#he’s probably mumbling to himself about hand placement and where their shoes are pointed

[lumiereandcogsworth]

they are, indeed, everything to me (x)

[shrimpjuice]

Severus Snape x reader??

honestly i just want to post this because it's fun and why not (chapter 1)

OOTP Era

Her eyes scanned the tall pillars that lined Hogwarts’ corridors, avoiding the damp condensation that occasionally dripped onto the dull stone floors. The sun shone brightly through the tall archways on the other side of the hall that lead into the courtyard. That wasn't her focus for today though, no she had much to do, far too much, but it had to be done. 

Y/N had just left a class she'd be shadowing, the Charms class, taught by Professor Flitwick. Y/N loved Charms, and Flitwick was pleasant as a co-worker (not so pleasant as a teacher), but Y/N preferred another class even more. Surprise, surprise, it was Potions. 

Her entire family's line, the Elms, had this sort of… reputation for being well versed in Potions. Of course, Y/N had taken this up as her specialty, because what other choice did she really have? She did have other motivations though, those being a certain Professor Snape. She always looked forward to his class back when she went to Hogwarts, and when she got a job in the Education department of the Ministry, she was quick to request a placement at Hogwarts to start her Potions career early. 

Luckily, the Minister seemed more than happy to oblige, giving Y/N one requirement. She needed to keep an eye on Dumbledore, and just the happening at Hogwarts as a whole. That seemed easy enough, so Y/N happily agreed to take a few notes here and there while she worked with– 

“Oh Merlin, I'm so sorry–” Was all that Y/N could hear when she fell straight on her ass. She'd walked into a student, probably a second year, lost in thought. He was quite tall with short brown hair, nothing remarkable. His tie was blue and bronze, a Ravenclaw. Should've been obvious with all the books he'd been holding. Past tense because now they were all over the floor. 

Y/N groaned to herself as she grabbed the few folders she'd dropped just beside herself, struggling to get back to her feet, resting her hands on her knees. 

“You should really watch where you're going,” The student said simply as he pathetically picked up the books and papers strewn around. Y/N scoffed and watched the boy hobble around crouched over. She wouldn't bother arguing with a 12 year old, not today. Still, she had to have a little fun. One paper that'd been left on the floor, it looked important enough, rested just beneath her shoe. The student looked at her expectantly as she stood there, not moving an inch. She felt a bit petty, but seriously, this kid should learn to respect authority one way or another.

“What, do you need something?” Y/N asked innocently, resting her free hand on her hip. The kid’s face burned red as he pointed to the paper underneath her feet. 

“S’ my paper Miss, I need it for Potions.” He mumbled. 

“So we're being polite now? That's wonderful,” She stepped back, gesturing for the kid to take the paper. “Go ahead, all yours.” The kid huffed and grabbed the paper, glaring at Y/N as he shoved it in his Potions textbook. He hurriedly walked past Y/N mumbling something to himself. Y/N sighed and made her way to the Potions classroom, finally back on track from that minor distraction. 

“Wait, why are you going that way?” She called down the empty hallway, her voice echoing off the walls. 

“I forgot something in my dorm.” The student said, barely audible. He didn't even turn around to answer and hurried around the corner. 

–

When Y/N shut the unnecessarily heaving wooden doors, mahogany was her guess, she came face-to-face with her good old Potions professor, Severus Snape. Old was a description Y/N used a lot for him, as he had the semblance of crows feet at the corners of his eyes and he sounded like he'd been smoking a pack a day since the 50s. Still, he was a charming man, no matter how much he put her off when she thought about it hard enough. 

“Tormenting the first-years again I see,” He said in his ever so monotone voice, sounding not the least bit actually concerned with the student's well-being. 

“He's a second-year sir, he'll be fine.” Y/N smiled, stepping around the professor, setting her folders and books on his rather large desk, pushing his neat notes to the side.

“Perfectly acceptable then,” He… joked? She couldn't tell. He neatened up his newly trashed desk, pushing her things to the side. He looked up at Y/N for a second. “Did you happen to… struggle with this student?” He said plainly, narrowing his eyes. 

Y/N looked up, rightfully confused. “Hm? Oh, it was nothing, he didn't say anything particularly nasty, no.” Snape continued to look at her as if she'd been doused in glue and rolled around in a pile of feathers. “What, have I got something on my face?” She asked, raising a hand to her cheek. She felt a rather large knot forming just at her cheekbone, positively swelling. “Oh Merlin, have I got a bruise?” Snape nodded. “How bad?” 

“I'd advise you to visit Madame Pomfrey.” Snape said, not moving a muscle. 

“I'm sure it's not that bad–” 

“It's unsightly.” He interrupted, his eyes piercing hers through his thick black hair. Y/N groaned but nodded. 

“Fine, if you're going to be like that,” She headed for the door, resting her hand on the frame. “Take notes for me though, the Ministry wants a report from me by the end of the week.” Snape nodded and turned around, tending to other work he was obviously more interested in. Y/N closed the door, still unnecessarily heavy, and headed for the infirmary.

[mollymauk-teafleak]

Same Smile

Huge thanks to my wonderful girlfriend @spiky-lesbian and my amazing friend @minky-for-short for the inspiration and listening to me reigniting my widomauk obsession.

Please reblog and leave a comment over on Ao3!

------

Caleb Widogast did not know his husband, Mollymauk Tealeaf, had an identical brother.

He didn't know his husband had two identical brothers.

He didn't know one of those identical brothers is on shore leave and was sitting on his couch. Not until he kissed him, anyway.

Basically a Modern AU where all of the tenants of the Tealeaf body are identical triplets!

------

Caleb dropped his satchel on the floor with a dull, heavy thunk. He tried to find it in him to care when one of the overtaxed buckles popped open and a pen, some student’s papers and a handful of crystals spilled across the hall rug. That could be a problem for tomorrow morning.

But for tonight he’d had a very, very long day. He’d had two seminars where none of his students had done the reading, a lab demonstration that had gone horribly wrong and made him smell like ammonia all day, he’d had to eat lunch on the train to make it to the bookshop on time only to find the day’s delivery was wrong and he’d ended up with hundreds of copies of a medical textbook that was very informative but probably weren’t going to sell very well. All in all it had been a pretty shit day and a burst buckle was not going to muscle its way in on top of all that.

Caleb had a very narrow, very selective list of what was going to be allowed in the rest of his day. And top of that list was finding his husband, slumping down next to him and pressing his face to the curve of his neck where the scent of his perfume was the strongest. Next on that list was letting his son sit on his lap and do that adorable thing he’d been doing lately where he rubbed his head all over his papa while babbling contentedly, almost like he was just telling Caleb about his day. Next was his daughter curling around his shoulders and purring loudly right next to his ear.

And that was about it, honestly. Maybe a cup of tea.

Caleb hung up his coat and scarf, both of them still dusted with drizzle from outside, kicking his shoes into the corner. He half considered going and putting his pyjamas on but that wasn’t on the list, he just needed to have Molly run his fingers through his hair to work the knots out of it and tell him everything was okay, that he was home now.

Molly was curled up on the sofa, the slightly tatty one with it back to the door. He had his hair loose, just pushed back from his face with a thin leather headband. It looked nice, Caleb made a vague mental note to tell him so.

“Hey,” Caleb leaned over the edge of the sofa, already smiling just from the closeness, “You would not believe the day I’ve had…”

He didn’t give his husband a chance to answer, just kissing him softly, catching his lips halfway through forming a word. Caleb melted into it, putting his hand to his face, stoking his thumb across a cheek that was slightly rougher than he remembered it being that morning.

Caleb froze, eyes snapping open.

He yanked himself backwards, face completely expressionless as he stared at this person he’d just kissed. This person who absolutely, definitely was not his Mollymauk.

That person grinned crookedly, “I think you’re still having it, Red.”

Whenever Caleb was confronted by sudden panic, his brain chose to cope with it by shutting down entirely, by going into some kind of distant stand-by mode like a computer overwhelmed by a virus and choosing to simply crash in response.

Which was probably why he responded to this stranger that looked exactly but not exactly enough like his husband, sitting on his sofa and who he’d just passionately, mistakenly kissed, by opening his mouth and saying, “You’re not on the list.”

The stranger’s lopsided grin didn’t fade, the same sharp teeth that lived in Mollymauk’s mouth flashing but a few of these were cracked, one entirely made out of dentist’s acrylic, like this person had been punched in the face a few times. They were also wearing black leathers mostly, a sleeveless tunic that billowed out into a coat, a tight white shirt underneath and close fitting pants. And the tattoos weren’t right, he had them for certain but the designs and placement were wrong, these were heavily done in stark black and showed mostly waves and coordinates and compasses. They looked like homemade stick and poke jobs. The jewellery wasn’t as heavy either, seaglass threaded onto leather and thin gold chains.

Not Mollymauk. Definitely not Mollymauk.

“You must be Caleb,” they chuckled knowingly, “Nice to finally meet you.”

Caleb was saved from having to think of where to go from there by footfalls on the creaky floorboards in the hallway and Mollymauk appearing in the doorway. His actual Mollymauk, he glanced up and down him and confirmed it- the heavy gems hanging from his horns, the bright flowing coat and high boots, the scars that littered his neck and collarbone, the stretch marks that peeked between the waist of his leggings and his crop top.

What threw Caleb for a moment was the slightly harried, slightly exasperated expression on his face. He could count on both hands the amount of times he’d actually seen Mollymauk look stressed like that. Also the fact that he was holding a tray on which he’d actually gone to the effort of arranging two mugs that almost matched, sugar in a little bowl, a milk bottle, a handful of spoons.

Molly’s red eyes flickered between them for a moment before his face slumped into an expression of equal parts guilt and defeat. Like the face of someone who’d forgotten to water someone’s beloved houseplant and had been caught in the middle of replacing it.

“Oh,” he said in an attempt at cheeriness that was edged with too much tiredness to be convincing, “So you’ve met already…”

“A little more than that,” the Not Mollymauk laughed, leaning back casually and kicking their boots up onto the scuffed coffee table, “Your husband’s a good kisser, Moll.”

Caleb gave a strangled squeak of alarm, all that he could come up with in his own defence while his brain was still in static mode, feeling his face flush a hot, prickly red.

Molly just shook his head, an exhausted kind of realisation tightening his already tight smile, “Um...Caleb, this is Kingsley. Kingsley is, uh...he’s my brother.”

Caleb stared at him blankly, metally tearing through his files for any hint that his husband had mentioned a brother before and coming up empty, “Your...he’s not on my list, Mollymauk.”

Molly tilted his head slightly and gently skipped over that, shooting Caleb a brief, pleading look that promised an explanation later. He moved past Caleb to set the tray down on the coffee table, his tail giving an irritated flick to move his apparent brother’s feet out of the way first.

Kingsley moved, apparently completely unfazed by anything that had happened so far, “He’s cute, Moll, where did you find him? When you told me you’d shacked up with a professor of all things, I was expecting someone a little more-”

“We met at one of my shows,” Molly cut across him, not wanting to hear the end of that sentence, “We were friends for years and then we got together. And he isn’t just a professor, he’s got the bookshop too.”

“Gods, your band!” Kingsley laughed, folding his legs up underneath him instead, “I remember that, you and Yash and that busted old guitar you had...I mean, fuck man, if he still married you after hearing you play, you know it’s true love.”

Molly gave a noncommittal grunt, pushing one of the mugs at him perhaps a little harder than he needed to.

Caleb hesitantly moved to sit in a chair off to the side, still quite unsure what to do. He was so distracted he almost sat on Frumpkin, who huffed and slithered into his master’s lap, glaring through slitted eyes at this doppelganger of someone he already wasn’t fond of.

“But yeah, like I was saying,” Kingsley, cradled the tea between cupped hands as scarred as his brother’s, “The Revelry’s got me running this cargo to Nicodranas and I thought hey, if I’m going to be in the area, why not drop in on my favourite brother?”

“Why not,” Molly repeated, a little thinly, “Without calling or sending a letter or anything to let me know you’d be stopping by…”

Caleb winced a little at the undercurrent of annoyance underneath his love’s voice but Kingsley only laughed, like it was a joke.

“C’mon, you know that’s not how I work, Moll. I never know where I’m going to be heading or when. I’m just glad I got to see you! Especially seeing as apparently you got married since I last saw you? And popped out two kids, what the hell?”

“Una is adopted,” Molly mumbled, like that was the important point.

“I didn’t know you had it in you,” Kingsley continued brightly, now smiling wide enough that Caleb caught the wink of a gold tooth, “I mean, you’re easily the most responsible out of all of us but still, married with kids, that's actually insane…”

Caleb’s eyebrows rose. He adored his husband but one thing he’d never be able to call him was responsible. Molly caught the movement from where he was sitting next to Kingsely and his cheekbones coloured.

Feeling a sudden stab of guilt, a sudden need to rush to Molly’s defence after he’d done it for him, Caleb blurted out, “Mollymauk is a great dad.”

Kingsley looked over to him, smiling crookedly, “I bet. He was always running around after me and Luce, making sure we didn’t get into trouble...well, as much trouble, I guess. Hey! Have you heard from Lucy lately, Moll? I haven’t spoken to him even longer than I hadn’t spoken to you.”

Molly tensed instantly at the question, jaw growing taut like a bowstring, his quietly simmering frustration igniting into full blown, barely concealed fury.

“I don’t speak to Lucien,” was all he said, voice tight and tense and, above all, final.

Even Kingsley seemed to pick up on that, backpedalling quickly, “Sure, sure...so where are these sprogs of yours, then? I’m so excited to meet them...”

“Yasha offered to take them for a few hours after I realised we had our unexpected guest,” Molly bit off the end of the sentence sharply, clearly struggling to maintain his control. He shook his head tightly, standing up and sighing, “Excuse me…”

Kingsley opened his mouth to speak but closed it again, finally falling silent as he watched his brother disappear in a swirl of his coat. Caleb didn’t hesitate, getting to his feet and moving after him, throwing Kingsley an apologetic glance.

“I’ll just, uh...see what he needs.”

Kingsley just nodded, flashing him a quick smile that didn’t quite shine as bright as his other ones, then just staring into his drink. Frumpkin jumped up next to him, eyeing him suspiciously.

In the kitchen, Caleb found Molly with his head in his hands, in the middle of a long, deep breath. Caleb tried to remember everything his husband did for him when he got overwhelmed, coming up behind him and gently wrapping his arms around his middle. Instantly he felt Molly lean into his touch, aching into it.

“I’m an asshole,” he heard him groan, muffled by his palms.

“You’re not,” Caleb murmured into his purple curls.

“I am,” Molly dropped his hands, “Gods, I haven’t seen my brother in years and he comes here and I didn’t even tell my husband or my kids about him, what does that make me look like to him? To you?”

Caleb shrugged, “It was a bit of a surprise...um, why didn’t you tell us? Just out of curiosity…”

Molly turned in his arms, pressing his face to the curve of his neck, having to bend as Caleb was just a little shorter than him. It was long enough that Caleb had accepted he wasn’t ready to talk about it, content just to hold him and let it pass, but then he felt him murmur.

“I hardly ever see him. He’s a pirate with the Revelry, he’s always off sailing somewhere and...and I try, I used to try but he never replies and I’d spend ninety percent of the time having no clue where he was before he’d just pop up suddenly and I’d have to bend my life around him for however long he’d stay and then have him just run off again…”

“And...Lucien?” Caleb asked hesitantly, “He’s your brother too?”

Molly moved back, eyes suddenly solid and serious, “Caleb, I need you to promise me, if you ever hear anything from Lucien, if you ever see him or he contacts you, you ignore him completely and you come straight to tell me. Don’t let him get anywhere near the kids, don’t listen to a word he says, just ignore him and find me. Understand?”

Caleb swallowed hard, more than a little taken aback, he’d never seen Molly like this, “I promise.”

At that, Molly relaxed a little, “He just...he’s not a good man, Caleb. He’s in deep with this cult shit, just...we’re having nothing to do with him anymore.”

Caleb nodded but a question was pressing irritatingly at the base of his tongue, wanting to push forward, as much as he worried it would upset Molly. His husband noticed, reading his face as easily as he ever had, a tired but fond smile chasing the last of the severity off his face.

“Go on then,” he prompted gently, “Ask me.”

Caleb almost groaned in relief as he nearly blurted, “How do you know they’re your brothers?”

Molly gave a rough laugh, “You mean aside from the obvious, that they look enough like me that you sucked Kingsely’s face thinking it was mine?”

Caleb’s face went up like flashpaper as he started to splutter, “It was an accident!”

Molly grinned, looking a little more like himself, putting a gentle hand on his cheek, “I get it, babe, don’t worry, I’ll take an IOU...but I get what you mean. You’re right, I don’t actually remember growing up with them, I don’t remember actually being their brother. And that’s kind of why it kind of hurts having him around, honestly.”

Caleb nodded sympathetically, “So they just sort of showed up after you woke up again?”

“Yeah,” Molly huffed out a laugh that didn’t have much humour in it, “Imagine you’re just walking down the street one day and some guy with your own face runs up to you and hugs you so hard it knocks you off your feet.”

“I can see how that would be...disconcerting?”

“Somewhat,” Molly sighed, moving to look at his reflection in the microwave door, trying to sort out the mess he’d made of his makeup, “Kingsley just...he’s a sweet enough guy even if he is a flit but...when he looks at me he sees this big brother he thought he’d lost, someone who apparently looked after him and ran around after him and held things together for him. Someone I absolutely am not. And he can’t seem to get it through his skull that I can’t be that person.”

Caleb gently but firmly stepped in front of Molly, taking his hands in his own. He didn’t seem to realise how badly they were shaking.

Molly gripped his fingers tightly, like he was holding on for dear life, like he hadn’t even realised how deep the water around him was until Caleb reached out.

“Honestly,” his voice was a shaky exhale, “I’m kind of glad he doesn’t stick around. He’d realise his brother’s gone for good.”

Caleb took a moment to consider his words, wanting desperately to say the right thing, willing his brain to kick into gear and let him help.

“Maybe if he met you now he’d realise he liked the brother he has?” he murmured gently, running his thumbs soothingly across Molly’s knuckles, “I am biased but I think you’re pretty fantastic.”

Molly smiled softly, leaning forward until he was resting his forehead on Caleb’s, “Thanks…”

“I don’t think you need to pretend to be anyone else,” Caleb promised, shifting slightly so he could press his lips to his forehead. It wasn’t quite the kiss he was imagining but he could tell it made Molly feel better and that was all that mattered.

Maybe so he couldn’t lose his nerve, Molly quickly returned the favour with a gentle kiss to the cheek and moved back into the living room. Caleb decided it was best to give them a moment, making a cup of tea of his own. He lingered over it, holding the warmth between his hands, watching the light outside of their small window turn from the full, deep orange of sunset to a cool blue.

Only then did he pad into the living room, not entirely sure what he was going to find. Of course he trusted Mollymauk but still, it wouldn’t hurt to be a little prepared to break up a fight. He mentally catalogued the components in his pockets, just in case.

But when he stuck his head around the corner, there were no flying feathers or drawn swords. The two Tealeafs were sat on the sofa together, Kingsley in the middle of another ramble, hands moving through the air as he gestured widley. Molly had an expression of bemusement and vague surprise.

“-and I was thinking I could show them how to tie knots, I swear man, you don’t even know how many godsdamned knots there are,” Kingsley was saying, eyes alight with excitement, “And maybe, if it was okay with you and Red obviously, I could take em out on the ship sometime! Just a little day trip and you guys could come too, there’s a place where you can always see dolphins and there’s seals and I even saw a whale once! Kids would be into that, right? Kids like animals, don’t they?”

For the first time, Kingsley looked something other than blithely amused. For the first time, a kind of hopeless uncertainty edged into his eyes.

Molly clearly caught it, something in him softening, “You...you really want to spend time with my kids?”

“Of course I do!” Kingsley blinked, “I mean, okay, I’ve not been the best brother on the planet but I’m an uncle now. Like, I’m someone’s actual uncle! That’s the most incredible thing and I just really want to do a good job at it. I want them to like me.”

For a moment, Molly looked startled, like he hadn’t expected him to say that. But once it had sunken in, his face cracked into a smile.

“I’ll be honest, Kingsley, I don’t think you’re going to have to work that hard to get them to like you. You’ll see.”

Kingsley looked like that was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to him, his face lighting up like the dawn.

“And look,” Molly shrugged, “You’re not a shitty brother or anything just...just call more, damn it.”

“Okay, I promise,” Kingsley was back to laughing, looking like he was a second away from pouncing on Molly and hugging him, “I mean, I'm gonna be checking in with my little niece and nephew all the time, right?”

“Yeah,” Molly grinned back at him, “I guess you will.”

For all the broken teeth, they really did have the exact same smile.

Caleb leaned against the doorway, eyes warm as he watched them, as he watched Kingsely loudly announce that he’d even brought a present for his new family members before pulling an entire cutlass out of a holster neither of them had noticed under his coat, as he watched Molly choke down a laugh and start to explain why, as cool as they’d find it, a pirate sword really wasn’t an appropriate gift for two toddlers.

None of this had been on his list. But there was something to be said for surprises.

[thatwriter-leahlolita]

Surely not?!

Summary: Avid fans of Dan and Phil have always dreampt of meeting their favourite YouTubers in person. Only a rare few get the opportunity. Never before though, has one (You, the reader) managed to bump into them repetitively.. as if it was fate?

Ship: Dan and Phil

-----------------------

Lately, you've felt tired. But of course that could easily be explained by the number of hours you've spent leaning over a maths textbook in confusion. Not only was it completely impossible to figure out what 'x' was, but in all honesty you couldn't care less. Your teacher is an ass and he has never helped you actually learn anything important in all the years of education you've had to face with him. It's all pointless, all of it!

Deciding this was a great time to attempt escape from another existential crisis, you clumber your legs out from under the kitchen table and stretch. In the living room, you could hear the sound of the television playing "Housewives of Somewhere Expensive". Deciding to save yourself from the horrific scenes that lied before you, should you dare to enter, you walk over to the fridge to grab some milk and make yourself a coffee. It's 6pm, but honestly any form of energy is highly welcomed at this point.

Unfortunately for you, there was no milk. You turn to the coffee pot to see, no coffee.

"Kannst Du Nitch~" You grumble softly under your breath. "Mum/Dad! There's no coffee or milk left!"

Your Mum/Dad, busy wasting their time watching crappy daytime television, yelled back, "Well go to the shop then, you've got legs!"

Grumbling, you stomp over to your Dan Howell Sad Boi hoodie and black converse shoes, and then make your way to the shops.

***

Dan was tired, and grumpy. He hated 6pm because it's always the time he looses energy and wants a nap. But clearly 6pm is too early for bed and too late to nap. His compromise is coffee.

"Where you going Dan?" Phil wined, turning away from the TV to look at him. "You promised you'd watch this with me."

"I will, but first: coffee." Dan waves his hand nonchalantly back at Phil as he makes his way to the kitchen. "Phil!"

Phil tuts, pausing his show. "Yes?"

"Where's the coffee?" Dan replied.

"Oh... yeah, about that..." Phil winced. "I finished it earlier and kind of forgot to get more."

"Well that's just great!" Dan sighed, now facing Phil as he stands in the door frame of the living room. "Come on then!"

"Come on what?" Phil whined.

"You can't expect me to go get coffee alone can you? This is your own doing Lester!" Dan demanded, chucking Phil his coat.

"Fine." He replied. "But we are finishing this episode when we get back!"

***

The shop was quiet, most people at home eating their dinner or watching TV together. The only noise that filmed the building was the beeping of scanners and rustling of shopping trolleys as people wheel them around the store.

(Y/N) was stood at the coffee isle, staring meekly at the coffee's in slight confusion. They was not usually much of a coffee drinker, at least not making it themselves at home. There is a LOT more range then they could have ever imagined... If it was up to (Y/N) they would pick any random one, but their Mum/Dad was a stickler for coffee and would grumble if they picked the wrong one.

A few more moments past, staring at the coffee types, before a strangely familar voiced peaked their attention.

"Listen Phil, I've told you this once and I'll tell you again, Svens Universe is not more of a priority than coffee. Yes, it's a tough choice but honestly, coffee will always win."

Could that be- No... surely not?!

The men themselves, Dan Howell and Phil Lester walk towards the coffee aisle in haste. (Y/N) had absolutely no idea what to do. Should they move to another aisle, smile and continue shopping? They were way too anxious to actually acknowledge them.

When they arrived at the coffee, (Y/N)'s heart stopped. They stared at the coffee for a moment, before Dan leaned over (Y/N) to grab a coffee from a higher shelf that (Y/N) could never possibly reach.

"Dan! You just leant right above that person!" Phil gasped, turning to you in haste. "I'm sorry about that, you see Dan here will probably murder someone for coffee if needed!"

You turn your head up to face Phil, who stood taller than you by a long shot. You then looked over towards Dan, who huffed at Phil, cradling his instant coffee.

Eventually, realising the situation in front of you, you manage a reply: "It's o-okay. I've been here a while struggling myself!" You laugh meekly.

Dan peaked interest in that moment, "Why's that? Need help grabbing something?"

You blush softly, "Well, no, not exactly. You see I have no idea which coffee to get.." you realise this is a wierd conversation to have with strangers, eventhough they surprisingly don't feel like strangers to you. "Nevermind."

"Oh well if that's the case, " Dan smiled. "Here you go!" He passes you the Starsucks brand coffee he's been cradling, and then grabs himself another from the shelf. "This is by far the greatest coffee I've ever had from here."

Phil retorted, "But of course that's his opinion, you don't have to get that one."

"No, I- Thankyou. That's a great help." You smiled, placing the coffe in your basket beside the fresh oat milk.

Dan stuck his tongue out at Phil, "They want it see, I'm always right!"

"Shut up Howell."

"Watch your tongue, Lester!" He retorts.

Standing in bewilderment, you stare at the clearly apparent lovers flirting with eachother right in front of your eyes. Eventually, Phil turns to you again and realises his placement right now.

"Sorry about him," He smiles. "He's cranky when he doesnt get his coffee. Hope you like yours though."

Dan agreed, "Yeah, bye~". Then he hurried over to the self serve counter to pay.

You stood their a few minutes longer, shocked by what just happened in front of you, before heading home to finally have your much delayed coffee break. The least that experience has taught you, is that Dan Howell has amazing taste in coffee.

***

A few days later, you decide since the new "Animal Crusing" has come out, you would go to the game store to pick it up. You would usually just order it online for preorder and anxiously wait for the delivery day to arrive. But in almost some kind of introverted people hate crime, they released the preorder for store pick ups only!

Arriving at the store, you see a long que. "Well, here we go." You grumble, falling into line in the que quietly. This is why it's better to stay at home, cosy and warm, and wait for the delivery man to deliver the goods.

When suddenly, a voice moaned in the distance. "See! Look at that que! Store pick up only, I mean, the makers of "Animal Crusing" must hate us. And why did we choose "GAMING" of all places to pick it up! This place is always busy."

"Phil honestly you always complain about stuff like this, would it kill you to que for a bit for a lifetime of fun?" Dan replied.

"Lifetime my butt!" Phil retorted. "I give it a few months before you loose interest."

"Absolutely no faith." Dan gasped fakingly, bringing a hand to his chest.

Again? How is this even possible?? You wonder, anxiously staring at the two famous YouTubers walking towards you for the second time this week.

They eventually join next in the que behind you, and you barely keep yourself calm as you feel the heat rising up your body. It's like an itch you can't scratch, knowing they are behind you watching your every move. It is scary, to say the least.

"This better go quick." Phil mumbled, kicking a stone on the floor with his shoe.

The stone rolled quickly across the floor and slammed abruptly against the back of your leg. It was small, so you barely felt it. But the awkwardness of the whole situation just took a much more dramatic turn.

"Oh my God!" Phil squeaked. Tapping your shoulder lightly.

You have no choice, he wants your attention. So you turn slowly and act innocent, listening to Phil grovel about how sorry he is for doing something stupid.

Then Dan spoke up, "Wait, aren't you coffee dude from the other day? When we went to get coffee from Bainsburies?"

"Oh, yeah. That's me." You smiled softly, hoping your eyes didn't give away how obvious it was that you knew WHO they were and that you was intensely aware that you saw them 3 days, 4 hours and 27 minutes ago in the coffee aisle in Bainsburies.

"Small world, huh?" Phil smiles. "Sorry again, though. I didn't mean to hit you."

"It's fine, I barely felt it anyways."

"So, you know what they say," Dan interupts, "Once a stranger, twice a friend."

"What now?" Phil quizzes confusingly. "I've never heard someone say that, ever."

Dan shoves Phil slightly, just enough to make him loose his balance slightly. "Anyway... I'm Dan, that loser on my left is Phil. Can I ask your name?"

"(Y/N). Nice to meet you both." You blush, realising that one way or another, Dan freaking Howell just called you his friend.

"You too!" Phil beams, pushing Dan back in revenge. "So you like Animal Crusing?"

"Yeah! I loved the mobile app version, but I've never played it on a real console yet so I'm super excited."

For as long as the que took to shorten, you three talked. About a lot of things. Boredom and a long que made you all relatively good friends by the end of it. And as a nice bonus, you all got the new Animal Crusing game. You was ecstatic. But this was now the end, you had to go home eventually.

But before you left, "Hey guys."

Dan and Phil turn to you, replying "Yeah?" in unison.

You gulp, breath in and out, and then said: "I have a confession." You continue, "I kind of know you guys already a little, as in I am a bit of a fan of your YouTube channels, yanoo."

They sigh, looking slightly releaved. Phil slapped your arm softly and smiled. "You scared us! I thought you was going to tell us that you were secretly stalking us for months or something!" Then he looked nervous, "Wait, you wasn't, was you?"

You laugh. "Of course not! But is that okay, me being your fan and all that?"

Dan smiled at you again and swished your hair out of place. "Of course its fine (Y/N). It was kind of obvious, you WAS literally wearing my merch when we met at Bainsburies the other day, and you seem genuinely kind. Why wouldn't we want a friend like that?"

".. Oh yeah." You laugh.

Your smile couldn't have reached further then that day. You exchanged contact with them, had one final chat, and then headed home.

------------------------

Thankyou all for reading. Hope you enjoy. If you have any requests I'm open to them!

[crustybaguettes]

band, did you mean kim seungmin oggling sessions - seungjin

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16587968 - read on ao3 :))

A cacophony of scales filled the room, carpeted walls absorbing most of the sound but still trapping it in, a chorus of different instruments jumbled together. Hyunjin ran his scales, C major up, C major down, C# major up, C# major down, D major up, D major down, D# major up…

           “Alright everyone, settle down, I want to start with Pictures At An Exhibition, bar 13.”

           The conductor’s baton tapped out a tempo against her stand and Hyunjin felt his foot instinctively tap along to keep time.

           “Hey, didn’t Ms Kim say to stop doing that, you know we get points taken off at competitions if the adjudicator sees.” Seungmin (Hyunjin’s crush that he, in the words of Aubrey from pitch perfect, ‘had a musical boner for’) whispered harshly, the section leader not wanting to put up with another rant from Ms Kim about proper etiquette and all the 996 ways to get 10 points taken off at an eisteddfod. The boy had always seemed a tad highly strung, but considering the regional championships nearing, Hyunjin could sense the waves of stress radiating off him. The clarinet section in their school band was decent at best, and as the two most experienced players in the section, they normally took the brunt of their conductor’s anger.

           “And 1, 2, 3.” The baton made a downwards motion as the piece began, and in any other circumstances Hyunjin would probably be enjoying himself. Despite the devastating averageness of the clarinet section, the rest of the band wasn’t too bad, placing their school in the top 3 for their province. Not seeming to take these achievements into account, Ms Kim was going as hard on them as ever, her saxophonist history forgetting that it’s much harder to play loudly on a clarinet than it is to honk out a triple forte on the saxophone.

           “Kim, what’s that bar marked as?” She asked while cutting off the band, her viper-like tone shooting directly at Seungmin.

           “Um…uh it’s…” he seemed to be struggling to find the bar being discussed, eyes scanning over the page in a panic and thumb frantically pressing and releasing the register key.

           “Forte.” Hyunjin leant over slightly to whisper, all too aware of the 50-something eyes trained on their section.

           “Forte, Miss.” Seungmin shot Hyunjin a small grateful glance before braving the gaze of Ms Kim, her eyes glaring daggers at the first clarinet.

           “And would you say you were playing forte, Kim?”

           “Um, not really Miss, but that note’s really hard to play lou-”

           “Kim, I don’t care if you chip a tooth if it means that you play what’s written on the page, understood?”

           “Yes Miss.” The 7 clarinets mumbled out in support of Seungmin, eyes trained at the base of their music stands, not wanting to aggravate the situation further.

           “Everyone, I know you’re tired, but I honestly couldn’t care less. The championships are in less than a week, so I don’t have the time to be stopping every 5 bars and remind you of what’s already written on the page. Now again from bar 13. And 1, 2, 3…”

           Rehearsal continued on for another hour in the same manner, stress radiating off the conductor in waves for some unknown reason; Hyunjin thought they sounded good (but then again, he hadn’t competed in international band competitions and conducted world renowned ensembles for 40 years, so what would he know right?). As his eyes were starting to droop downwards, despite the trumpets went over their soli for the umpteenth time, the clock finally ticked from 4:59 to 5:00 and the conductor finally ended the rehearsal.

           “Alright everyone, good rehearsal, remember our sectionals are next week so everyone needs to be practicing for 20 minutes a day. Can everyone help pack up before you leave please?”

           Hyunjin disconnected his mouthpiece from the barrel, an unpleasant popping sound accompanied by the signature trail of spit that was hastily wiped off and onto his pant leg. After clicking the latches shut, he stashed his clarinet case into the corner next to Seungmin’s and began picking up the chairs to carry into stack at the back of the room. At the end of every rehearsal, the hardest part was probably having to overhear (due to the miniscule space allotted for the band room) the section leaders being given their debrief from Ms Kim (see also; harsh criticising). Hard, because no one, not even Hyunjin’s worst enemies, deserved ‘constructive criticism’ from Ms Kim. Unbearable, because watching Seungmin’s face get more and more crumpled with every insult thrown towards the group was like watching someone kick a puppy. Unbearable.

           The circle of 7 section leaders broke apart, their crest fallen facing retreating back to the haphazardly placed instruments around the edges of the empty band room, unspoken assurances being thrown in their directions. Despite their weird not-really-friends-but-more-than-acquaintances relationship (that he would like to maybe one day turn into a not-really-friends-but-more-boyfriends relationship), Hyunjin and Seungmin picked up their clarinets and headed out of the room together and soon split away into two different directions, Seungmin to walk home and Hyunjin to the subway.

           The ride home was always full of subtle stares, a school child with a too-small briefcase-looking thing wasn’t a normal sight for the general public, and Hyunjin became the fodder for people’s curious, sticky-beaking brains. His brain, however, was devouring the anxiety bubble surrounding the thought of his parents, more specifically their expectations.

           Hyunjin’s parents weren’t mean, well, they were, but they meant well, kind of. It was their expectations of their musically inclined son (that had very little to do with music) that felt like little knives of disappointment stabbing into his self-esteem. The fact that he wasn’t the music captain, or even section leader made it worse; if their son couldn’t do what they wanted, he had to be the best at what he wanted, and at the moment Hyunjin wasn’t either of those things. The graded maths test sitting in his backpack with a large, red 59% stamped on it was weighing him down like a cinderblock strapped to his shoulders. Not good at school, not good enough in music, not a good son, he’d heard it all from his parents.

           The fact he was an only child didn’t help the situation. All his academically motivated parents wanted was a child who was the best. That’s all. For them it wasn’t much to ask. For Hyunjin, sometimes the pressure of having to make his parents proud, the pressure that was designed to be carried by at least 2 others, was overwhelming to the point where he felt like his best would only be scratching the surface of his parents’ plans for him.

           His school shoes hit the pavement as he walked through the maze like roads of his neighbourhood, the compacted windows sitting high on the house walls. A soft orange hue fell over his face, and for the first time that afternoon he didn’t feel so stressed. The sound of someone practicing piano drifted over on the wind and gave Hyunjin the feeling that he was in a movie, one where everything was okay, he had a caring family who loved him, a boyfriend who held his hand on the way to school and reminded him to take care of himself, a world that would never be his reality.

           Not only would he never escape the crushing reality of his inadequateness, but his father would never allow a relationship under his roof, let alone a homosexual one. In his dad’s eyes, a wife was like a trophy, something you receive as a prize once you’ve succeeded in life. In his dad’s eyes, a man and a man together was something that should be seen at a golf course or in a conference meeting, but never in love. In his dad’s eyes, Hyunjin wasn’t good enough, so why poke the flame when you could just avoid it all together?

           His key turned in the door, the clicking sound resounding through the dark, empty hallway and a puff of air escaped Hyunjin’s mouth in relief; no one was home. He slid off his school shoes and padded up the stairs, a soft thumping that made him feel like a little kid again. Hyunjin never knew why, but socks (especially thick ones) always gave him a soft feeling when he wore them around the house, the sensation of plopping or sliding his fabric-covered feet along the floor so much more appealing than his bare soles coming into contact with the cold floor boards.

           He flopped onto the bed with a sigh and slight arm flail and accepted the aftershocks from the wobbling mattress, the feeling giving him the image of floating on a boat. A boat in the middle of the ocean, away from everything and everyone. Just him and his mind. On second thoughts, Hyunjin couldn’t think of anywhere more like his own personal hell than his mind, just a ball of stress vibrating and building. His clarinet case was slowly dropped from his hand onto the floor, wincing after the latches hit the floor with a resounding thud.

           Speaking of clarinets, the seat placement auditions were in 3 weeks and Hyunjin hadn’t practiced anything other than band music for so long that the voice inside his head spoke in march tempo. He knew that if the weight of schoolwork was to get any lighter, the one thing he had to do well was music, and without that section leader title he wasn’t getting anywhere. Propelled by stress, he sat up, opened his clarinet case and retrieved a music book gathering dust on his shelf. After deciding on a song, Hyunjin began the slow and painful process of sight-reading a piece with more ledger lines than beats and more semi-quavers than notes in a scale. Until his fingers were cramping and his mouth was imprinted with the shape of the reed, and his front door slammed shut announcing the arrival of his mother, he practiced. The rhythm played over and over in his head as he closed his eyes to sleep, and with a startling and stressful thought he realised that Seungmin would’ve probably been doing the same thing for several weeks already. His new found stress-induced motivation was running through his veins, and even if he couldn’t succeed, Hyunjin could damn-well try.

Hyunjin’s new daily routine went something along these lines: wake up, get dressed, brush teeth. Contemplate the necessity of physical appearance as he brushed his hair. Say goodbye to his parents as he headed out the door, slightly stale muesli bar in hand and smudged lipstick stain on his cheek from a mother’s farewell. Get to school, study, have lunch, study, trek up to the individual practice rooms on the other side of the school. Get the key to the rehearsal room from a music teacher (senior privilege). Practice, and study in the breaks between practicing. At 11, (or whenever his eyes began closing on their own accord) pack up and head home. 11:45, get home and sleep. Repeat. After 1 week of this routine, not only was he falling behind in his classwork, a (not so phenomenal) phenomenon whose extent shocked his teachers of even his worst subjects, but every time he closed his eyes all he could see was staves, rests, dotted crotchets and key signatures. It was exhausting. The only thing keeping him running was the thought that Seungmin could be doing the same, and copious amounts of coffee.

           One day, it was particularly rough for Hyunjin. He’d gotten a Korean exam back and had done especially, well, shit (even for him). When he’d called his mum to tell her, she simply told him that it wasn’t good enough and that the reason he was staying at school so late better be because he was studying. Despite knowing it was far from the truth, he assured her that he would improve and that it was the upcoming regional championships that were stressing him out.

           She hung up after that, leaving the championships lingering in the back of his mind, just another thing to add on top of his mountain of stress. He’d gotten back late the night before due to trackwork on the subway line, and was running on about 3 hours sleep, which was not a lot when trying to practice a grade 8 clarinet solo while also trying to study and do homework simultaneously for two different subjects, all at 10:19pm on a Tuesday night.

           After a particularly shit run of his audition piece (Hyunjin was finding that word more and more useful, shit grades, shit playing, shit life, shit person) it was all too much to carry, like a cat storing up his energy to pounce until it finally spring to life onto unsuspecting prey. Hyunjin felt like a small mouse, his body being engulfed by an evil, all-encompassing cat, fur woven with fear and cripplingly low self-esteem.

           Before he knew what he was doing, a string of profanities (mainly comprising of shit) left his mouth and tears were flowing down his face. He discarded his clarinet in next to his music stand and sat on the floor, legs crossed over one another and head in his hands. His quiet sniffles and soft sobs filled the room, a welcome change from the same song repeating over and over, never good enough, never perfect. When he closed his eyes he could see his parents standing there, disappointed looks painting their faces. When he opened them, a reminder of his inadequacy stared right back at him in the form of notes and rests.

           A quiet knock broke Hyunjin’s self-deprecating train of thought, the fear that a teacher or cleaner had come to scold him for his hands to wipe the tears off his face, despite his urge to curl up into a ball and sob. “Yes?” He croaked out, a small crack entering his voice at the end, almost releasing another wave of tears. The door swung open carefully to uncover the concerned, glasses-adorned face of Seungmin, a familiar yet not exactly welcome face at this point in Hyunjin’s day. His maybe small but still present crush was demanding attention at exactly the wrong time, Hyunjin’s aching and tired heart wanting nothing more than to curl up in the other boy’s arms and let his worries wash away.

           “Hey Hyunjin, it’s pretty late, practicing this much can’t be good for you, you know you’re more than prepared for the championships right?” Seungmin’s soft and sincere voice filling the space with a feeling one would compare to hugging your mum after a few weeks apart. Like home.

           Hyunjin made eye contact with the boy and soon regretted it, remembering the red and puffy eyes he would not have, not to mention the tear streaked face and snotty nose. What a beautiful sight. “Wow dude, have you been crying?” The younger boy came and sat in front of him, carefully avoiding the clarinet lying abandoned on the floor. “What’s wrong? Can I help with…” he paused to look at Hyunjin’s study notes scattered around the floor “Biology? I could help you study, it’s one of my best subjects.”

           Hyunjin let out a phlegmy laugh, punctuating his sentence with a sniffle. “Every subject is one of your best. I think I’m too far behind to rescue at this point. Plus I don’t even care about science.” His voice gave into the wave of sobs building in his throat and as soon as the last word left his lips the wave crashed down, his chest burning from the crying.

           Seungmin hugged him after a short moment of ‘this person I only talk to about crescendos and concert dates is sitting in front of me sobbing what the fuck’ and began to recall some basic phrases to tell someone whose tears are staining your geography textbook. “You’ll be okay, whatever it is you’ll get past it, it’ll be over soon, it’s not the end of the world, everything’s okay.” His fingers moved in circles up and down his spine, the relaxing movement reminding him of when he was younger and his friend would write syllables on his back and make him guess what they were.

           Slowly his tears eased from a heavy downpour to a sprinkle and he sat up from being folded into Seungmin like a fortune cookie. A sniffle was let out as if it was an invitation for Seungmin to ask about his…situation, and the invitation was accepted.

           “So, and you don’t have to tell me or anything, like it’s totally fine if you don’t want to, like we don’t really know each other, but um, what were you crying about?”

           “Well, it’s pretty dumb…oh my god this is so embarrassing.”

           “You don’t have to tell me-“

           “No,  I want to, I um…I’m just really stressed.”

  ��        “Mood…sorry, do you wanna talk about it?”

           “Well, I’ve been practicing day in day out just for this stupid fucking seat placement audition, and because of that I’ve had no time to do homework or study, so my grades are dropping, and because my grades are dropping my parents are mad, but the whole reason I need to be first clarinet anyway is because I want my parents to be stop bugging me and be proud about at least one thing in my life and my grades are terrible and won’t ever get better, no matter how much I study, so I need to do well in music, but I can’t ever be the best like my parents need me to be because you’re just so fucking good at the clarinet and I’m so shit compared to you and you probably work so much harder than me anyways so I don’t really deserve it and the champions are so soon and that’s just another thing to add onto the top of all my school work and I just can’t handle it anymore Seungmin. Fuck, my parents are gonna kill me when they see my Korean exam, fuck!” By the end of his rant, Hyunjin was crying again, his ears of stress and anger coming out warm and fast, the cussing seeming to wake Seungmin out of the daze he had fallen into.

           “Hey, do you wanna know a secret?” Seungmin said, his tone seeming to glaze over everything that had just been said, Hyunjin knowing that he was listening the whole time.

           “Sure, what?” Hyunjin had a distraction from having a full blown breakdown and at this point, he would take what he could get.

           “Well, I can’t read music. Or, not very well at least. I don’t know why, but my brain just can’t comprehend all those lines on the page.” He loosely waved his hand in the direction of Hyunjin’s sheet music to emphasise his point, being incredibly blasé to the massive bombshell he just dropped onto Hyunjin’s head.

           “But, your sight reading’s so good, how can you not read music?”

           “Well, most of the time I can play by ear and figure out basic rhythms a few bars in, or if I know the song I can normally play it fairly decently. If I have zero idea, then I mainly just, well, you might be a bit annoyed, but I sort of just listen to you play it and then copy it.” Seungmin looked down and fiddled with his fingers, suddenly becoming meek due to Hyunjin’s questioning.

           “You must a fucking super human memory, damn Seungmin, I’m impressed.” Hyunjin’s tears had dried up, the knowledge that his competition had just as many insecurities as he did making him feel a little bit better about his situation.

           “I mean, it’s not that impressive, the only reason I have to is because I can’t learn the real way, sight reading in my exams is a shit show, to put it lightly.”

           “But exams don’t matter, the fact that you made it to section leader with no sheet music or rehearsal marks or anything to rely on is amazing.”

“I guess? I don’t know, I’ve never really thought about it that way. Ms Kim doesn’t know, and I have no intention of her finding out, which is how you know it’s probably not something to be proud of. “

           “Well, I personally believe that’s bullshit, and Ms Kim has a stick shoved so far up her ass I’d be surprised if it wasn’t affecting her hearing.” Hyunjin began to stand up and pack away his things, the motivation and will to live being restored by human company.

           “Do you always swear this much when you’re tired, or is this just a special occasion?” Seungmin gathered his things up as well, their mutual insecurity sharing making them infinitely closer than they were before.

           “A mixture of both I’d say.”

           They talked back and forth, the two having a surprising amount in common other than the clarinet despite having never spoken to each other properly before. It took Hyunjin 5 minutes of walking in the wrong direction to remember where he was going, his lack of awareness clear evidence of his pure exhaustion.

           “Oh, fuck I’m meant to be going the other way. Well, see you soon Seungmin.” As Hyunjin turned to head back  to the station, he felt something tug on his blazer sleeve.

           Seungmin’s worried eyes met his own, the street lights reflecting in his glasses. “You could come over to my house? It’s only 5 minutes’ walk from here and we have ramen.”

           “Well who could say no to that?” Hyunjin shot his parents a quick text letting them know that he’d be out, making sure to turn his phone onto aeroplane mode after it was sent through to avoid the onslaught of threats and insults that would interfere with the one-on-one time with his ‘possibly more than a crush now’ crush.

           They walked slowly through the streets of Seungmin’s neighbourhood, their tired bodies being weighed down by sleepiness. Once or twice Hyunjin thought he saw Seungmin looking at him, but then again, it wouldn’t have been the craziest thing  that he’d imagined about the other boy. Hyunjin broke the silence, a small and insignificant question sitting at the back of his brain like an itch that needed to be scratched.

           “So, why were you at school this late anyway? Like, you know why I was but…you know, what were you doing?” The two finally made eye contact and Seungmin stared inquisitively back at Hyunjin.

           “I was um, I was at tutoring? I don’t know, I thought you’d just assumed that’s where I was, most kids stay out pretty late for private lessons and stuff. I just came back to school to get something from my locker and I heard you playing. Don’t, don’t you get tutoring Hyunjin?”

           Hyunjin felt his heart start beating at the familiar question (one that could only be linked back to his family) was asked. “Um, well, no, my parents don’t really believe in that sort of stuff.” Seungmin looked at him quizzically, expecting a more rebellious/money related answer.

           “Well, both of them got through school pretty well, not top of their class, but up there, you know? Anyway, neither of them had tutoring because their families couldn’t afford it, and now that they can for me they don’t think it’s…necessary? I guess? I don’t really know their logic, but the last time I brought it up I was just told to study harder so, somehow I don’t think it’ll be happening any time soon.”

           Seungmin’s face turned from confused to frustrated, an angry counter-argument bubbling on his lips. “But, that’s just not how it works anymore. Like, it’s impossible to even understand half our school work, let alone be good at it without private stuff. Maybe it was when they were at school, but now it’s just not….it’s not fair for you Hyunjin!”

           Seungmin’s passion for Hyunjin’s education made his heart boil over in fondness, as odd as it may seem. No one had really cared about that kind of stuff before. Well, at least, not in the way that Hyunjin needed. He wondered if Seungmin used to struggle in school, and that’s why he was so intense about it, but before he could ask Seungmin turned left and walked up a pebble path in between two small patches of well-kept grass.

           “My parents aren’t home, so you don’t need to worry about any of that.” Hyunjin being Hyunjin, his mind quickly leapt to the most lewd and inappropriate thing he could think about, eyes boggling out like a fish, but quickly realised Seungmin meant things like talking quietly or being overly polite.

           They took their shoes off and walked/slid (the joy of socks on floor boards) over to the kitchen counter, Hyunjin dropping his bag directly next to Seungmin’s as if anywhere ese in the house would’ve been forbidden for him to alter. The odd things you do in someone else’s house. Seungmin, as if on autopilot, opened the cupboard door and reached for a packet of ramen, quickly remembering that there was two of them and picked up another one. He flicked that kettle on and went about his routine, gathering a pot, spoon, two bowls, two sets of chopsticks.

           The whole thing felt weirdly intimate to Hyunjin, like when you go to a zoo and see animals doing things you wouldn’t want to be seen doing by strangers. He felt like he was watching Seungmin through a glass window, the younger boy pottering around as if no one else was there. It was quite entrancing, actually.

           Well until Seungmin turned around and made direct eye contact with him, making Hyunjin’s shoulders jolt a little bit in fear. His tie undone, blazer discarded and glasses askew, Seungmin looked cute. Well, very cute, to put it lightly. Hyunjin didn’t even notice he was staring, eyes drifting in and out of blurriness like they do when you’re dead tired, until the other boy awkwardly cleared his throat, holding out a bowl of ramen and a pair of chopsticks.

           They sat down to eat, still in relative silence except for the slurping and chewing noises that Hyunjin found repulsive and relaxing at the same time. Like something that smells so bad you can’t stop smelling it. Suddenly, Seungmin let out a giggle. Hyunjin didn’t know why, maybe it was the thrill of not being around his parents, or the fact he was onto his 19th hour of consciousness in a row, but he started laughing too. Soon, both boys were the kind of laughs that make you cry, make your stomach hurt or make you feel like you’re going to vomit. It was pretty funky.

           The laugh’s died down and a question popped into Hyunjin’s brain, one that could possibly flip the whole situation on its head, but he wanted to know the answer, so he asked despite the possible consequences.

           “So, why aren’t your parents home?” Hyunjin instantly regretted his decision when Seungmin seemed to close into himself, fiddling with his chopsticks habitually.

           “Well, my mum’s away for work, she’s works for an insurance company based overseas, so she goes away a lot. My dad works as a bus and taxi driver, and he works the night shifts on the bus. My um, my mum earns a lot, but it’s usually only enough for the house, bills, food, clothes, you know, those kinds of things. My dad works the long hours so that he can pay for my tutoring, because, well, he didn’t have a very good upbringing and didn’t do too well in school, so he wants me to have a better chance than him. That’s why I uh, why I’m “good at everything”, I guess.” Seungmin accentuated the commonly whispered phrase with quotation marks, as if to say he didn’t believe it. Which was bull, because it was true. Well, it was in Hyunjin’s eyes anyway. “I try really hard, I study, I practice the clarinet, play baseball, I fucking…I work so hard, because I want my parents to know that their hard work mounted to something.”

           The two boys sat in silence, Seungmin staring at his ramen bowl, Hyunjin staring at Seungmin. The younger boy looked up, glassy eyes being protected by the soft gaze of Hyunjin, as if saying that it was okay to cry.

           Seungmin didn’t take the invitation, instead standing up to clear away the bowls. Hyunjin grabbed his before the other boy could, and began rinsing away the spicy remnants of their dinner. His thoughts wondered, comparing his life to Seungmin, comparing their parents, their grades, their motivation. He realised that to be motivated by love was much more powerful than to be motivated by fear, and maybe his parents could learn a thing or two from Seungmin’s. Their hands brushed together a few times, at first by accident and then on purpose, before Hyunjin have up on the hints and grabbed Seungmin’s hands in his own, the half washed metal chopsticks clattering into the sink.

           “Seungmin, it’s okay. You don’t need to be embarrassed, or ashamed, or angry or scared, because I know that your parents will love you no matter what, whether you become a baseball player or a musician or a lawyer or a bus driver, your parents will love you knowing that you did your best. It’s okay to blame yourself, and set expectations, but just know that you don’t need to, you have other people who are here. I’m here.” Their hands stayed linked along with their eye contact, a single tear running down Seungmin’s face, making Hyunjin wonder how the first clarinet kept it together when he was crumpled up and sobbing in his lap like a sad piece of origami.

           Before he could think about it anymore, or about how he wished he could give Seungmin all his happiness, even if it wasn’t a lot, he felt arms wrap around his torso and tears warm his shirt.

           ‘Seungmin’s crying, fuck what do I do?’ Hyunjin thought.  Seungmin let out a little giggle, breaking the stream of tears and making Hyunjin realise he’d done a bit more than just thought it.

           Seungmin re-emerged from the shoulder he’d been crying on and before Hyunjin even knew what he was doing, he kissed him. In hindsight, probably not the best idea, but you know, heat of the moment and all that jazz. It wasn’t like he was trying to force his tongue down the other boy’s throat, just a peck, but he did suppose it was a bit uncalled for. The more Hyunjin thought about it, the worse what he had done became and Seungmin’s frozen state wasn’t heling matters.

           “Uh, um sorry, I don’t know why I did that, god, I’m so sorry, I’ll just go now, sorry.” Before Seungmin could voice any protest and/or agreement, Hyunjin had picked up his bag and clarinet, slipped on his shoes and bolted out the door, the adrenaline of kissing Seungmin fuelling him until he sat down on the subway, the repercussions of today finally sinking in. He didn’t want to go home, actually, he didn’t want to go anyway, he just wanted to scream and cry and hug someone all at once. The first new friend he’d had in years, and he just went and fucked it up like the idiot he is. A sentimental, common-sense-lacking, gay idiot.

           Scrolling through his contacts, he was reminded of the friends he did have before completely isolating himself with his clarinet. Contrary to popular belief, he did have friends, quite a few actually, just not at his school. One of his closest friends, a boy called Jisung, used to skateboard with him on Sundays before his parents banned him from doing so, didn’t live far from the next subway stop. The announcers voice brought him back to the weekends where he could be a normal, happy 18 year old for one time slot a week. Where he could laugh and snort and yell and joke and be free for a few hours with his friends, what he’d always dreamed adolescence to be like.

           Not really thinking about anything, he got off at the next station, the familiar homeless man with his wooden flute now sleeping curled up in a duvet, and despite the lack of change in his pocket, he still mustered up 1,000 won, the smiling face of the old man playing on repeat in his mind as he walked up the stairs and out into the chilly night. He hadn’t realised how cold it was until now, but his fingers felt like they were going to stop functioning without some gloves or a heat pack, and he was probably going to need those at some point (the fingers and the gloves).

           Feet moving on instinct more than thought, he turned left and left again, the familiar waving cat in the window of a Chinese restaurant wishing him good luck, and Hyunjin appreciated the sentiment, he needed it. Not remembering the proper etiquette until 100m from Jisung’s house, he unlocked his phone and tapped on the small phone button underneath a particularly puffy-cheeked photo of Jisung. On the fifth ring, he picked up.

           “Hyunjin, bro, what is it? I haven’t seen you in ages dude, but you know it’s like 1am right?” Hyunjin hadn’t realised how late it was and felt bad, until the wind shot a shockwave of shivers along his arms and warmth was more important than manners.    

           “Yeah, I know, I’m really sorry it’s so late, I didn’t even realise, um, this is kind of random, and like you don’t need to let me, but could I sleep at yours tonight? It’s just that…well, it’s a long story.”

           “Um, yeah, sure, you can tell me when you get here, I’ll leave the front door unlocked, just come up to my room and remember where the creaky floor board is, see you soon.”

           “Thank you so much, see you.”

Hyunjin, had never been more grateful more Jisung’s chill parents or for Jisung not questioning him, and for the heat that encompassed him as he shut the door behind him and locked it carefully, slipping off his shoes for the second time that night. He was extra cautious when stepping around the loose floorboard right outside Jisung’s parents’ room, deciding that they deserved a good night’s sleep more than anyone else.

           As he opened the door to Jisung’s room slowly, he realised with a sad thought that this was probably the earliest he’s gone to bed all week, the overflowing levels of homework needing to be completed once he got home every night keeping him up until the early hours of the morning. Jisung’s bed head and familiar squirrel-like face stuck up from under his bed sheets, and the worried look in his eyes made Hyunjin almost breakdown, again.

           “Hey Hyunjin, it’s been a while hasn’t it.”

           “Yeah, it has been.” Hyunjin replied wetly with a bit of a sniffle, determined not to cry. He didn’t think he could even if he wanted to, the tear supply running a tad too low.

           “Here, put these on and then hop in. You look like you could use the sleep.”

           Hyunjin caught the sweat pants and hoodie that were thrown his way and proceeded to turn around and change. It wasn’t an uncommon thing for one of them to be getting changed in front of the other, especially due to the clothes-destroying nature of skateboarding.

           He lifted up the sheets and sat under them on the bed, Jisung’s arm coming to wrap around his shoulder and rub up and down his arm. He vaguely remembered Jisung setting an alarm and making sure that Hyunjin’s laptop and phone were charging before drifting off into sleep, the thoughts of Seungmin and school still running laps around his head.

After waking up and getting dressed, Hyunjin explained the events of the previous day to Jisung, gaining a little bit of comfort from the sympathetic gaze and sincere words. They finished up their breakfast and Hyunjin thanked Jisung’s parents, both of them making sure to remind him to come over whenever he felt like it. They’d always been more like parents to him than his own, ever since middle school when he helped Jisung get home safely after spraining his ankle playing soccer.

           Hyunjin’s clarinet felt heavy in his hand, a weighted reminder of the consequences he would have to deal with later in the day, including those during and after band rehearsal. He knew he wouldn’t be able to focus with Seungmin sitting next to him for an hour and a half, but he decided to cross that bridge when he came to it.

           After a quick organisation of plans to meet up soon, Hyunjin and Jisung parted ways at the subway station, Jisung to get on a bus and Hyunjin to take the (slightly shorter than usual) subway ride back to school. His mind raced with what he would say to Seungmin, what Seungmin would say to him, what his parents would say, what his teachers would say about his lack of homework completion. He’d taken his phone off of aeroplane mode to call Jisung last night, but hadn’t checked to see if his parents had messaged or tried to call him.

           Opening the messages app, the lack of a little red circle telling him what he already knew, there was his text conversation with his mum, the message not even read, let alone replied to. Some would take it as a blessing, but the fact his parents cared little about his whereabouts or safety filled Hyunjin with a longing for a familial relationship with his parents like the one Jisung, or even Seungmin, had. It had been like that his entire life, and got even worse with the beginning of middle school, but that didn’t make it any easier to deal with.

He didn’t realise how awful he looked until waiting to get off the train and having nowhere to look other than his glassy, transparent reflection. His hair was a nest of flyaways and messy strands, eye bags more purple and prominent than ever, and his face looked red and swollen; a mixture of sleep and multiple bouts of crying. He accepted the stares this time, knowing what he looked like made it much easier to understand passer-bys’ fascination with him, although it really shouldn’t. He was surprised most Korean school children didn’t look like this on a day to day basis.

The sideways glances and discrete (ish) looks continued as he entered the front doors of the school, making a bee line for his classroom. As he sat down and prepared to sleep for the next hour of self-studying, his mind went blank for the first time in over 24 hours of consciousness. It was relaxing, a very welcome change from the overactive thoughts that had calmed from a storm into clear skies.

Walking back into the band room after ducking out swiftly when noticing he was going to be all alone with Ms Kim, Hyunjin’s eyes landed straight onto Seungmin’s small frame. Their gazes met and hastily shifted directions, wanting to avoid contact for as long as possible before they had to sit next to each other for an extended period of time that seemed to be getting longer and longer. It’s only been 10 minutes, 5 of which had been spent setting up chairs, but Hyunjin felt like he’d been there for hours.

           The minutes ticked past, and with every click of the clock hand, Hyunjin felt the tension between him and the first clarinet growing thicker and thicker; a fast growing fungus that fed on anxiety and angry band directors. Every time their hands went near each other reaching for a pencil, every time they accidentally made eye contact, or worse, physical contact, Hyunjin saw Seungmin visually cringe away, and he hated himself. Not only had he ruined whatever relationship might have been brewing between them, but he made Seungmin so uncomfortable that he couldn’t look at him. He broke the minimal amount of trust that had been weaving in the space between them, and for that he didn’t think he could forgive himself. Was Hyunjin over reacting? Maye. But was he also sad? Yes, and feelings deserved to be recognised, whether their dumb or not.

           When the rehearsal ended, the two stood up and faced each other, the younger quickly scurrying away to accept his weekly debriefing/insult collecting, and Hyunjin returning to his case to pack away his clarinet. Determined to keep tradition alive and to foster some spark of hope still alive inside of him, Hyunjin placed his packed up case next to Seungmin’s empty one, a stroke of despair striking through him as he realised that the other boy was still being scolded by their paranoid conductor, still convinced that their band wasn’t and would never be good enough.

           They both picked up the two remaining chairs in the room, everyone except them having scampered out as soon as possible. Considering their seniority in the school, Ms Kim could trust them enough to lock the door after they left. Avoiding eye contact was becoming one of Hyunjin’s specialties, he realised, not having looked at Seungmin properly for over an hour and a half (impressive, considering his old habits of ‘look at sheet music, Seungmin, sheet music, Seungmin). As they entered the storage room he decided that enough was enough, and spoke his proper words of, well, now that he thought about it, it had probably been around 9 hours since he uttered more than one word in a row.

           “Hey, Seungmin, look, about yesterday, I’m really sorry, I don’t know why I did it, it was really stupid and I’m so sorry.”

           The clack of a chair was all the warning he got before Seungmin was directly in front of him, hands in his own. Their faces were disturbingly (yet enjoyably) close together, and he could feel the warm puffs of breath from the other brushing against his face.

           “You know, I was going to tell you not to leave, but you kind of just, booked it out my front door without much warning. I mean, I probably would’ve done the same, but usually my crushes don’t like me back.”

           Hyunjin was silent. Seungmin liked him? Really? He blinked his eyes a few times just to check everything was really there, the little movement found cute by the other as the smaller boy let out a little giggle, before brushing Hyunjin’s hair out of his eyes and giving him a little kiss on the nose.

           “Hey, this is super romantic, but my nose is greasy as hell.” He couldn’t resist the little comment that escaped his lips, not regretting a single thing as he saw Seungmin’s eyes crinkle in amusement and his mouth twitch with a possible retort.

           “Maybe I’ll just have to kiss somewhere else then.” His mouth quirked up a little before reaching up to give Hyunjin a little peck on the lips, their mouths a little bit swollen and sore from playing. Seungmin’s hands came to rest on the bottom of Hyunjin’s blazer, fingers curling around the fabric as they leaned their foreheads against each other’s, the taller boy bringing his arms up to rest on the other’s shoulders. They swayed slowly back in forth in the musty little storage room to music that wasn’t playing, and Hyunjin, for the first time in years, hadn’t a worry in the world.

[alluran]

if you like causin’ trouble up in hotel rooms and if you like having secret little rendezvous

a/n: I wrote at least a year and a half ago, so there are some things that probably don’t actually count as canon, but canon compliant. This happens before Shiro disappears and there’s one reference to a Garrison flashback when they’re younger that’s shown in s7e1, but no season 7 spoilers. also, I haven’t written is a long time, but I wanted to do something so here is 4k+ of bonding and revelations

It was easier to slink into the control room unnoticed than he thought it would be with Coran and Pidge keeping the weirdest hours and the space mice popping up out of nowhere constantly. Keith moved to a control board, holding his breath as he listened to the Castle’s hum in the quiet hour.

He had fumbled a bit trying to get Allura’s light show up and running - he wasn’t even trying to get it settled on one particular constellation, just reached a hand out to follow the trail of a comet in motion when suddenly the entire projection went spinning. He slammed his eyes shut against the onslaught of dizziness, though the lights still danced behind his eyelids, and threw his arms up; a yell torn from his lips.

The rough growl of his voice echoed in the room, he opened his eyes frantically glancing back toward the hall way to make sure someone hadn’t heard him or could be running to investigate.

Could blaming it on lingering phantom venom in the castle still be within the realm of blame? Ooor had he expired that excuse when he had broken the-

Keith shook his head, turning back from the doorway to the projection. He wasn’t expecting the Milky Way - that would have been too cliche and besides, he wasn’t really looking for that one - but wherever he did land, had more than plenty to look at. He sucked in a breath, there were at least 14 planets and maybe a hundred moons. Planets with thin rings or wide rings. One smaller planet was almost completely hidden behind its many rings that looped and expanded like the years on a tree. His eyes traced the room at a crawl and it could have been seconds or hours or maybe the entire night by the time his eyes fell to his shoes, studying the neon storms curling over varying constellations and blips of untold worlds on moons and planets and asteroid belts hovering by his ankles. The blue lights were stark against the scuffed up knees of his black jeans where they glowed and pulsed with life. He - carefully, very carefully not to send the entire room spinning again - raised his hands, slowly uncurling his fingers and okay he felt something watching the light of stars wink back up at him from his palms.

He huffed a laugh, “The Garrison’s got nothing on this.”

Keith shrugged out of his jacket, folding it end over end before placing it on floor. The cool temperature of the floor felt good against his back and shoulders, slowly easing him down from the high of beating another one of the gladiator’s levels. It soothed the dull, satisfying ache in his muscles.

Space didn’t really adhere to internal time clocks (adjusting their human bodies to the constant dark of space had been the worst and deemed fit to even deal them jet lag that lasted for whatever two and a half weeks looked like out here.), but at least on some biological basis Earthlings and Alteans had synchronized enough that there was a solid block of time where everyone was quiet, sleeping or getting around to it. When they converted 24 hours to ticks for Allura and Coran had gone on for ages how infinitesimal human days were, how no wonder why they were still primitive. It had been a trip and he still got a migraine thinking about the formulas and charts that had littered the control room in the mathematical process.

So, he didn’t believe Coran and Allura literally went to bed when they did, Altean days had translated to around 32 hours with only six of them needed for rest.

Altean militia worked on four.

Children and adolescents were given eight, but when you reached maturity and able-bodied it was considered lazy.

Honestly, he was just glad Shiro had made it apparent from day one that sleep wasn’t really a matter of negotiation with humans, especially teenagers. He omitted the little detail where the Garrison trained them like the army, up and in uniform before the sun so much as grazed the horizon. Keith didn’t need nine to nine and a half each night, but the look on Coran and Allura’s faces when Shiro had told them stopped Keith from correcting him.

A middle ground was found and, unfortunately, an automatic timer had been put in place on the training deck to shut down after a certain time at ‘night’- as requested by Shiro, chief of curfew police.

Which is what brought him here, breath evening out and muscles still buzzing with an entire solar system arced around him. It reminded him of the desert - weird, since it wasn’t like the desert at all and he hated the desert towards the end of it. The wind had been brutal out there sometimes, turning the skin on his face raw (which is why he had to start wearing the bandanna, not as a fashion statement in homage to old cowboy movies like Lance had accused him of), but it was far off the Garrison’s radar, and property line, he had checked. Not so much that he was biased, which he unabashedly was, the Garrison worked more like a prison with curfew enforcers (guards that probably did a term on the brute squad) and always a light on, somewhere. Of course the instructors and government officials didn’t have curfews, certainly not for the scientists constantly churning out new tech to beat out other countries. Midnight and sometimes you could barely see your shadow on the sidewalk.

But the desert?

Miles and miles and miles out from the Garrison?

It was like space.

He’d use the filched hovercraft and siphoned the fuel energy to get it running just to go out farther, as far as he could go with enough to get there and back and a little left over in case something came up. There was a trail of ridges cut out from thousands of years erosion that he could lay out on and it was like it was just him and the sky - no other point of land high enough to break his line of sight, to break the illusion. It’s what he felt in the cockpit, piloting to the highest point in the sky until the only thing bringing him down was the radio fuzz laced with the familiar, warm voice of his instructor telling him the takeoff example had sufficiently been done 1200 feet ago-

“Now, bring it back in, cadet, before Iverson really does think you’ve hot-wired it this time.”

He chuckled into the comm, “Hey, all he had was a chip on his shoulder and circumstantial evidence, but copy that.”

Just him and the sky.

It set something like butterflies loose in his stomach.

Back in the desert, he got the chance to remap the sky like he did as a kid, not in vectors or pounds of air pressure, but constellations. He’d all but forgotten about the stories he had strung together to memorize the placement of each if you looked backward or forward, up or down. He always liked Aquila the Eagle in summer and Ursa Major the Great Bear in spring, but his favorite was Orion in winter even the relentless teasing from Shiro about Keith always being ready for a fight too hadn’t bothered him (he may have gotten one or two newer digs in since of course Keith’s bayard is a sword).

Sure he missed the familiarity of the Milky Way, but it wasn’t so bad laying under the jumbled mass of stars he didn’t know the names of. It gave him a little bit of freedom, no human eyes had laid on the stars or planets and he could trace out his own constellations - like the mice or maybe one that immortalizes the time he punched Sendak, he’s not picky.

He fit his hand under his head, cushioning it better against the floor and stretched out a leg. He could lay there for hours, even if it meant getting two hours sleep tops before Shiro was knocking on his door for wake-up ca-

“Closing time, open all the doors and let you out into the world. Closing time, turn all of the lights on over e-ver-y boy and e-ver-y girl.”

Keith cursed under his breath and sat up, mentally scanning through a list of escape possibilities. Maybe if he made a run for it Lance (because it was obviously Lance, no one had that much bravado singing to themselves in the middle of the night - let alone that song - and because the universe hated him.) wouldn’t catch him? He could easily hide out in a shadowed corner of the room while Lance cut the projection, mumbling to himself about it being Pidge.

Keith would never be the first suspect, when she’d left it up and running more times than any of them could count.

But was that what happened?

No.

“Closing time, you don’t have to go home, but ya can’t stay here. I know who I want to take me ho-”

The second he sat up and turned around it was just in time to startle Lance on his way past the doorway, he jumped at the sudden movement, frozen in some weird combative stance that just highlighted his lanky limbs and then, took to blinking owlishly back at Keith once he snapped back to himself. His thin brows rose high on his forehead when they made eye contact and Keith groaned as Lance pulled out one of his earbuds. Keith could hear the guitar riffs all the way from his spot halfway across the room. Didn’t he know that could cause him permanent hearing loss? And being a Paladin sort of meant they were supposed to be at their peak form. It was torture watching Lance look around the room slowly, so agonizingly slowly. He was going to ride Keith’s case about being some dopey romantic laying under the stars for weeks, probably years knowing Lance.

He was doomed.

There was no way he was getting out of this.

He’d be nagged and laughed at for being some dopey romantic that took long naps under artificial stars.

Lance nodded his head once, “‘Sup.”

Keith narrowed his eyes. “I’ll punch you if you tell anyone.”

Lance snorted and rolled his eyes as he walked into the room, “That’s dramatic. Dunno what you’ve got going on in that messy mullet head of yours but I guarantee you ‘likes to cool down after training by watching the stars’ is weak material - we were literally enrolled in the same school because we like this stuff. Mind if I pull up a jacket?”

He didn’t say anything, only narrowed his eyes and scooted his jacket over so they wouldn’t be sitting so close together.

Lance sighed, folding his jacket over and fixing the hood as extra cushion. When he laid down, he offered Keith one of the ear pieces on his headphones, turning his phone off and pocketing it with both earbuds when Keith shook his head. It was almost unnerving having someone do that, making a show of giving him their undivided attention and wanting to include him without a second thought. Especially when it came from Lance ‘KEITH AND LANCE, NECK-AND-NECK, RIVAL PILOTS’ McClain.

Lance situated his hands under his head and looked up.

Keith had barely caught the almost imperceptible gasp from Lance. Part of him hated that he only did because he was still watching him.

Not in a weird way. He just still wasn’t convinced this wasn’t going to turn into some sort of roast at his expense, he had to keep his guard up.

“This isn’t the Milky Way.”

“Nope.”

“It’s not any of the ones we’ve received distress signals from either?” Lance scanned the room fervently and Keith distantly wondered if he saw the same constellations or if he formed his own on the unexplored frontier.

Keith laid back down, looking back up at the stars and waving his hand in the air. “Nah, but finding this one...wasn’t exactly intentional. Just, uh, don’t wave your arms in the air or anything like that. Trust me.”

“Got it.” The blue paladin tilted his head, shuffling his legs as he moved the toe of his sneaker out of the rings of a planet. “When I was a kid, I went through at least 20 packs of those glow-in-the-dark stars and planets.” Lance laughed, “I’m pretty sure the white sticky tack is permanently fused into our ceiling.”

Lance looked over at him, expectantly, and Keith felt apprehension, they were sharing, this was a thing, before the words came stumbling far too easily. “I never got to do the glow-stars-on-the-ceiling thing, I never stayed anywhere long enough.”

For a moment, he’s afraid he’s broken some unspoken agreement when Lance flinched, like the clunky words had punched his side. Keith was sure everyone knew his business after the incident with Griffin, the Garrison was overrun with gossips and rumor mills and, unfortunately, he had been the unlucky candidate to have their rumor confirmed as fact. Just as he thought he was going to drown in awkward and be left to wallow in his crap communication skills, Lance spoke up.

“Did you ever want them?”

Keith huffed bemusedly, “Not really, my dad and I lived in the desert, so we saw the real thing that far out from the base. I didn’t really care to notice space as a career or anything until I was shipped off to the Garrison. It was kind of a last stop as a ward of the state - either make something of my life and stop being a parasite on society or go back to juvenile detention.”

Lance cringed. “That sounds like one of Iverson’s more rallying pep talks. Dude, that’s...that’s quiznaked. Or is Quiznacked?”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re saying them the say way, does it really matter?” Keith shrugged. “I didn’t always know I wanted this or even liked it, but then, I did. I didn’t mind the lectures or the homework or mandatory assignments that had us set an alarm at 2 a.m. to catch a meteor shower if it got at the pilot controls.”

“Who knew? Keith Kogane actually listening in class.” Lance scrunched his eyebrows in thought, his words hedged nervously. “But, you never paid attention in the classes we had together? That is, when you bothered to show up at all.”

“Things changed after my first handful of times in the simulator and I got assigned to pilot class. It was fine for awhile, Shiro was the instructor and he bailed me out of hot water I don’t know how many times. For the first time, I could see something past detention halls and rides shoved in the back of official vehicles. He was even looking into guardianship papers.”

Lance’s face lit up. “No way, man.”

“Yeah, it was pretty cool. But then, the Kerberos assignment came up and Shiro had to leave for prep and Iverson stepped in. ‘The Garrison Machine’ started to make sense to me and I hated it. People wouldn’t stop pushing me further and further - Takashi Shirogane was going up into space and there was someone that needed to fill in as top of the class, the next Garrison success story.

“Suddenly, Shiro wasn’t coming back and it went from being honed for his place to “Maybe you can learn from his mistakes.” Got caught breaking curfew to pilot illegal space crafts on a racing circuit and on top of my grades and the fights, that was it.” Keith sat up and rested his arms on his knees. “I had kinda forgotten what it was like to look up at the sky and not see government chains.”

“Understandable.” Lance shrugged as he stood, aloof. “That’s great and all - I mean, congrats on finding your passion again - but using your free time just laying underneath a projection isn’t the solution, Black Parade.”

Keith bristled, his voice racking up a few octaves again. “Are you kidding me?! We were having a moment, I just spilled my guts out to you!” Lance ignored him to shut down the projection and Keith felt his blood pressure rise. Every single time. “Nope, don’t remember. Didn’t happen.”

“You’re an a-”

“Take a deep breath, Mayday Parade.“ The blue paladin scoffed and waved his arms dramatically. “My point is: you’re spending all of your time down here when the real thing is right there, man. C’mon, I have something to show you.”

Keith threw his hands up and huffed. “Wh- Those aren’t even the same thing, Lance. One is a song and the other is a band.”

Lance cackled and he realized too late that he had walked into something. “You would know, mullet. Now, let’s jet.”

Keith didn’t get a chance to answer as Lance yanked him to his feet and dragged him toward the door. It was almost dizzying the amount of hallways and turns he was pulled in. Just when he thought they would be lost in the far caverns of the Castle for eternity, they passed a door and Lance threw on the emergency breaks, nearly reverse slingshot-ting them into the door frame.

“I found this place about a month or so ago when I definitely not snooping.”

“How am I supposed to take that sentence as you not actively admitting you were snooping?”

“I’ll have you know, I was stumbling innocently back from the bathroom and missed our hallway at whatever substitutes as 3 a.m. around here.”

“Fair enough.”

Lance yanked him in front of a door, it was just like every single other door in the castle - crisp and shiny and suspiciously clean if Lance had been coming back and forth here. He was not about to release his breath yet because this wasn’t a Saturday morning cartoon where hidden rooms or forbidden wings were marked with a creepy encryption or giant, bold faced letter spelling KEEP OUT. Allura’s sudden wrath if the mice sent her some ESP message that they were lurking around her house and just going wherever they pleased was a lot more likely though.

He didn’t know what he was expecting, everyone had learned through individualized experiences the hard way about expecting or assuming certain outcomes from Lance’s ‘surprises’, Lance finally dropped his hand to enter a code into the key pad, bringing Keith to another detailed revelation.

Since when did Lance keep up physical contact with him for extended periods of time without griping about it? (i.e. the cuffs, any time they had to train in pairs, or that one time they were the only ones cuffed as a punishment because Coran couldn’t find a garment big enough to fit both of them after Pidge enlightened him on ‘Get Along’ shirts.) And since when was he not painfully aware of every second of physical contact? He blamed Shiro’s comforting dad shoulder pats that lingered for just the right amount of time and Hunk’s not-really-terrible group hugs. The point was, it was still Lance.

Oil and water or, after that one mission, lighter fluid.

It wasn’t a bad thing, it just shocked him.

The doors swooshed open, scrambling Keith out of his thoughts as Lance swept an arm out in a grand gesture. “After you.”

An observation deck definitely wasn’t one of his possible guesses.

The air lock? Yeah, maybe. But not this. “It’s an observation deck, Lance.”

“Thank you, dropout.”

“When are you going to let that go? And technically, you, Pidge, and Hunk are dropouts too, so that insult is null and void.”

“Okay, but we dropped out to save the universe, you dropped out to go sulk in a sand dune.”

His fingers flexed at his side, palm warm and begrudgingly memorizing the feel of Lance’s next to his. He wanted to get along with the team, he didn’t particularly enjoy feeling like the last pick in gym class any time he hung out with Pidge, Hunk, and Lance while they talked endlessly about inside jokes and stories, but he figured it would be harder than this. Keith couldn’t name the day or hour or which planet they had been on when he and Lance didn’t constantly need a buffer or ref. It had been irritating sure after a year out in the desert doing his own, quiet thing whenever, going from that to knowing that he could have been walking off the edge of a cliff and Lance would still be trailing a few paces behind him and working to catch up - talking about marketplace stalls that looked cool or complaining about one of their old professors or asking if it mattered which restroom he went in or goading him into making puns or carrying on a conversation in puns after he had found out that Keith had seen The Princess Bride more than once and knew some of the references.

It was a...development.

That still didn’t change the fact he was standing on a regular, old training deck. He scrunched his eyebrows as he looked into the dark room, eyes trailing deliriously high to follow the dome of the ceiling.

“A little faith, please, Keith.” Lance quipped as he watched Keith look increasingly doubtful.

“Okay, last time you said that we almost wound up in jail on Zowhara and got a month of pod-cleaning duty for the trouble and time it took Allura and Shiro to get us out.”

“Anyways, the point is this isn’t like the other training decks and it’s worth it.” Lance jerked his head in a direction, sliding his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and turning on his heel.

Begrudgingly, Keith followed. Even if it turned out to be a legitimate claim the ‘it’s not like the others’ statement made him concerned and someone had to be there in case Lance somehow wound up getting yanked out into space - again. He felt a little validated in his worry when Lance traipsed up to a window not blocked by a safety handrail.

So he didn’t feel like his hesitancy was unfounded.

He hung back as Lance turned to see if he was following, he looked like he wanted to tease Keith for being the red paladin - temperamental, fly-by-the-seat-of-his-pants, zero impulse control - and hesitating, but he didn’t. Not even an eye roll, just grinned at him. “You ever see Ferris Bueller’s Day Off?”

Keith laughed full and loud, the sound echoing off through the high ceiling. He barely managed to wheeze, “Suddenly, everything about you makes sense.”

“Ha-ha. Hilarious. Just get over here, chuckles. We don’t have all night, our wake-up call is in four hours and I want to get some rest.”

Keith felt an old reflex curl on his tongue, the “You didn’t have to stay with me.” all too ready. Hunk had graciously walked him through that one, just because they hadn’t known Keith as long didn’t mean they saw him as less of a friend. He still had a long road ahead of him working through what too many foster placements and a solitary year in the desert did. Lance raised his eyebrow, silently calling him out on it, daring him to say it out loud.

“Get over here, Kogane.” Lance faced the window again, shuffling forward until his toes were touching the window, the bright white of them reflecting in the glass. He bent forward, until his head was angled down against it.

Keith copied his stance, his hair tickling his nose where it was flattened between him and the glass, and looked down, only managing a pathetic attempt at actual words and resigning himself to an audible gasp. Lance mercifully didn’t throw the embarrassing sound back in his face, but Keith could hear his smiles in his words.

“It’s awesome, right? Back in Cuba, I would wake up right before dawn to get to the beach. There were so many of us that it was a thrill just in itself getting changed and out the door without someone waking up or already awake. We’re a big family and I love them, love being around them constantly, but going out there in the morning was my quiet space. I’d paddle out as far as I could.” Something Keith doesn’t think is for him to see flits and settled itself across Lance’s face. There’s a tilt to one side of his mouth that lifted up in a way he hadn’t seen before. His eyes looked out onto the galaxy, but it wasn’t the stars he was seeing judging by the light and distant glaze that envelope his eyes.

‘Varadero,’ Keith’s mind supplied, the scene forming in his head like he could smell the ocean and hear the lapping of the waves or caw of birds. The crisp wind whipping past him. It’s something private and-

Oh.

“I’d get to where the shore was behind me and everything in my direction was sun and sky and the sun lighting up the ocean. In one tiny second of time, the sky and the water are the same and it’s just...just-

“It all feels like flying, y’know? Like, that part in the simulator where you have to maneuver through the tailspin and a dive and it looks like it’s just you free falling into nothing but sky, but way better.”

Him and sky.

And Lance.

[wanna1things]

Soulmate!Park Jihoon

my laptop broke the first two times i tried to post this please appreciate

Genre;; fluff + uhh college!au,, fashion designer!au uh soulmate!au obviously

Warnings;; theres a bit of self-deprecation here and mentions of like low self esteem ??

Pairing;; Park Jihoon x reader

Requested;; nooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Soulmate AU Type;; when you and your soulmate touch, you both feel sparks until you get together lol its a v simple one this time

Summary;; You met Park Jihoon in the first year of college. Since then you’ve always felt a spark, but you haven’t yet felt the spark you really want...

Style;; bullet point

Word Count;; 1785

Also in this series;; Daniel | Woojin | Jinyoung | Minhyun

I’m posting this as a thank you for 100 followers (i think its 115 now??) and also because i am bored… i’ve had my ribena it’s time to WRITE also excuse me?? i love jihoons fashion sense. give me that boy in a beret any day i’ll take it. this was written when i was in a bit of a slump so if it’s bad i’m so sorry but ill do the requests ASSSSSSSSSSSSAP

your parents told you about the ‘sparks’ thing when you were really young

you used to dream that you’d meet a real life prince and touch his hand and then you’d feel the sparks and you really like romanticised that as a kid lol

all the way through your life your friends were finding their soulmates, some even in kindergarten lol

but you never seemed to have much luck and your mum always joked that you were still waiting for that prince to come along

you decided that really soulmates weren’t the most important thing in life and although it would be nice to meet yours;; you’d rather explore other passions

so you took up designing fashion

your school offered design and technology courses so you took a couple and realised it was something you really enjoyed

you were always the best at being able to make old clothes into something new fresh and wonderful

when you got accepted into the best fashion college in the country you almost had a heart attack

your mum read out your acceptance letter while you were on the toilet lmaooooo

but really you never really thought you had that much talent with designing

but your acceptance letter seemed to suggest that the college really liked your mood boards and your way of styling

on the first day of college you walked into the hall expecting it to be like;; a normal lecture hall

but everyone was already in groups around these mannequins

you had a TEAMBUILDING EXERCISE

kill me now

you moved into the group you were told to go into and introduced yourself as brightly as you could

“hello! I’m y/n haha”

the others responded with their names and they shook your hand quickly

except for one kid who seemed to not be that;; interested in your presence

he mumbled a “park jihoon” and went back to working with the materials

you watched as he went to work cutting the fabrics and you tried to decide what you wanted to do with the old piece of clothing on the mannequin

the prompt on the whiteboard simply read ‘uplift me!’ so it was pretty vague;;

you suggested bright colours like yellows or pastels to be uplifting

the jihoon guy turned up his nose a bit at this

“no, y/n i think we should use sequins or metallics. they are more eye catching, which might be what they mean by uplifting”

the other group members were a bit like lmao what just happened

“did jihoon just talk to you?? he hasn’t spoken to any of us no matter what we say what’s your secret??”

honestly you thought he was angry and that’s why he spoke to you like that lol

but in jihoon’s head he was mentally kicking himself like this girl is the only one in the room whose fashion style is my taste;; and i make her hate me lmao gr8 job m8

but really he just appreciated that you put a viable idea forward and he wanted to have an,, intellectual conversation with you but he ended up scaring you off more than anything

you continue to work on the piece as a group and you settle on using gold because;; it’s kind of bright like what you want and it’s the metallic that jihoon wanted

when the professor comes around and looks at yours he immediately can tell you two did all the work and you two are like?? How did you know

and the professor is just like ya guys i looked at your mood boards. i know your styles

but he puts you and jihoon together as a pair so you can work together on future projects because your styles match super well and then ON GOES THE LECTURE

a few months into college you start doing placements in a shop where you design and put together outfits for the customers

you and jihoon are put against each other for like the first time and you each have to try and please as many customers as you can

the briefs they give are literally like;; two words usually “i want a skirt to match these shoes” or something

and you have to learn to infer their style from what they’re already wearing it’s v difficult;;

but you and jihoon manage to please the exact same number of clients… and you do each client you get pretty much perfectly

from that moment onwards you and jihoon are known as the fashion power couple, even though you aren’t actually a couple in fact you’ve never seen each other outside of class

that is until jihoon invites you to go to a coffee shop for lunch during the break between your classes and your placement

after yall get your food and your drinks you sit down in a booth and just sigh and relax a bit

jihoon says out of nowhere

“i’m sorry if i scared you at first i was just really surprised to find someone with the same style as me lol”

he’s blushing a lot and its?? really cute i mean you knew park jihoon was cute from the very first moment you saw him but the light blush across his cheeks makes him look 250% more adorable

“don’t worry i’m not even remotely scared of you! i’m really happy we are friends”

wait

jihoon did not realise he was your friend oh my god this makes him happy he thought he was just an acquaintance

don’t tell anyone but he’s highkey been crushing on you since the first day you met and did that fancy ass styling

i mean you have a crush on him too but you two have literally… never hung out like… can’t act upon this

you are just enjoying your tea and your croissant when you notice jihoon has a paper cut on his hand

“hey jihoon i know how to cure paper cuts super quick all you have to do is-”

you lean over the table to grab his hand and demonstrate what to do when he flinches and snatches his hand away

I mean you’re a bit hurt but like… you just continue with what you were saying to not make it awkward

“ahh… um… my mum said you can put superglue on it to make it heal haha”

jihoon smiles back sheepishly and keeps drinking his drink

he’s mentally kicking himself that he pulled his hand away but

honestly he really likes you and he doesn’t want to face that you probably won’t be his soulmate so;; he did that

but when he sees the sad look on your face it’s like ah INSTANT REGRET

when you go back to classes the next day your professor reveals that your whole class is entering a worldwide fashion contest

all the top fashion colleges around the world enter their top classes

you and jihoon look at each other and you’re so ready to partner up and get that first place position

but your professor then reveals

that you enter alone and teams aren’t allowed

rip fashion power couple you are really up against each other now

honestly you really want to win this to prove yourself

you don’t feel like your style is as refined as like jihoon’s or some of your other classmates

and it makes you feel kinda;; down

but you feel like if you win this then you’ve proven to yourself that you do have a style and it is worth you being at that college

because sometimes you think that you might just be surviving because jihoon is helping you and working with you??

but anyway

your brief is similar to the original brief you had on the first day of college except this one you style using pre existing pieces and one piece you can make yourself

the exact brief is like;;

“something uplifting, can put a smile on someone’s face. classic, but fresh.”

you decide almost straight away to use jihoons idea of gold from the first day because it does work

it’s classic, it can put a smile on someone’s face and if it’s styled the right way it can be fresh and uplifting too

little do you know jihoon has a similar idea

you decide to thrift a second hand wedding ring and you add some gold details to it as your item because;; it’s subtle and more classic idk??

on the day of the competition you and jihoon are getting ready backstage because;; you’re your own model lol

you go on the catwalk consecutively because it goes in order of school

just before you step out to go on stage jihoon pats your back and whispers a ‘good luck’ in your ear

you swear to god that you just felt the sparks

you look up at jihoon but he doesn’t seem to react so you brush it off as just being nerves

but inside both you and jihoon are mentally screaming

like omg the person i’ve liked for like ages is my soulmate bYE

anyway

the catwalk for both you and jihoon goes really smoothly, both of you have chosen similar styles and both of you are using gold

as you’re waiting backstage for your results your professor approaches you and sighs

“i notice that jihoon’s style has influenced yours and that you’ve influenced jihoon’s style recently…”

honestly you look up at your professor like lmao whAT do you MEAN???

“my dear, it’s young love”

you can literally feel the heat burning up your cheeks as jihoon appears behind you and your professor

before you know it the results are being announced

the special mention prize goes to a girl from a Milan school of fashion which is like super surprising because they usually get first

as the host starts to announce the winner they get a message through their earpiece which makes them frown and the whole arena is just like ok whats going on

“i’m receiving word that two people have received the exact same scores from the judges and the audience which has… never been seen before. we have two winners.”

something inside your heart really hopes it is you and jihoon lol

“this year’s winners are y/n y/l/n and Park Jihoon!”

your heart was right

you immediately turn to jihoon and embrace him in the tightest hug ever

and he leans down to press his lips against yours

you can feel the sparks flying all over your body

but you really couldn’t care less you’re so happy

not only did you win

but you found your soulmate

you found your prince

and the fashion power couple is REAL

i;; i;;; need to sleep goodnigh t enj oy thank you for the love

[sugamacchiato]

the war that only lasted a week

pairing: yoongi/seokjin

word count: 1,427 words

summary: By this point, Seokjin didn’t even know what they were fighting about.

a/n: this was also writing practice from a prompt I found here on tumblr. (“if you want to get to the coffee pot, kiss me and end the war”). I posted this on my ao3 and wasn’t gonna post her here but i figure what the hell. it’s a little lame and rushed but i thought it was kinda cute. I have a few other pieces I’ve done for practice that idk if I’ll post but for now i think i’ll leave it at this. 

By this point, Seokjin didn’t even know what they were fighting about. It had been a week of tiptoeing around each other and Seokjin was sick of it. It all started out of the blue and Seokjin has wracked his brain to think what it was that set Yoongi off.

It started when they met up at their date night restaurant and out of nowhere Yoongi started brooding and wouldn’t look at Seokjin in the eye. They ate in the most uncomfortable silence that evening and he’s sure the waitress and people around noticed the weird aura at their table. Who goes out to dinner and eats in awkward silence the whole time, after all. Seokjin had tried to get to what was bothering Yoongi but after a while gave up and asked for a box, having lost his appetite.

The drive home was just as awkward but by that point Seokjin was peeved with Yoongi for embarrassing him at the restaurant and was giving Yoongi the silent treatment back. Yoongi was being a brat and normally Seokjin would let it slide but he usually knew what Yoongi was upset about and would understand what was going on.

Yoongi stomped back up to their apartment, making a point to try and close the elevator doors before Seokjin had a chance to get on. Seokjin had caught the doors before they closed so Yoongi just glared at him and continued to ignore him.

The rest of the week their apartment was like a warzone of petty gestures and continued silent treatments.

Seokjin ate all of Yoongi’s favorite protein bars because Yoongi had dropped Seokjin’s hairbrush into the toilet. Yoongi hid Seokjin’s favorite scarf so Seokjin flushed the rest of the tube of Yoongi’s special sensitivity toothpaste. It went on like that. Seokjin stole the laces off of all of Yoongi’s shoes and Yoongi took out a few bolts out of Seokjin’s desk chair. Yoongi blended together raw eggs to replace Seokjin’s morning orange juice so Seokjin replaced Yoongi’s coffee grounds with ground up dirt and as an extra feature, changed the sugar and salt just to make his morning coffee extra bitter.

At first Seokjin made the effort to try and get Yoongi to talk to him but as the pranks kept getting more and more out of hand, Seokjin’s ugly competitive side started to poke through and he upped his game to match Yoongi’s.

Oddly enough, they still slept in the same bed every night. Both with their backs to each other but both refusing to take the couch. More than one morning did Seokjin wake up to Yoongi clinging to him, probably for warmth.

One morning Seokjin woke up half an hour before their alarm went off. Yoongi had turned back to face Seokjin in his sleep and Seokjin realized how much he missed him.mIt was the first time he had properly taken a look at his boyfriend’s face in a week and Seokjin just missed him. It had been a week of petty pranks and scowls and eyerolls and Seokjin had had enough. He missed his Yoongi and looking at his boyfriend’s sleeping face Seokjin decides this ridiculous battle between them needed to come to a truce.  

Yoongi was a creature of spite and held onto his pride like his life depended on it. It was kind of annoying in instances like this where Yoongi refused to budge but Seokjin knew Yoongi was worth putting his pride aside and taking the first step in ending their fight. So he got out of bed.

Seokjin busied himself in the kitchen. He had stopped making Yoongi food after day 2 of their little silent war so he figured the best way to call the truce was with Yoongi’s favorite breakfast as a peace offering.

Seokjin heard their alarm go off in their bedroom but knew he still had at least 15 minutes before Yoongi manages to wake up and drag his ass out of bed. He placed the table settings and he hoped when Yoongi came in he would finally give in.

Footsteps heading towards the kitchen told Seokjin that Yoongi was on his way to get his morning coffee. Seokjin already had it brewing (real coffee this time) so he hoped that warmed Yoongi up a bit.

Yoongi looked a little surprised by everything. He was probably still a little sleepy so Seokjin prepared himself for extra grumpiness. Yoongi glared at the table placement but Seokjin swore he had seen Yoongi soften up after a moment. He hoped Yoongi would sit down and they’d be able to act like everything was normal and move on, but just like that Yoongi moved away. Seokjin was far too sick of this silent battle to just give up without a proper fight so instead lunged forward and blocked Yoongi's path to the coffee maker.

The scowl on Yoongi’s face would be enough to scare off anyone else but Seokjin knew that Yoongi wasn’t nearly as terrifying as he seemed to be. So he stood his ground. Only the slight pout that Yoongi’s lips naturally formed just reminded him how much he missed kissing them.

“If you want to get to the coffee pot, then kiss me and end this stupid war,” he said with far more determination than he meant. Seokjin knew there was a high risk of Yoongi just turning on his heel and walking out but he had to try.

Yoongi did consider just leaving, but really, he had let this whole thing go on far too long. It should have never gotten to this point and Yoongi has felt guilty for letting this go on for so long so he pushes himself up on his tiptoes, wraps his hand around the base of Seokjin’s neck and kisses hI'm square on the lips.

Yoongi intended it to be a quick kiss but no sooner did Seokjin wrapped his arms around Yoongi’s waist and pull him in deeper. Fuck . It had been far too long since they had kissed and Yoongi found himself angling his head and pushing deeper into the kiss.

He’s not sure how long they stood there just making out in their kitchen but when Seokjin finally pulled away Yoongi felt that ever familiar empty sensation when Seokjin stopped kissing him. He wondered how he went by so long without kissing him, it seemed like an impossible feat now that he's had a taste of them again.

“So are we okay now?” There was a horrible insecure sound to Seokjin’s voice that Yoongi hates hearing, especially since this was his fault for blowing things so out of proportion. He knew he had to get better at communicating but he thanked every star that his boyfriend was so understanding of his ridiculous feelings.

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi struggled to figure out what else to add but Seokjin cut him off with another quick kiss. When he pulled back again there was a smile that Yoongi also didn’t realize how much he missed seeing.

After they finished eating (Seokjin insisting they hold hands the entire time) Seokjin finally asks. “So, what was this fight even about? I still don’t know what we were fighting about all this time."

Yoongi looked down at his plate, still embarrassed he had made such a big deal of things. “What set me off was when you flirted with that waitress when we went out to dinner,” Yoongi half mumbled while pushing his leftovers around his plate, avoiding Seokjin’s gaze.

“You were jealous,” Seokjin says matter of factly and Yoongi purses his lips. It was honestly a dumb thing to get so upset about since Yoongi knew Seokjin was in love with him  so he was embarrassed to confess that’s why he got upset but, yeah, he had gotten really jealous.

“I’m sorry,” Seokjin said. Yoongi knew he had nothing really to be sorry about and was about to stop him but Seokjin beat him by adding “I shouldn’t have flirted with her. Especially not in front of you. You know that meant nothing to me but it inconsiderate to blatantly flirt with her right under your nose. You’re the most important person in the world to me and I promise I’ll never make you feel any less than that ever again.”

Yoongi doesn’t know what to say so he kisses Seokjin. He kisses him hard and deep. He’s not sure what on earth he did to deserve such an amazing and understanding boyfriend but Yoongi just loves his amazing boyfriend.

[jimlingss]

Student Council Prez [6.5]

Back to Episode 6 Words: 1010

“I’m home!” Jimin calls out, the door slamming behind him. He slips off his shoes and hands the housekeeper his jacket for her to hang for him. He mumbles a quick thank you.

“Come eat dinner with us.” His mother shouts back and he makes his way into the dining room.

When he spots his father, he bows his head. “I’m home.” He repeats in a quieter tone.

His father only hums in acknowledgement as Jimin takes a seat beside his younger brother. “Hey.”

“Hey.” His brother smiles sheepishly back.

“How did you do on your midterms?” His father asks in a slight booming voice.

“Let him eat first.” His mother whispers harshly but his father only ignores it.

“Well? Were you on the list?”

Jimin nods.

“What placement?”

“Thirteen.” He responds quietly, filling his mouth with a bit of food.

“That’s fairly good.” His mother nods.

“Wow! Really?” Jinyoung looks up at him with twinkling eyes and Jimin smiles, feeling a swell of pride that is quickly shot down.

“Only? You couldn’t do any better?” His father sighs and puts down his utensils.

Jimin’s lips fall into a straight line. “Honey…” His mother frowns at his father.

“You’re always with those student council members, don’t you know how capable they are? Doesn’t the Kim’s son get first place? They’re going to easily surpass you in the real world if you don’t try harder now. You don’t want to be left behind, right?”

Jimin swallows hard, his brother’s face falling and immediately darting over to Jimin’s. “I-I’m not hungry anymore…” He pushes his chair back, standing.

“We care about you...it’s not like we don’t.” His father sighs, picking up his bowl to eat again.

Jimin manages a smile and walks away despite his mother’s protests.  

“Wait!” Jinyoung runs up to Jimin and he suppresses the tears before his younger brother can be witness to his anguish.

“What’s wrong?” Jimin smiles widely.

“A-are you okay?”

“Of course I’m okay.” He brings his hand up, ruffling his brother’s hair, doting on him dearly. “Aigoo...are you worried about me?”

Jinyoung grimaces. “You know dad...he..”

“I’m fine really. Now go back and finish dinner, don’t you have a judo match tomorrow?”

His eyes flicker to the ground. “You know dad doesn’t like me doing judo.”

“Well, he doesn’t like a lot of things but that doesn’t mean we can’t do it, right?” Jimin smiles, taking his younger sibling’s hands. “I’ll come watch tomorrow.”

Jinyoung widens his eyes. “Really?!”

“Really.” He laughs. “I’m going to go wash up now. I’ll talk more with you later.”

“Wait! Hyung!” Jimin turns around to look at the boy once more. “Are you really not hungry?”

“I’m really not.” Jimin smiles. “Taehyung bought a family sized hotdog pack and we microwaved it all.”

The moment Jimin turns the corner, he can already hear the rambunctious noise and laughter. As he opens the door, he’s almost hit in the face with a soccer ball. “You’re making a mess! If you really want to play, go outside!” Jin screams, his coffee sloshing in his mug as he avoids the ball.

Jimin instantly smiles, slowly approaching Yoongi who’s seated at the front, leaning back with a magazine over his face. “Uh...Yoongi?”

Yoongi jolts suddenly, moving the magazine. “Uh..what?” His eyes are swollen from his nap and his voice is hoarse. “What’s going on?”

“I have no idea.” Jimin shakes his head with a grin. “Listen, I have to leave early for my brother’s thing…”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Yoongi waves him off with a yawn. “It’s not like we do much in these stupid meetings anyway aside from the dumb class reports. Look at those two.” He points to Jungkook and Taehyung who are laughing hysterically, pushing each other over. “They’re probably wild from the Arabian Mocha or whatever coffee blend I finally got. They’re wild animals.”

Namjoon is sipping his coffee, laughing at Jungkook and Taehyung who are on a coffee high, practically jumping off the walls. “Jiminnie~ Jiminnie~” Hoseok whines with pouted lips. “I burnt my mouth!”

“Can’t you tell if it’s hot?” Yoongi looks at him.

“I just took a sip and now look what happened!” Hoseok fake sobs, hysterically and Yoongi sighs before putting the magazine back on his face to resume his sleep.

Hoseok is obviously unsatisfied with the reaction or rather, lack of reaction, so he dramatically flops onto Yoongi. “Get off!” The magazine falls to the floor but Hoseok wraps his limbs around Yoongi, practically pinning him to the chair.

“It hurts and you don’t care!”

“Get off Hoseok!”

“Do you not care about me?!”

All the meanwhile, Jimin is laughing, feeling a weight lifted off his shoulders.

“NAMJOON!!!!!!” Jin screams out and Jimin darts his head over.

Namjoon is frozen, Taehyung laughing and Jungkook giggling. Jin has his mouth drawn open, hands in the air as he watches the coffee drip off the table. The entire coffee pot is spilled on the floor, staining brown. “LOOK AT WHAT YOU DID!”

Namjoon laughs stiffly. “Ha..ha...oops?”

“Aigoo, you’re so clumsy Mr. number-one-on-the-midterms.” Taehyung pouts, throwing himself at Namjoon and squeezing him tightly.

“Jimin can you please...for the love of god...do something? I’M GOING TO KILL SOMEONE!” Yoongi shouts as his cheeks are squished together from Hoseok’s tight smother.

Jimin can’t help but laugh. On any other day, he would’ve complained or scowled but he can’t help but feel grateful for the members. No matter where he goes and what he faces, he always has a place where he can return to. It’s a place that loves him, needs him and makes him feel wanted. His second family. He wouldn’t have it any other way.  

“JIMIN!!!!!!!” Taehyung’s eyes gleam when he finally notices Jimin. He throws himself over, full on sliding across the table, wrapping his arms around his abdomen.

“Your hands are dirty! What the hell!” Jimin grimaces as Taehyung’s large hands make perfect dirt prints on his white shirt.

He really wouldn’t have it any other way.

[bridgesinbabel]

Merce Cunningham – Split Sides (Radiohead and Sigur Ros)

At the Merce Cunningham Dance Company’s recent show at the Brooklyn Academy of Music, the average age of Cunningham’s audience seemed to have dropped by about thirty years, and that is because the troupe, normally a rather egghead enterprise, chose to perform to rock music this season.

Cunningham was one of the creators of America’s mid-century modernism, as, more famously, was his lifelong collaborator, John Cage, who died eleven years ago. Accordingly, the Cunningham company, for most of its history, has performed to the sort of arrhythmic, ametric, amelodic “new music” that Cage and his cohort produced: somebody making electronic static, somebody shaking beans in a jar, somebody mumbling into a mike. So when it was announced that the big new piece this season, the company’s fiftieth, would be accompanied by two rock bands—Radiohead, the very hot British ensemble, and Sigur Rós, from Iceland—there was considerable head-scratching. Were Cunningham’s dancers going to perform to something as normal as song? Were they going to dance to a beat? Why use rock anyway? Trevor Carlson, the company’s general manager and the person whose idea this was, told the Times why: to bring in people previously unexposed to the company—in other words, to sell Cunningham to the young.

Among the unenlightened, it turned out, were the bands. Neither Sigur Rós nor Radiohead had ever seen Cunningham’s company. (And Cunningham, who is eighty-four, didn’t know who they were until Carlson told him.) Thinking that at least one band would say no, Carlson had sent both invitations at the same time. When, awkwardly, both groups said yes, each was assigned twenty minutes of a forty-minute dance. Then Cunningham, who makes his dances independently of their scores, went off to the studio, and everyone else sat around wondering what was going to happen.

What happened was that both bands, perhaps in deference to the great old man, didn’t rock. They stayed in the pit; they didn’t deliver a beat; they didn’t even sing. They took a bunch of sounds and fed them through electronic equipment, just as Cage would have done. Radiohead’s composition began with some burbling, then added a cello-like plaint, then the voice of an evangelist, then some whistling and panting, all of this heavily cooked by the machinery. Sigur Rós’s contribution was more conventionally musical, in that its main instrument was a music box, tinkling sweetly, then—with a great, rude gear-grinding—being rewound, then tinkling again. Here, too, there were other sounds: now a marimba, now what sounded like a dental drill. For the occasion, Sigur Rós also invented an instrument consisting of eight point shoes mounted on a base and fitted with microphones. Occasionally, someone would bang this thing with sticks. The resulting sound was unremarkable, but it’s the thought that counts. This is the sort of loopy idea that Cage might have had. He once miked a cactus and played it.

Cunningham, perhaps to educate his new audience, opened each performance with a demonstration of his work’s primary structural principle: chance. He uses chance procedures—dice-rolling, coin-flipping—to decide many things, crucial things, about any dance that he is working on: the number of sections it will have, the order of the sections, their length, their placement on the stage, how many dancers they will have. The fact that the choreography and the music—the sets and the costumes, too—are created without consultation among their makers adds another layer of indeterminacy. For his golden-anniversary creation, Cunningham piled on more layers. When he found himself with two bands, he seems to have thought, What the heck, and, calling the piece “Split Sides,” he made two separate dance sections and ordered up two lighting designs, two backdrops, and two sets of costumes. Nor was any element paired with any other. Everything would be sorted, by chance, before each performance. Mathematically speaking, there were thirty-two possible combinations. The dance I saw on opening night—with, in the first half, Radiohead’s score, Cunningham’s Part A choreography, Robert Heishman’s Japanesy backdrop, James Hall’s black-and-white costumes, and James Ingalls’s lighting plot No. 300 (dark), and, in the second half, Sigur Rós’s score, Cunningham’s Part B dance, Catherine Yass’s smeared-brushstrokes backdrop, Hall’s colored costumes, and Ingalls’s lighting plot No. 200 (brighter)—may never be performed again.

All of this is a little hard to get into one’s head, and so, each night, the method was patiently demonstrated to the audience. Cunningham appeared onstage with four of his company’s eminences: Carolyn Brown, his magisterial dance partner from the fifties and sixties; Robert Rauschenberg and Jasper Johns, his longtime artistic collaborators; and Sage Cowles, his troupe’s primary patron. Apologetically, he explained that the order of the two dance sections had been determined the day before, so that the dancers could rehearse properly. But the sequencing of the remaining elements would be worked out now. Carolyn Brown stepped forward with a die, to decide the order of the bands. Evens, Cunningham declared, would put Radiohead first; odds, Sigur Rós. As we watched her hands on a video screen, Brown rolled the die and got a four: Radiohead would go first. And so on, down the line, with the others throwing the die to determine the order of the sets, the costume designs, the lighting plots.

This was fun, and though Cunningham has been rolling dice—and telling us he was doing so—for fifty-odd years, it was still shocking, for it explodes the principles of order that we think of as central to art. Would it be O.K. if the “Ode to Joy” came in the middle of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony rather than at the end? Would it be all right if one of Jackson Pollock’s drip paintings were reproduced in reverse?

It was at Cage’s suggestion that Cunningham began using chance. Cunningham’s colleague Paul Taylor has written that the choreographer told him it started as an anxiety-management technique: when he got blocked, he’d roll the dice, and just do what they said. Not everyone thinks this was a good bargain. Witness the recent interview between Cunningham and the art critic Deborah Solomon in the Times Magazine:

D.S.: There’s already so much chaos in life. You turn to art to escape it.

M.C.: Chance becomes its own order, if you choose to use it. Instead of planning a specific order, you use chance, and out of it will come a new kind of order.

D.S.: But it would probably be an inferior order, a nonorder.

M.C.: Exactly. So that it opens your imagination. Chaos is chaos only if you think it is chaos.

D.S.: That’s incorrect. Some situations are genuinely chaotic.

Actually, Cunningham’s work never looks chaotic, but the rule of chance does have another, probably unintended result. It makes the dances look alike. A pattern—a square, a circle—strikes the eye, and can be remembered, because it corresponds to a model in our minds. But two chance constructions, though they may be very different, tend to look alike, because we have no mental analogue for them. Most people, when they recall a Cunningham dance, probably remember it by its set or its costumes, or perhaps by some unchancy section, maybe a part where the dancers were made to look like birds or dolls—in other words, where Cunningham, for once, imposed a familiar pattern. Parts A and B of “Split Sides” were supposed to be different dances, and they were, sort of. In Part A, there was a great deal of unsupported adagio, where the dancers have to stand on one leg and do a lot of slow, beautiful steps, preferably in unison. Unsupported adagio is probably the hardest thing a dancer ever has to do, and so Part A had an undercurrent of tension. In Part B, the movement was faster—hopping, running—and therefore happier. But I wouldn’t remember the difference between the two sections if I didn’t have notes.

This doesn’t bother me. Or, I see it as the price Cunningham pays for the achievement of a certain sort of bliss. Reading his Zen utterances to Deborah Solomon—“Chance becomes its own order”—you may think, Give me a break. But what he says here actually comes true on his stage. Many people have pointed out that Cunningham’s work looks like nature, and it does. It has the same surprise within regularity, pathos within amorality. In Part A of “Split Sides,” there is a duet for Daniel Squire and the excellent Holley Farmer. He tips her so far forward that her chin practically hits the floor—a perilous maneuver. She seems to like it, though, because once she stands up again she immediately falls backward, head first, trusting Squire to catch her, which he does. This is an intimate scene—a love scene, really. You can’t have people saving each other from physical danger without communicating some kind of love. But what kind are we looking at here? Carmen and Don José? Fred and Ginger? Cunningham never tells us, never fills in the blanks. That is what some people think of as his coldness. I would call it his freedom from cant.

Audiences probably watch Cunningham’s work differently from the way they watch other kinds of dancing. Because they know there’s no regular story being told, nothing they have to keep track of, they can let their minds wander now and then. But, when they are paying attention, I think it is an especially keen attention, again because of the unfilled-in story. Why does Farmer keep falling? Why does Squire carry her out in that elaborate, bent-legged pose, as if she were running in the air? Such actions press on the mind, and if the mind can’t answer they may press it harder.

You can find dancing that is more poignant, or easier to watch, than Cunningham’s, but I don’t think any choreographer in the world gives us a closer look at the truth. Beauty without reasons, and without anxiety over the lack of reasons: that may be what life was like before we started making it up. Sometimes, when I look at Cunningham’s stage, I think I’m seeing the world on the seventh day, with everything new and just itself—before the snake, and the tears, and the explanations.

http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2003/11/03/double-or-nothing-3