#i almost gave up halfway through but i persevered !!!

[sapphosclown]

thinking ab edwin and niko

thinking ab how niko is probably one of his only friends he’s made in the century he’s lived/not lived.

based on what we see of his life and death, he wasn’t popular. based on his personality he’s quite put together, he’s quiet and he watches. he doesn’t take risks really and that leads me to think he didn’t have any good friends. not until charles.

and of course, charles is his best friend. but for whatever their reasons, they hid stuff about their lives from each other. maybe it’s to keep things light, maybe to keep things professional, whatever. i think them making the dead boy detectives agency is their way of connecting without having to connect so seriously— there’s always work to fall back into. it’s lonely, he had a best friend but still was lonely.

but niko, she doesn’t work with them (not officially). she’s just a girl! she was a victim of the supernatural and lived and can now see them, but she’s just a sweet girl who misses her parents and also, doesn’t have any friends! just like edwin hadn’t. but something about her bluntness being so charming, her love for everything, edwin was drawn to it. and then she plays such a big part in edwin accepting himself, he finally has someone he can talk to about these feelings he’s been repressing for nearly 100 years. they can just sit and watch silly shows and she hold no judgement against him for things he doesn’t know!

idk. just edwin’s reaction to niko in the last episode was so heartbreaking, that’s his friend he just lost. the way he screams and then once he’s free all he can do is stare (he can’t even cry but he wants to so badly). charles has to pull him away because he knows death should be coming soon and like. everything else. but edwin physically doesn’t want to leave her. he knows how it feels to have more than one person to confide in now, someone who wants to embrace him fully as is and can give outside perspective and advice and he can trust and trusts him back. how can one go back to loneliness after knowing what it’s like to love and be loved like that?

[s0ftpining]

happy valentine's day! romance charts for my tavs, kestrel and merritt, in case anyone wants to fall in love with them :o)

[ongreenergrasses]

✨ End of Year Questions ✨

tagged by @genyathefirebird thank you 💜 i was apprehensive to answer these because i thought i hadn’t written that much but uh. Turns out i wrote a lot it’s just that nobody’s seen any of it.

What is your favorite thing you created?

i think my favorite is zombie movies, because that felt like closing a chapter that i didn’t even know i’d left open. runner up is something slightly cursed encouraged by @xar626 whether she knew it or not where i returned to something I wrote this summer and it turned out it was 2k about a very pivotal blowjob. which i consequently wrote in comic sans. it needs at least another 2k before it’ll be ready for polite society

Which work are you proudest of?

AMARYLLIS i forgot i posted Amaryllis this year. i am so proud of it

Is there anything you are proud of that you achieved this year?

i’ve had brief shining moments where i’ve been writing every day and i’m proud of that. i absolutely believe that it was what allowed me to pass the big test i took this year because i had practice quickly organizing my thoughts and putting them to page

Did you explore anything new this year?

i learned to crochet! i took a class and then i was like yeah this is the life so i’ve crocheted a hat a lot of granny squares with my scrap yarn and am working on a strawberry bag

Which work gave you the most difficulty?

shout out to that time i got caught writing porn on a plane this year and i was like i have to post this or it’ll mean NOTHING and it still isn’t posted because i’m only halfway through revising and i have negative sixteen ideas for a title

What was your biggest creative challenge this year?

i found myself in multiple situations this year where i was confronted with something genuinely close to my worst fears in term of my PTSD, and in both situations i was required to do my absolute best on creative work, once taking a test (lots of writing!) and once playing in the pit in a very long and difficult production. being able to tap into my skills and perform to my best ability was one of the hardest things i’ve ever done and THEN i cut my finger and had to do 3 shows without use of a finger. so that was exceptionally challenging but i succeeded and overcame!

Which work brought you the most joy?

be on your way for sure, first serious smut i’ve ever published and a rarepair passion project. loved writing it and loved posting it

Which of your works do you think people should check out?

i would say i write pretty varied stuff, a lot of it is about grief and a lot of it is angst, so it’s hard to say but i think the series love, persevering is some of my best writing. prompt fills are all under #prompts and my ao3 is here

Do you have creative plans for next year? Is there anything exciting you’re currently working on?

i do want to set myself the goal of posting a lot of the fic on my phone if i can get it up to my personal standard. i’m really nervous about posting it because it’s a big departure from the type of thing i normally write and it’s also for a pairing that is very personal for me, i also know that it’s for something that’s older so i know it won’t be that popular which is always something that makes posting less fun

in terms of music, this is the year i fully learn the prelude to Bach’s 6th cello suite, it’s one of the most beautiful pieces of all time imo. i am also very fortunate in that i’ll get to play Largo from Dvorak’s New World which has been a dream of mine for a long time, plus i get the beautiful little solo 💖 and in terms of fiber arts, it’s the year i finally knit a sweater (or three) and crochet a couple blankets

Lastly, any words of wisdom or advice you’d like to share?

i think writing a lot and posting almost nothing has reminded me why i write, and that’s just because i love it. the external validation is nice and important but if you’re writing just for that, you will inevitably lose your joy for it, which is what happened to me in 2022. set goals for yourself, write what comes naturally, and you can keep it forever or post it, whatever serves you.

tagging @goldheartedsky @sigurism @godihatethisfreakingcat @scorchedhearth @shatterthefragments @bakingmoomins and anyone else who would like to 🌸 important note this doesn’t have to just be about writing!! Anything creative goes

[dkfile]

banana split. 03

❛ the thought hits him like a truck. he doesn’t want you to leave. ❜

word count | 13.0k (13,077) genre | fluff, angst, rivals to lovers, high school au, fake dating ━ cheerleader!reader

jaemin’s first relationship comes in the form of an arrangement with someone he used to despise, and he finds himself not hating it. he knows he doesn’t hate it. too bad he’s not very good at admitting it out loud.

★ warnings | like one mention of underaged drinking, jaemin tries to ignore his feelings, jaemin also can’t express his feelings, renjun and jeno won’t shut up about how lovey dovey you make him feel ★ note | omg i’m so sorry this took so long i like almost gave up halfway and began writing a new fic, but i persevered and now banana split is done!! i think this is probably the most exciting part because it has both the events of the wedding AND homecoming so..... !!! this was really fun to write jaemin is my sweet baby angel i love him so much 3 anyways i hope u enjoy

PART 01 | 02 | 03 [FINAL]

i. LUNGE

At seven in the morning, you’re woken up by Donghyuck’s flood of messages. There’s a cluster of Animojis, Memojis, regular emojis, and pictures of him pretending to be panicked—and you wonder, for a brief moment, how long it took for him to nail his expression before someone on the council shouted at him for not helping out with the homecoming dance decorations. Then, in all caps, he sends you a text saying that everything has gone up in flames, and Chaewon’s shouting at everyone because the stress has finally gotten to her head.

“She’s broken!” Donghyuck exclaims over the phone, alarmed, which answers your unspoken question—you guess he wasn’t pretending to be filled with dreadful anxiety after all. “And I can’t fix her! You have to come here and help—I know you were supposed to come at nine, but we need you now.” And then he says something you never thought he would say. “And bring Jaemin.”

You have never met a morning person in your entire life, so much that you thought they were a myth, but when you meet Jaemin at the front of the school, you realize you’re completely wrong. He’s grinning—like, actually grinning. At seven in the morning, when the sun has barely come up, and the crisp air bleeds through the thin material of his jacket.

“You’re chipper,” you grunt when he finally turns to look at you. His eyes widen a fraction, probably because you look like you’ve just rolled out of bed—which you have—and on the wrong side. You always thought you could look good in anything, but the dishevelled look is something nobody can pull off. “It’s frightening.”

“You look like you just came back from a fight with a raccoon and lost,” Jaemin quips before sizing you up and down. “I’m no fashion critic, but I don’t think blue polka dot pajama pants are gonna get you an invite to New York Fashion Week.”

Dawn has always taken its time seeping into your bones since, apparently, your body seems to enjoy being in an exhausted rampage every morning. Jaemin’s comment should’ve annoyed you like Cal did this morning when he finished the last of your favourite cereal, but for some reason, it doesn’t. Ticks you off a little, sure, but there’s something about his smile that wakes your body up.

You still scowl at him, though, because he made fun of your pajamas. “Is this your long winded way of saying I look ugly?”

“No, of course not! You look good,” he shrugs and spins to turn towards the front entrance, leaving you to gape at his back. “Worse than you usually do, but still—”

“Did you just compliment me?”

“Don’t make me regret it.”

The gymnasium is already consumed in havoc by the time both of you enter. Chaewon is being pried off a table by Donghyuck before she has the chance to shout at a poor unlucky freshman, and she huffs before looking down to examine her clipboard and begins to lecture him on what he could be doing instead of standing around.

“She seems stressed,” Jaemin states casually as he stuffs his hands into his pockets. He looks around the gym with an amused smile as everyone scurries to finish organizing banners and decorations for the homecoming dance. “And this looks like a disaster.”

You nudge his elbow, sending him a look to shut up before sliding gracefully on the floor to reach Donghyuck and Chaewon. Upon seeing you and Jaemin, her shoulders relax while Donghyuck’s face hardens.

“You guys arrived together?” Donghyuck asks suspiciously, halting Chaewon’s intentions to give Jaemin and you instructions.

“No,” you say, narrowing your eyes at Donghyuck. He’s acting strange for someone who had the idea in the first place to invite Jaemin for help. “We met out front.”

Donghyuck bites his tongue. “Right. Nice to see you, Jaemin.”

Jaemin frowns. “Yeah, you too, Donghyuck.”

Both boys straighten, squaring their shoulders to appear taller. Chaewon gapes at the interaction before grumbling about testosterone and the awful superiority complex men have before she levels your gaze with hers. “So, I need you to help Yeji with the banner for the dance—Ryujin will be here soon, she left to go get glitter—and Jaemin, I need you to help Donghyuck with—”

“Me and Jisu are fine,” your friend interrupts abruptly, causing all heads to turn to him. Chaewon’s eye twitches with annoyance—of course Donghyuck would pick today of all days to be irritatingly more difficult and unhelpful than he usually is. “We don’t need Jaemin for food, he can go help Mabel with hanging the streamers.”

“Mabel is ass at hanging the streamers! Look around,” Chaewon exclaims loudly, stretching her arms to gesture to the walls of the gymnasium. In the corner of your eye, you see the aforementioned freshman cower in the corner, and you heave a sigh. To you, the streamers are fine, but the look on Jaemin’s face says otherwise. You shove his elbow again and he sends you a brief glare. “Jisu’s good at decorating. And Jaemin’s in the food business, he’ll know how the world works. He’s helping you.”

“He works at an ice cream parlour.”

“I don’t care. Food is food, dumbass,” Chaewon says sarcastically before grabbing the sleeve of Jaemin’s denim jacket and pulling him towards Donghyuck. “Both of you—suck it up, you’re in charge of food. Y/N, banner.”

“Aye, aye, captain.”

“Don’t call me that, Y/N.”

“It seemed appropriate.”

Chaewon rolls her eyes before pushing in between the two boys to walk towards two underclassmen. Donghyuck’s eyes never leave Jaemin’s, and you’re left standing in the middle, watching the staring contest with blatant displeasure. If Donghyuck had second thoughts of letting you bring Jaemin along, he should’ve said so, because you really don’t have the energy to prevent an inevitable quarrel between your best friend and fake boyfriend. Frankly, you think nobody in the vicinity would want to break apart a catfight, either.

Your hands slip into Jaemin’s and he almost jolts in surprise. “We’ll handle food,” you say, squeezing his hand in hopes he won’t protest. He makes no move to, probably because he’d rather be with you than with Hyuck. You’re too tired to let that thought inflate your ego. “You can help Yeji.”

Donghyuck clicks his tongue. “But Chaewon—”

“This will be better for all of us,” you cut him off. “You’re good at art, right? And I’m good at, um… talking about food.”

Jaemin snorts. “No, you’re not.”

Donghyuck brushes the boy off. “How about we handle food and Jaemin helps with the banner?”

You send your friend an irked look. It really is too early to argue with somebody. “You were texting me last night that you wanted to help with arts and crafts,” you grunt. “You literally spent an hour complaining about your creativity going to waste. So, you help Yeji, and Jaemin and I will be over there.”

“You know Chaewon only separated you two so you wouldn’t get distracted.”

It’s a miracle Donghyuck keeps his eyes on you because Jaemin practically recoils in disgust. “We’re going to be negotiating with catering companies in hopes they’ll give us good food for cheap,” you deadpan, unamused. “I think Jaemin and I will be fine.”

He sighs. “Y/N, don’t be an idiot.”

“Hey!” Chaewon yells from the other side of the gym. “Why are you guys just standing around?”

Squeezing Jaemin’s hand again, you drag him to where you see Jisu sitting at a table, examining various pamphlets and business cards with a frown on her face. Behind you, you hear Donghyuck grumbling under his breath, but you ignore his childishness and instead send Jisu a smile before telling her that Chaewon wants her to help with decorations.

“Thank God,” she says, engulfed in relief. Her eyes linger on your and Jaemin’s linked hands before her lips pull up into a smirk. “Congratulations, by the way. I never thought Jaemin would fall in love with you, given the fact that he used to never go a day without dragging your name through the mud—”

Jaemin clears his throat loudly. “I am not in love.”

Jisu shrugs her jacket off and throws it onto the table. Walking backwards towards Mabel, she flashes the both of you a grin. “Well, only a matter of time, then.”

Jaemin scowls once Jisu’s back is turned. “I hate her,” he gripes, finally letting go of your hand and absentmindedly wiping his skin on his jeans. You frown at the action before taking the seat Jisu sat in previously. Jaemin examines the table with amusement. “Are these takeout menus?”

You grab one of the brochures and beam. “Hey, Cal used to work here!” you scan the paper, unaware of your grin and Jaemin’s gaze. “He used to bring us food after each shift—my Dad was always the one who finished the desserts. That was probably the first red flag—my first clue that he was going to turn out to be a pretty shitty father.”

Jaemin’s face falls. “Y/N—”

“I’m kidding,” you laugh before dropping the material to the side. “But we’re not getting food from here. The manager sucks and I don’t wanna talk to him.”

“Alright…” he trails off, seating himself in a chair across from you. He sifts through the pile of menus before tilting his head. “Is the food at dances usually takeout? I thought you guys said something about catering.”

You shrug. “Chaewon told us that if we say the food has been catered, it makes the school look good, which is kinda stupid, but... yeah. Pretty sure every year the food at the dance is takeout.”

“Most of these aren’t even healthy,” Jaemin’s nose wrinkles, showing his disgust as he rifles through the variety of food options laid out in front of him. “Aren’t schools supposed to serve nutritious food? Isn’t that a thing?”

“Healthy food is expensive,” you say, testing the know-it-all tone Chaewon typically uses on your tongue. Jaemin looks up, and you decide then that you don’t like how it fits your voice. “And these are the only options we have. Let’s start with eliminating some options—the vegan place is definitely out, I’m pretty sure they got health hazards last summer—”

“Why don’t we bake?” Jaemin thinks aloud, interrupting your explanation and silencing you. “Well, not you. I bake, because you’re a disaster—” you huff. He almost smiles, “—but you can help with, like, the mixing and plating and… putting things in the oven.”

You cross your arms over your chest. “I can help with the actual baking, I’m not a complete lost cause—”

“Yeah, okay,” he waves you off. “But the homecoming dance is after the wedding, isn’t it, so…”

Biting the inside of your cheek and slowly unfolding your arms, you lean forward, your middle pressing against the table. “You’re suggesting we bake for the wedding and the dance.”

He nods. “The school doesn’t waste money so it takes things off your friend’s plate, and you’re fulfilling your promise with helping me with Aunt Eunbin’s wedding. Two birds, one stone.”

“Isn’t that more work for us, though?”

“Probably, but…” his lips part, eyes looking faraway before they meet yours again, bright with opportunity, like of a sanguine boy who is full of nothing but optimistic ideas. Reading other people is only ever a challenge if a person is unconsciously hiding what they truly feel, as if doing so is second nature, and you’ve come to realize that Jaemin can keep his emotions underneath the surface if that’s what he desires. “We’ll be fine, right? I mean, yesterday wasn’t so bad.”

“Yesterday we had a heart-to-heart about my asshole dad and my mom’s failed marriage.”

Jaemins actually tsks. “So? It’s nice learning these things about you—well, okay, you know what I mean,” he nonchalantly picks up the first brochure you discarded and traces the label on the front. “And, who knows, maybe, I’ll tell you the reason why I actually hate you.”

Eyebrows raised, you ask, “Hate, present tense?”

He doesn’t even bother to ponder your question. “Right, sorry. Hated, past tense.”

For some odd reason, you think your chest warms.

ii. DOUBLE 9

Nine minutes after Jaemin confesses to not completely hating your guts, Donghyuck drags you out of the gymnasium. He says it’s because he’s going to the vending machines to get everybody snacks, but you know it’s a ploy to talk to you without Chaewon grumbling about the productivity her two best friends lack.

Ever since your dad moved away, Cal’s worries had shifted, going from making sure you didn’t enter his room without permission to being certain there was still a roof above your heads and food on your plate, all while staying up late to finish his assignments so he can hand them in on time. So, Donghyuck has taken responsibility for all brotherly things, which Cal is thankful for. However, you aren’t, since Cal has never been an overprotective brother and could care less about the people you date. Donghyuck is a different story. Obviously. He doesn’t make that fact unknown.

The two of you arrive at the vending machines. His head is down as he reads the list of snacks he wrote in his notes app; a granola bar for Mabel, bag of carrots for Jisu, Doritos for Yeji… You walk to the other vending machine, which is for beverages, and grab the grape Powerade Chaewon asked you to retrieve. You refrain from gagging in disgust at the flavour she chose and instead wait for Donghyuck to finish at the machine he currently stands in front of so you can get the bag of pretzels Jaemin asked for.

The sound of thumbs pressing against buttons is interrupted when Donghyuck says, “Jaemin seems nice.”

You stare at Hyuck, watching as he bends down to get the snacks before he turns to look at you. His face shows everything but sincerity, and you almost roll your eyes. “Thanks, I can tell that you really mean that,” you state monotonously. Donghyuck purses his lips before turning away again to put more quarters through the slit of the machine. “I don’t understand what your problem is. If you didn’t want him here, why did you tell me to bring him?”

“Wasn’t my idea,” Donghyuck groans, his head hanging back briefly as he recalls the events of the moments before you and Jaemin arrived to help the student council. “Chaewon was complaining about how our options for food suck and Jisu mentioned that Jaemin is good with culinary stuff, and since you planted the idea in her head that Jaemin offered to help with organizing homecoming…”

The machine beeps after each button Hyuck presses. You’re silent for a moment, watching his movements before commenting, with the confidence of the world on your chest, “He’s a good guy.”

“He hates you.”

“Hated,” you correct, and you feel lighter, knowing that this isn’t something you have to lie about. “If you would just give him a chance—”

“I was talking to Chanhee last night,” Donghyuck interjects. “He can’t believe you’re dating Jaemin. He said it feels… weird, because, you know, he used to hate you. Even your friends think this is strange, Y/N.”

You murmur something in a low, gruff tone before moving towards the vending machine after Donghyuck’s finished with getting all the snacks. You slip in the remainder of your change—Jaemin promised to pay you back, although you’re sure that isn’t true, considering you basically made him pay for your meal days ago when the two of you were at Denny’s. “I don’t have time for this.”

“I don’t trust him,” Donghyuck persists, pressing his lips together firmly. “I want to, but—”

“Then let’s hangout,” you suggest, tossing the pretzels in the air before catching it. Your vision focuses on Hyuck’s lips parted in surprise. “Later, before we go home, you can get to know him. Invite Chanhee if you want, too, since the both of you agree that me and Jaemin’s relationship is a hoax.”

Which it is. But you are not admitting that to Donghyuck.

“We don’t think that,” he scoffs as the two of you begin your trek back to the gymnasium. “It’s just weird, I think, to start dating your sworn enemy.”

“You are so fucking dramatic.”

He sends you a curt glare. “I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” you stop and so does he, the two of you staring at each other in the quiet hallway, surrounded by lockers and the faint noise of your peers just around the corner. “We’ll go to Denny’s. Tell Chanhee to meet us there.”

He searches your face. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

Donghyuck is quiet for a beat before he exhales. “Fine. Denny’s after this.”

He starts walking first and you follow after him, wincing at the reaction Jaemin will have once you tell him what you have just gotten yourselves into. You reason with yourself that this is fair—you were introduced to Jaemin’s world a few days ago, and today he’s being introduced to yours. Now, you’re even.

“Where were you guys?” Jaemin whines once you reach the table after handing a disgruntled Chaewon her Powerade. “I’ve been waiting for you for ten minutes! We need to figure out the—”

You glance at the time on your phone. “It’s only been nine minutes.”

“Okay, close enough,” he huffs before making grabbing gestures with his hands in an attempt to take the pretzels from your hands. “Now give me my food please.”

You toss the bag to him before sending him a hesitant smile. “Jaemin. I have a question.”

The boy places two miniature pretzels on his tongue and hums in response. When you don’t reply to his acknowledgement, he looks up at you, worry spilling from his mouth when he asks, “What? Are you okay?”

You bite your tongue before deciding to rip off the bandaid. “How do you feel about a double date?”

Jaemin’s eyebrows furrow, searching your face for any tell that shows you’re lying, only to come up short. He sighs, dropping his hands onto his lap before begrudgingly asking, “With who?”

“Chanhee—” Jaemin exhales with relief, and if you said the next name a second earlier, he would’ve missed it entirely. “—and Donghyuck.”

Jaemin’s gaze snaps up to yours and respite is swept away from him too quickly. He looks at you with disbelief.

You grimace. It was nice to know that he stopped hating you—although, after this, his tolerance might be short lived.

iii. DOUBLE HOOK DATE

Whoever thought double dates aren’t ploys where an individual tries to make somebody jealous, interventions dressed as chocolate milkshakes and blueberry pancakes, or both, are delusional. Jaemin thinks these things only ever really end in disaster—which is an indirect way of him saying he’s watched too many trashy Hallmark romcoms—and told you multiple times that this will only backfire.

But if you backed out now, Donghyuck and Chanhee would raise eyebrows, so you slammed your foot on the gas pedal instead.

The Spotify Teen Beats playlist you put on shuffle—due to you and Jaemin arguing over music for five minutes in the school’s parking lot—is immediately drowned out by him listing talking points to go over during the date slash interrogation. One that you wouldn’t be in if it weren’t for you wanting to prove Donghyuck wrong. There’s a large chance Jaemin will hold this over your head, but you can’t bring yourself to worry about it when all your fake boyfriend is doing is quizzing you on how your supposed first date went.

“We went to the arcade,” you say, causing Jaemin to groan.

“I don’t like the arcade and Chanhee knows this—”

“What kind of person doesn’t like the arcade?” you huff, baffled by Jaemin’s confession. You try to stop yourself from calling him boring and landing both of you in a debate about the pros and cons of claw machines, and instead state, “Never mind. We’ll just say I wanted to go to the arcade and you said yes because you liked me so much.”

“There’s no way Chanhee’s going to believe that.”

“What, that you’re in love with me? Come on, it can’t be that hard to act that out.”

Jaemin gives you a look. “It can.”

Before you have a chance to retort, your phone beeps with a text from Chanhee, saying he’s sitting in his favourite booth in the corner, and sends another message with a smiley face. The emoji stares up into your face, taunting you, and you unbuckle your seatbelt before reaching to unlock the doors.

“Whoa, hold on,” Jaemin protests immediately as you move to step out of the car. “We haven’t finished discussing the details—”

“Think of this as a…” you trail off waving your hand in the air, staring at the cloudy sky. You can’t bear to sit in the car while your friends are waiting inside the restaurant, determined to pick apart this relationship. You’d rather get this over with than to prepare for it. “An improv exercise. You need more practice with that, anyway.”

Jaemin gapes at you from the passenger’s seat. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Let’s go!” you sing, slamming the door shut and walking towards the entrance. Jaemin is quick to catch up to you and you reach into your pocket to lock the car. After hearing the satisfying beep, you walk into Denny’s, welcoming the cool air-conditioning and the sound of sizzling eggs and brunch chatter.

Jaemin glances around then sends a reluctant wave to Chanhee, the action catching your eye. You and Jaemin send each other a brief encouraging look before walking towards the booth, where Chanhee and Donghyuck sit side-by-side, the former eyeing the two of you with suspicion while the latter examines the menu.

“Hey,” Chanhee breathes out a greeting. You haven’t seen him since cheerleading practice a few days ago—Coach has decided to dwindle the amount of practices, thank God—and you haven’t sat with the cheerleaders at lunch in a while either, so you’ve only seen him in the hallways since the both of you don’t share any classes. “Haven’t seen the both of you in forever. Clearly we have some catching up to do.”

“I saw you on Wednesday,” says Jaemin, urging you to go into the booth first. A tactic, so it’s easy for him to escape to the bathroom if the conversation becomes too much for him. Before you have the chance to argue, he kicks your foot, and you’re forced to slide into the booth before Donghyuck or Chanhee can ask questions.

“Yeah, but I didn’t know the two of you were dating then,” he shrugs, fidgeting with the top of the salt shaker. “You guys are cute, by the way.”

Donghyuck purses his lips while you beam. “Thanks!”

Sliding the menu over to Jaemin, Donghyuck says, “So, Jaemin, how was everything earlier? You find it okay?” There’s a beat, an awkward pause in the middle of Donghyuck’s statement where he wants to add something else but can’t string the right words together. Eventually, he settles for: “Y/N wasn’t a pain in the ass or anything? You know, they get cranky early in the morning.”

You kick Donghyuck’s shin and he thinly veils a wince. “Everyone is cranky in the morning—you’re moodier than me!”

Donghyuck does nothing to acknowledge your statement and keeps his eyes on Jaemin instead, patiently waiting for an answer that satisfies him. Donghyuck’s ego inflates drastically when he’s proven right, and you’ll never hear the end of this if Jaemin ends up stumbling over himself.

Jaemin casts a sideways glance towards you and you catch the helplessness swirling in his irises before he flashes Donghyuck a smile. “It was good! We figured out what to do about the food situation. Chaewon approved it.”

The end of Jaemin’s reply catches Donghyuck off guard. Chaewon is notorious for never being happy with the end result of things—especially if she’s flooded with stress and the desire to make sure everything is up to par. You had been surprised, too, when all Chaewon did upon hearing your idea was send you a relieved smile before moving to talk to Ryujin about tickets. Donghyuck’s shock, however, is enough to make you a little smug, and when he sees the look on your face, he almost rolls his eyes.

Chanhee clears his throat. “Oh, what food is gonna be at the dance, then? Please tell me it’s not that vegan place again, last summer I heard—”

“Oh,” Jaemin shakes his head. “We’re baking.”

Chanhee’s jaw goes slack. “Y/N’s baking?”

“No,” Jaemin declines quickly, and you scowl at how Chanhee’s shoulders deflate. It’s insulting that they have no faith in you. “No, oh my God, that would be awful. I’m baking, Y/N’s decorating. Making everything look pretty, it’s the only way things won’t turn out to be a disaster.”

You shove his shoulder gently to make it seem lighthearted. “Okay, what the hell, I can be a good baker if I wanted to.” Donghyuck’s mask of indifference melts hastily, and he almost laughs at your protest. “I think if I practiced more I could become, like, the Leonardo DiCaprio of baking.”

Jaemin hums. “I don’t like Leonardo DiCaprio.”

You huff. “Of course you don’t.”

“Seriously,” he sighs airily, thumbing the edges of the Denny’s menu while he looks at you from the corner of his eye. “You could’ve picked anyone in Hollywood and you picked Leonardo DiCaprio? Why not, like, I don’t know… someone more influential.”

“Who’s more influential than Leonardo?”

“Ellen.”

“What the fuck?”

Jaemin grins, face sparkling with mirth at your reaction. He leans back, pressing his spine against the plush booth and shrugs, “I’m kidding, obviously. That isn’t the point, though. The point is, you can’t bake at all.”

“The fact that you have no faith in me at all is hurtful,” you complain. “I think I could bake and be successful if I put my mind to it. If you ever tried to do a cheer stunt, you’d fail.”

“Who says I can’t! I’m flexible!”

“Chanhee,” you pointedly look at your teammate who was previously watching the conversation with delighted amusement. He’s surprised to hear his name, and something dawns on him when he realizes that he’s going to be dragged into this lover’s quarrel. “Do you think Jaemin would be a good cheerleader?”

Chanhee ponders for a moment, scrutinizing Jaemin before shaking his head. “No. You’re not flexible, Jaemin—I’ve seen you—”

Jaemin gapes. “I can’t believe this.”

“Sorry, man, I’m just saying.”

The conversation shifts from your baking skills and Jaemin’s chances of making it on the cheerleading team (which Chanhee argues are low, considering he’d have to be peppy all the time, and Jaemin absolutely does not have the energy to pretend to be cheerful for a long period of time), to the latest gossip Chanhee heard in the boys’ locker room during gym class. You join in the conversation, too, because you forgot how good gossip from Chanhee was until it became about you, but across from you, Donghyuck has become uncharacteristically silent.

The last time Donghyuck was this quiet might’ve been when you were crying on Chaewon’s couch because your Dad had decided he was going to move. Hyuck was mute while Chaewon laid your head in her lap, and they both thought, for a moment, you were upset that your dad was leaving, until you managed to choke out that you’d have to: “Fucking unpack all those stupid boxes.” Your tears were angry ones, not sad, and once Donghyuck realized, he started cracking jokes to make you feel better.

Comforting you while you’re dejected was never quite his forte, but he knew what quips could make you happy if you’re mad.

The last time Donghyuck was this quiet was last year, and that idea alone makes you uneasy.

When Chanhee and Jaemin leave to go talk to the waitress (something was wrong with Chanhee’s order and he was scared to confront the employee alone), you’re left frowning at Donghyuck. All the thoughts in his head are jumbled, and in order for them to make sense, he has to piece them together like a puzzle. It takes him moments to realize you’re staring at him, and when he finally comes to, he sighs.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, concern flickering on your face when Donghyuck licks his lips and throws his head back in defeat. “Is it the food?”

“No, I was just…” he stares at the ceiling, lips closing and parting before he continues, “he doesn’t hate you.”

You roll your eyes. “Christ—”

“No, listen,” Donghyuck interrupts, shaking his head slowly. “He actually likes you.”

“Then why do you look like that?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know,” you frown. “Like you’re not convinced he does.”

“It’s just surprising is all,” he shrugs. “And… yeah, it’s weird that he doesn’t hate you anymore, but… this is good, Y/N. It’s nice to see you happy.”

Donghyuck’s tone and expression doesn’t match his words. His typical smile is nowhere to be seen, and he’s holding back, not saying the one thing on his mind that’s bothering him the most. You click your tongue, “But…?”

He frowns. “But what?”

“There’s something you aren’t saying.”

Donghyuck sucks in a breath like he’s preparing himself for an unpleasant reaction he knows is inevitable. Clasping his hands together and placing them on the rink, he murmurs slowly, “I think I would’ve preferred if he actually did hate you, otherwise this whole thing would be easier.”

It takes you a moment to register what he’s saying, and you have to bite your tongue to prevent yourself from grumbling at him. You’ve always known Donghyuck to be a frustrating person, but this feels different.

“I don’t understand,” you scoff. “Before, you didn’t trust him because he hated me and now you don’t trust him because he doesn’t?”

Hyuck sighs, rubbing his eyelids until they sting. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

He rolls his tongue in his mouth, taking in every detail of your face that’s twitching with annoyance before he says softly, “Things hurt the most when they come from people you care about.” Concern is etched into every word, and you almost jolt at his implication. “I’m not… saying he’s going to hurt you, Y/N, but, just— be careful, okay? He’s more capable of hurting you than he was before.”

Before you get the chance to respond, Jaemin and Chanhee arrive back at the table, loud and rowdy as Chanhee starts complaining about how rude the waitress was. The pink-haired boy is unaware of how tense you’ve gotten since they left, and when he isn’t looking, Jaemin nudges your elbow as he reaches to grab his drink.

“Are you okay?”

Donghyuck glances over and sends you a look.

You shake his words from your head. “Yeah,” you say, giving Jaemin the smallest of smiles. “I’m great.”

iv. COTTON CANDY

With each passing day the wedding inches closer, and Jaemin has more stress clogging his lungs than he did on finals week. He suspects this is just one of the side effects of playing an important part on the big day, but nevertheless, Jaemin decides he’s no longer going to organize any more weddings unless it’s his.

He’s exhausted. Every waking moment is spent on his feet. There’s still some small details for the reception dessert menu he has to tweak, and when he’s not worrying about whether or not anyone invited is allergic to peanuts, he’s helping the student council with the homecoming dance. Despite already finishing details for food, there’s still the process of convincing the principal having two teenagers bake is a good idea—and to put the stress of that on top of Chaewon’s pushiness and Donghyuck’s barely concealed skepticism is enough for the energy to be drained out of Jaemin completely.

There’s also the fact that his friends are bugging him about his relationship. Renjun has sent him dozens of cute date ideas!!! Pinterest boards and Jeno is absolutely over the moon, despite him being confused when he first heard of the news.

His co-workers won’t leave him alone either. Yesterday, Chaeryeong had told him when the best times to talk to you were before the homecoming game, and then claimed that his encouragement would make you so chipper that even their coach would be surprised. Doyoung overheard about Jaemin’s new relationship and has been grilling him about it whenever they share the same shift.

Almost surprisingly, the only person who hasn’t caused his brain to go completely haywire is you. He assumes it’s because you’re going through the same things he is—the other day he overheard Hyunjin complaining that there was a lack of Jaemin on your Instagram page and just this morning you told him that your brother has been interrogating you about him since you woke up.

There’s a level of understanding between you two that Jaemin has grown to like. And he thinks he wouldn’t mind admitting it out loud. Maybe he’d do so when it’s quiet, or when there’s nobody around to hear it except you… but that counts, doesn’t it?

Yangyang was right that night in ninth grade about you not being as bad as Jaemin made you out to be. The weight of his melodramatic junior high grudge has been lifted off his chest, and he feels lighter. When he’s around you, his chest fills with an emotion he’s not used to. It’s unfamiliar and surprising, like cold fingers pressed against warm skin, but it’s not entirely unwelcome.

Jaemin isn’t quite sure what to call it. Tolerance makes it sound trivial. Like doesn’t feel right on his tongue.

“How do you not know how to tie a tie?” Renjun calls dramatically, annoying a disgruntled Jeno who stands in front of Jaemin’s full-length mirror. Jeno’s fingers dance and twirl around the striped accessory, trying to figure out the mechanics of it but failing miserably.

“This is harder than you think it is.”

Jaemin knows full well that Renjun doesn’t know how to tie a tie either, no matter how many YouTube tutorials he’s watched, but Jaemin’s enjoying watching two of his friends bicker over something so minor. When Jeno’s hands drop to his side and he groans loudly, Jaemin moves to go help him but slouches back against his headboard when he remembers someone’s leaning against him.

You’ve been asleep on his shoulder for half an hour and his arm has gone numb, but he doesn’t have it in him to slip out of your grasp. You’re clinging on to him, something Jeno and Renjun didn’t even bother to let slide, considering they made fun of Jaemin and his reddening cheeks for almost fifteen minutes before Jeno accidentally let it slip he doesn’t know how to tie a tie around his neck.

You had come over with the intention to hang out with him and his friends but ended up falling asleep partway through their debate on the Best Picture Oscar nominees. Fatigue’s hit you like a truck, and you haven’t gotten a good night’s sleep in a while, a fact Jaemin is sure of considering you send him funny tweets at three a.m.

“Yangyang wants to go to the arcade at three,” Renjun announces as he stares at his phone. His gaze flicks up to Jeno who shrugs, and then his eyebrows rise when they land on you and Jaemin. “You haven’t complained about Y/N in the past thirty minutes.”

Jaemin frowns. “Um… okay?”

“I’m just observing,” Renjun muses with a teasing glint in his eyes. Then he slouches further on Jaemin’s favourite beanbag chair and waves his phone in the air. “So? Arcade?”

Jaemin’s unsure of why he even ponders the question when he already knows what his answer will be. “No, it’s okay,” he murmurs, afraid that if he speaks any louder he’ll startle you. Jeno and Renjun share a knowing look. “I think we’ll just stay here. Y/N’s exhausted.”

Renjun nods, sending him a small smile. “Alright. Next time, then.”

To get some feeling in his fingers, Jaemin drums his against your knuckles. Your cheek rests against his shoulder and he feels the warmth of your breath through his shirt. This is the calmest he’s seen you all week, and he has no doubt that he’ll feel horrible if he wakes you up from your nap.

“Yeah,” he says. “Next time.”

Jeno meets his eyes through the mirror. His eyes crinkle and his lips curl upwards and he only shrugs when Jaemin frowns at him questioningly. Then, the smile is quickly wiped from his face when he ties a funny looking knot in his tie.

“Renjun, can you get up and help me?”

v. COCONUT BLISS

The skies are cloudless, a blank blue canvas blanketing the people underneath it. Sunlight beams, tickling his back, and the feeling of its presence only goes away temporarily when zephyr blows by, reminding Jaemin it’s there and he doesn’t have to worry about sweating through his button-up ivory shirt.

The only flaw this day has is that it’s incredibly loud—the best days are always peaceful, he thinks, and today is anything but. His little cousins zip through the rows of white chairs, sweat sticking to their foreheads and joviality clinging to their souls. The relatives who always huddle together and gossip have found their little corner near the back, and the teenagers who are trying to avoid Grandma’s kisses are standing as far away as their parents will let them.

Wind gently tousles his hair, and after its hasty disappearance, Jisung runs through the row in front of him, chasing after his little brother with a laugh tumbling from his throat.

Jeno is seated next to him (he doesn’t let anybody so much as touch his tie, with the irrational fear it will come undone, which he can’t afford since he spent too long on WikiHow trying to perfect it), chatting with Renjun who’s going on and on about how excited he is. Jaemin’s pretty sure the last time he saw Renjun grinning this widely was last year when the musical finally ended and he was no longer burdened with the stress it came with.

Jaemin’s aware that he’s the only person who doesn’t enjoy weddings (if you exclude those bitter cynical adults in post-university movies who are always going to every wedding they’re invited to except their own). It’s not like he hates it—he’s happy for Aunt Eunbin, really, but he isn’t quite sure why people need expensive celebrations to show someone they love each them.

And from the amount of dramas he’s watched, love only ends up failing in the end, anyway. Jaemin is perfectly fine with the friends he has by his side and—

“Hey, I think this is the first wedding I’ve been to where the bride and groom aren’t getting cold feet.”

And you. Jaemin wonders if you fit in his friend category.

“Isn’t that a bad thing?” Renjun asks while you settle in the seat in front of Jeno and turn your body so you’re facing all three boys.

“Of course it isn’t!” you exclaim in protest, but Jaemin senses the glint of hesitation in your eyes. “It shows that they’re not afraid… I think.” You pause, grimacing while Jaemin smiles in amusement, and then you add, “God, what the hell, Renjun, you got in my head!”

Jeno snorts. “Eunbin and Rodrigo love each other, there’s no need to be worried,” he reassures softly, and this causes your brief panic to fade away. “Next time, don’t listen to Renjun, he normally has nothing good to say, anyway.”

Renjun pinches Jeno’s arm. “That is not true!”

The two boys start to bicker and neither notice you shuffling to sit into the seat in front of Jaemin. He meets your eyes, matches the smile on your face, and feels something other than the welcoming breeze hit him. This is an emotion, the kind that roars in the pit of his stomach like a monstrous flame and is impossible to put out.

It burns his insides.

“Are you excited?” you say giddily, curling your fingers on the back of the chair and leaning forward. “And don’t say you aren’t, because you’re literally beaming, and that’s not a face people make when they’re anything but excited.”

Jaemin rolls his eyes. “Why did you ask when you already knew what I was gonna say?”

You shrug with no response to answer his question, but the grin never fades from your face. The excitement you have is something Jaemin noticed doesn’t go away; it twinkles under the sunlight and seeps into the colour of your eyes, and it’s devastatingly easy to get lost in. It’s the type of excitement that’s jittery, nervous, where the only thing that can keep you still is daydreaming of the endless happily ever afters.

You push the chair forward, swinging towards him before gravity pushes you back to the ground. “I can’t believe you invited me,” you murmur, breathless and joyful. “It’s so nice here! And it’s so exciting—did you see those flowers?”

“They’re tulips,” Jaemin says before he even shifts his gaze to where you’re pointing. He was in the kitchen doing his homework when Eunbin and Rodrigo were discussing flower arrangements for almost two hours. Thanks to that, he knows too much about flowers, facts he can never imagine himself using, other than situations where you point to the ones you find pretty and wonder what kind they are. “They’re pretty.”

Satisfied with his answer, you turn back to him. “Speaking of pretty, you look nice.”

It’s unexplainable, the fact that he didn’t choke at your sudden declaration. “Thanks. You too.”

Despite the lack of enthusiasm in his reply, you say, “I think that might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“What?” he frowns. “No, I’ve said nicer things before. Didn’t I say I liked your pajamas?”

“The blue ones? You said those were ugly!”

“I definitely didn’t say that.”

“You implied it,” you scoff goodnaturedly. “And before that, you said I looked uglier than I usually did—”

“You have to stop saying I called you ugly when we both know you aren’t—”

“Okay, that was the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Here’s the truth: you aren’t an eyesore, and it’s a shame that his compliments only turn up backhanded because he truly does mean them—he just gets a little tongue-twisted when it comes to things like this.

You don’t wait for his reply, only continuing to list things off while you push yourself on the chair. Your voice rings in his ears, and he doesn’t seem to notice that your rambling is the cause of the growing amusement on his face. Beside him, Jeno and Renjun have glanced over to the two of you, whispering amongst themselves before Jeno sticks his foot out the moment you tip your chair towards Jaemin, and instead of falling back, you continue to fall forward. Panic rises, and Jaemin reaches forward to steady you before you have the chance to splat against his chest.

Quickly, Jeno tucks his foot underneath his chair with the face of a scheming best friend. Jaemin doesn’t even get a chance to glare at him because you’re untangling yourself from his arms, then fixing the chair so it’s upright. Thankfully, nobody has seemed to notice the fuss, and you groan about how your outfit is probably a mess before excusing yourself to the bathroom.

Renjun pipes up as soon as you’re out of earshot. “That was very heroic.”

“What the hell was that?” Jaemin hisses.

“You saved them!” Jeno says, grinning with mischief. “From falling and embarrassment. That was very cute.”

Jaemin huffs. “You tipped their chair over.” He’s a little annoyed that his conversation with you was cut short because of Jeno and Renjun butting in—although he would never say that out loud, he’s pretty sure his friends are already aware of the fact. “Why would you do that?”

Renjun leans over Jeno’s lap and narrows his eyes. “Dude, are you blushing?”

“Oh, Christ.”

“I never knew someone could have that effect on you,” Renjun muses while Jeno nods in agreement. Jaemin slouches in his chair and turns towards the front, not enjoying being analyzed by his own friends. “Let alone Y/N. You’re, like... giddy.”

It only takes that last part for Jaemin to turn back, eyebrows furrowed. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re happier,” Renjun clicks his tongue. “It’s weird. Not bad, just weird. It’s good, though.”

“I’m not—” Jaemin sputters. He feels the heat climbing up from his fingertips to his collarbone to his neck. “I’m not acting weird!”

“It’s not a bad thing,” Jeno smiles, clearly having a kick at Jaemin’s bashfulness. “They make you happy. We’re happy for you.”

Jaemin feels his chest twinge. Something stabs his heart, blunt and dull, but not enough for a wound to form and spill emotions he’s gotten very good at disguising.

When you come back from the bathroom, looking no different than the last he saw you except for the obvious satisfaction on your lips (he supposes you were successful in fixing your appearance after all), you sit beside him, falling perfectly into the conversation Renjun has started. Your hands slip into Jaemin’s too easily, too quickly, and it feels too familiar.

His chest twinges again, and he manages to convince himself he doesn’t like it.

vi. SHOW N’ GO

You don’t think you’ve ever felt lonely before. Not really.

The closest you’ve ever been to loneliness is when your dad decided to leave, but you think that doesn’t count, since everyone in your household knew exactly what you were going through. You have never been lonely before, which is perhaps why you can’t differentiate loneliness from being alone.

And although it may not be as sad as the former, being alone is embarrassing. At least, that’s what you think. You don’t like the feeling you get when you sit in English class without Chaewon next to you, or eating at the lunch table without Donghyuck to snatch food off your tray. Your heart is filled to the brim with dread when you’re the last one in the locker room—but maybe that’s because you’ve been watching too many scary videos at night instead of doing your homework—and you still freak out a little when you lose Cal in the aisles of the grocery store.

Nobody seems to be looking at you during the reception, but you still feel out of place, sitting stiffly at the table without anyone to talk to. Renjun has left to go to the bathroom, and Jaemin and Jeno are currently being smothered by who you assume to be Jaemin’s parents—whom you haven’t met yet, and you hope that you won’t have to, because meeting other peoples’ parents stresses you out. It took you months to not grimace in front of Chaewon’s mom.

You drum your fingers against the silverware, staring at the place card they’ve put on your spot at the table. You recognize the handwriting to be Jaemin’s, with the way it flows gently on the paper, and you’ve seen him doodle those pink flowers into the side of your notebook while Chaeryeong was talking to you about the cheer routine during lunch a few days ago. A soft smile tugs at your lips as you trace the gold writing and the flowers in the corner.

“Hey,” Jaemin slides into the chair beside you, exhaling like he’s just managed to escape something he thought he wouldn’t be able to slip out of. “You okay?”

He’s developed the habit of asking you this particular question whenever he sees you. You two could be separated for only a few minutes before he taps your shoulder and asks: "Are you alright?” It’s endearing. It doesn’t annoy you as much as you thought it would. Maybe he is trying to piss you off but it’s backfiring in his face. Or maybe he actually cares.

You shudder.

“Mhm,” you nod, placing the object back on the table. “Your hair is dishevelled.”

Jaemin grumbles but a smile appears on his lips. “My mom was trying to fix my hair but she only made it worse.” He’s silent for a beat before his expression quickly turns mischievous. “Oh, you haven’t met her yet, have you? We can go do that right now!”

Your eyes widen. “Um, I haven’t eaten dessert yet—”

“Dessert can wait.” He’s quick to dismiss you and his eagerness turns your stomach. “Come on! She’s so nice! A little overbearingly happy sometimes, but nothing you can’t handle, since you’re literally a cheerleader.”

You don’t even bother to reply to his insult. He grabs your hand and pulls you up, and your stomach turns again, but this time for entirely different reasons.

He’s fast with the way he slips by other tables, careful not to trip over unpushed chairs and people heading to talk to their friend across the room. He greets the cousins who shout his name and waves politely at relatives he’s aware of but doesn’t know all that well, until he stops in front of a table near the front he was hanging around before.

Jaemin lets go and sits in the chair next to his mom, urging you to take the seat beside him. You do so, and ignore your hand’s sudden lack of warmth.

“Mom,” he says. “This is the person Aunt Eunbin was talking about.”

The attention is quickly taken off of Jeno, to which the boy is thankful for, and he slumps against his chair. The look on his face is exhausted and embarrassed, an odd combination you would’ve laughed at if you weren’t so tense. Your eyes move past Jeno and land on the woman Jaemin has just addressed—his mother is the spitting image of him, pretty with bright eyes, and you’re astonished at the similarity between them.

“Oh,” the woman says eagerly. “Jaemin talks about you a lot—” There’s a loud protest beside you, “—I’m his mom.”

She leans over her son to shake your hand. Her smile is contagious. “Uh, I’m Y/N.”

“You’re just as beautiful as Eunbin said,” she muses casually, examining the details of your face with sincerity and softness. You start to feel your limbs growing hot at the sudden compliment. Jaemin’s mother turns to him, stern and scolding. “Jaemin, you never told me they were pretty.”

“Mom!”

She ignores him. “I really wish we could’ve met sooner, but all Jaemin has been doing is making sure we never cross paths.”

Jaemin reaches over to squeeze your knee and you immediately start to feel yourself relax. “That’s not true, we’ve just been busy! You know Y/N decorated the desserts?”

“Ah, that was you?” she asks curiously. “Those designs were very nice—where did you learn to draw like that?”

“Oh, it’s a natural talent, I guess,” you explain softly. Jaemin does a double take beside you, having never heard you speak so quietly before. “My mom’s good at drawing, I think I probably get it from her. But I’m more of a sports person than an artist, so I don’t draw much… which was probably why Jaemin was so surprised when my cupcakes turned out better than his.”

Jaemin scoffs but he feels your body begin to lose tension after his mother laughs, and he slightly falters. “Well, promise me you’ll help Jaemin more with baking. You two make a good team,” she clasps her hands together. “The macaroons you two made were delicious, by the way!”

“Ah, I haven’t tried them yet.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

“Jaemin brought me here to—”

“Jaemin,” his mother scolds, tutting and shaking her head. “Let your date eat.”

Jaemin’s mouth forms into a petulant pout. “But you were saying you wanted to meet them so I brought them here!”

“At least let them eat first,” Mrs Na sighs, closing her eyes for a brief second before she gestures for you and Jeno to stand up. “You two go and get some desserts while I tell Jaemin how important it is to treat your date well— have you even asked them to homecoming yet?”

“Mom—!”

Jeno halts as he’s pushing his chair in. His eyes flicker from you to Jaemin in confusion. “You’re going to homecoming?”

“Of course he is!” Mrs Na exclaims. “He’s been helping Y/N and their friends organize it for a while—it would be a shame if he didn’t go at all.”

Jeno opens his mouth to speak—perhaps to comment on the oddity of Jaemin attending a school event he’s spoken up against too many times to count—but then closes it. He murmurs a confused but accepting ah, before nodding his head towards you, and you suddenly remember he’s waiting to accompany you to the food table.

Jeno is fast to bring up homecoming by the time his friend’s voice is drowned out by the DJ. “You, Jaemin, and homecoming…?”

“Uh, yeah, maybe,” you stammer while playing with your fingers. “We haven’t really talked about it.”

Jeno doesn’t speak for a moment, silently pulling his thoughts together before he lets out an amazed laugh. “Wow, he really must— wow.” His laughter is breathless, like he’s bewildered but not opposed. Your eyebrows furrow. “Sorry, I just never pictured Jaemin going to a school dance, let alone with you—no offence, he just… God, he just hated you for a while, you know?”

You snort. “Was it really that bad?”

“Yes. Oh my God,” Jeno chuckles, tucking his hands in his pockets while he leads you to the table of food. “He would never shut up about it—which was probably because he was so frustrated that he liked you so much, now that I think about it. If that even makes any sense.”

“Do you know why he hated me?” you ask. You wonder if Jeno has the answer to the question you’ve been wondering about—something Jaemin has that he won’t give. “I’ve asked but he’s never told me…”

“He’s told me before,” Jeno shrugs. “But I never fully understood it. He, just… he wasn’t holding a grudge because of you, he was mad because he lost.”

“So he was mad at me because he was a loser?”

“There’s more to it,” Jeno sucks in a breath. “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask him about it. Maybe you’ll understand more than I do.” Then, upon arriving at the table, Jeno picks up a baked treat and meticulously places it in his hand, and adds with fond genuinity, “he’s happier because of you, you know—sorry, that’s cheesy. I never thought I’d say that either, but… you’re good for him, I think. You’re bringing him to homecoming. That’s something.”

“Oh.” His words are a lot to take in, and Jeno doesn’t seem to notice that you’re taken aback because he starts to fix the dessert place cards that have been haphazardly thrown out of place. “That’s… thanks.”

“Yeah. It’s nice to see him like this.” The boy turns to you then, sudden and with an amused glint in his eye. “Don’t let that feed your ego. And don’t break his heart.”

You force a smile. “I won’t.”

vii. FOOL’S GOLD

Jaemin thinks everything is more beautiful when it’s peaceful.

He’s pretty sure there’s no evidence to back that up—he just thinks that, when it’s quiet, he’s able to enjoy the beauty of everything more. The way his cufflinks glimmer underneath the light of the chandelier, the baby pink ribbon tying Eunbin’s bouquet together, the catchy tune of the unfamiliar song playing through the speakers. Things are worse when it’s loud, blaring in his ears until there is nothing he can hear but incoherent noise.

Unlike everything else, however, his thoughts are deafening when all is silent.

It eats him up from the inside out, evades his mind and taints his blood with worry until he’s bleeding dread. Hiding his feelings is hard enough as it is when his walls are constantly growing weaker, but it’s even harder now, when tingles travel up and down his spine and he feels as if he’s just been shocked whenever his fingers touch something.

“This is nice, isn’t it?”

Jaemin used to think everything was more beautiful when it was peaceful.

And maybe it’s true—your smile is delicate and warm and so infectious a tender feeling bursts in his stomach and stutters his heart. Your skin is soft to the touch and it bothers him so much he refrains from making contact, and places his hands on your waist. Although it does nothing to stop the fact that he feels like he might explode right then and there.

He doesn’t think things were better when he hated you. But sometimes he misses it, because hatred is easier to deal with whatever he’s feeling right now.

Tolerance is not the right word, he realized this a long time ago. Love is too strong.

He flinches at the thought of it. He doesn’t love you, not at all, because he’s sure it’s not possible to even fall that badly in a little over a week. Jaemin refuses to be another student at school, infatuated with you and your charms and something that doesn’t exist, because you are not the perfect person everyone thinks you are. You’re rough around the edges, eat your cereal dry with drink milk on the side and your real smile is a little crooked. You laugh too much and think everything is funny and you lied to him last week when you said you’re terrible at dancing because you’re practically showing him up.

He doesn’t mind it.

“Yeah,” he whispers as his feet and yours lazily move across the dance floor. “It’s nice.”

Jaemin doesn’t love you, he doesn’t even know how it feels. But he thinks this comes close.

viii. ROCKY ROAD

It’s an art, avoiding you like his life depends on it.

Straying from his problems is harder than Jaemin thought, seeing as you’re literally everywhere. The seat beside him in English is now permanently yours since Mr Winston thinks the switching of seats has something to do with your grade going up—whatever that means. Jaemin literally helped you with an essay once—and sometimes during lunch period, your friend group and his find themselves out on the field. Renjun and Jeno have agreed to help Chaewon with the final details of the banner for the homecoming game, and Yangyang and Donghyuck have more inside jokes than Jaemin has with all of his friends combined.

This would be ideal, if he wasn’t having an existential crisis.

He’s become more aware of the racket his heart makes against his ribcage whenever you turn to glance at him—something he was sure never happened before the wedding, but maybe his senses have heightened, because he’s beginning to notice things. Terrifying little things that he used to turn a blind eye to but now can’t seem to shake.

A hand lands on his forearm. His heartbeat pitter patters with the raindrops on the window.

“Hey, dude,” Yangyang says, clutching onto Jaemin’s shoulder while he tries to catch his breath. “Y/N’s looking all over for you.”

“Right,” Jaemin murmurs awkwardly. “I’m busy right now.”

Yangyang glances up, confused, before it quickly fades into judgement. “Are you avoiding them?”

“Uh,” Jaemin stammers, which does nothing to get Yangyang off his back. He doesn’t remember being so bad at improvising, but he supposes he’s only a good actor when there’s lines to memorize. “Yes. Kind of.”

Yangyang blinks. “Why?”

Jaemin clears his throat, glancing over Yangyang’s shoulder in hopes to find something that’ll take him out of this situation, only to see the HOMECOMING TICKETS ON SALE posters that occupy almost every free space on the wall.

“I’m—” Jaemin pauses, a fleeting second that Yangyang would’ve noticed if he wasn’t moving to lean against the wall. “I’m trying to find a way to ask them to homecoming.”

Yangyang frowns, and for a moment, Jaemin thinks it’s because he sees through the lie. He panics, tries to search for excuses and ways to describe the unexplainable emotions he’s been feeling lately, when Yangyang just asks, “You still haven’t asked them? Homecoming’s in three days.”

Relief floods Jaemin but he’s careful not to let it show. “Better late than never.”

“You’re stupid,” Yangyang says, not unkindly. “It better be big. They seem like the type of person to like that kind of stuff.”

Jaemin nods, agreeing, before it suddenly hits him that now he has to come up with a cheesy homecoming dance proposal otherwise Yangyang will realize his friend’s just lied to him.

Fucking fantastic.

ix. SWEDISH FALLS

Yangyang is terrible at keeping secrets.

One of my only flaws, he tells you, right before he flashes you the happiest grin you’ve ever seen in your entire life and says that Jaemin’s going to give you the best homecoming ask in the history of homecoming asks. A very big feat, considering Rue’s flash mob proposal last week seems unbeatable—in fact, it is. She even got Donghyuck to join in despite their differences. He insists he’s just a sucker for true love and that he doesn’t care if Rue and her date end up having a catastrophic night, but you’re pretty sure you saw him shed a few tears when Rue’s date said yes.

Everyone your age treats these things as if they’re actual proposals. Which is why you’re so excited you can barely conceal it.

It’s almost pathetic how high your hopes are. You’re fidgety with excitement and you overhear Donghyuck mention to Chaewon that this is the most he’s seen you smile since you won a cheerleading competition last summer. He doesn’t know how the idea of being asked to homecoming has you on the balls of your feet.

Frankly, you don’t know either.

Maybe the idea of being asked isn’t what sprouts the excitement, but the person who’s asking. The last few dances you’ve gone with friends, most of the time Donghyuck, since he’s not a big fan of the attention that comes with public asks—which is odd, considering his love for theatrics, but you’ve come to the conclusion it’s just because he doesn’t want to put too much time into something he thinks is so trivial—and this is your first time being asked. Properly asked is how your teammates would put it.

You feel like the cheesy cheerleader in teen movies when you’re thrilled about these types of things; actions only high schoolers would trip over themselves to experience, before they’re forced into the world outside of hall passes and football game after-parties that only consist of fruit punch because people were afraid to take something from their parents’ liquor cabinet. The anticipation for an ask is something you’re sure Jaemin would make fun of you of, so it warms your heart a little that he’s doing this—

For you. You cut yourself off before you get too ahead of yourself.

This relationship is fake. Sometimes you forget.

You wait for Jaemin’s big ask.

You wait.

Until the dance is tomorrow and the most you’ve heard from him is a text, telling you he’ll be late to the game.

“Nervous?” Jeno pulls you out of your thoughts, clad in his football gear and trying to keep the smile on his face stable.

You send him a smile, reassuring. “I think I should be asking you that.”

“I feel like my heart might beat out of my chest.”

“I know,” your laugh is tarnished, sounding nothing like it usually does because of your nerves being sent into overdrive. Big games like these are always stressful, and sometimes you’re more nervous than the people playing despite that your only role in the game is cheering on the sidelines. “Just stretch it out. It works for me.”

Jeno’s smile grows teasing. “Doesn’t look like it does.”

“Shut up,” you say with no venom. “I don’t know where Jaemin is. He said he was going to be late, but I haven’t seen him in three days—”

“Yangyang told me about the ask,” Jeno interrupts smoothly. The mention of it has you hugging your torso. “Knowing Jaemin, he’s probably been planning all of it out. He’ll come and surprise you at the end of the game, I’m sure of it.” Then after a beat, he adds, “Don’t worry.”

His statement barely soothes you. “If he asks me through the megaphone I’m gonna kill him.”

“I thought you wanted something big and dramatic?”

“Well, yeah,” you huff. “But I wanna see his face when I say yes.”

Jeno is silent for a moment before he shakes his head in disbelief. “Donghyuck was right,” he mutters to himself. “You’re too far gone.”

“What?”

“You’re literally in love with Jaemin.”

You scowl, hugging yourself tighter and trying your best not to react to the word. All Jeno’s doing is trying to get a rise out of you, and if you stay here, he’ll succeed.

“Good luck, Jeno.”

He grins as you turn to walk to the field. “You didn’t deny it!”

When you reach the bench in front of the stands, Chaeryeong reaches over to squeeze your arm, smiling so big that you think her cheeks might start hurting. The rest of your team has scattered on the field stretching, with the exception of a few running towards the bleachers to talk to their friends before Coach blows her whistle and orders everyone to start warming up. You tug on your sweater, scanning the bleachers for a familiar face while Chaeryeong starts talking—unaware that she lacks your attention—before you sigh.

Jaemin isn’t here yet.

Your phone sits in the locker room, zipped away into the smallest pocket of your duffel bag. You think you’re quick enough to run up the steps and ask Renjun to call Jaemin and make it back down in time before Coach calls for everyone to come in. But just as you’re about to tell Chaeryeong you’ll be back in a moment, the familiar sound of a deafening whistle rings in your ears and you’re forced to walk towards the sound.

You huff, disappointed, but plant the biggest smile you can muster before Coach murmurs about the furrow in between your eyebrows. Everyone clings to each other with elation, the adrenaline already beginning to pump in their veins. The crowds roar, and you start to hear the opponent’s school starting to cheer.

After Coach finishes her short speech, she turns to you, wanting to hear a few words from the head cheerleader before everyone starts warming up. You exhale, deciding to shake off the disappointment that came with Jaemin’s absence, and try your best not to look upset, just in case you unintentionally bring the mood down. Right now, all that matters is the homecoming game. And then after this, you can worry about the ask.

You almost forget about him when the players come rushing onto the field. When the game starts, you automatically find yourself so absorbed in the ball hurtling through the air and the players racing across the field, you forget the reason why you woke up nervous today. The game is close—there’s frustration, and so much shouting it becomes indecipherable no matter how loud it gets, and everyone only gets louder when Jeno scores the winning touchdown.

Your throat is raw, sore from screaming. You never realized you were so loud until Chaewon comes rushing down the steps and envelopes you in a hug, knocking the air out of your lungs.

The impact must be what knocks your previous worries back into your head because you swivel around to face the stands while Chaewon’s squeezing the life out of you, her familiar laugh in your ear. You catch a glimpse of Donghyuck walking down with Renjun and Yangyang, and you search the spot you saw them sitting in before, hoping to place Jaemin and a cheesy HOMECOMING? poster in his hands.

But the crowd’s attention has not been diverted from your school’s victory, and you let Chaewon turn you so she can drag you to the rest of the celebrating cheerleaders. You look up, hoping the speakers will soon blast Jaemin’s voice for everyone to hear, but nothing comes. You convince yourself that he probably left to go get some food and missed the end of the game and is hurrying to get to the field, but after ten minutes of jumping around until your feet are sore, you realize you’re wrong.

He didn’t come.

“After-party!” Donghyuck shouts, voice booming and enthusiastic, eliciting an eager response from everyone around him. Then he turns to you, grinning. “Jaehyun’s hosting it at his house. Are you riding with us or is Jaemin going to drop you off?”

At the sound of his name, you glance over your shoulder, hope fills your chest only for it to be squashed once again. The bleachers are almost empty. Noticing the lost look in your eyes, Donghyuck falters, hoping to God that Jaemin hasn’t completely ditched you on one of your favourite nights of the year.

Donghyuck sighs, but it’s unheard. “Renjun told me he had a shift.”

You turn, eyes wide, almost forgetting Donghyuck’s standing right next to you. “Right, I was supposed to meet him there after the game. I forgot.”

He doesn’t believe you. You know he doesn’t believe you. Because Donghyuck doesn’t retort something to poke fun at your forgetfulness, nor does he roll his eyes. Instead there’s pity. It’s a look you don’t like; your heart sinks at the sight of it and makes you feel like you’ve been pulled down to rock bottom.

In a sea of euphoria, two people stand out. You, because your dismay is too hard to hide, and Donghyuck, because he knows that, whether you go to the party or to the ice cream parlour, your night won’t end with triumph on your mind.

I told you so is on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he says, “Go. I’ll tell Chaewon you were tired.”

You smile at him, and then you turn to run.

x. BLUE MOON

He knows he fucked up.

Truthfully, he did have a homecoming proposal halfway planned out—knowing you, you still would’ve loved it—but he gave up, because the idea of going to the homecoming dance with you felt weird. You’re unfamiliar. Ever since your arrangement, Jaemin’s realized you point things out he’s never noticed before. You break his routine. You break him.

He was going to go to the game. He had a shift he couldn’t get out of and he told both you and Renjun that he was going to be late.

Admittedly, it looks bad, given the fact that he’s been avoiding you for a while in an attempt to sort out his feelings (to no avail), and it makes him feel even worse when you walk into the parlour, three minutes until closing, in a zip-up hoodie and the key ring holding your car keys dangling from your finger.

He carefully puts the ice cream scooper on the counter.

“You didn’t come.”

He has no excuse. “I’m sorry.”

It’s clear you’re waiting for him to continue, with the way you cross your arms over your chest and patiently tap your foot. When the sound of the clock ticking becomes too unbearable, a flicker of annoyance appears on your face. “What, that’s it?”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

You click your tongue. “There’s an after-party.”

The invitation is silent but it’s there. “I have to close,” he says, trying his best to feign his disdain for it, but you only stare at him blankly. “You go ahead. We close in, like, a minute, and you don’t want to stay—”

You cut him off. “Is Yangyang a liar?”

This throws him off guard. “Sorry?”

“He said you were asking me to homecoming,” you drawl, glancing around the empty parlour before you meet his eyes again. “He said it was going to be this big thing. So did he lie or what?”

Jaemin’s voice makes him feel small. “He didn’t.”

“Homecoming’s tomorrow, Jaemin.”

“I know.”

“So are we going together or not?”

The snappiness of your tone sends Jaemin into defensive mode, and he reaches over to untie his apron and turns to put the scoop in its rightful place. While his eyes are off yours, he says, “I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal about this.”

This causes you to halt. He’s right—you and Jaemin aren’t real, so why should he ask you to homecoming?

In fact—why are you two still pretending to date in the first place? You’ve held up your end of the bargain and so has he. The only thing left is for him to tell you why he hated you so much in the first place.

“I don’t think you understand what it feels like to lose.”

You falter, eyes shining with confusion. “Sorry?”

Jaemin pinches his nose. “When you won class president,” he exhales, throwing his apron onto the counter, “I was mad because I deserved it. I deserved something and you took it. And I was so close to winning and you just—”

“That’s not my fault.”

“I know,” he sighs. “I was just mad at you for so long that I didn’t know what it would feel like if I didn’t.”

You’re silent for God knows how long. Jaemin slowly starts to feel his heartbeat quicken after each second the clock ticks.

“Okay,” you say eventually. “That doesn’t answer the question. Are we going to homecoming together or not?”

Jaemin wonders sometimes, late at night, about what he’s feeling. He knows for sure that his palms shouldn’t be sweaty at the sight of you, and he shouldn’t be worrying if you can hear his heartbeat battering against his ribcage. He isn’t supposed to feel this for someone he’s fake dating.

Feeling like this for someone he’s in his first relationship with is a completely different story.

“It does answer the question,” he says, schooling his expression so his face is blank. “We’re not.”

Clearly that’s not the answer you’re expecting because you straighten, your arms falling to your side. “What?”

“I don’t want to go to the dance.”

You pull your bottom lip in between your teeth. “You don’t want to go…” your eyes search his, and he’s not entirely sure what you’re looking for. “With me?”

“What? No, of course not,” he says quickly, shaking his head vigorously. “No, homecoming’s just not my thing.”

You purse your lips. “Jaemin.”

Despite the impatience etched into the lines of your face, Jaemin knows that you’ll spend all night here waiting for his answer if you have to. And maybe you’ll go if Jaemin begs you to, if he says something that clenches your gut and pierces your soul, but he can’t bring himself to. He doesn’t want to hurt you. He doesn’t want you to leave.

The thought hits him like a truck. He doesn’t want you to leave.

“You’re missing the after-party.”

“I’d rather be with you anyway.”

God, fuck you.

He misses the smirk slowly forming on your face when you see the crimson climbing up his neck, the way he starts to fidget with the collar of his shirt, and you almost forget he missed the homecoming game in the first place.

You didn’t lie, though, about wanting to be with him instead. There’s a reason you were looking for his face in the crowd.

When he starts to feel like he’s suffocating, Jaemin’s hands squeeze the counter before he exhales, embarrassed, “I’m scared.”

You frown and he thinks you’re moving closer but he’s too dizzy from his own thoughts to notice. “Of what?”

“This is all fake,” he tries to exclaim, except it comes out softer than he intended and a little less dramatic. “And I don’t—I’ve never dated anybody before, okay? Technically this is my first relationship, and— did you know Jeno and Yangyang have been asking if we’ve kissed yet? I don’t want my first kiss to be fake, I don’t want to attend my first homecoming dance because I didn’t want to let the person I’m fake-dating down—” he stops himself before he can ramble more and make a bigger fool of himself. “I don’t want it to be fake.”

Your response is quick, without hesitation, and when he looks up in surprise, there’s no sign of regret on your face no matter how long Jaemin tries to find it. “Then it won’t be fake.”

“Excuse me?”

“I can be your actual date to homecoming,” you offer, smiling sheepishly, and the butterflies in his stomach go wild. “And I guess we could kiss too and that wouldn’t have to be fake, either.”

“I don’t have a suit.”

“You wore one to the wedding.”

“I know, I just wanted to say something so you wouldn’t think I’m ignoring your offer, I’m just trying to wrap my head around all this,” he makes a small twirling gesture with his finger before his hands drop from the counter. “We’ll go to homecoming?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“And you’ll kiss me?”

“Sure,” you shrug, feigning nonchalance, even though you’re avoiding all possible eye contact and wringing your fingers together. “Just not now, I’m still mad at you for missing the game and having a shitty homecoming proposal. Fuck you, by the way. I was all excited about it for nothing.”

Jaemin feels a smile tugging at his lips. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“Good,” you huff, before meeting his gaze. Almost immediately, you break into a smile. “So do you really have to close or was that a lie?”

He groans, remembering he promised Doyoung he’ll do it tonight in hopes of ignoring you until tomorrow. “I didn’t lie,” he grumbles. “I promised my manager—it won’t take long, I promise.”

You shrug and drop into the nearest booth. “No problem, I’ll keep you company.”

Jaemin pouts childishly. “This is terrible.”

“You poor thing.”

“Kiss me to make me feel better?”

You snort. Jaemin wonders if your cheeks will start hurting considering how big your smile is. “Nice try.”

xi. HONEY LAVENDER

“Stop laughing.”

“N—shit, okay.”

“Y/N.”

“I’m trying! Look, I’m not even—fuck, you look so stupid—!”

“Y/N!” Jaemin whines, tugging at the collar of his shirt. “I look stupid because of you—stop giggling, my parents are going to kill me—this suit is ruined.”

He’s supposed to be mad at you, but it’s hard when you’re dabbing a tissue helplessly on his shirt, the sound of your laughter echoing down the empty hallway and drowning out the sound of the booming music from the gym. “It’s not my fault you spilled punch on yourself.”

He huffs. “It is, actually, unless you forgot that you scared the shit out of me.”

You laugh loudly again, arms growing weak and it falls against his chest. “I’ve never heard you scream so loud before.”

“Please shut up.”

This goes on for two more minutes before you eventually give up and stand, telling him that nobody will even notice the big red stain on the front of his shirt because of the lights. He scowls lightheartedly before he falls into step with you as you both make your way back to the gymnasium.

“God,” you huff, and Jaemin isn’t sure if you’re talking to him or yourself. “My arms are all wet from trying to remove that stain.”

Jaemin is about to retort, saying it’s not his fault you rested your limbs against him because you were dying from laughter, before he stops in his tracks. You don’t notice, too absorbed in rubbing the tattered tissue on your skin in hopes the liquid will go away before your arms become sticky.

“Y/N,” he calls for you, smiling mischievously. You spin around to look at him, eyebrows furrowed. “You owe me for ruining this suit.”

“Okay,” you shrug. “What do you want? A pack of gum? We can stop by 7-11 on our way home.”

“Give me a hug.”

Your eyes narrow, startled by his statement, but you walk two steps towards him before you realize what he’s doing. He grabs your arms before you can turn away.

“Jaemin—mmph!” you exclaim, wriggling as he wraps his arms around you and squeezes you against his chest. “You prick, you’re going to stain my clothes, too! Oh, you’re so fucked, I swear to God—”

You grow quiet when he starts to laugh in your ear—albeit a little evilly, but it’s melodic nonetheless—and you relax, moving so you can wrap your arms around his middle. You aren’t sure if he’s surprised. You swear, for a moment, he stiffens, before the tension leaves his shoulders.

He pulls away, examining your outfit before saying, “You still look great.”

You roll your eyes. “I’ll get you back for that.”

“Hm,” he muses, throwing his arms over your shoulder. “Technically, that was me getting back at you for ruining my suit, so we’re even.”

The both of you near the doors to the gymnasium when he glances at you. He thinks all the air in his lungs disappears because you’re pretty when the faint red lights hit your face and your lips part as you peer through the small window in the door. His face softens and a smile he isn’t conscious of appears on his face—gentle and lovesick.

The door swings open, almost hitting you and Jaemin.

“Gross,” Yangyang says the moment he steps one foot out the door. Behind him, Renjun is sending the both of you an apologetic look. “God, I owe Donghyuck ten bucks now.”

You stiffen at the mention of your friend. “What did you bet on?”

“You guys disappeared,” Yangyang sighs frustratedly. “I said you two were probably making out somewhere. He said you guys were staring into each other’s eyes because Y/N is too chicken to make the first move.”

Jaemin swears your eyes might pop out of your sockets. “That bitch—”

Yangyang throws his arms up in the air as he moves to walk back inside. “I don’t even have ten dollars on me!”

Renjun pinches his nose. “I’m sorry.”

Amusement bubbles in Jaemin’s stomach when you slip from his grasp and stomp into the gymnasium. He follows after you as you make your way to the food table. “Don’t tell me you’re going to pour punch on him, too.”

You glance over your shoulder at him, grinning. “Aw, you know me so well.”

He scoffs breathlessly and lets you tug at his fingertips, trying to convince him to help you get revenge on Donghyuck. You add something about Yangyang, too, in hopes that will get Jaemin on your side, but he’s too busy admiring how your hand fits in his and how pretty the left side of your face looks—

“Stop staring at me.”

Jaemin sputters. “Sorry?”

“Stop being obsessed with me,” you murmur, eyes zeroed in on the table ahead. “And help me with my revenge plan.”

“I’m not obsessed with you!”

“Okay. In love with me, then.”

“You are so up your own ass.”

The smile you give him is blinding.

★ author’s note: tbh i wanted to add more angst (originally i was gonna have jaemin be like yeah... i lied i always hated you) but i wanted jaemin and reader to break each other’s hearts because.... cmon.. they’re so cute,, i hope u guys liked this tho this was rlly fun to write

★ tags: @lanadreamie​ @sunflowerhae​ @juyeo-on​ @t-toodumbtocare​ @hyuckiesoftie​ @choerriesmotion​ @aliceinwhateverland​

couldn’t tag: @sungchannel @zhong-lele

© all rights reserved dkfile, 2021.

[commonwealthoccurences]

Such Good Friends

Prompt: Fake Dating Turns Real

Day: 3

Word Count: 2,298

It had started out as a joke.

A prank on Desdemona, really, as Deacon and Sole often pulled, considering it was the most entertainment they could get, staying underground with the Railroad for months at a time. Tinker Tom had made a light comment about the fact that he thought Sole and Deacon were together, and, well, with the way Deacon’s eyes lit up with an idea, Sole knew there was no easy way for them to get out of it.

If they tried to brush off one of his pranks he would often turn to them with pouting eyes, disappointed and whiny, and they didn’t have the energy to deal with that at the moment. So they gave in and casually confirmed that they were together. Deacon sat back and rested an arm on the back of his chair, grinning in satisfaction. He had a new way to torture the rest of the Railroad while they were waiting for the Institute to get off their backs.

And then it just… kept going. Sole fell into such a routine after a month or so that even after they could leave the Railroad HQ, they automatically responded to the questions about them and Deacon being together without question. Of course, they knew internally that Deacon wasn’t with them. He didn’t care for them like that, they were just really good friends that had bonded over some terrible shit that had happened. They were playing a practical joke, that’s all.

Deacon often would sling his arm over their shoulders, both as a way to sell the joke and to tease Sole, who he knew was much more reluctant to be part of this than he was. Sole would wind an arm around him and lean into him, partly playing along with the joke, and another part finding themself craving his company, though they told themself they would never admit that. If they did he’d never drop it.

It was easy to find themself back in this rhythm, sharing the weight of their steps with him as they walked through Goodneighbor, raising a hand to acknowledge the drifters they saw all the time when they were around for work. Deacon didn't say a word about the way they sought out contact first, and simply hooked an arm around their shoulders and smiled. They were a little too good at playing the happy couple sometimes, Sole thought.

They felt empty as soon as they stepped through the gates that led them out of Goodneighbor, Deacon’s arm falling away from them, his form leaving theirs. The distance was ridiculous in their mind, an expanding void that left them cold. God, they felt dramatic. With a subtle shake of their head, they readied their weapon in preparation for returning to the wildness of the Wasteland, and pushed away any thoughts of Deacon. They were friends. That was all they were allowed to be.

When they finally found a place to rest, halfway back to Sanctuary as they needed to speak to Preston, it was in an abandoned house. Sole found themself brushing their fingers against the deteriorating walls decorated with crumbling wallpaper, ash staining the tips of their fingers as they moved through the rooms. Deacon allowed himself to watch them through his sunglasses, head tilted in a way that made him look like he was simply examining his weapon, as they stepped through the house.

They looked like a ghost. He could imagine them, in their past life, walking through a clean, pristine environment, the house warm and bright without the traces of the wasteland. He wondered quite often if they missed it. Who was he kidding, of course they did. But he had to ask himself if they would trade the life here for their life before the war. Sacrifice everything they'd gone through for another few days somewhere else. Without him.

Maybe that was one of his biggest insecurities, maybe not. Deacon would never let himself dwell on it long enough to consider it seriously, but it popped into his mind at the most inconvenient of times. When they were wrapped around him at the Third Rail. When they threw their head back and laughed at a joke he made, clinging to him to avoid falling out of their chair. Is it worth it? He would think. To stay here, with me? Would you give anything to leave? Would you miss me if you woke up tomorrow and it was all a dream?

He swallowed the bitter taste that flooded his mouth and watched as they stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by broken glass, dirt smudged against their cheek, their eyes catching the light as they got lost in their thoughts. The way the setting sun filtered through the broken walls made them look like a painting, something you’d see in a museum of beauty persevering through the ugliest of environments. Like the flowers that grew through the cracked concrete of the broken roads from another time, another world he wasn’t part of.

They looked up through the remains of the ceiling and tilted their head, looking at the dancing colors of the sky that shifted as the sun continued to set. After a moment, they closed their eyes and imagined having peace with Deacon. Finding somewhere they’d never have to worry about raiders or the other horrors of the wasteland and could simply exist with him. They wondered if there was another time where they were happy. Where their biggest worry was the bills and what to have for dinner when they could never agree.

Later that night, when they had started a fire to fix some meat over and sat down for one of their many late night discussions, Deacon indulged himself. He asked what it was like, before the war. Before they found themself frozen and thawed in a time period no one would want to wake up in, before they had to fight for every breath they took and defend everything they owned with a ferocity they could’ve never imagined before. Before.

Sole sighed and paused to think, slowly shifting around the beans in their can with their fork. He let himself watch them again, watch the gears turn in their head as they dug up memories from their other life. They hummed. “It was… simple. Boring, actually, some days, despite the war. It was a privilege to be bored back then. It was hard to work as a librarian when something so significant was happening elsewhere.” 

Deacon nodded, encouraging them to continue. “But it was a nice kind of monotony most days. I liked working somewhere quiet, where people could escape from what was going on. I was lucky since I got to shut out the shitty things and focus on books for a while.”

“What was it like? Working there. What did you do?”

He was fascinated. He could never imagine a world like theirs, where they could just work with books, something considered a rare resource nowadays, and go home to something clean and neat and do it as much as they wanted, over and over again. “It was nice. It was always quiet as a general rule, so people could read in peace. My job was to deal with the shelves, so I would take books on a cart out to the shelves in different sections and put them where they belonged. I spent a lot of time organizing, too. It was nice, straightforward. Everything had a place, including me.”

Their smile was sad as they looked at him. He almost found himself craving more information, needing to know more about something he’d never be a part of. They sighed and put their food down next to their boot and leaned forward, elbows resting on their knees, hands clasped in front of them loosely. “Sometimes we’d have kids who came in and I’d ask them to tell me about the stories they’d chosen. The way they lit up and got lost in these fictional worlds… it was something special.”

The wind whistled through the broken slats and Deacon could almost imagine the carefree laughter of kids carried with it from ghosts of the past, much like the one sitting before him. It was easy to imagine Sole carefree, as well; it was all he wanted for them. “I always walked the same way home, which now I realize was stupid as hell. A great way to get stalked, or worse. But I walked the same way home in the evening and made dinner when I got home. I’d feed my cat. His name was Muffins.” They laughed at this and Deacon smiled. “And then I’d tidy and sit down at the terminal and email some friends I had to move away from when I graduated college.”

“Tell me about them?”

The night continued as Sole talked themself hoarse. They drew laughter out of Deacon easily with silly stories of their college antics, tales of being late to classes they didn’t want to take, rushing through campus like they had mutants on their heels. They described their favorite coffee shop in detail to the point where Deacon could almost smell the coffee permeating the air. 

It was an accomplishment, Sole thought, when Deacon sunk down in his seat and slowly eased off to sleep. They struggled not to laugh when they noticed him getting sleepy, his head nodding forward as he fought to stay awake and keep listening. Instead, they kept their voice level and continued speaking about their past life, a life they missed, but not as much as they missed Deacon when he was away, and watched him sink right into the grip of sleep. As soon as his breaths were even for a while, they eased their speaking off, careful to make sure he wouldn’t wake, and sat back in their chair. They guessed they had first watch.

It was nearly a week later when Sole was relaxing on a chair in their house in Sanctuary, legs thrown over one of the arms, torso crooked as they squinted at the book they held. The ink was smudged from the wear and tear that came with existing in the Commonwealth, dirt staining the pages. The writing was barely legible and it was a fight with every word to understand the writing, but they would get there through sheer determination alone.

Deacon knocked his specific pattern on their door and they looked up expectantly; not many settlers knocked and they knew that rhythm anywhere. “Deac!” They called out as the door opened.

A familiar face poked through the door and they smiled, putting down their book and looking up at him expectantly. “What’s up?”

“I have something for you.”

Their smile dropped slightly. It was a toss up with surprises from Deacon, whether or not they’d be pleasant. To his credit most of them had been very nice as of late, which was simultaneously wonderful and suspicious. “Should I be scared?” They asked.

Deacon shook his head and stepped through the door, his hands behind his back. They leaned in an attempt to get a look at what he was hiding, though they nearly tumbled off of their chair. With a huff they straightened themself up; they had to return to work in a few minutes, there was no way they could afford to get injured, especially in such a dumb way. 

Deacon approached slowly, purposefully trying to make things look more ominous, a wide grin on his face. Once he stood in front of them he brought his hands out from behind his back and watched their jaw drop. “Deacon.” Their voice was a light gasp as they looked from his hands to his face in wonder.

In his hands was a tiny, black kitten. It mewled pitifully at Sole and they felt their heart jump. With careful motions they reached forward and Deacon handed it to them, revelling in the way they sucked in a breath and let out a quiet “Oh, precious” and brought the kitten to their chest, cradling it like it was made of glass. After a moment of stroking it’s tiny head they looked up at him as if he held the world in his hands, their eyes brimming with tears. “Was this because…?”

“Muffins? Yeah. I heard about one of the settlements having a litter of barn kittens and had to take a chance. I remember you said you missed him the most from before and, well, here we are. I know this kitten won’t replace him and that wasn’t my intention-”

Deacon was cut off by Sole unfolding themself from the chair, still holding the kitten protectively, and kissing him. They pulled away after a moment, suddenly awkward. Deacon found it hard to look at them despite the fact that they couldn’t see past his dark sunglasses. “Uhm.” Sole opened their mouth, fighting to find the words to explain their actions.

Deacon paused. “Damn, if I knew that was how you would say thank you I would’ve brought the whole litter.”

Sole looked at him with a relieved grin and shook their head, leaning into him in a way that was all too familiar. They turned sideways, making room for the kitten, their shoulder blade against his chest as they brought the kitten up to eye level. “What do you think their name should be?” Sole asked.

“Missile launcher.” He replied automatically.

“Deacon we’re not naming the cat Missile Launcher.” Sole looked at him in mild disappointment, unsurprised.

Less than a month later, it wasn’t uncommon to see Deacon and Sole walking through the paths of Sanctuary, lost in conversation with each other, Missile Launcher trotting eagerly between them, tail swaying contentedly.

[fandomfindings]

Help

Pairing: (Fred Weasley x Non-Gryffindor Reader)

Word Count: 2.6K

Warning(s): A few swears 

Summary: A Fred Weasley imagine in which you both face off in a quidditch match against the other. When it comes down to the wire Fred purposely doesn’t make a game changing hit, leading to a short strain in your relationship. 

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It was a lovely day for a quidditch match. The air was cold and crisp. It was cloudy, yet the sun peaked through from beyond said clouds now and then.

Your team was going against Gryffindor, the same team your boyfriend Fred Weasley plays beater for. This wasn't the first time you two had competed against each other, but this would be the first time as significant others.

You had been friends with the twins since first year, but as time grew on, you and Fred developed a stronger relationship, something beyond the lines of friends.

You were indeed nervous about going up against Fred, but you had to remember this was nothing new; you had done this before. The only difference now is that he meant more to you. You both now shared a more intimate connection not only mentally but also physically. You admittedly had a soft spot for the beater, but you couldn't let that influence how you played today.

The current score was 140 to 80, and your team was down. If the chasers couldn't score any more points before Gryffindor's seeker caught the golden snitch, your house would lose. It was up to you; you needed to find and catch the snitch before Gryffindor's lead got too far.

You scanned over the pitch, looking for any traces of the small golden object.

As you were about to set your eyes on another part of the pitch, you caught a glimpse of something shiny, the golden snitch. The clouds had made it harder to find, but thanks to the sun breaking through them, its rays reflected off the fast-flying object.

You quickly flew in the direction of the snitch, knowing it would soon move positions, especially as you got closer.

The match continued in the background, but you were now laser-focused on the golden snitch. You heard cheers, though you weren't sure if it was because the crowd noticed your pursuit or if the houses had scored once again.

You reached the snitch, not close enough to grab but close enough to ensure you could follow it without losing sight of the thing. Quickly, you looked up to the scoreboard, in short enough time to read it. You had to make sure that if you caught the golden snitch now, your team would win. The score was now 150 to 100, so your team had made a small gain but still not enough to win without that snitch.

Looking back to the snitch, you noticed it hadn't moved much, but something had moved, Gryffindor's seeker Harry. He must have caught sight of the golden snitch once you made your haste to it. That or he had seen the sunbeams on it as well, which you doubted.

Taking Harry's further distance into consideration, your chances of catching the snitch was higher than his own but not guaranteed; the snitch was unpredictable.

A strategy quickly coming to mind you put it into motion. You swiftly made your way around the snitch, putting yourself between it and Harry as an extra safeguard. Then you pursued it.

The golden snitch was fast, but you were faster. You began to gain on it. However, you still weren't close enough to catch it. You took a brief moment to survey your surroundings, making sure that Harry hadn't gained much on you or the object you were chasing.

Not to your surprise, he had gained some. Harry was a fast flyer, you'd give him that, but he still had much to learn. Turning back to the goal in hand, you realized it had grown a bit closer in the few seconds you weren't looking at it.

Extending your hand out to reach for the golden snitch, it was barely out of reach, if only you had been blessed with slightly longer limbs like your boyfriend.

Shit, your boyfriend. The beaters. They would try to hit you to try to get you off the snitch's tail, given a chance. You looked past the snitch, and as you expected, Fred was there bat in hand and eyes set on an incoming bludger.

You needed to grab the snitch quickly before the bludger knocked you off track or your broom entirely.

Things began to almost move in slow motion as you looked between the snitch and your boyfriend. You wondered what would happen first, Fred hitting the bludger towards you or you catching the snitch. Quicker than you had hoped, you got your answer, hearing the audible smack of the bludger against Fred's bat.

You felt a brisk wind pass your head, enough to blow your hair in another direction slightly. You followed where it went and realized it was the bludger that Fred had just hit. Looking back to your boyfriend in shock, Fred never missed.

Deciding to act now and ask questions later, you continued your chase of the snitch.

It didn't take long for you to feel the object on your fingertips. Jolting your broom and body forward even more than before, you now had the golden snitch in your grasp.

"They did it! Gryffindor is defeated after (Y/N) (L/N) caught the snitch," Lee Jordan commented as Madam Hooch blew the whistle, effectively ending the match and announcing your house the victors.

You looked to the snitch in hand, then back up as cheers from your house and boos from the opposing range out across the pitch. You saw the Gryffindor team leave and dismount their brooms in defeat, all but your red-headed boyfriend.

Hoovering in the air for a bit, processing everything that just happened, you came to one conclusion. You had unwanted help catching the snitch and winning the match.

Your team had a quick celebration on the pitch. You all set your brooms down where you were, and they all ran to you. Your house's victory chant was all that you could hear as they lifted you in the air for a few moments. You laughed, but all you could think about was how you didn't truly earn that win, and there was only one person to blame.

You scan the pitch looking for the red-head in question, and it doesn't take you long to find him, for he was a tree among bushes. You saw him being scolded by their captain Oliver Wood. Surely, Wood had seen Fred's missed shot just before you caught the snitch; at least you weren't the only one.

Your teammates placed you back on your feet, and they all grabbed their brooms from the ground as your captain announced a celebratory party in your house's common room after dinner.

Your cheerful teammates only took moments to leave the pitch, with a few of them patting your back in gratitude and proudness. On the other hand, you stayed back, insuring you would have the entire pitch to scold your idiot of a boyfriend.

"Are you coming (L/N)?" Your captain questioned, placing a celebratory hand on your shoulder like many others.

"Uh," You hesitated, glancing over to your team, who were now passing Fred on their way to the changing rooms.

"Yeah, I'll meet you all in the changing rooms. I want to bask a bit longer at the moment," You conned, looking from the snitch in your hand to the now-empty stands.

"I understand, you did well today. We'll be taking home the quidditch cup in no time," Your captain said with a smile and one final path to your shoulder.

As your captain passed Fred, they patted him on the shoulder as well and said something along the lines of 'good game' before retreating into your house's changing room.

You rolled your eyes at the statement knowing Fred didn't play to his full potential. You once again looked to your hand, seeing the golden snitch you now felt you didn't deserve. Clutching the small golden object, you then looked up, seeing that Fred was already halfway to you, his long legs definitely helping in the matter.

Once to you, there was a silence, an uncomfortable one no less, for obvious reasons. Fred feared speaking first, and you feared hurting his handsome face considering you were debating on punching. Instead, you went for a calmer approach, at least as calm as you could be right now.

"Are you going to tell me what the fuck that was?" You interrogated softly, only adding emphasis to the swear that left your mouth.

"What do you mean?" He tried to ask in mock oblivion. However, he knew that you knew that he knew what he did.

"You know exactly what I mean," You said, glaring. "You had a clear shot and missed, you never miss."

"It wasn't clear enough; I guess I can miss sometimes. Besides, I could've hit Harry." Fred tried to reason, but you knew that wasn't true. Fred had time to think of this excuse, and yes, Harry was close, but not close enough for the bludger to hit him instead of you.

"Bullshit."

"Look, I was only trying to help," Fred said, realizing his plan to deny didn't work. He honestly wasn't surprised either, you were smart, but he thought it was worth a shot.

"I didn't ask for your help."

"I know but-," Fred began reaching out his arm to you, wanting to calm you down with his touch. Something that would surely happen if you gave him the chance.

"But nothing," You interrupted, shoving his approaching arm away from your own. "Next time you want to help, don't," You finished taking the snitch from your hand and thrusting it into your boyfriend's chest.

Fred grabbed hold of the golden snitch and your hand before you could release it. At his gesture, you looked him in the eyes, and you could see the pain within them. He hated seeing you upset, even more so, you being upset with him.

You gazed too long in his eyes; you began to feel yourself losing strength to be angry with him, but you persevered. Snatching your hand away from his but leaving the golden snitch.

"Congratulations on your win," You mumbled to the distraught red-head, picking up your long-forgotten broom, leaving the pitch and Fred to his thoughts.

----------

Fred stayed there for a while, not wanting to face anyone from his house, more specifically, his team. While everyone wasn't aware of his hesitation on the field like you, Wood, or even George, it still hurt to let his team down. Fred thought it was worth it, he thought he was making you happy, but in reality, he had let you down as well.

And down, you felt. As your entire house celebrated the win of today and a higher chance of winning the quidditch cup, you sat sulking in the corner. The butterbeer that was given to you when you first entered the common room, only having a few sips taken from it. In contrast, others were on their second or even third glass of the night.

The room was loud with cheers, chants, and conversations. It was much too loud for you to think, something you needed to do desperately right now.

You hedged your bets on the Astronomy Tower, being quiet and private enough to be alone and ponder, so you left your common room.

The tower was typically off-limits during times that didn't involve a lesson with Professor Sinistra, so you had high hopes you would be alone. Unfortunately, you realized that wasn't the case once you reach the said tower. Inside stood a tall red-headed Weasley, your tall red-headed Weasley. You let out a quiet sigh before joining him on the railing he decided to trust his body weight with, leaning on it.

Fred noticed you the moment you stepped onto the tower. He didn't have to see you to know it was you. It wasn't often that people came up here alone. Usually, it was couples trying to sneak away to make out or have private time, you and Fred included. So, to know only one set of footsteps pattered the floor, he was almost positive it was you. Fred's guess was proven once you stood next to him, not enough to touch you but enough to feel your presence.

You both stayed silent, looking across the night sky. It was still cloudy out, so not much could be seen, but the moon could not be ignored for it was big and bright.

Enough time passed that it gave you the time you needed to think and consult your inner thoughts. You realized you understood where Fred was coming from, but that didn't mean what he did was right.

Fred had known this. Once he realized the impact his decision had on you, his team, and his house, he knew he was wrong, and he needed to make it right. Your boyfriend had been practicing his apology for some time now.

See, Fred had time to think from his time at the pitch and the astronomy tower. He even skipped dinner, something you had noticed as you picked at your own plate, not taking any more than three bites.

Unlike Fred, who was left to his own devices, you were sucked into your house's celebrations. This being the first time you were left alone to your thoughts.

"Are you ever going to speak to me again?" Fred questioned, not taking his gaze away from the beautiful night sky.

"I'm still debating," You responded with a hint of humor in your voice, a good sign in Fred's opinion.

"Funny," Fred replied with a short chuckle. Fred turned to you, taking your hands from the rail and to his own.

"I am sorry, truly. If I would've known me helping you," Fred paused to correct himself. "Or what I thought was helping you would lead to so many issues I would've never done it."

"I know. While I will always appreciate your help, sometimes it's not necessary, Freddy. I just want you to understand that I can handle things on my own," You explained. "Besides, I've kicked your ass in quidditch without your assistance plenty of times," You added, chuckling.

"What's your definition of 'plenty of times' ?" Fred questioned, placing his forehead against yours, smiling none the less.

Fred's smile being contagious brought a smile to your face as well, and you responded, "Well, there was that time when I made you hit yourself with your own bat, and then again the next year, oh, and let's not forget this summer at The Burrow when you..."

Fred cut you off, "Alright, alright, you've made your point love."

He brought you in more, tugging at your arms until there was little space between you two. Bringing his face closer, Fred placed a kiss to your lips, nothing you weren't used to, but it felt especially nice after the misunderstanding you two just recovered from.

After a few seconds, you both part.

"Just know that if you ever pull something like that again, I'll beat you with a bludger myself, Freddy, " You jokingly threatened, pointing a jokingly stern finger at your boyfriend.

"I will keep that in mind," Fred laughed, slowly moving your finger from his face and back to his hand. He went for your lips again, pecking them softly.

"Good, "You said, interrupting the short kiss. Fred rolled his eyes as you kissed him again, deepening it slightly.

The exchange of kisses and loving glances continued on for a short while. However, it didn't last for your empty stomach decided to make itself known with a growl.

"Are you hungry?" Fred wondered.

"Starving."

"Lucky for you, I've made friends with a few house-elves. I'm sure they'll be willing to give us some leftovers from dinner or even cook us something."

"Lucky for me," You said, smiling. You brought Fred in for one final kiss before dragging him from the Astronomy Tower and down to the kitchens for some much-needed food.

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A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this imagine as much as I enjoyed writing it. Fred is one my favorite characters from Harry Potter and I love reading about him so I decided to have a go at writing about him as well. Who’s your favorite Harry Potter character? Anyway please let me know what you guys think!

Lots of Love <3

[haikyuu-sickfics]

Warning for fever

-

This took way too long to get out, thank you for waiting!

Karasuno's first years had two distinct types.  There’s the hyper and passionate ones and the ones which put down the former.  The latter only applied to two members, Kei Tsukishima and Tobio Kageyama. Even now as second years, the two distinct attitudes remained. Kei and Tobio shared a neutral opinion of each other- sure in the beginning they had a bit of a rivalry, but after a year of playing together, each began to share a level of respect for the other.

In fact, though he would never admit it, Tobio began to share something more than respect for the taller boy.  He was quick to chalk it up to simple admiration over the middle blockers’ skill and newfound passion for the game, but deep down Tobio knew the true nature of his feelings.  When he did give Kei an awkward confession, Tobio was shocked to learn the feeling was mutual.  As a result of their new relationship, the setter had begun paying more attention to Kei during practice, so much so that Tobio could tell how off Kei’s game was today.  It wasn’t obvious, Kei could easily hide his distress, and it took even Tobio until halfway through practice to know something was up.  A thin sheen of sweat was decorating the middle blocker’s forehead, and the occasional rub at his throat didn’t go unnoticed by Tobio.

Thinking it over, it made sense for Kei to have come down with something.  Just yesterday Tadashi had left practice early, unable to properly practice as harsh coughs wracked his body, the same Tadashi who Kei could be seen with almost constantly.  Tobio was almost dumbfounded at how none of the other teammates had picked up on this.

Walking up to Kei, Tobio tilted his head and furrowed his eyebrows.

“You’re sick,” he muttered, the tone of his voice jumping from question to statement between syllables.

Kei glared down at Tobio, with an expression that spoke volumes.  Being closer to the middle blocker, Tobio noticed features he hadn’t spotted before.  Perspiration decorated Kei’s unnaturally pale skin.  A thin sheet of glaze stretched across his golden-brown eyes which had heavy bags resting below them.

“No, I’m not,” Kei claimed.  However, his voice had a rough edge to it which countered his words.

Their exchange had garnered the attention of a few nearby teammates.

“I dunno, you look pre-tty rough,” Koushi chimed in, stretching out the ‘e’ for emphasis.

A scoff forced its way out of Kei in response, though the action set something off in his chest.  An onslaught of coughs suddenly tore through Kei.  The lower half of his head was buried in the crook of his elbow.  Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as each cough tore through his throat.  In hopes of providing comfort, Koushi began to gently rub his hand against Kei’s shaking upper back.

When the coughing fit had finally died down, Kei pulled his arm away.  Drool stuck around his mouth, having been smeared with his elbows crook.  Using the back of his hand, Kei swiped away at the tears around his eyes.

“I’m fine, my throat’s just a little dry,” to support his claim, Kei walked over to the cluster of water bottles.  Though, the act backfired as his face contorted into an expression of pain as the cool liquid came into contact with his tender throat.

“Hmm, you sure you haven’t caught whatever Yamaguchi did?” Daichi queried, gently grabbing the bottle out of Kei’s shaking hands.

A frown etched its way onto Kei’s face.  He pondered the question for a moment, deciding whether he should lie or be honest before speaking again.

“It’s… a possibility,” he grumbled, common sense telling him lying would lead to an undesirable outcome.

“I can take him to the club room,” Tobio offered, his voice acting before his mind had a chance to stop him, “or, someone else can.  It doesn’t matter,” he quickly added, looking to the side in an attempt to hide his blush.

Picking up on Tobios clear desire to spend time with Kei, Koushi spoke up, “That would be perfect!” Turning his attention to Kei, he added, “You have a phone, right?  Why don’t you call someone to pick you up.”

Koushi placed his hands on each of the player’s shoulders and ushered them out of the gym.  Tobio didn’t need to be facing the older setter to see his grin.

Cool air slammed against the two as Tobio pushed open the heavy gym doors.  Kei winced at the sudden temperature change and placed his left hand over his chest, massaging away an invisible pain.

“We should probably go to the clubroom and call your mom,” Tobio offered, his eyes glued to the ground.

“Mm”

The walk to the clubroom in question was short and silent.  Occasionally Kei would clear his throat or cough quietly, but nothing to rouse worry in Tobio.

Once they were in the clubroom, however, Kei’s state declined quickly.  The light red flush laying gently on his pale cheeks had deepened and infected his forehead.  A sheen layer of sweat coated select areas of his face- a direct result of the fever burning inside of him.

Pulling himself away from Tobio, the middle blocker leaned against the wall and lowered himself to the ground.  Once there he squeezed his eyes shut and tilted his head back.

“‘M phones in the back over there.  S’got a dinosaur pin on it.”

Tobio nodded and began the search for the dinosaur bag.  He smiled gently to himself once seeing the brightly colored ‘dinosaurs rule!’ pin.  Unzipping the smallest pouch, he put his hand in and began fishing for the familiar feel of a cellular device.  Once it seemed to not be in that pouch, the setter moved on to another.  After the first two pouches failed to give the phone, Tobio angrily searched the third and finally pulled out a thick phone.

Shockingly enough, the device wasn’t password locked and it only took a minute of searching through contacts for Tobio to find what appeared to be the number for Kei’s mom.  He opened it and began calling her.  As soon as the loud ringing emitted from the phone Kei began coughing, hard.

Harsh, incessant hacks brutally attacked Kei’s chest as he leaned forward to hug the growing pain in that area.  His eyes remained squeezed shut, now in pain rather than weariness.  Tobio ran over to his boyfriend and hovered uncomfortably.  Being the younger sibling, he had little to no experience in taking care of others.  Hell, he even had little experience in taking care of himself- thanks to his incredibly strong immune system.

Wracking his brain for something to do to help, the setter remembered a scene from a movie he had watched where one character rubbed the others back to comfort them.  It was worth a shot, Tobio mused to himself as he brought his slender hand down onto Kei’s shaking back.  The moist texture of Kei’s shirt momentarily shocked Tobio but he continued to rub his hand in circles on the hunched back next to him.

“Are you okay?” Tobio asked quietly once the coughs had died down a bit.

In response, Kei leaned back against the wall and glared at Tobio.  Though his eyes lacked their usual coldness and the face ended up resembling that of a toddler trying to be menacing to avoid eating vegetables.  

“Hello?  Kei are you alright?” A small voice rang out, shocking the two teenagers.

“Oh, you’re mom’s on the phone, uh hi Tsukishima-san, uhm your son uh he’s, um, could you come and uh.”

“Full sentences please.” “Oh right, uhm, could you come pick him up, he’s sick.”

“Oh shit, really?  I just got a call from Tadashi’s mother about him catching something so I guess I should’ve seen this coming.  Right then, I’m on my way.”

The sound of keys jingling and a door opening came through the phone before the woman on the other end hung up.

“Should you get changed no-”

Kei cut Tobio off by leaning into his chest.  Tobio’s heart fluttered as though a hoard of butterflies were dancing around in his ribcage- swirling and looping around each other to the rhythm of Kei’s raspy breath.  Not knowing what to do with his hands which were currently held up in the air, he wrapped his right arm around Kei and began stroking his left hand through the middle spiker's hair.  The beads of sweat clinging to Kei’s hair made the action a bit gross, but Tobio persevered.  Kei hummed in happiness, the setter's cool slender fingers not only helped his headache but also reminded him of his mother's gentle touch.  Focusing on the rhythmic strokes of Tobios hand distracted Kei from the growing spike in his chest.

“Mm you,” Kei mumbled in thanks, burying his head deeper into Tobio.

Another long minute passed before Tobio spoke up again,

“We should go outside.  Your mom's gonna be here soon.”

“Mm.”

Taking that hum as a confirmation to stand up, Tobio pulled himself and Kei’s deadweight up.  The task was far from easy, but they managed.  With the middle blocker leaning heavily on him, Tobio walked out of the clubroom and into the chilly air.

Walking down the stairs and to the front of the school proved to be a difficult task, but with enough breaks, they were able to make it without further incident.  Kei’s mother was already there by the time the two had made it out.  Tobio mumbled a greeting to her before handing her son over.  Concern flashed in her eyes as she gave a quick thanks to Tobio before guiding Kei into her car.

Tobio waved to the Tsukishima’s as they drove off then walked back to the gym.  A few stray butterflies lingered in his torso as Kei’s warmth began fading from his side.

[blindedbythelightt]

i just worked out and i’m not even gonna lie, i almost gave up halfway through, but i persevered and it ended up not being that bad

Awww Yayy I’m glad you kept going. I just threw my muffins in and I’ll do mine!! I’m proud of you

[headfulloffantasies]

Playing with Magic

For @bearholdingashark for the wondertrev gift exchange! Merry Christmas.

Diana and Steve run into Circe. The sorceress has devious plans for Steve.

Ao3 link

“If you ever see my Aunt Circe, run the other way,” Diana said over a candlelit dinner. 

Steve paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. “Beg pardon?”

Diana waved a hand, “She’s not really my Aunt, but calling her that annoys her, so…”

Steve glanced around the crowded Italian restaurant. No one seemed to have noticed their conversation. He leaned across the table. “But Circe? Like the magician?”

“Sorceress,” Diana nodded, twirling her fork through her pasta. “She has sworn a blood oath against me. I expect that if she knows about you, she may try something devious.”

“Okay,” Steve gulped. Since returning to the land of the living he’d been rolling with the punches almost every day. Diana had lived a full life without him. She tended to drop random tidbits about her experiences into everyday conversations. 

He took another bite of lasagna. “So, sorceress? What does she do?”

Diana grimaced, “She worships the goddess Hecate. There is a prophesy that Hecate will be reborn, and Circe believes I will be Hecate’s vessel. It has been… a source of conflict.” She sighed, “I don’t want to talk about it. Just remember her name. She’s dangerous.”

Steve reached across the table and took Diana’s hand. “Hey, do you want to get out of here?”

Diana glanced at her mostly finished plate. “Yes, please.”

Steve got the waiter’s attention and paid for their meal. Diana wrapped herself in a long wool coat and took Steve’s arm. 

He led her out of the romantic lighting of the restaurant and into the chilly wind. Darkness fell early when the sun vanished behind city skyscrapers. Steve pulled Diana closer as they walked down the street. His breath fogged in front of him. 

They turned down a side street, heading uptown to their apartment. They slid around the back of a block of office buildings. The brick walls closed in on both sides, protecting them from the wind. Overhead, the streetlight suddenly went out with a pop. A shiver ran down Steve’s spine. His hand tightened around Diana’s arm. 

“Steve-,” Diana broke off. 

A cackle startled both of them. It echoed up the walls around them, rising into a shrieking wail. Diana shoved Steve behind her, backing him into the rough brick wall. Steve cast eyes around wildly for the source of the laughter. 

“Diana, darling,” an invisible voice purred. It sounded like it had exhaled from the bricks behind Steve. “Who is your little friend?”

“Circe,” Diana hissed. “Show yourself!” She unleashed her lasso from the hidden depths of her coat. It’s glow filled the street, illuminating the figure standing between two buildings. The stranger stepped closer, revealing a tall woman wearing a green sheath of a dress. Gold jewelry dripped from her neck and wrists. Her eyes glittered even in the dark. 

“Diana,” Circe tossed russet curls over her bare shoulder. 

“Aunty,” Diana sneered.

Circe’s face twisted into a snarl. “Your time has come, Amazon.”

Diana didn’t wait for Circe to make the first move. Her lasso lashed out, arching at the sorceress. Circe lazily raised a hand and deflected the blow. The lasso clanged of one of the many bangles on Circe’s wrist. 

Diana charged. Circe laughed, crouching to intercept Diana. Diana crashed into her. The sorceress dissolved into purple smoke. Steve blinked in surprise. She’d vanished! He swiveled, searching desperately for the villain. 

“Next time, darling,” Circe’s voice cackled invisibly.

A shadow fell over them. Steve looked up and ducked. A griffin, with the head of a lion and the wings of an eagle, swooped down between the buildings. Its talons snatched Diana around the waist and lifted her off her feet. 

“Diana!” Steve grabbed for her hand and missed. The griffin flapped its golden wings, knocking Steve down. It rocketed up into the sky, Diana in its clutches. Steve made to chase, but a cloud of noxious purple smoke burst around him. Steve choked on rancid cloves. He threw his hands over his face. 

The smoke intensified from a cloud into a burning light. Steve shouted. The world spun around and around. Everything shot up, growing a hundred times its size. Steve’s bones cracked. His spine rippled. A nauseating shift of his stomach lurched all his organs dizzyingly. He tried to scream, but nothing came out. 

He flopped on the sidewalk, breathless as the violet cloud dissipated. His heart raced. Nothing felt right. He was going to be sick.

A net of acid violet rope fell over him.

Steve tried to yell. A strangled croak warbled from his throat.

The air rippled like a curtain parting and Circe stepped out. She reached out and tied up the ends of the net. “Steve Trevor. You make a lovely little pet.”

Steve struggled. His body felt wrong. He twisted his neck to look down at himself. 

Oh hell no. Feathers. He had sprouted feathers. And wings. 

“What a beautiful little bird,” Circe crooned. “You know, I think I was mesmerized by your eyes. Your feathers are the same shade of blue.”

Steve’s tongue would not cooperate with his mind. He tried to say “You’re a crazy evil witch”, but what came out was “Witch”. 

Circe laughed. “Indeed, my parrot friend.” She scooped up the net, sending Steve tumbling. “Let’s be off. Diana won’t be far behind.” The cloud of purple surrounded Steve again. 

When it vanished, they were no longer in the street. A lavish garden, rolling with green fig trees, lush ferns, and an array of flowers greeted Steve. For a second he blinked in the sudden midday sun. Circe moved, jostling the net again. Steve flailed indignant wings. Circe skipped over to a particularly large mossy rock carved in the shape of a throne. She threw herself down, tossing Steve at her feet. He landed in a heap, hopelessly tangled in the net. 

Steve tried to protest, a squawk tearing from his throat. 

Circe threw back her head and laughed as if he’d made some hilarious joke. “Precious, come here,” she leaned down and waved her hand. The net evaporated. Steve strained his wings, visions of flight and escape running through his mind. He wobbled, uncoordinated. Circe’s hands caught him, pinning his wings to his sides. He cawed and tried to peck her. 

Circe tsked. “Behave little parrot, or I’ll turn you into a pig.” 

“Oink,” Steve managed to snap.

Circe giggled. “I see why Diana likes you.” She leaned back on her throne, petting one hand over Steve’s head. “Do you like my tropical paradise? It’s not real, you know. All illusions. This is really some abandoned theatre I stumbled across. The irony of disguising the stage was too good to pass up.”

Circe stroked one dagger sharp fingernail over Steve’s throat. His feathers ruffled in annoyance. 

“Diana will come find you. She’ll walk right into my trap for you.” Circe lifted Steve to eye level. “Because Diana believes in love,” she spat. “She thinks you pathetic humans are worth her heart. You’re not.” She gave Steve a shake. His brain rattled in his tiny skull. “You’re no better than animals.” 

Circe suddenly let go. Steve freefell into her lap and bounced onto the floor. He flapped and flopped upright.

He turned one glaring eye on Circe. He wanted to tirade against her. Yell, scream, rant. Diana wasn’t wong. Humanity didn’t deserve Wonder Woman, but it wasn’t about deserving. She chose to help those who couldn’t help themselves. That made her better than all of them. She could have abandoned humanity. She almost had, after Steve’s death. Persevering, doing the right thing, made his sacrifice worth something. She’d made him proud. 

Steve’s feathers puffed. If he had his voice, he’d tear Circe a new one. He cocked his head. “Hero.”

Circe stiffened.

“She is, isn’t she?” Circe said so quietly Steve almost missed it. 

The garden all around them was silent. Even the breeze that occasionally ruffled the ferns didn’t whisper in Steve’s ear.

The shimmering blue sky suddenly shattered into pieces of topaz raining down. Diana fell through the opening, landing in the center of the tropical garden. She’d shed her evening gown and wool coat for her armor and diadem. The lasso at her hip glowed in the sunlight.

Circe screeched, leaping to her feet. “You found me at last, princess.”

“Give me Steve Trevor, Aunty.” Diana advanced slowly, a menacing slink in her step.

Circe snapped her fingers. Steve gasped as chains snaked over his body, pinning him in place at the foot of the throne.

“Do you like the improvements I made to your little friend?” Circe laughed. “He already follows your every move, now he can really parrot you. You might not even notice the difference.”

“Change him back,” Diana demanded. 

“Make me,” Circe growled.

The lasso arced overhead. Circe dodged and deflected its spinning lashes. She struck out, a wave of violet fire racing across the ground. Diana leapt, sidestepping the attack. Burning foliage smoked in the space between them.

Steve cawed, anxiety tearing his chest to ribbons. His struggles against the bonds only made them cling tighter. 

Diana snapped the lasso. A glowing blow flashed across Circe’s cheek like the lash of a whip. Circe shouted. She stumbled and fell at the base of her throne. Her razor nails touched the red welt on her face. It had already begun to fade. 

“Give up, Circe,” Diana towered over her. 

“Never,” Circe struggled to her feet. Bolts of violet energy engulfed her hands. Crackles of light lanced from her fingertips. Circe lifted her hands over her head. Diana braced for impact. Circe brought her hands down. A flash brighter than the sun erupted in a thunderclap. 

Steve’s vision swam. When he blinked the negative away Circe was gone. The lush garden faded, leaving a grey stage. Ragged theatre seats lined up at Diana’s back. Where the throne had sat, a shredded curtain hung limp and dusty.

“Distractions and illusions, Aunty. Will we never learn?” Diana muttered. Her shoulders slumped. 

“Diana,” Steve croaked. 

She turned, eyebrows drawn together in concern. “Steve,” she dropped to her knees, gently pulling at the chains. He held still as the bonds crumbled in her hands like peanut shells.

“Are you alright?” 

Steve gave her a look that said “I’m a bird, how alright can I be?” Possibly it didn’t convey the same thing with a beak, as Diana sighed in relief. 

“I am glad you are unharmed.”

Unharmed? Steve flapped his wings indignantly. “Bird,” he croaked.

“Yes, I can help,” Diana stood. She unwrapped her lasso from her belt. She leaned down to Steve and hesitated. “This will hurt. Are you sure?”

“Bird,” Steve snapped. 

Diana nodded. She gently wrapped a coil of the lasso around Steve’s middle. She straightened, grasping her end of the glowing coil with both hands. 

The lasso burned.

“Remember who you are,” Diana commanded. 

Fire raced through Steve’s bones. His joints ground against each other. He squeezed his eyes shut as everything spun. His insides heaved and his skull groaned. Then it was over. Steve opened his eyes. His hands splayed over grey floorboards. He tried wiggling his fingers. The ten fingers in his field of view wiggled back. A relieved laugh escaped in a huff. 

Diana dropped to her knees beside him and crushed him in a hug. He circled his arms around her, incredibly aware of the difference between arms and wings.

“No bird jokes,” he said as Diana helped him to his feet.

“Not even one?” She circled an arm around his waist.

“No,” they stepped off the stage and made their way down the aisle between theatre seats.

“Just a little one? One wing joke,” Diana opened the front door.

Steve started at the drifting snowflakes blowing through the empty street. “No.”

“Someone’s feathers are ruffled.”

“Stop.” 

Diana’s fingers laced through Steve’s. They walked hand in hand all the way home.

“Thanks for the rescue,” Steve said as they reached their apartment building. 

“Anytime,” Diana squeezed his hand.

[theclanscript]

4. Changkyun 30. Kihyun 33, 43. Wonho

thank you for all the requests! we will be posting each of the drabbles on their own, so here is the first one. enjoy ♡

♡ “I’m not here to make friends.”

The text “Victory” flashed up on the screen in front of you in golden letters, and you breathed a sigh of relief as you flung yourself back into your computer chair.

“Finally.”

You thought your hand was going to cramp halfway through the last round—getting carpal tunnel from playing video games was not something you were planning on experiencing—but you persevered and prevailed.

“Good game.”

Your heart nearly leapt out of your chest when you heard the smooth voice behind you. You immediately turned your head to look back and confirmed that the comment had indeed been directed towards you. Apparently, you had drawn a crowd of two behind your personal station.How long have they even been standing there?

You recognized one of the boys—Minhyuk. He frequented the PC room almost as much as you, but you didn’t really pay him much mind. It was probably for the greater good, because the last time you two had played a few games together, it had resulted in some nasty comments and a week-long ban for both of you.

Minhyuk seemed to have remembered this incident as well, because the moment you met eyes with him, he diverted his stare and scurried off back to his chair. Coward.

“We could really use a player like you on our team.”

The one who spoke was a new face though, one you had not had the pleasure of seeing here before. He had sleek raven hair, curious brown eyes, and a jawline that could very well cut through all the grease and grime that inhabited this gaming center.

“Thanks, uh…?” you spoke, rising the intonation and waiting for him to fill in the blank. He got the message, because he then promptly gave you his name.

“Changkyun.”

“Thanks, Changkyun, but I like to play on my own,” you countered. You wanted to be polite, but you were not exactly keen on having a rerun of your incident with Minhyuk.

“That’s understandable,” the new player accepted with a nod, but he didn’t seem to have any intention of running away like his friend. “Did you want to grab a bite to eat, then?”

“Sorry,” you declined, holding onto the same sentiment as before. “I’m not here to make friends.”

“Good,” Changkyun said unexpectedly, and you swore that his voice shifted to a lower register. “Because I was asking you out on a date.”

His eyes were trained on you as he held an anticipating expression, and you matched his gaze, suddenly not interested in the new round that was starting on your screen. The slightest hint of a smile was forming underneath his dark orbs that almost seemed like he was testing you—challenging you.

And frankly, you were never one to back down from a challenge.

[likeawildthing]

“Lily stood there proudly, grinning like a loon, wearing the silliest hat he’d ever seen. And being a wizard, he’d seen loads of ridiculous hats. It was more or less a triangle of cheap, red Muggle fabric with a white pouf at the end, and every thirty seconds or so, it flopped jerkily from one side to the other. 

Perfect.

She reached her hand into her knapsack, which was definitely charmed to hold more than it appeared, for her arm disappeared to the shoulder, and then she produced a misshapen, poorly wrapped present with a lopsided bow on top.”

Happy Christmas in July! Have a 3702 word second installment of Pep(per) Up, Peppermint. Summer before seventh year flirting, banter, and turmoil. This time we hear from James! @marionetteblues because I’m excited to read what she’s going to be writing and @gxldentrio who needs some cheering up. It is helpful, but not completely necessary, to read chapter one for chapter two to make sense. Otherwise, read below.

“Evans, what in the bloody hell are you doing here?” James asked, surveying the entirely-too-chipper-for-this-unholy-hour redhead at his front door.

“Hullo, Head Boy Potter,” she said cheerily, giving him a snappy salute.

James grimaced. “You really don’t have to greet me like that.”

“I really do though.”

“You really, really don’t.”

“Disagree.”

“Alright, fine.”

But between his mum and dad’s respective tears, his mates’ merciless teasing, and now this—

But between Lily Evans’s shorts, and that vest that barely passed for a shirt—not that he was complaining—he was hard pressed to think of much else. And her chewing gum even smacked cheerfully against her lips, and her hair, done up in that braid he liked so much… She shifted to adjust the rucksack slung over her shoulder, and he realized her shoes had wheels attached to them.

James tried to gather his wits.

“I preferred when you called me heroes, Evans.”

And he had—she’d spent most of the spring term calling him heroes from Muggle literature—Hercules, Jim Thornton, someone named Mr. Darcy. He didn’t understand half of them, but she’d been calling him anything but Potter, and—

Somewhere from the kitchen, James’s mum cleared her throat, and he remembered his manners.

“I mean, hullo, it’s nice to see you, not just ‘what are you doing here’.”

“Assumed.”

“But also,” he said, stepping through the threshold and shutting the door behind him, “what are you doing here, at”—he looked at the watch he’d received a few months before—“six forty-five in the damn morning?”

“You said, ‘This was loads of fun, Evans, thanks for the invite. Here’s my address. Come over any time.’ And then you scrawled your address on the corner of my Potions essay. And six forty-five in the bloody morning counts as ‘any’ time.”

James grinned, despite his best effort not to.

She’d lowered her voice in a startlingly accurate imitation of his.

Sure, she needn’t have smirked, run a hand through her hair, adjusted her imaginary glasses, or winked so hard that the entire left side of her face had squinted. But aside from all of that, the impression had been dead on. Mostly, it was that she’d been paying that much attention to him to know his fidgets that chuffed him.

“Memorizing my quotes, are you, Evans? Going to get that tattooed on your forehead?”

“When I get the line of yours that finally works on my tattooed on my body, Head Boy Potter, I’ll let you choose the place.”

She smiled, blindingly, and he couldn’t help that his grew wider. This girl.

“Please stop calling me Head Boy Potter,” he whined.

“Just trying to get it out of my system,” she sing-songed.

“Yes, but you’ve no idea the shit—” James broke off, not wanting to discuss the tattoo he’d just maybe gotten, last night with Sirius. His head felt like it’d taken a dozen bludger hits. He was 100% certain Sirius had spiked his drink. He was half sure the tattoo was a fake. Still, he hadn’t been able to remove it, and he hadn’t yet had a chance to beat the shit out of Sirius and know for sure, so—

James cleared his throat. “Anyway, Evans, what are you doing here again?”

Her smile, for the first time, faltered. “I—d’you want me to go?”

“No! And I did say any time, you’re right. Your random appearance just surprised me is all.”

“That was kind of the point, James. And it just so happens that I’m not here randomly.” Her Cheshire cat grin reminded him unpleasantly of his mum.

“That almost scares me more.”

“Scared of me still?” she asked, tucking a strand of hair behind her left ear which was one of her nervous ticks.

James raised his chin defiantly and tried to project an air of utmost confidence.

“I’m not scared of you, Evans.”

But that was a lie.

He’d been scared of her since she hexed his arse in Duelling club, third year. He didn’t even register girls at all until fourth year. It was at least the first time he’d been awed by her, which felt as much of a beginning as anything.

Not that he’d thought about it all that much.

“How did you even get here, anyway?”

Her laugh gave James goosebumps.

Better than a raised prick, at least, although the morning was young.

“I Apparated, duh! You gave me your address, remember?”

“Yes, but you’ve never been here before.”

“So?”

“You’re wearing rolling skates.”

“Roller skates,” she corrected, though not unkindly. She gave a little twirl for his benefit.

“Dead impressive.”

“The skating, or the Apparition?”

“All of it. That you’d Apparated to a place you’d never been, and that you did it in those.”

“Well, I fell on my bum.”

“Alright?” “Yes, thank-you for asking.”

“Not you—your bum. It’d be a tragedy to ruin it.”

“Stop flirting! And it’s not that terribly impressive. You flew to my house, yesterday! That’s seriously impressive.”

“Yeah, but I’d taken the Knight Bus before, so I knew where I was going— Not as impressive as Apparating…”

“I guess…”

James raised his eyebrows, but she pretended that she didn’t see it and became ridiculously interested in his mum’s flowers. He waited her out, crossing own arms, tapping a foot impatiently, and staring at her until she stomped a foot, almost slipping and falling on her arse again.

He caught her arm and prevented her from falling entirely, though he was quick to pull it back once it was steady again. Rules, and all.

“Evans.”

“Oh, what, James? Drop it!”

“No, Lily. Stop doing that! You always do it.”

“It’s not—”

“Evans, is is seriously impressive. YOU are seriously impressive. You know you are. It’s alright to just say it, yeah? Just take. The. Compliment.”

She smiled, despite her annoyance, and reached out her hand and mimed taking something before putting it in her pocket. “Taken.”

“Evans, take the compliment. Properly.”

“You are ridiculous.”

James just raised his eyebrows again. “Well?”

“Fine. James, thank-you for the compliment. You’re right. I am dead bloody impressive. And cute on roller skates, though that part of the compliment was implied.”

He nodded, not bothering to address her last (very true) assertion. That’s probably why she’d worn them in the first place.

“And I am amazing at Apparition,” she said, and he realized the trap too late, “even if you’re too scared to do it yourself.”

“I’m not scared to Apparate,” James yelped, his voice raising an octave.

“Yes you are, don’t deny it!”

“One tiny, insignificant incident—”

“Screamed like a bloody banshee in the Great Hall—” she cut across him, grinning.

“Perfectly reasonable response to my foot bloody disappearing!”

“It was three feet away!”

“You’d have screamed too, Evans—”

“I’ve never splinched myself though, Potter, and I doubt I ever will.”

She finished with a satisfied little nod, knowing she’d won.

“Like I sad. Impressive.”

“And then you passed out.”

“And you caught me!”

They shared a proper laugh, remembering that she had indeed caught him.

Magically, but still.

And then she’d forced her way between the Heads of houses to hold his hand, even though he was unconscious.

It’d been the most glorious moment of James’s life thus far, and he’d missed it.

Lily admitted, maybe to soothe his slightly-wounded pride, “That might be the only thing I’ve ever seen you be horrible at, y’know?”

James six months ago would’ve landed on that for a long time and listed all of the things he was excellent at, but James six months ago didn’t know when to shut the fuck up. He settled for a modest thank you. Y’know, to set a good compliment-accepting-example.

“Thank you for acknowledging that I am brilliant in literally everything but Apparition.”

“If I could do with a little more hubris, James Potter, you could do with a smidge less.”

James chose to ignore this.

“If you recall, and this is important for context, I wasn’t terrible forever. I persevered despite my near-death experience and passed my test on the second try.”

Lily quirked an eyebrow—a skill he’d never quite mastered and was incredibly jealous of. “Remus told me it was the third though.”

“Damn him! Yes the third. Anyway, flying is superior. I prefer my broomstick.”

“I’ll bet you do.”

“And I’m the flirt?”

Lily more or less ignored this, giving a small, dignified nod before asking, “Are you really upset that I’m here? Because I can—”

“No—” James caught his hand in his hair when it was halfway through and pulled it out. Maybe her impression wasn’t so off base after all. “It’s brilliant, actually,” he assured her, “I just wish I’d—”

She looked at his shirt and smiled. “Had time to change into a shirt that didn’t have crusted drool on the collar?”

He also looked at his shirt and grimaced. “Fuck.”

“James?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve seen you nearly every morning for six years—I know you drool in your sleep.”

“Stalker,” he accused.

“You’re still eight of ten, even with drool on your shirt, if that helps any.”

“Liar.”

Except she wasn’t, and grinned noncommittally.

“Are you at any point going to stop flirting shamelessly long enough to tell me why you’re really here, Lily?”

“James. If I was flirting, you’d know it.”

He tried to raise an eyebrow and failed. She raised an eyebrow and smirked. The urge to reach out and tickle her was overwhelming, but he remembered just in time that they weren’t touching.

Christmas break had proven to be something of a turning point in their relationship. It still felt like jinxing things to call it a relationship, but it seemed inadequate to call it a friendship.

Whatever it was, he hadn’t realized the shift at the time. He’d gone, along with their friends, to Lily’s house to sing Christmas carols, only to realize she’d been sick. In a masterstroke, he’d mailed a cure he’d convinced his dad to brew, and they’d kept up the correspondence through Christmas break.

They’d returned to Hogwarts as something…more….than what they’d left.

And the nicknames, the increased flirting on both of their parts, the touching, for fuck’s sake, had all been fantastic.

But there’d also been a few walks on the grounds, and that N.E.W.T. level charms project they’d been paired on, and study sessions for exams.

She’d kissed his bloody cheek as a good luck charm before the Quidditch match against Hufflepuff.

True, he’d been so addled he only scored twelve goals.

Still.

And cocoa-by-the-fireplace had evolved from a one-off to something of a ritual in those cold winter months. They’d covered everything—stupid things like music and naming weird constellations and would-you-rather games, important things like their families, and awful things like the war, and politics, and how the world was definitely going to shit. He could talk to her about everything. He’d been startled to realize that he’d wanted to talk to her about everything.

From those conversations had borne the something definitely more than friends—a comfortable intimacy he hadn’t built with anyone, aside from his mates.

He trusted her.

He was crazy about her.

He wanted her to know how bloody fantastic she was, all the damn time. It was everything he could do to prevent shouting it at her in the halls.

And then, last party before Easter, they’d gone and ruined it all by snogging for an hour.

Or two.

It had been fantastic, but precarious.

Something.

He hadn’t dared write to her over hols, though he’d wanted to. Desperately. Until he’d worked out over long, fireside conversations with his mum that he was possibly in love with Lily Evans. And he returned to school with that knowledge, and things had shifted again. This time, James was painfully aware of it.

They still flirted, obviously, but he’d kept a maddeningly respectful distance, touch-wise. Things had seemed potentially serious between them. And they didn’t talk about it. They definitely didn’t snog.

They didn’t even touch.

But they did flirt. A lot.

He’d driven himself mad for a week before she wrote, demanding to know if he was going to write her this summer, or fucking what? And that had been that. Still, writing wasn’t the same as in person, and he impulsively flew to her house yesterday.

And it had been brilliant, hadn’t it? They hadn’t touched, obviously, but he’d been Lily-starved for more than a month and he was content just to watch the tele for a few hours.

And here she is today. But she didn’t seem in any hurry to tell him why she was here, or she would’ve done. He cocked his head sideways. “Is this revenge for my coming to your house so early yesterday morning?”

She feigned innocence. “Did you?”

“I had to leave early so no one saw me flying, or I wouldn’t’ve done!”

He would’ve done. He left so early so he couldn’t back out, like the four times before.

“Actually, I’d planned on coming by today long before yesterday. Deciding to stop by your house first, this early though? Most definitely because you woke me up yesterday.”

“You’d planned on stopping by?” James had the sense to cringe at the hopefulness in his voice.

“Yes.”

“Evans?”

“Yeah?”

“I am glad you’re here, yeah? But what in the bloody hell are we doing on my front path, with my parents eavesdropping, so early on this fine morning?”

“It’s the second best day of the year, puer capitis Potter, and I wanted to see you.”

“What in the bloody hell are you on about? And was that Head Boy Potter in Latin?”

“Yes,” she said, entirely too self-satisfied. “And it’s 25 July!”

“…and? Touché, by the way. But what’s the significance?”

“C’mon, James. Think! I mentioned this at least once last year.”

“Seriously. Nothing. “

Lily frowned, and then patted her head. “Wait. I forgot something.”

“Oh?”

She instructed him to close his eyes. As a Marauder it was normally his role to convince others to close their eyes, and as such, long experience had told him never to trust that sentence. But of course it was Evans asking, and she rolled the r in your, and she blew a big, pink gum bubble and popped it, and when she swiped the remnants off her tip with her tongue, he had to close his eyes just to keep his heart from bursting.

Fuck, he was a ponce.

He heard the zip of her knapsack, and the sound of her rummaging, and no sooner had decided to peek when she said, “Alright, open.”

He laughed, couldn’t help it.

Lily stood there proudly, grinning like a loon, wearing the silliest hat he’d ever seen. And being a wizard, he’d seen loads of ridiculous hats. It was more or less a triangle of cheap, red Muggle fabric with a white pouf at the end, and every thirty seconds or so, the triangle creaked mechanically and flopped jerkily from one side to the other.

Perfect.

She reached her hand into her knapsack, which was definitely charmed to hold more than it appeared, for her arm disappeared to the shoulder, and then she produced a misshapen, poorly wrapped present with a lopsided bow on top.

In staring at the present a small jolt of Deja vu hit—he’d seen the same paper under her tree the previous December.

Suddenly it all made sense.

“Oi, Christmas!”

“In July, yes! Keep up, garcon chef Potter.”

“That’s not even how French works, Evans. Did you really learn that phrase in multiple languages just to torment me?”

“It’s summer—what else have I got to do?” “Wrap presents, apparently, and harass blokes before breakfast.”

“Merry Christmas in July, James,” she said, turning the gift in her hands without handing it over. “As you may remember, during actual Christmas, I had a slight bout of illness, for which you provided treatment in the form of laughs, cuddles, hot cocoa, and a potion that actually worked. And my steaming ears made my sister furious, which I don’t know that I ever told you about, but for all of that, thank you.”

She thrust the present into his hands.

“Open it, then!”

Never one to delay gratification, he ripped the paper off unceremoniously.

She immediately began to qualify. “It’s not much. It’s not even new. But—nostalgia, y’know? Even though it’s not as grand as—”

“Shut up, Evans,” he said, grinning at her. “It’s amazing. I love this mug.”

“Yeah?”

He reached out and squeezed her hand, unspoken rules be damned. “Yeah. Thank you.”

Because it was the same mug they’d sipped from last December, in the shape of what he now knew was a Dalek, since they’d watched multiple episodes of Dr. Who yesterday. And before he could wax nostalgic any more, she was holding out another present to him.

Another qualifier: “Save this one for after I leave, yeah?”

His smile faded, and his stomach dropped. He’d been about to invite her for breakfast, his parents be damned, and— “Are you leaving already?”

“I’ve got things to do, people to see,” she said. Her eyes flickered to the window. “And your parents have been staring at us for the last 5 minutes—”

James swung around to the kitchen window where, sure enough, they were hovering at the kitchen window. “Sunofa—” he motioned at them to move, leave, do anything, but they waved back cheerfully.

Lily attempted to disguise her laugh with a cough and failed. “Just open it after I leave, yeah?”

Maybe her leaving was better than whatever embarrassment his parents would inflict. Still.

“That definitely makes me want to open it now though.”

“I promise, you definitely don’t.”

“Evans,” James whined, but Evans put her hand on his wrist and his brain stopped working.

“James? Please wait the two minutes it’ll take me to get out of your hair.” Rules be damned, she squeezed his wrist lightly, and his stomach lurched again.

“Alright, fine. But I reserve the right to stop by later if necessa—”

“I won’t be home until after supper,” she said, shaking her knapsack. “More deliveries to make. But after that, sure.”

“Is that by design?”

“Isn’t it always?”

“You do scare me a little, Evans, you know that?”

“Same, James. But that’s what makes it fun, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh—I actually came so early because my owl came. I’m Head Girl.”

He pulled her into a swift hug, pulling her skates clean off the ground. Her arms wrapped around his neck, and this was new, too. Fireworks, winning-at-Quidditch, nausea-inducing-but-the-good-kind type of new. When she pulled back, he lowered her to the ground, though she made no move to disentangle herself further.

Neither did he.

“We’re going to be good, yeah?” she asked. She’d tilted her head back to look him in the eye

She wasn’t talking about their Headships, or even Hogwarts at all. Like always, she was so fucking sure of it, daring the world to prove her wrong. And despite everything—his terror at fucking this up, his terror at getting it right, the Headship, the fact that they had one year left at Hogwarts, the news, the war—

He gave her another small squeeze. “We’re going to be fucking brilliant.”

“Oh—one more present.”

The “yeah?” died on his lips, because her mouth was on his. Briefly, much too fucking briefly, for in his shock he dropped the mug and it shattered on the ground. She broke away. Before he could pull her back, she took a small half-glide backwards, toward the gate.

He looked from her, to the mug, to her again. “Fuck.”

“It’s alright.”

She pulled her wand from her back pocket and repaired the mug.

“Evans. Warn a bloke next time, yeah?”

“No promises.”

“To the next time, or that you’ll give warning?”

“Really, James?”

She levitated both the mug and present he’d dropped into the air, and he grabbed for them. In the half second his attention was diverted, before he could call her name, protest, say anything, she turned on her heel and skated for the front gate.

So that’s why she’d worn them.

“Any time, Evans! And I mean that!”

“Open your present now!”

He ripped the paper apart just as the pop of her Apparition sounded just beyond the garden hedge, and a several pictures fell on the pavers. Wizard, from the look of them. He picked them up and thumbed through them in the privacy of the front stoop.

The pictures were all from last year, all of the two of them—arguing about the superiority of their preferred condiments at the breakfast table, swimming in the Lake on that dare, the snowmen, the stunned look on his face as she’d kissed him good luck, snuggled by the fireplace, dueling in DADA. Hard to say how much time passed, before he noticed the note that had fluttered to the ground.

He picked it up and read it.

“Hero,

Apparently Mary has been sneaking pictures of us all year. Who knew? I hexed her, but then looked at them properly and thanked her. Then I made a copy for you. Thought you’d like these to swoon over, because I certainly have. As much as I teased you today, if everything went according to plan, you’re going to be a brilliant Head Boy. Accept the compliment, Potter!

We’re going to be amazing.

xo

puella capitis lilium

P.S. I got a three am owl from Sirius. Thought you could use some cheering up.

P.P.S. Can’t wait to see your new tattoo in person!”

James looked up, half hoping she was at the gate, but she was gone. No matter—he’d definitely show up for dinner tonight. And maybe tomorrow night, too.

Sure, he might possibly have a permanent Head Boy tattoo on his arse. His parents were surely going to unleash an interrogation when he passed through the door. And the world might, indeed, be going to shit.

Still, this year wasn’t going to brilliant. It was going to be fucking brilliant.

He was definitely in love with Lily Evans.

He was pretty sure, even if she didn’t know it yet, that the feeling was something like mutual.

[pinkipie100]

Gone Is the Light of Your Palm

...

I’m not sure I should even post this.

I’ll not lie. This is an EXTREMELY UNCOMFORTABLE READ.

It was so draining, physically, emotionally, just to write it. It’s... honestly? It’s the single most depressing thing I’ve ever written to date. I always love to write angst, but... I didn’t even fully enjoy writing this.

It started out as an image in my head, an interesting concept, innocent enough angst, just like every other fic. But then... it got dark. It got EXTREMELY DARK. And I’m not usually disturbed by my own writing, but this...

I think it’s because I wrote a little too close to my own heart. I may have self-projected too much, made too many parallels to my real life, and written it based off of fresh wounds...

Just to be perfectly clear, I’m referring to the suicidal topic of this fic. Now, I’ve never actually lost family or a friend to suicide, but in light of Chester Bennington’s recent suicide... yeah, that’s really the first time suicide’s ever directly taken something from my life. And... I think this fic is honestly just me venting about it, projecting on parallel characters from Voltron.

I’m extremely conflicted about posting this fic, and I fear I may receive some serious flame for it. I don’t really blame people. I already know there are many people who are distraught about the way Shiro was treated this season, believe me, my best friend @lenarart wept right next to me after watching 3.5, and I know how much he means to various fans.

Sometimes, writers can’t control their visions. This is the first time it’s gotten so out of hand for me, that writing it actually made me feel physically sick. I just... don’t know how I lost control so completely...

This isn’t my first fanfic. Maybe it’s the first one I’ve posted online, but I’ve written fanfic for Avatar, Korra, and my own original writing. Angst is my specialty. I would not consider this your average angst AT ALL. If this leaves a bad taste in your mouth afterwords, don’t hesitate to unfollow me. I’ve only got, like, ten of ‘em, anyway. Follower count doesn’t matter that much to me.

Just... be safe. Read at your own risk. This contains disturbing imagery, possible reminiscent of that of panic attacks, I’m not sure. And again, there is pretty clearly implied suicide.

This is not a fluffy Klance fic. This is not hurt/comfort Shallura. This is not background Hunay.

This is something so deeply real and personal for me, I’ve truly left myself horrified at my own work.

I don’t expect you to enjoy.

Words: 2046

Category: Gen, Pidge-centric.

Contains: Major Character Death, Suicide Mention, Possibly Panic-Inducing Imagery

Takes place about 5 years in the future.

insp.

Pidge stepped down from the pod, along with several other Olkari. She let them pass by her, unwilling to look up, almost unwilling to be here at all. She already wanted to go back to Olkarion, just hide in the city, surround herself with her silent garden plants. She’d rather be surrounded by silence than the loud, loud faces.

Begrudgingly, Pidge looked up. The first face she saw was Hunk’s. He was facing her head-on. His countenance was loud. So, so loud… louder than she’d ever seen it. The Guardian of the Forest sensed a pungent sting in her heart at the sight of solid, begging tears in the bigger paladin’s eyes. Hunk refused to let them go, though, the strong anchor that he was.

Pidge’s lips wobbled. The small paladin went forth to hug Hunk unabashedly. She could still barely wrap her arms around him, but she wasn’t about to let physical reality stop her from trying to crush around Hunk’s waist, encircle him totally, until she squeezed all his sorrow out, along with banishing her own. Hunk’s arms reciprocated accordingly, reaching down to Pidge’s back. Pidge felt something thick and wet plop on top of her head, and she dared not to mention it to her friend whom she was trying so desperately to crush.

When the two finally parted, Hunk’s hands remained on top of Pidge’s shoulders. Hunk then turned and let one arm rest across her shoulders as he led her up to the rest of the funeral party.

God, why is everyone’s faces so loud?

Coran’s expression mumbled. It mumbled of not understanding, of a thirst for answers. So say we all. He looked so tired. The older Altean’s eyes were half-lidded, and his mouth hung open in a zombielike fashion. When he blinked, he did it too slowly. The man was half-alive. Everything about him was just… reduced to half of what it used to be. Except for his spontaneous cheerfulness; that was just gone. Pidge wanted nothing more than to go to him, to hug the pain away like she’d attempted to do with Hunk. But she worried that if she did, she might just snap the old man in two. Coran’s physical body was the only part of him still whole; Pidge couldn’t take that away.

Hunk escorted Pidge up to her brother. Pidge could understand every word his face was saying. The grey words lining every crease on his face, and the agonizing sympathy his face screamed at his sister. Don’t say that. She wanted to throw back all that sympathy in his face. She was the one who should be screaming comfort at him from her eyebrows, tightly knitted together. She should be boring her slightly cold amber eyes into his to give him the life to carry on. Pidge could almost laugh when she realized her and Matt’s expressions toward each other were complete mirror images, each trying to lift the other back into survival from this valley.

Hunk and Matt, too, traded solemn, supportive expressions, then Hunk gave Pidge’s shoulder as strong a squeeze as he could [it held a weakness uncharacteristic of Hunk] before grimly sauntering over to someone else in the crowd of mourners.

Pidge and Matt wandered over to the front of the congregation, meeting Lance and Keith. Quickly, even more quickly, Pidge’s blood was draining from her veins, leaving them cold. The noise was so much… Seeing those two together was deafening. Lance gave Pidge a smile. The Green Paladin could throw up. She barely registered Matt wrapping an arm around her shoulders as Hunk just had, but it must have prevented her from passing out on the spot. Pidge took a deep breath and gave Lance a weak smile back. After a moment of this, they both glanced sideways at Keith. He was like a marble tombstone. His eyes were wide open, shaking, and his pupils were pinpricks. Pidge could detect nothing but static. Loud static. Piercing static. She felt like her ears were going to bleed. But seeing Keith brought about a new kind of pain in Pidge: the pain of helplessness. Because there was nothing she could do to put a stop to the static. Lance eventually looked back at Pidge, then came forth and gave her a light hug. Pidge hugged back; somehow, though Lance’s hugs were made of water, they never failed to help her breathe. She was pulled back from the edge of insanity.

When they pulled back, they noticed her stepping up onto the podium to speak. She had left the twins with Hunk, whom had come over to take them from her arms. Thank god they were too young for this noise.

Allura took center stage on the podium. Coran stood on the ground, facing the audience, ever the protective sentinel for her, even though everyone here felt death infecting their very beings.

Pidge took in a deep breath of life through her nose, then let it go.

Then Allura spoke.

“Hello, everyone.”

Pidge’s eardrums were broken. That couldn’t have been Allura. That was not the Allura who used to shatter her ears with hope every word she said. That wasn’t her Queen Allura.

This was the voice of a broken old woman. Her voice sounded like sandpaper rubbed on ashy gravel. She stood as tall as she could on the podium, and normally, a pregnant belly would not have hindered her one bit, but her shoulders carried new life on top of a fresh, sinking death. A death so terrible and oppressive that the whole universe could feel it. This was the voice of no queen. This was the silent sound of someone gargling a dead heart in their throat.

The silence from Allura spoke of heroic deeds. Selfless actions. Persevering and inspiring in the face of insurmountable odds. Defying, no, spitting in the face of the impossible. Spending a year in hell, and coming back to still see hope and good in the broken universe that everyone else thought of as not worth saving. Losing so many essential pieces and having them warped and replaced with something demonic, but still using that vile instrument for something pure. A guiding light to so many, a light that never gave up shining on anyone, no matter how much the void tried to stamp it all out. Just take that hand, that glorious light, and you were already halfway to heaven. The first king of New Altea, the Savior of the Universe, the last Champion…

“Takashi Shirogane, the Black Paladin.”

Pidge heard a flicker as Keith woke up. His eyes could focus now. The static diminished. The Red Paladin could finally see. And it was breaking him apart like glass cracking in the fire.

Meanwhile, Pidge was going numb.

“None of us wanted to be here for a very…”

~ ~

“…very long time. We certainly never expected to be here under these circumstances. But I…”

~

“…understand more than many that he was in so much pain. It…”

~

Allura kept taking huge gulps of air between words, very unlike her when giving a speech. And they were so loud.

“…pains me to realize… ~ …that I will have to raise our… ~ …children alone. And I’m far from the only person who… ~ ~ ~”

Coran looked at Allura worriedly.

“…lost him,” Allura finally managed. Keith blinked, tender tears slipping down his cheeks for the first time. “But just because this life became too much for him, it does not… ~ …mean that we must only think of him as a tragedy.”

Matt’s eyes were slowly drowning with tears, and every paladin’s face turned up directly at the Queen.

“Far from it!” Allura managed to inflect a tiny bit more optimistically. “Everyone’s life is a ride of ups and downs. We can overcome every valley, and fly upon every high! Coping with any trauma, any grief…” Pidge’s ears twitched. She was starting to hear the real Allura again. “…is not impossible. All our hearts are heavy here and now, but… we are not done fighting. We either count on our friends,” the paladins saw that pink glint in Allura’s eyes, “our families,” Coran almost looked like he was smiling, “strangers, even,” the Olkari, Shay and the Balmerans, Slav, and the other members of the crowd lifted slightly, “even the stardust can keep us company.” Allura’s voice wobbled a bit on that last word. “The future is ahead- the future Takashi gave us. We will make the most of it, and make him proud from wherever he is watching.”

Pidge witnessed the casket carriers lower Shiro down, his body made beautiful and broken one last time, exposing all his perfect flaws and damn beautiful tarnishes, yes, even the burn that he ended his life with, and she almost thinks she can hear a melody in this noise.

Lance, Keith, Matt, Pidge, Coran, Allura, Hunk. They stood in a straight line facing Shiro’s grave. Their shoulders were all perfectly squared off. Like seven sentries greeting visitors to the grave.

Breathe.

No one speaks.

Breathe.

Grey clouds and the empty, flat, wind-blown grassland expand around them to reemphasize how alone they are.

Just breathe, Katie.

The sound synthesizer starts playing behind her.

Go. Be great.

The melody from before picks up.

“Should have stayed… were the signs I ignored.

Can I help you not to hurt anymore?”

Lance let his lips go slack, closing his eyes. Keith sniffled, breathing strained.

“We saw brilliance when the world was asleep.”

Allura, now holding her twins, let her warriorlike facade down for now. Instead, she looked like an ocean.

“There are things that we can have, but can’t keep.”

Coran’s breathing had to be cold, meticulously calculated, mechanical. Controlled.

“If they say,”

Katie’s voice wavers at these lines, but she won’t let up.

“Who cares if one more light goes out

In a sky of a million stars?

It flickers, flickers.

Who cares when someone’s time runs out

If a moment is all we are?”

Her diaphragm stings like acidic ice. She’s unfazed.

“We’re quicker, quicker.

Who cares if one more light goes out?

Well, I do.”

Katie knew these next lines were going to hurt. She just had to stay alive. Just survive.

You can do this. For Shiro.

“The reminder...”

That already felt like a javelin through the stomach.

“…pulled the floor, from your feet.”

It was unclear whether Hunk’s arm had spread the trembling to Allura’s shoulders, or if it was the other way around.

Katie braced her voice for the next lines.

“In the kitchen… one more chair than you need.”

Keith sobbed. He cracked and shattered and splintered and combusted and quaked and convulsed and he wept. Right into the crook of Lance’s neck, as a crying Matt hung his head and clasped Keith’s closest shoulder.

“Oooh...”

Katie’s stance had been stock still throughout the entire song so far. Feet spread, unshakable, shoulders tensed and squared, hands tight but open at her sides. This was where that would all change.

“And you’re angry… and you should be…

It’s not fair…”

Hands became claws.

“Just ’cause you can’t see it…”

Voice cold iron.

“…doesn’t mean it…”

Melody a warsong.

“Isn’t there, if they say,

Who cares if one more light goes out,

In a sky of a million stars?

It flickers, flickers.

Who cares when someone’s time runs out,

If a moment is all we are?!

We’re quicker, quicker-

Who cares if one more light goes out,

Well, I do.”

Finally, the instrumental break. Katie needed to surface after drowning. She breathed, albeit shallowly. She could sense the mutual pain around her. Her fists clenched so tight, she could have broken someone’s neck. Katie realized she had doubled over, hinged at the hips, knees slightly bent, and she tore her vocal chords asunder when she preached,

“I DO!!!”

A sob of an inhale, and,

“If they say,”

The last lines sounded like shit as she wept them out.

“Who cares if one more light goes out,

In a sky of a million stars…

It flickers. Flickers…

Who cares when someone’s… time runs out.

If a moment is all we are?!

We’re quicker, quicker!

Who care if one more light goes out...”

~

“Well, I do…”

“…I do.” Gentle, like a proud breath on the wing.

[6four1-blog]

June 20th, 2017 (Kavousi, Crete, Greece)

This week’s hours have been arduously long and I’ve been desperately trying to get more sleep without missing out on too much. The culture shock has been a bit overwhelming and the surplus of experiences is inundating my mental dam and overtaking my writing speed’s capacity. We had to work six days last week, which comprised of nine hours of physical labor everyday, seven hours on site and two hours in the gym. This crazy schedule is pushing my body to its limits but I am slowly growing accustomed to it. My mornings have become as rigid as a science experiment protocol. I unconsciously begin to take out $5.20 every morning at the bakery for my pastries. For these past six days, only three out of five trench members were on site, and the low numbers have blessed me with some extra digging practice and has allowed me to bond with a fewer number of people on a deeper level. There were rumors about negative drama pervading some trenches, and I really didn’t want my trench to develop that kind of culture. Thus, I attempted to make jokes in the morning as an effort to wake others up and lift the mood, even though I was dead exhausted inside. Alex and I have begun giving each other gifts every once in a while. Since Azoria is located in the mountains, any sea stone found on site must have climb there with some form of ancient human assistance. Because there’s no useful analytical data that could be obtained from these sea stones, they are the perfect, and only, ancient objects that we are allowed to keep. I would find a few round pebbles in the sieve every day and I would give them to Alex as presents. He keeps them all in the side pocket of cargo pants, which I find very cute. As the excavation progresses, I intend to build him a large collection; by the end of the trip, I hope he can look back on them as a metaphor for a wonderful third year at Azoria.

Before this week and due to the rain days, our longest streak of site work was three days. This week jumped to a dramatic six days of full-fledged plowing in 27 degrees Celsius weather. It was the physical equivalent of transitioning from Compsci 101 to Compsci 201. The sun literally cooks us like human-sized pieces of Kobe steak and our metal skaliskiris became so hot that our callouses were no less tender than sunny-side up eggs on a frying pan. Today, I woke up unable to completely close my hands, and it’s a miracle that I am still typing right now. I have probably consumed more than two grams of ibuprofen this week alone, a portion that would have probably lasted me a whole month of Ultimate Frisbee at Duke. But at some point in the middle of this week, a mental shell cracked and I entered a new state of mind about excavating, finding myself no longer afraid of the heat, the blisters, and the dirt. I was wearing work gloves for the previous two weeks but I have almost completely given up on them at this point. The clay surfaces and cobble packing require a lot of feeling and touch with certain tools, and while being able to discern certain layers of earth from others sounds like a fictitious ability, understand where clay floors exist is indeed an acquired skill and grasping it has been oddly gratifying. Since it was just Lexi, Kate, and I digging for a while, we have also begun to develop an affinity for certain skaliskiris. Tucker had marked his with the blue twist tie, I had marked mine with a black one, and I helped Lexi mark hers with a green-yellow one. In the end, interestingly, not only have I become attached to my team and the B-trenches, but I have also become clingy to the tools I work with.

On that note, I would like to emphasize I love working with the people in my trench. I love the atmosphere that we’re building, one filled with support, compliments, and, most importantly, sarcastic jokes. Even though Lexi sat behind me on the plane ride from Athens to Heraklion, I, until this week, never really had a full on conversation and quality time with her. She turned out to be a religiously committed volleyball player, practicing almost every day back at Trent University. That was something I could relate to very sincerely because I have lived, and I still continue to live, that lifestyle at Duke. Part of my conscience picked up on that aspect of her character from prior short interactions. There was a determination, sense of self, and mental toughness that is forged almost exclusively through intense participation in and commitment to a physical activity. I am just beginning to know Kate and talk to her more. She seems wholly wonderful like a book just waiting to be read. Later on in the week, she was really sick for a few days, and it was unfortunate that she couldn’t join me and Lexi on site. One of her fellow Iowa State friends’ grandmother passed away, and, even when she was getting sick, Kate sacrificed her entire night’s time and sleep to make sure that Jasmine booked the right flights and would have a safe and worry-free trip home. Her effort impressed me and after witnessing her concern and care, I will definitely make a conscious effort to talk to her more and get to know her better. Overall, in conclusion, working in Alex’s trench is truly a pleasure and I hope we continue to grow and maintain a positive culture for the remaining four weeks.

In addition to bonding with the people in my trench, I am slowly getting to know Alex a lot better as well. After long days on site, we have begun working out in this small makeshift garage gym owned by a local Greek man named Tosos. One can easily tell that Alex is a studious and incredibly kind man just by his demeanor, which radiated from the very timbre of his voice and the form in which he carries himself. However, there is an implacable beast in the man that awakens when the weights start clanking and the music starts beating. His rest intervals are short and he loves to pack his exercises into supersets, which, painfully, tore through all the ATP reserves I had in less than half an hour. His choices of lifts are forcefully dynamic and the pace is unforgivingly quick. The Cretan sun cooks the building we workout in, making it a furnace by the time we arrived at around 5:30 p.m. The oven pushes your exhaustion and blood flow to its absolute limit and every rep gave a pump I that was as novel to me as this island was itself. For the rest of the summer, I am going to put my trust in Alex and I will strive to continue following his workout regime. Having been an athlete all my life, I believe one’s attitude in athletics often translates to his or her work habits in other aspects of life. Now I have no doubt how hard he works at UNC, and I am super glad to have met a principled and persevering man like him.

If you didn’t know before, the two things in the world that I am the most afraid of and the worst at are dancing and singing. If I had to dance and sing in front of a large crowd alone on stage to save my life, I think I would prefer death. This past Tuesday was one of those days when I felt adventurous and bold. So, when David came downstairs and asked me to attend a traditional Cretan dance lesson with him, I said yes and walked out the door with slight hesitation.

The classroom was this mistakenly abandoned building that we’d walk by every day after excavating. The space was overwhelmingly green, and, in a mercurial flashback, I knew that my brother, whose favorite color is green, would have loved it here. The building was a large space converted into a classroom around fifteen or twenty years ago. Two bookshelves and blackboards were haphazardly placed on either sides of the room and both lengths had windows like that of a Gothic church. The blackboards seemed long out of use and parts of the chalk have been stuck on the board for so long that it could have easily juxtaposed some graffiti on a tunnel wall in Durham, North Carolina. One of the bookcases contained beautiful ancient tomes that consisted of, if I recall correctly, almost 20 volumes. The books seemed to be much older than the classroom, as if they were heirlooms of an old family of Kavousi that contained all of this villages’ ancient histories and bloodlines. The other bookshelf was a dramatic contrast, filled top to bottom with children’s books. David and I could not read the Greek, but the images were hilariously entertaining, depicting people of different cultures from around the world. Its depiction of Chinese people was this old, wise, Confucius doppelgänger, which is not a bad image of my people at all. We were halfway through exploring that bookshelf when the dance lesson started. The mid-age man taught us a six step dance that rotated in a circle. I was so nervous trying to learn and coordinate the steps that I grappled the shoulder of the people next to me as if I was hanging on for dear life. Afterwards, the Greek workman beside me, Stellos, introduced himself and apparently remarked to his friend that I was gripping his shoulder really tightly. The trench master Irini, who was on my other side, politely asked me to hold her hand with less anxiety and force.

Eventually, I did loosen up and really began to enjoy myself. Until then, the two indirect non-vocal ways I felt connected to someone was reading their writing and listening to their music. For me, reading another’s writing was both seeing the world from their point of view, as well as seeing into their soul with my own eyes; I get an opportunity to understand how their minds function and exploit a lucky occasion to imagine their perception of the world. Listening to their music connects me with their emotions, and I think one would be surprised by how much we can learn about each other from sharing playlists and songs. In my first revolutionary dance lesson, I discovered another way through which we feel connected to our peers. The beat of the song drowned out all of our howling cultural, academic, physical, and personality differences and served as an united pounding heart for everyone in the circle. Each of our feet were individual muscle fibers of this powerful beating organ, working together in unison with the rhythm and moving in absolute homogeneity and flowing grace. No one was the hero of the stage, and that was what I loved about this traditional Cretan dance. It was done as a group and was meant to connect you with others, rather than for you to show off and isolate yourself. Afterwards, as we walked back to Tholos, I thanked David for inviting me to dance. It was a barrier that I desperately needed to break, and I finally did it here on Crete.

Being confined in a small village allowed me, David, and Weston to grow very close in a short period of time. On a Thursday after working in sizzling conditions that put the Tuscan sun to shame, David, Weston, a bunch of the girls, and I trekked down to the Tholos beach villas. We attempted to check out an herb farm that, very unfortunately, was closed. David and I had worked on site that day and had grabbed a few beers before heading to the beach. After eating almost nothing up at Azoria, the alcohol flowed straight into our systems and had us tipsy in less than ten minutes. We proceeded to drink more beer as we walked and, by the time we found a table down at the beach café, the conversation was flowing like the Yangtze and words were just spilling out of our mouths. I always seem to express myself quite emotionally and very thoroughly every time I am tipsy. Being the only noticeable Asian person in this area, it was a time for me to reflect on what it meant to be a minority in the society that I live in. In the United States and Canada, I have always managed to find myself a bubble of friends who are also Asian and have the same values and life outlooks as I do. Being stuck in these bubbles curtains the fact that I am part of a minority and that, outside of these wealthy and educated spheres, being a minority plays a huge role in one’s identity. Among the local Greeks, I had to disprove the stereotype that all Asian people practice Kung Fu, since the main exposure that these Europeans have had to Asian culture is its popular Kung Fu movies. My physique didn’t really help prove my point; apparently, before they got to know me, they were referencing me as the “Karate Kid” in Greek.

As for my fellow Americans, I tried my best to explain the Asian-American experience. It was difficult because, previously, I never had to pry my mind and think so deeply about my Asian identity in America. I found my inspiration and preferred choice of diction in a Humans of New York post about a young African-American man and his experiences growing up in the suburbs of Miami. For Asian-Americans, oppression and inequality are not necessarily our biggest problems, and neither is socioeconomic status. Personally, I think the most pressing matter is a lack of recognition entrenchment in the collective American identity. For Asian-Americans, there is a barrier that makes it difficult for us to become the leaders and politicians of important institutions and almost anything to do with the general public. As a result, we resort to pursuing careers that either earn us the most money or the most respect. Our immigrant identity is still so young and fragile that we attempt to compensate by obtaining immense amounts of wealth and chasing after the most prestigious occupations, as if we are almost trying to bribe and prove our way into the collective melting pot. Being here in Greece lifted those weighty, ominous clouds off my back. It was as if Atlas had been finally freed from his eternal damnation, finally able to unwind and look upon this world with awe and appreciation for its beauty once again.

In my three short weeks here on Crete, I realized that the locals were always absolutely delighted to learn about my Asian background. They seemed to have had their fair share of American tourists and finally got the chance to spend time with someone who looks completely different. Instead of telling the Asian-American narrative that I have been building for the past twelve years, the anecdotes I shared and the mannerisms I described were as uniquely Chinese as possible, filled with experiences and memories that I pushed away and suppressed so that I could assimilate into Vancouver and fit in at Duke. Maria and I talked for two hours one night, and she told me to never forget where I came from. That “Chinese people, like Greeks, have a long history and a strong sense of ταυτότητα (taftótita; a rough Greek translation for ‘identity’).” As I rode back to the Tholos hotel in Katis’ car that night, I realized I had found myself in a community with an unapologetic and unconditional appreciation for my visible cultural diversity. I couldn’t help but beam as we sped down the road in the clear night. I looked out of the window at the faint outline of the Cretan mountains and at the constellations in the distant universe, finding the Big Dipper and the North Star. These constellations have guided ancient and modern sailors, both Greek and Chinese, away from and back to their homes for thousands of years. Staring at the North Star that night in the car, I decided that, after Crete and Austria, it was time to pay China a visit.

[seraphichan]

the first lines of my last 20 fics

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 fics (or however many you have altogether) and see if there are any patterns. Then, tag some of your fave authors.

tagged by the ever lovely @kiokushitaka ! thank you <3 (and sorry this took me so long - i am the worst)

i’ll tag @mongoose-bite @generatorcat @pinkheichou @fairylights101 @agent-2-6​ and anyone else who might like to give this a go

Reciprocate

There weren’t many things that surprised Moblit anymore. Working under Hange had made him immune to the shock of the uncertain and unknown. But that didn’t mean there still weren’t some things that managed to catch him off guard.

Like when Levi said

“Sure.”

Moblit was joking when he had asked if Levi wanted to go out drinking with him. He expected a curt “No”, accompanied by a disgusted scowl, as that was what anyone else ever got. Even Erwin, on those rare nights he wasn’t cooped up in his office, was rebuffed time and again.

Alow/Lethargic

Jean had planned to go to the gallery. It was opening exhibition night for him and a handful of other students. It was bad manners - and bad self-promotion - not to go, but Jean was so fucking tired from finishing the projects in his showcase, and then setting them up, that he decided: Fuck it. He was going to go to bed. He would have been dead on his feet had he gone anyway.

He was enjoying some quality shut-eye until his dorm door slammed open and jolted him awake.

“Sorry.”

That was Levi’s voice. Jean would recognize it anywhere. He was almost always with Eren; they were near inseparable as a couple.

Defile/Hummock/Slough

“Alright! Everyone line up! It’s time for lunch!”

There are screams and shouts and what sounds like a herd of tiny buffalo as the kids abandon whatever they are doing on the playground and run towards Petra and Levi. Once they are all in order - or as orderly as a bunch of first graders will get anyway - Petra marches them inside, single file. Levi stands to the side and counts them as they pass.

Twenty...twenty-one...twenty-two…

Levi frowns. They’re missing one.

(oops, this got waaaaay long, so check out the rest under the cut~!)

Cartographer/Orientate

For all the hell they went through, the defeat of the titans came quickly enough. It was...odd. The world as they knew it had effectively come to an end and they were left with nothing but the question

“What now?”

Eren looked at Jean. He didn’t have an answer for him. The walls were gone, taken down bit by bit, titan by titan. Eren was so tired. He wanted to sleep, but at the same time he felt too restless to do it.

“Well,” Armin piped up from between them, “we spent so much time fighting to live. Now we can actually do it.”

Pittance/Factoid/Junket

Mike did well. Levi half believed he had punched Erwin after all. And Erwin took his supposed beating quite gracefully. Whoever that Hange person was, they knew how to write a speech. It made Erwin sound noble for persevering through this hardship, and it gave him a chance to reiterate his intent to clean up crime in the city, should he be elected.

Of course, Lobov dealt with that in a press conference of his own. He came on a mere hour after Erwin, slander dripping from his tongue.

“--a fake attack meant to get him sympathy votes and nothing more--”

If Lobov hadn’t already shelled out the money, Levi would have been worried he had actually figured out it was fake. But, as it was, it just made the statement hilarious to Levi.

Tatterdemalion

The trek up the mountain was as arduous as he remembered, but Erwin was prepared for what was at the peak this time.

Or so he hoped.

The price for a spell was not clear cut. There was no starting cost based on the nature and power of it, or how it might be used. There was only estimation and uncertainty.

The first time Erwin came he did not realize this. He had brought a sack of gold, thinking that currency would be an acceptable currency. Levi - or The Tiny Witch as most people called him, though Erwin was certain he shouldn’t call Levi that to his face - had sneered at him and told him to leave. Perplexed, Erwin went back down the mountain. Was it not enough? He returned a few days later with double the gold and was met with the same reaction.

Eighty-six

“The usual?” Hunk asks him when he comes in.

Lance supposes he should be more concerned that he has a regular order at the fast food restaurant on the college campus, but considering the perks - frequent discounts on his food and access to the company’s private, password protected wi-fi so he gets faster internet - he can’t seem to find a reason to be concerned at all.

“Yeah,” he answers, digging out a few crumpled bills from his pocket and laying them on the counter.

“Rough day?” Hunk asks as he takes the money and taps in Lance’s order.

Ambiguous

Levi’s phone pinged and he dug it out of his pocket, tapped at the notification and opened his email. It was an e-vite to Erwin’s birthday party. Hange already knew Levi was coming - he had helped them book the hotel for the occasion just a few days prior - but he supposed this was his official invitation. He replied with a Of course I’m coming, you shitstain, then scrolled to the bottom in search of the most important information.

What the fuck to take.

He had asked Hange to list some ideas so he could attempt to get a decent present for once - he was abysmal at gift giving, tending to go for things that were boring and practical over exciting and inventive.

Levi stopped scrolling when he saw “gift ideas” and pursed his lips in disappointment when he read the message:

Bring something nice! :)

Hyperbole

Levi sneers at the bowl Kenny sets before him. “This looks so bad it’s already giving me the shits.”

“Listen hear, you little cuss, you said you were hungry so I made you dinner.” It’s only defrosted and reheated leftovers of some questionable casserole the old lady downstairs made Kenny nearly a year ago, but still. It’s something. “And it looks just fine,” Kenny grumbles.

“If I eat it, I’ll probably die. Do you want to kill me?”

“Getting close.”

Vaticination

Erwin should have seen this coming, but hindsight, as they say, is twenty-twenty.

The plan was: the more decorated officers he brought, the more admirable the Survey Corps would seem, and the more funding they would potentially get from the nobility. Of course the plan didn’t work if all of his most decorated officers were either too anti-social or too in-your-face.

Widdershins/Snaffle

There was the sound of a doorbell and Armin lifted his head, watched as the security guard swung around in his chair and looked at the monitor on the desk by the door. He stood and pressed the button, and in walked Armin’s dad.

“Hello,” he greeted the guard, “I received a call about Armin Arlert?”

“You the dad?” the guard asked.

“Yes,” he smiled. “Erwin Smith.” He held out his hand.

Napery

When Erwin came home Levi was ironing the table linen.

It’s not as if that never happened, but normally the only time it did was after washing them and before using them, which was only around the holidays. It was August now, nothing of note in sight for months, so Erwin immediately knew something was wrong.

“Levi?”

Levi’s shoulders twitched and he put the iron down, but he didn’t turn.

Flack

Levi was halfway through his cup of tea when a man - taller than Erwin, how even? - knocked on the back door and let himself in to the tune of Erwin’s mother cooing “Mikey!”

“Dee,” he greeted in return.

“How have you been?” she asked.

“Good, thanks,” he said quietly, smiling at her. His gaze flicked to Levi. “This the short son of a bitch you mentioned on the phone?”

“Oi,” Levi huffed.

Brachiate

There are many questions Levi could ask at this moment--

Are you okay? Do you need help? Who’s going to pay for my window? How did you manage to throw yourself through my kitchen window in the first place?

--but all that comes out of his mouth is:

“The fuck?”

Ignoble

Exude confidence, Levi reminded himself. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, sat up a little straighter in his chair. Act like you’re supposed to be here.

Because he certainly didn’t feel like he did. Everyone was walking around like they had been birthed in their Armani suits, five dollar coffee cups in their hands along with the silver spoon.

Levi, on the other hand, couldn’t stand coffee, and, even if he could, certainly wouldn’t pay that much for it. He wasn’t exactly dressed for success, either. Sure, he was in a suit, but it was an ill-fitting one. It belonged to his uncle that he hadn’t seen in years. It smelled like smoke and everything was too big. He had to hike the waistband up to his ribcage in order to get the crotch to fit right, and the arms and legs were so long that he had to fold the extra fabric up and in and pin them in place to get them to stay.

It had him feeling like he was still ten, despite just turning thirty.

Watershed/Transpicuous

“Tell me - what was it like aboard the Rogue?” Erwin asks.

It’s not a loaded question by any means, but Jean can make it one, depending on his answer.

“Armin’s doing fine,” he answers, deciding to risk it.

The air stills immediately. Hange stops flipping through the book in her hand and Levi sits up straighter in his chair. Mike glances to Erwin who nods at him, then he pops his head into the hallway to make sure no one is around before closing the door with a clatter and locking it.

Jean swallows. He is so dead.

Sarcasm

The buzzer for their door goes off and Mikasa jumps.

“Annie, the door.”

“Ignore it,” she says, continuing to lick and bite up the inside of Mikasa’s thigh.

Another, longer buzz sounds, and then Mikasa’s phone starts to ring.

Annie sighs and releases Mikasa’s skin from between her teeth, presses her face into the bed. “Persistent fucking...I swear if it's--”

“Hello, Jean,” Mikasa greets over the phone.

Annie growls and rolls off the bed.

Munificent

It starts small - a kiss to the cheek before he leaves for work, flowers at his desk when he gets there. Before his stomach can even growl for lunch he gets a special carryout delivery from his favorite Turkish restaurant. In the afternoon another bouquet arrives, this time accompanied by a box of chocolates - imported chocolates that Eren knows costs well over three hundred dollars.

When he leaves at the end of the day, instead of taking the subway a car is waiting for him outside to take him home. The ride is longer because of rush hour, but the interior is cool and comfortable in a way that the subway definitely is not, and there’s a bottle of champagne he can sip on as he waits.

Eren knows his face is red, can feel his ears burning - when the car pulls up to their high rise apartment complex and he gets out to follow the path of rose petals on the ground that lead into the foyer and to the elevator, which, instead of its normal smooth jazz jingle, plays the first song they ever danced to as he rides it up.

Retrospective

“This is the faculty art show. Shouldn’t you be out there mingling, Eren?” Levi asked.

Yes, he should be, but how could he when his pants were pitched like a fucking circus tent?

This was his fault, he supposed. He forgot it was opening night or else he wouldn’t have taken Levi’s suggestion that morning to wear a vibrating plug all day.

Eren jolted and gasped as Levi increased the setting.

“Shh,” Levi cooed, “or they’ll hear you.”

Unreconstructed/Occam’s Razor

“...of unreconstructed bias, but if we applied the principles of Occam’s Razor to the platform of business, we could project...Erwin are you listening?”

“Not really,” he admitted.

Hange sighed. “I need you to try and pay attention for me, please. If I’m going to be a TA for Professor Arlert, I need to get this presentation in order.”

“You’re not going to get his attention until he gets an eyeful of his sexy art man,” Mike said.

[psychicdinneranon-blog]

Blindly and Always

First of all you may thank @qcatter for this fic. They brought up Shou’s mom and everything went downhill from there.

Note this is a part of the MiB AU So Shou isn’t quite an esper in this fic.

Summary: Shou’s mother is asking him to stop talking about certain things. But Shou can’t even meet her halfway because what she is doing is asking for the impossible. She’s telling a fish to climb a tree and Shou can’t. He can’t just pretend that he’s not himself. Can’t pretend that he doesn’t have three eyes and the ability to eat rocks and make things float without lifting a finger.

(Alternatively: Shou loves his mom unconditionally, but not all love is unconditional)

Shou twiddled the carnelian ring that Ritsu had given him. A slight smile played across his lips as he glanced down at it, remembering the way Ritsu had dropped it into his hand and saying that it would be something good to focus on if he needed to stay still. Like now for instance, as he waited for his mother to reach his table at the café.

Sometimes Shou wondered what he had done to get a friend like Ritsu, who always seemed to know the perfect things to give him.

Then his mother walked into the café in a pale blue dress and a sunhat. But even with the hat, Shou would know his mom anywhere. He lit up upon spotting his mother in the store and he waved enthusiastically until she looked over his way and gave a small half wave in response.

Shou put his hand down and went back to twisting the ring on his thumb. It was too big to fit it anywhere else. Ritsu had apologized about not knowing his size, having just seen the ring and making the impulse purchase. Then he jokingly teased Shou about having small fingers, as the ring had managed to at least stay on his digits.

Shou had laughed and accepted the ring like he was being presented with an ancient treasure. Including stealing it out from Ritsu’s hands while he was showing Shou that he could actually keep it on his fingers. And then promptly “defeating” the treasure guardian in a tickle fight.

The last “ancient treasure” he had seen might have been on an Indiana Jones movie. But Ritsu was smiling and out of breath from laughing so Shou didn’t worry.

His mother smiled softly as she brought her cup of coffee to the table and Shou moved the pastry he had bought so that she had plenty of room.

“Hi mom.” Shou smiled brightly, slipping out of his seat to give her a quick hug before the two sat down across from each other.

“Hi Shou.” She murmured softly and Shou delighted in the soft tones of his mother’s voice. They reminded him of valleys and mountains when viewed from the clouds. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been good mom. You should see my hamster, last Thursday she just flopped down on her back against my arm while I was drawing at my desk. It was sooo cute! I had to stop drawing for a while because I didn’t want to disturb her.” Shou shifted slightly in his seat, still unable to sit still as always, and tilted his head as he asked his mother curiously. “What about you? What have you been doing since I last saw you?”

His mother had her hands folded into her lap, and Shou remembered suddenly how still she was compared to him. “I’ve been good as well. I got a promotion at my job and they’re asking for my help in planning a coworker’s birthday.”

“Cool! What are you all planning on doing?”

“Nothing too much, but the staff think that it would be fun to get lunch at that Indian restaurant off of Allspice Drive. If it turns out to be good I’ll let you know.”

Shou nodded, he was always in the mood for hot things be they spicy or temperature. Just as he was about to ask what else his mom had been doing, she cut him off and pointed to his left hand.

“What’s that?”

Shou couldn’t help how his smile widened as he stuck his hand out to show off the red orange swirls of the ring. “Ritsu gave it to me! Isn’t it awesome? He said it reminded him of me and so he just dropped it into my hand yesterday.”

“You must like it a lot to be wearing it, you used to hate things on your fingers when you were little.”

“Oh really?” Shou chuckled softly, and he could hear a few bird tweets creep in, but he didn’t let himself worry about them. “I don’t really remember. I know you used to dress up as the Queen of the castle though.”

“And you were my valiant little knight. Until you got tired of being a knight and became a dragon.” Something about her voice seemed off to Shou, a little forlorn, a little sad.

So of course Shou decided to try his best to lighten the mood. After all, he never wanted to see his mother sad. “Well you should see me now, I’m the Dred Pirate Shou reigning champion over any and all tickle fights with Ritsu.” Shou stated with a proud smile on his face.

Shou’s mother chuckled and questioned what other things he did with his friend. And Shou launched into one of his endless stories. This particular one being when he and Ritsu had been rock hunting all across town. All the while with the ever studious Ritsu actually trying to identify the rocks that they had gathered together.

“It’s so funny mom, you should see him when he’s trying to figure out something. He gets real quiet and he’s this little scrunch in his eyebrows, like this.” Shou tried his best to mimic Ritsu’s “thinking face” as Shou liked to call it. All the while he was talking he waved his hands about like he was directing a concert. “And when we found this patch of cracked road he picked up a few road pieces just for me! Isn’t that amazing?” Shou almost went on to say that Ritsu knew his tastes all too well be then he looked at his mother’s expression.

His mother had that look on her face again. That distant half stare that both pierced Shou to the heart and looked right through him all at the same time. She looked at him like she was looking at someone else. And Shou wondered just what he had done; wondered if she really thought that he was so similar to his father.

Shou never voiced his questions but he thought them all the same.

And so he fell silent for enough time for his mother to steer them away from that particular topic.

“How are your studies going Shou?”

And Shou bit the inside of his cheek and tried not to sigh as once again his mother dismissed the story he had just been telling her. His arms fell back against his side and he started to pick apart his pastry into bite-sized pieces. He wished he knew what he was doing, what he was saying that was so wrong.

He was getting tired of trying to keep up with the mazes that she had lain with traps and pitfalls about subjects Not to be Discussed. His powers. Anything about being a starchild. His diet. And now Ritsu?

His wide smile drooped a little at the corners. And he wished that things were as easy as those long summer days when they used to draw by the window together. Shou with his crayons because he couldn’t be trusted not to eat the charcoal pencils his mother was so fond of. And at the end of the day they would compare their pictures side by side each gushing about the other’s work.

But those days are long gone, blown away like dandelion seeds and carried far, far away by the wind.

So he danced along to his mother’s tune of what she wanted to talk about. Let her lead him down the maze and followed as best as he could.

He told her that he was doing well in school, even making sure that he stayed ahead with his assignments actually. And then he told her about how he was still sort of figuring out algebra but Ritsu and he had a few study dates and how he thought he had actually got it now.

Then after a long pause of silence, with neither of the two sure of what to say next. To break the silence, she asked him what he had thought of the weather recently, commenting that it had been a little chilly for the dress earlier that morning.

Shou nodded a little, saying that he never really had liked the cold. “But the sunrises from this time of year are beautiful mom, don’t you think?”

“Yes they are.” She nodded and smiled softly at him. That smile made his heart jump in his chest while his stomach settled uncomfortably. He wasted no time in allowing himself to think of why he had such reactions.

“I mean, it’s just so bright and oh today it was red even after leaving the horizon. I love when that happens. I want to just wrap the color around me and never let it go.”

And there was that awkward pause again, like he had said yet another thing wrong.

Shou and his mother stared at each other. It was in this moment that Shou felt a surge of longing to be with his best friend right now. Even with all the time he had spent with Ritsu there were never any long drawn out silences like this one. Ritsu always had a sharp quip or a clever comeback or did something to make Shou forget how to use his words at all through his laughter.

Nothing like this. And oh, didn’t that thought hurt like the last time he had decided to eat a microwave. A long drawn out pain that persevered because of each new piece.

Then his mother looked at the delicate watch strapped around her wrist and announced that it was time for her to leave. She had another appointment and couldn’t afford to be late.

Shou nodded and offered to take her empty cup to the trash, to which she thanked him gratefully and stood to go.

Shou walked over to the garbage can, he took a deep breath and let out slowly. Then he tossed his mother’s Styrofoam cup away and ate his pastry wrapper in one bite.  

When Shou walked past the table again he saw that his mother had already left.

He fiddled with his ring and started to walk towards the Kageyama’s house. He wondered idly if Ritsu still had some pieces of road he could snack on. He hoped his friend wouldn’t mind heading out on another adventure with him. Or let him steal the bed and curl up together and watch cute hamster videos on Ritsu’s computer. Or follow him home to have lunch with Serizawa. It had been planned that they would just have sandwiches today, but he was positive that with Ritsu there they would be able to convince Serizawa to try something a little more complicated.

And if he burned the pan again then Shou would be more  than happy to eat the scraps.

He’d take anything so long as it wasn’t another one of those endless silences spent biting his tongue and searching for the -as of yet to appear- the right words to say.