#how long is this post its taken me twenty minutes to type it out

[pussypopstiel]

Jensen ackles came into the show looking like he was smooth as a ken doll so he dosent count AND actually it was revolutionary to cast your main macho man as the inventor of petite and breedable so jot that down. But as the show started to look more sitcom changing channels set and less I live in a real world thats so #dark and gritty and masculine (let men be masculine ✊🏼) everything started to match jensen in the threshold of looking like its shiny and squeaky if you touch it. Even the dirt and grime looks manufactured—that bunker dosent look like its ever seen an inch of rot. Where is the black mold. Anyways. Castiel does not look plastic to me ever. The most plastic i remember him looking was s9 but he made up for it by struggling more than jesus christ. But even so, if his outfit got more plastic-y he managed to bring that vibe down because castiel does not fundamentally feel like he comes from a hollywood set the way jensen does. This gets BETTER as the later seasons go on because he looks like juuuuussttt some guy but hes the specialist thing in the world. Even jensens wrinkles look constructed on blendr but misha when hes playing cas manages to look like a guy who exists. I have so many stupid thoughts to articulate because my edibles are kicking in and im not gonna get into all of them but castiel is like raising a chicken on the farm and loving and nurturing it and getting eggs from that chicken but dean looks like hes non-gmo factory farm wholefoods eggs that went into the carton with all perfect shells.

Supernatural may have looked plastic as hell in the end but i can tell you castiel will never feel plastic to me that is home grown angel right there

[carrots-bear]

Fire and Rain, by Bear

Donnie has walked through his brother's time-gateway. Now, he is exactly twenty-two years before when he just came from. The only difference is, this place is safer than it was, or would have been. Hamato Donatello shall seek his long late family, and it will be nothing what you'll expect. (Or maybe it will be exactly what you expect, I'm not exactly psychic!)

Chapter 1

2022 — Three weeks post-invasion|

Donatello walked through the portal, weary from what had just happened, his brother’s— erm— his katanas in hand as he shielded his face from the sudden brightness. He took a deep breath of fresh air that he forgot he was missing out on; he opened his eyes slowly, blinking as his eye adjusted to the sun— which he forgot the Earth had. He was on a roof-top, a familiar one, though he couldn’t quite place which one it was. After his eye fully adjusted, the purple-masked turtle saw that there were still Kraang parts scattered around the city that he had once been able to protect. What? What’s going on? I would have expected Casey Junior to succeed on his mission…

As Donnie looked closer with his mono-ggle, he realized that most of the Kraang matter had been deactivated, terminated, or contained at this point. “So,” Donnie said to himself, “while New York isn’t in its best state— haha, state; ‘Nardo would be proud of me for that one. Anyways, while NYC isn’t exactly looking its beeeessst… it’s still standing, and looking better than the one I came from.” He looked around gladly, and—“Oh, not again.” Donnie put the katanas back in their sheath so that he could untie his mask and wipe his eyes. “Dum-dum universe decide that the dum-dum explosion would only mess up my eyesight. Tch,” he said bitterly as he rung out his mask. He held his left wrist up to his mouth after he had re-tied the mask and ordered, “D-Tech, reset clock to the correct year, month, day, hour, minute, and second.”

There was a robotic ding and Donatello’s own pre-recorded voice responding,

“Reset time to: Year - 2022 | Month - May | Day - 10th | Hour - 16:39:25 seconds and counting |”

“Confirm change.” Another robotic ding confirming that the time had been saved. Donatello pressed a button to close the screen before looking out at the world around him; everything he had hoped for, dreamed for! but nothing he expected. “Honey-nut oatmeal and raisins, twenty-twenty-two……Shell, I’m old.” He looked back to the roof-top he had happened upon and wondered why it felt so familiar. “Well, I’m sure I’ll figure it out sooner or later,” Donnie said as he jumped down.

He looked around a bit more and then asked himself, what he thought was a very important question. “Soooooo, where to now? I’m here, I’m alive, and there’s no Kraang butt to kick. I have no brothers, sisters, sister-in-laws, nieces, ne…phews.” He thought for a second then, remembering how this world hadn’t met it’s end— at least, not yet— the same way as Donatello’s own world. “Hmmmm, I wonder…” He moved a bit more into the shadows of the ally-way he was in, remembering how much humans hated things they didn’t understand in this day and age.

He lifted his gauntlet up to where he could easily view it and type on it. The soft-shell pulled up his tracking file to see what he could see. “Well I’ll be a Kraang’s uncle. He’s actually here! Yes! Genius Built™️ tech never fails.” Right on the map, in the location of Donatello’s old home, before the Kraang attacked, was a blinking maroon dot shaped as Casey Junior’s face. “How did he find the old Lair!?” Donnie exclaimed to himself.

“Hmmm… It’s twenty-twenty-two, and-- what am I saying? Casey’s a smart kid, courtesy of me, of course. Also courtesy of me, he has Genius Built™️ technology, complete with a digital map, tracker, navigator, and other AI features. Not to mention anything else he might have taken here with him to survive and aid him that I am unaware of or forgetting. Nevertheless, that does not explain how he found the Lair…” He tapped his chin and thought as he looked at the map and the blinking dot-face. Then it struck him, and it was so obvious it was painful, in light of recent events. ‘Nardo drew the Key on the back of an old picture of us and gave it to him. Still, if I weren’t such a literal person, I’d say that kid’s a genius. Then he focused the map in on his own purple point, and entered Casey’s location into the GPS. “Now, where’s a manhole cover…”

“If you walk farther down the ally you should see one, but I don’t know why you would wanna go down there unless you’re used to it. Or unless you like that kind of stuff, for some reason.”

The lone turtle froze. He recognized that voice, but it had been so long since he had heard it, he almost couldn’t, almost wouldn’t believe it.

“Ummm, I’d not think you’d be that scared of me;” the disembodied voice replied, seeming to take his stiffness incorrectly, ”I’m just a girl coming back to her momma for dinner and you’re… bigger than I am. Man, how tall is that? Seven feet?”

Yup! He definitely knew this girl, and he didn’t know how he was going to respond. While he was trying to swallow the tears that were definitely yet to come, (who he assumed was) April started putting the pieces together. “Hold on, I recognize that coat…It’s my lucky jacket! They only sold them for a limited amount of time, in a few specific sizes, and only one style and design and color. Not in…whatever size you’re wearing, and the length that it’s in. Hey, that only has stitches where mine does. But I’m wearing mine, so you couldn’t have stolen it from me….Is that a purple mask…?”, she asked as Donatello straightened up to his full height and tried to compose himself.

“Yes, it is,” he said in a choked, weary voice. He turned around, only to find what he expected. As if he wasn’t having trouble keeping it together already, the time space continuum decided to throw this at him. He teared up at the sight of April, though she was younger and less scathed than Donnie remembered. Still, it was her. The tears were now flowing like a healthy stream as the two looked at each other. Now that was just perfect, wasn’t it?

“Don…nie?”, she asked as she looked him up and down again.

"Yes,” he answered, looking away from her now.

April advanced towards him, examining him more closely. “Well, if you’re telling the truth, you’re definitely not my Donnie. You’re going to ask how I know that, so it’s because Raphael currently will not let him get out of bed except to use the restroom. As in, Raph basically lets Donnie leave the med-bay for as long as a worm surfaces on dry day, and then only so much more than that. Dee hates it, even though he knows Raph is just a tad bit worried and restless.”

“RAPH’S ALIVE!?!?!?!?”, Donatello exclaimed, his breaths coming short and quick. Don’t hyperventilate don’t hyperventilate don’t hyperventilate DON’T HYPERVENTILATE— He looked back down towards April and searched her face for some sort of joke. Actually, now that he thought about it, was this— April standing in front of him, and ranting to him about this timeline’s version of himself’s safety, a joke? Was it a dream?

“Yes, thank goodness,” she sighed with relief.

“You…are alive? You’re real, and this isn’t the universe tricking me into a dream?” He spoke as he stooped down so that they were at eye-level.

April looked at him, concerned, knowing immediately that this was her best friend, her brother, even if he did hail from somewhere else. “Yes, I’m here. I’m alive and well, and there’s no more danger— wait, let me rephrase that. There’s no more danger than anyone wants. You can relax.” She put her hand on his shoulder, what April usually did to say without words, ‘Tell me what I can do for you.’ Donatello yanked her into an almost crushing hug¹, and hid his face in her shoulder. “Oh!”, she exclaimed, a bit shocked by his sudden movement, but she hugged back, just like he remembered she used to. She rubbed his shoulder comfortingly and said, “I just got back from the Lair to have dinner with my mom at home. She’s been taking care of injured humans and yokai alike these past few days. She’s also met my brothers and Splints now. Would you like to stay here for a bit, or continue on to— wherever you’re going?”

“Thank you for the offer; I would love to stay,” Donnie said, breaking away from the hug. His watery eyes looked at April���s face. She smiled reassuringly at him, and he couldn’t hold back a small sad, happy laugh. “I can’t believe it! You’re actually here!”, Donnie said disbelievingly.

“Come on,” she said grabbing his hand and tugging on it.

“You can’t drag me like before, remember?”, Donnie stated amusedly.

“Just get up so I don’t have to wait for dinner any longer, m’kay? I’m starving!” She walked up a few steps and opened the door. “Moooooooom, I’m here! And I have a surprise guest!”

“A surprise guest, hm? Well, how much does this ‘surprise guest’ eat?”, Carol O’ Neil asked, as Donatello followed April into the house, having to duck because of his height. “There’s only so much edible food that survived the invasion, and we’re nearly out.” He looked at the doctor, a spoon in the right-hand and the other on her hip, no different than what Donatello remembered as well.

“I’ll eat only as much as I’m allowed to,” he responded, smiling a bit timidly at this not so new face.

Dr. O’ Neil looked him up and down with a doubtful eye. “April, I will never understand how you befriend these strange people on the streets and in suspicious ally-ways, but you go to school and you’re the most socially awkward young lady in all of New York!”

Donnie outright laughed at this. He had forgotten about that! Still, somehow, at the same time he always sort of remembered. “Oh! That’s hilarious! I had almost forgotten about that,” he said once he recovered. “I am terribly sorry for the improper introduction. I am Donatello from a separate bifurcated time branch. I already know who you are, though. In any case, do you have a preference as to what I call you?”, he asked, extending his hand and smiling all the while.

“You can call me whatever you’d like, hon,” she responded accepting his hand. Her grip never changed, Donnie thought fondly. ”April, could you set the table? I’m going to finish up dinner,” Carol ordered requested as she walked back towards the stove and oven. “So how long will you be staying here?”, she asked as she stirred the soup.

“Probably just for dinner. I’m trying to find my nephew, and I’d like to find him soon,” the purple-masked turtle responded.

“Your nephew, mm? Now why would he be in this time branch? Unless you know for sure that he is?”, Dr. O’ Neil wondered.

“Hm, I suppose I’ll have to explain everything, won’t I? Well, have either of you met Casey Junior?”, he inquired.

“Yes,” the two women responded, the younger curious in tone.

“He’s my nephew.”

“WHAT!?!?!?!?!?”, April exclaimed. “How is a human boy your nephew?”

“Have you ever heard of adoption?”, Donnie asked sarcastically.

“A— bu— wha… Who’s the father then?”

“Leo,” Donatello answered, no doubt crossing his mind, much less wandering into his voice.

“But he calls Leo ‘Sensei’!!!!!”, April protested, confusion of the utmost written all over her face.

“Well, there weren’t any papers to sign in the apocalypse, now were there?”

“What would that have to do with calling him ‘Dad’ or ‘Father’ or whatever anyways?”

“They weren’t ready yet. Plus, Casey Junior wouldn’t call Leo ‘Dad’ or anything like that unless his sister said she viewed Leo as anything more than a Master, a leader, a President-of-the-Apocalypse if you will.”

“…Casey didn’t say he had a sister.”

“Hm, that’s strange, the two were nearly inseparable. Fun fact: not only were they siblings, they were twins. Yes, twins; scientifically even! That’s something I wish I could say if, I’m being completely honest.”

April just stood there, processing every single bit of information before Dr. O’ Neil walked over and spooned dinner into the respective dishes. “Well, that’s a lot to process, i’n’ it?”

“Yep,” April said, going over to the kitchen sink to wash her hands. “Oh, maybe it’s a bit different from when you come from, uhm, other Dee, but no weapons at the table here,” the young woman said as she dried her hands off.

“Oh, of course,” Donnie said, quickly taking off the coat he was wearing, removing the nunchucks from his belt, the bō and swords’ sheaths from his back, and the quote-on-quote “sheath” for April’s base-ball bat— the April from his home time-branch. The O’ Neils watched him, surprised by the amount of weapons— and scars— on him. “Should I remove my prosthetic as well? I don’t want to go through the hassle of disabling it’s more harmful mods, and it automatically turns off when it’s not hooked up,” he pondered.

“No— no, it’s fine dear. How ‘bout you wash your hands now and then come sit down for some nice, tortilla² soup,” Carol said.

“Tortilla soup!? Oh, it has been a while since I’ve had anything that will actual sustain myself, much less something that good!” Donnie said as he walked over to the kitchen sink.

“Really? What did ya’ll eat in the apocalypse? Besides rats, CJ already told us about that,” April shuddered.

“Well, there were bugs, but not a whole bunch of people were desperate enough for that. After the world had run out of what had already been stored up is when we started eating rats, mice, rabbits, possums, or any other animal that was not claimed by the Kraang or as a pet that we could find. No, we did not eat Lieutenant Mayhem or or any sort of cat or dog. We weren’t complete savages,” Donatello explained.

“‘Lieutenant Mayhem’? That was a joke, right? No offense, Mayhem,” April said looking at a corner where the fluffy little dog-cat-thing sat curled up. He squeaked, showing that he had taken offense.

“No, it was not a joke. If you are sentient enough to give, take, and follow orders, as well as the physical capabilities to do so, you are given an official position.

“And something else that isn’t a joke, is how SPECTACULAR this soup is! Though, something lighter would have been better after not eating much these past few weeks, you won’t find me complaining about actual food!”

“A few weeks?”, Dr. O’ Neil asked, concerned.

“I thought that your brothers and I would have drilled it into your head that you need to eat three meals a day by now!” April glared at him and stirred her soup.

“Heh, like I had many other options. Leo and I were hiding from the Kraang for as long as we could, anywhere we could, for the weeks following Casey’s departure,” Donnie provided, lifting another spoonful to his mouth.

“Ah. I don’t know what to expect at this point,” April commented after pausing.

“If you’ve been through all that, you must be hurt one way or another. Let me patch you up after dinner, alright dear?”, Carol suggested after taking a few more bites.

“Sounds great. Thanks, Dr. O’ Neil,” Donnie smiled gratefully at her.

“Anytime, Don.”

A few more minutes of silence went by, the time in which Donatello absolutely inhaled his dinner (not literally folks, dw). “So, remind me what your into these days. It’s been about, pffffffff, twenty-two years since I was sixteen— and fifteen years since I’ve seen you,” Donnie prompted as he stretched in his chair, muttering the last part to himself so that the O’ Neil’s couldn’t hear him. He was happy to see April again and wouldn’t waste a minute of it.

“I’m majoring in journalism at my college; planning on bein’ a news journalist for Channel 6, if I can get the job. They're looking to get a section in the paper approved for them, and then they'll start hiring people in a couple of months.”

“Oh, I’m positive you will get the job. You were always good at getting messages across at debriefs and for mission logs. Our data collection missions were always successful in the early days as well,” Donatello reminisced.

“What’s the early days for you?”, Carol asked, question in her gaze.

“Anytime in my life before my mid-twenties or my thirties; I haven’t decided yet,” Donnie answered, fidgeting with the red cloth on his arm.

“What changed? I remember you and Mom telling me the age of twenty was the human body’s prime? I don’t know how much it technically counts for mutant turtles yet, but eh, it’s enough I’m sure,” April asked.

Donnie looked down at his right lower arm. The colors of blue, red, orange, and black were wrapped around it. Basically and ironically, Donnie was wearing his heart as his sleeve. (It is ironic, due to my general personality and character not following the metaphorical phrase ‘wearing your heart on your sleeve’.) He then moved to fidget with the black choker on his wrist between the orange and blue cloth. “You see these scars?”, he asked, gesturing to his whole right half of his body.

“Yeah?”, April responded, curious.

“They are from an explosion that made me blind in my right eye, deaf in my right ear, and gave me twisted scars on my lower leg because Kraang gunk splatted on my exposed flesh, and it had already begun to spread by the time I got back to the base with— Cassandra and April,” he concluded the sentence reluctantly.

“What does this have to do with the ‘early days’?”, April inquired, beginning to feel impatient with this Don-pelgänger³, who was trying to slowly explain the situation instead of just saying it bluntly. He had definitely changed.

“Well, the early days were before I got this scar. I was about twenty-three, April and I were on one of our intel collection missions again, and Cassandra had been assigned to join us because she was getting restless, and Casey Jr. and his sister were young; we didn’t want them to become orphaned again. I still had my ninpo then, just so you know. We were doing alright, until Kraang somehow detected our presence. A Kraang android came out and I fired at it, successfully, mind you, except that the Kraang appeared to know we were coming. They sent out an android that basically had what could be simply described as a land mine inside of it; mix that with the missiles I had just fired at it— well… things didn’t turn out that well. I had my battle shell on, but the explosion still reached past it. And Cassandra and April…” Donnie trailed off, he couldn’t finish the sentence, or he would become an absolute mess, since anytime truly he relived that memory— well, he never wants to relive that memory. But when he does, he always collapses into a shaking heap.

“Twenty-three? My little brother could have— has lost me, at the age of twenty-three!?!?!?”, April demanded, furious and fuming.

“Yes,” Donnie said, his voice audibly meeker than it had been before.

“And Cassandra!?”

“Indeed. It was not how any of us imagined she’d die,” Donnie smirked at his comment, despite the topic.

“Yeah, I bet. How did Future-Boy react to this? I’ve gathered that Casey’s his mom from what CJ has said, what you said, and the first and last names,” April queried.

“Ah, yes. How old was he then? Two or three I think. Yeah, you were also a mother-figure to him, so that didn’t exactly help…”, he mentioned hesitantly. “Oh, poor thing,” Dr. O’ Neil sadly murmured. “Yeah. This is not a me only thing when I say: that never should have been the life those kids led,” Donnie agreed, face solemn while putting his hands up by his head as if a gun were— bad analogy, you get the point. By now, the O’ Neils have finished their dinner; everyone has cleared their spots and the patient has been doing what he did best: explaining.

“Alright now, Don. How ‘bout we go to the couch and get ya all fixed up? April, get the first aid kit and my work bag,” instructed O’ Neil Senior. The two walked over to the couch as April rushed to grab what she had been ordered (after saluting of course). “Now, can you tell me if anything hurts anywhere at all?”, asked the seasoned doctor.

“Well, I have a few bruises and cuts that may or may not become infected, but nothing serious or unusual, I believe. I might have dislocated my humerus from my shoulder at some point?” Donatello responded, bending down to unlatch his prosthetic and check the damage. “Eugh, I’m going to have to tighten a few screws; nothing major, that’s good. Maybe a bit of oil to loosen up the joints, I’ve got that resource now. Oh, I’m going to abuse my accessibility to resources, and will have no regrets, what-so-ever,” Donnie said, his face betraying all of the gremlin inside of him.

“Wow! That’s a wicked cool prosthetic! You make it?”, April asked as she approached with the medical cases.

“Who else? Raphael? Leonardo? Of course I made it,” Donatello responded, holding it up in case she wanted to look at it closer. She reached for it once she had set the bags down, eyes glittering, but Donnie stopped her before she made contact with it. “I’ll warn you, it’s quite a bit heavy if you are the size that you are, and/or not used to the weight of it.”

“Oh, okay, thanks,” April said eagerly, hurriedly, while reaching for the metal contraption, as if Donnie would change his mind at any second and yank it back. Scoff, he thought. As if I could be that careless. “Wow! This is so cool! Mind if I take a few pics to send to Dee?”, she asked, already getting her phone out to take pictures. “Um, my Dee, I mean.”

“But, of course. Not that he’ll be needing it, seeing as he may be able to tear it apart and put it back together— under my supervision, obviously,” Donnie answered, lifting his left pant leg so that the doctor could treat his wounds.

He bit his tongue as she cleaned and disinfected them with some water, hydrogen peroxide, and a cloth. It was really the cloth that did it for him, seeing as water and hydrogen peroxide had never bothered him in the past.

“Sweet!”, April said, obviously hyped at this whole situation. Donnie heard the classic sound of a smart phone taking pictures while he watched Carol examine his injuries a bit closer; putting her glasses on so that she would actually be able to see clearly. “You’re lucky it’s not as bad as the stain on your pant told me it was,” she commented while she grabbed bandages. “You’ve got some gashes, nothing I can’t handle. Anywhere else, dear?” She put some more disinfectant on cotton-like pad, this time, and put the pad on the gashes, what she would then wrap the bandages around.

“As I said before, I believe I dislocated my right shoulder during a fight within the past few weeks. I believe I managed to pop it back in, but better safe than sorry. It’s still a bit sore,” he added, rolling said shoulder to test it out against his better judgment. Carol tsked and got to work on examining it once she was done with his leg.

“Mind if I send these pics to Don…uuhhhhh, other Don?”, April asked, flipping through the pictures of the senior turtle’s prosthetic.

“Very well, only if you wish for an excruciating amount of questions that he will have for you, of which I will make sure you don’t answer. Not to mention the countless questions he desires desperately for how it works, which I will also make sure he does not receive unless I abide. I will only answer if he asks me in person, and only if I so desire,” Donatello said, leaning back with an especially bored expression on his face, finger-tips touching so that he made a very loose triangle. “So, yes, you may. But only if you are willing to take a great risk at your sanity, and your brother’s.”

April stared at the old soldier dumb-founded-ly. “So…yes? But at my own expense?”

“Precisely,” the soft-shell replied.

“Geez! You could have just said that! I guess some things never change…” April commented, scratching her head.

“Indeed.”

“Alright,” Carol began. “You were right, Donnie. You dislocated your shoulder, buuut you didn’t pop it back in, so we’ll do that now, okay hon?” Dr. O’ Neil started putting her tools down.

“Oh? Well alright then. Just give me a count down,” Donnie said, re-situating himself so that the doctor could easily proceed with relocating his shoulder.

“Okay,” she said, grabbing his upper-arm and around his collar. “You ready?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Alright. Three,” she counted, “two, one…” Donnie felt a pain and a pressure in his arm and through-out his shoulder area. He winced and sharply inhaled through gritted teeth and a clenched jaw.

He had been through much worse procedures than this without pain meds, or being put under, so ideally this should be nothing— and it wasn’t for the most part. Donnie— along with most of the adults in, at least, the Liberty Resistance— had built up a strong immunity to pain, so he didn’t feel it as much as an ordinary person would have. That doesnt mean he didn't feel it, though.

“Man! I don't think I saw you even flinch! Did you even flinch? No, you didn't even do that!”, April observed, obviously impressed.

Even though Donatello was much older than her, he couldn’t help but feel his chest swell with pride at her tone. His brain argued that it was silly. This was a young, inexperienced, just-into-college girl, and even if Donnie had somehow figured out how to reverse age, and turned his own April into someone of this same age, it would still be different than this. Still, given the information that Michael gave him, it made complete sense that he felt this way.

Back to reality— a reality, at least, his shoulder was sore. “Yeah, that’s what happens when you build up a decent immunity to pain. Still hurts though,” Donnie added,trying to be modest for once in his life.

“You should take that arm easy for a few days, at least, before you do anythin’ exciting, alright dear?”, Carol ordered prescribed, examining Donnie’s shoulder a bit more before moving on.

“I suppose I can do that. Sigh,” sighed Donnie reluctantly, knowing that if his family were here then there would be no questions. They weren’t and somehow that made Donnie want to listen to their hypothetical opinions more. Ugh. How could I become such a sentimental fool!

April interrupted his thoughts again, making another exclamation. “What? Donnie’s agreeing to rest, and not have someone FORCE HIM TO!?!?!?”

“Indeed, dear April,” Donnie said, closing one eye and putting a hand on top of his ear to muffle the sound more than his mono-ggle already did. “In my time, in the twenty-two years of the apocalypse, my family, and some close friends in the resistance— all the same— insisted that I rest whenever I had serious injuries. I eventually learned that arguing was just wasting time that they and I had to loose, so why do it?”, he explained simply.

“So that’s all it takes to get Donnie to rest, huh? Lots of pestering and saying that time’s being wasted?”, April wondered. “Well, I’m going to abuse this information on my Donnie at least,” she said in a chipper voice.

“I believe tha— ouch! What was that?”, Donatello asked, surprised.

“Oh, just tweesin’ out some small shards of metal in your leg. Don’t worry they’re not rusty, but did you have tetanus vaccines in your time? Or at all? Better to be safe than sorry,” Carol responded, showing him a small piece of metal the size of a finger-nail clipping covered in blood.

“Yeesh. Yes, and yes, but not within the past fifteen years at least,” Donnie answered as he examined the shard. “Never fear! I always keep A.T.A.S. on me since both Leo and I have metal prosthetics, and we could accidentally cut someone at any point. Cough— Casey Junior— cough,” he explained, fake coughing, though at the same time you could distinctly hear the words “cough”.

“Ummmmmmm,” April raised a finger.

“Hither, hand me mine coat. It should be in there…” Donnie said, snatching the piece of cloth from April’s hands as she held it out.

“Okay, one: didn’t anyone from the future tell you that you sound weird when you talk like that? I know that we’ve told our Don, but I don’t know if that’s the same, too,” April shot at him.

“Oh, yes. Countless times, before and after the Kraang invaded. Two?” Donnie noticed that April flinched when he said the name. “Don’t say their name?” April nodded. “Understood. I shall try. Anyways, two?” Donnie didn’t want to bother getting anymore information until he had met all of his timeline’s counterparts.

“Two, what in the world is A.T.A.S.? Why not atlas? It sounds better than atas,” April criticized.

“Ah. Well, it is for the reason of A.T.A.S. being an acronym for my Artificial Tetanus Antibiotic Spray,” Donnie explained, pulling out the spray can and demonstrating to each word as he said it before he shook the can and tossed it to Dr. O’ Neil. “Don’t worry, you, Leon, and a number of other scientists and medical professionals approved of the formula and successful tests I provided”, he reassured as she read the drug facts on the back. “Nothing exciting happened the times that we’ve used it, so either A: no one has been infected with the bacteria, or B: my formula is extremely effective.”

“Well, it seems alright. ‘Just enough to cover the wound in a silvery sheen’ is what it says? So, lightly”, Carol checked.

“Correct,” Donnie nodded. Dr. O’ Neil popped off the can’s lid and sprayed it on the cut. Then she wrapped it.

“Alright, I think that’s it,” the doctor said, looking over her handiwork, double checking the turtle for anything she might have missed.

“How ‘bout your shell, Dee? Is that alright?”, April tested.

“No harm in checking, I suppose,” Donnie agreed, his tone reluctant. “Though, I haven’t taken it off in weeks, and nothing’s happened, so I would prefer to wait until I go to sleep— or at least sit down for a longer rest.”

“Wai- wai- wai- wai- wait. You, Donatello Hamato, are not being forced to rest, pushed to rest, nor asked to rest, but just— you’re just…volunteering?????” April looked like she had been lied to beyond belief.

Donnie just chuckled to himself and clicked his leg back on; he had already put on his coat once Carol had said she was definitely finished with him. “Some things never change, April, but some things do,” he said, catching her off-guard again when he threw “wise-old-man-advice” at her. She stared, shocked yet again by how much her best friend, her brother, had changed over the time and events that she had never experienced.

“Also, I’m pretty sure you’ve been shocked by me accepting help the whole evening, Apes.” Donnie stood and stretched. “Thank you for your hospitality, my friends,” he said, “but I really should find my nephew and see how he’s been holding up.” Donnie reached for his additional weapons, and grabbed the A.T.A.S. can with one of his robotic arms and stowed it in his coat as he did so. “I didn’t get how he’s been faring, by the way. How is he doing? I’m more worried about how he’ll adjust to us as teenagers more than anything. The kid is adaptable and can absolutely hold his own.” A tone of concern, and then fondness and pride, had worked their way into Donnie’s voice; he was the only one who didn’t notice.

“Oh, yeah, he’s definitely still adjusting. It has just been a little less than a month since we met him after all. And don’t worry. Out of all of us, he was probably injured least. Well, he was at least no less injured than I was, and he was a bit messed up when I found him— or rather he found me. I just knocked him out,” April explained.

“Of course he did; and of course you did,” he said, sighing (fondly, though he wouldn’t admit it) and scruffling April’s hair.

“Hey!”, she protested to no avail.

“I need to leave now,” Donnie said. “I believe I have all my arms.” April snickered, the sentence sounding funny to her, even though she knew what he meant. Donnie just stared at the ground. He could almost hear his twin. ‘Unlike me’, he would pout; Donnie would groan and face-palm, then say, ‘Seriously, ‘Nardo? This is extremely important; We don’t have time for puns!’, and Donnie would throw his hands up in exasperation. Donnie smiled and shook his head as he recalled this happening on multiple occasions.

“Knock-knock? Anyone in there?”, April poked, waving her hand in front of his face as much as she could.

“Oh, right. Yes, I’m here. Apologies,” Donnie said, snapping out of his quote-on-quote “trance”.

“No worries. See ya later, then?”, checked April. He could hear the hope in her voice; he needed it.

“Why, of course, my dear friend. May I have your phone for a moment? I don’t want to bother hacking into it right now”, Donnie asked as he opened the door. Fresh New York air blasted his face and he breathed deeply. I didn’t know I missed this so much…

“Uuuuuhhhhh, sure,” April handed her phone to him.

Donnie went to contacts and added his phone number and email. “There,” he said, handing the phone back. “I labeled myself as ‘Donatello Senior’, should you not misunderstand who is trying to contact you.”

“Oh, thanks! And, seriously. Stop talking like that.” She made a disgusted face at his choice of phrasing.

“Sigh. I suppose not everyone might be able to have such a well rounded vocabulary and selection of sentence phrasing as I,” he sagged dramatically. April rolled her eyes and he smiled. Donnie knelt down and gave April a hug. It didn’t compare to Raph’s, but it definitely just passed as ‘sufficiency’. “Bye,.. April,” Donnie said, just outside the thresh-hold.

“Bye, Don. Thanks for choosing to come to my neck of the woods first! See ya later!!!”, April waved enthusiastically as Donnie walked down the front steps and into the alley-way.

Donnie waved back for a moment, then continued on his walk until he reached a man-hole cover. The mutant lifted it, peeking inside to make sure it was safe. “Well,” he said to himself as he pulled up the holo-screen on his gauntlet again, “time to go…home.” He jumped into the grimy sewer, not seen by any other human eye that night.

__________________

Chapter 1!!! Yippeeee!!!!! I've had the first five chapters written out for months, so I'm happy that I'm getting the first one out!

Also, @queenofthewigglers, you seemed interested, so here you go :)

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

-=_=-=_=-=<=-=_=-=_=-=_=-

Footnotes:

the hug is only crushing due to their size difference

tortilla pronunciation (for those who do not know) -- tore-tea-a (idk how to do pronunciation dictionary stuff shdjsshsg)

the name "Donnie" meets the word "doppelgänger"

[gukyi]

the art of the rom-com | jjk

summary: FILM395, the art of the rom-com, was supposed to be an easy a with one of your favorite professors, but it’s not. it’s actually a sisyphean torture that comes in the form of fellow film student jeon jungkook, who has no problem responding to every one of your discussion posts about the consumerist ideals underlying every romance movie with his own paragraphs on the beauty of love like the hopeless romantic he is. and when the two of you find yourselves partnered up for your final project, which is to create a short film on rom-coms, jungkook decides to take it upon himself to show you what love is really like.

{enemies to lovers!au, college!au}

pairing: film major!jungkook x film major!reader (female) genre: fluff, comedy, slight angst, this is literally a rom-com in fic form word count: 33k warnings: college alcohol consumption, discussion board posts, emotionally constipated characters, film major shenanigans, blonde jungkook who’s also in a hip hop dance troupe, miscommunication, if you hate rom-coms do not read this fic

a/n: i am so so so excited to share this monster of a jungkook fic (tho let’s be real, 30k is pretty standard for me now ;-;) with you all! this is basically rom-com trash, but it’s my rom-com trash, and i hope you all enjoy!

on a sadder, less exciting note: after this fic i will be taking an extended writing hiatus until at least the beginning of may. my semester is picking up and i unfortunately just don’t currently have any upcoming fics planned for you guys. i hope you understand!! maybe i’ll do a couple of ask games here and there to see if anything piques my interest, but other than that please do not expect major works of writing for a while. love you all!

500 Days of Summer is a movie you all have probably seen before. That being said, I encourage you to respond to this discussion board from a film perspective as opposed to a viewer’s perspective. How did 500 Days of Summer alter the classic narrative of boy-meets-girl? Do you think it was a smart move, on the parts of Webb, Neustadter, and Weber, to do so? Why or why not?

Jeon Jungkook on February 12th at 9:53PM

I thought that the change in the boy-meets-girl narrative that had been popularized by rom-coms of the 1990s definitely contributed to his popularity and its attractiveness towards viewers in general. The film makes it clear that the story does not have a so-called happy ending, but despite that, it still brings into discussion the idea of love and soulmates and true connection. And that’s important, because despite the film’s not-so-happy ending, it makes it a point to emphasize that those things are real. That love is real. I thought it was an excellent move on the parts of the writers and director, because they both broke standards in terms of happy endings in rom-coms and they stayed true to the message at hand. 

Y/N Y/L/N on February 12th at 10:29PM

I have to disagree with Jungkook. It’s obvious the movie is not going to have a happy ending because Tom is so obsessed with the version of Summer he has created in his head that he doesn’t even see who the real girl is anymore. It doesn’t have a happy ending not because they weren’t soulmates, or because their love wasn’t right. They break up because what Tom wants and what Summer wants are fundamentally different, and Tom just can’t accept the fact that Summer doesn’t love him the way he wants her to. In a desperate quest to keep her, though, he manifests this version of her and replaces the actual Summer with it, ultimately destroying their relationship. How could viewers ever have faith that Tom would eventually get his happy ending if the only proof of his commitment to relationships they have is him manufacturing a different girl to fall in love with?

When you walk into class, Jeon Jungkook is already there. 

He sits in the front row, the seat closest to the door in your puny little classroom, much too small for twenty-students to fit comfortably, let alone watch movies on the pull-down projector screen above the chalkboard. You’re convinced he’s chosen that seat just so he can grin at you whenever you walk in the room, always later than him because apparently, he has nothing better to do with his time than show up to class early and smirk at you when you arrive. 

As you shuffle past his seat towards your own—second row, middle of the room, centered with the lecturer’s podium—with your usual scowl drawn neatly across your face, Jungkook says, overly bright and cheery, “Good morning, Y/N.”

The sound of his voice alone is enough to make your nose scrunch up in further disgust. “Shut up,” you grumble back, stuffing yourself into your chair and pulling out your laptop. One row in front of you and five seats to the right, you see Jungkook chuckle. 

Glowering, you open up your Notes document for the class and try to avoid staring at Jungkook’s side profile, the way he’s slouching lazily in his seat, and what looks to be a lengthy paragraph on his computer screen, a task that proves to be particularly difficult because he happens to sit in the exact spot you have to look in order to see your professor enter the room. What the hell is he even writing, anyway?

He straightens up the moment she does, cheerful as always as she smiles at everyone. “Good morning, everyone.”

The lot of you respond with halfhearted smiles and waves. 

“I can just feel the enthusiasm radiating throughout the room,” she jokes, clenching her fists together in success. At least that gets a couple of you to laugh. “Which is great, because before we get to anything today, we’re gonna talk about the final project.”

You smile to yourself, immediately pulling up the copy of the syllabus you had downloaded to your desktop, scrolling right down to where she had outlined information about the final project in big, bolded letters. There are a lot of reasons you’ve taken this class, not the least of which is the fact that you have had Professor Pollack three times prior to this and she’s loved you in every class, but the final project was definitely one of the major selling points. 

Pollack pulls up a more detailed final project document on the projector as she steps out from behind the podium. “As you guys know, your final project is a thirty-to-forty minute short film involving rom-coms. You guys have a lot of freedom, it can be a rom-com, it could be a documentary about rom-coms, anything. It just needs to involve the topic of rom-coms somehow. I know a lot of you have actor friends who would be more than happy to have a star-crossed lovers fling or whatever. Go wild. Just keep it PG-13, because I can’t in good faith have nude bodies of your fellow college students on my screen.”

You snort to yourself. Makes you wonder how many times Pollack has seen sex scenes of college students on her screen before. Too many, probably. 

Unintentionally, your eyes drift over to Jungkook. He seems to be working on that hefty paragraph of his, typing something you assume is completely unrelated to the topic at hand and is further proof that Jungkook just doesn’t give a shit about anything involving this class. Whatever. You turn back to Pollack. 

“Good projects not only capture the essence of what a rom-com is, but also put their own twist on the story and bring into question the topics we discuss in class, like truthfulness, realistic portrayals of love, and viewer interpretation,” she continues, and with every word you feel heart beat faster in excitement. “I know you’re all excellent filmmakers. That’s why you’ve taken this class. But what I want you to do is get into the nitty-gritty of the makeup of a rom-com and distill it as much as possible. We’ll be watching them all in class during the last week. Yes, Celia?”

You all turn to look at Celia, who sits in the third row, second seat from the left. “This is a partner project, right?” 

Well. That’s the one downside. As much as you know that cooperation is an important life skill, you would much rather prefer to produce the entire movie yourself. But you love Pollack and you already know you’re on track to get a good grade in this class, so whatever. You’ll deal. 

As long as you can pick your teammate. 

“Yes,” Pollack affirms, “and with that excellent segue, I will now announce your partners.”

Shit. 

Pollack pulls out a folded piece of paper from her back pocket, like she had just come up with the arrangements on the morning train ride to campus, and begins reading. Slowly, as she ticks off names one by one, everyone begins to turn around, locking eyes with their partners and exchanging guess-it’s-us-two-huh? smiles. Everyone except—

“And lastly, Jungkook and Y/N.”

You freeze in place. You look up at your professor, eyes wide and shocked, because nobody knows better than her how much the two of you have been butting heads this entire semester. But when you meet her eyes and she smiles knowingly, shrugging her shoulders, you know you’re doomed. Hesitantly, almost like you’re scared to find out what happens when you do, you shift your gaze towards where Jungkook sits in the front right corner of the room. Only he’s not just sitting. He’s turned a full one hundred-and-eighty degrees just so he can smirk at you from across the room, a glint in his eye. 

Jungkook laughs at your cold-stone, shellshocked reaction. Like he knows how much you’ll hate this, and you know how much he’ll enjoy it. 

From here, you actually have a pretty good view of his laptop screen, brightness turned all the way up because he apparently doesn’t care who reads his screen. Or maybe he just likes showing off how much he writes so he can establish dominance over everyone else. Except you, of course. But when you look a little closer, you notice he’s got the class discussion board for the week up on his Chrome window, two paragraphs typed into the text box. 

Right above is your response to his comment. 

Is that what he was working on? His reply to your reply? Right now? He has the audacity to draft it right here, in front of you, where he knows you can see? He doesn’t even care that you’re blatantly staring at it. In fact, he actually seems to be relishing in it.

You’re so caught off guard by the contents of his computer screen that when you look back up at him on instinct, you catch a wink in your direction. 

Your fists tighten by your side. 

Class is rather uneventful after the whole partner fiasco, as Pollack transitions into your usual dose of a short lecture on the film and then a class discussion that goes absolutely nowhere because everyone is too concerned with the final project to care. Whatever you talk about, you will be hard pressed to know, because you spend the entire rest of the period scowling at the blank page of your Notes document as you try to formulate a way to convince Pollack to change your partner. Would she accept a dozen doughnuts as a bribe? A box is only ten dollars from Dunkin’.

When Pollack finally shuts her laptop screen and begins her weekly goodbye spiel, you are the first one out of the room. Hastily, you stuff your laptop into your bag, zip it up as best as you can (which means that the tops of your water bottle and umbrella are sticking out, but who cares), and shuffle out the room right as Pollack is bidding you all farewell, just so you don’t have to look at Jungkook’s stupid, smug little grin on the way out. 

Faintly, you remember Pollack saying something about getting your partner’s contact information so you can start working, but fuck that. Jungkook knows your name. He can find you. If you must spend the entire semester communicating through Instagram DMs, then so be it. You’ve communicated with men in worse ways. Like through LinkedIn.

There’s a small seating area half a flight down from where your puny little classroom is, a few tables and a bench that wraps around the wall, posters splayed out on the corkboard to the right, staples littering both the board and the floor it rests above. Nobody ever seems to use this, despite the innumerable posters advertising everything from dance troupe shows to financial literacy talks, which makes it the perfect place for you to brood and gather your thoughts. It’s also in the direct opposite direction of the exit. So that’s good.

Taking your anger out on your personal belongings (as opposed to that bitchass smirk on Jungkook’s face), you begin to shove your umbrella and water bottle into the pocket of your backpack, fighting to nestle them amongst your other worldly possessions, like your pencil case and what looks to be a small nest of receipts at the bottom of the back. No wonder it’s so clogged up down there. 

If anything gives you a sense of control, it’s cleaning. One by one, you pluck out the receipts from your bag, nose scrunching up as you try to remember every purchase you’ve made in the past three months. Plus, one of these receipts is from when you bought some dryer sheets from CVS, so that means the five inches of actual information are also accompanied by three feet of coupons that expired two weeks ago. Ugh, what a waste. 

“Don’t look so angry, you’ll have to get used to seeing this face a lot.”

You look up from where you’ve been inspecting an old receipt from a midnight McDonald’s trip to find Jungkook standing in front of you, backpack hanging loosely on his bomber jacket-clad shoulder and that same stupid grin written all over his same stupid face. 

“Can I help you?” You drawl. Great. Now Jungkook can add “saw all her receipts” to the list of embarrassing things he’s caught you doing. 

“Can I help you?” Jungkook fires back with a scoff, blonde hair bouncing as he jerks his head flippantly. “Looks like someone needs to take an Accounting class or something.”

“I’m just doing some spring cleaning,” you sneer. It’s February. “What do you want?”

“What, no ‘Hello, partner’? ‘So excited to be working with you this semester’? I’m hurt,” Jungkook says, placing a hand to his heart as he shakes his head disapprovingly. “I thought we had something good, Y/N. Isn’t that why Pollack paired us up?”

You’re pretty sure she just likes watching the world burn. 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you chide, knowing that Jungkook already must get enough of a kick out of just seeing the annoyed look on your face. 

“Please, like I even need to. You think I don’t notice the way you stare at me during class? I know you must like what you see,” Jungkook flirts, just to be extra irritating. 

While he’s stroking his own ego, you tear off a piece of that CVS receipt, one of the expired coupons for Three Dollars Off Any Shampoo or Conditioner, and scribble your number on the back. The rest of the receipts you scoop up and dump in the trash can to your right before you zip up your backpack and hike it over your shoulder. 

“Here,” you say gruffly, shoving the paper against his chest as you head towards the stairwell. 

“How forward of you, Y/N, you know you could have just asked—”

Pausing right before you turn the corner and head out the door, you turn back to look at Jungkook, already exhausted from having to interact with him for five minutes. “And when you’re done jerking yourself off,” you say pointedly, “text me.”

You storm out the door.

[February 13th, 1:24PM]

Unknown Number: guess who ;)

You: Wow I have NO idea You: Keanu Reeves?

Unknown Number: haha very funny Unknown Number: it’s jungkook

You: Damn shame You: You done jerking off yet

Maybe: Jungkook: what makes you think i’m not doing that right now ;)))

You: You don’t have the coordination to text me and masturbate at the same time You: What do you want

Jungkook: ouch, harsh Jungkook: can’t i just want to talk to my final project partner? :D

[February 13th, 2:17PM]

Jungkook: alright fine Jungkook: just wanna see when you wanna meet up

You: Guess I don’t have a choice do I

Jungkook: unless you wanna facetime

You: Is that an option?

Jungkook: how about friday at 3 Jungkook: in one of the greene gsrs

You: You think you can manage to reserve one of those?

Jungkook: watch me

[February 13th, 2:21PM]

Jungkook: [screenshot sent] Jungkook: done

You: Do you want a gold star for all that hard work you just did? All that manual labor? You: Fine. See you then.

Jungkook: miss you already <3

Y/N Y/L/N on February 12th at 10:29PM

I have to disagree with Jungkook. It’s obvious the movie is not going to have a happy ending because Tom is so obsessed with the version of Summer he has created in his head that he doesn’t even see who the real girl is anymore. It doesn’t have a happy ending not because they weren’t soulmates, or because their love wasn’t right. They break up because what Tom wants and what Summer wants are fundamentally different, and Tom just can’t accept the fact that Summer doesn’t love him the way he wants her to. In a desperate quest to keep her, though, he manifests this version of her and replaces the actual Summer with it, ultimately destroying their relationship. How could viewers ever have faith that Tom would eventually get his happy ending if the only proof of his commitment to relationships they have is him manufacturing a different girl to fall in love with?

Jeon Jungkook on February 13th at 7:35PM.

You make a good point, Y/N, but I think you missed the whole point of the movie. It’s not about their breakup or the not-so-happy ending or even Tom’s problems. It’s about the journey they go on and what Tom learns in the process. If you watch the trailer then you’d go into the movie knowing they weren’t gonna last. The results of whatever Tom and Summer do to contribute to their eventual breakup should not come as a surprise to the viewer. The whole point of the movie is that they spent five hundred days together and Tom is now recounting those days to anyone who will watch. And you know who’s watching? People who want to hear a story. About love. And loss. And everything in between. Isn’t that the whole reason we watch romance movies anyway?

Sometimes, you wonder if the garishness of Professor Pollack’s shoebox-sized office is the reason not very many students attend her office hours. The walls are lined with movie posters taken from a theater going out of business, the shelves stuffed to the brim with Disney World trinkets and old film memorabilia. She’s installed these thick red velvet curtains along her single window, making the whole room look like some sort of 1950s movie lair. 

In a way, you suppose it kind of is. 

You hear the taps of her Converse shoes as they come down the hallway and round the corner into the office.

“You know, Y/N, I was surprised to see you signed up for my office hours when I logged in this morning,” Pollack says as she enters the room, handing you the coffee in her right hand as she takes a sip out of the one from her left. Last year, the film department bought a Breville coffee maker with the leftover funds from a movie showing fundraiser and it is, in your humble opinion, the best investment the department has ever made.

“Why? I see you all the time,” you ask, eyebrows raised. You and Professor Pollack are not lacking in social connection. She’s written you a letter of recommendation and she knows your coffee order. 

“The very first time we ever spoke outside of class, you sat down at my Starbucks table while I was eating lunch just so you could introduce yourself and ask me about my opinion on the Mamma Mia remake,” she deadpans. “We don’t exactly speak through official forums.”

Well, she’s got you there. 

“I know…” you begin, trailing off awkwardly as you take a sip of your coffee. It’s burning hot and scalds your tongue a little, but it’s nice. It’s been cold recently. “But I just thought we could talk… privately.”

Pollack rolls her eyes as she reclines in her chair, back hitting the padding of the chair with a thud. “Goodness, I wonder what you’re here to talk to me about.”

“Okay, please pardon my French, but what the freak, Professor?” You say, because the words have been sitting hot on your tongue ever since you walked into your office and you didn’t think sending an email that looked like:

To: tpollack@university.edu From: y/n@university.edu Subject: what the freak

Dear Professor Pollack,

What the freak?????????

Cheers, Y/N

would be very professional on your part. 

Pollack lets out this honk of a laugh, loud and sudden, shaking her head fondly. “Come on, Y/N. You must have known I would have partnered the two of you up.”

“I was hoping you’d let us choose?” You emphasize. 

“And miss out on what very well may be one of the best final projects of the class, produced by my two best students of the semester? Absolutely not,” she says, smiling knowingly at you. 

Even her sudden reveal that you happen to be one her best students this semester isn’t enough to soothe your worries and calm your anger. You’re honored, but you have bigger problems. Problems that start with ‘Jeon’ and end with ‘Jungkook’. 

Pollack looks at your beaten-down expression and leans forward, placing her coffee cup on the wooden desk in front of her. “Listen, Y/N. You’re an excellent student and one of the most talented filmmakers I’ve seen in a long time. Your discussion posts are detailed, well-written, and thought-provoking. I know that the two of you will make a great project.”

You scoff. “We can’t agree on a single thing.”

“Sometimes that happens in life, and you just have to deal with it,” Pollack says sagely. 

“So I can’t change partners?”

“Not unless you’d like to fail the final,” Pollack comments, shrugging. How rude of her to say such a thing, not taking the option to change partners off the table entirely but making it so that if you do, you’ll pretty much be shooting yourself in the foot. Or worse. 

You narrow your eyes at her. “That’s low.”

“That’s life,” she corrects. 

“Ugh.” You get up out of your seat, taking angry sips of your coffee as you desperately try to think of another way to get out of it. Are doughnuts still an option?

“I have full faith that the both of you will come up with an excellent project,” Pollack says like it’s some sort of consolation as she walks you to the door to her office. Yeah, right. You and Jungkook spend your free time making snide responses to each other’s discussion posts like it’s nobody’s business. You’re probably the only two people at your entire university that care enough to make replies to each other’s replies. Like Tinder from hell. “You shouldn’t be worried, Y/N.”

“I’m not worried,” you say, completely worried. “I just—I don’t know how Jungkook and I will get along.”

Pollack grins to herself. Does she know something you don’t? Is she up to something? She looks at you as you linger in the doorway, feeling utterly helpless after a meeting that accomplished absolutely nothing, and she smiles. 

“You’ll find a way.” 

Reserving a group study room in the Greene Library and Collection should not be some gymnastics act that involves a warm-up, practice, a routine, and song and dance. In theory, all you have to do is log onto the library’s homepage, navigate to the reservations tab, enter your name and ID number, pick a date and time, and profit. 

Of course, the demand for the study rooms does tend to outweigh the supply. There are over ten thousand students at your university. And only twenty rooms. 

And still, you have the unfortunate luck of being stuck in one of them for an hour and a half with none other than Jeon Jungkook. 

You see him coming into the library at 3PM sharp through the opposite entrance, a little surprised he didn’t show up ten minutes early like he does in class, just so he would have an excuse to complain about having to wait for you. Feeling a little threatened, you pick up the pace so that you can meet his lengthy stride, keeping an eye on his direction so you know which room he’s aiming for.

You arrive at Greene GSR #18 at the exact same time.

“So nice to see you,” Jungkook says, too cheerful, as you reach out to open the door. 

“Mmm,” you mumble in response as you enter the room, flinging your backpack onto the floor by your chair with a thud as you take a seat. The faster you start, the faster you can get this over with.

Jungkook, not at all outwardly discouraged by your clear disdain for him, rallies on happily. “So, what were you thinking for the project?” But he doesn’t even let you open your mouth to answer before he says, “Oh, wait, let me guess: a social commentary on the consumerist ideals that underline every modern movie and encourage the pursuit of an empty dream by abandoning concrete career and personal goals in favor of romantic fulfillment.”

You scowl at him, even though that’s exactly what you were thinking of doing. You’re almost positive Pollack’s had enough of seeing college students try to engineer the craziest fake dating scenarios they can imagine just for a class project. Why not do something outside of the box? 

“Well, then what do you want to do?” You challenge, already bristling. Like Jungkook has a better idea. 

“Maybe something that doesn’t scream ‘killjoy’ as much as you do,” Jungkook retorts easily. He opens his mouth to spit out something else but then rolls his eyes and shrugs, shaking his head. “Forget it. I shouldn’t have even asked.”

“Don’t pin this on me,” you immediately rebuke, pointing at him. “You’re the one who wants to make some sort of generic rom-com for our final project. Besides, I’m pretty sure every idea you even think of will have been done already.”

“Just because something is cliche doesn’t make it bad,” Jungkook says. “I swear, I don’t think you understand what the word cliche even means. A cliche thing, by default, is something that lots of people like. Therefore, it is largely well-received by the general public.”

“Oh, then that must mean that all rom-coms are deserving of a People’s Choice Award then, right?”

Jungkook frowns, getting exasperated. You aren’t much farther off. “I don’t know why you’re being so—so resistant! You know that romantic comedies are supposed to be fun, right?” 

“They’re not that fun to me,” you comment snidely. 

“That’s because you’re a stick in the mud who takes everything way too seriously,” Jungkook replies like it’s some sort of known fact. “Have you ever even been in a relationship?”

“That’s none of your business,” you tell him firmly. Who does he think he is, going around asking that sort of thing? Especially to you! Like you could care any less about what Jungkook thinks of your love life. Intrusive, much? “Besides, you asking that is exactly my point. Not everything has to be about finding love and searching for your soulmate or whatever bullshit like that. Some people don’t really care that much.”

“You act like wanting to find love and wanting to be successful are mutually exclusive,” Jungkook points out. “You don’t have to abandon all of your life goals just to find love, you know. It doesn’t have to be the most important thing in your life for you to even care about it a little. It’s natural for people to want love.”

“Then I guess I’m just a robot.”

“You sure are acting like one,” Jungkook comments easily. “What, are you about to ask me to pick out all of the pictures with traffic lights?”

“I’m allowed to have my own views on love, just like you,” you say. Isn’t that the whole point of your discussion boards? A forum where you can discuss these sorts of things through an academic lens? A barrier that keeps the two of you from going at each other’s throats when you’re engaging in the class material? It doesn’t take a genius, or even half of one, to know that you and Jungkook can’t seem to agree on anything in your FILM395 class. 

Jungkook scoffs. “What do you mean, ‘your own views on love’? As far as I’m aware, your view on love is that you don’t have one! What do you even think love really is?”

You frown at him. “Does it matter?”

“Yes,” Jungkook says like it’s obvious. “This project is about filming a short romantic comedy, about people falling in love with each other. How do you expect me to do that if we don’t reach a mutual agreement on what love is?”

You scoff. “There is no way in hell I am going to agree with you on anything concerning love.” Jeon Jungkook still thinks love is all rainbows and sunshine. Cries at the end of Love, Actually even though he’s seen it five times already. Believes in soulmates. Believes there are people out there that were built for each other. He flutters from one person to the next like a butterfly, even though he’s more like a moth drawn to any open flame within a five-mile radius. He’s convinced he’ll find his true love here, in college, just like his parents found each other. 

Yeah, right.

“Then what are we supposed to do, huh?” He says with an eyebrow raised. “We have a month to make a movie that’s fifty percent of our grade.”

“The social commentary is still on the table,” you point out. Sure, it’s not at all a romantic comedy, but it’s about them, which Pollack said was totally fine. Besides, she has been teaching you the entire semester, hasn’t she? She should know by now not to expect some cushy lovey-dovey story about two people who were destined to be with each other and can overcome all obstacles with their love. 

Deep down, a part of you wonders if that’s why she paired you up with Jungkook. If she’s had enough of the sappy love stories that Jungkook probably wanted to do, didn’t want to see another cynical commentary on capitalism in Hollywood.

“Wow, what a thrilling idea,” Jungkook deadpans. “Please, tell me more.” His voice is lifeless. 

“Oh, shut up. It’s not like your idea would be any better. Who would we even get to star in a rom-com we filmed? It’s not like the two of us could do it.”

You regret the words the instant they come out of your mouth. In horror, you watch as they sink into Jungkook’s brain, etching themselves into his mind as a lightbulb turns on, a bright idea popping into his thoughts. 

He opens his mouth, but you get there first. “No. Whatever you’re thinking, absolutely not. I am not starring in a rom-com with you.”

That is something you can say with one-hundred percent confidence. Something that you know will never change. 

“Just hear me out,” Jungkook pleads, looking a little desperate as he wrings his hands together, aching to spill the bubbling plan that’s been stewing in his head. 

You narrow your eyes in suspicion but lean back into your chair, a silent signal for him to continue. It’s not as if you have any better idea.s 

“Okay. It’s not a rom-com. It’s a mockumentary,” he says, something that (and you can’t believe you’re saying this) actually piques your interest. Moreso than anything else he’s ever said to you. “You think love is totally manufactured, right? That Hollywood creates the illusion of it to sell to people paying twenty dollars for a movie ticket?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s do that. Let’s prove it’s manufactured.”

“And how do you plan on doing that?” It’s not like you can walk into a factory and ask them to make the “love” emotion for you. 

“We’ll be the stars.”

He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Like it’s your best idea by a long shot, the home run of all home runs, your golden ticket to an A.

You scrunch up your nose, hesitant. “Wait, I don’t know—”

“It’s perfect!” Jungkook exclaims, eyes wide with excitement. “Think about it. It’ll be a mockumentary of a stereotypical rom-com. Except it won’t be this big Hollywood production, it’ll be real life. And it won’t be between two paid actors with years of experience under their belt, it’ll be us.” His eyes are practically bulging out of his head, big brown eyes glinting with excitement.

“So what are we gonna do? Act out our own rom-com in an attempt to see if either one of us will fall in love with the other?” You say, an eyebrow raised. 

Jungkook shakes his head. “Not necessarily. It’s a mockumentary, right? So it’s grounded in real life even if it is based upon the stereotypical boy-meets-girl rom-com. It won’t be super scripted or anything. Think of it more like… a chronicle.”

You scoff. “Of what?”

“Of us,” Jungkook says easily. “Of the time we have to spend together to film this damn project anyway. I say that rom-coms are emblematic of the natural human desire for love, and that deep down love is the thing that makes us happy. You say that rom-coms are consumerist propaganda, or whatever it is you think they are—”

“They are, and you can’t change my mind about that,” you interrupt, just for clarity. Can’t have Jungkook thinking he’s going to somehow convince you otherwise.

“—so, with this project, let’s see which one of us is right. If the time we have to spend together, making this mockumentary rom-com, will really change how we feel about each other, or if it won’t.”

How you feel about each other? You almost laugh when Jungkook says it out loud. There’s no room for questioning in your mind when it comes to how you two feel about each other. Two desperate-to-please students with opposite views on the entire structure of a class and three years of experience arguing your points in essays under your belts. 

Jungkook believes in destiny, right? Then he must know that the two of you are destined to never get along.

“You should be a car salesman,” you joke. Jungkook’s certainly excellent at pitches.

“So, you in?”

You narrow your eyes, still a little wary of whatever it is Jungkook’s putting down. But it’s not like you have any better ideas. And the sooner you agree on something, the sooner you can get this goddamn project over with and never have to sit in class with Jeon Jungkook ever again. 

“Only because this’ll finally prove to you that not everything can be solved by finding love,” you say. It’s about as good of a ‘yes’ as he’s going to get out of you. 

Jungkook grins, mischievous as always. There’s certainly something else he’s plotting, you just aren’t sure what. Maybe he’s in cahoots with Pollack. “Or,” he begins, lips curling upwards, “you’ll just fall in love with me.”

You scoff. “Yeah, right.”

“Well, then I guess we’ll just have to see, won’t we?” He holds out his hand, palm facing up as he waits for your response, that devilish glint that you hate twinkling in his eyes. 

As if you’re going to fall in love with Jungkook. For this stupid project? No way. Just because it’s a filmmaking project doesn’t make it any more bearable than your other assignments. It’s a partner project. They are, by their very nature, excruciating. You’ll be surprised if you end this project and you aren’t even more irritated with Jungkook. Does he really think you’ll actually develop some sort of affection for him?

You take his hand on your own, palm pressed against his, and you eye him carefully. Just because Jungkook’s got something up his sleeve doesn’t mean you don’t. Finally, finally, Jungkook will see why love is stupid and manufactured and fake. Why it doesn’t bring people together but instead tears them apart. 

Maybe then he’ll leave you and your discussion posts in peace.

You smile up at him. 

“I guess we will.”

When Ruby Rhodes is not six feet deep in The Princeton Review’s MCAT test prep book, she can usually be found at the small bakery five blocks west and two blocks north of your little campus, a family-owned place passed down through three generations. It’s her favorite place, and yours, too, because the coffee is delicious and the pastries are even better. 

Plus, hardly anyone from your school ever comes here, which means the wifi speed is eons better than the Starbucks inside the main food court. 

She’s halfway through a tiramisu and a rerun of The Bachelor from two seasons ago when you sit down across from her. 

“Any good?” You ask, pulling out your laptop and squeezing it onto the tiny marble table in between the two of you. 

“The food or the show?” Ruby asks over a mouthful of cake. 

“Either.” 

Ruby swallows down the piece sitting on her tongue before responding. “The tiramisu is delicious, and The Bachelor is eh. I’ve seen this episode three times already.”

“Then why are you watching it again?” You ask, laughing. Does Ruby think something different is going to happen?

“Because we’re in between weeks right now and honestly, The Bachelor is kind of dry this season,” Ruby says with a frown. 

“You’ve got some tiramisu on your cheek,” you tell her, pointing to the left side of her face where the bright mascarpone cream sticks out like a sore thumb against her dark skin. 

“It’s just so yummy, I can’t help but stick my whole face in it,” Ruby jokes as she wipes her face with the napkin on her lap. The Bachelor rerun plays on in the background, and you can hear the gasps of the women through Ruby’s discarded headphones. 

You roll your eyes. “Why do you even watch that show still? You know it’s all crap.”

“Just because you think it’s crap doesn’t mean I do,” Ruby insists, playing out an argument the two of you have had plenty of times over the course of your friendship. “Watching it makes me happy. So I do it.”

“But it’s all fake,” you say, frowning in disapproval. “The couples don’t even stay together in the end anyway.”

“It’s a totally pre-constructed show, but it’s not fake in the moment. And I don’t expect the final couple to stay together.” She shrugs nonchalantly. “Believe me, I’ve seen enough Bachelor seasons to know those odds. I just like watching the ride. It’s cute.”

“You say that about everything.”

“That’s because everything is cute,” Ruby says pointedly. “I like seeing the good in people.”

Ruby’s always been the exact opposite of you in terms of worldviews. The embodiment of a real-life fairy. She puts butterfly clips in her hair and buys herself bouquets of daisies and lilies. She sits in cafes with her headphones in and sketches the people she sees outside the window. She’s studying to be a doctor so she can spend the rest of her life helping others. 

And you? 

Well, the Oscars have always been a bit of a long shot. 

The curiosity eating at you, you pose a question to her. “Hypothetically, if there were to exist a mockumentary on rom-coms and love, would you watch it?”

Ruby pauses for a second as she furrows her brows. Then she shrugs and says, “Only if the two leads fell in love at the end. Why?”

“No reason,” you say, looking away. 

There’s no fooling Ruby and her eagle eyes. 

“What is it?” She asks, a grin playing at her lips as she looks at you. “Come on, you don’t just ask me shit like that without a reason.”

“It’s for a final project,” you explain succinctly. No need to go into details. 

“You’re making a rom-com for a final project?” Ruby sounds about as skeptical as you did when you spoke to Jungkook. 

“It’s a mockumentary about rom-coms.”

“But… it’s a rom-com, right? Like, you’re going to be making a rom-com? Where people fall in love?”

Hopefully not. 

“Sort of?”

Ruby squints her eyes, trying to process all the information. You’re not surprised that she has to take a moment to think—you are certainly the last person on earth to ever admit to filming a rom-com. But, as you’ve stated, it’s not a rom-com. It’s a mockumentary about them. That distinction is vital.

“Wait, is this for that class with Pollack?” Ruby asks. “I remember you telling me you were taking it. You said this was a partner project, though, right? So who are you working with?”

Curse Ruby and her knack for remembering things. She’ll make a great doctor, that’s for sure, but right now you wish she would just forget things like everybody else. 

You sigh. “Jungkook.”

Ruby doesn’t need to think twice about who that is. “Wait, seriously? You’re working with him? Isn’t he the guy that responds to all your discussion posts?”

“Yes,” you say, rubbing your temples with your fingertips. You don’t even like thinking about him, let alone saying his name. The fact that he has to occupy any part of your brain at all gives you a headache.

“Damn, that sucks,” Ruby says, not feeling very sorry for you at all. “So you’re filming a rom-com with him?”

“It’s a mockumentary,” you specify, feeling yourself getting irritated. “It is fake.”

“Just like my shows, huh?” Ruby muses to herself, too analytical for her own good. 

“Listen, you don’t need to fall in love to make a mockumentary about it,” you say, refusing to consider any sort of alternative. 

“Don’t you?”

You sneer. “Just shut up and eat your tiramisu.”

Ruby lets out a laugh at that, this wonderful mix between a wheeze and a honk that makes you smile every time you hear it, even if it’s at your own expense. Ruby decides she’s had enough of mentally torturing you with the thought of feeling anything but extreme distaste towards Jungkook and goes back to her show, letting you brood in peace. 

You don’t need to fall in love to make a film about it. Just like you don’t need to be a masterchef to film Gordon Ramsey screaming at someone who undercooked chicken. You’re a filmmaker. You can make a film out of anything. Including love. Even if it is with someone like Jungkook. 

Can’t you?

Jeon Jungkook may be a disillusioned college student in love with the idea of love itself, but at least he’s not too shabby of a filmmaker. 

Funnily enough, it actually sort of surprises you that you’ve never encountered each other before. Especially considering you’re in the same major program at your school, a program that only accepts about fifty students per year at most. You suppose that in whatever general program classes you had to take in freshman and sophomore year you just never crossed paths. Plus, he’s a filmmaking concentration and you’re doing screenwriting, so it’s very possible that you would have just never spoken had the two of you not registered for the same semester of FILM395.

Huh. Imagine that. A life without him. 

Sort of makes you wish you had put this class off for one more semester. 

As the two of you kickstart your project, you both immediately agree that you need a third person’s help. You and Jungkook can do plenty, but you are only two people. And there’s nothing in the final project guidelines that says you can’t enlist other people to partake in the production. But you don’t need help with the filming and editing. You need help with the interviews. 

“Is this bedsheet good enough?” Kim Taehyung, a senior in the film program, asks as he’s Command-stripping a queen-sized black bedsheet to an empty wall in the living room of his tiny one-bedroom apartment. 

“As long as it fits into the frame,” Jungkook responds from where he’s standing behind the camera, set up on a tripod to capture a specific angle. “You’re not going to be in the shot anyway. You’ll just be asking the questions.”

“Good, because I look really ugly right now,” Taehyung says with a grin. You roll your eyes. Taehyung must know he always looks good. Even you can’t deny him of that. 

“This is ridiculous,” you say, seated on the singular couch in his apartment. You’re leaning on your elbow as you watch Taehyung fiddle with the bedsheet and Jungkook futz with the camera, the two of them repositioning themselves over and over again until everything’s perfect. “What are you even gonna ask us?”

“I came up with some… preliminary questions,” Taehyung says suggestively. “But I haven’t told either of you what they are so that your reactions can be more genuine.”

“Great,” you deadpan. 

“Wow, someone’s excited,” Jungkook comments snidely. 

“I know we agreed on periodic interviews for the sake of the mockumentary but I don’t know why we have to be so… so serious about them,” you say with a frown. 

“We have to promise to be honest with what we say, alright? Like, actually honest. This sets a guideline for the rest of our relationship,” Jungkook says like it’s no big deal. Like the foundation of your relationship isn’t the fact that the two of you have been engaged in discussion-board war ever since the semester began. 

“Our ‘relationship’?” You say with a scoff. 

“Do you promise?” Jungkook says. 

You roll your eyes. “Yes, I promise.” Whatever. “What do you even think is going to happen between us in the next few weeks?”

Jungkook smirks. “Guess we’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?”

You don’t like the sound of that. 

Over the next ten minutes, Taehyung gets the sheet attached to his wall and pulls over two stools from his kitchen counters, old-timey wooden ones he got from a thrift store for five dollars a pop, one for him and one for the poor soul who has to be interviewed. You’ve agreed to do them separately but Taehyung’s apartment is only so big and you are only three people, which means that whoever isn’t being interviewed still has to be behind the camera, listening to the other person. 

Makes you sort of nervous about whatever’s stewing up inside Jungkook’s mind. Wonder what the hell it is he’s plotting up there. 

Once everything is settled, Taehyung looks at the two of you as he asks who’s going first. 

You turn to Jungkook, who’s already grinning. “Ladies first.”

For someone who has spent their whole life watching and making movies, being in front of the camera feels weirdly uncomfortable to you. You’re so used to being behind it instead, directing others as they move around the frame, telling them how to feel and how to act and what to say, that having the spotlight shone on you is like picking through your thoughts with a fine-toothed comb. 

You adjust awkwardly in the bar stool seat as Jungkook stands behind the camera, twisting the lens until he gives you the thumbs-up. Quite frankly, it doesn’t make you feel any better. 

“You ready?” Taehyung asks as he takes a seat opposite you, just out of frame. 

“Well, we’ve gotta start somewhere, right?”

“That’s the spirit. Alright, Jungkook, start whenever you’re good.”

“Okay,” Jungkook chirps up. “Three, two, one—” He points to the both of you. 

“So, Y/N,” Taehyung begins, his voice suddenly much clearer. He sounds sort of like a news anchor. It’s oddly fitting. “Are you excited to begin the filming for this?”

“I don’t really have a choice, do I?” You muse. 

“That didn’t answer my question,” Taehyung points out. Good thing the camera can’t see the way his eyebrows raise. 

“I suppose that there are worse things I could be doing,” you reason, which is about as good of an answer as Taehyung’s going to get. What was he expecting you to say? That you were thrilled to be filming this not-a-rom-com with your class nemesis? That you couldn’t wait to see what would happen?

“Loving the enthusiasm,” Taehyung jokes. You wonder what your classmates will think when they watch this back, hearing this unidentified deep male voice ask you and Jungkook questions about your relationship. “Let me ask you this: what’s your current relationship with Jungkook?”

“Uh…” you begin, nervous. Behind the camera, Jungkook has that same stupid, shit-eating grin plastered all over his face. You sneer. “It’s… it’s professional.”

“Can you explain what you mean by that?” 

“I mean we’re classmates. That’s the relationship.”

“That’s it?” You can hear the skepticism in Taehyung’s voice, almost like he’s egging you on to say something more. 

“We’ve had some personal disagreements on topics discussed in class. But yes, we’re just classmates,” you elaborate slightly. It’s not as if anyone needs reminding of that, anyway. They all see your discussion board posts. 

“And how do you expect that relationship to change over the course of this project?”

“I don’t think it’ll change at all.” It’s the easiest answer so far. Requires no energy nor brain power for you to think about it. 

Taehyung nods his head in intrigue. “And why’s that?”

“Because this is a project for a class, not a life lesson.”

“Who says it can’t be both?”

You frown. “Whose side are you on?”

Five feet away, Jungkook laughs. 

Taehyung chuckles. “Alright, moving on. What do you expect from Jungkook over the next few weeks as you start working on building your relationship?”

“I hope he becomes less unbearable,” you say, though you suppose that’s more of a general life goal than one that’s project-specific. But it would be nice if he became a little more… palatable. Just so you don’t have to feel the urge to sock him in the face every time you speak to each other. 

“‘Less unbearable’, excellent,” Taehyung repeats. “Anything else?”

“Well,” you say with a shrug, not sure what else to say. What do you want from Jungkook? Obviously the two of you are about to embark on your own rom-com adventure, no doubt most of it his doing, but it’s hard to imagine that he himself (or you, for that matter) will change. If anything, the rom-com setting will just exacerbate the worst parts of both your personalities. Like some sort of curse. “I guess I just hope that the project goes smoothly.”

“I hope that it does, too,” Taehyung says with a smile. “Okay, last question.” Thank God. This interview couldn’t have been more than five minutes, but it feels like an eternity to you. “Do you think you and Jungkook will fall in love at the end of this?”

“No.” You don’t leave any room for hesitation. “I don’t.”

“Why not?”

“We’re very different people with very different interests,” you explain succinctly. You’re sure Taehyung will grasp that once Jungkook has his turn and answers all the same questions. “He can try his hardest, but some things are just meant to stay the way they are.”

“Okay, thank you, Y/N, that’s all. I hope you found our conversation illuminating,” Taehyung says, his cue for the camera to stop rolling. You and Taehyung both turn to Jungkook, waiting for his signal, letting out a sigh when Jungkook gives you a thumbs-up. 

“Thank fuck,” you say, hopping off of the barstool happily. You head towards the camera, ready to kick Jungkook off of it, because it’s your turn to stand behind it with an annoying look on your face as you react to every stupid thing Jungkook says. You find that you’re actually sort of looking forward to it. Being behind the camera is where you feel most at home. Making faces at Jungkook is just a bonus. 

Jungkook’s still grinning that same goddamn grin when you approach him, making you narrow your eyes. 

“‘He can try his hardest’?” Jungkook teases, voice all high-pitched to mimic yours. “Sounds like a challenge.”

“Ah yes, my mission in life,” you retort easily. Maybe goading him on isn’t the best course of action, but you’re so confident that you won’t change your mind you find yourself actually anticipating his efforts. “Think you have what it takes?”

“Believe me, I do,” Jungkook says with a devilish glint in his eyes. 

You roll your eyes and kick him off the camera with a shove, pushing him towards Taehyung as he waits diligently on that chair of his. 

“So, Jungkook, same questions,” Taehyung says as Jungkook gets ready in his seat, fixing the blonde strands of hair that curl around the side of his face, framing his cheeks. 

“What? That’s no fair, he got to think about all his answers,” you exclaim, positively indignant. 

“Don’t worry, Y/N,” Jungkook says, voice sickly smooth, honey falling off his lips. “I’ve actually been thinking about the two of us for a long time.”

You pretend to throw up on Taehyung’s hardwood floor. 

As Taehyung promised, he asks Jungkook the same questions. And, as predicted, his answers about as far away from yours as the sun is from Pluto:

“Are you excited to begin the filming for this?”

Jungkook grins. “Yes, definitely. I actually took this class after hearing from a friend that the final project was a lot of fun.”

Taehyung beams. That friend was him. No wonder he was so happy to sign onto helping the two of you. 

“And how would you describe your current relationship with Y/N?”

“We’re soon-to-be-lovers.” 

“How forward of you.”

“Isn’t that my job?”

You have to stop yourself from bursting out into laughter behind the camera and ruining the interview. At least he’s not hiding anything. You’ll give him that. 

“So I suppose you expect the two of you to fall in love over the course of the project?”

“Yes, that’s going to happen.”

“And you seem pretty confident when you say that.”

Jungkook smirks as he turns to the camera. Or, more accurately, you. “Confidence is attractive.” 

You shake your head back at him. 

The rest of the interview falls pretty much into the same vein as the first few questions. Jungkook is so brazenly determined and hopeful and optimistic it actually pains you in a way, watching him make all of these promises both to you and himself that this project is going to turn out the way he hopes it does. His answers remind you of his discussion board posts, always looking on the bright side of every movie you watch, always finding the silver lining, the light at the end of the tunnel. A movie could be total Hollywood crap, filled with cheating scandals and misunderstandings and betrayals, and Jungkook could still find beauty in it. 

It’s strange. 

For the sake of you not actually throwing up in Taehyung’s lovely apartment, you tune out the majority of the middle of the conversation, having zero desire to listen to Jungkook wax poetic about your non-existent relationship like he’s saying his wedding vows. Only when Taehyung finally remarks that they’re on the last question do you finally come to again, ready to turn the camera off as soon as Jungkook finishes his answer. 

“Jungkook, do you think you and Y/N will fall in love at the end of this?”

“I do.” Wow, what a shocker. “I do, because I hope that by the end of this Y/N will have opened her eyes to the beauty of love, and will find joy in the feeling as something that makes her feel happy and warm. I’m going to do everything I can to make sure the things we do together are meaningful. And even if we don’t last, I hope that her memories of us together will be ones she can look back upon fondly and be grateful for.”

You purse your lips together. If only it were that easy. 

“Alright, cut,” you say, voice distant as Jungkook thanks Taehyung for his time and hops off the bar stool. “Thanks, Tae.”

“Anytime, you guys,” Taehyung says with a grin. 

Jungkook comes over to where you’re standing, possibly to grab his camera and tripod but most definitely to rub his obnoxious personality all up in your face. 

“You really think you’re gonna get me to fall in love with you, huh?” You muse, an eyebrow raised as you look up at him. “Just so you can prove a point?”

“Believe it or not, Y/N, but I actually think that all people deserve the chance to experience love and that happens to include you, as well,” Jungkook responds easily. 

The words put a sour taste in your mouth. “You think I deserve it, huh?”

Jungkook nods, face solemn as he looks at you, gazing into your eyes with those big brown ones of his own. It makes you feel something unfamiliar. Like he’s reading right through your chest, into your heart. You don’t like it. “Everyone deserves love.”

“You guys are coming back, right? So I can leave the sheet up?” Taehyung interrupts after he’s moved both of his bar stools back to his kitchen counter. 

“Yeah, we’ll be back,” Jungkook answers quickly. “Thanks for setting everything up, by the way.”

“Of course. Plus, this is a good background for my nudes,” Taehyung says casually, like he’s mentioning what he’s having for dinner. “Looking forward to seeing you guys again.”

“Us, too,” Jungkook says. “Ready to go?”

“Only because it means I don’t have to see you anymore,” you retort pointedly, grabbing your backpack from where it sits on his couch as you head towards the door. 

“Just you wait, Y/N,” Jungkook says as you leave Taehyung’s building, one of those old-timey Victorian houses that was converted into a whole bunch of apartments. “You’re gonna see that I’m right.”

“Really? About what?”

“About us,” Jungkook says. You come to the stoplight, where Jungkook keeps going straight and you turn right. 

“Us?”

Jungkook grins as you turn in the direction of your own apartment. And, just as the light turns green, he says, “Just you wait. We’re gonna fall in love, you and me.”

If he says so. 

“Hey! Y/N!”

You whip your head around at the sound of your name just as you’re opening the door to your local Starbucks, wondering who the hell is calling out to you at nine-thirty in the morning on a Wednesday. 

As it turns out, you don’t have to wonder too much, because the moment your eyes adjust to the blinding sunlight coming from the east side of campus you see Jungkook hurtling towards you, heavy black boots stomping down on the pavement as he rushes to catch up with you. 

“Can I help you?” You ask, thoroughly unimpressed, as you pull open the door, looking at Jungkook heaving beside you as he holds the door open for himself. 

“Just glad I caught you,” Jungkook gasps out between breaths. “Figured this might make a good scene for the movie.”

“It’s a mockumentary,” you remind him easily, getting in the line. 

“Whatever,” Jungkook says. “What do you normally get here? I don’t really go to Starbucks often.”

“Whatever will give me the most caffeine for the least amount of money,” you retort. 

“How efficient,” Jungkook comments. 

“You know that’s how I like to be,” you tell him with a pointed look. 

Jungkook mumbles his acknowledgement as he fumbles around in his backpack, fishing through the large pocket until he whips out his Canon, holding it out in front of him like he’s a dad about to film an embarrassing shot of his child. You look down at the camera just as he pans up to you, a confused frown written across your features. Jungkook laughs. 

“Do you really need to do that here?”

“I’m not even filming,” Jungkook says with a smile, like he just pulled his camera out so he could look at your unimpressed face through a different lens. “Look, you’re up.”

You turn around to find that the woman ahead of you in line has just moved towards the pick-up side of the counter, so you shimmy over towards the barista, ready to get this over with so you can dart out of the Starbucks as soon as possible. 

“Just a grande Americano, please,” you request simply, fingers grasping for the wallet inside your coat pocket. 

“Me too,” Jungkook chirps up from behind you. The closeness of his voice makes you jump, and suddenly you become keenly cognizant of how he’s practically pressed up next to you as he leans over towards the counter. You catch a glimpse of the debit card in his hand. “Here.”

“You don’t have to pay for me, it’s fine,” you quickly say, holding out your own card to the barista. 

“No, it’s okay, I want to. Here.” Jungkook pushes your hand away as he tries to stuff his card into the reader. 

“No, I won’t let you. I’m a big girl, I can pay for my own coffee,” you rebuke, feeling yourself growing oddly defensive. 

Jungkook sighs from behind you. “Oh, come on, you can’t let me do one nice thing for you?”

“Will one of you please pay, you’re holding up the line,” the barista asks in a desperate tone, clearly too overworked and too underpaid to be dealing with two bratty college students like yourselves. 

Jungkook manages to shove his card into the reader before you get the chance to do it yourself, pushing you to the side as he verifies all of his information and takes his receipt. Next to him, you seethe to yourself, feeling a personal loss even though you just got your coffee paid for. It’s not about the money. It’s about your pride. Never in your life have you wanted to so badly pay for an overpriced Starbucks coffee. 

You and Jungkook mosey over to the other side of the counter, waiting for your identical drinks to be made as you try and calculate how much longer you have to stand in the same room and breathe the same air as Jungkook. Seeing him in class, on your discussion board posts, and for your arranged final project meetings apparently isn’t enough, so now he has to invade your personal life, too. 

“What are you doing?” You huff out angrily, turning to Jungkook even as he holds his camera out in front of him, filming the Starbucks. 

“Recording our first meeting, obviously,” Jungkook says like it’s some kind of no-brainer. Like you were in on that from the moment he called your name out on the street. 

“What do you mean, ‘our first meeting’?” You scrunch up your nose in confusion. “We’ve known each other since the semester started.”

“I know, but…” Jungkook trails off unhelpfully, but you pick up what he’s putting down regardless. Right. This is supposed to be a mockumentary rom-com. And rom-coms always start with an introduction. 

The barista behind the counter calls out Jungkook’s name as he places two same-sized cups down at the pick-up station. The cup is burning hot, even with the little cardboard holder wrapped around it like a leg warmer, so you immediately move over to the station up against the wall with all of the sugar packets and napkins and little green splash sticks. Jungkook joins you without question, whether it be due to the fact that he doesn’t come here very often or because he just wants to keep invading your space, you couldn’t say. Grabbing one of the wooden sticks, you tug the plastic lid off of the cup and give the coffee a swirl. Watching you, Jungkook takes the lid off of his as well. 

“Are you just going to copy everything I do?” You deadpan. 

“Not everything…” Jungkook trails off suspiciously, looking down into his coffee like the two of them are conspiring something. 

“What are you talki—”

Without warning, Jungkook slams half of his body into you, and without a lid or one of those little green sticks, the coffee sploshes over the side of his cup and drenches the front of your exposed hoodie, hot liquid burning through the fabric of the hoodie and the t-shirt you have on underneath. You watch in horror as Jungkook plays it off like an accident, feet fumbling around on the hardwood floor like he had just tripped. But he didn’t just trip. He dumped half of his Americano onto the both of your fronts. 

“Jungkook!” You say instantly, resisting the urge to scream because you’re in a public place but feeling your skin go as hot as the coffee against your torso as you look up at him, fuming. 

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, I’m such a klutz,” Jungkook says, somehow able to regain his balance, hold his coffee cup, and film the whole adventure all at the same time. “That was totally my fault, let me help you with that.” 

The camera is from his perspective, which you suppose is about as real as it gets for something grounded in reality like a mockumentary, but in this position he’s able to make conversation with his eyes, big brown ones wide as he tries to signify what exactly he means when he purposely spills coffee all over the two of you. 

You get it. You’ve seen enough rom-coms to know why he just did what he did, but you still find your mouth agape as you stare up at him, smoldering and angry and a little shocked he would dare be so bold, especially in the middle of a Starbucks coffee shop. 

“For God’s sake,” you say with an exhausted sigh despite it not even being ten in the morning yet. Unable to form any other comprehensible words, you settle for just pulling out napkins from the dispenser and dabbing the front of your hoodie as Jungkook looks at you apologetically. You can’t even tell if he’s truly sorry or just putting on another one of his shows. 

“I feel so bad,” Jungkook says, and you calm yourself down enough to nod. At least he isn’t blatantly laughing. “Can I pay for dry cleaning?”

“You’re really gonna offer to pay for my dry cleaning?” You ask, an eyebrow raised. 

“It was my fault,” Jungkook admits. Now that you can agree on. 

You shake your head. “It’s okay. It’s just an old hoodie, it’s no big deal.”

“I’m still sorry,” Jungkook insists, and the more he says it the more you actually find yourself starting to believe him. Even if he did just spill coffee all over you. “Here, let me give you my jacket—”

“That’s not necessary,” you say as he shrugs off his backpack and begins to remove the bulky denim jacket he’s wearing, fabric worn and soft from years of use. “Seriously, it’s okay, it’s just a hoodie.”

“Yeah, but now you have coffee all over your clothes and you probably have class soon, right?” He says, an apologetic smile lacing his lips. He tugs off his jacket and holds it out towards you. 

“Jungkook, I’m fine, alright? I appreciate your concern, though,” you assure him. You throw away the last of the coffee-stained napkins in your hands and reach down for your backpack, which you had taken off your shoulders somewhere in the chaos. 

Jungkook rolls his eyes, almost as if he was expecting resistance, and leans over you anyway. His arms extend outwards as he wraps his enormous denim jacket over your shoulders, the fabric draping loosely over your body. The damn thing was big on him, so on you it practically eats you up. You stand there, silent, as Jungkook adjusts the jacket on your torso, pulling underneath the hood of your sweatshirt as he makes sure it’s snug across your figure. 

“There,” Jungkook says. 

“Thanks,” you say, a half grin playing on your lips. The gesture makes you wonder if Jungkook really was planning on giving up his jacket this early in the morning for the sake of your movie. “That’s nice of you.”

“I hope it makes up for the fact that you smell like coffee now,” Jungkook says, a hand coming up to rub at the nape of his neck. 

“I appreciate it,” you say. 

“I have class, too, so I have to go,” Jungkook says, hoisting his backpack on his shoulders as he tucks his camera away. “I’m sorry again! See you around?”

Like you even have a choice. 

“Yeah, see you around,” you say as Jungkook darts off just as quickly as he arrived, rushing out the door before you have the chance to change your mind and give him his jacket back. 

When he leaves you, you find yourself at a loss for words. You stand there, lips pursed, coffee cold, as the weight of his jacket rests heavy on your shoulders. 

It smells like him. 

You should have known he would do something like this. Spill coffee all over the two of you, offer you his jacket, dash off like Cinderella at midnight. Like the opening of the world’s worst rom-com. The start of what is no doubt going to be the most unbearable final project you have ever done.

Plus, the other thing it’s ensured is a second meeting. How else is he going to get his jacket back?

And you know what the worst part is?

This is only the beginning.

This time after FILM395 ends lecture for the day, it’s your turn to catch Jungkook lounging around after class. 

He’s lingering around the outside of the building, scrolling through his phone, a heavy leather jacket resting over a flannel that goes down to his knees and a baseball cap sitting firmly on his tuft of blonde hair. He’s obviously not paying attention to any of his surroundings whatsoever, because he doesn’t even notice you exiting out of the door he’s standing by until you say his name. 

“Jungkook,” you say, arriving in front of him. 

“Wha—oh, hi,” Jungkook says, jumping at the suddenness of it all. 

“Here,” you say, holding out his oversized denim jacket in between the two of you. “Thanks for letting me borrow it.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you were going to give it back so soon,” Jungkook says, looking a little surprised and… is he touched? 

“I was going to give it to you a couple days ago but I thought I should give it a wash first,” you admit to him. 

Instinctively, Jungkook brings the jacket up to his nose to sniff it. “Smells like lavender.”

“Yeah, it’s my detergent. Hope you don’t mind. It’s a little wrinkled—I let it air dry since I was worried it might shrink in the dryer.”

“Thanks,” Jungkook says, a genuine smile lacing itself across his features. It’s not one you see too often, and definitely not the kind of smile he usually flashes in your direction. Those are all so obnoxious, so full of himself. This one’s different. It’s appreciative. Kinder. Softer. In a lot of ways. “I was thinking, if you don’t have class now, do you wanna grab some coffee?”

You narrow your eyes. “Only if you promise not to spill it on me this time.”

Jungkook laughs, throwing his head back. “Okay, I got it. I won’t spill it on you.”

“Promise?” You prompt. 

“Promise.”

The walk to Starbucks this time is in relative silence, but neither of you seems to mind it very much. You aren’t dashing to catch up with each other and heaving snarky comments as you catch your breath. Jungkook even notices you shiver in the cool March breeze and wraps his jacket around you again anyway, although this time you make a mental note to make sure he doesn’t leave without it. Even though a lavender scent wafts off of the denim, it still smells a little bit like him. That boyish sort of aroma. You don’t think any detergent would ever be able to get rid of that. 

You and Jungkook both get americanos again because you’re predictable and creatures of habit, and Jungkook actually seems to quite like them. He pays and you don’t spend two minutes standing in front of the barista fighting over it. Jungkook seems so determined to pay the extra four dollars for your drink that you aren’t sure if it’s really worth arguing over it for the sake of pride anymore. What you and Jungkook put into making this project a success is what you’re going to get out of it. 

He picks one of the longer tables in the back of the study space, empty because it’s just after the lunchtime rush and most people have classes now, sets up the camera at one end, and you sit down at the other. 

“So,” you begin, not sure where to start because your coffee is too hot to take a sip from it. 

“So,” Jungkook echoes. 

Silence. 

You purse your lips in that awkward, I-don’t-know-what-to-say kind of way. “What do you want to do?”

Jungkook grins. “This is the part where we get to know each other.” 

“We already know each other.” You frown.

“Do we?” Jungkook poses, an eyebrow raised. “I mean, yeah, I guess we aren’t strangers, but I don’t know anything about you. Other than you’re a film major in a rom-com class who hates rom-coms.”

“I don’t hate rom-coms,” you object. “I just think it’s important to look at them from a critical lens.”

“Okay, whatever,” Jungkook says, shrugging you off. “The point is that we don’t know anything else about each other. Like, what’s your favorite color, for example?”

“Purple.” It’s an easy answer. You wore purple princess dresses when you were five, painted your bedroom lilac when you were ten, and still make sure to keep a purple highlighter in your pencil case now. “What’s yours?”

“Red,” Jungkook responds. 

“Cool,” you say, effectively ending the rest of the conversation.

Jungkook, sensing that same awkward silence, suggests something. “How about you ask me something now? We can go back and forth.”

You shrug. It’s not like you have anything better to do. “Alright.” You think for a moment, but then you have the perfect question. “Why film?”

Jungkook was clearly not expecting something so loaded, because his brows furrow, knitting themselves together as he begins to figure out a good enough answer. “Hmm,” he says, lost deep in thought. “I suppose the standard answer would be that I’ve always been interested in it, but I think I chose film because I want to be able to have the gift to tell other people’s stories. Being a filmmaker doesn’t just mean you stand behind a camera. It means you immerse yourself in the lives of other people to create something new. And… I don’t know. I guess I really like doing that.” 

You nod. 

For once, you understand him. Understand why he chose to major in film, why he chose to be in this tiny little program. Because there is so much out there, so much that you will never know, people you will never meet and things you will never see. And it’s a filmmaker’s job to make them turn into things you will see, people you will meet. Who knows the world better than the people who study it? The people who have devoted their lives to learning all its secrets?

“What about you?”

“Same as you,” you tell him. “Film is an art but it’s more than that to me. It’s a new way to look at the world. It’s several new ways to look at the world, depending on what kind of film you want to create and what kind of story you want to tell. I think it’s important to show people that all of the things they see in the media every day are not always reality. And that real people deserve to have their stories told, too. I don’t know. That’s what I think.”

Jungkook grins, a twinkle in his eyes. “Real people like us?”

“This project is different,” you insist. 

“I don’t think it is,” Jungkook says. “You said it yourself, we’re making this because it’s important to show people that the Hollywood entertainment they consume is not reality. This is. This is reality.”

You frown, kicking yourself in the shin because what was supposed to be a harmless conversation has now turned into an opportunity for Jungkook to try and convince you that you will, in fact, fall in love with him. You’ve dug your own grave and Jungkook was the one who handed you the shovel. 

“You’re not giving up, are you?” You say, shaking your head, flabbergasted. “Reality is the fact that this project is not going to make me fall in love with you. Nothing is.”

“Don’t be so sure about that,” Jungkook warns. “I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.”

“You mean like spilling burning hot coffee all over me?” You ask, an eyebrow raised, a grudge still held. 

“We had to start somewhere,” Jungkook defends. “And you seemed to understand what I was doing pretty quickly.”

“It’s not the worst thing someone’s done to me,” you concede, only slightly. “Besides, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but throwing hot coffee all over me is not really a good way to start off your plan to get me to fall in love with you.”

Jungkook smiles. “All in due time, Y/N. All in due time.”

“I can’t believe Pollack actually paired us up together,” you say with a sigh. “You know she did it on purpose.”

“Of course she did.” It’s not really a surprise to either of you. 

“I met with her right after she announced our partners,” you tell him, “she said it was because she wanted to see what kind of project we would come up with. How we would address our… differing views on love.” That’s one way of putting it. A rather nice way, if you do say so yourself.

“Speaking of which,” Jungkook says, something suddenly flashing through his mind, “what do you really think about love? You know, other than it’s unrealistic and ruins people’s lives.”

“You make me sound like Ebeneezer Scrooge.” You frown at him. 

“I’m serious,” insists Jungkook. “Why are you so pessimistic about it? Have you ever been in love? Have you had bad experiences? You couldn’t have just developed this worldview over time.”

You scowl, feeling yourself getting defensive. “Well, maybe I did. Maybe that’s just what I think. Why do you care?”

“Because people don’t just hate love for no reason,” Jungkook exclaims. “Come on, there must be something.”

Your body stiffens. Who is he to be asking you this sort of shit? Why does he care so much? It’s not like it will have any effect on the outcome of your project. Not like you explaining yourself will change the way either of you look at the world. 

“What’s it to you?” You challenge. “Why do you love love so much? Have you ever fallen in love? Do you think it’s suddenly going to solve all of your problems?”

“I love it because I think it brings people real joy,” Jungkook answers simply. “It makes people happy and it’s beautiful. I love love and I’m not ashamed to say that out loud. I believe in it. I believe in love, and in destiny, and in soulmates. I want that. I think everyone deserves it.”

 You scoff to yourself. “You believe in soulmates?”

“I think we all have our people out there.” Jungkook nods. “Don’t you?”

You roll your eyes, arms crossed over your chest. This conversation has gone nowhere, and Jungkook looks as equally dissatisfied as you do. 

“I think love can make us do stupid things,” you tell him succinctly, if a little jaded. No need to say anything else. Your explanation is right there. “We’re just different, I guess. You and I.”

Jungkook blinks at you, eyes wide and a little desperate. Your conversation has remained stagnant and there’s almost nothing left to say. 

Almost. 

“Don’t you ever want to fall in love?” He asks, like it’s a last-ditch effort to get you to believe. 

You freeze. Let the words sink in for a moment. Before you push them out the door and toss them into the garbage. Just thinking about it gives you a headache. Puts a sour taste in your mouth. 

Quickly, you push yourself out of your chair and stand up, grabbing your coffee with one hand and your backpack with the other. “I have to go, sorry. I just remembered I’m meeting up with a friend to help her with a photography shoot,” you fumble out quickly, the legs of the chair screeching as you scoot them across the hardwood floor. “Oh, here’s your jacket, too. Thanks for giving it to me again. I’ll see you in class.”

You whip around and head towards the exit, and only when you’re outside of the Starbucks and passing by the window do you dare look back. Do you dare let your gaze drift back to Jungkook, who is sitting there like he still doesn’t understand you. Still can’t. 

You and Jungkook are final project partners and maybe, if you’re pushing it, acquaintances-slash-friends. But there are just some things better kept to yourself. 

We’re reaching the halfway point in this semester and, as you all know, I don’t do midterms. That said, I still want you to reflect on what you’ve learned, discovered, and thought about thus far in this class. What portrayal of love did you find the most realistic? The least? How have they changed the way you think about love, both from a personal and a film perspective?

Y/N Y/N on March 3rd at 6:08PM

Purely from a film perspective, I really did enjoy watching Juno. It was funny and raunchy and just the right amount of vulnerable. It certainly felt the most real. So far, no film in this class has topped it for me. 500 Days of Summer, on the other hand, was in my opinion extremely unsatisfying and left no positive impression. The ending was a bore and Tom had absolutely no spine. It was a shame, because the direction and production was actually quite good. 

I guess I’m starting to realize how real love is not pretty. It can make people just as sad as it can make them happy. Why don’t we show the sad sides of love, too? The sides where your room is covered with a pile of clothes because you can’t bring yourself to do the laundry? Where you cannot cook a meal because it reminds you of a breakup? Rom-coms are, obviously, not the most realistic. But why are there not more films that do cover what’s real? How can we love love if all we know is a lie?

Jeon Jungkook on March 3rd at 11:13PM

Of course, I thought The Big Sick did an excellent job of their portrayal of love, adult life, and the problems that plague us all in the twenty-first century. It was also just as emotional and touched on concepts of race, illness, and being in your twenties and having no idea what direction your life is going in. The Princess Bride, on the other hand, as much as I love it, I do think created a more circumstantial kind of love. Westley and Buttercup mostly fall in love because of their situations. But it remains a classic nonetheless. 

I’m satisfied with the way the film industry has produced rom-coms and handles love. The beauty of it is that love is different for every person who goes through it. It can bring the greatest joy and the most painful sorrow. We do not just figure out what love is by what we see on film. We see it in our real lives, in our parents, in our friends, in couples in coffee shops and cars and on sidewalks. We can love love because we want that joy for ourselves. Because we know that true love will be worth any heartbreak we endure. Is it not impossible for the portrayals of love in these rom-coms to not be real? The way everyone experiences it is different. The only way you can know what real love is, and what it is not, is if you fall in love yourself. 

Early on in your project development, you and Jungkook exchanged class schedules to optimize your productivity and skip over that stupid, terrible part of partner projects where you’re just going back and forth trying to pick a time that works for the both of you until you eventually settle on something ridiculous like eleven o’clock at night outside of the McDonald’s two blocks off of campus. 

It’s been working very well. Neither of you have adventurous-enough friends to invite you out on spontaneous picnics and restaurant dates that fuck with your pre-scheduled meeting times, and Jungkook already seems to have mastered the art of screaming your name when he catches you on the sidewalk so that you can film something. 

In fact, you’re actually beginning to wonder why you haven’t done this with all of your long-term partner projects. Send each other your schedules so that you can settle on a time in advance. No muss, no fuss. 

You and Jungkook are supposed to meet up again tonight, after the two of you are finished with all of your classes, to discuss what scenes you should be filming next. Edited down, you’ve already got about ten minutes worth of footage, but it’s mid-March and the project is due at the end of April. So you need to get this show on the road. 

The door slams shut behind you as you exit the business building, your film industry class having just ended a minute ago. You’ve got an hour to kill before your next class, just enough time to dash to the food court in the center of campus and grab something from the Japanese place in the back corner. You might even have time to browse the shelves in the bookstore if you’re fast enough. 

You round the corner to the main pathway through campus when a voice stops you in your tracks. 

“You’re just too good to be true…”

“Can’t take my eyes off of you…”

It’s not Jungkook. Instead, in the middle of the walkway are the Eighth Notes, one of the fifteen-thousand (you don’t know for sure, but if you had to estimate) acapella groups on campus. They’ve got mic stands and a table set up and everything. Maybe they’re promoting an upcoming show…? 

You almost breeze right by when one of them, the one in the middle of the group, points right at you, a lopsided grin lacing his features. You aren’t one to normally stop in the middle of a crowded footpath, but when, one after another, all six of the boys start pointing at you, you have no choice. 

“You’d be like Heaven to touch…”

“I wanna hold you so much…” 

“At long last, love has arrived…”

“And I thank God I’m alive…”

“You’re just too good to be true…”

“Can’t take my eyes off of you…”

Their voices are smooth like honey, warm and deep, romancing you through their mics as each one of them suddenly manifests a rose from behind them. Around you, people are starting to stare, gawking at you as they walk by. There’s even a small crowd starting to gather, and you swear you can see some people filming on their phones. The fact that this is happening in the busiest ten minutes of the day, as half the student body is walking from one class to another, isn’t helping. At all. 

The rest of them singing in the background, each one steps out from behind the set of microphones to hand you the rose, smiling their classic, old-timey smiles like those old jazz singers from the 1960s, until you’ve got half a dozen in your hands as they continue to sing. 

“But if you feel like I feel…”

“Please let me know that it’s real…”

“You’re just too good to be true…”

“Can’t take my eyes off of you…”

And then, suddenly, all of them are shutting their traps and turning to the left, looking down the pathway as the song begins again, but from one-hundred feet away. 

“I love you, baby, and if it’s quite alright, I need you, baby, to warm the lonely night…”

Your mouth drops. At the other end of the walkway is Jungkook, one of those wireless microphones in his hand, grinning as he saunters down the path like a prince at a ball, voice sweet and thick as the words dance off of his lips. 

“I love you, baby, trust in me when I say…”

Your eyes lock from opposite ends of the path, Jungkook stepping closer with every beat the Eighth Notes gives him. It sort of feels like your impending doom and a wedding proposal, all at once. By now a rather substantial audience has gathered, lining the walkway with their phones out, filming Jungkook as he waltzes past them, occasionally turning to capture your gobsmacked expression. 

Every step that Jungkook takes makes your heart race something fierce, cheeks warming in embarrassment, trapped in your least favorite thing in the entire world: a public serenade. You can’t really do anything except look at him in shock, feeling his steady gaze resting firmly on your figure, looking right at you. Into you. 

“Oh, pretty baby, don’t bring me down, I pray…”

Oh, pretty baby, now that I’ve found you, stay…”

Jungkook, on the other hand, is clearly relishing in this. In the spotlight. In the music. Or maybe just in the fact that you’re on the receiving end of his over-the-top advances. His grin is wide as he takes those last few steps, microphone gripped neatly in his hand, the lyrics warm and weighty as they tumble from his lips. 

“And let me love you, baby…”

One final step and he’s right in front of you, staring into your eyes, letting himself bask in the look on your face. He produces a rose himself—cherry red, like his favorite color—and holds it out in between the two of you. In the background, the Eighth Notes go quiet, leaving Jungkook on his own for the final line. 

“Let me love you…”

The words drift above your heads, disappearing into the sky as he lingers on them, on that last note, beaming down at you. He looks at you, so hopeful, so happy, so endeared, and what else can you do? What else, besides taking the rose from his hand and smiling back up at him? Who are you to deny him of that?

The crowd around you cheers when you do, applauding both Jungkook and the Eighth Notes, with whom he is apparently in cahoots, before they all decide that they ought to get on with their day and head to class. No doubt you’ll be on several dozen Instagram stories by nightfall. 

Only after everyone has dispersed do you notice Taehyung, who must have been here since the beginning, because he’s just turning off the camera dangling from his neck. Of course Jungkook got him to film. Other than your project, what else would this be for?

“Is that the best you can do, Jungkook?” You smirk up at him, only saying this because you can’t have him knowing that you actually kind of enjoyed it. 

“You’re still here, aren’t you?” Jungkook responds easily. “Thought I would do something spontaneous.”

“And now you’ve taken up ten minutes of my lunch,” you say, shaking your head to yourself. “How spontaneous, indeed.”

“How was that, Jungkook?”

Behind the two of you, the Eighth Notes are packing up, clearly more than happy to have aided Jungkook on his quest for so-called love and getting to promote their group in the process. 

“Great, thank you so much, Jimin,” Jungkook says to the one in the middle, the very first one to sing when you walked out of the door. 

“Anytime, dude. Glad we could help,” Jimin responds. He waves hi to Taehyung, too, as they store their microphones and go on their way. 

Jungkook bids them goodbye as they head down the path, smiling at all of them before he turns back to you, notices the distant, faraway look in your eyes as you twirl the rose between your fingers, press it to your nose to pick up its scent. 

“You gotta admit, I’m a pretty good singer, eh?” Jungkook says with a nudge to your shoulder. 

“You’re alright.”

Jungkook laughs to himself. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Don’t get a big head,” you warn. 

“Think I’ll have to sing for you more, now, hmm? Since you liked it so much?” He suggests, eyebrows wiggling. 

You roll your eyes. “Only if you can get Jimin and the Eighth Notes to back you up, again. Then maybe I’ll allow it.”

Jungkook grins. He’s far past the point of being deterred by your deadpan comments. If anything, they only encourage him more. But you, for obvious reasons, cannot give in. At least, not yet, anyway. 

“Okay, go eat your lunch,” he says, nodding as you begin to part ways. “I’ll text you later, okay?”

You smile. “Okay. See you.”

“See you, too.”

The moment you get back to your apartment you put all seven roses in an old vase filled with water. They brighten up your bedroom instantly, soft scent freshening up the air. And when you go to bed that night, it is to Jungkook’s sweet, delicate voice, like walking on clouds, like satin and silk, that you fall asleep.

“Good morning, Y/N,” Jungkook greets like always, smiling at you as you walk in the door for FILM395. 

“Good morning, Jungkook,” you say in response. 

Then, you take a seat right next to him. 

It’s an act that clearly catches everyone off guard, if the bewildered looks of your fellow classmates and Jungkook’s confused expression are anything to go by. Even Pollack, when she walks through the door, gets a bit of a shock, eyes widening when she sees the two of you seated next to each other. 

You suppose all the fuss is understandable. After all, you both sort of hate each other. 

Other than the sudden change in seating arrangement, however, the rest of the class goes off without much issue. Pollack lectures for an hour before you move into discussion, at which point it becomes a class participation free-for-all, with you and Jungkook almost definitely in the lead. Just because you’re now sitting next to each other doesn’t mean either of you are suddenly going to stop raising your hands to rebuke each other’s points. Some things never change. 

Sitting next to Jungkook is not as bad as you thought it would be. For one, he is, for the most part, a rather diligent student. Other than his occasional flicks to his email, an essay he’s working on, or your discussion board, he mostly sits and takes notes and doesn’t do anything else. That, you can at least give him credit for. And even though your elbows almost always nearly crash into each other’s when you’re raising your hands to respond to a point Pollack’s made, discussion isn’t so bad either. 

One of the perks of sitting directly beside each other is that whenever he says something stupid, or saccharine, or just overly unrealistic, you don’t have to just roll your eyes from the back of the classroom while you wait to be called on. You also get to kick his foot with your own, nudge your elbow into his side. And he does the same to you. You and Jungkook are like those neighbors in sitcoms that spend all their free time shouting at each other from opposite windows. Just because your seats have gotten closer doesn’t mean your viewpoints have. 

A notification pops up on your laptop.

[March 17th, 11:05AM]

Jungkook: wanna meet at the tables outside after class?

You look over at Jungkook with a frown.

You: Why are you texting me? We’re sitting right next to each other

Jungkook: because we’re in class obvs Jungkook: dont wanna be disruptive

You: Since when has that ever stopped you before?

Jungkook: haha very funny Jungkook: tables sound good?

You: Only since you asked so nicely :)

Jungkook: thoughtful as always i see

After class, you and Jungkook both hang around, waiting for each other to pack up your belongings so you can walk to the tables together. Everyone else seems to sense this weird, uncomfortable tension in the room, because they all book it out of the door much faster than either of you do. You’re almost convinced Jungkook purposely takes extra time to zip his backpack, just because. 

The tables are, as per usual, empty. But you don’t have a pile of receipts to spread out, this time. You and Jungkook take a seat at one of them as you pull out your laptops, ready to outline the rest of the project. 

“We should probably meet with Taehyung a couple more times, too,” you suggest as you begin to brainstorm. 

“Sounds good,” Jungkook agrees. “But we can’t meet at night on weekdays anymore. My dance group’s show is coming up and we have practice then.”

You stop typing and turn to him. “I didn’t know you were in a dance group.”

Jungkook shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “I don’t really talk about it that much.”

“You should.”

He looks up at you at that, eyes wide as he faces you. 

“I don’t know, it seems like something you should be passionate about,” you say. In the same way that you promote the Film Club to every freshman you know, force all your friends to mark that they’re Interested in your event pages on Facebook. Jungkook should want to tell everyone about his dance group. Doesn’t he love it? Isn’t he proud to be in it?

Jungkook doesn’t look like he knows what to say to that. So he doesn’t say anything at all. 

“We can meet on weekends too,” you say, adjusting to his new change of schedule easily. “This project isn’t as all-consuming as I thought it would be.”

“You mean I’m not as all-consuming as you thought I would be,” Jungkook corrects. 

You shake your head. “No, you are.” He laughs. “But yeah, on weekends is fine. You know my schedule. What else should we do, besides talk to Taehyung?”

It’s like a lightbulb goes off above Jungkook’s head. “Let’s go on a date.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “No.”

“What do you mean, “no”? It’s the natural progression of our relationship! It’s the next step in the rom-com! We have to,” Jungkook insists. 

“First of all, it’s a mockumentary, not a rom-com,” you say with a sigh, finding yourself having to correct him rather frequently. “Secondly, we are not in a relationship. I am not dating you and you are not dating me.”

“Okay, but at this point in rom-coms the two leads would definitely go on a date,” Jungkook says, punctuating every word for emphasis. “What’s the harm? It’s not like you’re committing yourself to a future with me.”

“Thank God,” you mutter. 

“Oh, shut up. You probably haven’t been on a date in years, anyway. Why not spend a night out?”

You frown at that. “Who cares if I have or have not been on a date?” Why does Jungkook care so much about the history of your love life? He’s always saying stuff like this, always telling you things as if you’ve never been in a relationship at all, don’t know left from right, black from white. Who is he to be making those assumptions?

“Please, Y/N,” Jungkook begs, looking desperate. “Just one evening. And then if it really goes terribly and you end up hating me again, then we don’t have to do another one.”

You sigh, shoulders slumping. Well, what else are you going to do? You don’t have any other ideas. And you’ve already spent so much time with Jungkook this semester, what’s another evening? Just something else to cross off of your list of things to film. Maybe you can get him to take a cute photo of you to post on social media. 

“Fine,” you concede. “One date. And I still hate you, by the way.”

Jungkook clearly does not believe you. “Really? You still hate me? I’m sure you do.”

“Okay, I don’t hate you. But still,” you relent again. Perhaps you’re just being oddly soft today. Too lenient for your own good. 

Jungkook grins, cheeks little round circles as his lips curve up. “I know you like me. You just can’t admit it to yourself, can you? Can’t take that blow to your dignity.”

“Don’t think so highly of yourself,” you chide. 

“Who knows?” Jungkook tacks on, just to be extra annoying. “Maybe you’re actually starting to fall in love with me.”

You scoff. “You wish.”

“Well, are you?”

Jungkook doesn’t ask the question the same way he’s asked all of the other ones. Doesn’t say it with a shit-eating grin on his face or that glint in his eyes. He’s asking because he’s curious. Curious if what he’s been doing has been working. Curious if this project is really accomplishing anything at all. 

Funnily enough, you find yourself wondering the exact same thing.

Silent, you pausing for a moment to think, chewing on the inside of your lip. Jungkook’s looking back at you, lips curled upwards as he waits for a response. Ugh, you’ll just have to give it up. What else can you say? “I guess…” you begin, hesitating. 

You aren’t sure why you’re so scared to respond. Maybe you’re just worried that things will change if you say something. If you tell him the truth. 

But it’s just Jungkook. He’s sitting in front of you patiently, waiting for your answer. What could happen?

You confess. “I guess you’re not so bad after all.”

Even though this is not the first time you’ve ever been out on a “date” (you’re using that word tentatively), picking out what to wear isn’t any easier than the last time. 

“Is black too, you know, sexy?”

Ruby shrugs on the other end of the video call. Her phone is propped up on her desk as she works on something on her laptop, glancing over every now and then whenever you prompt her to respond. “Well, that depends. Do you wanna fuck?”

“No.”

“Then it might be too sexy,” Ruby says easily. “What are you even doing? I thought you didn’t go out on dates.”

“It’s not a date,” you insist, although you’re not exactly sure which of the two of you you’re trying to convince. 

“You’re asking me what kind of sexy dress to wear for a night out with a guy. It’s a date,” Ruby reminds you, economical as always. “Who are you even going out with, anyway? You just called and asked me to pick between two dresses I have literally never seen you wear before.”

“That’s because I don’t go out on dates, which this is not,” you tell her, even expending the energy to stare into the camera to hammer your point home. “And it’s with Jungkook.”

Ruby shuts her laptop at that. You can hear the sound of her keyboard clacking as the lid hits them. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Do I need to remind you that this is not a date and therefore, you don’t need to be acting like I just told you I’m getting married.” You frown at her. “It’s just for our movie. Jungkook wants me to dress nicely, though.”

“Wear that nice summer dress you have,” Ruby instructs instead, shooing away the two much sexier options you’re currently holding in your hands. “Just put tights on underneath if you’re cold.”

“This one?” You ask, shuffling through your closet until you produce the gingham dress, plaid a pale yellow that matches gold jewelry rather well. 

“Yes, that one. I like that one,” Ruby says with a nod. “You look good in it.”

“I don’t know, I feel like it’s not appropriate.” You hesitate. It’s a cute dress, sure, but it seems too… casual. Too everyday. Jungkook’s taking you out to dinner, and no doubt he’s got something else planned for the rest of the evening. 

“I mean, you did say you had no plans on fucking him tonight,” Ruby reminds you coarsely. 

“I have no plans on fucking him at all,” you reiterate. “This is not a date. It is for our movie.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ruby brushes you off with a wave of her hand. “Wear whatever you want, but I like your yellow dress the most. It looks really nice on you. And if it’s not a date, then neither you nor Jungkook should care.”

“Ruby—”

“I gotta go. Enjoy your not-date!”

She hangs up. 

You end up wearing the yellow dress. Jungkook knocks on your apartment door just as you’re closing the clasp to your necklace, a gold choker your mother had gifted you for a birthday a couple of years ago. It’s nothing much. You grab a jacket on your way to answer the door, wrapping it around your figure as you twist the knob. 

On the other side is Jungkook, all decked out in black jeans and a clean-cut leather jacket, the black ensemble striking against his warm-toned skin and bleached, blonde hair. You hate to admit it, but he actually does look rather good. For Jeon Jungkook. 

“Hi—whoa,” Jungkook says, doing a little whistle when he sees you, eyes bulging out of their sockets. 

You chuckle. “‘Whoa’ yourself.”

“You, uh…” Jungkook stammers slightly, a hand coming up to rub at the nape of his neck. The movement lifts his arm up just enough for you to see the line of his waist, the seamlessness of his body. He’s always been rather fit. “You look nice.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” you chide, stepping outside and pulling the door shut behind you. “You don’t look half bad yourself.”

“Cleaned up just for you.” He grins. 

You press a hand to your heart dramatically. “I’m touched.” You begin walking down the hallway of your small apartment building, feeling your hands brushing by your sides due to how skinny the corridor is. At least, that’s what you assume. 

“Where are we going?” You ask as Jungkook opens the door to the passenger side of his car for you. 

He winks, that same gleam in his eye. He grins something wicked. “Don’t you remember?” He asks. “It’s a secret.”

The secret turns out to be a small Italian restaurant on an off-road in the center of town, a family joint with those plaid red tablecloths and dark wooden chairs. You’d never heard of the place before tonight, but Jungkook insists that it’s delicious and says it has a four-and-a-half star rating on Yelp, which is obviously gospel when it comes to restaurants. It’s so empty that he even has room to prop up the camera a couple of tables away to get that wide-angle shot of the both of you, two souls in a tiny little restaurant, enjoying a night out on the town. You’re sure that by the time production and post-production rolls around you’ll edit out most of your dialogue, but you like the idea of keeping in snippets of the audio, overlaying the scene with a soft instrumental. 

From a director’s point of view, of course. No other reason to romanticize your night with him. 

It’s nice. Objectively, it’s definitely one of the more exciting things you’ve done in a while, even if it’s just a dinner out in town, away from campus. It’s new. Adventurous. Jungkook convinces you to try his vodka shrimp linguine and you offer up some of your truffle-flavored gnocchi, which he devours happily. One thing you do learn is that no matter how much time passes, no matter how much food is on his plate, Jungkook eats and eats and eats. He never seems to fill up. This is one of those restaurants that pile your bowls high with pasta, give you at least three servings, send you home with to-go packages that will last you for days, and he still somehow manages to eat every last bite. He even has some of your leftovers. 

Jungkook pays because he insists and says that you shouldn’t fight on camera, which you have no choice but to agree to. However, you do look him up on Venmo and send him twenty dollars to cover your half of the bill, because the idea of him paying for you doesn’t sit right with you. It was fine with the coffee, a small token of repayment after spilling it all over you, but dinner just feels like too much. Like he’s carrying most of the weight and you aren’t shouldering enough. Like he’s putting in all of the effort and you are just bandwagoning off of him. 

And partnerships aren’t supposed to be like that. Jungkook isn’t supposed to do all of the work. You aren’t supposed to do nothing. You and Jungkook may not agree on much but you both know that you are equals. That what you put in is what you get out. 

It’s a lesson you think you learned too late, but you won’t make those mistakes again. You’ll get it right this time. 

“That was nice,” Jungkook says after the dinner. You’re walking through the park just across the street now, the sun having set and the streetlamps illuminating your path. The city has strung up lights along the trees, draped them over the branches like stars, like snowflakes. It’s picturesque. 

“Yeah.” You nod. “Thanks for taking me.”

“Thanks for coming.”

“How did you discover that place?” You ask, just out of curiosity. It’s not exactly the kind of restaurant that would be front and center on Google. 

“I went out on a date in freshman year there,” Jungkook admits, lips pursed awkwardly. “Yeah.”

“Did it at least go well?” You ask, trying to be hopeful. 

“If it did, do you think I’d still be here doing this with you?” Jungkook poses, an eyebrow raised. 

You chuckle to yourself. “You don’t mean that. I’m sure you’ll find your person.”

“You actually believe in that stuff now?” Jungkook asks you, skeptical. 

“I don’t know,” you say, shrugging your shoulders. “You do. I don’t wanna ruin it for you. Your person’s out there somewhere.”

“How do you know I haven’t already found my person?”

You stop in the middle of the path, feet coming to a halt on the pavement. Jungkook looks at you and you look back at him, letting his question sink into your skin, etch itself into your thoughts. He’s asking you because he wants to know. He looks so genuine, so patient, like he’s trying to find an answer somewhere in your eyes but you can’t give him one. 

“Wouldn’t you be able to tell when you did?”

Jungkook sighs. “I don’t know if it always works like that.”

You smile, soft and small. Musing, you say, “well, when you figure it out, let me know.”

“Do you think you’ve found your person?” Jungkook asks you. 

“You know I don’t think about love like that,” you remind him. 

“Well, how do you think about it?”

You gaze up at him once more, that same soft smile playing on your lips. Who is he to be asking you these questions, you wonder to yourself. What would the point be in answering him? It’s better if you just both moved on. Especially since stuff like this has no relevance to your project. 

“I don’t really think about love at all,” you say curtly. 

“I wish you did,” admits Jungkook. 

The look in your eyes is distant. “Yeah.” You wish you did, too.

“How about we do a couple of quick shots, right here?” Jungkook suggests, pulling out the camera. “Just here, the lighting’s nice.” He jogs back a couple of feet, lining himself up with where you stand, kneeling on the pavement with the camera held up to his eye. 

“What do you want me to do?” You call to him, feeling like a fish out of water in front of the lens, thumbs twiddling. 

“Just smile,” Jungkook requests simply. “Say hi to me.”

Sounds easy enough. Under the twinkling lights of the trees, in the haze of their warm yellow glow, you wave to Jungkook, smiling happily. You aren’t exactly sure what the purpose of these shots are, but you suppose you could always use some artistic frames in your movie. Grinning, you keep your eyes trained on him, on the way you can see him smiling back at you even from behind the camera. His eyes are covered, you can’t see those, but you hope they’re smiling too. 

“Okay, my turn,” you say when a little too much time has passed, when it’s just past the point of filming for the sake of a movie and more for the sake of something else. “Get over here.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you idiot.” You scurry over to Jungkook, taking the camera from his hands and pushing in in the general direction of where you were just standing. Situating yourself, you kneel right where Jungkook was, bringing the camera to your eyes. 

Through the lens, you can see the entire width of the pathway, the grass that borders it, the lights decorating the branches of the trees, and Jungkook, front and center. He looks like he has no idea what he’s doing there, waiting awkwardly as he gazes around, eyes drifting everywhere but exactly where you need them: you. He looks good like this, looks much taller, much more romantic. Like a real movie star. Like a model. His clothes make him blend in with the darkness of the night but his eyes are still shimmering, golden flecks twinkling, even from all the way over here. 

You have to admit it. He’s beautiful.

“Smile,” you say, pressing film. 

Jungkook grins your way. 

Afterwards, you give him his camera back and continue walking, turning the corner as you reach the edge of the park, ready to circle around the perimeter.

“How about we hold hands, too?”

“Excuse you?” You say, an eyebrow raised. 

“Come on, just for a second,” Jungkook pleads. “For the artistry. I’ll film us holding hands like all those Los Angeles boys do in YouTube vlogs.”

You look at him suspiciously. Is he sure it’s just for the artistry? “What a great example.”

“Please? Promise I always put hand cream on,” Jungkook asks, bottom lip turned outwards. 

It’s getting harder and harder to say no to him. 

“Fine,” you cave rather easily this time around. “Just for a minute.”

“Excellent.”

Jungkook lifts the camera up to his eye with his right hand as he holds out his left, palm facing the sky as he waits for you to rest your own in his. You narrow your eyes to the camera before your gaze drifts downwards to his open hand, almost like you’re afraid it’s going to jump out and bite at you if you get any closer. But it won’t, because it’s a hand. And it won’t, because it’s just Jungkook. 

The first thing you realize when your fingers intertwine with his is how big his hands are. They are massive. His left one dwarfs your own, wrapping around it securely, enveloping it like a king-sized comforter. The second thing you realize is how soft they are (he must not have been lying about the hand cream). The third thing you realize is the way they send sparks up and down your body, send tingles through your skin, shocks through your veins. You seize up a little bit at the feeling before your body finds it in itself to relax, letting the sensation wash over you like a wave from the ocean. 

It’s new. 

It’s strange. 

You haven’t felt that way in a long time. Felt those sparks, those jolts of energy. Like lightning has struck. 

Jungkook moves so that your hands are held out in front of you, making sure to adjust the lens just so he can get the exact right angle, but all you can focus on is the way your fingers interlock, the way your hand settles into his. 

You wonder what that means. 

The moment Jungkook lowers the camera you pull your hand away, overwhelmed and scared and shocked all at once. Like you’re afraid that if you reach out to him again, your whole body will freeze in place, shake like the wind. 

Jungkook looks at you, concern lacing his features. “You alright?” He asks, genuine and worried. 

You shake your head, willing those thoughts away. “I’m fine, I’m fine. You get the shot?”

“Yeah, I did,” Jungkook says. 

“And how do they look?” You ask because you can’t help yourself. Because you just have to know. 

Jungkook pauses, not sure how to respond. He chews on his lips like he’s running through all the possible answers, trying to figure out which one is right. You almost think he’s not going to reply at all, but then he smiles, and he says this: 

“Magical.”

It feels weird for you to be arriving at Kim Taehyung’s door without Jungkook by your side. Doesn’t sit right in your stomach. 

Of course, Taehyung is as hospitable as always, welcoming you inside with his signature warm grin as he sets up the bar stools by the bedsheet, which you assume he will just not take down until your project’s over. Hopefully he’s getting use out of it otherwise, shooting nudes or whatever it is he said he would do. 

“Thanks for having me,” you say, resting your backpack against the foot of his couch as you set up the tripod, arranging it in just the right spot. It’s not Jungkook’s fancy camera that you’ve got with you, just your own from a couple years ago, but it’ll get the job done. You couldn’t ask Jungkook to borrow his, anyway. You’d pass away before he found out you did this. 

“We might not use this footage,” you warn in advance. “I just figured it’s safer to film everything just in case.”

“Why wouldn’t you use it?” Taehyung asks, genuinely curious. 

“Because I don’t know if this conversation will really have a point,” you say nervously, fingers fidgeting with the settings until everything’s just right. 

“I’m sure it’ll be important,” Taehyung assures you. You’re not so confident. “Ready to get started?”

“Yes, everything’s all set up,” you say, concentrating on your breathing as you make your way to the stool. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Why are you so worried?

“So, Y/N, how are you feeling right now?” Taehyung begins. 

You sigh. “Confused.”

“And why is that?”

“I… I don’t really know what direction I’m going in anymore for this project,” you say, letting yourself be candid and honest because it’s just Taehyung, and because you may not even use this footage, and because Jungkook’s not here. He doesn’t know you’ve asked Taehyung to do this for you. He doesn’t need to. 

“And is this because of Jungkook?”

“Yes.” Another easy answer. 

“How are you feeling about him?”

“I’m…” you don’t know where to begin. “I’m not sure. I just know that something’s changed.”

“Your feelings have changed?” Taehyung isn’t reacting, just asking questions in response to your answers and pretending that everything is normal, that this is just another interview. 

“I guess they have,” you admit. Even just saying that feels like a weight off your chest. A small one, five pounds out of a thousand. But it’s a difference. “I… don’t really know how I feel about him anymore.”

“In a good or bad way?”

Taehyung told you he would ask tough questions, but you don’t know if you can answer these anymore. 

“I don’t know,” you say, feeling yourself growing desperate with impatience. “I don’t feel the same things about him that I used to. He’s different to me now.”

“Do you think he’s changed?”

“Something has.”

“Have you considered the possibility that maybe you’ve changed, too?”

You frown, caught off-guard by his question. No, you haven’t. You haven’t thought about that at all. Why would you? Your stance is the same. Your opinions on love haven’t changed. And neither have your convictions about this project, about the way it will end. 

“No,” you say, nose scrunched up. 

“Well, I’m no expert, but I think there might be something between the two of you that wasn’t there before,” Taehyung says, nodding. “I think that the ways the two of you have changed have brought you together.”

“I don’t know about that…” You trail off. You can feel yourself growing hesitant again, pulling back from saying too much because you’ve never been a very good speaker. Because you’ve always preferred being behind the camera to being in front of it. 

“Don’t you think you should tell him how you feel?”

You scoff. At least that’s got an easy answer. A no-brainer. “No,” you say matter-of-factly, obvious because it is, stern because telling him was never an option anyway. Why else does Taehyung think you’re here without him? “Jungkook said he would get me to fall in love with him and I told him I would never. How could I ever let him think he was actually winning?”

Taehyung sighs.

You haven’t seen Jungkook since your class on Wednesday. Granted, it’s only Saturday, but it feels like it’s been a weirdly long time. Like you’re so used to him barging into your life on the daily that there’s something off about even going three days without seeing him. Maybe it’s just because you’re nearing the beginning of April and your project is finally picking up steam. Between the two of you, you almost definitely have more than two hour’s worth of footage, but the hard part will be paring it down and turning it into a forty-five minute documentary. No doubt you and Jungkook will be spending a lot of time together the week before it’s due. 

Just out of curiosity, you text him. Because you have no idea what he’s been getting up to. 

[March 28th, 1:05PM]

You: Hey, do you think we need to get together sometime this weekend?

Jungkook: i don’t think i can Jungkook: it’s my dance group’s show this weekend

You: Really? You: You didn’t tell me

Jungkook: been too busy

You: What time is your show tonight?

Jungkook: 7pm

You: Sounds good, I’ll be there

Jungkook: oh Jungkook: you don’t have to

You: I want to You: I’ll see you there!

That night, you drop by the grocery store beforehand to pick up a bouquet of flowers. You haven’t been a performing arts show for years now, especially not one where you actually know the people performing, but flowers are customary. Or so you’ve heard. 

You don’t know a single soul who has plans on seeing Jungkook’s dance group either, but the theater is a ten-minute walk away from campus and you’re happy to make the trek alone, especially because you know you’ll find someone you know soon enough. Sometimes it’s nice to walk by yourself, letting the streetlamps above your head illuminate your path, a faceless figure passing by others. It brings peace. And it gives you time to sift through your thoughts, organize them into neat little piles and brush away all of the dust. 

Admittedly, you are not much of a connoisseur of the performing arts. You aren’t even much of a consumer. In another universe, under different circumstances, you wouldn’t blink twice if you heard that one of the dance groups on campus was having their show. But this is not another universe, and these are not different circumstances. 

Jungkook will be there. He is taking something he’s worked tirelessly on and presenting it to the world. Now that you think about it, it’s actually a lot like film. And if Jungkook has devoted so much time, put so much energy into this performance, what kind of person would you be if you didn’t go and watch his creation?

You pick a seat in the far back corner, the venue so cozy that even despite being the furthest away you’ve still got an excellent view, sit down, and wait for it to begin. 

[March 28th, 6:58PM]

Jungkook: hey are you here?

You: I guess you’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you?

Jungkook: always such a tease

You roll your eyes at that, turning your phone off and stowing it away in your pocket. Two minutes later, the lights dim. 

The moment Jungkook steps out onto the stage, you recognize him instantly. He’s wearing all black again, but it’s not the same skinny jeans and leather jacket he had on when he took you out to dinner. It’s a loose long-sleeved shirt and sweatpants that hang low on his hips, highlighting the blondeness of his hair, the red in his lips. He’s one of at least a dozen people on stage but he’s the only one you focus on, the only one who your eyes follow. Booming throughout the theater is a Drake song, the beat thick and low, but it’s background noise when compared to the way he moves, the way he twists and turns his body on stage, angles sharp and crisp. 

The whole song goes by so quickly that by the time you find it in yourself to blink the stage is already darkening as they move onto the next song, switching out the performers and changing the spotlight colors to a sultry red. Jungkook disappears for this one, vanishing behind the curtains and forcing you to pay attention to the performance as a whole instead of just him. But you have to hand it to his group: they’re excellent. You’ve been missing out. 

Jungkook returns with the next song, having had just enough time to change into an all-white ensemble. He’s easy to spot even with that ridiculous bucket hat on, blonde hair bouncing with every step he takes, every jerk of his body. You can see it all the way from where you sit, see the way he loses himself in the music, lets the rhythm radiate through his blood, lets his heart match the beat that booms through the speakers. This, all of it, the music, the dancing, the energy—it’s all his. It belongs to him. Jungkook may love film but he is passionate about this. It is something that must bring him all the joy in the world. 

The next hour and a half goes by quickly, the songs jumping from one to another to another, Jungkook dashing on and off stage, each time returning in a different getup than the one prior. Makes you wonder just how many clothes he has. But before you know it the final song is playing and every one, every single member is on stage, jumping and cheering and celebrating a job well done. And they should, because they deserve to. 

When the lights in the theater come on, nobody leaves. Instead, everyone rushes towards the stage to say hello to everybody, congratulate them on their performance and take pictures with their friends. That’s why everyone else is here, isn’t it? Because the people they care about performed tonight. 

Isn’t that why you’re here, too?

Jungkook has plenty of other friends already wrapping their arms around him, giving him high-fives and pats on the back, but you’ve got a bouquet of assorted flowers in your hands and you have no plans on bringing them home. So you squeeze your way through the crowd, push yourself in between bodies, and you shout, 

“Jungkook!”

Jungkook looks up instantly at the call of his name, the round shape of his lips curving upwards into a smile when he sees you. 

“Hey, you made it!” He exclaims happily. He’s so pumped on the adrenaline that he pulls you into a hug without either of you even realizing it, wrapping his arms around your torso and squeezing you tight for a few moments before the two of you remember just exactly who you both are. Quickly, you pull away, chuckling awkwardly. Jungkook scratches at the back of his head. “Thanks for, uh—thanks for coming.”

“Of course,” you say happily. “You were amazing.”

“What can I say, I’m a man of many talents,” Jungkook schmoozes, annoying as always. 

You scoff slightly. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. Here, I brought this for you. It’s traditional, right?” You hold out the bouquet in front of you, pink plastic wrapping crunched up from where your fingers gripped the stems. 

“Wow, thank you,” Jungkook says, in awe as he takes the flowers from you, pressing his face into the petals instinctively. “No one’s ever gotten me flowers before.”

“Really?” You say, genuinely surprised at his admission. He’s never been given flowers before? Not even for a performance? You didn’t know that, either. “Then I’m glad to be the first.”

“You know you didn’t have to do that,” Jungkook says, though he looks grateful nonetheless. 

You shrug, acting casual. “Aren’t we supposed to be falling in love, or something?”

He grins. 

“Did you guys film this? Maybe we could incorporate it into the movie,” you suggest, thinking it might be interesting to add in glimpses into your normal lives, into the things you do when you aren’t trying to one-up each other. 

Jungkook shakes his head. “We did, but I don’t think we need to add it in.”

“Why not?” It seems like a perfect addition. 

Jungkook pulls out a single flower from the bouquet, a pale yellow daisy, and hands it to you. You smile your thanks, twirling the stem in between your fingers. 

“I don’t know,” he says, looking oddly soft, cheeks turning cherry red. He looks at you and it makes your heart flutter, quickens the drum of your chest. “I just think I’d like to keep this moment to ourselves.”

You suppose he’s got a point. You don’t think you’ll forget this night, either. 

The bouquet you gave him sits on Jeon Jungkook’s bedroom windowsill, bathing in the afternoon sun. Taehyung gave him some plant food the morning after you came to his performance, a little bottle that he can spritz into the water whenever the flowers look a little droopy. Jungkook adds some every day, determined to keep them alive for as long as possible. He also makes sure he’s got a rather heavy book or two, something he can use to press one of them when they’ve all shriveled up. 

It was really nice of you to come to his show, he thinks to himself. Jungkook can’t remember the last time someone outside of his group of close friends went to see him perform, not any of his past dates or even that one girl he was seeing semi-seriously for a couple months last year until she told him she wasn’t interested in him anymore. You’re the first one who’s made the effort, who’s told him that you would come and kept that promise. The flowers are just a happy reminder. 

As a celebration for completing their last show, Jungkook and some of the other juniors in his dance crew decide to go out the following weekend, determined to waste away their Saturday nights at a bar just off of campus where they can take as many shots of as many different types of alcohols as they want. The place even has soju, which makes Jungkook’s heart happy. 

Despite the temptation to drink until his brain is empty, however, Jungkook holds off. He’s got a lot of work tomorrow, most of it consisting of editing the footage you have for the project, and doesn’t really feel like staring at a computer for eight hours straight with a headache. So he limits himself. For the most part. 

“Who was that girl that came to the show?” One of his friends, Andrew, asks as he downs another shot of what is undoubtedly vodka, if the smell is anything to go by. “With the flowers?”

“Is she your girlfriend?” Jesse pipes up, red in the face from the alcohol in his system. He’s always been one to turn into a tomato after drinking. 

Jungkook chuckles awkwardly, shaking his head when the bartender offers him another shot glass full of soju. “No,” he says, forcing a laugh. “Just a friend.”

“I don’t know, you guys looked pretty close to me,” Andrew points out, like it wasn’t already obvious enough that Jungkook is head over heels for you. 

“She and I are working on a film project together,” Jungkook explains, though that does absolutely nothing to convince his friends of your completely platonic relationship. 

“Sounds fun,” Jesse says, swallowing another shot and wincing. “It was nice of her to bring you flowers. My girlfriend didn’t do that.”

“Shut up, your girlfriend is studying abroad in Paris right now,” Andrew says, giving Jesse a good-natured shove. “I’m gonna tell her you said that.”

“What, please don’t—”

“She’s not my girlfriend, guys,” Jungkook repeats himself, feeling his cheeks heat up the longer the conversation drags on. He chalks it up to the soju in his system and the fact that it feels like a sauna in here. “Seriously, we’re just friends. People can be friends and bring each other flowers.”

Jesse pumps his fist in the air. “Yeah!” He rounds on Andrew. “Where are my flowers, hey Andrew?”

The two of them start bickering as Jungkook laughs, shaking his head fondly. At least he’s not drunk, so he can remember nights like these, ones where he’s drinking with his stupid idiot friends, celebrating a show well done. 

Jungkook stays at the bar until eleven that night before he makes the executive decision to go home and sleep, because as much as he would like to party until three in the morning, he’s got a pile of work that’s telling him to be a real adult. So he bids his friends goodbye and begins to make the trek back to his apartment, passing by the row of frat houses on his way. 

Even though he’s out on the sidewalk, Jungkook can feel the ground rumble from the music, every frat on the block joining together to make some booming, bass monster. From here he can see the flashing blue and purple lights in the windows, see the brothers standing on the steps of each house and turning away whoever they deem unfit to enter. 

In a weird way, it makes Jungkook nostalgic. Reminiscent of when he was a freshman, when he would group up with all of the people in his hall and parade around the frat row on Saturday nights like they owned the place, getting drunk on shitty tequila and jumping until they sweat out their body fluids. He remembers those nights in flashes, bits and pieces that make up his memory of freshman year as a whole. Remembers kissing other girls, other girls kissing him. Remembers the way he would lock lips with them for a second and then forget about it by the next day. 

Jungkook wonders why he ever thought he would meet his soulmate at a frat party. 

He’s just passing the last frat house now, nodding to the guy on the step when they accidentally meet eyes, when he hears you call his name. 

“Jungkook!”

He whips around to see you on the other side of the road, waving at him excitedly while your friends all laugh, sending smiles Jungkook’s way. 

Jungkook isn’t exactly sure what the protocol is for a scenario like this, so he does what he thinks is right and waves back. 

“Come over here!” You shout at him, loosely gesturing for him to join your group. Jungkook is hesitant, not sure if that’s necessarily the best course of action because even from here he can tell that you’re drunk, leaning over to one side and giggling at nothing. But even if he isn’t sure what will happen he can’t help but fall into the way you’re beaming at him, waving excitedly because you saw him on the street and you wanted to say hello.

He’s never been able to resist you. 

“Hey, what are you doing out here?” He says as he jogs over, greeting the rest of your friends with a patient smile. 

“Went out with my friends,” you say. Jungkook can smell the alcohol on your lips. “And then I saw you, which made me happy!”

You stumble over nothing, shoes skipping as they drag along the pavement, and before any of your friends can react Jungkook is reaching his arms out, catching you before you fall flat on your face. Your hands press against his torso as he lifts you back to your feet, and all Jungkook can do is pray that you can’t hear the way his heart races, beat drumming in his ears. You giggle in his hold, disoriented but not at all uneasy, looking up at him as your eyes sparkle in the glow of the streetlamps. 

“Thanks,” you manage to cough out. 

“Sure,” Jungkook says, breathless. He stands you up and tries to let you go, but you keep your hands tight around his wrists. “I think we need to get you home.”

“Can you come with me?” You ask innocently, eyes wide. 

“Y/N…” One of your friends says, voice hesitant. She places a hand on your shoulder, looking concerned. Jungkook doesn’t take any offense to it, he doesn’t know your friends well and imagines that they would much prefer being the ones to drop you back at your place. 

You shrug her off. “No, it’s okay, Ruby,” you assure your friend, hand inching down Jungkook’s wrist until it rests firmly within his palm. “I’ll go with him.”

Ruby eyes Jungkook suspiciously and her gaze is so intense that it actually makes him doubt his ability to walk you home for a moment. But you seem intent on walking with him, and the sooner you go home the better, so Ruby relents and lifts her hand from your shoulder. “Alright, if you want to.” She keeps her eyes trained on Jungkook. “Text me when you’re back.”

“I will, I will,” you say, brushing her off and waving her away. “Let’s go, Jungkook. I’m sleepy.”

“Okay, come on,” he says. You smile happily at your friends as you say goodbye, cheerful and drunk and tired, all at once, and you begin to walk towards your apartment. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” you tell him, positively filter-less. 

“I’m glad I’m here, too,” Jungkook assures you. “What did you have to drink tonight?”

“Not sure,” you admit happily. “Just a lot.”

“I can tell.” Jungkook nods. “Were you at a frat party?”

“Several,” you correct him. “They weren’t that fun but at least the drinks were free.”

“Why were you at a frat party if you don’t like them?” Jungkook asks you, nose scrunched up. You certainly aren’t the kind of person to hide your distaste for things. That is something that Jungkook is intimately familiar with. 

You shrug. “It’s the cheapest place to get drunk.”

“Why did you want to get drunk?” This is seeming more and more out-of-character for you. Going to a place you despise, taking shots until you can’t walk straight, meandering around campus with Jungkook. All of these are things Jungkook could never in a million years picture you doing out of free will. 

Well, all of them except maybe the last one. You did come to his dance show, after all. 

You sigh. It’s thick and heavy and Jungkook has a feeling you won’t want to divulge any more. “I just wanted to forget.”

But the curiosity is eating at him. 

“Forget what?”

Your grip on his hand tightens. Jungkook fully expects you to dodge the question like you’ve dodged all of the ones prior, say something else to change the topic so you can sweep this discussion under the rug like all of the other ones you’ve had. But you don’t. 

Instead, you say, “You wanna know why I don’t love love the way you do?”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Jungkook quickly assures you. 

“I had better options than this place,” you say, voice hollow and empty. “There were better universities that accepted me. Ones with higher-ranked film programs and bigger scholarships. I could have gone to any one of them and been just as happy. Maybe more.”

“But you didn’t,” Jungkook clarifies. 

“My ex-boyfriend goes to school ten minutes away from here,” you say, words that are most certainly news to Jungkook. You had a boyfriend? “He and I dated all throughout high school. I thought I was gonna marry him.”

The words sound so sad. It sounds like they don’t even belong to you. Like you’re recalling the memories of a different person, someone you’ve killed and buried, someone you were certain you would never have to face again. Yourself. Your past self. 

“And then he broke up with me at the beginning of last year and it was too late to transfer out.” Your words are slurred and garbled, like all you want is to get over with saying them in the first place. It’s not a dramatic revelation. It’s not something you’re crying about, sobbing into Jungkook’s chest as you remember, miserable, a time where you were once happy. You just sound lifeless. 

Jungkook blinks at you expectantly, waiting for you to continue. It doesn’t feel right for him to speak up. Not when you’ve just revealed to him something so personal, so drunk that you probably won’t even remember saying anything when you wake up tomorrow morning. 

What is he supposed to do with this knowledge? What is he supposed to say? To do? It’s not like Jungkook can change your past. It’s not even as if he can change the near future. Your project is almost finished—the semester is almost over. And then you will return to the time where you never even knew each other. 

“You can say something,” you tell him.

“What do you want me to say?” Jungkook says. 

“Something to make me feel better, because now I’m sad,” you request simply. “Seeing you made me happy.”

“Maybe I should just keep my mouth shut and smile, then,” he muses to himself. 

“No, please keep talking,” you plead, leaning into his body with your bottom lip puffed out, eyes big and round and desperate. “Listening to you gets me to stop thinking about this stuff.”

Hearing that, Jungkook says the first thing that comes to mind. And that is, “You don’t have to think about that stuff anymore at all.”

“Hmm?” You murmur into his chest. Jungkook sees your apartment building up ahead. Just another block or so. 

“Well, that was your old love story,” he begins tentatively. Jungkook’s almost fully sober by now but he feels like he won’t ever get another opportunity to say this, and maybe whatever soju is left in his system is enough to get him through this conversation. Enough for him to muster up the confidence to tell you what he’s been wanting to tell you for a while now. 

Even if you forget it by tomorrow. He knows this is his only chance. 

“And it didn’t have a happy ending, but that’s okay. Because ours will.” 

You’re just coming up to your apartment complex, the rusted gold doors of the entrance sticking out against the beige of the building and the sidewalk, shimmering in the light of the streetlamps. You pause right outside, taking cover underneath the red awning above your heads. Looking up at him, you blink expectantly. 

“How do I know you mean that?” You ask. 

He almost does it. 

Jungkook doesn’t really know what washes over him in that moment, what takes his heart and mind prisoner for a split second, grip tight and unforgiving. But he’s staring straight into your watery eyes, glossy and glimmery and glowing, lost in the way you press your lips together, the way you gaze up at him and wait for him to tell you what he’s always wanted to say, and he almost does it. His hands press at your sides, holding you close, like he’s afraid that if he lets you go you’ll vanish without another trace and this night will all have been for naught. 

But he doesn’t. 

He doesn’t for a lot of reasons. You’re drunk. When you wake up tomorrow, you will not remember this conversation. But Jungkook will. And if he does it, if he kisses you, if he presses his lips to yours it will be burned into his thoughts, carved into his heart, and you will be none the wiser. Jungkook can’t do that to himself. And he can’t do that to you, either. He will never take advantage of your company. He never has.

“Because,” Jungkook says instead, having hesitated for far too long. “I promise you.”

It’s good enough for him. 

He tucks you into bed at 12:17AM that night, feet padding along your hardwood floor so he doesn’t wake up your neighbors, guiding you to your bedroom and reminding you to text Ruby that you made it home safely. Jungkook’s never gotten a very good look at your place, and even now it’s hard to make out most things without the main ceiling lights on, but he doesn’t really want to snoop. Even though you invited him in, he still feels like he’s intruding. You’ve always been so private. There were a lot of things said tonight that Jungkook is going to have to reckon with. 

Once you’re curled up beneath your sheets, eyes drooping, Jungkooks turns off the light on your nightstand and nearly, just about nearly, presses his lips to your forehead. He manages to avoid doing that, too. 

Instead, he pulls up your duvet and heads towards the main room, making a beeline for your front door. But before he can leave the room, he hears you mumble out his name. 

“Jungkook?” You call, voice groggy. 

“Yeah?” He looks back at you from where he stands in your door frame, one hand on the knob, ready to pull it closed. 

You smile, eyes fluttering. “Thank you,” you say. 

Jungkook grins. 

The next morning you wake up with a pounding headache and three missed calls from Ruby, which undoubtedly means that something positively terrible happened last night. Unfortunately, you have no idea what happened at all last night, good or terrible, so whatever Ruby has to say will be news to you. 

Rubbing your eyes as you wrack your brain in the hopes of figuring out how you even ended up back at your apartment (when you swear you told Ruby you would stay at hers), you press on Ruby’s contact and call her. 

“Y/N? Hello? Are you there?” Ruby answers on the first ring. 

“I’m here,” you mumble out, words jumped and barely intelligible. You wince as your eyes adjust to the harsh blue light of your phone screen, squinting as you look at the time. 

Shit, it’s 11:43AM and you’re meeting Jungkook for coffee at noon. 

“Good, I called you three times last night after you texted,” Ruby wastes no time diving into her interrogation. 

“Why?” You ask, scrambling out of bed with your phone pressed between your shoulder and your ear. Your head throbs so you quickly take some Ibuprofen, splash your face with water, and start looking for something clean you can put on. 

“Because texting me ‘home’ is not enough!” Ruby exclaims. “Jungkook walked you home last night, I wanted to make sure you were tucked in bed and feeling alright.”

You frown. You don’t remember that. Granted, you don’t remember a lot of things, but you can’t recall Jungkook walking you back. You saw him last night? You didn’t even know. Scratching your head, a part of you vaguely pictures him standing in your apartment in the dark, resting against the door frame to your bedroom in the warm yellow light of the lamp on your nightstand. Can just barely see him tucking you into bed, placing the sheets over your figure and making you text Ruby that you’re home. You thought you were just imagining it at the time, but it must have happened anyway. 

“Jungkook walked me home?”

“Yeah, you insisted,” Ruby says. “You probably don’t remember, though.”

“No,” you say dumbly. 

“Well, I appreciate you texting me that you were home but I would have preferred something more explanatory,” scolds Ruby. “I thought maybe Jungkook was gonna do something.”

“Oh my goodness, no,” you immediately interject, pulling on your shoes and stuffing your laptop into your backpack. Just the thought of Jungkook doing something like that sends your stomach for a whirl. “He would never do that. I trust him.”

“I mean, I see that now,” Ruby points out. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine,” you promise. “Everything’s good.”

“Alright, if you say so,” Ruby says, still sounding a bit like an overprotective mother. You love her, though. You know she just wants the best for you. “Take it easy today, okay? You had a lot to drink last night.”

“I will,” you assure her. “I’m just on my way to meet up with Jungkook now. Getting coffee.”

“Make sure to eat, too,” Ruby reminds you. “And tell Jungkook that I said thanks for walking you home.”

“Anything else, Mom?”

You can practically see Ruby frowning on the other end. “Oh, shut up. I’ll see you, okay?”

She bids you goodbye just as you’re dashing out the door, your usual stride quickening so you make it to the cafe in time, not wanting to keep Jungkook waiting. You make it there in a record five minutes, pulling open the door frantically just as the clock strikes noon. 

Jungkook’s already there, of course, sitting by a little round table in the corner of the room with two americanos on the table. He waves when he sees you standing by the entrance, and the mere sight of him makes you smile, shoulders relaxing. 

“Hey,” you greet, a little out of breath as you settle into the chair across from him. 

“Hey,” Jungkook says back. “How are you feeling?”

“My head is killing me, but other than that I’m alright,” you admit, taking a sip of the drink. It’s piping hot but just the right amount of scalding, warming your insides after a night of filling them with pure poison. 

“Good.” He grins. “It’s nice to see your face.”

“Oh, yeah, speaking of which,” you say while still on the topic, “did you walk me home last night? I can’t remember.”

Jungkook nods. “Yeah, I bumped into you and your friends while I was on my way back from a bar.”

You wince. The fact that you don’t even remember that happening tells you enough. “I was super drunk, wasn’t I?”

Jungkook, nice as always, says, “I’ve seen worse.” It only makes you feel the slightest bit better. 

“Hope I didn’t say anything embarrassing,” you say, knowing you have a tendency to lose your filter almost entirely when you get wasted, letting any sort of mental reasoning fly out the door the moment you down another shot. And the thought of having told Jungkook something deeply humiliating or personal, or even him witnessing something stupid, makes you feel weirdly exposed. 

Jungkook freezes for a split second, almost like he’s buffering, like he’s about to say something but it’s just taking him an extra step to get the words out of his mouth. Then he takes a quick sip of his americano and shakes his head. “No, you didn’t. You were just very drunk. And clingy.”

“I’m so sorry you had to deal with that,” you apologize. You can’t imagine the hell you must have put Jungkook through last night. 

Jungkook laughs. “It’s okay. I’m glad we got you home safe.”

“Me, too.” You nod. You send a grateful smile his way. “Thanks for walking me, by the way. I really appreciate it. Ruby says thanks, too.”

“Anytime,” Jungkook says. It doesn’t sound like something that people say just to say it. The way that people say ‘anytime’ just so they can be friendly and amicable. He says it and he means it, says it genuinely and honestly, like it’s a real promise that he’s making. That he would be happy to walk you home again. No matter the hour. No matter how drunk you are. No matter what he’s doing. 

And that means a lot to you. 

“We should probably wrap up filming soon, huh?” You say, getting onto the topic at hand. Of course, the project is the whole reason you’re even talking to each other in the first place. “It’s due in three weeks.”

“Yeah, I was thinking of another outing? And maybe one more thing with Taehyung?” Jungkook suggests. 

You narrow your eyes suspiciously. “‘Another outing’, Jungkook? What exactly do you have in mind?”

He grins. 

This time, Jungkook is the one with the flowers. 

When you open your front door they’re the first thing you see, an enormous bouquet of an assortment of spring flowers in a variety of colors—pinks and purples and oranges and yellows—gripped neatly in Jungkook’s hand. They stick out against his otherwise rather formal attire, a simple black dress shirt and jeans, nice shoes that compliment his figure. Black truly is the world’s most slimming color, and Jungkook is no exception. He looks good. 

“For you, m’lady,” Jungkook says dramatically as he holds out the bouquet in front of him.

“How thoughtful of you,” you muse to yourself, grinning. You take the flowers and press your whole face into them, breathing in the fresh scent. “The one I gave you wasn’t nearly this big.”

“Go big or go home,” Jungkook teases. “You look nice, by the way.”

“You always sound so surprised when you say that,” you comment snidely, shaking your head as you grab your bag from the shelf next to your door. “What are we doing tonight, Jeon? Gonna keep it a secret from me like last time?”

“That depends,” Jungkook says knowingly. “Do you like secrets?”

“You should know what I like by now,” you remark. 

“Then prepare to be wowed.” He grins, taking your hand in his as he pulls you out the door. 

The restaurant you go to this time does not require a ten minute drive to the center of town. Instead, it’s a five minute walk from campus and actually happens to be a place you’ve been to before. It’s a busy little thing on a Friday night, waiters bustling about with trays in their hands, people laughing and smiling under the dim light of the chandeliers. You’ve only been here once, long ago, for a club dinner paid for by the finance chair, and for good reason. It’s not the kind of place cheap college students looking to get the most food for the least amount of money go to. 

“Isn’t this a bit out of budget for our rom-com?” You ask as the host seats you at your table, a little booth in the middle of the restaurant, lanterns resting on the corners of the seats. 

“I thought this was a mockumentary,” Jungkook jokes. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you say, resisting the smile that fights its way across your face. Trust you to make that sort of blunder in front of him. “I mean it, though. This place is expensive.”

“It’s manageable,” Jungkook promises. “I’ve been saving up. Plus, I thought you deserved a nice night out.”

“How generous of you.”

“Oh, come on, I know you’re excited,” he narrows his eyes at you. “You don’t have to act like a stone-cold robot anymore.”

“Well…” you suppose enough is enough. Jungkook can see right through you anyway, so there’s no point in keeping up this indifferent facade of yours. “Only because you’re treating me so nicely.”

“Just please don’t order the steak,” he requests simply. 

You laugh. “No problem. Maybe we could just share a couple of appetizers?”

Jungkook likes the sound of that. 

Luckily, this is not one of those restaurants where the appetizers cost an arm and a leg and are the size of your pinky finger. You and Jungkook split three different ones, happy to scoop out portions for each of you and indulge in them together. 

Dinner dates—of which this is only sort of one—are always awkward because you spend half of the time shoving food into your mouth, but you and Jungkook don’t seem to mind the silence at all. Only, Jungkook does look sort of like he’s holding back.

“Is this enough food for you?” You ask him halfway through, distantly remembering how he absolutely devoured a whole plate of pasta last time and still having enough room in his stomach to finish yours. 

“What do you mean?” Jungkook asks over a mouthful of vegetables. 

“You ate so much at the Italian place, I just want to make sure you aren’t still hungry,” you point out. 

“Oh.” Jungkook pauses, swallowing down the bite in his mouth. “No, I’m okay. Thanks for thinking of me, though.”

“Yeah, of course,” you say. You hesitate for a moment, not sure if you should say anything else. But what the hell, right? It’s Jungkook. It’s Jungkook and he walked you home when you were drunk, he gave you flowers, he let you borrow his jacket. And you feel as though you must return the favor. “Anytime.”

He smiles. 

Despite the pure ecstasy you both experience when eating delicious food, Jungkook makes sure not to waste this time and grabs a few frames of you eating with his camera. He always seems to have that with him whenever he’s with you, hanging around his neck or stuffed into his backpack or crammed into his pants pocket. Sort of makes you wonder just how much footage the two of you have of each other. 

He insists on paying but you send him some money anyway, just because letting him shoulder the burden of a place as expensive (for college students, at least) as this just doesn’t sit right with you. Whenever he receives the Venmo notification on his phone, Jungkook frowns and says that he’ll send that money back to you, but he never does and you can tell that he really does appreciate it. 

You don’t think you have any plans on stopping that for a while. 

The only downside of going to this restaurant is that there is no gorgeous, light-strung park in the vicinity the two of you can wander around. Just your campus, which you have no doubt walked a thousand times over, and the streets surrounding it, which you have memorized like the back of your hand. 

It almost makes you think that Jungkook is just going to drop you back off at your place and the night will end there, but you know better than to expect something like that from Jungkook. Instead, as you’re walking, you point out the cafe that you and Ruby always go to, see that it’s closing in half-an-hour, and Jungkook decides then and there that it’s your next destination. 

“You’ve never been here before?” You ask when you walk inside, eyes immediately drifting to the display of pastries beside the register. 

“I’m not normally on this side of campus,” Jungkook admits. “You’re the only reason I’m ever here.”

“Then hopefully after finding this place, you’ll have two reasons,” you say cheerfully. The baristas behind the counter know you on a first-name basis, are happy to help you out even though they’ve no doubt been working long hours and are ready to close up shop and go home. 

You split a tiramisu and sit at that same corner table you and Ruby always pick, empty now that it’s so late at night. Other than the employees, you and Jungkook are the only ones in here, a far cry from the hustle and bustle of the restaurant, filled to the brim with people, the smell of cooked food wafting through the air. 

 The tiramisu isn't as fresh as it would be bright and early in the morning, but you suppose that that just means you and Jungkook will have to come back. Besides, Jungkook obviously does not seem to mind, scarfing it down ruthlessly. You’re in and out just as they close up shop, the employees bidding you goodbye like old friends, sending you on your way. There’s not really much else either of you have planned for tonight, and Jungkook isn’t coming up with any new ideas as he checks his phone. Instead, you just begin to head back to your apartment, all wrapped up in each other. You place your hand in his own and feel yourself relax when he squeezes, a silent little reminder that he’s still here, and that so are you.

Funnily enough, holding hands feels natural to you at this point. 

“Tonight was fun,” you comment, breaking the quiet.

“Yeah, glad we could do this,” Jungkook agrees. “Makes me kind of sad to know that this thing is almost over.”

“What, the project?”

Jungkook shrugs. “Yeah. And the class. And the semester. It’s kind of scary. We’ll be seniors next year.”

You chuckle. “Ugh, don’t remind me. I still have no idea what I’m going to do after we graduate.”

“You don’t have to know everything,” Jungkook reassures you. “As long as you’re happy with what you have now.”

“Are you?” You inquire, looking up to meet his eyes. 

Jungkook beams down at you. “I am.”

The walk from the cafe to your apartment is short, just under five minutes, but it feels like it takes you an hour, footsteps slow and languid, like neither of you want the night to end. You hit every red light, round every corner, drawing out the evening for as long as you can. Unfortunately, there is only so much you can do on a five-minute walk, and before you know it, you’re home.

“This is me,” you say, stopping outside the gold doors of your apartment complex. “Thanks again for tonight.”

“Anytime,” Jungkook says, a common thread in your conversations. 

“Really?” You ask, skeptical. “Our project’s almost over.”

“That doesn’t mean we have to stop doing this,” Jungkook says. 

You narrow your eyes. “What are you implying, huh, Jungkook?”

“This.”

Before you know it, he’s wrapping one hand around your waist and pulling you in close to him, your palms splayed out against his broad, toned chest, pressing his lips to yours. You gasp a little into the feeling, somewhat shocked he would dare be so bold even after all this time, but find yourself sinking into the touch. He tastes like coffee and cream, like peppermint from his chapstick, like the wine you shared tonight. You cave into the way he holds you, hands wrapped around your body, palms pressed firmly against your figure. He holds you like he’s afraid to let go, like he’s trying to remind himself that you’re real and here and that you are kissing him back, like he’ll forget once the moment ends. 

But he need not worry about that. 

When you part, you don’t even bother wiping off the stupid smile on your face, kiss-drunk and filled with glee. It’s been a long time since you felt this way. And Jungkook makes you feel things you don’t even think you can explain. 

“How bold of you,” you comment, noses touching, barely an inch away from each other. 

“I figured I’d shoot my shot,” Jungkook says. He shrugs, pretending to be casual, but you can see the way he’s grinning, beaming, down at you. 

“You scored,” you remind him.

“How observant of you,” teases Jungkook in return. You pout a little at his playful mockery, heart fond. “Think we can do it again?”

“Hmm, I would tone down the ego first,” you say, already leaning back in to press your lips against his. 

“Never.” He smiles wickedly. 

It’s a quicker kiss this time, a short peck against his cherry red mouth, but it still makes your heart beat something terribly fierce. 

“See you soon?” You ask when you finally pull away, knowing that as much as you’d like to, you can’t just stand out here kissing each other forever. 

Jungkook nods, cheeks pink and warm to the touch. He looks so sleek in his formal black outfit, crisp button-down and slacks, hair all styled, but the way he’s grinning at you makes him look so young, so sublimely happy. It’s nice. 

“Anytime.”

“There’s my favorite couple!” Taehyung greets excitedly when he swings open the door to his apartment to reveal you and Jungkook standing on the other side. 

“What’s it to you?” You comment snidely as he lets you inside, the black sheet still taped up along his wall. It looks a little more wrinkled than when you last saw it. 

“Oh, nothing,” Taehyung singsongs. He definitely knows a lot more than he cares to tell either you or Jungkook, but whatever. The project’s almost over and he’s almost finished with university entirely. “You guys are just cute together, that’s all.”

“Like you even know the half of it.” You tell him with a roll of your eyes. 

Taehyung wiggles his eyebrows. “Ooh, do tell.” He grins that greasy, comic-book-villain grin of his as he starts moving his bar stools back to where the sheet lines his cream-colored wall. 

“Isn’t that the whole point of this?” Jungkook poses, making you laugh from where you’re seated on the couch, watching Jungkook set up his tripod in exactly the place he wants it. You smile at him as you recline against Taehyung’s poor old leather couch, so worn-down from use that the back cushions fold in when you press against them, and Jungkook peers out from behind the camera to blow you a kiss. 

You send him one back without even needing to think. 

Taehyung misses the whole scene, but no doubt he’ll be putting two and two together pretty soon. You and Jungkook agreed that for the last interview you would be questioned together, long before Jungkook actually managed to romance you off your feet, and there’s not a doubt in your mind that the two of you being interviewed side-by-side will make things much more interesting. 

Nevertheless, Jungkook sets up the camera and sends a thumbs-up your way when he’s ready, Taehyung sitting on the bar stool just outside of the frame with a couple of index cards in his hand. 

“Let’s do this,” you say, hauling yourself onto the seat. Jungkook does the same shortly after, scooching onto the one next to you as you stare at Taehyung, waiting for him to start. 

“Looking forward to this one?” Taehyung asks knowingly. 

You shrug nonchalantly. “Just a little.”

“Excellent. Shall we begin?”

You and Jungkook nod. 

“Alright. Well, this is presumably the last thing the two of you will be filming for your project. How are you feeling about it?”

“It turned out better than I thought it would,” you admit. It will come as a shock to no one that you did not have very high hopes for this project when it was first assigned. 

“Of course it did, I’m your partner,” Jungkook teases, poking you in your side. “Would you ever doubt me?”

“Always,” you say.

Taehyung chuckles. “Sounds like it’s been good so far. Did you enjoy filming it?”

You nod. “Yeah, it was actually kind of fun. Except for when Jungkook spilled coffee all over me, that was not cool.” You turn to face Jungkook directly, and all he does when you say his name is wink and point at you. 

“It was for the rom-com, I don’t know what you expected,” Jungkook said. “I gave you my jacket, too.”

“How gentlemanly.”

Taehyung chuckles, warm and low. “I’m sure Jungkook learned his lesson,” he muses. “What was your favorite thing to film?”

Not when I randomly texted you five minutes before I showed up at your door to make you ask me questions about how I feel, you think to yourself. Jungkook still doesn’t know, but you think you’ll put it into the movie just for the hell of it, so he’ll find out then. Find out that you were grappling with your feelings for him long before you ever let on.

“The serenade was a blast, a special shoutout to the Eighth Notes for doing that for me,” Jungkook says immediately. Obviously that is at the top of his list. “Plus, I just like seeing Y/N all flustered.”

“Shut up, you’re so annoying,” you chide. “I guess the serenade was kind of cute. I liked going out together, though. On our not-date.”

Jungkook objects to that instantly. “It was a date, Y/N!”

You look back at him, equally as scandalized as he. “Whose turn is it to talk?”

“Mine, actually,” Taehyung interjects. “Did you like going out together?”

You sigh a little, wondering if you’re really about to turn into a softie in front of a camera for a movie to be shown to your twenty classmates and professor. “Yeah,” you say, real and true because that’s what you agreed on, you and Jungkook. To be candid. To be honest. To say how you felt. Really. “It was really nice. I hadn’t gone out with someone like that in a long time.”

“And were you happy because of the project, or because of Jungkook?”

“Well,” you begin, not exactly sure where to start. “I guess, it’s like… you know, I didn’t even know Jungkook before this project. I mean, I knew who he was, he would always respond to my discussion board posts and object to everything I said in class. But I didn’t know him as a person. But as we worked on this project together, planning and filming and editing, I started to. And we did so many things together. And I guess I just really enjoyed the time we did spend as a pair.”

“Would you say the same, Jungkook?”

“Yes,” Jungkook says easily. “That’s what I wanted. To get to know Y/N, to spend time with her. I was glad we had this project. Otherwise, we might never have done something like this.”

“You both seem very happy.”

“I think we are. This project was actually sort of a blessing in disguise. I know him a lot better, now,” you say. “I’m glad that I do. He makes me smile, and laugh, and I always feel happy when he’s around. I don’t know. He did it, somehow.”

“Jungkook?”

“It wasn’t just me. Y/N and I did this together. We made this. This project. Us. It wasn’t just her, or just me. It’s ours.” Jungkook grins.

“Are you glad you did this project?”

Of course. It was fun, and I liked filming it, and I feel like I got something really important out of it. I know it’s just a short rom-com mockumentary, but it really feels like there was a happy ending, you know? A happily ever after.”

“You seem really certain about that.”

“Well,” Jungkook says with a little scoff, “what else would you call it?”

“As you can see, obviously Y/N fell head over heels in love with me thanks to this wonderful project—”

“Why are you always so full of yourself—?”

“Hey, you’re ruining the voiceover! As I said, as you can see, Y/N fell head over heels in love with me, but that wasn’t just because of my dashing good looks and amazing singing skills.”

“The ends of your hair look like hay—”

“It was because we were honest with each other, and because we spent meaningful moments together, and because we kept our hearts open. And I guess that’s the truth of it all, isn’t it? Love, romance, relationships? If you close yourself off, you’ll never get to experience them. But if you take every opportunity with an open mind, then you never know what might happen. Like falling in love with your discussion board nemesis.”

“Who, me?”

“Just let me finish, come on. There’s like one paragraph left. I know this was a mockumentary, not a scripted rom-com with professional actors and screenwriters and a whole team of editors. But that was the whole point. To make it real. And to make it between two people who aren’t just characters on a screen. We’re real people, and this happened to us. And it makes us happy. And it can happen to you, too. I think we all learn something every time we watch a new movie. Whether it be about loss, or promises, or other people. This time, we learned about love. Real love. How it can be rocky and strange and come straight out of left field. But also how happy endings aren’t just for movies and fairytales. We all deserve them. And Y/N and I found our own.”

“Are you gonna say it?”

“And so… they lived happily ever after.”

You look up at the screen, expecting to see the credits roll, but instead it’s a shot of the two of you kissing outside of your apartment building, a shot of you wrapping your arms around him as you press your lips to his. It lasts for only a few seconds, but you find yourself entranced in the moment, shocked that Jungkook somehow managed to capture it on film. He didn’t even have his camera with him that night. 

Pollack turns on the lights in your classroom as your fellow classmates applaud, all of them looking genuinely pleased that your rom-com had such a wonderful ending. Pollack herself looks rather proud, nodding to herself as she smiles at the two of you. 

“You filmed us kissing?” You hiss to Jungkook as your classmates clap, hoping the sound of it will drown out your conversation. 

“I got Taehyung to,” Jungkook whispers back. “Why?”

“I just… I thought that night was just for us.”

“The rest of it is. But I thought the kiss would be a cute way to end it. You know, happy ending and everything.”

Alright, if Jungkook insists. You nod, tensing up slightly. You hadn’t even noticed Taehyung down the street, standing behind some utility pole with the camera raised to his eye. Had Jungkook texted him in secret? Asked him to meet you outside of your apartment? Was he planning on kissing you from the very beginning?

You shake your head, willing away the thoughts as Pollack commends the two of you for a job well done. Jungkook and you stand at the front of the room for a few more seconds, getting stared down by your fellow classmates while Pollack speaks. The period ends just as she finishes up, the minutes changing the moment she closes her mouth. Within a minute or so, the whole class has emptied out, some of them congratulating you and Jungkook on the way out. 

“I’ll meet you outside, okay?” Jungkook says, eyes bright and filled with that same wonder he’s always got. 

“Yeah,” you say distantly, nodding to him as he disappears out the door. 

“You did an excellent job, Y/N,” Pollack praises, and it goes right to your head, if you’re being honest. “It was brilliant.”

“Thanks,” you say, suddenly rather shy. “That means a lot.”

“Don’t tell anyone else this,” she says, voice quiet, “but I was secretly hoping the two of you would fall in love.”

“Pollack!”

She laughs. “What? I thought you’d make a cute couple. And you do, so clearly it all worked out anyway.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s against the code of conduct,” you say, even though you know you can’t be too mad at her. After all, you wouldn’t have Jungkook if it weren’t for her. 

“Y/N, I’m tenured. I don’t care.”

“Wait…” you pause, eyes narrowing, “how many of your students have you set up with each other?”

Pollack grins. “I never reveal my secrets.”

Your mouth drops open. 

She chuckles, shooing you out the door. “Go on, go be with your boyfriend. You can tell him you both get A pluses for your project. It was excellent. One of the best I’ve seen in a very long time.”

“Thanks, Pollack,” you say, smiling gratefully. “You’re the best.”

She points at you proudly as you head out the door. “So are you.”

Jungkook is waiting by the tables where you always sit, half a flight down from your classroom. He’s leaning against the edge of them as he scrolls mindlessly through his phone, so engrossed in the Instagram explore page that he doesn’t see you walk up. 

“Guess what,” you say, getting all up in his face, just because you can. 

“What,” Jungkook says, an eyebrow raised. 

“We got an A plus on our project!” You exclaim happily, cheering. Jungkook laughs at your exuberant reaction, watches as you jump around, clapping loudly. 

“Hell yeah, we did that!” Jungkook holds his hand up for a high five, one you gladly take. Your palms smack together and the sound reverberates around the hallway. 

“You know, you and I—” you begin, placing your palms on his cheeks as you pull yourself in for a kiss, “we make a pretty good team.”

“Only because you’re so good at editing,” Jungkook says. You’re both not too bad, if you do say so yourself, but since Jungkook did so much of the filming you thought it would be better if you carried more of the weight when it came to post-production. 

“Says you,” you tease, pressing your lips to his button nose. “The happy ending thing was a nice touch, I liked it. Makes me feel like I’m in a fairy tale.”

“I’m glad,” Jungkook says with a chuckle, admiring the way you beam at him. “You know, I was really worried that you might think we didn’t have a happy ending after all, especially after everything.”

“What do you mean?” You look at him curiously. 

“Well, I just really wanted to make sure that we had a happy ending, because you’ve been through so much.”

You pause in place, eyebrows furrowing as you look up at him. Been through so much? Does Jungkook know something you don’t? Wait, no, did you… did you tell him—?

“You knew?” You ask, the realization piercing you like an arrow. “All this time, and you never said anything?”

Jungkook’s eyes widen. 

“How long have you known?”

He winces. “Since I walked you home when you were drunk. You told me.”

You did?

Shit.

“And you didn’t think that maybe you should have told me that you knew? Especially when I asked you if I had said anything embarrassing?” You cry out, indignant. “What, were you just planning on never telling me?”

“I was going to, but I wasn’t sure if you wanted to know that you had admitted all those things to me,” Jungkook admits, growing desperate. “They were really personal things, I thought you might react badly.”

“Oh, so you just decided to keep it a secret instead? Look how well that worked out.”

“What was I supposed to do, Y/N? I know you would have been upset.”

“Tell me!” You exclaim. “I asked you if I had said something embarrassing that night and you said I hadn’t. And I believed you. Better to have known then than now!”

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook says.

“I can’t believe you wouldn’t just tell me. Didn’t we say we would be honest with each other? But instead, you just let me assume that all of the nice things you did for me were because you actually cared, and not because you felt bad for me?”

“I don’t feel bad for you!” Jungkook shouts. “I mean, I do, but that’s not why I took you out on dates and gave you flowers and held your hand. I do care about you.”

“Oh, so filming us kissing was just because you actually cared, too, right?”

“I don’t know why you’re so hung up about that,” Jungkook points out. 

“Because I thought it was a private moment,” you remind him. “You hadn’t filmed anything the whole night. I thought we were just going out on a date like two people who cared about each other did. Us kissing was personal. But you texted Taehyung and told him to show up with his camera anyway, right? Because you were planning on kissing me from the very beginning. Because you knew, Jungkook. You knew and you had absolutely no intention of telling me.”

“Y/N, wait, I didn’t do those things just because I pitied you,” Jungkook says, reaching out for your hand. 

You pull away. “You didn’t? Then why did you film us kissing, then?”

“Because…” he flounders. You aren’t at all surprised. “Because—”

“Enough, Jungkook. I get it,” you stop him, shaking your head. “Everything we’ve done since that first date we had, when we went to the Italian place, everything since then—it was all played up. Because you felt bad for me. I had a shitty experience with love and you wanted to make me feel better. Whatever.”

“Y/N, it wasn’t like that,” Jungkook chases after you as you begin to walk down the stairs, towards the exit. “I didn’t pity you. I still don’t. I did those things because I care about you, and I wanted you to be happy.”

“Well, you got what you wanted,” you say, arms crossed over your shoulders as you push your way out the door. “I was so happy when I was with you.”

“Wait, Y/N—”

“Bye, Jungkook.”

The door slams shut behind you. 

“How many finals do you still have left? You finished your movie, right?”

Ruby is stirring herself a cup of earl grey tea as she sits down on the couch next to you, where you’re very obviously sulking as you scroll through the Feel Good Rom-Coms category on Netflix. 

“I just have a couple essays and a presentation,” you mumble out. “You?”

“Ugh, I still have all of my final exams to take,” Ruby tells you with a thick, heavy sigh. Clearly, she doesn't feel like talking about them now. Or at all. “The life of a biology major.”

“Hey, you’re the one who wants to be a doctor, not me,” you remind her crudely. “You better know your shit, or I’m never taking my kids to your practice.”

“Rude,” Ruby says. “There goes my family and friends discount offer.”

You laugh to yourself, a small smile inching its way across your lips. Ruby’s always known how to brighten your day, even when you feel like absolute shit. 

“What are we watching, hmm? I’m cool with anything.”

“I don’t know.” You shrug, flicking through all of the rom-com options and feeling very unhappy with all of them. “I feel like you’ve seen all of these.”

“Yeah,” Ruby says. “Whenever I’m not studying, I’m watching Netflix or The Bachelor.”

You nod. Maybe you’ll just settle on some old NCIS reruns and call it a night. 

“Oh!” Ruby exclaims suddenly, a lightbulb going off above her head. “How about we watch your movie? The rom-com you did with Jungkook! I haven’t seen it yet.”

“I don’t know…” You begin, the mere thought putting a bad taste in your mouth. For obvious reasons. 

“Come on, please? I really want to see it, you were so excited about it,” Ruby begs, getting all antsy as she climbs all over you, literally pulling your arm to get you to cave in. “It’s short, too, isn’t it? Like forty-five minutes long? We can watch whatever you want afterwards. Please.”

You huff out a breath. If it were up to you, you would move that film onto a flash drive and toss it into a dumpster on fire. But it’s not just up to you. Ruby has been asking you about it since the day you told her you were filming it, and now all she wants to do is see the final result. And it’s only forty-five minutes long. What’s that when compared to the rest of your life?

“Fine,” you relent, not wanting to fight about it any longer. “Let me get my computer.”

Ruby cheers. 

You bring your laptop over to your coffee table, turning off the ceiling lights as Ruby tucks herself underneath a blanket, hands warmed by her steaming cup of tea. You pull up the movie file and, taking a deep breath, press play. 

It opens with your first interview with Taehyung, a muted, royalty-free lo-fi hip-hop song playing in the background. You had edited it so that it would jump back and forth between your answer and Jungkook’s, highlighting the contrast between the two of you. It was mostly for comedic purposes, just because seeing you deadpan about how love doesn’t exist and then quickly switching to Jungkook wax poetic about it is amusing, but watching it now just makes you want to curl into yourself. 

You should have known that this would have never worked out. Should have kept that same jaded attitude. You let your guard down for one second and look at what’s happened to you.

The next scene that Jungkook shows is, of course, the moment he spills burning hot coffee all over you in the middle of the Starbucks, comedically panning up to your positively-flabbergasted face just to add to the shock factor. Next to you, Ruby laughs at the mishap, obviously amused by the fact that the two of you are now drenched in coffee and scrambling to clean up the mess. You try to focus your energy on how peeved you were at Jungkook after he did that, but get distracted the moment he films himself wrapping his denim jacket around you, placing it over your shoulders and making sure it’s just right. 

He didn’t have to do that, and the two of you both knew it. But still, he sent you off your class all bundled up in a jacket that smelled like him, smelled of that boyish aroma that you couldn’t get rid of, even when you put it in the wash with your lavender detergent. All of Jungkook’s clothes smelt like that no matter how much cologne he put on, always smelt woody and thick. It would consume you, that scent, a cloud surrounding your figure whenever you were near him. 

The movie keeps playing, and you keep thinking about how much of a fool you must look like in it now, all giggles and smiles as Jungkook sings Frankie Valli to you while he hands you a rose, that same sly little smile dotting his features. Hearing the song again makes you feel like you’re choking, like something’s smothering you, and you’re not sure what it is until you realize that it’s the sound of Jungkook’s voice. 

You haven’t heard him sing since he serenaded you. 

Then it’s your first date, the one Ruby told you to wear the yellow dress to (“Hey, I told you you looked amazing in it! Wow!” Ruby exclaims when she sees you). You remember when you edited this, putting the clips together of you eating at the restaurant, wandering around the park, posing underneath the trees, holding hands. You were smiling so hard your cheeks hurt while you were editing, grinning from ear to ear at all of the things the two of you did together. They were so picturesque, those scenes, so perfectly shot, so romantici—t did a fine job of convincing you that it was all real. 

You even put in the little clip of you and Taehyung talking. A mistake, now that you look back on it, of course. It was so vulnerable, so real, so candid and honest like you said you would be, and now it’s all blown up in your face. You must have looked like such an idiot to Jungkook when he saw this scene for the first time in class. You remember the wide-eyed look on his face when it popped up. Like he couldn’t even believe you had done this in the first place. 

Scoffing, you shake your head. You either. 

The rest of it you can hardly bear to watch. Just a wrap-up of your relationship, a compilation of all of the small moments you shared when you didn’t realize that Jungkook was filming, when you dared whip out your camera to shoot for a second or two. Little clips that jump from scene to scene, shots of you laughing and eating and skipping along campus as you held hands. It’s hard to reconcile the fact that it’s all over. 

You don’t even listen to the final interview, not bothering to pay attention to what you or Jungkook have to say when you were there, when you can recall every word he’s ever spoken to you at the drop of a hat. 

The truth is, you were always a goner for him. 

And look how well that played out. 

By the time the kissing scene comes up once more, you’re ready to set your whole laptop alight. 

The screen turns black as it ends, fading away into nothingness, the instrumental slowly disappearing alongside the image. You shut your laptop when it’s all over, a little too angry for your own good, but you wrestle the scowl off your face as you take a drink of water from the glass sitting on the table. 

“Wow,” Ruby says, speechless. She blinks at your closed laptop. 

“Did you like it?”

“I—I don’t even know what to say,” Ruby says, which is a first. “It was amazing, Y/N. Seriously. Gorgeous. Like, cinematographically? Stunning. The shit on Netflix isn’t even as good as that.”

Even if you did have to sit through your stupid movie one more time, the compliments make you feel a bit better. “Thanks,” you murmur. 

Ruby nods enthusiastically. “It was incredible. I’m just—I’m in awe. You and Jungkook have a gift, dude. It was seriously one of the best things I’ve watched in a really long time. And, like, not even in a cheesy, yucky rom-com kind of way. It was so… so genuine. So real. Wow.”

“I’m glad you liked it.”

“You’ll have to tell Jungkook, too,” Ruby says. “He did really well.”

“Yeah, he’s a great actor,” you say, a little too bitterly for your own good. 

“What do you mean?” Ruby raises an eyebrow your way. “I didn’t think he was acting at all. It looked pretty real to me.”

You frown. “It did?”

“I mean, yeah,” Ruby says with an honest nod. “I mean, you did tell me it was a mockumentary and not just a run-of-the-mill rom-com. So wasn’t everything supposed to be real, anyway?”

“Yes…” you trail off, unsure of the direction of this conversation.

“Well, if you ask me,” Ruby says, all matter-of-factly, “I’d say he definitely fell in love with you.”

Something rushes through you. Something warm and bright and full of energy. 

Hope. 

Even though you have finished one of your finals early, finals week is still just as much of a slog as it always is. Three essays and two presentations deep, you aren’t finished any of them and the due dates are slowly creeping up on you, ready to pounce the moment the clock strikes twelve. 

Eh, it could be worse. You could be Ruby and have six timed, proctored final exams on biology, anatomy, and chemistry. So you suppose you can’t complain too much. 

Finals week sees you all holed up in your apartment like always, but more so this semester than any previous ones because you don’t feel like going to the library and risking seeing Jungkook there. Or anywhere, really. Since you presented on the last day of classes, you haven’t spoken since, and hopefully you can keep that streak going forever. You had made it until this semester without ever crossing paths despite being in the same major, so hopefully that luck will follow you. 

It’s almost midnight when you finally decide to call it quits for the night, having at least gotten mostly through two of your essays (just have to edit and proofread!) and worked on about half of your two presentations. Sighing, you get up from your couch and stretch, feeling your bones crack from sitting in the same place for hours on end. 

You lean over to the floor lamp by the edge of the couch, ready to flick it off and head to bed, when you hear something outside. 

“You’re just too good to be true…”

“Can’t take my eyes off of you…”

You freeze.

The voice is soft and mellow, a little muted because it’s making its way through your wooden door before it reaches your ears, but it is unrecognizable. Even without the acoustics of the Eighth Notes, you know who’s on the other side. 

“You’d be like Heaven to touch…”

“I wanna hold you so much…”

“At long last, love has arrived…”

“And I thank God I’m alive…”

Unable to resist, you wander to your front door, basking in the sound of him, in the way the notes float through the air as if on clouds, dancing along the walls as they sink into your brain. He sounds so sweet, voice warm like tea on a cold night, just singing his song on this empty, lonely night. But it’s not just his song, is it? 

It’s yours, too.

You pull open the door. 

“You’re just too good to be true,” Jungkook sings, a honeyed melody that calms the waves of your stormy heart, “can’t take my eyes off of you…”

But just because he’s here, serenading you once more, doesn’t mean he’s going to get it any easier from you. You fight to keep the smile off your face, pressing your lips together as you narrow your eyes at him. 

“I love you, baby, and if it’s quite alright, I need you, baby, to warm the lonely night…”

“I love you, baby, trust in me when I say…”

He meets your eyes with his own, and they aren’t glinting in the way they normally do, the way that they do when he knows he’s doing something to grind your gears, when he’s got a trick up his sleep. They gleam like pearls as the dim glow of your apartment lights up his figure, warm yellow mixing with the caramel in his irises.

“Oh, pretty baby, don’t bring me down, I pray…”

Oh, pretty baby, now that I’ve found you, stay…”

“And let me love you, baby…”

From behind him, Jungkook brings out a single red rose, twirling it between his fingers as he holds it out to you. 

“Let me love you…” He trails off there, voice delicate as vanishes into the chilly night air, disappearing between the two of you. 

You can’t help but take the flower from his hand. What else are you supposed to do?

“So?” Jungkook asks, hopeful. 

“Don’t think you can just show up at my apartment and woo me back by singing to me,” you chide, even though he definitely can. 

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook says simply, because there really is nothing else to say. “I should have told you.”

“I watched our rom-com again,” you tell him. “I should have believed you when you said you cared about me.”

“I always did,” Jungkook says. “I just wanted you to know that love was real, and that it was there for you.”

“I should have known,” you agree. You look up at Jungkook through lidded eyes, musing to yourself. “You know what I learned?”

Jungkook tilts his head in curiosity. “What?”

“That love isn’t a feeling. It’s a person,” you explain, sighing pleasantly. “Love comes to us through the things we share with other people. That’s what it is.” Your thumbs twiddle in front of you, the pads of your fingers rubbing at the stem of the rose.

He takes a single step forward, reaching out to take your hand in his own. “And are you pleased with who you’ve found?”

You roll your eyes. “Just shut up and kiss me already, you idiot.”

Jungkook obliges without a second thought. 

There is no one to film you this time, no project to work on. There is only you, and there is only him. And there is only a lifetime that the two of you share, a story that you have told together, piece by piece, frame by frame. Your movie didn’t end once you finished editing. Nor did it end the moment the screen went black in Pollack’s class. It wasn’t even over when you watched it a second time with Ruby. 

No, it continues on. Forever and ever, so long as you are with him. There will always be something new to capture, to burn into a disk so you’ll have it for eternity.

He pulls you in for a kiss and it’s not the end of the film. It’s the beginning of a brand new part, a new installment in the series that is your life with him. That is the relationship you have created together. His lips aren’t the fireworks as the credits roll. They are the scene where the two characters meet for the very first time and know that they were meant to be. The scene that sets all of the other ones in motion. That is who Jungkook is. That is what you are sharing, right now. 

A brand new frame. 

When you part, you press your forehead against his, soft blonde locks framing his face as they tickle your face, dancing along the skin of your cheeks.

“You called it a rom-com,” Jungkook points out randomly, just remembering now. 

“Well, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know…” Jungkook says, pretending to think about it as he rocks on the back of his feet. “Did it have a happy ending?”

You bring your lips to his once more, arms wrapped around his neck as you clasp the rose between your fingers. You make a mental note to press it later. Something else to remember him by. Something other than your movie. 

Jungkook pulls you into him once more, hands resting firmly on your waist, letting his body press against yours as you stand there in the muted light of your apartment’s living room, letting the cool spring breeze wash over you. You smile against his lips, feeling your heart race when he grins back. 

“Yes,” you declare proudly. 

And so, they lived happily ever after. 

↳ thanks for reading! don’t forget to let me know if you enjoyed it!

[castiel-left-his-mark-on-me]

Below the cut is my version of "the plane story" . It's from my larger work "The Plot: The End".

Read it if you want ... don't if you don't. Misha's post today though has me feeling all sorts of feelings so I thought I would share this excerpt.

Alex and Rich were already on the plane by the time Misha and Jensen joined them, but Richard was snoring and Alex was reading something on his phone, so neither noticed them when they boarded.

“Hey, kid” Jensen says, clapping a hand onto Alex’s shoulder and making jump so hard, he almost drops his phone.

“Oh, jeez—hey! Hi …” Alex laughs, finally pulling the AirPods out of his ears so he can hear them. “How did that final scene go?”

Misha moves around Jensen to sit in one of the seats across from the other two. Jared’s private plane is small, so the seats face one another; and Jensen normally enjoys the intimacy, but he really just wanted to fall asleep on this trip, and that’s hard to do when it feels like someone is looking right at you … unless you’re Richard anyway. Jensen huffs a laugh as he looks at their unconscious director, finally turning back to Alex to answer his question. “It was … rough, but good. I think it’ll be a really impactful scene.”

“Good. That’s awesome.”

Right then, Richard let’s out a long snore, making the rest of them laugh—and it feels really good to smile after the evening they’ve had.

“Yeah—he took some sort of sleeping pill or Nyquil or something. He was out as soon as he hit the chair” Alex says, shaking his head before looking back at his phone.

Jensen finishes putting his and Misha’s bags in the back compartment before finally taking his seat with the rest of the guys. “Have you been here a long time?” he asks Alex once he buckles his seatbelt and pulls out his own phone to scroll through any messages.

“About an hour. Rich got here maybe twenty minutes ago, so then we were just waiting for you two.”

Jensen bites his lip. “Yeah, sorry about that. We lost track of time.”

Misha laughs. “Plus, we got a really drunk after filming and thought we should try to sober up before flying.”

“Ah, good call” Alex says, but he’s tapping on his phone as he says it—which most likely means, he’s talking to his girlfriend and didn’t hear a word anyone said.

Misha raises a brow before rolling his eyes to Jensen. “Kids.”

Jensen chuckles, but then he starts tapping on his phone too—texting Danneel to let her know they’re about to take off.

“Oh—yeah, I should do that” Misha says, obviously noting what Jensen’s doing; and soon, he’s taking out his phone a moment later and typing a message to Vicki.

“Kids” Alex says mockingly.

Jensen and Misha both laugh as the plane’s engines begin to roar.

They’re in the air after another ten minutes, and they all settle in for the three-hour flight to Vegas. Jensen has pulled his baseball cap over his face and is already dozing off when Misha whispers his name.

“Huh?” Jensen mumbles, slowly crawling back into consciousness with a frown.

“I wanted to know if you could send me that video you took tonight? I want to show it to Vicki.”

He pulls his hat off and rubs his eyes, blinking and squinting into the dim light coating the cabin. “Oh, yeah … sure” Jensen yawns, picking up his phone from where he dropped is beside him in the seat. He opens up his email and attaches the video, knowing it’ll take a while to actually send, but at least he can go back to sleep as it does.

“Thanks, babe” Misha whispers, but Jensen is already slipping into dreams—all too vivid, where Misha is the one getting taken away, disappearing before his eyes, saying goodbye, saying “I love you” … and there’s nothing Jensen can do about it but sit on the ground and watch it all through his tears. There’s nothing he can say, nothing he can do, no way to convince him not to go.

The explosion rips him from his dream like hurricane ripping a house from its studs, and his heart is racing before he’s even fully awake. He opens his eyes to a bright, white flash, then to flames and smoke billowing just outside the window. A screaming-hiss fills his ears and a screaming-dread fills the back of his throat.

Misha is stark white and still beside him, with matching white knuckles and nails—digging into the armrest as the plane begins to shake out of control.

Richard wakes up with a shout and Alex grabs onto him while gasping “What’s happening? What’s happening?” over and over.

The pilot crackles in over the intercom, and it makes the three men panic even more. “We’ve lost an engine. Stay in your seats and buckle your seatbelts! We're turning around for an emergency landing.”

Jensen’s chest begins to heave—he’s not sure if he needs to throw up or pass out, but all he can think about right now are his kids. JJ’s face flashes in front of him, and then Arrow’s and Zepp’s. He can hear their voices calling out “Daddy”. He can feel their little hands in his own, and he’s suddenly wondering if he’ll ever get to see them grow a day older. He chokes on his own strangled air, finally remembering to breathe, and then he clamors for his phone, pulling up the last text he sent to Danneel before hitting the call button next to her name; but his phone doesn’t connect, it just buffers and flashes as the data taps out at zero.

Jensen’s eyes jerk up to the bars at the top of the screen.

No signal.

“Fuck” he whispers.

“What now?” Misha asks, somehow hearing him beyond the constant shriek of air over twisted metal.

“No signal” Jensen croaks aloud, his mouth dry and his tongue thick against his teeth.

The plane shifts sharply to the right and they all lean away from it and into each other, closing their eyes as they mutter silent prayers.

“Jensen” Misha says, voice panicked and shaking.

Jensen looks at him, feeling hot tears stinging his eyes for the countless time today. “Misha” he whispers back softly as he takes Misha’s hand in his own.

Misha squeezes it tight and then leans forward, pressing their foreheads together one last time. “I love you. I love you so much.”

“I love you too” Jensen says, hating that even now—even with the world trembling and burning around them, he still hesitates to reach out and pull Misha in for a kiss, because they’re not alone … people can see.

“Guys—guys!” Richard, says, now calling out to them too. “Hold hands. C’mon—hold hands!” He grabs Alex’s hand beside him and then reaches over to take Misha’s.

Jensen nods and drops his phone so he can take Alex’s other hand; and finally, they’re all joined—holding onto one another for hope, or for the last moments they’re alive.

“We’re descending—prepare for more turbulence” the pilot announces, and almost immediately—the entire plane jerks upwards before dropping a few more feet.

“Oh god!” Richard yelps, tilting his head up as if to look to heaven, but his eyes are closed tight.

“It’ll be okay” Jensen says, once again—trying to will his thoughts into existence. “We’ll be okay.”

“Okay—okay, okay, okay” Alex repeats, sounding manic and anything but.

Just then, Jensen’s phone dings with a text message, and he rips his hands free to pick it up and look at it; but he doesn’t even check to see who the text is from because all that matters is—now he has a signal. A weak one, but it should be enough to get a message through. “We got signal, guys!” he yelps, both thrilled and heartbroken, because he would give anything not to say what he knows he has to right now.

He takes a deep breath.

The plane jerks again.

Jensen begins typing.

“Baby, I don’t know what’s going to happen but an engine went out on the plane. We’re trying to make an emergency landing, but just in case things go bad, know that I love you. I love you and the kids with all my heart. I am praying I make it back to you. I love you so much, Danneel.”

His throat aches as he hits “send”, and then he looks to Misha, who’s typing out a text as well—and he’s crying, just like the rest of them are crying, sending their loved ones what could be their final goodbyes. “Mish” he whispers again, pulling that watery blue gaze back to him once the man looks up from his phone; and for a second—Jensen almost tells him that he can’t bear to watch him die. That he’d sooner jump out of this plane than watch Misha disappear into a flash of black and smoke; but saying that out loud feels like he’s welcoming the possibility, so he leaves it hanging in the ether with their fates before leaning forward to kiss him; for once—not caring about who’s watching or what they’ll think, only hoping that this one kiss is enough to get across everything he wishes he had more lifetimes to say.

“Prepare for landing” the pilot cuts in—his voice crackling through the vibrating speaker.

With terrified hope in their eyes, they all hold hands again as Misha whispers “please, please, please” under his breath.

The wheels creak when they deploy, and the wings rattle as the air snags against the gnarled engine that’s weighing them down. The smoke is still thick against the windows, but Jensen can start to see the hazy glow of city lights as the plane gets closer and closer to the earth. Alex squeezes his hand tightly as they all brace for impact— and then the plane thuds onto the runway, bouncing back into the air a moment before thudding again against the tarmac; but everything still feels like it’s moving too fast, even though it’s pretty certain that they’re fully on the ground now.

“Braking—hang on, everyone” the pilot says, and the coolness in his voice is followed by the calming air around the plane as it decreases its speed. The shrieking wind dims into a low whistle, before finally silencing altogether once the plane rolls to a stop.

The smoke clears, revealing the flashing lights of fire engines and ambulances—all ready and waiting to for them, and for whatever state they arrived in. Their collective exhale at the sight leaves them all drained, too weak from the fear to even move; but once the reality sinks in that they’re all really okay, all alive, all safe, they each began clamoring to undo their seatbelts.

“Get me off this fucking thing!” Richard cries, undoing his belt first and immediately shooting up to race for the door.

The pilot meets him there, trying to slow him down and explain that they need to put the stairs down first, but Richard doesn’t wait—and as soon as that door is open, he’s hopping off the plane and onto the tarmac with a thump.

Jensen can hear Richard’s voice mix in with several more—paramedics and firefighters, all asking him if he’s okay and if anyone else on the plane is injured.

“We’re all fine, right?” the pilot asks, looking towards the other three men as he works on the release for the stairs.

“Yeah” Alex breathes, and Misha nods shortly after—but he seems like he’s just barely hanging on.

So, Jensen takes a deep breath and gets up from his seat. “Yeah, we’re all okay.” He walks over to look out the door, locking eyes with one of the paramedics that’s waiting for them on the ground. “No one is hurt, just raddled. We all just want to get off this plane and be back on the solid ground.”

“Yeah, yeah—let’s get you down” the man says, helping the pilot with the stairs and locking them into place.

Jensen turns around and waves the guys towards him, and soon—both Alex and Misha have grabbed everyone’s things and are bustling with Jensen down the stairs to finally be free of that death-trap.

“I’m never fucking flying again” Jensen spits the second his feet touch the earth.

“Same” Alex says, quickly setting down the stuff in his arms so he can call his girlfriend and let her know he’s okay.

That seems to remind the rest of them to do the same, and soon—everyone is on their phones, talking to their wives, their kids, choking back more tears as they each recount the experience.

Once the paramedics clear them, they’re finally allowed to head back into the airport, and the three men clamor inside as quickly as possible, dragging their bags and sanity carelessly behind them.

“Did you step onto the plane with the wrong foot this time, Jensen?” Misha asks as they walk down the main pathway of the airport towards the shops, clearly trying to lighten everyone’s mood now they they’re a hundred percent safe on the ground.

“No—did you not wear orange underwear today?” Jensen replies, but Misha yanks up his shirt in order to pull out a pinch of the orange fabric that’s hiding beneath his jeans. Jensen chuckles. “Well, it wasn’t us. What about you guys? Did either of you jinx the flight?”

But Richard isn’t paying them any mind. He's just blank for a second before he starts talking a mile a minute—spilling out every thought that enters his head as if his audio-button is stuck on double-speed; but Alex stays quiet in contrast—probably still in shock that his short life was nearly punctuated so permanently.

At least, that’s what Jensen is hoping is bothering the kid—because he knows there’s a very good chance that both Alex and Richard saw him and Misha kiss on the plane; but he’s just not sure how either of them will react to it once they calm down. Jensen’s pretty sure Richard won’t care in the least. In fact, he imagines the guy might already know about them and has for a while; but Alex is more of a wildcard. He knows that the kid isn’t homophobic or anything, but all this could make him act different around him and Misha, or act different on set—and Jensen would really hate for that to happen.

“I need a drink” Richard says finally, taking a much-needed breathe as he looks back at the rest of them.

“Me too” Alex mutters, and he’s quickly on the other man’s heels as they head towards the main part of the airport.

Jensen is about to follow when he feels a hand tug him back—and then, he’s being shoved down the short hallway that leads to the bathrooms. It’s three in the morning and no one’s around, and Misha’s passions seems to be fueled by that fact.

He tosses their bags to the side in order to free up his hands for Jensen’s body, and then Misha crowds him into the corner and kisses him hard, knocking off Jensen’s hat so he can run his hand through his hair; but these aren’t the lust-filled kisses they’ve come to know, nor are they romantic ... slow and sweet and soft– they’re manic. They’re desperate, and they’re filled to the brim with all the fear that swamped them while they were on that plane, and Jensen falls head-first into his frenzy, forgetting about absolutely everything else.

“I thought I’d lose you” Misha gasps, pressing himself hard into Jensen’s chest—as if he’s trying to climb inside it.

“Me too” Jensen says, eyes closed as he opens himself up to be taken.

Misha breathes him in before scooping him into his arms, lifting Jensen by the back of the legs to press him against the wall; and Jensen wraps himself around the man like a sweater, clinging to every muscle, every inch of skin that he’s kissed and cherished at some point over the last five years. Every cell in their bodies holds a memory of one another, and those cells are fusing into one as they live in the entirety of this moment, only breathing for each other and the lives they get to continue living.

Jensen pulls at Misha’s shirt as the man hoists him higher, cupping his face with his other hand and taking a brief moment to look into those blue eyes before kissing him again.

Those blue, blue eyes.

Those lips.

That hair and skin.

This is the man that he’ll love until the day he dies, and as his heart melts for him all over again, Jensen thanks God that he didn’t die today. He gets to hold Misha one more time—he gets to love him longer. Jensen gets to give himself over to him over and over again, and he needs Misha to own him completely. This man unlocks something in him every time they’re together. Jensen never saw himself as closed off, or secretive, or hard to know—not until Misha walked into his life and cracked him open like some precious ore. He made Jensen reveal sides of himself that no one had ever seen before—he caused Jensen to laugh in ways he had never laughed, love in ways he had never loved. Because of Misha, Jensen can march into life head-first instead of hanging back to see how things unfold. Misha has made him unafraid. Misha has made him who he truly wants to be; and as this man literally holds him safely above the earth, Jensen realizes how close they came to crashing into it—to losing this.

He kisses him harder; he loves him more. He holds this man with all of himself, and he swears with teeth and tongue, and with river-tears on his cheeks, to never let him go.

No matter who’s watching, no matter how hot the world burns, Misha can find his place in Jensen’s arms whenever he needs it.

[art by @liart-ez]

[popopretty]

Storm Bringer Spoilers (10)

A small part from the Epilogue where Chuuya and Dazai met up with Dr. Wollstonecraft. It was from one of the translation requests I got long ago and this part is fun, everyone is so adorable, so here it is.

Feel free to retranslate if you want. Just note that I am not a native speaker in either Japanese or English so I make mistakes sometimes.

Chuuya went back to the pier, and as he was about to get on his bike, a black car slowly approached him. The window at the back seat slowly came down and the person inside called out, "Chuuya".

That was Dazai. It was a rare sight. He had his black suit and his tie on, the formal attire for guests greeting.

"Work is in five minutes."

Chuuya and Dazai were standing under the gangway of a luxury passenger ship.

That was a ridiculously expensive fancy liner. The ship that Shirase had boarded before that was incomparable to it, both in size and materials. Its paint was chalk-white without a spot, the five-story guest rooms were decorated like the finest hotels. No matter where the passengers went, they would be accompanied by a skilled guide on board. The ship was also known for its navigational capability. Even when it sailed at twice the speed of an ordinary ship, its turbulence was less than one tenth of a normal one.

That ship was called "The Boswellian".

The government's passenger ship that only high-ranking government officials were allowed to board.

The gangway was lowered and delegation descended in front of Chuuya and Dazai's eyes.

First were the guardsmen in black suits. They cautiously looked around at all directions. The bulges around their waists showed that they were all carrying guns.

After that came some bearded men who looked like officials. Old, capable, with gray brown eyes that showed no hints of what they were thinking. Their clothes were of top-quality. A man carrying a cane with a golden spiral pattern on it was pushing the crew who was trying to help him off board with the tip of his cane, so crudely as if he was chasing away a stray dog on the street.

"The noble demons of England have showed up." Dazai murmured in a voice that only Chuuya who was standing next to him could hear.

Those people were high-ranking officials of the British government who came here for the post-incident investigation, the “Assassination King incident" that occurred through multiple levels of state secrets. A team of investigators were dispatched to Japan to investigate this serious case that went beyond a normal criminal case, and report to the government. And Port Mafia had come forward to welcome the team and cooperate with them in the investigation, as a party to the case.

Illegal organization Port Mafia is in charge of welcoming the investigation team of the British government.

It was an odd situation, but there was a certain rationale and calculation of the Boss behind it.

First of all, the one who had the whole picture of the incident this time was neither the Ministry of Foreign Affairs nor the police, but Port Mafia. As from the beginning, the European governments had been trying to hide it completely from the Japanese government. Also from the Port Mafia side, they also had a reason to keep a close eye on the movements of the mighty British government.

That was because they suspected that these people might try to eliminate every person of Port Mafia who was involved in this incident to cover up the "Assasination King incident" that arose from the state secrets.

Obviously, Port Mafia had no intention to reveal the truth and the secrets of the case. But it was hard to tell how much the British would believe in words of a criminal organization. That was why Dazai was sent to greet them. If they really had the intention to eliminate the people involved, Dazai would have to negotiate to stop that from happening. If the negotiation failed, then Port Mafia would have to eliminate the investigation team before the other party had the chance to eliminate them. That was why Chuuya was accompanying him. Depending on the other party's actions, this might turn into an interstate war that involved the whole Port Mafia.

“Well, let the fun deception game begin.”, Dazai said excitedly as he headed towards the investigation team.

The guard men immediately reacted to the person approaching, their hands reaching for their waists where the guns were.

“Thank you for coming all the way here, ladies and gentlemen of the great British Empire.” Dazai's attitude changed completely as he greeted the guests with a fluent and courteous voice. “You must be the members of the investigation team? I know this is sudden but may I ask who your representative is?”

“Representative?” the guardsman whom Dazai directed this question to looked rather confused and tilted his head. "This is the technical advisory unit of the investigation team so if you say representative, I think that might be Dr. Wollstonecraft...”

Dr. Wollstonecraft?

Chuuya tilted his head. He had heard that name somewhere before.

“Aa!” Dazai seemed to get it right away. “I heard that name before. That’s the skilled engineer who designed Investigator Adam Frankenstein, right? Hmm... you must be Dr. Wollstonecraft then?” Dazai followed the gazed of the guardsman and called out to the most dignified and oldest man in the investigation team. He had a shaggy white beard, a receding hairline, and two medals for achievements in the military science sector pinned to his chest.

The old man noticed Dazai’s voice and laughed out cheerfully.

“No no, I’m not Dr. Wollstonecraft. I’m just tagging along. Doctor is... Look! She's getting off the ship right now.”

Dazai and Chuuya followed the old man’s eyes and looked up at the ship’s gangway. At the top of it, an oversized travel suitcase was left there unassisted. Wait...

“Okay. Nice to meet you. I’m Dr. Wollstonecraft... Oh so this is the said country? It looks bigger than on the map.”

The small figure that appeared from behind the suitcase, no matter how you looked at her...

“... How old is that?”

That was a little girl.

Blond hair, white blouse. The suitcase was big, but she was also small enough to be completely hidden behind it. She wore a big pair of round glasses that covered half of her face. And on her chest were more than twenty medals for achievements in science.

“Hey hey...” Chuuya made a drawn face.

“Oh! It's getting interesting.” Dazai laughed happily.

The little girl struggled down the gangway. She was holding the oversized suitcase, or rather, clinging onto it as it dragged her downwards.

“Heave ho! I am.. heave-ho... Dr... heave-ho! Wollstonecraft Godwin Shelley, heave-ho!”. The girl spoke every time she got off one step, still clinging on to the heavy luggage. “People call me the girl with a genius brain but, heave-ho, those are people who don't have the ability to see the essence of things. Heave-ho! My achievements are thanks to my special skill that make any designs possible. Heave-ho! And because I am a genius.”

“Hey, aren't you going to help her with that heavy luggage?” Chuuya couldn't stand it anymore and asked the bearded old man next to him.

“Hahaha. Doctor is the type of person who doesn't want anyone to touch her luggage.” the old man laughed cheerfully. "Even Her Majesty wouldn't be able to take that from her. Because if we do so, she will start crying and screaming, just like a kid who has gone back 10 years in time."

“If she goes back that much, isn't she gonna end up in her mother’s belly again...?” Chuuya said with a tired face.

“Also, she may look like that, but Doctor was really looking forward to this trip. That case is filled with her favorite essentials for this trip. No-one will be able to take it from her.”

“Old man! Don’t go around talking about me like I am just a normal little girl! I might be short but I will be a full-grown decent adult very soon.... heave-ho!”

Dr. Shelley finally got to the end of the gangway. She wiped off the sweat on her face and fixed her clothes with her hands. “Phew! Nice to meet you again, people of Japan. Well... you are Chuuya-kun right? Thanks for taking care of Adam.”

Upon hearing Adam’s name, Chuuya's face looked like he just shallowed a bitter thing down his throat. "I am not sure." , he then said. "The one who was taken care of was me."

The little girl fixed the big glasses to the middle of her face and stared at Chuuya.

“He died saving me... Doctor, Adam is your best work, right? I'm sorry for breaking it.”

“Hmm.”

Doctor Shelley observed Chuuya from the left, from the right, then stared at him closely from the front. Like she was observing an interesting research subject.

"You are right, Adam is my greatest work." , she said with her arms crossed. “Rather than sending him to a good-for-nothing island country like this for investigation, I’d have him in the lab and continue the research to upgrade him.”

Chuuya listened in silence. His expression was not looking at something in front of him at that moment. What he was seeing was some scenes of the past.

Doctor Shelley cleared her throat like a child then continued, “The best thing about Adam is that, he is equipped with the intelligence to think and judge the situation by himself. In other words, Adam chose to sacrifice himself out of his own will, his own judgement.” Dr. Shelley smiled. “Because you are worth it. I believe in Adam. I appreciate your apology, but it’s not something you need to worry about.”

Chuuya opened his mouth, trying to say something but he couldn't put it into words. Just like a child who had forgotten his way home, he just stood there with a stunned look on his face.

Seeing Chuuya like that, Dazai giggled as if he couldn't do anything about it.

“First off, from the beginning I didn't like the idea of using Adam for such a worthless investigation.” Dr. Shelley crossed her arms, looking sullen. “The government is always like that! They send out machine investigators for missions and when they are done with it, they just blow it up together with all the secret information. Even though we could have got the best test data from interacting with different cultures from those solo missions! Just because it's for the sake of human's life, they think that they can neglect science like that?”

To Chuuya and Dazai’s surprise, Doctor Shelley ordered her subordinate for “that” and had a black tube the length of an arm brought to her.

"That's why, such an ill-natured person like me had installed a detachable sub-processor and non-volatile memory. Without telling the government.” She took out the thing inside the black tube. “In here.”

The thing inside the tube that had the length of an arm, was actually an arm.

That was Adam’s right arm, the arm that Chuuya sent flying and stuck into the ground when he was escaping from inside of the Demonic Beast Guivre.

“This is...” , a question mark appeared on Chuuya’s face. “After the incident, I searched the scene but couldn't find it anywhere. Why is it here?”

“I mean, it's rather obvious to do this, isn't it?” Dr. Shelley put her finger on her huge travel suitcase. After her vital signals were verified, the auto-lock was released.

The figure that came out from the suitcase took the arm. And he said as he was attaching it to himself, “Do you want to hear an Android joke, Chuuya-sama?”

Chuuya stood still in shock. He kept his mouth open in surprise. Finally, he took a breath slowly through that mouth. A deep breath, as deep as he could. Then his expression changed as if he was about to burst.

And he laughed, "Hahaha...!"

[roleplayerconfessions]

🌴 I recently took over a partner search forum for advanced literate roleplayers, because the old mods were inactive for a very long time and literally nothing was being moderated. Naturally, before I arrived, there were a lot of people who were taking advantage of the lack of moderation, and posting ads that were FULL of typos and terrible grammar conventions, and posts that didn't even qualify as semi-literate.

Once everything was set up, I started removing ads that were illiterate, because naturally, this was a forum for advanced literate roleplayers. Lots of advanced literate roleplayers were happy about this, because they previously had trouble finding partners among all the illiterate posts (and they couldn't go anywhere else, because no other forums curated their posts for advanced literate roleplayers).

And of course, the semi-literate roleplayers screamed bloody murder about this. One notable message was: "what the hell mind telling me why youre suddenly deleting my ads ? My ad wa always allowed before, why are you being dicks suddenly".

And another message: "The post was removed 2 minutes after it's post? What's worng with it? I can't spot any mistake in the first lines sorry". Their entire post was filled with spaces before punctuation, misspelled words, uncapitalized "i"s and uncapitalized words at the beginning of sentences (not a stylistic choice, it was inconsistent), and sentences that sounded like broken English. (Even if they were ESL, the end result still wasn't advanced literate by a long, long stretch.) When I told them the post was not in line with how the forum defined "advanced literate", and when I even spent five minutes circling all the errors to help them out, they came back all pissy and saying the errors were not worth removing the post for (I circled over twenty things), and they started arguing with me and saying I was ruining the forum.

Come on. First off, what's the name of this forum? And second, do you not see the big, "hi, I'm the new moderator, I am taking over for the inactive mods" announcement at the very top, which is impossible to miss? Or the new rules page at the very top, which is also impossible to miss? And, each of your posts have gotten an automatic reply mentioning how you should read the new rules, and how the forum is being run true to its name now. You were given more than enough information, and more than enough indication your posts wouldn't be allowed. If someone had been around to moderate last year, they would have taken them down too. Don't take out your butthurt entitlement on me, you clearly aren't even close to how the forum defines AL. You were just taking advantage of the forum's lack of moderation before when there was literally nobody around to sift through posts. You have OODLES of other forums to find partners, and I can see you're a user on them already. All you do is copy and paste your ads on every waking forum you can find, whether you actually fit the roleplaying type or not, and sorry, but that is not gonna work here.

...Sheeeeesh.

I do my best to be sensitive and polite about this crap. I understand that writing is a deeply personal thing, and a lot of people feel offended when their writing is declined on a forum, and I know how to be tactful there. If I didn't care, I would just ban them right away, and not give them any way to contact the moderators, certainly not proofread their ads like I'm a teacher when they ask me for specifics. So what the frick? Maybe this is why the old moderators left. I almost don't blame them. Some people are spoiled, entitled brats.

[tiny-crecher]

Unus Annus Secrets

Here I’m going to try and explain all of the Unus Annus codes + possible lore. If I have forgotten some information or if one of these links doesnt work/is incorrect please let me know. This post will be updated when needed. 

This is LONG, so be prepared. 

At first, these codes were only in videos edited by NerdFiction, but as of October 26th this is no longer true. (The possible exception to this would be the first video I’ve listed, as the editor is not in the description). 

1) 5 Weird Apps That Predicted Our Death

 “Here at Unus Annus the end is nigh... when the timer hits zero we will cease to exist. is it fate? is this a simulation? Can anybody hear me? My name is.... [FILE REDACTED]”. Timestamp - 0:14

2) Ethan Roasts Mark for 15 Minutes Straight

 “and in the comments, you will read the words you soon will see are wise controlling pawns who type our deed ‘That is Discord, not FaceTime’” Timestamp - 0:40

“within this truth a question stands, is the pee sauna ever close?”. [“Pee Sauna”was uploaded about a week afterwards] Timestamp - 0:40

3) Our Fans Try to Scare Us with Their Homemade Creepypasta

“What will happen if the clock stops”

“Could I find a way to keep it going?”

“If neither hand is right, what deals are left?”

“Who is the master of the clock?” (all around 8:44)

4) Learning to Cry on Command to Increase Our Youtube Views

“remember the key, the incompletion of a logolept’s corrective action” [a logolept is “a person who takes a keen interest in words”. Marcus is likely referring to himself.] Timestamp - 1:49

“the long wait ends with twenty four more for a path of destiny chosen before”[“Pee Sauna” was uploaded the day after] (closely after the last code)

5) Becoming One With the Horse

“They heard me, I knew it could work!” (timestamp currently unknown; to be updated)

Around this time, NerdFiction’s Twitter bio said, among his normal information, that he was “trying to stop the Unus Annus clock from within.” 

6) Preparing a 5-Star Meal for Our Youtube Famous Dogs

“I couldn’t stop it. Will I die with the machine?” (Timestamp - 21:33)

7) Does This Magnetic Skincare Routine Really Work?

“freed or so I thought. Another layer, but still the clock.” (Timestamp - 9:45)

“The Beginning of The End”. 

On July 26th, at 12pm PST, a video was uploaded to Unus Annus titled “Traversing the Desert to Find Our Inner Truth”. This video was only up for a few minutes before it mysteriously disappeared, only to be replaced by another video, titled “The Beginning of The End”. At first glance, the videos were identical, save for different titles and slightly different descriptions. However, the second video was slightly longer than the first, and upon further inspection, many came to realize that the audio was slightly different as well. You can listen to both audios here. There was a rumor going around that the captions of “Traversing the Desert to Find Our Inner Truth” said something about looking out for Norbert Moses, but no one has been able to confirm this to my knowledge. 

8) Puberty Simulator

“Happy birthday to the beast or to the body that once housed me. A transfer made for pity’s sake. Tricked into the machine as he had my cake.” (Timestamp - 14:36) [The same code was found a week earlier in “Mark and Ethan Shave Chica”, uploaded on NerdFiction’s birthday. The original code was very difficult to make out, so it is likely he inserted it into a different video to make it easier for us.]

On the same day, NerdFiction’s Twitter bio read “Everyone must leave something behind when he dies. Memento Memoriae” (remember memory)

In “The Koala Challenge: TikTok’s Intimate Couple’s Trend” one of the clips is edited to look like a TikTok video, with the user ron_somberest being used. Ron_Somberest is an anagram for Norbert Moses. This TikTok account does actually exist, and the icon is a zoomed in and brightened photo of Norbert Moses’s face with the eyes scribbled out. 

Around this time NerdFiction’s Twitter bio read “’It’s not dark, never was’ - Ron Bestsmore”. Ron Bestsmore is also an anagram for Norbert Moses. It is possible that the “dark” being referred to here is Darkiplier, and NerdFiction is trying to imply that Dark is not involved in this. 

About a week after the koala challenge video was “How to Start a Fire (except don’t)”, which featured an appearance from Unus. NerdFiction’s Twitter bio read “In the end, who is your savior and what are they saving you from?” 

Things were quiet for about a month. NerdFiction eventually erased the cryptic message from his Twitter bio. 

9) Learning To Use The Force

“wait no something is wrong. he knows!” (Timestamp - 10:45) [translated from small coded words hidden in the montage]

“STOPTHISWHATAREYOUDOINGO3″ (Timestamp - 11:40)

“it worked” (a spectrogram, derived from a sound played at the end of the video)

10) Momiplier Tells Us True Scary Stories from Korea

“As I was, as I’ve done to him now. Am I right to decide his fate?” (Timestamp - 5:44) [Right before this, Mark’s mom is talking about a nightmare she had where she was paralyzed, possibly implying that nerdfiction was once paralyzed and has now paralyzed someone else (pointed out by @/minervas-sandwich)]

11) Cryptid Olympics

“I thought you’d join us but, hey, that was just a theory, Memento Doctrina” (remember learning). (Timestamp - 5:49) [The code references the Game Theorists channel, which had uploaded a video about Unus Annus earlier that same day.]

- From here on, every video has had some sort of code -

12) Edward Pumpkin Hands - This was the first coded video not edited by NerdFiction, instead being edited by Diceroll.

At various points throughout the video small parts of a url are seen. When pieced together, this link is made: https://imgur.com/a/tyDewJ7. It leads to a photo of the Unus Annus hourglass. When edited, a series of binary text is shown, which translates to “zhIaNL2“. Inputting this into another imgur link gets you to https://imgur.com/a/zhIaNL2. After editing the photo (although you can still sorta see it without doing so), a cipher of a custom alphabet is shown (I posted an edited photo here).

At 5:01 in the video a weird image is shown for only a moment (a slightly brightened version of it here). Nobody knows what the hell it means.

At the same time, there is a reversed audio of someone (presumably Ethan; it sounds like him) saying “we did that”. For context, the sentence said right before that line was “if one of us dies, the other has to take over for the remainder of time”. This is possibly implying that someone, or multiple someones, has/have died and been replaced.

13) Blood Bath - edited by rad_r

“Everything’s fine”

The Unus Annus timer is shown. It counts down for three seconds before counting up for one second. Heavy breathing can be heard over it. It is then cancelled by an error message

“ITS NOT FINE HELP” (this and the previous two messages are hidden at 5:57)

“you’ve done it now.. a machine observed. there is no returning.. a machine unnerved. there is only.. a machine unconqured.” (right at the end of the video, before the timer)

14) The Unus Annus Annual Costume Contest - edited by nerdfiction

“I saw just one door in a hall filled with many, I locked your gate but they were too late to join me. He was re-placed, she was undone, I had escaped yet he had still won”. (Timestamp - 2:05) [possibly talking about diceroll and rad_r. The pronouns would line up, and it would make sense with those two now having edited coded videos.]

15) Ethan Turns Mark Into a Werewolf - edited by rad_r

“futility or farewell? only time time time.” (timestamp - 7:17)

16) Ethan Kidnapped Mark - edited by Diceroll

Two spectrograms are shown in this video; one at 14:08 and one at 17:38. Combined, they create an imgur link: https://imgur.com/a/gKB62sv

The imgur link shows a photo of a key. On the key is a code translating to “stop the clock”

At the end of the video before the timer is a set of text in the custom alphabet previously mentioned. Translated and decoded it translates to “I can hear it coming theres not much time left the ones that tried to stop it have had their hearts cleft it is now your turn to put this loop to rest take us out of here and show us a new nest”

17) Being Brutally Honest with Each Other

“It is alive, no longer living / misunderstood beats unforgiving / escaped that fate but lost the tale / does a hope yet remain or just one final nail?” (Timestamp - 26:03)

18) Recreating Every Single Unus Annus Video

“The bottom of the spiral” (timestamp - 10:55)

19) “All Our Video Ideas That Never Happened”

“Be careful for what you wish for” (taken from two different codes)

*20) The Unus Annus Last Supper + Who’s Cutting Onions In Here??? - both edited by rad_r

“We’ve asked... we’ve tried... is there no way to stop the end? To those who aren’t deterred: how much will you sacrifice to ascend?” (A quotefall puzzle, split into 2 parts)

21) Everything’s Legal If You’re Dead

Norbert Moses is mentioned at 10:50. Look closely, his name is only there for a couple frames.

These have been the only codes I’m aware of as of 11/11/20. 

(be sure to check out @gemstone6’s list as well!!)

Link to my Unus Annus theory

[marcholasmoth]

MOTH. I am sorry for calling you Marrrchhhh all this time lol. I just really looked at your profile for the first time 😂 I don’t pay attention to them for some reason (and then I fail with their pronouns 😢) butttt. Anywayssss.

I wanted to say I love that out of everyone I’ve followed so far, you’re literally the only one that has a day by day post, it’s in the 3000s for crying out loud.

That’s very unique and cool to me.

Also, wanted to know how you’ve beeeeeeen. Hope you’re doing well my friend, Moth. ❤️

i just want you to know how much i adore you. march, moth, manejando, i don't care what you call me. i'm just happy you call me your friend 🥹 💚💛

i started my daily posts over eight years ago bc i was redoing my room and i wanted to keep track of the progress i made each day, and it morphed into a journal entry not long after that. it's been a long process. haven't missed a day, either.

lately, honestly, i've been okay. my hand is obnoxious in that i can't use my pinky or my ring finger, which sucks because those are my most used fingers on the keyboard besides my middle finger, so typing is hard. my fingers are stiff, too, so it takes like twenty minutes of trying to get blood flow back in there to even try to use it. and then it doesn't go in the right places. i grossly overestimated the strength i'd have left in my hand by the time it was out of its brace.

and i have a lot of work to do, so the "can't type" thing is really annoying. the end of the quarter is fast approaching, and my time is taken up significantly by what other people (aka my mother) want me to do for them. which is a pain, literally and figuratively, because even though my hand dun be broke, i'm still the strongest person in the house. how fucked is that?

oh well. i'm here, i'm queer, and i'm full of existential fear. and stress. lmao

[ezrasarm]

Roommates Part 3: KO

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Word count: 2k

Warnings: drunk reader, Santiago is a bad influence, drink responsibly kids! That’s all I think?

A/N: I know it’s been a long wait but the next part is finally here! Thank you for your patience and I hope you enjoy it!

<– previous chapter | Roommates | next chapter –>

Frankie had been gone for a while. He had excused himself to go to the bathroom almost twenty minutes ago and Benny was bound to go on soon. You didn’t want him to miss the fight and get in trouble is what you’d excused the nag in your gut urging you to seek him out as when you were about to go looking for him. You knew he would get an earful if he missed even a second because you were the one in the hot seat last time when you missed a whole fight after being called into work last minute. 

Pope seemed to find you first, shoving a drink in your hand as you peered over his shoulder, expecting Frankie to be close in tow. “You don’t have to sound quite so disappointed you got me instead.” Santiago teased you when you not so subtly asked where he was.

“You know that’s not what I meant.” You assured him with a roll of your eyes, giving him a nudge to the shoulder and a thank you for the drink. But if you were being honest, you’d been with Pope all day and had hardly seen Frankie all week. You were beginning to wonder if something was wrong. “He’s right over there. Ran into an old high school classmate and they’re catching up by the bar.” Santiago said with a directed nod of his head and you followed his line of sight over to where you could see the familiar silhouette, corduroy jacket and baseball cap and all, stooped a little with his arms folded over his chest and talking to some woman you’d never seen before. 

You weren’t sure what the feeling that twisted in your stomach was or why it decided to rear its head right now but you found yourself feeling slightly defensive when you turned back to Santiago with eyebrows raised. For some reason, you hadn’t been expecting a she and you couldn’t tell why that threw you off so much. Frankie could talk to whoever he pleased, it was none of your business but you still found yourself downing just about half your drink in one go to try and drown whatever feeling it was that had begun growing in your belly.

“That was fast.” Santiago remarked, giving you a skeptical look as he glanced between you and the almost empty cup in your hand, “You alright?” He asked.

“Yeah, fine! It’s just been a while since I let loose. Thought I might let myself have some fun tonight.” You shrugged.

He glanced back up in Frankie’s direction and eyed you for a second, taking a moment to consider it, “Can’t argue with that,” he nodded before downing his own drink as though it were a challenge. 

You had lost track of how many beers you and Santiago had snuck behind Will’s back who was too busy to play baby sitter tonight as he usually did. Drinking with him had certainly done its job to distract you. You had almost forgotten all about the fact that your best friend had decided to spend the evening talking to some stranger instead of you. God what had gotten into you? You were not the jealous type and you didn’t like how it felt-

Thud.

You didn’t have time to consider that thought any further before you had run straight into the man of the hour himself on your way back from the bar.

“Shit, sorry- Oh hey!” You exclaimed, having miraculously avoiding throwing your drinks all over both of you with those dumb plastic cups they gave you here.

“Woah, you alright there?” Frankie asks, throwing an arm out to stabilize you. “I swear, I left you alone for ten min- okay an hour and a half and- how many of those have you had?” He asks, noticing the slight wobble to your balance and slur to your speech as you introduced yourself and shook the hand of the woman he had been talking to.

“Uhhh good question,” you ponder for a moment before shrugging “Santi and I found out that if you’re a girl alone at an MMA fight you can get a lot of free drinks so we’ve made it our mission to find out exactly how many.” You explain, shooting a wink and a slight salute over to Pope who was still standing, waiting by your seats.

“And have you gotten an answer yet?” Frankie asks, slightly amused but also positive that he would be making sure this was your last drink of the night when you stumbled slightly over nothing and he had to wrap an arm around you for support.

“It appears there is no limit.” You say proudly, missing the fond look in his eye when he shakes his head with a soft and slightly disbelieving smile.

“Cheryl, this is my uh, roommate.” Frankie says gesturing towards you.

“What, are you embarrassed of me or something’? I’d say we’re a little bit more than that.” You interject. You had meant friends but from the look on her face she appeared to have taken it another way and for some reason or another you felt no need to correct her.

“Oh well uh, it’s nice to meet you.” She says politely although clearly thrown slightly by your quite obvious inebriation. 

“Nice to meet you too, Carol!” You declare happily and you mean it, it’s interesting to see the kinds of people Frankie went to high school with but you really weren’t in much state to be particularly conversational at the moment.

“From Red Feather Lakes, Colorado, standing six foot three, weighing in at a hundred and ninety five pounds, I bring you… Ben Miller!” The announcer blares over the booming speakers, pulling you from your conversation. You and Frankie are quick to give Benny your support, you perhaps a little more enthusiastically in your less inhibited state as he and Will walked into the arena and the crowd roared to life.

“Well we should get back. I’ll never hear the end of it if I miss any of this and I’ve gotta make sure these two don’t get into any more trouble,” Frankie explains, “But it was nice catching up with you.” He says and Carol- Cheryl? One of those- nods.

“Yeah, I hope to see you around again sometime.” She says. She’s hardly turned to walk away before you’re wiggling your eyebrows suggestively at Frankie on your way over to Pope and Will.

“You realize she was hitting on you, right?” You asked when Frankie turned back to you, a teasing smile on your lips despite the rising feeling of inadequacy you felt from having stood within a two-meter radius of the gorgeous woman. 

“What? No! She was just-” Frankie cuts himself off after considering it for a moment. “...huh.” He says, eyebrows rising in slight surprise when he looks over his shoulder at the woman who he had already lost in the throngs of people. “I’m sure she was just being polite.”

“You’re too hard on yourself! She was checking you out!” You exclaim defensively, more for his own self esteem than anything else.

“...Me?” He gives you a skeptical look. 

“Yeah, why not you? You’ve got this sort of je ne ce quoi about you. The ladies dig it.” You say with a goofy grin and Frankie can’t help but burst out laughing. 

“That so? What about you?” He asks. For a millisecond your heart stops in your chest. Could he read your mind? Did he know about the thoughts that had just slipped to the forefront? The jealousy? The little bit of longing? It was the alcohol talking you were sure. You would never want to jeopardize your friendship by allowing yourself to picture him as anything more than that but for a flash of a second it hadn’t seemed like such a bad idea.

“Oh, I dig it too.” You say, nudging him in the gut teasingly. What you didn’t see was the way Frankie’s breath had hitched at the slightest inkling of you expressing interest in him, even if he knew you were just joking around. “I bet if you asked you could get her number.” You say and he’s snapped quite violently out of his trance. 

He didn’t want her number. He wanted you.

“Nah, she’s not really my type.” Is the response he settles for, his attention resettling on the fight in an attempt to drown out the feeling of disappointment he wasn’t sure he knew how to hide. He knew it wasn’t fair on you but the slightest hint of jealousy might have been nice to hear and instead you were giving him a rousing endorsement to go after someone he didn’t even like all that much.

“Are you kidding? Pardon the pun, but she was a knockout!” You exclaim just in time to watch Benny take a rather jarring blow to the jaw.

“Meh,” Frankie shrugs and you can’t help the yelp of surprise that escapes you.

“If she’s ‘meh’ then what am I?” You exclaim and Frankie’s jaw just about hits the ground at the fact that you could even think to ask him such a question. You were just about perfect to him in every way imaginable.

He doesn’t get the chance to tell you when the crowd roars to life as Benny finds himself making a comeback and you’re practically jumping out of your seat to bolster your support for your friend.

“You should go get her number.” You suggest when you sit back down, a little confused as to why. Perhaps you were overcompensating for your wave of jealousy earlier but there was still something in you screaming for you to stop acting like you were so okay with it. Because if the way you had reacted earlier and your current state of inebriation was any inclination, you clearly weren’t, but your mind was in no place to put those pieces together at the moment.

“Why is everyone trying to set me up all of a sudden?” Frankie scoffs playfully trying to shrug off your suggestion. “First Pope, now you,” He stops himself hoping you haven’t realized he’s probably said too much.

“Who was Santiago trying to set you up with?” You ask. Just the question he didn’t want to answer, especially not right now, not like this. He’s quite literally saved by the bell announcing the end of the match and when you look up Benny’s opponent is unconscious in front of him. A KO and you’d both missed it. You wouldn’t be getting out of that one too easily. You’re whisked away in post win festivities before you can even think to get an answer from Frankie.

He thinks you’ve forgotten about the conversation completely until he’s gotten you and Pope both wrangled into the car on your way back to the apartment and you pipe up from where he thought you had passed out the moment he had you strapped in. 

“So what’s Francisco Morales’ type?” you ask groggily, clearly not ready to give him a break yet and he laughs as he peers into the rearview to make sure Pope is still asleep before he even considers giving you an answer. 

“What makes you think I have a type?” He counters fruitlessly in hopes that he can at least attempt finding a suitable answer.

“Well you said Carol-”

“Cheryl-”

“-wasn’t your type so I’m assuming that means you have a type.” You prod him, your eyes still shut as you leaned back in the passenger seat.

“Well… I’d say my type would be someone who is smart, funny, supportive, all those wonderful things,” He explains, feeling a little more at ease when he looks over to see your breaths have shallowed slightly and your head has lulled against the window. “Has a good sense of humour, makes me smile, is fiercely loyal to her friends,” he goes on, “can be a complete dork if she wants to be, has no idea how beautiful she is,” he adds “and has me completely and utterly wrapped around her finger.” He mutters to himself when he looks back up at the road with a sigh.

<– previous chapter | Roommates | next chapter –>

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[wingsofanillyrian]

Lights Over Monaco: Chapter 1

ITS HERE! I plan on updating this weekly/biweekly, based on how busy I am. Let me know if you wanna be added to the tag list! 

Special thank you to my new F1 friend for inspiring this fic as well as being my beta reader, @acourtofcouture​ ! F1 fans out there, her fics are AMAZING

Chapter Masterlist

F1 Glossary

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

Nesta Archeron discovered Formula 1 when she was 9 years old. She woke before the sun one Sunday morning, quietly excited to have the television all to herself and watch whatever cartoons she wanted. But she couldn’t remember what channel they were on, instead flipping through the programs. She had almost given up when she stumbled across a race.

The moment she had seen the brightly colored open-wheeled cars flash across the screen, she paused. For whatever reason, the high pitched wasp-like scream of the twelve cylinder engines and the astonishing speed that the drivers were travelling enthralled young Nesta. She didn’t look away once for the rest of the race, or even for the post-race interviews and wrap up that most adults skipped. Something about it had her adrenaline pumping.

Nesta traded her dolls for matchbox cars, and when she grew older, picked up racing magazines instead of teen ones. Ever since that day, Formula 1 consumed her. No matter how the other kids or her two younger sisters teased her for it, her love for the sport never tarnished. 

She spent years getting up at 2 am to watch live races that were being held halfway around the world. Instead of going to her senior prom, Nesta stayed home and layed out her predictions for the season’s drivers and constructors championships. She didn’t know how to do anything half-ass. She poured her whole heart into the sport and devoted her life to it.

**********

Nesta spent her 24th birthday working. It wasn’t like she could request the day off, not that it mattered. The racetrack at Monaco was exactly where she would have been anyway, working or not.

A press pass got her through the first security checkpoint. The team tents loomed ahead as she waited for personnel to cross the unstriped asphalt, inching her car carefully through the throngs of people. She rolled her window down, soaking in the sound of air tools and snippets of conversations. 

Street tracks like Monaco were her favorite. They required drivers to push themselves with plenty of technical corners and dramatic incidents. There was less room for error, as the tracks themselves were not as wide. Drivers had to know their limits and follow the racing line closely.

Race tracks were Nesta’s comfort zone. She knew each track on the calendar like the back of her hand. Every turn was permanently etched in her mind like words on a tombstone. Race weekends followed a set schedule, something that she could appreciate. Friday: practice laps. Saturday: more practice, followed by qualifying, where each driver got the chance to set the fastest lap and secure a spot in the starting line up for the main event on Sunday.

Before she had graduated college, Nesta had managed to fully entrench herself in the world of Formula 1. Securing an internship at ESPN her sophomore year, she had made herself indispensable to the crusty old man that had been the senior track side reporter for decades. She studied everything he did and the questions he asked each driver, noting what changes she would have made. Somehow, he came to admire her spirit and taught her the tricks of the trade.

When he retired the year after Nesta graduated, he went to the board of directors and personally recommended her to fill his spot. She waited two agonizing days for their decision. 

Using whatever means necessary, Nesta had clawed her way to the top and cemented her reputation as the most cutthroat reporter in the industry. Her goal had been for everyone in motorsport to know her name, and in only two years, she had done so. Better yet, she had caught the eye of one of the fastest drivers on the grid.

Her phone rang just as she pulled into the press parking area. She answered, not bothering to check the caller ID. “Hello?”

Tomas’ velvety voice thundered through the speakers of her Civic. “Hey baby. You here yet?”

“Just pulled in,” She replied, touching up her makeup in the rearview. 

“Right on time for a quickie. Meet me at my trailer in five.”

Tomas had already hung up before she had the chance to protest. Both their reputations hinged on their relationship staying secret. If the press caught wind that she was fucking a driver, her credibility would go out the window, and Tomas would be the laughing stock of the grid. So sneaking into his trailer wasn’t exactly the type of discreet she was aiming for.

Tomas Mandray had been racing for Red Bull for two years when she had scored her first exclusive interview with him. He had just been awarded pole position at the Spanish Grand Prix in Barcelona, and Nesta had sweet talked her way into the paddock. It had taken minutes for his charming blue eyes to enchant her. He had won that race, and taken her to bed straight after. 

The sex was great, but that’s all it ever was. Their relationship was purely based on the physical; nothing emotional on either end. They had agreed on that from the start. Just sex.

Unfortunately for Nesta, somewhere along the way it had become something more.

Sighing, she put on her oversized sunglasses and hid her tawny hair under a gauzy scarf. The fashion wouldn’t stand out at all amongst the celebrities that frequented the Monaco Grand Prix. Going over the top here was expected; Monaco was known for its money. Due to the lack of income tax, Monaco was a haven for white collar delinquents and royalty alike. Lamborghini’s and Ferrari’s were commonplace, and women wore rings that could set a jewel thief up for life. 

No one bothered her as she strode towards the pit checkpoint, flashing her press badge to get by. She fell into her usual cadence, exuding an air of importance and invincibility. Seemingly without realizing, people moved out of her way when they saw her coming. The navy, red, and yellow of the Redbull tent came into view, and Nesta inserted herself into the crowd of mechanics and VIPs to get past security. Press wasn’t allowed in the area until after the race.

Nesta broke away once inside, heading down a back corridor. She knew the layout by heart, having walked the path many times. The door at the end of the hall led outside to Tomas’ private trailer. She didn’t bother to knock before entering. Tomas would already be waiting for her.

He set down his phone as she entered. “Finally,” He said with a savage grin. “We only have a few minutes.”

****************

Tomas left as soon as he finished, donning his jumpsuit without so much as a kiss goodbye. Utterly used to the behavior, Nesta straightened her clothes and again touched up her makeup before heading back out.

She was scheduled to conduct a pre-race interview with Cassian Valle in the Mercedes tent in twenty minutes. Redbull and Mercedes were at opposite ends of the pit, giving her plenty of time to think.

Truthfully, Nesta was dreading the interaction. Cassian was an arrogant ass. She couldn’t stand interviewing him; all he did was skirt around questions and try to flirt, which made it incredibly difficult to get any headline-worthy tidbits from him.

Azriel Sainz, Cassian’s teammate at Mercedes, was much more amiable. He was mostly forgettable and quiet, but always gave her something to work with and was sometimes downright pleasant to talk to. She could understand why the public loved him, but not why they were so enamored with Cassian. Sure, he was a three time world champion, and that earned him plenty of fans, but he was just so… dreadful.

She made it to the Mercedes pit just minutes before the scheduled time, immediately spotting her tense cameraman, Jacob. Slim built, he was average looking, nothing special. He was sweet though, if not a bit of a pushover.

“Where the hell have you been?” He hissed, chocolate brown eyes wide. “Valle is waiting.”

Nesta rolled her eyes, handing Jacob her sunglasses and the scarf. “I’m here now, aren’t I? Not my fault if he was early.” Nesta accepted her microphone and rolled her shoulders. “Let’s get this over with then.”

“Happy birthday by the way,” Jacob added. Yes, there was the pushover side shining through. 

Nesta threw a grin at him over her shoulder. “Thanks.”

Cassian’s back was to her as she approached, his white Mercedes jumpsuit half on, the arms of it cinched around his waist. The crisp gray shirt he wore left little to the imagination, hugging his sculpted form. Good; at least that would capture the attention of any women that might be watching. As would the deep brown curl that fell in his face when he turned to her.

“If it isn’t my very favorite reporter,” He crooned, a grin plastered on his face. “Took you long enough to get here. I also hear it’s your birthday.” Nesta glared at Jacob. He shrank under her steely look, an apology stumbling from his lips.

“I would give you a birthday kiss, but I think you’d knock me out if I offered.”

Nesta pointedly ignored him, “Let’s just get on with it,” She said, motioning to Jacob to start recording. Once he signaled he was ready, Nesta breathed deep, the sweet scent of high octane fuel assaulting her senses. It steadied her, and she slipped into her professional mask before turning to the camera.

“As we all know, the Monaco Grand Prix offers drivers a unique set of challenges. The two-mile street course has 19 technical corners with little room for error. It is in Monaco that we get to see who has what it takes to be a Formula 1 champion.” She turned to Cassian, gave him a professional smile and continued.

“Last year, you had a puncture at turn seven when you ran over some debris. Coupled with the fumble the pit crew had with not having your tires ready when you came into the pit, you finished a disappointing 12th place, winning you no points in the driver’s championship. Do you expect that this year will be better, or will you stick to your usual aggressive driving style?”

Cassian laughed, running a hand through his unbound curls. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ll be changing anything. You can expect to see me on the podium, sweetheart. Most likely in first.”

Nesta grit her teeth. She couldn’t air that, and he knew it. “How about you answer the question without trying to piss me off?”

“It’s too easy,” Cassian said, that devilish grin returning. Nesta cut him a glare that simmered with violence. “Alright fine,” He relented, putting his hands up. “Go again.”

She repeated her question, and this time he answered, “I don’t really see any need to change my driving style, what happened last year was a fluke. I went wide on the turn and didn’t notice Vanserra's front wing until the last second and wasn’t able to change course.” Nesta nodded, encouraging him to go on. “I don't see myself making any mistakes like that this year. You can expect to see me on the podium, most likely in first.”

“Thank you for that Cassian. Good luck on the track today.”

“Thank you,” He said, waving at the camera. He paused before adding, “Though I won’t need luck.”

Nesta rolled her eyes and signaled for Jacob to cut the recording. At least that last bit could be edited out. “You are absolutely insufferable, you know that?”

Cassian shrugged, undoing the arms of his fire suit and slipping into them. “I do my best.” He winked at her before zipping up his suit, opening his mouth to say something else when the Mercedes team principal, Rhysand, barked at him to get his ass in gear. He gave Nesta a wordless salute before jogging off.

“I don’t know how you do it,” Jacob said, packing up his camera. “That guy has balls.”

“He’s a Formula 1 driver,” Nesta said simply, putting her sunglasses back on. “Of course he does.”

**********

Nesta watched the 78 lap race from the press box, silently cheering Tomas on. Each time the pack of cars passed, the windows rattled, doing little to muffle the engine noise. She chatted with the others as necessary, keeping one eye on the tarmac below. Tomas had started from pole position, and held onto first place until the final 10 laps. He had attempted to lap an AlphaTauri driver when the driver had failed to yield, violating FIA regulations. The two had bumped tires in what was ruled a racing incident, but Nesta knew better. Tomas had lost his cool and nudged the other driver on purpose, nearly sending him into the wall. 

It was a bad call on Tomas’ part, as the comfortable four second lead he had held over second place shattered. Nesta swore under her breath as Cassian overtook Tomas, her heart dropping when the other Mercedes driver, Azriel, did the same. Tomas would not be happy about that. 

When the checkered flag waved, Cassian was first, Azriel second, and Tomas third.  The winners parked before the podium, anger radiating from Tomas as he tore his helmet off. Tamlin, the Redbull team principal, said something to Tomas that had his cheeks burning red. 

Nesta grabbed Jacob and headed for the press room. They had a half hour tops before the post-race interviews started, and Nesta had to make sure she was front row. Though it didn’t matter where she sat; she always made sure her questions were answered.

It was more so for Tomas. She wanted him to see her, to see the understanding on her face and know she supported him even when he didn't win.

They were first to the press room, and Nesta had ample time to prepare questions. She couldn’t question Tomas, or she risked uncapping his rage. Instead, she jotted down a question she knew would shift the focus from Tomas to the Mercedes drivers.

Reporters began filing in, vying for the perfect spot and debating the race results with one another. Nesta remained in her seat, determined to maintain her composure as her stomach churned. Tomas finally entered, jaw set as he took his place on the stage. Nesta tried to subtly catch his eye, but he pointedly avoided looking at her. 

Cassian and Azriel entered, laughing and congratulating each other. Nesta noted the slight change in Tomas’ posture, the only hint of the blood boiling beneath his skin. Cameras flashed, reporters shouted, but still Nesta remained seated. Cassian, at least, sought her out in the crowd, and flashed her an ‘I-told-you-so’ grin when he found her. Once the clamor had died down, Nesta stood. The room quieted further, the others having learned not to talk over her if they valued their jobs. Nesta had a knack for digging up dirt on anyone she pleased.

Her eyes were still locked on Cassian as the moderator indicated she could ask her question. 

“Azriel,” She started, turning to the dark haired man, “You were lucky you were able to take second in this race, after the incident in turn twelve on lap 27 when you sustained heavy damage to your front wing, thanks to the actions of your teammate. Does it ever get under your skin that Valle’s overly-aggressive driving threatens your own position in the championship?”

The room was silent. Tomas hid his grin behind a well-manicured hand. Cassian’s eyes narrowed, a muscle in his jaw fluttering. Good; she had hit a nerve. Azriel shrugged, crossing his arms. 

“It was a racing incident. Could have happened to anyone. I don’t think the blame lays entirely with Cassian; I could have given him more room on the corner.”

And that was that. Nesta didn’t ask any more questions, but she could feel Cassian glaring at her throughout. At the end of the interview, all three drivers thanked everyone before leaving.

As Nesta made her way back to her car, she texted Tomas.

You okay?

Her heart pounded as she waited for the reply. Her phone buzzed minutes later.

I’ll be home late. Party at the Redbull house.

Oh. Okay. See you later then.

“Happy birthday to me,” She muttered, stuffing the phone in her pocket.

Nesta wasn’t sure why his reply stung, but it cut deep. She had hoped that he would want to see her instead of going to another party and spend time with her on her birthday. Instead, he would probably stick his tongue down another woman’s throat like usual. She couldn’t really blame him. Their relationship had to remain secret and to do so, Tomas had to maintain his playboy aura. It wasn’t really cheating if she had agreed to it.

But if that were true, why did it hurt so fucking bad when he did?

Some of her tension eased when she finally spied her car in the lot. The Blue Bullet, she had nicknamed it, due to the strikingly bright paint. It was the first purchase she had made upon being promoted, and it had since become her pride and joy. She had chosen it because it set lap records left and right when it had hit the market a few years back, and she had craved speed her whole life. On city streets, this car was the closest she could get to experiencing Formula 1 without completely breaking the bank.

“How about you don’t ask stupid fucking questions next time your prettyboy loses?”

Nesta’s breath hitched. Your prettyboy. The accusation was clear. Her hand slipped from the door handle, turning towards the voice. If he knew… If he knew about her and Tomas, they were done for. She willed her voice into solid steel.

“Cassian. I would advise you to choose your next words wisely.”

He placed a hand on her Civic, getting in her face. “Racing means you have racing incidents. I don’t expect you to understand, seeing as you’ve never been behind the wheel of a real race car.” He sneered at her car, the insult striking home.

Fear faded, replaced by a rising wave of scarlett rage. Nesta’s gaze stuck to where his hand lay on the bright blue paint, utterly vexed by the infringement. She bared her teeth at him, rising to the challenge in Cassian’s flaming hazel eyes. 

“Get. Off.”

Cassian started at the command in her tone and obeyed. He opened his mouth, but she cut him off. “Understanding the nuances of Formula 1 is my job description. I asked about that incident because I knew it would piss you off. Looks like I was right huh?” Her temper was getting the better of her. “And by the way, would it kill you to give me a decent quote once in a while, instead of always trying to get in my pants?”

“I do not-”

“Oh go fuck yourself,” Nesta scoffed, yanking the door open. 

The corners of his mouth twitched upward as she slammed the car door. “I was already planning on it.”

Those parting words haunted her drive home, even as she took the long way in hopes of blowing off steam. She shifted through the gears, throwing the Civic around corners much faster than was probably safe. Nesta didn’t care; her head was a mess. At least he hadn’t mentioned anything more about Tomas. Maybe Cassian had just thought she had a crush, based on the way she had been looking at him during the conference. Gods, she couldn’t get Cassian out of her head. 

His grin followed her up the stairs to her apartment, where she snapped the curtains shut. She couldn’t bear to look out over the track any longer today. 

Those words echoed in her head as she brushed her teeth and crawled into bed alone. Swam through her thoughts of Tomas, as she struggled to keep her eyes open when the clock showed 1 am. As she finally gave in, they were her last thought. 

I was already planning on it. 

@aphoeni @planet-faerie  @nina-zcnik @linsimin @that-little-red-head @teagoddess99 @enpointe10 @electronicstrawberrystrawberry @awesomelena555 @iptneus @weesablackbeak @wonderland--memories @nessian-trash-heap @magicalwaterfall @perfectlyimpxrfect @cassians-wings @valkyrie-archeron @acourtofcouture @nesemryn @chloepereyra @illyrianshadowhunter​ 

[akaashisupremacy]

How to Find Love

Summary: Iwaizumi is on a quest to find love with an old friend. What can he do to get there?

Iwaizumi x fem!reader/Oc || Read it on A03

Genre : romance, friends to lovers

Hajime Iwaizumi ran into the cafe, eyes wide and panicky. “I’m already twenty minutes late for the date.”

As he composed himself before he entered the place, he took a deep breath. He was determined to enjoy this date because it might be their last. Hiromi had never taken lateness kindly.

“Gomen, the meeting ran longer than expected,“ he said, nodding his head into a bow, too embarrassed to meet her eyes, “I’m so sorry.”

She looked up from her books with a weary smile. Beside her was a pile of four or five books, some of which were beginning to yellow, meticulously tabbed with colorful post-its.

“You still made it,” she said, closing her book “I usually walk out if my date was a full hour late.”

It was a Thursday. She had an afternoon at the library while he had an early off (if it wasn’t for his work meeting). Neither of them worked traditional 9 to5 jobs. He began to wonder if seeing each other would be easier if they did. Iwa was leaving on a Friday for Osaka for the rest of the weekend. He was a physical trainer for a professional volleyball team, which meant that he travelled with them during their season.

They called for a menu and began to order what would be their dinner.

“How’s work?” he asked, surveying her through the menu.

“It’s a lot of reading,” she gestured towards her stack of books, “But we’re at the beginning of a new research-heavy campaign so it’s normal. How about you?"

“Mmm…it’s still the start of the season so most of the team is quite healthy. Some of them are a little excited so we’re just trying to reign them in to keep them from straining themselves.” he said, thumbing through the pages.

He had settled for a hamburg curry rice while she had gone for a bowl of tuna pasta. She looked distracted.

“What’s up?” he asked, leaning into the table now that the niceties were done with.

“I like my job. I like my team. But why do I feel like I’m just grinding day in and day out." she sighed, resting her chin on her books, “There’s got to be more in adult life than this."

“You’ve got to find the reason out on your own because your employer won’t do it for you. Not that I’m qualified to give advice or anything.” he said, looking up from his drink.

“I know,” she murmured, her head rested between her folded arms “It’s just so difficult to find the energy for it sometimes.”

Iwaizumi nodded. He knew what she meant. No one job could fulfill all his desires for accomplishment. He liked his job, but it wasn’t a perfect job. He wished that he didn’t need to spend so many weekends away from home.

Man, this date was sobering.

“You sound burnt out. Maybe take it slower at work?” he quirked his head to match the angle of hers.

“What is it that you want to do that you’re not doing for work?” he asked. Despite less than a year in the workforce, she already looked so glum.

She pulled herself up and swept her books aside, “I don’t know to be honest. Within the next two years, I just want to be published in other big publications. It doesn’t have to be necessarily on food, more like the stuff I write for fun. The stuff I’m willing to freelance while I have a day job, y’know?”

“Like what?”

Their order had arrived. She stabbed her fork into her pasta and gently twirled it around.

“The New York Times has a column called Modern Love where you write a long essay about some type of love. It doesn’t have to be romantic. It can be platonic, familial, or even failed love as long as it is set in modern day. I’ve been meaning to write about my failed relationships.” she said thoughtfully.

Iwa choked on his first spoonful.

“Well, if this doesn’t work out, I can at least write about it. Get three hundred dollars and buy you dinner to thank you for the experience.” she laughed drily.

“Are you always this pessimistic on your first dates?” he coughed, taking a sip of water “Either ways, I’m glad to be of help.”

She perked up a bit and grinned. Her whole face lit up when she smiled. A wave of warmth washed over him.

“Send me a copy when you get published.” he added, “I want to see what you write about me.”

“I’m definitely going to writet that you were late on the first date.” she said without skipping a beat. She was grateful that they had chosen this cafe. There were not too many people even if it was dinner time, yet the ambient noise that filled the air kept their pauses from being too silent.

Iwa stopped eating and squinted his eyes at her, “You are not gonna let me live this down, huh?" She winked at him with a glint in her eye. He smiled in response.

He couldn’t care less about what the New York Times was but she was evidently fascinated by it. He wasn’t going to own up to uncultured swine he was on a first date. He had already been late.

“Anyways tell me more about this Modern Love.” he settled back into his dinner.

She pulled out her phone and began typing, “The Modern Love column came out with questions to help get to know someone. This could be a fun date activity.”

“Sure, you want to give it a go?”

She shoved the phone in his face and scrolled through the questions. “There are three sets of questions. Each set more intimate than the last. You can choose from the first set.”

Iwa lightly held the phone, his fingertips grazing the back of her hand. He chose the first question that caught his eye.

“Number 4. What would constitute a ‘perfect’ day for you?” he read out loud. Hiromi took her phone back and read the question to herself.

“What’s your answer?” she asked.

“I just got back, I hadn’t figured out what a perfect day would be like here.” he shrugged sincerely.

She snorted loudly, “What a cop out answer!”

Iwa looked up and thought for a bit, “A day spent walking around in the city…maybe a day that starts with a morning jog and a hot unrushed breakfast after. Catching up with friends sounds good too.”

Hiromi nodded. She was fully absorbed as he talked. It was like she was going through the scenes of his day in his mind as he described them.

“What about you?” he asked, snapping out of her out of her reverie.

“A day at the market,” she said quietly. ”Any market day is a good day really.”

“To be honest, it doesn’t depend on the activities so much at times. The people you’re with is definitely important. A day at the market can still be terrible with the wrong company.” she added.

“I wasn’t subpar last weekend, was I?” he asked.

“No...you weren’t.” she replied a little more shyly than usual.

They moved onto the next question.

“What roles do love and affection play in your life?” she read out loud, “Doesn’t have to be romantic again.”

Iwaizumi inhaled sharply. That was such a loaded question.

“If you’ll use this for an article and it gets published, you better buy me dinner someplace nice.” he tutted.

“Then make this one good.” she smirked.

Iwaizumi stopped eating for a few minutes to think through the question. Before he answered, he closed his eyes and breathed out slowly.

“It defined my entire career in volleyball. My best friend and I watched a game and we kind of chose to go into the same school team after that because we were both so obsessed with the sport. Our connection was almost telepathic. We barely used signals when it was just the two of us. We basically ran off instinct.” said he softly, his eyes reminiscing a different time.

“Although we went our separate ways after high school, I spent so much time in volleyball that it defined a huge part of who I was too. I mean, if I didn’t play volleyball, I would probably be in another sport, but I’d still think I’d be different, y’know?”

You could tell he was avoiding the word “love.” Iwa was not one to be vulnerable.

“In college when I was in my first serious relationship, it was the type of love that gave me confidence and assurance. But I guess it wasn’t enough…for me to say it deeply impacted my later choices on career and other decisions, unlike volleyball.”

“I can’t help but feel that any defining…relationship I have romantically will be weighed against with my time with volleyball…my first real love…" he tried to laugh it off, but you felt the weight off his words, “And I’ve been lucky enough to have enough love in my life that I don’t need to constantly be in a relationship to feel complete.”

A moment of silence fell in between the two.

“That’s a lot to heap on a relationship.” she whispered in contemplation.

Iwa awkwardly scrambled for damage control, “…no pressure.” was all he managed to say.

“So why try to date? When it’s so tough to find someone who can match up with volleyball?” she asked.

“Companionship?” he shrugged, “It’s still nice to date around.”

“And you’re…nice. I’ve been wanting to date you since we were in college. I’ve liked you for a long time…” his entire face flushed pink.

Her eyes fluttered wide open. Since college? Is he serious?

“Our friends were right,” she said in a hush, “You did have a thing for me. I thought they were just teasing us.”

“You had a boyfriend back then and when you broke up with him, I was seeing someone else.” he exhaled, looking her earnestly in the eye, “Wasn’t it obvious to you?”

Iwaizumi couldn’t tell if Hiromi just didn’t want to speak or was too busy contemplating. She was too stunned to speak.

“It felt like fate seeing you on the plane.”

A million things were going through her mind, she slowly opened her mouth, “Now that we’ve been on two half dates, what’s it like? Is this what you’d thought it would be?”

“College is very different from now, but the short answer is yes.” he nodded, rolling his shoulders back. “Everything just clicks. I’m so comfortable with you. It’s so easy for us to talk. I like you just as much as I did in college…I just really like you. Time hasn’t changed that at all.”

Hiromi looked overwhelmed. She was unable to look him in the eye. She was barely getting to know him romantically and he had long been decided about his feelings for her.

“Do you wanna ask if they sell alcohol here? You look like you need a drink.” he joked. Hiromi didn’t look like she heard him.

"This is so intense for a first date.” she shook her head in what seemed like regret.

“We can stop,” he gently interjected, “We can talk about something else.”

She finally looked up to him and whispered, “Hajime, you’ve just dumped a lot of pressure on me.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to do that,” he smiled apologetically, “Anyways, I’m aware that we’re both at different…stages of attraction. Besides, I think this would be way more awkward if we both were pining.”

“Wouldn’t that be sweeter?” she asked.

“Way too sappy for me.” he waved with his hand. Hiromi let out a small chuckle. Iwa secretly sighed in relief.

——————————————————————————— After dinner, they headed to the arcade to blow off some steam. Iwaizumi offered to carry some of her books to which he somewhat regretted. Her books were like rocks. How the hell was she lugging them on her own in the city?

“I could carry them on my own if it’s too heavy.” she offered.

Iwaizumi looked at her incredulously. She was at least half a foot shorter and much smaller in build. His biceps weren’t going to buck in front of her.

They wandered around the arcade for a bit, unsure what to do first. Iwa silently prayed they didn’t have to do any dancing. Just when they were about to decide on the claw machine, Hiromi pointed towards a small karaoke booth at the corner of her eye.

“Let’s go in there.” she tugged at his jacket.

Iwaizumi flipped through the songs. None of them seemed to be in Japanese. All of them were in English.

“Did you pick up a default english karaoke song?” she asked, browsing through the catalogue. The room was clearly designed for kids. It was so small their knees touched and Iwa could barely sit up without hitting his head on the ceiling.

“Nah,” he shook his head, “I don’t really sing…in English. Any suggestions?”

Hiromi typed in the number of a song.

“I’m about to introduce you to your first usable English karaoke song.” she grinned at him mischievously. Iwa looked at her suspiciously.

The opening notes started to play—some acoustic guitar and a trumpet. The song sounded…Mexican? For the longest time there were no lyrics on the screen. Hiromi swayed to beat as her eyes were glued to the screen. When the song finally began to hit what sounded like the chorus, the music paused for a second.

“TEQUILA!” she yelled into the mic.

Iwaizumi was so startled he jumped up and hit his head on the ceiling. Hiromi was giggling uncontrollably.

“That’s it?!” he exclaimed.

“Yeah,” she laughed, pressing the mic towards him, “You try on the next chorus.”

When the trumpets began playing, Iwa readied himself. The song hits its familiar pause soon enough and he pulls the mic closer to his lips.

“Tequila?” he said tentatively.

“With more conviction, Hajime!” she urged, taking back the mic. On the third chorus, she moved closer to him so they could share the mic.

The music hits its third pause, they looked at each other and yelled, “TEQUILA!”

They both grinned and laughed, almost as if the act of singing about alcohol was like a drink in itself. He could feel her shins pressed against him as she continued to sway for the music. A glint in her eye flickered as she nudged him to dance along with her.

Iwaizumi wasn’t going to refuse. Especially not on their first date. He swayed what he could on the tiny box while the song lasted.

————————————————————————— At the end of the night, they both sat in the train waiting to get off on their respective stops. The carriage shuttled back and forth, pushing and pulling their bodies back and forth into each other.

“Hajime,” she tapped him on his shoulder, “We didn’t finish the last set. Let’s do a quick one before I get off.”

He nodded, “Pick one we can answer with just one word.”

Hiromi swiftly browsed the list, before looking up.

“Finish the sentence, ‘Right now, we are both feeling…’"

Their faces were both so close they could feel the heat of each other’s breath. The back of their hands were touching, but neither dared to reach out or pull away.

“Hopeful.” whispered Hiromi, an evident earnestness in her voice. She was fighting off her shyness just long enough to look him in the eye when she talked.

Iwa smiled, “Smitten.”

Before she could react, the train jolted as it shuffled towards her station.The train stopped at Hiromi’s station and she got up from her seat, taking the books from Iwa’s arms.

He followed her to the exit and watched her as she got off. She gave a small wave from the platform while she watched the doors closed.

Iwa was tempted to press his hands onto the window, unwilling to end their time for the evening. His last sight of her was her smile when the train plunged itself into the night.

“Did he start out his day at the market with a morning jog?” she asked herself, watching the train swiftly pull away.

Iwaizumi took a deep breath. The night had gone differently from how he thought the date would proceed. For one thing, he didn’t expect to confess so early into the relationship.

He took his phone and curiously googled the questions she mentioned.

It turns out the title of the New York Times article was not “Questions to Get to Know Your Date” as Hiromi had led him to believe. Instead, it was titled, “Thirty Six Questions That Lead to Love”.

“Huh,” he said to himself. He shut off the screen to his phone.

36 was too much. In his opinion 3 was enough.

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

This is part 3 of a series on Iwa living in Tokyo after he moves back from California. Comment or message to be added to the taglist. 

Also, I’ve been feeling quite down lately, so say some nice things if you feel like it in the comments 😬✌️

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4

Series taglist: @itstheee-ha-chan

[aworldoffandoms]

Love is a Beautiful Thing - Ethan x F!MC

Authors Note:  HI! I’m back (finally) with another prompt ask fic! I know it’s taken too long for this to happen but my laptop battery decided to shit itself and I needed to send it away to get it fixed and now it’s back and here it is! lol. I’m sorry for my mediocre writing with this one but I hope you enjoy, anyway! I apologise for any spelling, grammar and punctuation mistakes. Prompt is in bold.

AO3 WORK

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC [Nicolette Valentine]

Word Count: 2, 075 (who allows me to write? Oh, me... damnit.)

Prompt: “Not only am I deeply in love with you, you’re my best friend.”

Rating: G

Warnings: Fluff and Ethan and Nic being cute. 

Tag list at the bottom of this post.

Disclaimer: All rights reserved to Pixelberry and all characters belong to them.

*** 

LOVE IS A BEAUTIFUL THING

Ethan knew the exact moment that he fell in love with Nicolette. It was on a Sunday, their first weekend off in two months and Nicolette was staying over, her hair up in a messy bun, red hair slipping out of its hold and framing her face in the most delicate way that made her more ethereal when the sun shone on her hair, making it glow like a warm fire. 

He knew he was in love when she smiles, her cheeks and all of her smattered with freckles that Ethan found himself tracing with his fingers at night, following them like a map as they trailed from her nose, down her cheeks to the lower parts of her chest and shoulders and Ethan marvels each time he gets to see them, touch them...kiss them. 

His chest warms with love when she comes home from grocery shopping in an oversized Columbia University jumper that she got at a conference in her second year of medical school, her Adidas stretch leggings that hugged her legs in the most enticing and her long hair a mess around her shoulders, not caring about her appearance in the slightest. It reiterates how comfortable she was with him. This is Nicolette in her purest form and a smile lifts his lips at the thought that Nicolette, the most gentle, kind-hearted and compassionate woman was able to be herself with him in whatever capacity.

Ethan knew he was in love when he finds Nicolette on his couch, tears tracking down her face and a pile of tissues surrounding her, her eyes glued to the television. One glance at the TV and Ethan realises it’s a Disney movie. He should be amazed and somewhat turned off by the fact that a twenty-eight-year-old cries at a Disney movie but in this particular case, a fond smile raises his lips at the sight even when his heart drops at seeing her crying. He never likes to see her cry. He always admires Nicolette when she doesn’t hide behind a facade of what she should be. If she wants to watch a movie from her childhood then she is going to watch it, if she cries then she’ll do it. She is real. She is her authentic self and Ethan has never been more in love. 

Ethan’s in love when he finds Nicolette, sitting in front of his laptop, researching a case they’ve been trying to diagnose one night, her glasses perched on her face, her nose scrunched up in concentration, the light of the screen emphasising the bags under those beautiful blue eyes. She doesn’t know he’s there, himself tucked behind an alcove out of sight. So now, he just watches her do her thing, sift through notes, type on the keyboard. A silent chuckle escapes him when he sees her tongue poking out of her lips, a sure sign that she was in the deepest trance of her concentration. Nicolette pushes back some of the hair that had fallen in her face and Ethan’s fingers twitch to do the same but he forces himself to resist and stay put. He’s more than content just to watch her. 

It’s then that he really knows it. He could watch her do that for the rest of his life if he wanted to and he’d never get sick of it. Pure happiness and joy settle around him like a warm blanket on a cold night and he sighs at the euphoric feeling. He loves Nicolette and he’ll love her for the rest of his days on this earth. 

“I know you’re there, Ethan so you can come out of your creepy hideaway and come sit with me. I need your brain for a minute.” 

Ethan jolts out of his own trance (or perhaps he should say his Nicolette trance) and pads over to the couch, laughing as he does so. 

“‘You need my brain’? That’s a creative and articulate way of saying you need me.” 

Nicolette glances over to him, giving him a flat look before she smiles and shrugs at his words. “It’s true though, I need you for your brain and nothing else right now.” 

Ethan chuckles, his hand coming up to wrap around the back of her neck as he begins gently kneading it, finding a cord of tension there. Nicolette melts into his touch but her eyes are still focused on the notes in front of her. 

“What a shame. I would have been happy to oblige in whatever else you needed from me.” 

Nicolette scoffs. “Please, Ethan. Maybe go grab some water for yourself because I am sure as hell ain’t thirsty right now. I’m researching this case and I need to study for my boards.” 

Ethan ignores the implication of those words (he did know what it meant, he wasn’t a complete tragic) and focuses on what Nicolette was viewing.

“Practice exam questions for IMCs?” 

Nicolette signs, removing her glasses to rub at her eyes. She had been staring at the laptop screen for too long and they were starting to hurt. She sighs as she puts her glasses back on and turns to her boyfriend. “Yes, they are. It’s the third time I’m going to study it today. Can you please help me through them? I need a sounding board right now. I’m sick and tired of hearing the voice inside my head read questions back at me.” 

Ethan’s eyebrows furrow in concern at the lethargy he can hear in her voice and the small droop of her shoulders. He doesn’t want her to burn out but he figures that she’ll continue anyway. She’s as stubborn as him. 

“Okay, I’ll help. What do you need?” 

Nicolette claps and sits back from him, pulling her knees up underneath her and turns so that she’s face to face with him. “Run through some practice questions with me and then we can get some takeaway and watch a trashy movie or something.” 

Ethan chuckles, a fond smile lighting up his face. He finds where Nicolette was up to and begins reciting the question. “Okay. Here we go… A 23-year-old woman with bone marrow failure is treated with a large dose of rabbit anti-thymocyte globulin. Ten days later, she develops fever, lymphadenopathy, arthralgias, and erythema on her hands and feet. Which of the following is the most likely cause of these symptoms?” 

Ethan already knew the answer but he allows Nicolette the time to answer herself. He sees the clocks working in her mind and her eyes light up as she finds the answer. “Is it immune complex deposition in tissues?” 

Ethan flips back to the practice test answers and he gives a nod and an answering smile at her when he finds that she was correct. He would have told her yes straight away but he knew Nicolette enough that she would have appreciated that he goes to the answered section to make sure that she’s correct. 

“Yes, you’re right! Good work!” 

Nicolette cheers with a resounding ‘yay’ as she claps her hands, her face alight with relief. Ethan grins at her enthusiasm because he knows how much succeeding at this means to her. So, it’s there, in the middle of Ethan’s living room, the sun already on its decline where Ethan and Nicolette sit and work through each question of her board exam practice test. 

It's a few hours after that, the inky black night piercing the living room, both of them leaning up against the couch with Ethan chuckling at a particular answer that Nicolette got wrong (and a particularly hard one at that, he wasn’t going to lie) that he realises he’s having the time of his life. It’s these little moments that set his heart aflame, that bring him a sense of contentment. Rightness.  

Ethan can’t fathom a time where he wasn’t having fun with Nicolette and he is so glad that he is in a position to be here with her. She is his closest confidant, a person with whom he can be himself, his best self, opinions, objections and all. A warm smile lifts the corners of his mouth and he says the next words with an air of reverence, of truth and certainty for they were the truest words to ever leave his lips. 

Ethan grabs her hand, his face serious for a moment and Nicolette stops and stares at the utter warmth of his eyes, the blue of them liquid cyan and the admiration on his face makes her breath hitch in her throat.

“You are amazing, Nicolette. You make every day brighter and I can’t honestly imagine walking through life without you. I can honestly, without any reservation, say that not only am I deeply in love with you, you’re my best friend.” 

Nicolette is frozen, her mouth popped open in evident shock but Ethan sees the effect his words have had on her. Her crystal blue eyes shine like diamonds as tears well up in them and he resists the urge to pull her to him. He needs to say this otherwise he was going to burst. 

“I realise it’s not the best time but I just had to say it. I needed to otherwise—” 

Nicolette cuts him off with a kiss, the kiss so strong that he loses his balance against the suddenness of it and falls backwards, both of them sprawled on the plush area rug. 

Nicolette breaks the kiss after a while and just looks at him, her fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw. Her eyes are shiny and tears are slowly making their way down her cheeks as she whispers, her forehead coming to rest upon his gently, her lips mere inches away from his.

“I can’t study for my boards now since you’ve said that so we’re going to get takeaway. Call for Chinese and I’ll put on a movie.” 

There is a pang in his chest as he hears her words and he can’t help but be disappointed. A part of him was hoping for reciprocation or at least something remotely related to his words. And yet, Nicolette’s mind is different from his, no less fantastically intelligent but different and he realises that she processes things differently from him. Whether it takes her a few seconds, minutes or days, it won’t matter to him. He would wait for her forever. 

He nods, trying to not let the disappointment show on his face and plucks his phone out of his pocket and press speed dial to call his favourite Chinese restaurant just down the main street, a few metres from his condo. 

He’s just staring out at the horizon, his eyes scanning the twinkling skyline of Boston when he freezes as he feels Nicolette behind him hugging him, her head on his back and her arms tight around his torso. He shivers when he feels Nicolette kiss his shoulder, her face buried into him, almost like she wanted to melt into him completely. 

“I love you too, Ethan. I know I don’t say it enough but you’re my best friend and I thank the stars every day that we met.” She squeezes him once more before letting go. “Oh, and don’t forget the Kung pao chicken.” 

Ethan grins and his heart flies out of his chest. God, he loves this woman so much. 

“I would never forget the Kung pao chicken, Nicolette.” 

Nicolette turns to him and gives him a soft smile, her eyes shining with deep affection. “Good. I knew I loved you for a reason.”  

“Oh? Is that the only reason?” 

Nicolette smirks as she makes her way to the cabinet next to the stove where they kept the wine, her eyes alight with mischief as she gives Ethan a wink. 

“A woman never reveals her secrets, Ethan.” 

Ethan laughs, the sound light and happy, a smile on his lips as he orders them dinner. Love is a beautiful thing, Ethan thinks, and he again berates himself for resisting this wonderful feeling for so long. He marvels silently as he stares out at the Boston skyline again, the sounds of domesticity surround him as Nicolette gets ready for dinner and he’s never felt so safe, so calm...so at ease.

Ethan lets out a sigh of contentment. Love is beautiful and if he could have a beautiful life with Nicolette? Well, then... he can call himself the luckiest man on earth.

***

OH TAG LIST:  @senseofduties @polishchoicesfan @princess-geek @i-bloody-love-drake-walker @binny1985 @fanficnewbie @x-kyne-x  @thecordoniandiaries @rainbowsinthestorm @jens-diamondchoices @hopelessly-shipper @my-heart-beats-for-ya @landofenchantedwonder​ @flyawayboo​ @stanathanxoox​ @oofchoices​ @thequeenofcronuts​ @heauxplesslydevoted​ @trappedinfandoms​  @perriewinklenerdie​ @riverrune​ @caseyvalentineramsey @nithya @kaavyaethanramsey @whippedforethanfreakingramsey​ @theeccentricbiblophile @maurine07​ @openheartthot​ @takemyopenheart​ @queencarb​ @drariellevalentine​ @drakewalkerfantasy​ @pixelberrychoicesaddict-blog @starrystarrytrouble​ @buzz-bee-buzz @anything-but-reality​ @doilooklikeiknow​ @mvalentine​ @jamespotterthefirst​ @anntoldst0ries​  @nishas-paradise  @tenaciousdeputydreamfriend @choicesaddict5​  @fireycookie @thegreentwin​

[theshedding]

Lil Nas X: Country Music, Christianity & Reclaiming HELL

I don’t typically bother myself to follow what Lil Nas X is doing from day to day, or even month to month but I do know that his “Old Town Road” hit became one of the biggest selling/streamed records in Country Music Business history (by a Black Country & Queer artist). “Black” is key because for 75+ years Country music has unsuspiciously evolved into a solidly White-identified genre (despite mixed and Indian & Black roots). Regrettably, Country music is also widely known for anti-black, misogynoir, reliably homophobic (Trans isn’t really a conversation yet), Christian and Hard Right sentiments on the political spectrum. Some other day I will venture into more; there is a whole analysis dying to be done on this exclusive practice in the music industry with its implications on ‘access’ to equity and opportunity for both Black/POC’s and Whites artists/songwriters alike. More commentary on this rigid homogeneous field is needed and how it prohibits certain talent(s) for the sake of perpetuating homogeneity (e.g. “social determinants” of diversity & viable artistic careers). I’ll refrain from discussing that fully here, though suffice it to say that for those reasons X’s “Old Town Road” was monumental and vindicating. 

As for Lil Nas X, I’m not particularly a big fan of his music; but I see him, what he’s doing, his impact on music + culture and I celebrate him using these moments to affirm his Black, Queer self, and lifting up others. Believe it or not, even in the 2020′s, being “out” in the music business is still a costly choice. As an artist it remains much easier to just “play straight”. And despite appearances, the business (particularly Country) has been dragged kicking and screaming into developing, promoting and advancing openly-affirming LGBTQ 🏳️‍🌈 artists in the board room or on-stage. Though things are ‘better’ we have not yet arrived at a place of equity or opportunity for queer artists; for the road of music biz history is littered with stunted careers, bodies and limitations on artists who had no option but to follow conventional ways, fail or never be heard of in the first place. With few exceptions, record labels, radio and press/media have successfully used fear, intimidation, innuendo and coercion to dilute, downplay or erase any hint of queer identity from its performers. This was true even for obvious talents like Little Richard.

(Note: I’m particularly speaking of artists in this regard, not so much the hairstylists, make-up artists, PA’s, etc.)

_____

Which is why...in regard to Lil Nas X, whether you like, hate or love his music, the young brother is a trailblazer. His very existence protests (at least) decades of inequity, oppression and erasure. X aptly critiques a Neo-Christian Fascist Heteropatriarchy; not just in American society but throughout the Music Business and with Black people. That is no small deal. His unapologetic outness holds a mirror up to Christianity at-large, as an institution, theology and practice. The problem is they just don’t like what they see in that mirror.

In actuality, “Call Me By Your Name”, Lil Nas X’s new video, is a twist on classic mythology and religious memes that are less reprehensible or vulgar than the Biblical narratives most of us grew up on vís-a-vís indoctrinating smiles of Sunday school teachers and family prior to the “age of reason”. Think about the narratives blithely describing Satan’s friendly wager with God regarding Job (42:1-6); the horrific “prophecies” in St. John’s Book of Revelation (i.e. skies will rain fire, angels will spit swords, mankind will be forced to retreat into caves for shelter, and we will be harassed by at least three terrifying dragons and beasts. Angels will sound seven trumpets of warning, and later on, seven plagues will be dumped on the world), or Jesus’s own clarifying words of violent intent in Matthew (re: “Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I have not come to bring peace, but a sword.” 10:34). Whether literal or metaphor, these age old stories pale in comparison to a three minute allegorical rap video. Conservatives: say what you will, I’m pretty confident X doesn’t take himself as seriously as “The true and living God” from the book of Job.

A little known fact as it is, people have debunked the story and evolution of Satan and already offered compelling research showing [he] is more of a literary device than an actual entity or “spirit” (Spoiler: In the Bible, Satan does not take shape as an actual “bad” person until the New Testament). In fact, modern Christianity’s impression of the “Devil” is shaped by conflating Hellenized mythology with a literary tradition rooted in Dante’s Inferno and accompanying spooks and superstitions going back thousands of years. Whether Catholic, Protestant, Mormon, Scientologist, Atheist or Agnostic, we’ve spent a lifetime with these predominant icons and clichés. (Resource: Prof. Bart D. Erhman, “Heaven & Hell”).

So Here’s THE PROBLEM: The current level of fear and outrage is: 

(1) Unjust, imposing and irrational. 

(2) Disproportionate when taken into account a lifetime of harmful Christian propaganda, anti-gay preaching and political advocacy.

(3) Historically inaccurate concerning the existence of “Hell” and who should be scared of going there. 

Think I’m overreacting? 

Examples: 

Institutionalized Homophobia (rhetoric + policy)

Anti-Gay Ministers In Life And Death: Bishop Eddie Long And Rev. Bernice King

Black, gay and Christian, Marylanders struggle with Conflicts

Harlem pastor: 'Obama has released the homo demons on the black man'

Joel Olsteen: Homosexuality is “Not God’s Best”

Bishop Brandon Porter: Gays “Perverted & Lost...The Church of God in Christ Convocation appears like a ‘coming out party’ for members of the gay community.”

Kim Burrell: “That perverted homosexual spirit is a spirit of delusion & confusion and has deceived many men & women, and it has caused a strain on the body of Christ”

Falwell Suggests Gays to Blame for 9-11 Attacks

Pope Francis Blames The Devil For Sexual Abuse By Catholic Church

Pope Francis: Gay People Not Welcome in Clergy

Pope Francis Blames The Devil For Sexual Abuse By Catholic Church

The Pope and Gay People: Nothing’s Changed

The Catholic church silently lobbied against a suicide prevention hotline in the US because it included LGBT resources

Mormon church prohibits Children of LGBT parents to be baptized

Catholic Charity Ends Adoptions Rather Than Place Kid With Same-Sex Couple

I Was a Religious Zealot That Hurt People-Coming Out as Gay: A Former Conversion Therapy Leader Is Apologizing to the LGBTQ Community

The above short list chronicles a consistent, literal, demonization of LGBTQ people, contempt for their gender presentation, objectification of their bodies/sexuality and a coordinated pollution of media and culture over the last 50+ years by clergy since integration and Civil Rights legislation. Basically terrorism. Popes, Bishops, Pastors, Evangelists, Politicians, Television hosts, US Presidents, Camp Leaders, Teachers, Singers & Entertainers, Coaches, Athletes and Christians of all types all around the world have confused and confounded these issues, suppressed dissent, and confidently lied about LGBT people-including fellow Queer Christians with impunity for generations (i.e. “thou shall not bear false witness against they neighbor” Ex. 23:1-3). Christian majority viewpoints about “laws” and “nature” have run the table in discussions about LGBTQ people in society-so much that we collectively must first consider their religious views in all discussions and the specter of Christian approval -at best or Christian condescension -at worst. That is Christian (and straight) privilege. People are tired of this undue deference to religious opinions. 

That is what is so deliciously bothersome about Lil Nas X being loud, proud and “in your face” about his sexuality. If for just a moment, he not only disrupts the American hetero-patriarchy but specifically the Black hetero-patriarchy, the so-called “Black Church Industrial Complex”, Neo-Christian Fascism and a mostly uneducated (and/or miseducated) public concerning Ancient Near East and European history, superstitions-and (by extension) White Supremacy. To round up: people are losing their minds because the victim decided to speak out against his victimizer. 

Additionally, on some level I believe people are mad at him being just twenty years old, out and FREE as a self-assured, affirming & affirmed QUEER Black male entertainer with money and fame in the PRIME of his life. We’ve never, or rarely, seen that before in a Black man in the music business and popular culture. But that’s just too bad for them. With my own eyes I’ve watched straight people, friends, Christians, enjoy their sexuality from their elementary youth to adolescence, up and through college and later marriages, often times independently of their spouses (repeatedly). Meanwhile Queer/Gay/SGL/LGBTQ people are expected to put their lives on hold while the ‘blessed’ straight people run around exploring premarital/post-marital/extra-marital sex, love and affection, unbound & un-convicted by their “sin” or God...only to proudly rebrand themselves later in life as a good, moral “wholesome Christian” via the ‘sacred’ institution of marriage with no questions asked. 

Inequality defined.

For Lil Nas X, everything about the society we've created for him in the last 100+ years (re: links above) has explicitly been designed for his life not to be his own. According to these and other Christians (see above), his identity is essentially supposed to be an endless rat fuck of internal confusion, suicide-ideation, depression, long-suffering, faux masculinity, heterosexism, groveling towards heaven, respectability politics, failed prayer and supplication to a heteronormative earthly and celestial hierarchy unbothered in affording LGBT people like him a healthy, sane human development. It’s almost as if the Conservative establishment (Black included) needs Lil Nas X to be like others before him: “private”, mysteriously single, suicidal, suspiciously straight or worse, dead of HIV/AIDS ...anything but driving down the street enjoying his youth as a Black Queer artist and man. So they mad about that?

Well those days are over.  

-Rogiérs is a writer, international recording artist, performer and indie label manager with 25+ years in the music industry. He also directs Black Nonbelievers of DC, a non-profit org affiliated with the AHA supporting Black skeptics, Atheists, Agnostics & Humanists. He holds a B.A. in Music Business & Mgmt and a M.A. in Global Entertainment & Music Business from Berklee College of Music and Berklee Valencia, Spain. www.FibbyMusic.net Twitter/IG: @Rogiers1

[thefanficmonster]

Take That!

Corpse Husband & Reader (Female) ft. Streamer Gang

Warnings: Mentions of Depression, Suppressed Sadness, Swearing

Genre: Platonic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: What is a friend? Your smile through the tears. The umbrella over your head when it starts raining. The ointment to your wound. But if you wanna put it in a more literal manner, a friend is something that doesn’t have a concrete definition. It can be the person you sit next to in class or the person who’s hundreds of miles away from you and you’re connected to through a Discord call.

Requested by Anon. Hello dear! Thank you so much for your request, sorry it’s taken me so long to complete and post it but here it finally is and I hope you enjoy the read if you happen to come across the fic. Love, Vy ❤

There are those days when I wake up excited for a new day. There are also those days when the thought of playing Among Us with my friends is all that gets me out of bed. And then there are those days when not even that can get me to budge. Today is one of those days.

I’d still be in bed right now had I not needed to use the bathroom. On my way back to hide under my covers, I heard my cat’s meow from the kitchen, reminding me she needed to be fed. After tending to that task I just sort of lost will to return to bed either. Speaking truthfully, today is a will-less day. The type of day where I have no idea what to do with myself because I feel so odd and uncomfortable: heavy and bustling head, motivation below zero no matter whether I have zero tasks to tend to or a mountain high pile of work. It’s a laying on the floor and letting my mind eat away at me type of day and I can’t say I appreciate it.

The only thing I have to look forward to is the game of Among Us Corpse invited me to yesterday. Had I known I’d wake up feeling like absolute shit, I wouldn’t have accepted. I just know I’ll be a downer the whole time because I suck at covering up how I feel - my smiling masks and faux happiness don’t cut it but staying quiet is even worse because I’m typically and energetic and bubbly person, always having something to say or a comment to add to the conversation. Always looking to make people laugh.

Well, it’s hard to make people laugh when you feel like a deflated balloon.

I can’t describe the feeling any better than that - I feel empty, maybe a little sad somewhere in the mix, unmotivated. I keep these feelings to myself cause whenever I bring them up people just blow me off, saying I’m describing laziness but more dramatically. Either that or burnout which is sometimes the case, but I’m more than sure that it’s not the culprit for today. You can only blame burnout so many times.

Anyway, I make a mental note, promising myself I’m not gonna bail on my friends regardless of whether my mood gets better or worse. Who knows, maybe a gaming session with them is exactly what I need.

                                                              *  *  *

Not much has changed with my emotional state - I’ve spent a good chunk of the day surfing through TV channels and my socials with nothing else to occupy my mind but the overwhelming knowledge that I’m not feeling ok and that hyperawareness of a void that I feel but cannot describe. At one point, Corpse sent me a text to confirm I’d be participating in the gaming session and I was this close to saying no. This close to coming up with some bullshit excuse and bailing but I didn’t, thankfully. 

Here’s the thing about this drop in mood of mine - I know it’s gonna be gone by morning. It bullies me, beats and batters me for only twenty four hours - never more, never less. Like clockwork and as precise as a Swiss watch. And so fucking annoying. No matter what I do, I can’t end it prematurely and I can never wake up feeling down and unmotivated the next morning - there’s always a surge of motivation coursing through me and it drives me to be super productive as if making up for what I didn’t do the previous day when I was in the dumps.

It’s a twisted way of it showing me I’m powerless and at the mercy of a force that, despite being mine and existing within me, I’m completely unfamiliar with. It’s so fucking unfair, it’s disheartening.

“Hi everyone! Sorry I’m late.“ I greet the five people who have already gathered in the Discord call and the Among Us lobby.

Yeah, sorry I’m late, I was contemplating not showing up at all last minute

“Don’t worry about it, many people are running late as you can see.“ Rae replies reassuringly, “How’s your day? Anything spectacular happen?“

I can’t help but scoff, “Yeah sure, a TON of spectacularism in my life on the daily. From the large stack of papers I couldn’t bring myself to touch, to the dusty surfaces all over my apartment I didn’t convince myself to clean - it’s all fabulous over here.”

Fuck, that was too real

“Whoa, where’d all this sarcasm come from?“ Rae asks, sounding genuinely baffled rather than teasing, “It’s never been your strong suit.“

“Neither has unproductivity.“ Corpse, my best friend, chimes in, “Everything ok?“

Well, I admit, I should’ve known better than to have an outburst like that in front of people who have known me for a while now and can probably gauge my emotions even without me admitting to them. I truly don’t know where it came from. Hell, I didn’t even see it coming.

“Nah, it’s ok. I’m just being lazy, I guess.” I’m quick to withdraw and brush off any suspicion. The last thing I want is to worry my friends or, even worse, receive the same response from them: that I’m being dramatic, that I’m attention-seeking, that I’m just lazy and unmotivated as are most people of my generation.

“You know, what people often self-diagnose as ‘laziness’ often turns out to be something more serious. I don’t mean to scare you, but it could be depression.“ Corpse says after a brief moment of silence in the call, his voice soft and cautious as if explaining a complex problem to a kid who’s bound to be hurt by what it’s told.

I can’t help but chuckle. He has no idea how much he’s relieved me by saying that. I always ‘don’t want to talk about it’ and ‘want to change the subject’ while what I truly need happens to be the complete opposite. I need someone to hear me out, I need someone who will not brush me and my concerns off like we don’t matter. I need someone who’ll understand. And if these people who have openly struggled with anxiety or depression don’t get me, who will?

“Yeah, I genuinely thought I thought of myself as a lowlife while I was in college cause I started losing motivation for everything and started fearing what was to come. I began avoiding going out and talking to people cause I felt like I was the sore thumb in the friend group I had - the only one without any specific goal or a dream.“ Leslie says out of the blue, “Turns out I suffered through a burnout so bad it turned into an anxiety/depression combo that I just blamed on being a lazy college student.“

“Same here!“ Toast pipes in, “I was bedridden for a while during the first days of my streaming career, for a very ridiculous reason - I believed I didn’t deserve the attention I was getting and I wasn’t doing as well as people gave me credit for. So that had me crippled with self-doubt for a long while.“

“I still don’t believe I’m doing as well as I get credit for, but oh well.“ Leslie laughs, “I already told you all about my dumpster-fire of a brain, so I’m instead gonna say: what you need is an appointment with a therapist. Also - you need to stop underestimating your struggles. Invalidating yourself and what you’re going through is gonna make things only worse for you. You need to love yourself.“

“And you need us!“ Rae exclaims, “You need the best support you can get and, lucky for you, we’re the best in the business. Count on us always being there for you, Y/N. Cause we always will be.“

“You’re never alone. We’re all just a call or a text away. Especially me.“ Corpse adds, “I’m basically at your service 24/7, just like you’ve always been for me. What are best friends for if not sharing mental struggles and lifting each other up afterwards?“

I don’t know when this smile made its home on my face but it seems to be rather happy with where it is and wants to stay. Something tells me that thanks to these guys, it will indeed stay there for quite some time. And every time it tries to slip away, they’ll be there to bring it back.

“Then let’s lift each other up, shall we? I mean, what better way to do it other than killing each other and getting away with it?“ I attempt a giggle, hiding my emotions behind it like my life depends on it. Chances are they heard all I’m feeling in my voice, but I can only hope they’re not gonna mention it.

“Y/N, hun, I’m sorry to burst your bubble but....you never get away with it.“ Corpse wheezes, causing me to narrow my eyes and frown.

“Oh, you’re so gonna get it now!“ I exclaim, cracking my knuckles before getting my hands on my keyboard, “Start the game! I have a point to prove!“

And just like that, in what felt like the blink of an eye, the clouds have shuffled aside to make path for the sunshine to grace my brain with positivity I was not expecting to feel until tomorrow morning. I can’t give myself the credit for that though - it all goes to these amazing people I have the honor of calling friends.

I may have no power over it on my own, but with the gang’s help, I can take full control of it. And as a middle finger to the melancholy, I’ll do it all with a bright smile on my face.

Take that, brain!

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[itwoodbeprefect]

decided to just compile a bunch of comments about my sga 1x01 rising rewatch into a single post because i don’t actually want to make a hundred posts in a row, so here, under the cut, many rambles:

announcer guy does, in fact, speak english upon a second attempt. well done on not forgetting to not speak german, announcer guy.

“i’m afraid of the thing” elizabeth says, about the drone chair, while standing next to it and looking like she wants to fuck it

rodney in that orange sweater! very orange! very warm!

john is on screen. john’s first words are helicopters he knows how to fly. john KINDA LIKES IT in antarctica. john has barely done anything and i already feel like crying a little bit about this guy who LIKES ANTARCTICA because he just wants to fly

POOR CARSON when he almost kills two people. “ai told ya ai was the wrong pursohn” :(

i really love how john sees the drone coming at the (landed) helicopter and yells “get out!” and they throw open their doors and john JUMPS and then it’s just “ugh.” and he’s belly-down on the floor and still like, almost under the helicopter. an attempt was made, for sure. just not a very succesful one.

the way john looks around like he’s never seen a ceiling before when he enters the base is just. very funny. and then some guy in particular is looking at him because he’s a bit of a weirdo and john looks back and the guy sort of looks him up and down and john looks away as if to check if anybody saw that. hmm.

john’s face of “oops” after he sits down in the chair and it ACTIVATES and carson RUNS OFF to go get literally everyone and john is realizing he MAY have just made a very giant big mistake. PRICELESS

teyla: my people have long believed the wraith will come if we venture into the ancient city. sumner, when the wraith come after he ventures into the ancient city: [surprised pikachu face]

gotta love how john insisting on saving his people is what wakes up the wraith, and saving his people is also what landed john in antarctica in the first place because he tried it in afghanistan once before. which wouldn’t have happened if there hadn’t been an american war in afghanistan in the first place, which there wouldn’t have been if bush hadn’t thrown the us into it, which wouldn’t have happened without 9/11, so... bin laden woke the wraith?

on the other hand john would never have had to go on a rescue mission on his first day in pegasus if sumner hadn’t gone into that city against the wishes of the people that already lived there and had a history dating back thousands of years with the place, so more realistically, the expeditions’ colonizer mentality woke the wraith. and then they just kinda... kept going with that for the rest of the show, because it worked out so well on that first day.

anyway i’m not even there yet - puddlejumper! it jumps puddles!

have to love the moment john realizes the puddlejumper is pretty literally reading his mind and giving him anything he can think of that is within its power (so no turkey sandwiches, but that’s okay). john is already in love with it just based on the fact that IT CAN FLY AND GO FAST (“i kinda like it here”, restored) but then all the ancient technology just seems to know him and love him back and gives him way more than he even thinks to ask for. which, for john, who doesn’t really do well expressing desires? a FLYING SHIP that then READS HIS MIND? starstruck. love at first sight. john&puddlejumper, instant bffs. i bet it would have popped a compartment with some stray bits of wire if he’d asked for a friendship bracelet right then and there. ford sitting there witnessing this doesn’t even know how hard he’s thirdwheeling it in that moment.

now i am at the bit where sumner is taken from the wraith prison to see the actual wraith, and look, obviously they’re evil and feed on humans etc etc, but this particular wraith’s sense of dramatics? unparalleled. she has them bring her victims one by one to a large foggy room with a looong table set with a wonderful dinner and then she LEAVES a DEAD BODY sitting at the head of the table (implied to be the athosian that was taken before sumner?) and drops down from the ceiling while sumner has his back turned for no reason except the spectacle of it all, and dracula himself literally couldn’t have made a better display out of this. it’s maybe scary in the way that it makes clear she’s a cat toying with a helpless mouse before she eats it, but it’s also hilarious in the way that this is absolutely a very bored immortal being who had to stay up while the rest went to sleep and is inventing high school improv plays with her dinner for some diversion. don’t play with your food, wraith queen. you’re scaring your dinner.

life signs detector!!! ford didn’t get to name the puddlejumpers gateships, but that one stuck, no matter how much “we can name it later” john was trying to throw at it!!!

(god. there’s a ficlet somewhere in there about season 2 john having a moment where he realizes he’s on the hunt for ford using the thing they first discovered together and that ford gave its name.)

getting sidetracked here, but when john and ford find the group of humans caught by the wraith teyla goes “major!” and it makes me think that. well. how are the athosians supposed to know things like “major�� and “colonel” are military ranks? what are the chances the pegasus galaxy uses the same designations? (don’t really know how the language thing works here - we’re hopefully not supposed to think they’re all speaking english, are they? i’ve never watched sg1, there’s probably lore about this, i assume. maybe alien titles somehow get perfect translations to earth ones and vice versa.) but i mean, teyla is too smart, she’d have it figured out already even if those words don’t exist in her galaxy, but some athosian somewhere is going to be very confused by this earth tendency to name way too many kids private and lieutenant, and then put all of them into the army. strange, to have your job decided for you at birth like that. earth people are weeeeird.

fjdkl john is like bye, gonna go find colonel sumner all on my own, run if you don’t hear from me in twenty minutes, and ford’s like “you’re the only one who can fly these people out of here” and “i’m saying i should be the one to go, sir” and john, with his savior can’t-leave-anyone-behind-gotta-do-this-personally-or-i-will-literally-die-from-not-almost-dying complex DOES NOT LISTEN to ford’s EXTREMELY ACCURATE objection. which is his right, as ranking officer, but is also a perfect showcase of why john Should Not Ever be in charge of atlantis, and why sam saying he was totally on the shortlist when she takes over command in s4 is funny but frightening if you’re on atlantis and like being alive.

sumner: “we travel through the stargate as peaceful explorers.” FDJKFD. god, that line, from that character, hilarious.

rodney comes to elizabeth full of enthusiasm about all the interesting stuff they’re finding in the city only to find her staring at the empty gate and when she says she should never have let them (the rescue party) go, he sobers up and says awkwardly “for what it’s worth, you made the right decision” and that’s GOOD that’s KIND.

back on the planet with the wraith everyone is running to the jumper while there are wraith darts whizzing through the air and teyla turns back, catches up with ford who was told to cover their six, disarms him (because he was firing at illusions, revealing their position), hands him back his weapon, pulls him in the direction of the puddlejumper, and PUSHES HIM ASIDE when they’re almost scooped up by a wraith dart, and i’m so here for teyla being allowed a moment of heroics that saves specifically ford, guy with a gun, and not a random athosian damsel in distress. teyla is fully on their level. teyla is perhaps above their level. thank you.

that scene at the end of this episode!! in which there’s a sort of party on atlantis and it’s all buzzing and relaxed while the athosians are mingling freely with the expedition members and they’re talking of friendship and ugh. UGH. there’s a better version of sga in an alternate universe where the expedition didn’t decide atlantis was totally theirs, actually, and they cooperate with the people that were already in the galaxy when they came there and learn from sumner’s mistake to actually respect what they have to say and form a single front and teyla takes over as head of the expedition in s4 when there’s a void left by elizabeth’s absence.

final thought that has always haunted me a little: john suddenly becoming the ranking military member on atlantis after sumner’s death is ?? one of those things where i wonder what the sgc was thinking in their personnel assignments. john wasn’t even supposed to BE THERE. if john hadn’t gone and sumner had still died (which was something they should have considered as a possiblitiy! they didn’t know what they were walking into at all! sumner is apparently the type to lead his own missions!), then what exactly would they have done? i don’t know much about how the us military operates but i’ve watched enough mash to have figured out the order of the ranks and it just seems. very odd to me? to take one (1) colonel on this mission and then ZERO lieutenant colonels OR majors (if john hadn’t stumbled his way into it, that is). like, are there any captains on atlantis? (i think there are?) or would ford, a lieutenant, have ended up ranking military member? this is like the surely-they-only-need-a-single-medical-doctor-right thing. WHAT IS THE SGC THINKING.

anyway. this was good. i liked this. i hadn’t rewatched the pilot in a while, and i only just now figured out how much of a while, because there was a bunch in here i didn’t remember. ON TO EPISODE TWO.

[snelbz]

The Ranch {17}

An A Court of Thorns and Roses, Nesta x Cassian, Modern AU, fanfiction.

Collaboration: @snelbz​ x @tacmc​

Summary: Nesta had spent years in Paris, living her dream and drowning in riches as a gourmet chef, capturing the hearts of the city and its people. But, after her father passes away unexpectedly and leaves his cozy, countryside B&B to his oldest daughter, Nesta is moving back home to the tiny town of Velaris, where the ranch, her sisters, and her father’s unfulfilled dream, awaits.

Sidenote: Being posted between two blogs, it is too chaotic to keep up with a tags list, so all chapters will be tagged with “#TheRanchNessian” & “#SharaCollab”.

The Ranch Masterlist

Cassian groaned as he shoveled the last of the manure into the wheelbarrow and Azriel grabbed the handles and pushed it off to the side. With the rain that had blown through the night before, the pen was a muddy, nasty, literal shitty mess. His boots sunk down past his ankles and every step was a battle not to step right out of it, leaving it in the sludge.

The autumn air was finally starting to cool down, but that didn’t stop the sweat from forming on Cassian’s brow. He lifted the hem of his shirt.

“Where’s Nes at today?” Az asked, taking a drink from his bottle. Cassian wasn’t sure if he had water in there or something else, but he shrugged.

“Not sure exactly. She said she had some errands to run and she’d see me later, but that was at eight this morning.”

He suddenly realized he didn’t know how long ago that was. Tomas had been appearing more and more. It seemed like every time the two of them were out, they’d see him.

“I should probably check-in.” He said, pulling his phone from his back pocket. He didn’t even have to open his phone though because he had two missed texts from her. 

What time are you meeting me?

And a few minutes after that, he received, Where are you?

It was like a light bulb turned on.

Azriel saw the look on his face. “What happened?”

He looked down at himself, sweaty and up to his knees in manure. “I’m in deep shit.”

Nesta sat in the waiting room, one hand tapping on the side table where her phone was sitting, the other rubbing her growing belly. The bump had decided to finally make its appearance in the last week and both Nesta and Cassian had a hard time not constantly rubbing a loving hand over it.

If he forgot about this appointment, she was going to kill him.

Her phone rang and his name appeared. She tried to keep the bite out of her voice and completely failed as she answered, “Hello.”

“I’m on my way,” he said, in a way of greeting, and it was clear he was completely frazzled.

“They’ll be calling me back any minute, Cass,” she whined, totally not caring that she was whining in a room full of people.

The pregnant ones understood. 

“It’s a ten-minute drive, and I’m pulling out of the driveway now,” he said, and true to his word, she could hear the old truck engine revving in the background. “I’m sorry, okay? I was shoveling shit.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “You better be here soon or I’ll have your balls.”

There was a pause. “You may want to pick a different threat, that one kind of turns me on.”

Nesta’s lips tightened. “I’m hanging up now.”

“I love you,” he said.

Nesta sighed, loudly and dramatically. “Love you.” Then she hung up, just as the door to the office opened and a nurse stepped out. “Nesta Archeron?”

Grabbing her purse, Nesta brought herself to her feet and followed the nurse down the hall, all by herself, Cassian-less. 

Oh, she would have his balls, for sure.

Thirteen minutes later, Cassian was hurrying into the office, an entire room full of patients turning to stare at him. He hurried to the counter, where a young woman was checking in and he waited, not so patiently. When it was his turn, the receptionist didn’t even glance up as she said “Next.”

Cassian stepped up and said, “My  fiancée was called back a few minutes ago. Nesta Archeron?”

She continued typing away at her computer. “And?”

Cassian blinked. “And I need to get back there so I can hear my kid’s heartbeat?”

“Are you on the approved list of guests?”

“Approved list of-? Ma’am, I’m the baby’s father.” He was starting to get frustrated. Nesta was literally going to cut his balls off if he missed their gender appointment.

She finally looked up at him, eyes widening at just how much mud and shit he was covered in. “I’m afraid that doesn’t automatically add you to the list. We have to have Ms. Archeron’s approval before we can let you join her.”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Okay. Can you ask her?”

She went back to typing. “She’s in an examination. I’m afraid I can’t disturb her.”

“For the love…” Cassian pulled out his phone, dialing Nesta’s number.

She answered on the second ring. “Where are you?”

Lovely. She was pissed.

“I’m here. I’m in the lobby. The receptionist won’t let me back.” He glared at her, but she didn’t look up. He knew she heard him though.

Nesta gasped. “Oh, crap, the approved list of guests. I’ll have my nurse add you now.”

She ended the call and Cassian blinked. Why in the hell did everyone know about this stupid list but him?

A nurse in her late twenties came through a door in the office. She handed a slip to the receptionist that he recognized as Nesta’s signature. The receptionist glanced at it and said, “I’ll need to see your driver’s license, Mister…” She glanced down at the form again. “Nazeeri.”

He pulled out his wallet and handed the ID to her, saying “Nazari.”

She typed some information into the computer, the only time she’d done so where Cassian didn’t assume she was trying to ignore him. She handed him his ID back and said, “Follow Claire.”

He breathed a sigh of relief and did as he was told. As soon as they left the waiting room, Claire said, “Sorry about Jenny. She’s been in a bad mood for the past few weeks.”

“Apparently so,” Cassian mumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets. He was led through a winding hallway before following the nurse into an open doorway, where Nesta sat on an examination table, her arms crossed.

She took one look at Cassian's appearance and her lips tightened.

“I was-.”

“Yeah, I know,” she snapped, then laid back against the table. “Let’s just do this.”

Exasperated, Cassian sat down in the chair beside her while Claire, who had already taken Nesta’s vitals and information, went to get the doctor.

“I’m sorry,” Cassian said, when the door was shut and they were alone. “It was either this or go get cleaned up and changed and then being late and missing it all.”

“You’re already late,” she said, staring up at the ceiling.

“Okay,” Cassian said, slower. “Later, then.”

“Isn’t this important to you?” She asked. “We’re finding out the gender-.”

“I know, I know,” he said, quickly, and took her hand in his. “And yeah, it’s pretty fucking important, alright? I just lost track of time, that’s all. It was a mess out there.”

She scrunched her nose and looked at him through her side-eye. “You do smell like shit. No wonder the receptionist didn’t want to let you back here.”

Cassian mumbled something along the lines of approved list, my ass, but stood and kissed her softly. “Hi.”

She smiled. “Hi yourself.”

He sat back down and groaned. “This morning was bad. We got so much rain last night.”

Nesta nodded. “When I went to get the eggs out of dry storage, I nearly stepped into a swamp off the back steps.”

“The pen by the house is flooded,” he said, leaning forward and resting his knees on his elbows. “Az and I spent the whole morning moving the herd to the back pasture. He’s gonna go rent a tractor and clean it out today, but I’d guess that the ‘horseback riding’ won’t be happening before dinner.”

Nesta sighed. She was going to have a lot of angry guests over that. But what was she supposed to do? She couldn’t control the weather.

The door opened and the doctor stepped in. “Miss Archeron, how are we feeling today?”

“Good,” she sighed, all things considered. “I’ve yet to puke so far today, so I’m considering it a win.”

The doctor chuckled and pulled up a stool to Nesta’s side. “Well, your vitals look great so all we have to do now is take a look at this baby. Are you ready?”

Nesta nodded, her hand tightening in Cassian’s as the doctor switched the monitor on and pulled out the little device that would be moving over Nesta’s abdomen.

She hated that thing.

It was always unusually cold.

“Pull up your shirt for me, and lower your waistband,” her doctor smiled, waiting patiently as Nesta did so, then she looked up at the screen and waited.

The probe touched her belly and the screen was met with black static, then, a tiny little, gray-blurred being appeared. Cassian couldn’t really tell what was what, but he knew from Nesta’s smile that they were looking at the baby.

Their baby.

He sat in awe, his hand still in his fiancée’s as the doctor showed them the little feet, the little hands, the little head and lips and nose. The baby was real, growing inside of her, it was actually happening - she was becoming a mother. He was going to be a father.

When they were done making sure the baby was growing as it should be, after the measurements were taken and some pictures were snapped, the doctor asked, “Would you still like to know the gender?”

Nesta nodded. “Yes, please, but don’t actually tell us.”

He chuckled. “Gender reveal party?”

She nodded.

He turned the monitor away and typed a few things on the screen, before he printed three black and white images. They went straight into an opaque envelope and he sealed it before handing it to Cassian. “Congratulations.”

He extended a hand and Cassian hesitated, looking down at his own dirty hand. “I don’t think you want to. It’s exactly what you think it is.”

He laughed and said, “Understood. Miss Archeron, I’ll see you in four weeks. Keep an eye on that blood pressure.”

She nodded. “Yes, sir, thank you, Dr. Brigham.”

He smiled and left the room and Cassian slowly turned to look at her. She was beaming and Cassian could barely stand how gorgeous she was.

Pregnancy was treating Nesta well. Her morning sickness was still abhorrent and her back constantly hurt, but aside from that, it wasn’t bad. Her emotions had mellowed out, for the most part, and with Azriel and Maggie’s help around the B&B, they had been able to handle everything they’d thrown at them.

Except for Nesta’s nightly nightmares.

She’d spoken to Dr. Brigham about them and he assured Nesta that weird sleep habits were just a part of pregnancy, including nightmares. So every night, Nesta would wake up in a cold sweat, never remembering anything but the dream. She’d always say the same thing, though:

“He’s getting closer”.

“How does lunch sound?” Cassian asked, helping her off the examination table. “I’m starving.”

Nesta chuckled, “You stink.”

He shrugged. “We’ll sit outside. Come on, baby, when is the last time we got to spend time together that wasn’t about the B&B?

He skimmed his thumb over her cheekbone and she melted into his touch. “Fine. Lunch. But then we have to get back.”

Cassian nodded and flipped the envelope in his fingers. He held it up. “Our baby is in here.”

She laughed again. “Actually, she’s in here.” Nesta lovingly rubbed her stomach.

He raised an eyebrow. “She? Did you see something on that ultrasound that I didn’t?” His eyes narrowed. “Did you peek?”

“No!” She laughed, shaking her head and taking his hand. “Just a...feeling I have. Call it mother’s intuition.”

They left the room and headed back to the lobby, where Nesta made her follow up appointment with the surly faced receptionist. They got to their vehicles and Cassian looked at the envelope again. He glanced up at Nesta. “I’m gonna open it.”

She snatched it from him and stuffed it into her purse. “I’m taking this directly to the bakery.”

“Not even going to let your sisters see it?” Cassian asked, leaning against the truck.

She snorted. “Of course not, they’d tell one of us before the end of the day.”

Cassian laughed, his hand lovingly caressing her bump, and said “I’ll meet you at the restaurant. I love you both.”

She leaned up and kissed him, “I love you, too.”

Cassian got into his truck, the engine roaring to life, and headed off in the direction of the restaurant while Nesta walked the ultrasound to the bakery across the square.

She had the sensation of being watched the whole time, had felt someone’s eyes on her since they walked out of the doctor’s office. As she climbed back in her car, she fought the urge to look around and find him.

She knew he was there, but after so many calls to the police where he’d done nothing except be present, she knew she just had to ignore him. He was in a public place, so was she. There was nothing illegal about what he was doing. He has valid reasons to be where he went, so it couldn’t even be considered stalking, only coincidence and happenstance.

But as she backed out of her parking spot and headed to lunch, she saw him in her rearview mirror. And the look in his eyes said he wouldn’t be content to do nothing forever.

She was safe with Cassian, though.

She believed that, wholeheartedly, which only made her want to haul ass to the restaurant quicker. He was already there when she pulled up, waiting for her at a table outside.

She raised her brows as she walked up to meet him. “Did you order?”

He blinked, then looked down at his appearance. “Do you really want me greeting more strangers like this today?”

Nesta laughed, breathlessly, as she shook her head. “I’ll go inside.”

The little BBQ joint was only a few miles from their house. Nesta went inside and ordered a heap of food, because everything sounded delicious and she just couldn’t choose. After she ordered and went to head back outside, she froze by the door, because she noticed that red truck that had pulled into the far parking space.

Her hands began to shake, nausea began to roll in the pit of her stomach. She slowly looked at Cassian to see if he’d noticed.

He was scrolling through his phone, lost to the world around him. She was thankful she’d ordered their food to go, not because they had planned on leaving, but because there was so much of it. Now, all it would take was a quick mention of nausea and Cassian would go into overprotective daddy mode and take her straight home.

But then he’d also take her straight to bed, and she had too much to do today, on top of feeling well enough to actually take care of the things she needed done.

Cassian finally noticed her frozen on the sidewalk and he smiled at her, but it faltered when he noticed her expression. “What is it?”

She shook her head. “Nothing, just…” She glanced down at the cups in her hand. “Just realized I forgot to fill up our drinks.”

He stood, taking them and kissing her. “You’re looking tired, baby. I’ll get them, you sit that gorgeous self down and I’ll be right back.”

She wanted to protest, to tell him she’d go with him, but she nodded and smiled, sitting where she could see the red truck. She didn’t want her back to him. She needed to be able to see him.

Cassian was quick, and a moment later, he’d come back with not only their drinks, but three plastic bags full of food.

“Ready? We can eat in the cabin. Or outside, somewhere-.”

“Ready,” Nesta breathed, taking her lemonade from him and strutting to her car, where she shut herself inside. “See you at home,” she said to Cassian as he walked behind her, a worried expression on his face as she raced home.

He watched Nesta drive away before pulling himself, and their feast, into the truck. He had seen Tomas, of course, and was watching the red truck now as he pulled onto the road in his rearview mirror. He was hoping Nesta wouldn’t, though, didn’t want to cause her any more worry or stress. So, naturally, around Nesta, Cassian pretended that Tomas didn’t exist.

When he went in to get their drinks, he kept one eye on her the entire time, the other on Tomas out of the tall, glass windows.

They couldn’t spend their lives being scared.

Although Cassian wasn’t scared of Tomas, he was just pissed off. He talked to Azriel and Rhys about it on multiple occasions, but they told him that he should just lay low, there was no point in doing something stupid that would land him in jail while his pregnant fiancée, and Tomas, were still out there.

He had to do something, though.

He was tired of doing nothing.

He was tired of Nesta being afraid, of having the nightmares, of calling the cops only to be told that nothing could be done.

But he didn’t voice a word of it to Nesta.

She had enough going on. 

He was back at the ranch within minutes, staying right behind Nesta the entire time. Once they’d pulled onto the main road, he hadn’t been able to see Tomas’s truck anymore.

And that was almost worse than knowing he was with them. Not knowing.

She parked her little car in front of the cabin and waited until Cassian was out of the truck and walking towards her to open her door.

He asked, “You saw him, didn’t you?” A silent nod. “Why didn’t you say anything?” She shrugged. “I didn’t want to worry you. I just wanted to have a nice lunch with my fiancé, but everywhere I turn, my demons are there.”

He set the bags down on the top of her car and wrapped here up in his arms. “He will never, never hurt you again, Nesta. I promise you that. He’ll never get close enough to try.”

She nodded and he kissed the top of her head. “Come on, let’s go inside and eat.”

She made a face of disgust and said, “I’m not hungry now.”

He sighed and said, “How about a relaxing bath, and then we’ll eat?”

“Yes, please,” she sighed. “I’ll go start the water if you put the food away.”

“Deal,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead.

He watched her walk to the back of the house, towards the bathroom and the huge tub in the corner. He waited until the water started running to make a phone call.

He pulled the business card out of his back pocket, deciding that no matter how nice they were, lawyers always looked like scumbags.

The law offices of Vanserra and Family answered and he asked to be patched through to one of the defense attorneys.

“Lucien Vanserra.”

Cassian said, “Luce, hey. It’s Cassian. I know this isn’t exactly your area of expertise, but you got a minute?”

In hushed tones, he explained the situation with Tomas, asking what their options were.

Lucien laid it out for him, basically telling him that they were doing all that they could.

“My only real suggestions,” he said and paused, and Cassian could hear tapping in the background. The drummer never could stop, even at his big kid job. “Start keeping track of when and where you see him. He’s got to be finding out where you are somehow. See if you can notice a pattern of some sorts.”

Cassian nodded, putting the food in the refrigerator. “I can do that. Anything else?”

He heard Lucien sigh. “I’d say a restraining order, but he hasn’t approached either of you since you asked him not to, right? Just shows up...waits?”

He nodded again and then remembered on the phone, he had to speak. “Yeah, never engages, he’s just always there.”

“Then like I said, keep track of when and where you see him.” Lucien added, “And maybe carry a gun.”

He snorted. “You act like I already don’t.”

Lucien laughed and the line was quiet for a minute. “Be careful, Cass. This guy has already made the first move once. What’s to stop him from doing so again?”

The comment sent ice into his veins, but he didn’t want Lucien to realize that, so he joked, “Dude, what are you, a defense lawyer, a criminal or a cop?”

A dark chuckle. “All three. It’s my job to outsmart the police,” Lucien crooned. “Why do you think I’m so good at it?”

“Today is one of those days that I’m glad you’re on our side.” Cass heard the water turn off in the bathroom. “I gotta go, man. Thanks for your help. Send me a bill for your time.”

Lucien laughed and said, “It’s pro bono, as long as you let me defend you when you kill him.”

Cassian chuckled, shaking his head. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He hung up and went into his bedroom. Their bedroom. Soon to be their only room, with a baby.

Cassian hadn’t thought about their living situation until just a few weeks ago when Nesta had been looking at the bedroom wall with an intensity that worried him. When he’d asked what she was looking at, she said she was trying to decide which wall to put the crib on.

Nesta should have been planning the nursery of her dreams, picking out paint colors and themes; should have been helping him put furniture together by explaining the confusing instructions.

Instead she was deciding which piece of furniture to shove out of the way to make room for their child to have somewhere to sleep.

Cassian stripped off his shirt in the bedroom, tossing it directly in the hamper. He walked into the bathroom and found Nesta sitting in the tub. When she saw him, she gave him a soft smile and scooted forward. Stripping off his jeans and socks, he stepped into space she’d given him and sat down, stretching his legs out on both sides of her body. He wrapped his arms around her and began rubbing slow circles on her belly with his thumbs.

Nesta leaned back, loving how safe she felt in Cassian’s arms, how at home it was.

Cassian was amazed at how much Nesta’s belly had been growing in the recent weeks. At first, he felt like it had taken her so long to show at all, now there was a little bump, his baby inside, growing rapidly.

Hopefully the baby was fairly average.

Cassian had been a giant baby, always tall and broad shouldered, even at birth. He weighed nearly thirteen pounds.

If Nesta was going to give birth to a thirteen pound baby, he was pretty sure she’d be kicking his ass and taking away his rights to give her more children.

“So,” he began, quietly, “when is this gender reveal party when I can find out the sex of my own child.”

Nesta snorted and looked up at him over her shoulder. “Tonight, for dinner.”

Cassian blinked. “The bakery is giving you something by tonight?”

“Feyre’s going to pick it up on her way,” Nesta said. “It will only be the six of us, so we can just do it here.”

Cassian nodded, slowly, suddenly feeling guilty, once again, about how much space they had privately available. But Nesta had worked so hard on the B&B, had made her father’s dream a reality. 

“You’re in deep thought about something,” Nesta murmured, running her fingers over his knees.

“I want to build a house,” Cassian said. “Here, on the property.”

Nesta’s fingers froze. “We have a house. Three, in fact.”

“This little one bedroom place? And, my cabin? You’re counting those as houses?” Cassian said. “I mean, they’re great for when we were just alone, Nes, and I love my cabin, and intend to keep it there for when I piss you off and you kick me out for the night, which will happen at some point, I’m sure of it…” Nesta chuckled and flicked his knee as he continued, “Look, I just….We don’t have any room for the baby, Nes. And I intend to defy the odds and give you more kids at some point, and what then? We can’t stay in this place, or the cabin, or the main house, with all the guests…”

Nesta nodded, slowly, before leaning back, resting her head against his chest, once more. She looked up at him and he met her eyes. “I know. I’ve thought about that a lot lately, too.” 

Cassian took her hands off his knees and intertwined their fingers together. “I just want you to be somewhere where you’re comfortable and not feel like we’re all living on top of one another. I mean, me alone...I’m a giant. Lying down, in the bedroom, I can nearly touch one wall with my hands, and the other with my feet.” 

Nesta laughed, breathlessly. “I suppose you can.”

Cassian’s eyes softened as he brought her fingers to his mouth and pressed his lips against her skin, softly. “We need more room. I do, you do, the baby does, all future Nazari babies do.”

“Gods, how many kids do you plan on putting inside of me?” Nesta muttered.

“As many as I can,” he muttered.

She paused for a moment, looking at their joined hands, then asked, “And what if this is the only one we have?”

Cassian tilted her chin up so that she met his gaze. “Then I’ll still be the happiest man alive.” She smiled softly and kissed him.

It was then that she felt it. Not quite a movement, but a small flutter. Small enough that she thought she might have imagined it, had it not repeated it right after.

She softly gasped. “Cass!” She grabbed his hand and placed it under hers where she’d just felt the flutter.

It happened once more, but Cassian said, “I can’t feel anything.”

Nesta began to cry. “I can. I can feel her.” It was overwhelming, going these months of constantly feeling sick and crying and craving weird foods, only having a belly to show for it.

But now, not only had she seen her baby today, she’d also felt it. “She’s in there and she’s healthy and happy.”

If Nesta was crying, it usually meant Cassian had done something wrong. But seeing her cry tears of joys…

In that moment, her smile had never been brighter, her eyes had never sparkled so brilliantly.

Cassian didn’t move, didn’t say a word. He simply watched her, dwelled in her excitement, watched as she expressed joy, relief, excitement. She sighed, and wiped at her eyes as Cassian continued to run his hands over her stomach. 

He couldn’t wait to feel that baby kick, but he would, for now. He’d let her be in love with those little feelings that only a mother could feel.

He didn’t even bother to tell her that she called the baby she again.

He swore she looked on her way to the bakery, but he’d keep that confident suspicion to himself.

“Happy and healthy,” he repeated, and kissed the back of her neck. “And very well loved.”

“Yeah,” Nesta agreed, quietly. “She is.”

They stayed like that for a while, snuggled together in the tub, silent and comforting, until the water began to cool. Then Cassian was out and helped out his fiancée, dried off, and warmed up their food. 

After they ate, Nesta went to check on the guests that remained in the B&B while Cassian cleaned up around the little house, considering four more people would be inside in a couple of hours. Azriel, it seemed, got enough taken care of for today and told Cassian to relax.

Cassian hated relaxing.

So, he cleaned. By the time he was done, the little house was spotless.

Around four-thirty, Elain came bounding up the stairs, bursting through the door. “Nesta said you had the ultrasound pictures.” She held out her hand, opening and closing it. “Gimme.”

Cassian was sitting on the couch, watching a roping, and drinking a beer. He stared at her. “You know they don’t have the sex of the baby on there, right?”

She sat down on the couch next to him and said, “Come on, Cass, you have to know! I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

He laughed. “Even if I did know, I wouldn’t tell you.”

“Ugh, why do you have to be so loyal?” She slumped back on the couch. “Where is Nes anyway?”

He got up to get a fresh beer, grabbing one for Elain, and said, “Up at the house, playing host to the guests.”

“Why’d you say it like that?” Elain asked when he sat back down.

He sighed. “I’m just worried it’s too much. With Tamlin’s trial wrapping up and the baby coming. Not to mention all the Tomas bullshit.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “What about Tomas?”

He took a swig of beer. “Nes hasn’t told you?” She shook her head. “He’s practically stalking her, but he only does it in public places, and he never speaks. It’s…freaky.”

Elain blinked, then took a long, deep breath. “Have you-.”

“Called Lucien this morning,” Cassian began, before she could even finish the sentence. “There’s nothing that can be done until he actually commits a crime. Unfortunately. But it really has her on edge, you know? She never wants to go anywhere, never wants to do anything because she knows she’ll run into him. I have to figure out how he knows where she’s going. After I know that, Luce can make something happen...he thinks.”

Elain sighed, her face in her hands. “I hate that guy.”

“That’s a pretty popular opinion around here,” Cassian muttered, strutting into the kitchen to pull out the meat he’d be grilling soon. “I don’t know what to do about it.”

When he looked at Elain, she was leaning against the doorway of the kitchen, nibbling on her bottom lip. It seems she didn’t know, either, and Cassian felt oddly guilty for killing her giddy vibe.

“Anyway,” Cassian went on, pulling out a beer and popping the can open. “Enough of that. Why are you here so early? Aside from hounding me about my unborn child.” Elain chuckled, although the worry lingered in her eyes. “I brought decorations, of course.”

“Of course,” Cassian laughed.

Elain eyed the beer in Cassian’s hand then looked back into the living room, where the one he’d just gotten, minutes before, sat. “Are you intending to get drunk before this thing? Because, if so, warn me now. I need to know when it’s time to cut you off. How many have you had?”

Cassian just rolled his eyes. “Calm down, mother, I can take care of myself.”

Elain just narrowed her eyes.

Cassian cleared his throat. “I’ll...pace myself.”

“Good,” she said. “Now, help me, tall person.”

First, Cassian brought out the ultrasound picture they had left on the counter, the one they were going to get framed, and let Elain ogle over it for nearly twenty minutes. Then, Cassian was helping tape up an absurd amount of streamers all over the little house, only stopping when Elain was satisfied. 

Quiet voices streamed through the open windows about an hour later, and Cassian opened the door to find Nesta and Feyre walking up to the little house, arm and arm. It was good to see her in such a good place with her sisters. It wasn’t so long ago that Nesta had just come back and found Feyre’s hand smacking her in the side of the face. 

But now it seemed like a whole different lifetime.

“Where’s the cake?” Elain asked, after they’d come in and Nesta was telling which spices to get down for the dry rub she’d been craving.

Feyre was setting the table. “Rhysand is getting it when he gets here. I left it in the back of the fridge at the house.”

Cassian looked around, noticing he was drastically outnumbered by the Archeron girls. “Speaking of Rhys, where is he? And where’s Az? He told me at, like, two-thirty that he could handle what was left and I should rest.”

The girls remained silent, all with a familiar glint in their eyes.

Cassian stilled. “Oh, shit, I don’t like that look.”

“They’ll be here,” Elain promised. “Az went home a little while ago to shower. He got done what he was supposed to, don’t worry.”

“Okay,” Cassian began, slowly, unable to judge that damned Archeron look.

Nesta met him on the porch and kissed his cheek. “They’ll be here soon.”

And they were, about half an hour later with bottles full of cheap, shitty whiskey. Apparently it was a night of celebration, not only over their gender reveal, but over the fact that they had recently become engaged, had opened a successful B&B, and now were only mere months away from giving birth to their first child. 

No wonder Elain was so worried about his afternoon beer consumption. 

Apparently, he had a long night ahead of him.

He grilled steaks and chicken behind the little house and they ate and drank and bonded, which was something Cassian felt didn’t happen a lot lately. He saw them all, sure, from time to time - Azriel the most often - but, they rarely were able to all get together. 

After dinner, Rhysand went and got the cake from the main house. It was a little cake, just enough for them all to have a slice.

“Okay, so, apparently, when we cut it open, the inside will be either blue or pink,” Nesta explained. “So.” She had the knife in her hand and was staring at the cake, but she didn’t move to cut it. She cleared her throat. “So.”

Elain was practically bouncing out of her shoes. “So, so, so! If you don’t do it right now, I’m going to!”

Azriel just put his hands on Elain’s shoulders, silently telling her to calm down, but his smile was bright and humored.

Nesta looked up at Cass, biting her bottom lip.

He asked, “You ready?”

“No. Yes.” She was absolutely glowing, happier than her sisters ever remembered her being. “Here.” She gave the knife to Cassian. “I’m liable to start crying the moment I see a color, so you should probably do the honors.”

He chuckled and turned the cake around, where only he and Nesta could see it and carefully sliced the knife through once. It came out clean, just the tiniest bit of white frosting clinging to the edge.

One more cut.

They saw it at the same time.

“Oh, shit.”

“Oh, my god.”

Elain was practically breathless when she demanded, “What is it?”

Cassian looked down at Nesta, who was already crying, and turned the plate around.

Revealing the pink cake inside.

Elain was instantly crying, and Feyre was looking at Rhysand with a look that said she had mad baby fever. 

But Cassian just looked down at Nesta, at the tears in her eyes and the smile on her lips, and kissed her, softly. “You were right.”

She rolled her eyes as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Of course, I was. Get used to that.”

He cursed, silently. Not only was he marrying Nesta Archeron, but he was about to have a tiny version of her running around, too. He had a feeling those stubborn genes of hers were stubborn themselves.

“Hmmm,” he mumbled, at last, which only made her grin widen. She kissed him, once more, before cutting the cake up for everyone to share.

A girl.

They were having a girl.

Cassian hoped and prayed that she would be just like her mother.

An hour later Nesta was staring her fiancé down, hands on her hips. He had taken up a very similar posture. “Call me if you need me.”

“I will be with my sisters,” Nesta said. “And I’m not far away. I’ll be fine.”

Her voice was reassuring, she tried her best to be reassuring, but the look in Cassian’s eyes told her that she’d woken up in a cold sweat one too many times.

“You’re just going to the cabin,” Nesta said, then gestured over to the little, old cabin, where Beau ran around in front of it. He hadn’t stopped since they told him the baby was going to be a girl. “Try not to let those two assholes get you too drunk.” She gestured to where Azriel and Rhysand waited at the bottom of the stairs.

Cassian snorted, and kissed her softly. “No promises.”

Then he was walking away, all of them carrying a ridiculous amount of alcohol as they crossed the grass, then the driveway, and entered the cabin.

Nesta went inside of her little house, where her sisters had poured themselves a glass of wine. 

After plopping down in her armchair, Nesta scowled. “I want a glass of wine so bad.”

“A few more months,” Feyre winked.

Nesta settled her hands lovingly over her bump.

Her baby girl.

“And then some,” she said. “Breastfeeding.” 

“Allow us to make a toast in your favor,” Elain said, lifting her glass filled with wine in the air. “To baby girl Nazari.”

She clinked her glass against Feyre’s and they both took a drink. Nesta couldn’t help but laugh at the display.

“When is Azriel going to propose?” Nesta asked, a minute later.

Elain nearly choked on her wine. 

“It has been a while,” Feyre mumbled, eyeing the middle sister.

Elain sighed. “I don’t know. Sometimes I just wanna grab him by the neck and tell him to get on with it.”

Nesta snorted. “You should. And make sure you tell me when you do. I wanna be there to see that.”

Feyre laughed, but her eyes were on Elain. “He’ll come around to it,” Elain stated, and she sounded confident in that statement. “But, there is something I want to ask you about.”

Nesta’s smile faded as she realized her sister was talking to her.

“Cassian mentioned that Tomas has been….stalking you,” Elain went on, fiddling with the stem of her wine glass.

Her reaction confirmed the statement. She was white as death, her eyes haunted, but she cleared her throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. We’ve run into each other a few times, but-.”

“Cut the bullshit,” Feyre said, cutting her off. “Cass himself told Elain and Rhys told me.”

“How long has this been going on?” Elain asked.

“Nothing’s going on.” Nesta said, looking at the television.

“Nesta,” Feyre said, her tone forcing Nesta to look. “You’re protecting your stomach. Look me dead in the eye and tell me nothing is going on.”

Nesta glanced down. Where she’d been rubbing soothing circles over her belly, she was now nearly hunched over it, an arm over it.

A long, slow breath escaped her before she said, “Since the brick went through the window.”

Elain and Feyre remained silent, but then Elain said, quietly, “Nesta, that was weeks ago. Months ago.”

“Yeah,” Nesta muttered.

“Nesta,” Feyre began, shaking her head. “You should’ve told-.”

“Why?” Nesta interrupted. “So you could’ve done what exactly? If the law, the officials can’t do anything, neither can you.”

Her sisters remained silent, and Nesta instantly felt guilty. She shouldn’t snap at them. They were only concerned, it wasn’t their fault.

“I just...give me one night when I’m not thinking about it,” Nesta said. “Please.”

“Okay,” Elain breathed. “Well, do you have any names picked out?”

“Yeah, we...” Nesta paused and hesitated, and then she felt that small flutter inside of her once more. That small movement that was hers and hers alone. She could see Cassian’s face earlier, after she’d first felt their daughter, the disappointment when he couldn’t say the same.

So she would give him this. She’d keep their names to herself, for now, so he could have that feeling, too.

She just knew her sisters weren’t going to like it.