again.

He turns in his stool to look up at Zoro and he's not sure what the swordsman sees right now, but he's afraid to ask as his gaze is soft. So damn soft as he looks at him and his hand reaches again to pull his hair hair back over his eye like it was before. Stringy strands of heat damaged locks fall back into place.

Then he leaves. He just...leaves. The damn idiot just turns around and walks out the door like nothing even happened.

Thats the second time this has happened yet the first where Sanji is the one on the receiving end of it, and it makes him grab his towel to bunch it up in his fists and let out a scream into it as he processes everything. He processes how he was forced to notice how Zoro looked at him, and it was Zoro's own weird fucking way of saying "You're beautiful".

"He's so fucking ridiculous oh my god.." Sanji mumbles into the towel. His hair routine is officially long forgotten.

#this went from zoros pov to sanjis instinctively ngl #also nami being the best wingman PERIODDD #btw nami in this is dating vivi #bc theyre cute together <3 #uhhhh yeah i need a title for this...#one piece #zosan #roronoa zoro #vinsmoke sanji #black leg sanji #sanji with heterochromia

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aquickstart · 1 year ago

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pls may i have some saltburn takes. i saw u liked my post abt oliver never having read the reading list and it made me giggle.

OH YES DUDE oh i Loved that post because it brings up actually something that for some reason i haven't seen discussed much. oliver's unreliable narration.

i have a brilliant, i think, genius four-question plan for making people understand saltburn, and it has worked before and i will maybe elaborate on it, but not right now. right now i'll talk about one of the questions.

who is oliver telling this story to, and why?

we've established that he's an unreliable narrator at least because it's the logical conclusion for a movie shot in a way that opens and closes with his narrative. but what does oliver being untruthful actually mean for what we know about anything and everything that happened. have you ever obsessed over this particular question. well. i have.

my hot take, first of all, is that oliver is not that smart. he's clever, but the point of the movie is that he's caught up in and driven by desire; desire, pointedly, in the moment, merging desire, adapting to circumstance and leading him on. his want is not concrete from the beginning. his want is insatiable hunger that grows.

so, okay, from the top. the whole meet-cute with felix? because of a punctured tire? eh. idk if that's true. the money thing at the bar, pretending to not have any while he actually did? eh, perhaps. chronologically he then lies to felix about his dad, and this is big, this is deliberate, this is what ties felix to him for good.

what if the first two instances were coincidences? like, felix genuinely in trouble then, oliver genuinely out of cash. makes sense to become attached and actually do something, something impulsive, drastic, when felix seems to be drifting away, and lie about his dad.

interjection: you might be saying, nadia, he lied about his family from the get-go. well of course. i didn't say he's not smart enough to clock what image of a damsel in distress felix would gobble up. i'm saying he didn't do it for the long game, because there was no long game to speak of, as narrator-oliver would have you believe. i think he wanted felix so badly in that moment of several months in oxford, i think he was so blinded that he would've said anything. and he did.

now, i've briefly talked about oliver's feelings about the invitation to saltburn, and i think this is very important here. in the moment, he couldn't possibly know what exactly this invitation could mean, in the long run, only that it is definitely the next step in progression of desire for felix. present-day oliver interjection, and i believed him, after felix said he could leave anytime, i read as a slip up, an admission that oliver didn't plan shit, or at least from the beginning he didn't. it lured him in as soon as he got there, gothic house driving mad-style. he held on to a dream of something elusive (felix as a friend? lover? forever-partner in whatever capacity? i want him so bad i don't care what he is as long as he's there? please? please?).

the other obvious hole to poke at is in the end. venetia very conveniently takes the razors he places for her, and while sure, it could be read as him just hinting at how he conveniently read her fragile state and took advantage of it, i don't buy it. (i'm honestly even tempted to suggest he met elspeth on accident, to then spin a pretty story for his own sake, but him keeping tabs on the surviving cattons all those years tracks with what we know about obsessive oliver; he's definitely known about her flat for a while.)

but those are all minor stuff. i get completely if you think i'm reading too much into it and this is all just a headcanon after all, to be fair. BUT. but.

my second big take is that oliver was/is madly in love with felix. i know, shocking. but you have probably seen people say he wasn't. i will elaborate.

i wasn't in love with him. i loved him. i hated him. what does this sound like. have you ever had a friend come to you after a breakup fuming and telling you how they'll never end up with this asshole for sure and then get back together with him and then break up and say the same thing again.

i loved him, but i wasn't in love with him. i know everyone thought i was, but i wasn't. have you never told anyone something of the sort, specifically the last part, to emphasize just how it's everyone around you that's kinda hung up on whatever it is, and you've moved way past it, actually. have you never told yourself that.

i have. i know many other people who have, too. so, who is oliver telling this story to, and why? there's no one but dead elspeth in front of him. there's no one but himself. fun fact: each time you recall an event, it distorts under the influence of the mix of past and present emotions. each time you recall, you mold memory (source, e.g., x). the way i personally see it, oliver, for whatever reason, retells the story in order to solidify his own memory of it in the way that he wants to remember it. whatever he says, this is his final word, and this is his final truth.

this is also why details slip through, like my beloved i believed him, like the emotional i hated him growing into self-convincing, misleadingly dismissive, definitely unsure i hated him by the end. those are the true emotions that he recalls, those are the times that are hard to rewrite, for whatever reason.

of course, he hated them all. but before that, he loved felix to the point of blindly following where felix's desire led oliver, at least the way oliver perceived felix's desire. it failed, crucially, when felix's desire brought them to the center of the labyrinth, where oliver could not be the desired anymore.

my third hot take in connection to this is that oliver did not know he would kill felix until the very night he did it. he didn't know it, i think, until the last hour, until felix refused to reconcile completely, until he made his blood run cold. i also briefly mention it here, specifically how farleigh is tragically connected to felix's death, in my opinion. this tracks with, again, my strong belief that oliver lies, lies and lies throughout this whole story about wanting to take everything from felix from the beginning; no, he fucking didn't. he wanted felix. he wanted felix to be his. that was number one priority. he wanted felix and whatever else came with it, undoubtedly, but not the other way around.

paradoxically, he also wanted to be felix; he wanted to be him and be with him just as us tumblr people can often relate and the tragedy is that you always have to choose. felix pushed him away, so there was no other choice but to take what was left of felix that oliver could take. hence the clothes wearing, the table scene talk, the refusal to leave.

felix chose not to choose oliver, so oliver became felix. it's his fault. felix promised oliver could leave. felix left instead. what was oliver to do.

but to your point about the books, i think it could be either way, actually. i think he could have lied about it because technically that's also in character for him, he was performing for an audience of his tutor. but i also think that he was, genuinely, a nerd before he came to oxford, and he didn't, and still doesn't, have any friends, and he hates his sisters and his mother and is miserable. he's the perfect profile of someone who'd read king james' bible over the summer, and then some, imma be honest.

so, yes. i think oliver lies about most things in saltburn and i think he's pathetic, lost, confused, grieving, angry, horny, down bad and in denial. and i fucking love him. i so fuckin do.

#saltburn #oliver quick #saltburn meta #thank u so much for ur ask. this was my excuse to finally vomit this up.#honestly i think asks are the only format in which i will actually write out all of my thoughts coherently esp the longer stuff #bc i feel obligated to answer #and when i dont i just abandon stuff. i know all my saltburn meta. vika does. finn knows ALL of it and more. i dont feel like sharing much #when unprompted. but if you ask me?? i'll never shut up. literally never #anyway. this is it. thank u again. fun.#ask #horrorsequel #saltburn journaling

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wonder-queen-123 · 7 months ago

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Bakugo’s Starshine Katsuki Bakugo x Depressed Self Harming Suicidal Reader

Y/n’s family was as good as you can get for the first 16-17 years of her life, but something unexpected happened just a few days before Sports Festival was held.

Y/n had just gotten home and was excited to tell her parents that she had been accepted into UA, however, things didn’t go as planned.

As Y/n was looking for her parents, she overheard them arguing over something, and walked closer to try and figure out what they were arguing about.

“…I never even wanted a kid in the first place, nevertheless a fucking daughter!” Her mom screamed, surprising her. “I should’ve gotten rid of her before she was even born! And besides, she’s not even going to a regular high school, Damien! She’s going to a school meant for heroes!” “Would you calm down, Sherry? Y/n could be coming home any minute, and I’d hate for her to find out about this.” Damien said, trying to calm Sherry down.

As the two of them continued arguing, Y/n didn’t want to hear anymore of it, so she ran upstairs and locked herself in her room for the rest of the day.

The next day at school definitely could’ve gone better. For starters, instead of having a smile on her face like normal, she had a stoic expression on her face. “Hey Y/n, is everything…?” Bakugo started, noticing her walk past him.

Btw, Bakugo and Deku had known Y/n since they were kids, but Bakugo was closer to her than Deku. (Also Bakugo has a few nicknames for her; idiot, dumbass, {those two are a given} and very rarely Star/Starshine)

During the entire Sports Festival Y/n did her best to not let her parents argument from last night bother her too much…but just before the calvary battle started, Bakugo noticed her and walked over.

It took him a few minutes to realize that it looked like Y/n had cried earlier because her eyes were still a little red and puffy. Before he could even ask, the calvary battle started, and barely left any time to talk.

[Also later on when both the Dekusquad and Bakusquad are “formed”, Y/n is going to be part of both, but more so the Bakusquad]

[{(these are how Bakugo is going to know that something is wrong, and all of these are going to be from the present time at 16 years old during her time at UA)}]

* Singing Baku’s Song (forward March and here we go; members of the Agency Bakugo)

* Going Silent (basically giving everyone…including the ash blonde himself…the silent treatment)

* Crying hysterically/hugging Bakugo randomly

* Smiling ONLY at Bakugo

* Calling Bakugo by his FIRST name {instead of one of his nicknames; Katsu, Kats, Kaachan, Big Brother Kats(u), and Blondie}

* Also calling Deku by his FULL name {like Bakugo…instead of nicknames; Izu, Zuku, Big Brother Zuku, Deku, and Freckles}

* And lastly, leaving single worded notes around ONLY for Bakugo [{with just his FIRST name}]

* Star-shaped Necklace

Once the calvary battle ended, Bakugo noticed that Y/n had looked worse than before it started. He walked over to her, and tapped her shoulder.

She quickly turned around, and smiled as brightly as she could, but Bakugo knew that it wasn’t genuine. “I know you’re forcing that smile, Dumbass. Talk to me. What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing, Kastu. Don’t worry about it; I’m fine. Just a little tired. That’s all.” Y/n lied. Bakugo looked at her in disbelief, and tried again. She said she was fine, and walked past him.

While off to the side, Y/n kept thinking about what she heard her mom say. ‘“…I never even wanted a kid in the first place, nevertheless a fucking daughter! I should’ve gotten rid of her before she was even born!”

Why would my mom say that? She never wanted me? She was going to have an abortion just to get rid of me before I was even born? Wait. Does Dad feel the same way? Does Dad even love me? It obviously doesn’t seem like Mom does.

She started silently crying to herself, and walked even further, while wiping her eyes. Why? Why doesn’t Mom love me? Was the only thing on Y/n’s mind.

Once she got home, she didn’t bother greeting her parents, but instead went straight to her room, and cried for hours.

Soon Bakugo called her to check on her. “Wh-what’s up, Blasty? What are you calling me for?” Y/n sniffled. Bakugo grunted in surprise. “Hey, Idiot, why are you crying? What happened? Did someone say something to you today? I noticed you were crying earlier as well.”

“It’s nothing, Kats. Can we please talk about something else? Please?” “Shut the hell up, Damien! You know how I feel about this!” Y/n’s mom screamed. She quickly put her phone on mute, and listened to what her parents were arguing about now.

“I’ve had to deal with a fucking kid that I didn’t even want for the past 16 years, and not to mention, she’s not even in a normal high school!”

As the arguing continued, Y/n couldn’t stand to hear it, so she hung up the phone with Bakugo, and left the house through her window. Once outside, she ran as far and as fast as her feet could carry her, and only stopped when she got to the park.

She panted breathlessly, and screamed. She walked over to the nearest bench, and sat down. She laid down, and silently cried herself to sleep.

While she was sleeping, Bakugo tried calling her, but she wasn’t picking up. Dammit, you stupid nerd! At least I know where you’re at. I swear, if she’s not there…

As Bakugo left his house, and started making his way to the park, Y/n woke up only briefly, before deciding to sleep under the bench.

She curled herself into a ball, and continued crying silently. Once Bakugo got there, he didn’t see her anywhere. Where are you at, you stupid idiot?

As he was looking around, Y/n was tugging on her sleeves, gripping them tightly. Once Bakugo thought he saw her, he walked over, and saw her laying under the bench.

He bent down, and gently touched her leg, and realized she was shaking. It took him a moment to realize that she was actually crying.

He gently shook her awake, and watched as she crawled out. She immediately hugged him, and wasn’t planning on letting go.

“You good, stupid idiot?” Bakugo asked, slowly hugging her back. She nodded slightly, and continued crying into his chest. “Something is obviously wrong, so will you just tell me? I want to-“ “Parents fighting.” She interrupted.

Bakugo pulled her away from him, and turned her face to look at him. “That’s all? My parents fight and argue as well. They-“ Y/n just cried harder into the ash blonde’s chest, and hugged him tighter.

“It’s obviously more than just your parents fighting. Will you talk to me? Please?” Y/n wiped her tears, and told the ash blonde that she would see him at school tomorrow.

He was just about to stop her, when Kirishima called him. “What do you want, Shitty Hair?”

As they were talking, Y/n started making her way back home, and called her dad. Surprisingly, it went to voicemail. She didn’t bother leaving a message, and decided that she would just talk to her dad at home.

Once she got home, she climbed up the side of her house, and got back inside through the window. She didn’t want to see her mom, so she quietly made her way out of her room, and downstairs.

“Dad? You here?” She said, looking for him. “He went out for a little bit.” Her mom said, peering around the corner. “What do you need?” Y/n jumped back in surprise, and said that she was looking for Dad.

“Dad’s not here right now. Tell me what you need him for, and I’ll answer for him.” “It’s fine, I’ll just wait until he comes back. It’s not that big of a deal.” Sherry grabbed Y/n’s wrist, and asked why she wanted her dad so badly.

“I just need to ask him something. And it doesn’t concern you.” For the first time ever, Y/n got slapped across the face. “Go to your room, and stay there until your dad gets home. I’ll have him deal with you.”

As Y/n made her way back to her room, she mumbled something under her breath. “What was that?” “Nothing.”

Once back in her room, Y/n laid on her bed, and repeated herself. “I said ‘good’. I like Dad better than you anyway. And wait until he hears about what you just did to me. He’s not going to be happy.”

After about 30 minutes, Damien came back, and saw Sherry waiting in the living room. “You’re slut, I mean, daughter was looking for you.” “Sherry, not this again. We constantly go back and forth with this. She’s not anything you call her; she’s our daughter, and should be treated as such.”

As soon as Y/n heard glass shatter, she had a feeling that her dad was home, but that another argument had broken out. “Sherry! Stop talking like that! If Y/n is still here, she could probably hear us. And I’m not having her listen to this.”

“Damien, don’t give me that tongue! You know as much as I do that it’s true! So what if she hears us? She’s not old enough to live on her own yet, and in case you have forgotten, she’s the reason why we started arguing like this in the first place! How many times do I have to remind you; I never wanted her to begin with. The only reason I didn’t get rid of her is because at the time I was a coward.”

Wait…does this mean that Dad didn’t and doesn’t want me either??

“Sherry, I will not have you bad mouth our daughter anymore! You’ve been verbally and emotionally abusing her since the age of seven! I’m not doing this with you anymore. I’m taking Y/n, and we’re leaving.” Sherry started throwing everything she could grab at Damien, and the latter kept dodging.

“Damien, why do you care about a fucking whore like the one upstairs?! She’s pathetic! She can’t even defend herself!”

By this point, Y/n was silently crying, while listening to the argument escalate. She tossed her backpack out the window, and once again, climbed out and down.

She closed the window, and made sure that it was loud enough for both her parents to hear. Just as she was about to leave, she heard her dad’s voice. “Look what you’ve done now, Sherry Jane Adams.”

Y/n ran all the way to Deku’s house, and knocked on the door. “Y/n?” Deku said, surprised, opening the door. “Hey, what’s wrong? What happened?”

“Izuku Midoriya.” She sobbed, throwing herself against his chest. He stepped away from the door, and let her inside. “Calm down, Y/n. Breathe. Take a few deep breaths, and calm down.” As Deku tried comforting her the best he could, Inko walked in the room, and asked what happened.

“I don’t know, Mom. She just got here, and hasn’t said anything. I’m trying to calm her down, but she’s hysterical.” Inko walked into the kitchen, and got Y/n some water and some snacks.

After a while, Y/n finally started calming down, and explained what happened. “Oh my.” Inko said, putting her hand over her mouth in horror. “And she slapped me for the first time as well.” Y/n added, starting to tear up again.

Hearing this infuriated Deku. “Mom, can you call Katsuki for me?” “No Katsuki!!” Y/n shrieked. “Katsu…get…mad.” Deku looked at his mom, and shrugged his shoulders.

“Izuku honey, take Y/n to the guest room, and help her get settled, would you? Im going to let her dad know that she’ll be staying here for the night.” Deku took Y/n to the guest room, and asked if she needed anything. “No thanks, Freckles. Im alright. Just thinking about what Mom said.” Deku hugged her tightly, and told her that she could stay with him and his mom for as long as she wanted to.

This made Y/n smile a little bit, and hugged Deku back. “Wait right here. Im getting you some ice for your face. I’ll be right back.” Y/n laid on the bed, and curled herself into a ball, and began crying again. About five minutes later, Deku came back, and handed the ice to her.

She smiled through her tears, and thanked him. The rest of the day quickly turned to night, and Y/n couldn’t stop thinking about the next day at school, specifically how Bakugo would react if he saw the bruise on her face.

Without realizing it, Y/n ended up falling asleep, and completely forgot that she had her uniform still on. Izuku carefully took her shoes off for her, and set them by the nightstand.

He then lifted the blanket from under her, and covered her up. “You rest up, Puppy. I’m just going downstairs with my mom, and I’m only a call, or in this case, a yell away.” He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, left the room, and cracked the door.

“Okay, talk to you later, Mr. Martinez. I won’t say anything about it. Izuku is in the guest room with her, or was, he just walked into the kitchen. Anyways, yeah. I’ll be sure to tell her when she wakes up.” Just before Inko got off the phone, Izuku looked at her, and asked if Y/n’s dad was aware of what happened.

Inko shook her head, and quickly told him, what his wife did to Y/n for the first time. “What?!” He bellowed, not believing what he just heard. “I’ll call you back later, Ms. Midoriya. Thank you for telling me.” After getting off the phone, Inko had a feeling that things were getting worse between Y/n’s parents.

A few hours had passed, and a loud thud was heard from Y/n’s room. “Ow. That hurt.” She said, as Deku opened the door. “You alright, Coffee Bean? What happened?” Y/n sat up, and was holding the back of her head. “Hey, Freckles. Yeah, I’m fine, just fell off the bed.” She chuckled lightly.

“Come downstairs, Mom is making dinner. Also, it looks like the slap bruise has gotten better. That ice must’ve worked.” She nodded, and said that while the slap bruise didn’t look as bad as it did, she probably had a giant knot on the back of her head.

“Come on, Coffee Bean. You must be starving. I didn’t even see you eat lunch today.” Deku said, as he helped her up. The two of them walked downstairs, and were met with the smell of dinner once they entered the kitchen.

“Oh, you’re finally awake, Y/n. Go take a seat, and I’ll bring the dinner to the table. Izuku, do you mind getting the rolls over on the counter for me?”

As the three of them sat down and started eating, it was only now that Inko had realized how much the swelling of the slap bruise had gone down. She smiled softly, and looked towards Izuku.

After dinner, Y/n went back to her room, and changed into one of Deku’s oversized shirts, and a pair of shorts. Deku walked in just as she finished changing, and almost saw her changing. “What’s up, Zuku?” She asked, sitting on the bed.

“I was just coming to check on you, Coffee Bean. Does that bruise still hurt at all? I can get more ice if it does.” “It’s fine, Freckles. Don’t worry about me, I’m fine.”

‘I wish I had aborted her, Damien! Or given her up for adoption! Why can’t you fucking understand that?!’

Y/n wiped the single tear away, and texted her mom telling her to check who she just sent that message to. ‘Why? I sent it to your father! And how do you know what I sent to him?’

‘Maybe because you sent it to ME instead! Next time check who’s contact you’re on, before sending messages…so you don’t end up sending them to the wrong person.’

‘Damn Bitch! I know who I sent that message to, you probably just have your dad’s phone with you. Why did you even tell him about the slap? It’s not that big of a deal. You can handle a little slap, can’t you?’

Y/n seethed quietly, and gritted her teeth. ‘Not a big deal?! Are you fucking kidding me?! You slapped me so damn hard that it left a bruise the size of a hard boiled egg! Not to mention, the fact that you slapped me just because I said I wanted to talk to Dad about something! And I heard what you called me when he got home; a fucking slut. Why don’t you love me anymore?’

‘You want to know why? You really want to know why? It’s because you ruined my life, Slutty Bitch!’

She threw her phone across the room, and laid down, grabbing a pillow, and held it against her face, and screamed into it. “Coffee Bean, are you alright?” Deku asked, reaching out to place a comforting hand on her knee.

“Izuku Midoriya, can you do me a favor? A HUGE favor.” He looked at her with an eyebrow curiously raised, and asked what the favor was. Completely removing the pillow away from her face, she looked at him sadly, tears pricking the corner of her eyes.

“I’ll actually ask you tomorrow. After class. For now, just know that I love you, Izuku Midoriya.” Hearing the tone of her voice become so dull and soft suddenly worried Izuku, but he knew it would be futile to ask what she was saying.

With a worried look, he slowly got off the bed, and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. Making his way back to his own room, he flopped down onto his bed, and stared at the ceiling in worry and confusion.

When he woke up, he heard faint singing coming from down the hall, and wondered what was going on. The closer he got to the noise, the louder and more clear it became. “🎶Forward march and here we go; members of the Agency Bakugo.🎶” he heard coming from the other side of Y/n’s door.

He tried opening the door, but realized it was locked. “C-Coffee Bean? A-are you alright in there? You haven’t sang that song before at all, unless you were teasing Kaachan. What’s going on?” Deku asked as he knocked on her door.

“🎶Forward march, and here we go; members of the Agency Bakugo.🎶” was the only response he got. Once he heard the door unlock, he twisted the door open, and saw Y/n sitting on her bed, having almost no expression on her face. “Morning.” Was all she said, before getting up, and walking out of the room.

As Deku watched her walk around the house, he knew something had obviously happened last night, because usually Y/n would be smiling in the mornings, and actually talking to him, or at least acknowledging him.

Her behavior wasn’t much better when they got to school, because everyone that tried talking to her just ended up getting ignored, even the ash blonde himself.

“Hey Explosion. How are y-wait a minute. Come here.” Deku just realized that Y/n didn’t put on any makeup like she usually does, and he also realized that Bakugo most likely just saw the bruise on her face.

“What happened, Explosion? Why do you have a bruise on your face?” She just looked at him with an annoyed expression, and he took a step back. “Deku, get over here for a minute. I wanna know, do you know what’s going on with her?”

“No, I don’t, Kaachan. After she came to my house last night, she threw herself into my arms, after saying my full name. Every time she said my name last night, it was my full name. She didn’t say any of my nicknames, or even my actual name this morning. She literally just said the word ‘morning’, before giving me the silent treatment the whole way here; although, she was singing your song from when we were kids.”

Bakugo turned to look at her, and noticed she wasn’t even trying to fight back, or pull away. “The hell?” He said, quietly. “Let me go, Katsuki.” He grunted in surprise, because she almost never called him by his first name.

“Not until you tell me what’s going on with you. This isn’t how you normally act, so what’s up?” “Let go, Katsuki Bakugo.” Her tone was cold, even more so than Todoroki’s. Bakugo heard the venom laced in her voice, and knew she was serious.

Kirishima soon walked over, and asked what was going on. The minute Bakugo loosened his grip, Y/n walked off, purposefully bumping into the redhead. “Geez, what’s wrong with her? She’s never like this. I mean, she would usually apologize if she bumped into someone, but it seemed like this time it was on purpose.” Kirishima said, rubbing his shoulder.

“Kiri, Blasty, Midoriya, come on, we’re going to be late for class! Hurry up!” Kaminari called out, noticing the blank look on Y/n’s face. “Hey, Sparks. How are y-“ he was suddenly cut off by Y/n punching him in the face, nearly breaking his nose.

“Ow! What was that for, Sparks? You never swing your fists at me, unless we’re training, and even then you never go for the face, or head.” She raised her fist again, and was about to punch him again, until Sero stopped her with his tape. She turned her gaze to look at him, and noticed his face go from smiling to one of fear.

Nobody had ever seen this side of Y/n, so they didn’t know what to do. Everyone walked inside the school, trying to keep their distance from Y/n the best they could, but it wasn’t easy.

“Bakubro, what’s going on? Why’s my gemstone acting so weird? This isn’t how she usually is.” “I don’t know, Shitty Hair. Let me try and talk to her later. Deku said this morning she was singing my song from when we were kids, and she usually only does it to tease me, so her doing it out of the blue like this is a little strange.”

“Everyone listen up, today we are going to be testing your quirks against various ‘villains’. In other words, you will be paired up to test your quirks against dummies and robots that me and a few other teachers have set up. Go change into your hero costumes, and meet me at the training grounds.”

As everyone got up to get changed, Bakugo noticed the look in Y/n’s eyes, and had a bad feeling about it. “Oi, Raccoon Eyes.” He said, catching Mina’s attention. “Keep your distance from Y/n, but also keep an eye on her if you can. I don’t know what’s going on with her, but something is definitely wrong. Tell the other girls the same thing.”

Before training even started, Y/n had walked over to one of the buildings, and punched it so hard that almost all the windows on the first two floors shattered.

Everyone gasped in surprise, and looked behind them. Aizawa used his quirk on her, but realized that even with her quirk gone, she was still destroying the windows of the building like it was nothing.

He gulped nervously, and used his capture scarf to restrict her movements. She quickly turned around, and began glaring daggers at her teacher.

Without realizing what he was doing, Kaminari began walking over towards her, and couldn’t even get one word out before getting backhanded so hard that he got sent ten feet away, and nearly had a rock fall on him. “Gemstone, what’s going on? That’s the second time you hit Kaminari today, and training hasn’t even started yet.”

She turned her gaze away from her classmates, and walked to the side, pulling her teachers scarf off her. She began fidgeting with the collar of her hero costume, and still had her moms words echoing in her mind.

She got up after about 5 minutes, and walked over to her teacher. She whispered indistinctly, to where Jiro couldn’t even hear what was said. Mr. Aizawa gave Y/n a nod, and said to see him after class.

She nodded back, and walked over to the bench. It was only now that Bakugo noticed that she was wearing a necklace, but couldn’t tell which one, until he saw the star.

She picked the star up, and squeezed it in her hand, before letting it go again, and sitting with her knees to her chest. She sobbed into her arms, and heard Aizawa pair her classmates up for training.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but she got up after hearing Bakugo and Kirishima’s names. She got up, and walked over to her two classmates. Approaching the ash blonde from behind, he almost backhanded her, until he felt someone hug him.

He grunted in surprise, and looked down at his chest, and immediately knew who it was. “What is it, you damn Idiot? Can’t you see I’m in the middle of something?” She buried her face in his back, and hugged him tighter.

“Damn, if you hug me any tighter, then you might as well be All Might. That wasn’t cue to actually hug me tighter, Idiot. You trying to suffocate me here?” She softly whispered something in his ear, which made him growl lowly.

“Me and you are having a talk when class is over, got that, Dumbass?” She nodded against his back, and wished him and Kirishima luck.

After they finished, it was Uraraka and Deku’s turn, then Ojiro and her. “Uraraka, do you see anymore villains around? All clear on my end.” “No, but I’m still looking. Deku, on your left!” Deku powered up his quirk, and used a Detroit Smash, and completely obliterated the robot.

“Uraraka, next time try not to overuse your quirk. Midoriya, try aiming your punches more clearly and more accurately. Also, try not to use all your power, or most on three villains. Keep in mind, some villains might have a quirk that can drain energy from other quirk users, so keep that in mind. Both of you pass. Next up is Ojiro and Martinez.”

As both of them got in front of Aizawa, he noticed Y/n seemed to calm down a little bit, but still had that same look in her eyes. “Erasure, hold up a minute. I’ve gotta ask my Explosion something real quick.” Bakugo grabbed her wrist gently, and pulled her to the side.

“Is that all she said? Or did she say anything else? You don’t have to tell me right now if you don’t want to, but just let me know when class is over. Please. You’re my little Explosion, and I want to be here for you whenever I can.” She nodded, and gave a soft smile. She looked to the side, then back at the ash blonde.

“Understood.” He wished her luck, as she began walking back towards her teacher. “I’m not going to ask what that was about because frankly, it’s none of my business, but I will say this. I do want to know why you’ve been so aggressive and moody today. This isnt like you.”

She gave her teacher the same gesture, and then lowered her head slightly, and raised her eyebrows subtly. Aizawa nodded slowly, and looked towards the rest of the class, then back to her. She only gave a slight nod, but Aizawa noticed, and said that she would have to do at least some talking and communicating, just so Ojiro didn’t think she was ignoring him.

She gave a thumbs up, and waited until Aizawa told them they could start.

“Y/n, if I lift you up, do you think you’ll be able to spot any villains?” Ojiro asked looking around, as he picked her up with his tail. She nodded, and activated one of her many quirks. “Two on the left, I wanna say at least three on the right, one in front that has a cannon, and one underground. Walk sideways, and be careful where you step! There’s traps all around here! There’s a land mine about three or four feet in front of you, so be careful. Stick to the wall!”

As Ojiro followed her instructions, she almost missed a second villain that was hiding underground. “Ojiro, set me down, and use your tail as a springboard, and launch yourself in the air to avoid the mine in front of you! Be careful where you land though, because there’s traps everywhere!” As Y/n was helping Ojiro, she didn’t realize that there was a trap in front of her, so one misstep caused her to get stuck.

Ojiro heard her yelp in surprise, and was going to go back, until Y/n told him that he was about to get ambushed. As Ojiro was trying to keep the robots at bay, Y/n activated another quirk, and managed to free herself from the net she was stuck in.

“Ojiro, take cover!” Y/n yelled, as she sent a giant gust of wind past Ojiro, and got a direct hit on the three robots that were ambushing her training partner.

She then flew herself over, and punched the biggest robot so hard, that it exploded with such force, causing her to get sent flying backwards.

She crashed into a building, causing a whole floor of windows to shatter. She groaned in pain, just as she landed, slamming her head against the wall, leaving a hole behind her.

All Ojiro heard was the sound of distant windows breaking, followed by an echoing thump. He winced as he looked behind him, knowing that Y/n had most likely slammed against something. Losing concentration almost caused him to get crushed by the first underground villain that had yet to show itself.

“O..ji..ro, be..hind..you.” He heard faintly in his earpiece. He quickly turned around, and knew he wouldn’t be able to take down the robot without assistance. “Y/n, are you alright? I need backup! I need help.” All he heard on Y/n’s side was ragged breathing, and heavy sighs.

Damn! This is bad, if I dont do something quickly, then I’ll get crushed! Where’s Kirishima when you need him?

Suddenly, Ojiro heard what sounded like water running, but it sounded like a heavy waterfall. “Oh shit.” He said, barely dodging the rushing water.

“And time.” Aizawa said, just as the water overpowered the robot. “Martinez, nice use of your quirks, but next time don’t overdo it to the point where you’re too drained or hurt to move. Ojiro, good thinking picking Martinez up, and asking her to scan the area. Losing your concentration, however is something you both have to work on. Ojiro, while the both of you did well, you both overdid it. You pass, but only barely. That’s it for class today. Good work everyone, and I’m impressed with how much you’ve all improved over time. Next time, we’ll do something we’ve already done, but a little different. Next week is more quirk training, but with us teachers as the villains, and you as the heroes. The only difference this time is that the teachers and students will be teamed up. For example, I might be paired with Jiro, while Tokoyami and Yaoyorozu might be a team.”

As everyone was leaving the training grounds, Ojiro walked over to Y/n, but suddenly got stopped. “Well, well, well, what do we have here?” Ojiro froze in place, unable to move. “Where do you think you’re going, Hero-in-Training?”

Ojiro’s lip quivered as he stood there, feet glued to the floor. “You don’t mind if I take you back to the base with me, now do you?” Y/n stood in the distance, leaning against the wall for support.

“You…leave…him…alone.” She strained, coughing up blood. “He’s…done nothing…to you. If (wheezing) you’re going to take someone, take me.”

Y/n stumbled slightly, finding it harder to stay awake. “I don’t know what your motive is this time, but you’re not getting away, Shigaraki! If you’re after someone, take me away from here!” “Y/n, shut up! You can barely talk as it is! We have to get you to Recovery Girl!”

She shook her head, and continued making her way over to Shigaraki and Ojiro, while stumbling. “Don’t…me. I’m…fine. You….im…por…tant.” “No you are not, Y/n! Oh shit!” Ojiro quickly brushed past Shigaraki, and ran over to Y/n, just as she lost her balance, and fell.

He caught her just in time, and realized she was on the brink of losing consciousness. “Fuck.” He mumbled under his breath, standing up, and carrying Y/n bridal style. “I’m taking you to Recovery Girl, alright? Then I’m letting Mr. Aizawa know about our encounter just now. But until I get you to the nurse, try and stay awake. Please.”

Just as Ojiro started walking away, Shigaraki grabbed him by the tail, but left his pinky dangling. “Let go of me, dude!” Ojiro said, turning around. “Okay, if you insist.” Shigaraki said, as he let Ojiro’s tail go, causing the latter to fall forward.

Luckily Y/n had just enough strength to push Ojiro backwards, to keep him from falling. “Y/n, save your breath! You’re already about to lose consciousness due to you overusing your quirks!”

“Like I said…don’t….me.” Ojiro growled in frustration, because he knew that Y/n needed help, but at the same time, he didn’t want to just let Shigaraki get away.

He quickly ran out of the area, and saw the rest of his classmates heading back inside. Bakugo heard heavy breathing behind him, and turned around. “Explosion?! What the hell happened?”

As Ojiro explained the situation, Bakugo growled so loudly that it echoed throughout the training grounds. “Damn you, Wrinkled Villain! Damn it! Give her to me, and you go catch up with the others.”

Y/n slowly opened her eyes, and looked around the room, realizing she was in Recovery Girls office. “What happened? Where’s Shigaraki?” She tried to speak, but her voice came out as a whisper.

Recovery Girl walked over, and told her that she had been out for the last three days. Y/n pointed to her neck, and tried asking what happened with her voice.

“Well, Bakugo brought you in here, but a student from 1-B had stopped him, and fried your throat.” Y/n knew immediately who would do something like that.

Neito Monoma.

“After you were brought here, I healed you and everything, but the student had grabbed your throat, and burned it so badly that it almost completely destroyed your vocal cords. So, I’m afraid that for at least the next week, you’re going to be a bit of a mute.”

Y/n couldn’t believe what she was hearing. First her parents start arguing about her, then she gets slapped by her mom; gets insulted, almost breaks Denki’s nose, and now this?

Damn, this is just one bad thing after another. And it all started with my mom saying that she didn’t even want me! What the actual shit?

Deku came by Recovery Girl’s office a little while later, and asked how Y/n was doing. “She’s alright, but still needs some rest to completely recover. Her throat was badly burned, so she’s going to be a bit of a mute for at least the next week.”

He walked over to her, and asked her about the favor she wanted to ask him earlier. She reached for her phone, and typed something, then showed it to him. “What do you mean don’t worry about it? What’s going on? You’re never like this, Puppy.”

She handed her phone to him, before telling him to not say anything to Bakugo. Deku hesitantly took the phone, and asked why she handed her phone to him.

“Look…messages.” He didn’t want to go through her phone, but figured that since she was letting him, he was going to snoop, just enough to figure out why she’s been acting weird since yesterday afternoon.

Once he got to her messages, he asked her why she wanted him to look at her messages. “Mom.”

Deku went to her mom’s contact, and scrolled up enough to fully understand what was going on. The very first message he read that got him mad was her mom saying that she should’ve gotten rid of Y/n while she had the chance.

Deku continued reading the messages, but soon found it hard to keep going. He looked up at her, and noticed she was looking to the side. He set her phone down, and sat on the bed with her.

“Puppy/Coffee Bean, why didn’t you tell me earlier? Wait, was that why you were singing Kaachan’s song the other day?” She just nodded, and it soon clicked in Deku’s mind what the favor most likely was.

He only hoped he was wrong though. “If you don’t mind me asking, what was the favor? I know you already said for me not to worry about it, but I want to know.”

“BlackWhip…me…restrain…” Deku’s eyes saddened, but were also filled with anger. “I’ll be right back, Martinez. I’m just going to go find someone.”

Y/n knew instantly who Deku was getting, but didn’t have the mental energy to stop him. “What the hell are you talking about, Deku?! Yeah, she’s been acting weird the last few days, but that doesn’t mean she’s got something happening at home!”

“Katsuki, shut the fuck up, and come with me. I mean it, Katsuki.” Bakugo shut up real quick, because he’s never heard Deku call him anything other than ‘Kaachan’.

Deku didn’t even have to ask, because Y/n nodded, and typed a message to Deku before handing her phone to him. “Alright, Coffee Bean, but we’re talking about this in the dorms. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. I’m not letting you deal with this shit anymore.”

Y/n and Bakugo froze, because neither of them have ever seen this side of Deku before. “Explosion, what the hell’s going on here? I want to know right now.”

After staying with Recovery Girl for another three days, Y/n was free to go back to class, but was told to try and not talk too much until her throat completely healed. She nodded, and thanked her.

Anytime someone tried talking to Y/n, they just got ignored, or got death glares from Y/n. While in class one day, Y/n got another message from her mom, that nearly pushed her over the edge.

‘Hey, Useless, did you tell your dad anything else that happened? I know you like him more than me, and you’d rather live with him, so how would it make you feel if I stopped being your mother, and took your dad with me, and moved? We’d get new identities, and phone numbers, so you couldn’t be in contact with us anymore.’

‘No the fuck you’re not! You can leave if you want to, since you obviously never wanted me in the fucking first place, but you are not taking Dad with you! And you’re right, I DO love Dad more than you! At least he doesn’t insult me left and right, and say that he never wanted me!’

As the argument between Y/n and her mom was quickly escalating, Y/n couldn’t take it anymore, so she ran out of the classroom in tears, and locked herself in the bathroom.

Everyone looked at each other in confusion, but Bakugo and Deku looked at each other in concern. “Ashido, would you and one other girl go check on Y/n for me? Bakugo, can I have a word with you in the hall for a minute?”

Bakugo, Mina, and YaoMomo all got up from their seats, and left the classroom; the two girls went to the bathroom to check on Y/n, while Bakugo was talking with their teacher.

“Y/n, love? Are you okay? What’s going on?” Mina asked, knocking on one of the stalls. “Go away, Mina! I’m not in the mood.” Y/n sobbed, as she continued cutting her wrist. Mina noticed blood drip to the floor, and felt her heart break a little.

“Y/n, talk to me, please. YaoMomo is with me, and we’re both really worried about you.” Y/n took off her necklace Bakugo had given her. She then wiped her eyes, and put her blood stained razor back in her pocket, and rolled her sleeve back down.

She unlocked the door a few minutes later, and walked out of the stall, and over to the sink. She splashed water on her face, and quickly left the bathroom.

Just before reentering the classroom, she tapped Bakugo on the shoulder, and gave him her necklace, before walking away. “I love you, Katsuki Bakugou. Thank you for the necklace, and always being there for me. You and Izuku Midoriya both. I appreciate that.” She said, looking at the ash blonde, while making a heart with her hands.

He, Aizawa, Mina, and YaoMomo all stood there in a daze, and watched her retreating figure get smaller and smaller.

‘I love you.’

Was all Y/n texted to the class group chat, before silencing her phone, as she began making her way to the roof.

👽: ‘Y/n?! What’s that supposed to mean? Talk to me. What’s going on?’

💵💸💰: ‘Y/n, hon, you there? Talk to us. What’s going on? You’re never like this. Please talk to us so we can help you.’

🎶🎧🎸: ‘Rockstar? Hello? Why aren’t you answering us?’

🥦🦸‍♀️🦸: ‘Coffee Bean? What are you doing?’

Pushing the double doors open, Y/n made her way over to the roof, and checked her phone. She went to the class group chat, and began typing.

😀😃: ‘Just as I was about to take my shoes off of the rooftop, there I see a girl with braided hair here before me’

🎶🎧🎸: ‘My Rockstar, what are you doing on the roof? And why’d you take your shoes off? What’s wrong?’

👽: ‘Love, please don’t do anything crazy. Come back to class and we can talk things out. Please!’

🥦🦸‍♀️🦸: ‘Puppy? Is this about the messages I saw? If it is, let’s talk about it. You don’t have to do this!’

🔌⚡️: ‘Sparks, I’m not entirely sure what’s going on here, but I agree with the others. Let’s talk things out. I’m sure we can help you…but for that to happen, we need you to talk to us.’

😀😃: ‘Despite myself, I go and scream "Hey, don't do it, please!"’

👽: ‘Y/n, what are you saying? If the girl you saw was about to jump, and you saved her, then that’s awesome, but that doesn’t change the fact that YOU need to get off the roof. Why are you even up there to begin with? And what roof for that matter?!’

💵💸💰: ‘I agree with Mina. You need to get down, Y/n. And again, why do you even have your shoes off in the first place?’

👟👟: ‘Martinez, please get down. And also, it’s not nice to scream at people.’

😀😃: ‘Whoa, wait a minute, what did I just say? I couldn't care less, either way. To be honest, I was somewhat pissed.’

🎈🎈: ‘Why are you mad, Y/n? And what do you mean you could care less? That not the Y/n we know, you’d never say something like that. You’re one of the most caring people in our class.’

🔌⚡️: ‘And what do you mean what did you just say? You just said that you were on a rooftop, then you said that you told someone not to jump. What’s going on here, Sparks? What are you talking about?’

🥦🦸‍♀️🦸: ‘Puppy, I don’t know what’s going on with you exactly, but if I had to guess, I’d say it’s got something to do with the messages you showed me. I’m not sure what you’re trying to say, or hint at, but I do know that you said you wanted to talk to me and Kaachan about something in the dorms, or anywhere that wasn’t Recovery Girl’s office.’

🐸🪷: ‘Ribbit. Froglet, you know we’re all here for you. So please, tell us what’s going on. Kero. We all want to help in any way we can, but we can’t do anything, if we don’t know anything. You’re scaring me, Lilypad. I don’t want anything happening to you. As a matter of fact, where are you? I’m coming to get you down, Lilypad.’

😀😃: ‘This was an opportunity missed; the girl with braided hair told me her woes; you've probably heard it all before: “I really thought that he might be the one, but then he told me he was done.’

🎶🎧🎸: ‘Wait, is that all that’s going on, my little Rockstar? A break up? And Midoriya, you keep mentioning something about messages you saw. What’s that about, and what messages are you even referring to? The only messages I know about are the ones from Y/n that sound sketchy and alarming.’

🥦🦸‍♀️🦸: ‘Y/n showed me her messages on her phone, and let’s just say that they’re not good. From what I’ve read, it seems like-‘

😀😃: ‘Don’t say anything about it, Midoriya. Please. No one else needs to know. Besides it’s not that important anyway.’

🔌⚡️: ‘Y/n, did you just break character? Doesn’t matter. Will you finally tell us what’s going on?’

👟👟: ‘I’m with Kaminari on this one, Martinez. Besides, you haven’t answered a single question anyone has asked you yet. That’s kinda rude, y’know.’

🐱🐶: ‘Also, what do you mean by opportunity missed? What opportunity are you taking about? And why haven’t we heard anything from Shoji, Bakugo, Sero, Todoroki, Tokoyami, Kirishima, or Ojiro?’

🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛: ‘I’m right here, Koda. Sorry it took so long for me to say anything, but anyways, I’d say the point still stands. What opportunity are you talking about, Darkness? And if this is because of a break up, then, why? I mean I get it, break ups are the worst, but that doesn’t mean you have to go this far or anything.’

🐙🦑: ‘Tokoyami’s right, Y/n. Just because someone broke your heart, doesn’t mean you should just let it consume you, or that you have to do anything drastic like this. Besides, I’m sure you’ll find the one for you sooner or later. Wait, guys, she said the girl with braided hair said that. The line was “the girl with braided hair told me her woes; you’ve probably heard it all before. “‘I really thought that he might be the one, but then he told me he was done.”’’

The others in the group chat didn’t catch that, until Shoji pointed it out. Quick side note: Aoyama isn’t going to be a part of this story, and neither is Sato.

🎶🎧🎸: ‘Why does it matter what the line was? I don’t think it hardly matters, or makes a difference. Y/n, my little Rockstar, why won’t you just talk to us? That’s all we’re asking.’

😀😃: ‘For God's sake, please! Are you serious? I just can't believe that for some stupid reason, you got here before me.’

🔌⚡️: ‘What do you mean before you, Sparks? I mean, I agree that it is a stupid reason, but like I just asked, what do you mean by before you? Wait, don’t tell me you were actually going to…?’

🥦🦸‍♀️🦸: ‘Kaminari, I’m not sure if that’s what she’s hinting at, but let’s just wait and see. If anymore of her texts seem sketchy, then I’ll go get Aizawa, and let him know what’s going on.’

🎶🎧🎸: ‘Midoriya, I think Kaminari has a point here. It is a stupid reason for jumping, if that what she’s thinking about doing, but at the same time, I want to know what she means by before her as well. So, my little Rockstar, what did you mean by that?’

🐙🦑: ‘Guys, she probably didn’t mean it in that kind of way; but it still does seem sketchy. Let’s just wait and see what else she says. If it seems to be getting too sketchy, then I’ll let Aizawa know.’

📼: ‘Should we really wait though? I mean, what if we wait too long, and something ends up happening with Y/n? That could be bad.’

As Sero was texting, Y/n typed the next line, but nobody saw or read it, because they were too busy talking with Sero, and each other.

🎶🎧🎸: ‘Wait guys, hold up. I just saw another message from Y/n. Everyone stop texting for just a minute, otherwise we won’t be able to see the next lines.’

😀😃: ‘Are you upset 'cause you can't have what you wanted? You're lucky that you've never gotten robbed of anything.’

🐸🪷: ‘Guys, I just read the next line. And the messages seem to be getting a little bit more sketchy the more Y/n types. Read the message she just sent, and tell me what you guys think.’

🔥❄️: ‘Snowflake, what do you mean? Did someone rob you?’

👟👟: ‘If someone did, then that’s something you should tell Aizawa about. I’m sure he could help you find whatever it is, and get it back to you.’

💥🧨🔥: ‘Who the hell robbed you, Explosion?! I’ll fucking murder their ass! Tell me who they are!’

🥦🦸‍♀️🦸: ‘Kaachan, calm down. I don’t think it’s that kind of robbed. I could be wrong, but I don’t think I am.’

🪨: ‘If it’s not that kind of robbed, then what else could it be, Midoriya? What kind of robbed are you thinking of?’

🥦🦸‍♀️🦸: ‘I can’t say, Kirishima, but trust me on this. It’s not the kind of robbed you’re thinking of.’

🪨: ‘Tell us, man. It wouldn’t be very manly of you if you didn’t enlighten us about what’s going on.’

🔌⚡️: ‘Yeah, come on, Midoriya. Enlighten us. If you know something we don’t, fill us in. We want to help, but we can’t do that if we don’t know anything.’

💥🧨🔥: ‘TELL US WHAT THE HELL IT IS THAT YOU MEAN, DEKU! IM NOT MESSING AROUND! THIS IS MY EXPLOSION WERE TALKING ABOUT, SO IF YOU KNOW SOMETHING, SPILL THE FUCKING BEANS, AND TELL US!’

🥋: ‘Bakugo, you don’t always have to scream, especially when texting. But, he’s got a point, Midoriya. If you know something that we don’t, then tell us. Don’t keep us in the dark. I thought we were all friends, and if that’s the case, then I don’t think friends should keep things from each other.’

👽: ‘Yeah, tell us, Midoriya. We all want to help.’

💵💸💰: ‘Why are you and Y/n both acting so weird, Midoriya? Before, you were talking just as much as the rest of us, but now, you’ve basically gone silent on us. What’s that about?’

🎈🎈: ‘Come on Deku. We’re not going to stop asking. Besides, Bakugo told me that almost any time you found out something new about someone, you take notes. I guess Y/n is the only exception, huh? Anyways, I’m getting off topic. We’re all curious to know what you’re talking about.’

😀😃: ‘I'm feeling better, thank you for listening; the girl with braided hair then disappeared. Alright, today's the day, or so I thought, just as I took both of my shoes off. There was but a girl, short as can be;’

💥🧨🔥: ‘Shorter than you? They must be a fucking dwarf at that point. And why the hell do you keep taking your damn shoes off? What the hell is wrong with you, idiot? Just keep them on! Especially if you’re outside! You could get a damn infection otherwise, stupid idiot.’

🥦🦸‍♀️🦸: ‘Kaachan! That’s mean, and yeah, I get it; Y/n’s not the tallest in the class, but she’s not a dwarf either! But you do have a bit of a point. Why do you keep taking your shoes off, Coffee Bean? Also, i just remembered that you said you were outside. Why haven’t you came back inside yet?’

Everyone else seemed too busy with messaging each other to pay attention to the messages Y/n was sending now, everyone apart from Bakugo and Deku that is.

😀😃: ‘Despite myself, I go and scream; the petite girl told me her woes; You've probably heard it all before.’

💥🧨🔥: ‘Why the hell are you repeating yourself, you damn idiot? You’ve already said this! Let me guess, next line is going to be another stupid reason. Just hurry up and type the next line, fucking Nerd.’

🥦🦸‍♀️🦸: ‘Kaachan!’

😀😃: ‘Everyone ignores me, everyone steals; I don't fit in with anyone here.’

💥🧨🔥: ‘Let me guess “For God’s sake please! Are you serious? I just can’t believe that for some stupid reason you got here before me?”’

🎶🎧🎸: ‘'Cause even so, you're still loved by everyone at home. There's always dinner waiting on the table, you know.’

😀😃: ‘“Im hungry said the girl as she shed a tear. The girl short as can be then disappeared.’

👽: ‘You saved someone else, Y/n? Good for you! And Jiro, how did you and Bakugo know what she was going to type next?’

🎶🎧🎸: ‘It took me a minute to realize that it’s a song. I’ve heard before when I was younger, but I had forgotten about it. I don’t know how Bakugo knew though.’

💥🧨🔥: ‘It’s because the damn pipsqueak was repeating herself. And if you extras were actually paying attention, then maybe you’d know that!’

Y/n messaged Deku alone, and told him that she actually wasn’t loved by everyone at home.

🥦: ‘What’s that supposed to mean, Coffee Bean?’

😀😃🥲: ‘Do you remember me telling you to look through my messages? Did you see the way my mom texted me? She’s the one who doesn’t love me, and I honestly don’t think she ever did. My dad’s always been the one to take care of me growing up, while my mom usually just sat in the corner barely even acknowledging me. I haven’t told anyone about this, not even Katsuki. Please don’t say anything about this to the rest of the class. I’ll tell them later.’

A few minutes later, they both went back to the group chat, and Y/n continued texting the next set of lyrics.

😀😃: ‘And like that, there was someone every day; I listened to their tale, I made them turn away. And yet there was no one who would do this for me; no way I could let out all this pain.’

🎶🎧🎸: ‘Pain? What kind of pain are you talking about, my little Rockstar? If you’re in pain, then why don’t you go see Recovery Girl?’

💵💸💰: ‘Everyday? What do you mean everyday? Why are you going outside, and taking your shoes off everday? Just like Bakugo said earlier, you can get infections if you do that.’

💥🧨🔥: ‘What the hell do you mean you’re in pain, you damn Nerd? Which one of the idiotic extras hurt you?!’

😀😃: ‘For the very first time, there I see; someone with the same pains as me. Having done this time and time again, she wore a yellow cardigan.’

🎶🎧🎸: ‘Time and time again? And what do you mean for the first time? You still haven’t answered any of our questions about the the pain you said you were in. What’s going on, my little Rockstar? Why won’t you talk to us? And I don’t mean in song lyrics.’

🐸🪷: ‘Wait same pains? Earlier you said there was no way you could let out all your pain. What pain are you talking about, Lilypad? I can go with you to see Recovery Girl, if you want me to.’

👽: ‘Besides, should you even be walking around if you’re in pain? It could make it worse.’

🥦🦸‍♀️🦸: ‘Guys, I got Aizawa! He just joined our group chat.’

😴😴: ‘What’s going on here, Problem Children? I was in the middle of taking a nap. This better be good, or important.’

Everyone: ‘Backscroll, Mr. Aizawa!’

👽: ‘It’s Y/n-Chan! I think she’s thinking about doing something bad!!’

😀😃: ‘"I just wanna stop the scars that grow, every time that I go home; that's why I came up here instead". That's what the girl in the cardigan said.’

😴😴: ‘Martinez, Problem Child, whats going on?! Where are you?! What are you thinking of doing?!!’

🐸🪷: ‘You’re really starting to worry me now, Lilypad. What are you saying? What scars are you talking about? I haven’t seen any scars on you; I never have.’

🥦🦸‍♀️🦸: ‘Y/n, Puppy. Why didn’t you talk to me sooner. I’m so sorry, Coffee Bean. You don’t and didn’t deserve any of that.’

💥🧨🔥: ‘What the hell are you talking about, Deku? She didn’t and doesn’t deserve what?! Also, why the fuck are you apologizing? You didn’t even do anything!’

👽: ‘I’m actually really scared to ask this Y/n, but is your home life okay? Does someone at home hurt you?’

🔌⚡️: ‘Mina! You can’t just ask something like that! Especially out of the blue! My Lightning Bug can handle herself, isn’t that right, Sparks?’

😀😃: ‘Yeah, sure, Kami. Whatever you say.🥲’

🐙🦑: ‘Y/n, please talk to us. We want to help you. We’ve been asking this whole time, but you haven’t said anything, or hardly given a response. And Jiro, what’s the name of this song?’

😴😴: ‘Problem Child, tell me what’s going on! Please! Me, and all of your classmates want to help you!’

🎶🎧🎸: ‘It’s called “My R”, and I believe the “R” stands for “Resolve”. And Shoji is right, Rockstar. You haven’t answered a single question yet. What’s going on? You can talk to us; as a matter of fact, that’s exactly what we want you to do. We want you to talk to us.’

🎈🎈: ‘Why aren’t you responding to us, Y/n? Did we do something to you? I’m sorry if we did.’

📼/🥋: ‘Yeah Y/n. Usually you’re one of the most talkative people in class, but lately, you’ve been uncharacteristically quiet. This isn’t like you. At all. What’s going on? You don’t have to tell us everything, just tell us how we can help you.’

🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛: ‘My Darkness, we all want to help you out, but you’re not doing anything to help us help you. You’re not talking to us.’

🔥❄️: ‘Snowflake, please let us in. Please, don’t keep us in the dark. We’re your friends, and we’re always going to have your back.’

😀😃: ‘Whoa, wait a minute, what did I just say? I couldn't care less, either way; but in the moment I just screamed something that I could not believe; "Hey, don't do it, please!"’

💥🧨🔥: ‘Quit repeating yourself already, you fucking loser! It’s giving me a headache!’

💥🧨🔥 has been removed from the chat by 🥦🦸‍♀️🦸.

👟👟: ‘Why’d you remove Bakugo, Midoriya? I get that he screams everything, even in texts, but was removing him really necessary?’

🥦🦸‍♀️🦸: ‘I’ll talk to Kaachan later, for now, we need to worry about Y/n. I told her that I wouldn’t say anything, but I think you guys should know.’

😀😃: ‘DONT YOU DARE, IZUKU!🤬’

By this point, things were becoming too chaotic in the class group chat, that it stated to overwhelm Y/n and Deku.

😀😃: ‘Ah, what to do? I can't stop this girl, oh this is new; for once, I think I've bitten off more than I can chew. But even so, please just go away, so I can't see your pitiful expression is just too much for me.’

💵💸💰: ‘What do you mean you can’t stop this girl? Did she jump, or are you still trying to talk her out of it?’

🎶🎧🎸: ‘Midoriya, you and Kirishima go run outside, and wait behind the school. Uraraka, you and Tsu take the back of Heights Alliance. Midoriya, text Bakugo and tell him to go with you and Kirishima. Todoroki, you go with Uraraka and Asui!’

As everyone was running to get to where Jiro told them, the rest of the class was wondering what was going on.

😀😃: ‘I guess today is just not my day; she looked away from me and then she disappeared. There's no one here today, I guess it's time; it's just me, myself and I.’

🔌⚡️: ‘Sparks? What do you mean by that? Did you save the girl? And what do you mean by “it’s time”? It’s just you by yourself now? What’s that supposed to mean?’

🎶🎧🎸: ‘Kaminari, everyone that’s still in the group chat, keep texting Y/n! Do NOT let her get off the group chat, or go offline!

😴😴: ‘Ashido, see if you can actually call Martinez. I’m gonna see if I can either meet up with Midoriya, and Kirishima, or with Asui, and Uraraka. Everyone, try and keep Y/n on the phone!’

😀😃: ‘There is no one who can interfere; no one to get in my way here. Taking off my yellow cardigan; watching my braids all come undone. This petite girl, short as can be is gonna jump now and be free. I love you, everyone. Hope you guys enjoyed the song, and our time together.’

😀😃 is offline.

Everyone split up and took either the back of the school, or the back of Heights Alliance, and hoped they weren’t too late.

‘This is the last thing I want to say to you, Mother! Fuck you, and I’m doing you the BIGGEST FAVOR I can. Since you obviously don’t even love me, I hope this makes you happy. Goodbye.’

With that, Y/n tossed her phone behind her, after removing her passcode, and stood on the other side of the railing, and let herself fall.

As she began falling, she looked up at the sky, and smiled as big as she could, finally feeling free from her mom. She had her arms open, and felt the cool breeze against her face, and finally felt at peace.

She felt someone grab her from behind, and wondered who it could’ve been, until she saw blonde spiky hair. Fuck. Out of everyone, why’d he have to be the one to catch me? If he knew how my mom has been treating me, he’d want to kill her. Fuck this shit.

Landing on the ground, Y/n was thrown out of Bakugo’s arms, and skidded down the sidewalk. “What the fuck, you stupid ass Nerd?!? What the hell?!” She heard the sadness in his voice, and looked to the side.

“ANSWER ME, YOU DAMN IDIOT! What the fuck were you thinking!?” “I-“ Bakugo picked her up, and threw her even further down the pathway.

“Why the fuck did you do that?! You’re my Explosion, don’t you understand that, you idiot?! God, how worried were you planning on making me, and the others?!”

“Kaachan! Did you find-Kaachan!” Deku yelled, as he saw what was happening. He ran over, and restrained Bakugo with BlackWhip, and told Kirishima to take care of Y/n.

“Why?! What’s the reasoning behind this?! Why the fuck do you want to die so badly?! What’s so wrong in your life that you feel the need to end it?!?”

“My mom wants me gone.” She muttered, looking at the ground. “She hates me. She always has. She’s never cared about me. She’s been abusing me my whole life; while not physically, emotionally for sure. Dad’s always been good to me, but I don’t think he likes or loves me either. I don’t have anywhere to go, no home to go back to, no family. So, what’s the point in even living anymore? It’s not like anyone actually needs me or wants me. You probably just saved me out of pity, and because Zuku probably told you everything.”

Bakugo growled, and told her to speak up, before he burned the shit out of her. She picked her head up at that, and gave him a soft, sad smile.

“Do it, Katsuki.” She said softly, catching everyone’s attention. “Gemstone, what-?” She looked behind her at Kirishima, and gave him the same smile as Bakugo.

“You know everything, don’t you, Katsuki? I’m sure Izuku told you by now. From the slap, to the messages I showed him.”

Bakugo gave her a confused look, and let himself relax slightly. “What are you talking about, Explosion? The Nerd-Deku-Izuku hasn’t told me anything. What’s going on here, Explosion? Talk to me.”

It was only now that she realized that Deku most likely hadn’t told Bakugo, or anyone anything. “Izu..” she said, softly, before feeling her knees buckle.

Bakugo got out of Deku’s arms, and walked over to his Explosion. He picked her head, and made her look at him.

“My Explosion, my Starshine, please tell me what’s going on. I want to know. I really do.”

She hugged him tightly, and asked him why he even saved her. “Did you not just hear me? I said that you’re my Explosion. And I want to know why you just tried to throw your life away like that.”

#anime x reader #bnha #anime x female reader #class1a #fanfic #Bakugo x Reader #caring Bakugo

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fruitcoops · 1 year ago

Note

So I just reread the fic about Jules birthday, and I’ve always liked the part where Remus tells Jules that he’ll always be more important than hockey. Could you write a fic about that if you haven’t already? Like Remus leaving in the middle of practice or something like that? Idk it’s up to u:)

Fic O'Ween Day 3: Midnight! Read more amazing works from these prompts at @noots-fic-fests and of course, character credit goes to @lumosinlove <3

TW illness (coughing, mentioned vomiting, fatigue)

Remus leaned against the countertop for support and stared at the floor. “But he’s okay, right?”

“He’s okay,” his mother answered. She sounded beyond exhausted.

Remus nodded and rubbed his fingers under his eye. The night suddenly seemed so much darker. “How’re you and dad? Taking time off?”

“We’re alright.” He knew that low edge to her voice—it was the same one his own took on when he was trying to hide his hurt. Silence fell over the line.

“Mom.”

“Your dad can’t get PTO this week and neither can I.”

She cleared her throat; he closed his eyes. “Can Leanne keep an eye on him?”

“Visiting her daughter in Florida.”

No parents, no neighbors, no way they’re getting a babysitter for a sick kid… “I’ll be on the next flight.”

“Remus, no.”

“There’s nobody else—”

“Honey.” He could see the way her eyebrows drew together in his mind. “Honey, you’re on the road this week.”

“I know.”

“In Montreal.”

“They can handle a couple games without me.”

“You’re practically a rookie, Remus,” his mother insisted. After a pause, she lowered her voice. “You’re not going to damage your career when we can get a babysitter, or—or I can find a couple days off. Hell, your dad’s got a pullout at the office he can rest on.”

“I’ll be there tomorrow afternoon, okay?”

“Remus John, you have a responsibility to your team.”

“Jules comes first.” If there was one thing Remus would stand by no matter the circumstances, it was his family. The Lions would survive a roadie without him. Jules would never be alone and sick on his watch.

His mother was silent for a long time.

Remus picked at a chip in the granite. “There’s no babysitter that will watch him, is there?”

A sigh traveled down the line. “I guess we’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Love you.”

“Love you, too, baby. Give Sirius my best. Sleep well.”

“I will,” he lied. The call went dead and he turned, bracing both hands against cool stone. Sirius’ footsteps were soft, his hand gentle. Remus sniffled. His chest was a vise. “Mom says hi.”

Slow circles pressed between his shoulder blades. “What happened?”

“Jules got the flu, and they can’t get time off work to stay home with him.” Fucking assholes in fucking corporate. Remus swallowed around the clog in his throat. “Sounds like he’s pretty sick.”

“Does he need to go to the hospital?”

Remus shook his head. The hand on his back slid down and wrapped around his side, guiding him to lean on Sirius’ chest. “Do you want me to book your flight while you call Coach?”

“Yeah.” His voice was rough. He didn’t let go. “God, I hate being so far away.”

Sirius’ other arm came around him and held him tight.

Remus and his father talked the whole ride home from the airport, and said nothing at all.

The house was just as he left it at Christmas. No snow remained, and little frost—crocuses peeked out of the lawn where the squirrels had snatched and buried them.

Apologies for the late notice, but due to a family emergency, I will be in Wisconsin until the 22nd. Thank you for your understanding.

Rapid responses. Cranky responses. Remus had tried to keep a level head, even through the tremor of his hands on the computer keyboard. The organization wasn’t happy with him, but when were they ever?

It didn’t matter either way. Fine or not, suspension or not, they weren’t going to stop him from making chicken soup and raspberry Emergen-C for his sick little brother. He was damn lucky to have Arthur on his side, easing the retribution from men in offices who had hardly bothered to meet him at the start of the season.

“Your mother’s worried.”

Remus glanced up from his hands. His father was facing forward, brow pinched while he pulled into the driveway. “Yeah.”

The engine turned off with a sputter. “Be gentle, okay?”

“It’s not your fault they wouldn’t give you time—”

“Be gentle.”

Remus bit the inside of his lip and nodded. A goldfish cracker peered out at him from the crevice by the door. This passenger seat always made him feel so small. He slung his backpack out of the seat well and stepped out, letting the crisp air nip his face and bring him back. He needed to come back more. The heartache had lessened, and distance was simply exhausting now. Running fast and far to Gryffindor had seemed so smart before.

The front door still squeaked when he turned the doorknob. Remus was glad for that, at least.

His mother smiled when she saw him. “Hi, baby, how was your flight?”

“Hey, mom.” It was good, he started to say, only to have the words fall from his mind the moment she stepped around the kitchen table and wrapped him in her arms. It’s been a lot I love you I missed you how are you where’s Jules—“Uneventful, thankfully.”

“Good, that’s just the way you want it.” She gave a little sway, one hand cradling the back of his neck. He felt a light pulse of pressure. Her back, ever tense, relaxed slightly. “It’s so good to have you home.”

Remus breathed deep. Lemon-scented cleaning spray and drugstore shampoo, laundry detergent and just-sharpened pencils. He pressed his nose tighter to her shoulder and felt her squeeze him, just a little. “Missed you.”

“Oh, Re,” she sighed. A hand rubbed along his spine for a few hard, grounding, wonderful seconds. Warmth seeped in around his edges. The floor was solid beneath him, the walls sturdy. A kiss found his temple. “Baby, we missed you, too.”

A rattling cough made him wince. “Jeez.”

“I know.” Her face crinkled into a grimace when they separated and she looked back down the hall. “That started up two days ago. Poor thing. Keeps him up at night.”

“Aw.” The cough was followed by a rough throat-clear that made Remus frown. “Fever and everything?”

“102, as of this morning.” Hope ran a palm over his shoulder, the way she tended to right after he came home. Remus tried not to think about that too hard, or else he made himself sad. “You’re sure about this? You could get sick. It’s the middle of the season.”

Remus tried for an encouraging smile. “My immune system’s great, mom. I’m in good shape, I take my multivitamins. Eat my Wheaties, and all that.”

“Hmm.” She scrutinized him for a beat. “You better be.”

“I’m basically indestructible.”

Her laugh bounced off the corners of the house like it always had. “Let’s not get hasty, hon.”

“Mom?”

Remus’ heart sank.

“Dad?” Jules croaked, a little louder. “Did the neighbors come over?”

“Hey, J,” Remus called. The floorboards gave a light groan when he set his bag down at the end of the hall. “It’s me, bud.”

Silence followed. The bathroom nightlight was on, casting the hall in gentle blue. His hand drifted toward the first door on reflex (cool metal knob, lock on the inside, jimmy it three times in the winter when the frame sticks), but he managed to step past it and knock lightly below the ‘J LUPIN. DO NOT ENTER.’ sign scotch-taped to the old wood.

“Jules? I’m opening the door.”

The first thing that hit him was the smell. Stale, sweaty, feverish—Remus did a double-take without meaning to.

“Jesus Christ, dude.”

“Oh, you weren’t kidding,” Jules rasped from somewhere to his right. “Hey. Hi, why are you here?”

“You slept too long. It’s June. I’m here for the summer.”

“Hey.”

“You’re sick, dummy.” Remus tried to be subtle about propping the door open wider with a loose hockey glove. “I’m taking care of you.”

With the new, faint light from the hallway, he could see just how terrible Julian looked. His unconvinced squint didn’t help the sallowness of his skin or the heavy bags carved under his eyes. “Nuh-uh.”

“Yuh-huh.”

“Nuh-uh, you have a roadie in—” Another hacking cough interrupted him. It shook his tiny frame hard enough to make his knees bend under the covers. Remus’ heart gave an acid lurch.

Agitated heat radiated off him to the point that Remus could feel it when he perched on the edge of the bed. The sheets were a tangled mess; one blanket half-tucked, the other mostly on the floor. “Deep breaths,” he soothed when the coughing turned to a few aggressive sniffles. “Take it easy.”

“Montreal,” Jules finished in a mutter. He wiped his nose on the edge of his baggy t-shirt (almost certainly their father’s, with the way it dwarfed him) and laid back with a long huff. “You got a roadie in Montreal. Dad ‘n me are gonna watch the game.”

“Dad and I.”

“Shhh.”

He smiled to himself and tugged the top blanket down to shimmy the next one into position. “Well, you and I can watch it. How’s that sound?”

“No, you need to play,” Jules groaned, but even that was weak. He curled onto his side and peeked out of his huddle, dull-eyed and flushed. “How come you’re here anyway?”

“Told you. I’m taking care of you.”

“But hockey.”

“But you.”

“But…hockey.”

“But you.” His stomach gave a little pull. “You’re more important than a couple games, bud.”

Jules didn’t look like he believed him. “…okay.”

“I’m serious.”

“No, you’re R—”

“Don’t you—” Remus bit back his words (and his grin) and whacked lightly at the outline of Jules’ legs under the blankets, coaxing a crunchy sort of laugh from him. “Watch it. I’m in charge of feeding you for the next few days.”

Jules’ giggling trickled out with a last sniff. “Mom and Dad gotta go to work, huh?”

“Yeah.” The wrinkle of his nose was almost certainly reflected on Remus’ face. “But hey, we’ll have fun.”

“Mmm.”

The air shifted, along with his gut. Jules’ breaths were heavier. His eyes, lidded. His forehead was far too hot against the back of Remus’ hand when he checked it. “Tired?”

“Mhmm.”

Wrapping him in a dozen blankets and cuddling him as tight as possible wouldn’t help. Logically, Remus knew that. The temptation was still there. “Too hot?”

“Warm.”

“Want me to take a blanket?”

Jules shook his head. His eyes were closed fully now. “Weight’s nice.”

Every inhale hitched when Remus rested a hand between his shoulder blades, feeling for his pulse. That, at least, was calm. Jules had sweated through the old grey fabric there. He combed a few strands of hair off his burning brow and swallowed around his dry throat. “Want me to leave you alone for a bit?”

“Gonna nap.” Jules’ twitched, as if he was trying to readjust but lacked the energy. “Here when I wake up?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be here.”

The evening passed without issue. Night rolled in with a gust of wind that hissed across the windowpanes while Remus dried the last of the dishes. Jules had managed to get up and come to the table for dinner, but he had looked even worse in the brighter light and barely ate half a bowl of soup. He could see their mother struggling not to fuss over him, not that Jules had any oomph to give real protest.

What kind of family emergency is this, Lupin?

A family emergency. I can come back the 22nd.

You’re missing two games. Do you understand that? Weasley won’t play you for the third, either.

I understand.

Is this a funeral?

No.

A wedding?

No.

It’s a request for nonvital time off, then. This could very well result in a fine.

I’m aware of that. Time off for a family emergency is covered in my contract. I’m permitted to miss four games.

Are you really going to put in a request for this? For a nonvital midweek trip instead of two NHL games?

That’s precisely what I’m requesting, yes. This is an emergency and therefore it is vital.

Remus had not missed the bureaucracy of the NHL during his time on the ice. There was still administrative irritation, of course, but it had not been nearly long enough since he played email tag with someone determined to make his life harder. ‘Nonvital emergency’. It made him want to laugh and lose it at the same time. What a fucking joke.

A sudden rustle and thud—likely Jules’ elbow hitting the wall between their rooms, ouch—startled him from half-sleep. Clumsy footsteps pattered on the floor; a door creaked and closed, quickly followed by a dry heave. Remus winced in sympathy.

This bedroom felt too small. His feet touched the end of the bed if he stretched out. There were only a few inches’ allowance for his shoulders on either side before he hit a wall or the edge of the mattress. Even his stuff felt smaller, as if the books shrank in his hands and the trophies had been made for someone Jules’ size.

He supposed they had been. Juniors was a world away, these days. He had turned the idea of keeping a potential you-know-what ring here instead of in Gryffindor, but never really committed one way or another. That, too, felt far off. He was stuck in the middle of a spectrum, where nothing felt quite right.

The toilet flushed, but he didn’t hear Jules leave. The low timbre of their father’s voice buzzed in the hall for a second; he didn’t catch Jules’ response. Remus swung his legs over the side of the bed with a huff and stood despite the creaking protests of his knees.

The blue light looked eerie in the cover of real night. He propped Jules’ door open again as he passed. A little ventilation couldn’t hurt. He paused in the doorway of the bathroom and crouched down, lowering himself to the cool linoleum with a soft groan. “Sup?”

“M not gonna throw up again.”

“Okay.” Remus flexed his ankles against the cabinets and tilted his head back. The soft towels buffered him from the wallpaper. Next to him, Jules’ forehead was stubbornly pressed into the crease of his elbow where he rested it on the toilet seat. “Still sick?”

A wordless mumble answered him.

“I’m gonna make chicken and dumplings tomorrow.”

Jules weakly raised his head. “Really?”

“Yup. Protein, veggies, sodium, starch. All that good stuff.”

Quiet fell over them for a long moment. “What are you talking about?”

“What, you don’t want a science lesson?”

“Nerd—”

He knew it was going to happen before Jules’ first jerk forward and caught his side when he wobbled, giving gentle pressure until he was upright. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “It’s okay, I got you.”

“Ugh.”

“I know. You’re doing great, J.” It was over as fast as it started. Jules trembled lightly under his touch, sweaty again, all too warm again. His knuckles stood out in harsh midnight shadows where he gripped the porcelain, thin arms shivering.

Jules sniffled. “I wanna go to bed.”

“I bet.”

“I’m tired.”

“Can you stand up?” It took Jules a moment to even start moving; when he did, it was sluggish and unsteady. Remus hovered his hands close and resisted the urge to scoop him right up. Jules wouldn’t like that. He hated being babied. It was still fucking hard to watch him pull himself to his feet.

A rinse-and-spit and a cool washcloth on the back of his neck made Jules sigh. He leaned right into Remus’ hip, head at the base of his ribs, and staggered along on foal legs while Remus guided him back to bed with a lump in the base of his throat. There was no fuss about being tucked in—he simply sighed again, so content it hurt. Remus smoothed out the hem of the comforter by his neck just one more time, once more, just so he could be sure.

Their parents were out by the time Remus woke. He distantly recalled the sound of them leaving, but the plane left him groggy enough not to notice or care. Jules was still snoring loud enough for him to hear it through their shared wall.

Breakfast, then. Something light. Oatmeal or eggs, if he could keep it down. Broth, if not. Remus would have to check the fridge for Gatorade and lemons.

It was strange to be functionally alone in the house. The carpet felt too soft, the curtains too still. A bright pink sticky note was stuck to the table with his name written in big letters at the top. He’d check it later.

Message To: SB <3

Morning :)

Fever’s still going, nasty cough, the works. I’ll keep an eye on him today.

Miss you

He clicked his phone off and set it aside—hopefully, Sirius wouldn’t be awake for some time yet. They didn’t have practice for two more hours in his time zone. He liked to sleep in on days like that. Remus, on the other hand, had work to do.

Quick eggs and bacon for himself took fifteen minutes. He parked himself at his usual seat without really thinking about it, pulling a dish towel and a fork from their drawers with an absent mind. He hadn’t dared to check his email yet and seriously contemplated leaving it alone until he was back in Gryffindor. Time off was time off. Professional hockey wasn’t big on ‘work from home’.

Jules shuffled in half past ten and made a beeline for the couch.

“Good morning.”

A grunt answered.

“Sleep well?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Want oatmeal?”

Jules’ mumble seemed vaguely affirmative. Remus set the kettle on and dug a pot out of the cupboard, then turned to rummage in the pantry. This was setting up to be a silent morning.

Measuring for a sick preteen was almost as strange as picturing his childhood bedroom as a normal size. Remus had only cooked for himself for years, then himself and Sirius, with the occasional potluck dish for a team dinner or holiday party. A single cup of anything was a novelty. “Want sugar?” he checked once the oats and milk were simmering. Jules snuffled in response, dragging one of the knit blankets further over his head. “Lemme check your temperature and then you can tell me, yeah?”

“Mmkay.”

A quick search of the medicine cabinet revealed no thermometer, and the same went for the hall closet. Remus spent a good five minutes riffling through the bathroom drawers and Jules’ desk before he found it propped against the base of his dolphin lamp. It had been left uncapped; gross. He made sure to give it a thorough wash before moving back into the living room.

“Blanket down.”

“No.”

“I can’t see your mouth. C’mon, just for a second.”

“Cold. Bright.”

“Twenty seconds, J. I promise. You can count.”

The blanket lump shifted. “Twenty?”

“Fifteen. Then I’ll bring your oatmeal over and leave you alone.”

A handful of shallow breaths filled the silence before Jules’ forehead poked out, then his glazed eyes, and finally the lower half of his face. Remus grimaced. His nose was red and chapped from tissues, and a faint crack split the side of his lower lip. “Have you been drinking your water?”

“Fifteen seconds,” Jules slurred.

Remus knew he wasn’t getting a better number than yesterday. Not with this vague lucidity, and not when Jules was hardly able to hold a fragment of a conversation. All the same, it made his gut sink when the thermometer beeped.

“Whuzzat?”

“102.5.”

“ ‘S worse?”

“Yep.”

A resigned nod told him Jules expected as much. The blanket swallowed him up again. Remus pulled it down over his feet before heading back to the kitchen.

Three hours passed with all the rush of a snail on codeine. Jules rallied to choke down his oatmeal before going down for a noon nap, let Remus rouse him to gulp down about a gallon of water, and overall remained sedentary while Remus channel-surfed for anything even slightly interesting on daytime TV. They settled on NCIS from one to 2:30, NCIS: Miami from 2:30 to four (with a brief break for sandwiches, or toast, in Jules’ case), and rounded it out with NCIS: LA while Remus tossed some rotisserie chicken and chopped vegetables in a simmering pot of broth.

“Re?”

“Yeah, bud?” Bisquick puffed over the side of the mixing bowl in a soft cloud.

“My stomach hurts.” Jules’ voice wavered. “And my mouth feels weird.”

Fuck. “Bathroom, hustle.”

The glimpse he caught of Jules before he vanished down the hall confirmed it: pallid skin, dilated pupils, sweat gleaming on the back of his neck. Remus rinsed his hands in the sink and dug the box of Pepto Bismol tablets out of his bag, and sent a silent thanks to whatever small mercy it was that left him without a reactive gag reflex.

He spent twenty minutes sitting sideways with water seeping into his pants from the bathmat. “I’m gonna throw up until I die,” Jules whined, pressing his forehead to Remus’ palm.

“You’re not gonna die. Definitely not while I’m here.” He slid his hand around to press against the nape of Jules’ neck and gave a light squeeze. “You’re almost done. Work it out, buddy.”

“Gonna miss the game?”

Despite the sweat, despite the illness, despite it all—Remus smiled. Of course Jules would be thinking about that when he looked like death warmed over. He wouldn’t be a Lupin with anything else on his mind. “We’ve still got half an hour.”

Jules gave a faint push back into his hand. His lower lip wobbled. “I don’t want to miss it.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll make it.”

“I don’t—” His voice cracked, but it wasn’t even slightly funny. He took a shuddering inhale and sniffled again, harsher. “I don’t want to be sick anymore, I don’t, I’m so done, I don’t like it.”

“Jules…” The redness had flooded his cheeks and ears, inching down his neck with each horribly choked breath. Jules’ eyes were bright, but not like usual. He blinked and a drip tracked down his nose. His exhale wasn’t much of an exhale at all—it wracked him, made him sway. “Oh,” Remus murmured. “Oh, hey, c’mere.”

The edge of thirteen had left Jules gangly, all bones and joints. He still fit just right in the hollow of Remus’ chest and arms. A shivering, overheated mess, but a mess that fit all the same. Fuck it, Remus thought as he tightened his arms around Jules and let him fall apart in the safe dark. He didn’t care if he got sick. This was the most vital emergency he could possibly think of. If the administration had a problem with that, he’d happily turn his gear in before leaving Jules to burn through this alone.

“I’m tired,” Jules whispered through shuddering breaths. “My head hurts ‘n my stomach hurts ‘n everything else, too.”

“I know, bud, you’re being so brave.”

A damp, wounded noise made Remus wince.

“But hey, you haven’t thrown up in, like, five minutes.”

Jules felt around blindly for a tissue and blew his nose several times before answering. “I guess.”

“You ready to get up? Have some dinner and watch the game?”

“Dizzy.”

“Okay.” He pressed the wrinkles out of Jules’ shirt with his palm and felt him go limp. “I brought some super special secret hockey medicine, if that’ll help.”

“…is it Gatorade?”

“No, but we have that, too.” He rattled the box next to Jules’ ear. “Pepto Bismol. My secret weapon.”

“Nuh-uh. That’s the pink sh—stuff.”

“Nice save,” Remus said dryly. “This is the same. It’s easier to keep down, though. And it works faster.”

“Makes my stomach stop hurting?”

“It might help.”

He waited a beat, then two. A clammy palm extended from the tangle of limbs near his middle. He dropped two of the chalky tabs into it and loosened his hold by a degree, enough for Jules to pop them both in his mouth and frown immediately. “Yuck. It’s crunchy.”

“Keep chewing.”

“Why is it coming apart like that?”

“Keep chewing,” Remus repeated through a light laugh. “Doesn’t work if you talk the whole way through.”

Jules tucked his legs closer to himself, pushing him further into Remus’ lap. As horrible as the past twenty minutes had been, he seemed better for it. The fevered sheen to his face wasn’t quite as nuclear. His breathing sounded more even and controlled.

“You finished?”

“Mhmm.”

Jules might have looked better, but Remus didn’t have the energy to fight the coddling urge this time. He slid his free arm across the back of Jules’ knees and hefted him up like a cat gone boneless, and received no protest whatsoever. Instead, Jules curled into him with a long, relieved sigh. Remus’ heart may have shattered a little.

The pregame show was just wrapping up when he set Jules gingerly on the couch and pulled the blanket around him. Half of his waterbottle was gone in a few desperate swallows; Jules wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and all but collapsed onto the throw pillows, a heap of exhaustion. The belltower by the middle school tolled six. His sandy hair was damp at the root when Remus passed a hand through it. They’d fix that eventually. Fluids first (hockey first), then everything else.

New Message From: SB <3

Heading to the rink. Miss you love you : )

Remus smiled down at his phone as he set Jules’ bowl on the coffee table and folded himself into the armchair.

“Tell Sirius I say hi.”

“He’s literally right there,” Remus laughed, gesturing at the TV. “He’s not gonna see it for ages.”

“Still.” Jules poked around with his spoon for a few seconds before attempting a small sip of broth. An approving nod followed. “It’s good.”

“Glad it meets your standards. Eat. Protein, veggies, sodium, starch.”

Jules’ eye roll was weak, but very much present. “I know, I know.”

“You gotta know that stuff.”

“I’m not gonna be a doctor.”

“Yeah, but you’re still gonna be a person.” Remus cut a dumpling in half with the side of his spoon. “If you don’t know how to feed yourself by the time you move out, I’m totally making fun of you.”

“Whatever.”

They both booed when the Habs skated out, and cheered when the Lions appeared soon after. Jules couldn’t muster much more than a rough whisper, but the soup and a bottle of Gatorade seemed to help. Remus made him get up and stretch during the first period intermission (to immense complaints, but eventual acquiescence) before letting him rest while he washed up in the kitchen.

New Message From: SB <3

First period up.

How’s J?

New Message To: SB <3

Haha yeah we’re watching

Temp’s high, still pretty sick. Getting better tho

Made soup

The response was almost immediate. Remus’ heart skipped at the thought of Sirius glued to his phone even after a rough period, just to chat with him.

New Message From: SB <3

Oooo jealous

New Message To: SB <3

Yeah you should be

It’s a real rager up here

Miss you. Go get ‘em.

A simple heart and hockey stick emoji followed. The grey bubble cycled for a moment before disappearing. That would be the midgame meeting. Remus was glad to be home—wouldn’t trade this—but he had to admit the hockey ache was still there. Even easy choices had consequences.

By the time he looked back, Jules was asleep. Remus checked his forehead as delicately as he could and was pleased to find it slightly cooler than that morning, if altogether too warm. The pattern of creaky floorboards laid a map in his bones as he moved through the house: first to open Jules’ window, then to let his blankets air out, and while he was at it, he may as well wash the sheets. The nightstand and bookshelf needed to be wiped down. It wasn’t hard to get that done while the washer rumbled on the other side of the hall. In the meantime, the soup had cooled enough to pack up in Tupperware to stack in the fridge for later. Who knew if Jules would suddenly get his appetite back? The kid was a bear when he was hungry.

He lingered for the end of the second period and swapped the sheets into the dryer at the start of the third with a cookie and a cup of Emergen-C for himself. He damn well better not catch whatever germs Jules had percolated from the hellscape of middle school. Sirius had called him ‘stubbornly healthy’ on too many occasions for it to be disproven. Besides, the administration might actually fire him if he came back from an emergency and was immediately out for three more games.

“Re?”

The sound of a quiet voice took Remus’ off-guard in the last few minutes of the third period. “What’s up?”

Jules shifted around until he could prop his chin on the throw pillow and blink blearily at Remus. “Did we win?”

“Game’s still going. 4-3, Lions.”

“How much time?”

“Just under five.”

Jules attempted a whistle, though it came out as more of a shaky breath. “Almost there.”

“Dad texted. They’ll be home in a few, traffic was rough.”

“Oh, okay.” A small smile lit his face. He burrowed back under the blanket. “That’s good.”

“They’ve been asking about you all day.”

“Did’ja tell them I was fine?”

“Something like that.” Sort of. Maybe. He had been gentle about it, at least. Gory details would only make them panic.

He made sure to poke Jules awake for the last minute of the game before shepherding him down the hall to brush his teeth and shower. It was only 8:30, but Remus felt weary all the way to his core. He made Jules’ bed while the water ran and tried to tuck the sheets in along the wall a little deeper this time, just in case one tried to end up on the floor again. If he had the time, he may as well do it right, pinched fingers notwithstanding.

It was all worth it when Jules trudged back into his bedroom and threw himself into bed, only to gasp aloud. “Aw, man, this is great.”

“You’re welcome,” Remus laughed.

“Oh, wow.” The bumps of Jules’ feet kicked happily under layers of fabric and down. “It’s all warm, and cozy…”

“Get some sleep,” he reminded him, and turned out the big light. “If you need anything, I’m right next door.”

He made it halfway across Jules’ carpet.

“Wait!”

“What?”

“You—” The faint outline of Jules’ head was backlit by his lamp. Remus could see the shadows of his hands fidgeting with the top blanket. “Will you…can you tell me about the soup stuff? The proteins and all that.”

Remus hesitated. “For real?”

“Yeah,” Jules said with a surprisingly enthusiastic nod. “It sounds cool.”

“I mean—yeah, sure. Uh…” Jules’ desk chair looked wildly uncomfortable for this time of night, so edge of the bed it was, he supposed. The sheets provided a nice cushion when he sat. “Okay, have you ever heard of macromolecules?”

“That’s a made-up word.”

“It’s what you’re made up of, actually. How about DNA? You know that one?”

Lyall opened the front door with a muttered curse for the bitter wind and the worse traffic. It was brutally unfair that the one day he tried to come home early, everything went to hell and kept him an age and a half longer. What kind of karma came after a father trying to get home to his sick kid?

“It’s awfully quiet,” Hope remarked behind him. The door opened at last; warm air rushed over them. “Boys? Are you up?”

The NHL postgame show was playing at a low volume, next to a plate with crumbs on it and a mug so old the pattern had washed off it. One of Hope’s blankets from her knitting phase was haphazardly piled on the couch. The evidence of both of them there, present and accounted for and safe, plucked at his heartstrings. “Why do I feel like this is exactly where they sat for the entire day?”

She shook her head. “Good for them. I’m jealous. Remus? Julian? Are you home?”

Remus’ bedroom door was closed. The bathroom fan was still on, and steam clung to the corners of the mirror next to a still-damp towel. It couldn’t have been long since they went to bed, then. Lyall pushed Julian’s bedroom door open wider and covered his mouth with his palm.

They had nearly rendered each other invisible, save for Remus’ legs stretched over the side of the bed and Julian’s arm resting atop his pile of blankets. Julian’s congested snoring drowned out the heavy, even rhythm of Remus’ breathing. As far as he could tell, only one of them had actually been prepared for bed.

“Oh my goodness,” Hope whispered at his shoulder. Her grin was radiant, even half-covered by her palm. “I don’t want to move them.”

“Re’s going to wake up with one hell of a side cramp if we let him sleep like that.”

“You do it, then.”

“…no.”

Hope scoffed fondly and tossed her hands in the air, then kissed him on the jaw as she stepped deeper into the bedroom. The whole place felt lighter, Lyall noticed. Julian had been holed up in here for two days, refusing to come out for anything but necessities. Whatever Remus had done, it worked wonders.

“Remus,” Hope singsonged in her quietest voice. She shook his shoulder, soft enough that for a moment, Lyall forgot Remus wasn’t a toddler anymore. “Baby, you need to wake up. It’s bedtime.”

“ ‘M asleep,” Remus mumbled without opening his eyes. “In my bed.”

“This isn’t your bed, lovey,” she laughed. “Come on, up you go.”

“Goin’ to sleep, promise.” His eyelashes fluttered, nose crinkling. “Talking ‘bout—‘bout proteins. Jules wanted to know.”

At the head of the bed, Julian didn’t show so much as a hint of waking. Lyall stepped forward and braced his hands under Remus’ arms, then hoisted him into a sitting position as gently as he could manage with the unexpected weight of an athlete to counterbalance him.

Remus jolted, startling into consciousness. “Woah—”

“Shh, shh.” Lyall helped him stand on clumsy legs and guided him to the door with a last playful glance at Hope. “I’ve got you, buddy.”

“Fell asleep.” Remus blinked hard. “Jules’ bed. Wanted me to stay. Time is it?”

“Almost nine.”

“Oh, god, ‘s early.” A yawn overtook him, spilling more of his weight into Lyall. He didn’t seem to know where his own feet were, but he went easily into the room next door.

“Alright,” Lyall huffed as he helped Remus stumble toward the bed and splay over the mattress. That old thing was definitely too small for him these days. Funny, how times changed so rapidly. That same bed used to make Remus look like nothing more than a pile of sheets. “Brush your teeth?”

A drawn-out snore answered him.

Lyall smiled to himself in the darkness and ruffled the back of Remus’ hair. “Night, Re.”

A single socked foot twitched in response. That was good enough for him.

(Jules’ fever broke the next morning. By the end of the day, he was well enough to go with them to the airport and give Remus the fiercest goodbye hug either of them had experienced, with a pinky-promise that the Lions would win the next game he played.)

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