#i can only feign confidence for so long the act does not last me forever

[laurzvahll]

godddddd awful awful time i need to be put down im gonna start bawling i can only pretend to be unbothered for so long

[scriptaed]

cherry blossom avenue.

❀ genre: angst/fluff; arranged marriage!au; f2l!au;

❀ pairing: jin x reader; 

❀ length: 23.0k;

❀ synopsis: college would’ve been unbearable if it weren’t for your wallowing sessions with your best friend jin over a shared “forever alone” woe, so it really was only a matter of time until the two of you sealed a shoddy promise to betroth the other at the age of 27. perhaps it was only a silly joke to you then, but you should’ve known better nonetheless; because when a wedding invitation arrives five years later down the road with his name signed next to another’s, feelings that were once buried begin to blossom once again.

“Don’t be a homewrecker.”

What was supposed to be a light-hearted tease over your fleeting glimpses in his direction bears much more weight than even reality should have; and unbeknownst to her, even if your friend’s commentary strikes a fear in you, a fear that has some creature eating away at you and a horrifying drop in the twisted pain of your chest, the daunting knowledge of a potential truth behind her words pale in comparison to the anguish brought upon by a familiar face of the past. 

Because even as you stand far and hidden behind the crowd of overly dressed classmates and unacquainted businessmen all painted by a silhouette of dimmed black, you manage to observe him through the few albeit sure opportunities; for when the passersby chatter, cross, and weave through the lavish ballroom floor at the perfect time, place, and space for you to peep through the pinholes seemingly formed by pure happenstance or a cruel wish casted upon by fate, the clock returns to a buried state of mind.  

It’s a state of mind seven years stale, mistakenly manifested and deliberately buried. It’s a transition in mindsets when fondness sours into a longing for something that could never be, for his reciprocation of affections means much less than its origins. It’s a heavy moment when you’re finally sure he would never come to speak the language of your enamored being. It’s that fractured frame in time when everyone freezes in their tracks but a reverberating pain transcends the laws of the universe, almost as if on a personal quest to oust you; and even if you vehemently down yourself with another magical shot of liquor, nothing can quite ease the internal war stirring within.

One hand grasping a glass of red wine worth much more than a month of your salary and one arm crossed under the bosom draped over by your only presentable black satin slip dress, you’re almost numb to the turmoil that is irony. How cruel is it that even after seven years of having believed you had moved on, nothing has really changed after all? Your heart still melts in the wake of his dorky grin, your chest still winces over the buried buds of a coveted love, and your blood still runs intoxicated by the presumption that this phase of infatuation would pass with time. 

Your friendship, your feelings, your shared promise, a youth that no one had paid witness to except for you, him, and that cherry blossom tree down that street, nothing has really changed. In fact, you feel as though you could still march across this room and nonchalantly probe at your best friend’s cheek with the ultimate goal of eliciting a shriek from your best friend. 

And yet, the circumstances that have brought you back to him in this very room must have been the one cruel exception. 

“A ‘homewrecker?’” you feign a light-hearted chuckle, swirling your drink and taking another sip as you peek at the distorted glass-image of the man and the woman beside him. “And why would you say something as horrifying as that?”

“Didn’t you say you and, what’s his name,” Alex pauses before nearly gasping, “ah, Seokjin! Didn’t you say you two used to be best friends in college? You might have been his best friend but she’s his fiance now, Y/N! Plus, she’s got a baby in her, too.” 

She might have been joking, and it really should have been if you had been truthful about your feelings for said best friend, but maybe this is the price you’re paying for so dutifully holding onto your dignity; so, instead, the deep undercut of her remark instigates a stirring irritation within you. Raising a questioning brow at your friend is all you can muster without spilling your secret as well as your brewing storm. 

“Oh, so you actually do remember what I say when you’re only a minute from blacking out?” 

“Hey,” your friend recognizes the anger seeping through your body language, stifling a giggle as she tries to bump your elbow and stumbles over her heels, “it was a joke, okay? I’m just looking out for my friend!”

“Right, what is there to even look out for?” 

“Well,” she points a finger at the direction you had just been staring off into a minute prior and leans in to whisper, “you’ve been staring at the newly engaged man for much longer than the woman beside him, if that says anything—”

“—uhuh, as if, hey!” you almost yelp as you help her stand upright once again. A scoff of disbelief escapes your lips over the sight of your friend letting herself go. Grabbing her glass and swiftly placing it onto the tray of the many passing waiters, you squish her cheeks and give her a light pat or two. “The only person you need to worry about is yourself. Why are you even wearing those ungodly stilettos when you can’t even wear kitten heels without whining all day at work?”

“Hey,” Alex pouts, bending one knee and jutting her hips to show off those torturous pink devices on her feet. “I told you about my ex from high school, don’t you remember?”

“So it’s okay if you’re trying to impress an ex from high school, but I’m not even allowed to glance at my old best friend?” you quip, pressing your lips into a thin line as you take another gander at your friend up and down. “And what does excessive drinking even have anything to do with it?” 

She flashes you a mischievous grin, “for confidence.”

“I can’t with you,” the roll of your eyes must have agreed, “and what about the classmate friend who actually invited you to her engagement party?”

“Oh,” Alex glances at the woman beside Jin and shrugs, “she’s alright. She’s that typical good girl. Too smart, too kind, too good at everything that you really want to hate her but have no reason to do so. I’m sorry, Y/N, but your best friend is devilishly handsome and I’m not surprised she’s marrying someone of her league.” 

“Pfft, why are you apologizing to me?” you scoff, ushering her to the washroom and shaking your head along with the stream of confusing emotions that hit you like a truck. “Go wake yourself up before she or, gasp, worse yet, your ex spots you.” 

“Oh my God, you’re right,” she gasps, shuffling in her skintight red bodycon dress and whirling around once more to call out before finally disappearing, “let me know if any boy comes looking for me!” 

“Uhuh, yeah, sure,” you shoo her away, taking another sip from your glass and muttering under your breath, “...how am I supposed to recognize your high school classmates?”

Now that your friend is gone and you’re left all alone to your thoughts, you go against your own advice and down another glass of liquor. 

You may have been his best friend but she is his fiance. 

Well, if Alex is a good judge of character, then at least a good man like your best friend has found an equally respectful woman. It might have hurt to hear her words, but Alex isn’t exactly wrong. At the very least, you could sigh in relief having known you’re genuinely happy for your best friend’s future. 

It’s just that the truth hurts sometimes. 

Relief isn’t an excuse for lingering onto a soon-to-be-married man, regardless of when these emotions came about. 

People are chattering all around you, strangers and former acquaintances are bustling about, familiar college classmates are greeting the bride-to-be’s high school classmates, and yet here you are: aloof and isolated even in a room of hundreds, fixated and more distant than you have ever been to the boy you had once cherished as the closest anyone could get to knowing the real you. 

No one would know but Jin. 

The real you.

The you who could not have moved on because she couldn’t recognize her own feelings until seven years down the road with a wedding invitation in hand, seven years after the buds had been sowed, seven years too late. 

The one who stands pathetically here in the corner of a room, secretly hoping for him to approach her but also wishing for the night to pass unnoticed just like she had wished for her buried affections to pass.  

So you shuffle in place awkwardly, pondering whether you should’ve caved into Alex’s pleas and attended this posh get-together, debating whether you should dip once your friend realizes her high school ex just isn’t worth it, sipping the remainder of opulent liquor and taking one last peek at the boy, when, your heart strikes loudly against your chest…

...because his eyes catch yours, a pair amongst hundreds, one invitee amidst an endless swarm of crowds, almost as if on a planned rendezvous, a secret unbeknownst to everyone in the room but the two of you.

Eyes widening in shock, the drums of your chest hammer against you, each strike pumping a nearly painful high that fuels your fight or flight mode. The debate between confronting your longtime friend and fleeing said friend did not even cross your mind at the start of the predicament. Quickly whirling around, head down and hands gripped to your drink, your feet move on its own. 

A familiar series of clicks echo against the polished marble tiles. You don’t even have to turn around to recognize those homecoming footsteps, those awe-inspiring confident strides as he makes his way across the room. If this were you from seven years ago, you would have welcomed him with open arms and he would have claimed you were just acting sweet to bargain for some fresh pastry, but the unfamiliarity of a stranger you have yet to reconcile with has you in an unexplainable panic. 

After all, it’s hard to explain why exactly his persistent pursuit after you, after seven years of distance, both emotional and physical, frustrates you to no ends. 

Your hands form fists, your feet storm down the halls, and your mind could repeat nothing but the words you had excused as “just a light-hearted joke.” 

You may have been his best friend but she is his fiance. 

Don’t be a homewrecker.

A baby in her.

A baby.

His fiance. 

A homewrecker.

The accusations echo and echo, as though screaming at you in the endless cave that is your mind, until the party fades, the crowd disappears, and the ear-piercing classical music wanes against the walls of your temporary solace, the bathroom. Finally, entrapped in a world of black—black tiles, wine colored walls, and dark red roses perched on top of what seems to be a black granite sink—you’re left alone to your thoughts. 

Alex wouldn’t understand a seven-year-long regret because she doesn’t know the real history between you and Jin. In fact, no one invited to this engagement party nor does anyone in this whole mansion know of the soon-to-be groom’s past. 

It isn’t as simple as people might make it out to be on the surface, because no one but you, Jin, and the street down your block had paid witness to a shoddy, spontaneous promise that should have never been made. 

Turning on the faucet and splashing a fresh handful of cold water onto your face, your eyes eventually wander from the stream of water that flows down the drain up along the glass bowl of a sink and into the mirror to meet the sullen eyes of a girl, seven years older with a stain of regret that spans much longer that a mere seven years. 

❀ ❀ ❀

“Waaah,” the boy exclaims as you watch your own reflection narrow its eyes at the image beside you. The spectacle persists to angle his chin every which way until he’s finally satisfied with the protrusion of his jawline; and as the boy resumes his daily activity of marveling at himself in awe, you have to wonder once again, for the hundredth time by now, just how you two had possibly become best friends. “Looking good, Jin. Looking real good.”

“Ugh,” you roll your eyes and feign nausea, “narcissist.” 

Jin pauses in the midst of his inspection, allowing his phone to settle into his lap and turning to glance at you with his head as high—well, almost as high—as his ego. “When you look as good as this,” he gestures at himself and your eyes follow his crafty fingers up and down, “don’t even try to tell me you wouldn’t be all up in yourself.”

You blink your eyes blankly and start with the most accusatory tone you could muster, “excuse you, Kim Seokjin, but are you saying that I don’t look good?” 

“You’re insisting that yourself, not me! It’s not my fault you can’t appreciate your God-given looks,” Jin raises his hands mercifully and you almost miss his latter, back-handed compliment when you become entranced by those double-jointed fingers of his. “Plus, I said ‘when you look as good as this.’”

“Psh, yeah,” you mumble, “and yet here you are, still as forever alone as ever.”

“Hey,” he snaps, narrowing his eyes at you even as he raises his phone to take yet another selfie, “and what does that say about you?”

“...and that’s exactly why,” you chirp as you hastily smush your cheek against his and throw a peace sign just as he snaps a photo, “we’re gonna be forever alone together!” 

“Hey, why’re you ruining my selfie—” he pauses in the middle of his camera roll “—oh, we actually look good.”

Glimpsing at one of many candid photos of you and him, a helpless smile spreads across your lips. A warm breeze blows and you can practically smell the impending spring that breathes life into the pink buds hovering on the cherry tree above you. The sun’s embrace against your bare legs that lie beside your best friend’s on the red and white checkered picnic is a perfect compliment to the equally bright phenomena that are his high-pitched giggles; and like the many days you’ve spent the past year, the only thing that could possibly elevate this moment of serenity would be a bite of his weekly pastry batches.  

Speaking as you chow down on the carbs, you quip, “you mean you look good?” 

“That, too, but I meant us, together—” he articulates, cutting himself off abruptly when he snaps his head to find you digging into one of his many bread “—hey, who said you could start testing without me?!” 

“Too many selfies, too slow, too hungry,” you lean your head back to plop the remainder of the custard-filled bread into your mouth, “shmorry Jin, but dish ish delicious.”

Just as you lean forward and take another large bite out of the batch, Jin catches right up to you, snatching the remainder and plopping it right into his now-stuffed cheeks instead. Lips falling agape at the disappearance of your bite-size donut, you gawk at your best friend whomst chomps happily away with your piece in his mouth. 

You can still recall the heat of your cheeks after the first time he had ever proclaimed something that was yours as his—in fact, it wasn’t much long ago when Jin had nearly regurgitated a mouthful of mocha frappuccino after discovering you had sneaked in a sip or two prior—but now? Sharing commodities has become such second nature to you two that sometimes you wish he could return to his germophobic days just so you can hog all the food…

...and maybe to relive whatever magical flutters that had befallen you on that very first day.

“Of coursh ish delicious!” he manages to exclaim incoherently. “Kim Sheokjin baked it afta all!” 

“Yeah,” you take a long moment to gulp and make room for more food, “I think I prefer the ones with custard—”

“—so it’s a perfect batch just like m—”

“—almost perfect.”

You could see yourself wink through the prideful glint in his eyes quickly plummet into a glare that has you laughing at the downfall of his indestructible ego. His playful glare through the corner of his narrowed eyes silently commences yet another one of your daily staring challenges. Maybe that’s why the two of you made such a perfect pair amongst the thousands of classmates at school. After all, how would Jin ever find someone as tolerant of his incessant dad jokes and perpetual ego as you are? And how would you ever find someone who would bake you goods and cook you lunch and, not to mention, spout such peculiar humor? 

All of your classmates had dubbed the two of you as the perfect comedy duo—the dumb and the dumber, the silly and the sillier—that, apparently, is the essence of a match made in heaven, albeit probably meant to be more platonically than romantically. 

Both too stubborn to lose, even in a meaningless game of a staring contest, not even the heat of the sun rays that has you two nearly sweating bullets could deter the match. Eventually, seconds turn into minutes and minutes turn into a frenzy frozen moment in time as you start to fall into the sudden abyss you found yourself in that is the warmth pool of his eyes. 

Perhaps it’s the angle at which the rays strike theatrically on the apples of his cheeks, illuminating his dewy skin and enhancing the chocolate hues of his orbs hidden underneath the matching brown locks of his all whilst his eyes happen to be staring right back at you. You’ve never quite felt this way before—heart palpitating, throat constricting, and mind panicking—but for the first time ever, you’re hesitant in allowing your best friend to peer through the windows to your soul. 

This isn’t good. What would he do if he were to discover your frenzy? Would he tease you to no ends? 

Worse yet, would he falsely assume that you’re hardcore crushing on him…?

“Oh God,” you blurt out, breaking eye contact to avert your head to the side across the street. Your lips begin to mumble whatever comes first to mind, “uh, wow, look at that couple. Ugh, PDA—” your eyes flicker to find Jin raising a brow just before your eyes avert once again and he follows your line of sight “—am I right?” 

“Oh c’mon! Just admit it,” Jin chides. “You’re only using this to disguise the fact that you were just about to blink, weren’t you?” 

“I was not about to blink,” you insist but your shifty gaze tells the both of you otherwise, even if the true lack of confidence is unbeknownst to Jin. “You suck at staring contests. How many times have I won before? I was just distracted, okay?”

“Oh yeah?” Jin crosses his arms. “Distracted by what, then? Huuuh? By my devastatingly good looks?”

“No!” you exclaim almost too adamantly that you have to add in a nervous laugh at the end, which only has Jin staring at you in utter disbelief. Feigning an apologetic pressed smile, you gesture your hands in the direction of the couple supposedly hidden behind a fence but clearly exposed to those on a hill, otherwise known as you two. “I meant them—”

“—ew!”

The both of you exclaim in unison, selflessly covering the tarnished eyes of the other and ducking away from the moment of intimacy that you two had just intruded on. 

“Aw, cmon! Even after graduation, too?” Jin remarks, mouth gaping and hands falling from your shielded eyes only to be thrown to his side in bewilderment. “Does everyone really have to remind us just how lonely we are even on our last day?” 

“You mean how lonely we are and how lonely we will be for the rest of our lives?”

“For the rest of our lives?” Jin quirks a brow at you before shaking his head and shrugging. “Dang, that wasn’t exactly my plan, because the world will be forced to acknowledge my looks sooner or later, but I mean, in your case…”

“What?!” you gasp in disbelief, slapping his arm hard enough for him to wince. “What do you mean ‘in your case?’ I bet you haven’t even kissed someone yet!” 

Jin snarls at you as he pulls his arm back and retorts, “yeah? And I bet you haven’t either!” 

“Actually, I have, with Joon at that party last year,” you say smugly, crossing your arms with a chin held high, “and you just admitted you haven’t had your first kiss yet.”

“Psh, yeah, I haven’t, and?" the boy holds his head high akin to a child arguing with his body and not with his words. “Because I prefer to save it for something meaningful unlike someone here.” 

“Hey, are you insinuating that it wasn’t meaningful?”

“You’ve always told me how much you hated parties!” he throws his hands up. “Plus, you don’t even like Joon! You said his breath stinks!” 

“Well—” you pause but no words come to you except for a loud grunt “—ugh, fine. You’re right.”

“Of course I’m right,” he turns away, leaning into his right hand with an elbow propped against his crisscrossed lap. “I’m Kim Seokjin, after all.” 

Following suit, you mumble into your propped hand, “I guess that’s why we’re friends in the first place. Together and, yet, still forever alone.”

“Hey, I said I don’t plan on being forever alone.”

“Right, right,” you brush him off, “tell me that when you actually get a girlfriend—actually, tell me that when you find someone to marry who doesn’t run for their life just one month into your relationship.” 

“‘Marry?!’” he gawks at your demand. “I haven’t even had my first kiss yet and you’re talking about marriage?!”

“What?” you turn to face him, cheek resting in hand. “Didn’t you say the world would soon recognize your charms?”

“Hmph, well,” he says with a jutted lower lip, “definitely sooner than you.”

“Really?” you gape at his bold proclamation despite clearly being the one with the upperhand. “You really think you’re gonna get married before me?” 

Your best friend doesn’t even bother glancing at you before answering, “bet.”

“Okay, if you win, then I’ll eat the crust to your breads whenever you want. I’ll even throw in a bonus for you and spare your wife from having to see fetus photos of you in college,” you can only snicker at the lightbulb that goes off in his widened eyes. “And if I win, then you’ll have to eat my crust and delete all the ugly photos you have of me on your phone.”

“Sorry, can’t do. That would take me an eterni—”

“—shut up.” 

“Okay, fine, bet,” he cackles, straightening his back and stretching his arms out before him, “and what if neither of us ever get married?”

“Hm,” you purse your lips, “good point. Should we set a time cap to our bet? Ideally, if I want to have a stable job and income by 25, have children by 30, enjoy two or three years of marriage without kids, then…”

“Why do you have to have children by 30?” Jin frowns. “Why set all these unrealistic standards on yourself?” 

Putting a finger to hush his lips, you almost find yourself distracted by the plush warmth against your skin. Quickly, you answer, “long story short: parents.”

“Ah,” he utters even as your fingers are pressed to his lips, “ditto.” 

“Let’s set the cap to 27,” you propose. “If neither of us get married by the age of 27, then we’ll just call off the bet. But damn—” the two of you simultaneously lean your chins into your palms “—that means we’re really gonna be a disappointment to our parents forever, huh?” 

A loud, heavy sigh escapes the both of you; and while you stay pouting into your hands, staring into the fresh green grass on the downside of the hill off in the distance, Jin props his hands back against the blanket and cranes his neck back to look off into the distant sky. You hadn’t noticed it until now, but for a devilishly dashing guy like Jin—broad shoulders, facial features that could only be gifted, and a prominent Adam’s apple, especially with his head rolled to the back like this—you have to admit his lonely status must have been much more of a choice to Jin than it is for you; because even for someone like you, his best friend who gets to stare at his profile for as long you desire in all its glory, you have yet to become desensitized to his dazzling visuals that is anything but normal.

As much as you hate to admit it, even now, with a clear blue sky, an array of warm pastry aroma, and a field of freshly cut grass, you can’t help but become enamored by the person before you. 

And when another sigh befalls his lips and the two of you have settled into a comfortable silence and a breeze passes by the both of you, rustling a dozen or so of the hovering cherry petals to grace the surrounding air, he speaks. 

“Let’s get married if we’re still single by then.” 

“...huh?”

“I said,” only his eyes move to peer down at you effortlessly, “if we both lose the bet, then let’s get married.”

Your eyes pop and you can only utter the few words that reach you, “to each other?” 

“No, to food,” he says sarcastically, grabbing a piece of his bread and stuffing your face with it when you continue to stare at him and he shuffles awkwardly in place. Looking away, he mumbles, “of course to each other, who else, dummy?”

“Uh….huh,” you blankly nod your head as a series of laughs are stifled by the bread. “Okay, and you’re being serious?”

He doesn’t look at you when he answers, “uhuh.”

“Pffft, and you’re saying you would keep that promise? That you would even remember this moment? We’re just gonna marry? Like that? And you’re assuming I’m just going to agree?”

“Hey,” he turns to frown at you, “why wouldn’t you agree? I’m offering you a once in a lifetime opportunity!”

Munching down on the bread, you continue to play along in amusement, “really? And what exactly are you offering me? You know I have high standards, right? I’m not just going to accept any proposal.”

“I know. That’s why you’re still single…” the boy deadpans, even as you glare at his remark, “...but, that’ll all change when you witness my proposal! Hear me out. First, I’ll cook every meal for you for the entire day.”

“You almost already do that except for breakfast.”

“Okay, but I’ll hone my skills by then. It’ll be even better than any restaurant we’ve ever been to.”

You raise a brow, “so you think food is the way to my heart?”  

“No offence, but yes, that’s why we’re friends,” he quips before continuing, “second, I’ll bring flowers to you at work. Everyone at your job will be burning with jealousy!”

“Because of your public display of affection, which we both clearly disdain?” 

“No, because they would wonder how you have such a handsome boyfriend like me!” he wags his finger. “Plus, who doesn’t like a little PDA when they’re about to be proposed to?” 

“Okay, fair enough, but those are two promises you’re making for the proposal. A marriage is a lifelong commitment. Why would I want to marry you just for food and flowers?”

“Hmmm, even for someone like you, I’m surprised you have so many requirements,” Jin hums, tapping his finger on his chin. “How about this, I’ll make three more promises for our marriage.”

“Quit saying ‘our marriage,’ I keep shuddering at the thought of it,” you remark as you rub your arms. 

“Third promise, I won’t break your achey breaky heart,” he deliberately emphasizes each word in a fruitful attempt to send shivers down your spine. “Fourth promise, I’ll remember all of my promises.”

“Okay… and fifth?”

“I’ll keep all of my promises! And I’ll do it all right here at this spot. Our spot.”

“What? That’s dumb,” you giggle. “Just keep it at four, then.”

“No,” he grabs the bagel in your hands and fills his mouth without a second of hesitation, “ish eashier to wememba fibe promishesh.”

“Right, right, right,” you nod, pressing your lips in a vain attempt to muffle your chuckles. “And what promises would you want me to make?”

“You?” he quirks a brow before shaking his head. “Nothing. You’re fine. I like you just the way you are.”

Huh. Has Jin always been this nice? Because you don’t quite recall ever feeling the heat of an oncoming blush of your cheeks or the bashful flutters that come with your best friend’s witty remarks. Maybe the topic of marriage has thrown you off today or maybe it’s the aftermath of a high having just graduated college and being thrusted into adulthood, but the stretched smile that adorns your lips is an undeniable fact that your confidence and spontaneity has reached its pinnacle.

Grinning, you lean across Jin’s lap to grab and unlock his phone to access the camera, “okay, wanna take a photo to commemorate this moment?”

“Gee, if you want a photo of me that bad, you could just ask me to send you a selfie, y’know—what the,” Jin starts to cackle when you raise the phone into the air and suddenly press your cheeks against his without warning. With a side-finger gun to frame his cheeks and chin, your best friend readies his pose as you wear a mischievous smile. “Hurry up and take the picture already, Y/N. My time is money.” 

“Hey Jin,” you call out to him with your eyes still fixated to the phone screen, as does his. 

The boy almost drags his words, “now what?”

“You’ve never had a girl kiss you on the cheeks before either, right?”

“What—”

—click.

“There,” you chirp jubilantly, grinning at the stunned look on his face, his eyes popping and his lips just slightly parted but failing to utter a single word as his hand grazes the spot on his cheeks where your lips had just touched, “now you have zero excuses to forget our promise!”

❀ ❀ ❀

That must have been the last time you had met up with Jin in person. Shortly after graduation, the two of you had parted ways as many are forced to do in order to embark on their lives as full-fledged adults. Being born with a silver spoon in his mouth, Jin had been lucky enough to receive a job offer straight out of college with the help of family connections; although, even without his family name, you whole-heartedly believe he still would have managed on his own based off of his unparalleled work ethic that you had the chance to witness firsts-handedly. 

On the other hand, your parents had advised you to stay home, which happened to mean you would be stuck in the same town of your college, until you finally landed a decent job where you had met Alex and established a new life. Unfortunately, like life always does, all that busywork meant sacrificing contact with your best friend somewhere along the way.

“Hey, Y/N! Wait!”

“Ah, shit,” you mutter under your breath as you stop in the midst of your tracks down the black-marbled hallway, gritting your teeth and composing yourself just as you’ve done countless times around your less than friendly colleagues. Taking a deep breath in and out, you put on a pleased smile and whirl around to find the face of a familiar boy in your most recent reveries. “Ahh, hey, Jin... It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

“Ah,” the man, who seems to have grown at least or three inches since you had last seen him, scratches the back of his head. “I didn’t expect to see you here tonight… how have you been?”

This is awkward. So painfully awkward. 

“Me? Oh, I’ve been alright. Life. Adulting. You know the drill,” you press a thin smile. “Actually, I’m surprised to be seeing you here tonight. I still remember us whining all throughout college over being forever alone, and yet here we are… at your engagement party… life can be funny, huh?” 

“Y—” he stutters, scratching the back of his neck “—yeah… it can be.” 

“So,” you chirp in a fruitless attempt to lift the suffocating atmosphere, “the wedding is coming up pretty soon! Feeling good or is someone getting cold feet?” 

He shakes his head weakly, “I wear socks to sleep.” 

“Wh—” you pause for a quick second, blinking blankly at his soft chuckle and following suit shortly after “—why do your jokes sound like you’re 22 again?” 

The man shrugs with a helpless smile hinted in the corners of his lips; and when it happens—you don’t know how or when the silence had whisked you away into a past time—you find him gazing at you with that fondness of a sole friend who endlessly shared and fought informidable woes with you. Perhaps you’re a hopeless romantic frozen between the fork of two roads that have long closed, for you swear you can see your own reflection through his warm brown eyes and you surmise the only possible answer to the question that lingers in your mind. 

He must see the same friend in you, that girl he would only call friend.

“You’ve been preparing your whole life for this, or, actually, maybe I should say we’ve been preparing,” you smile to stifle the lurching ache in your chest, “I guess I’m the only fool waiting for her turn now.” 

A weep cracks the laugh you force out of your knotted throat. Immediately, you turn your head to avoid his watchful gaze and tuck a lock of hair behind an ear whilst discretely ridding any traces of waterworks welling in your vision. You think you must have gotten away with the feigned laugh and turn, a routine you had mastered at your previous work, but the gradual dissolution of the curve on his lips settles into an unreadable flatline more resembling a frown than anything; because even after all these years, he can still read you like an open book. 

So, if he could see through your every facade even now, then why does he not remember? You know you shouldn’t hold it against him, such a silly promise built on a lonesome pair of naive hearts,  but you can’t help it when a single word paints your conscience. 

Why?

Why can’t he remember? 

Your shared promises, your birthday, your memories, and... you?

“Y/N,” Jin begins gently, hesitating in place once he takes a step forward and you flinch, “about the wedding date…”

He waits for you to reply, supposedly for ‘whenever you were ready’, as he always does during those fragile lows of yours. 

To avoid letting loose any more unneeded drama, you can only manage a hum, “mm?”

“I…” he pauses and sighs. “I know it’s your birthday.”

A hitch in your breath is audible. You clamp your lips tightly and nod, uttering lowly, “yeah.”

“I want you to know I didn’t decide the date, Y/N,” he says firmly, “my father did.” 

“And?” you quip suddenly, eyes darting to shoot a glower deadly enough for him to twitch in evident hurt. There, you went ahead and did it. As hard as you had spent the past months muting your rawest reaction to the envelope in your mailbox, all the pent up frustration and sheer sorrow for a lost future came whiplashing just as hard. “And you couldn’t tell your father to change the date? Maybe one day after? Or two?” 

“You know I would have asked if I could, Y/N,” he bites his tongue to state sternly, “but how would he understand? Change it for… for what—”  he laughs cruelly in the midst of his burst “—for the birthday of a best friend I lost contact with for five whole years?! That’s so… so dumb—” 

“—dumb…?”

The crack in your voice leads to a stagnant silence over what is clearly a no man’s land. Betrayal visibly paints across your face, the momentary display of having wronged his closest ally stains his own. 

“Sorry, I didn’t meant that...”

“‘...yeah, you’re right,” you scoff, “I’m dumb for waiting five whole damn years’ because you wouldn’t fucking text me or call me to ask how I was doing!”

“Me?” he asks in disbelief, gawking and pointing an accusatory finger. “You wouldn’t even pick up your phone! I called you for a month after I moved!” 

“I couldn’t pay for my phone, alright?! I was living with my parents and scrambling to find a job, any fucking low wage job, and I couldn’t sit all day in my room waiting for your calls because I’m not born with a silver spoon stuck in my ass!” 

At this point, the conversation had somehow contorted into an all out brawl of words, a challenge to see who could blame the other for the unsaid confessions lost in communication. The two of you staring down the other, chest heaving and jaws clenching and brows knitting, if it weren’t for your fortunate location tucked in the hallway hidden from the main room, you would not have allowed yourself to fall, lost somewhere in the depth of his eyes. 

“Why are you so upset?” a weak, hopeless laugh tumbles from his confused, pained expression. “Aren’t you supposed to be happy for me?” 

“I—” something gets caught in your throat and you have to choke it out “—I am. I am happy for you. I’m not upset, no…”

Jin reaches a hand out to your cheek when he notices your tears but immediately retracts his notion when you flinch backwards. The boy frowns in concern, “Y/N… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. How did I upset you?”

“Nothing,” you frantically shake your head that hangs low, using the back of your hands to smear every sign of contradiction on your face. “I just—” your breath shakes and an impending series of hiccups begins to kick in “—I’m silly. I should be happy for my best friend. I mean, I am happy. I’m just being dumb.” 

“What?” Jin carefully takes a step forward. “No you’re not—”

“—I’m dumb, okay, Jin?” you finally muster the courage to lift your sights to find his own confused ones. “It’s been five whole years and I’m embarrassed for taking a joke of a promise so seriously when my best friend doesn’t even remember making it!” 

The scrunch in his brows and lost resolution only reverberate the deafening ache in your chest. “The promises…? Y/N, I—”

“—it’s fine,” you blurt. Shaking your head and stumbling backwards, you look him straight in the eyes to say your last words before the fading knocks of your heels against the wood are all that he hears. “It's my fault for believing in a foolish fairytale anyways.”

❀ ❀ ❀

It’s almost like a fever dream when you recall just how confidently you had spat those spiteful words and furthermore dared to depart with that sheer satisfaction and the slightest aftertaste of alcohol residing on your tongue that night; but now that you’re awake, sober, and without the power of liquor, there’s nothing that can pull you out of your greatest nightmare most recently manifested into reality. 

“Why the hell did I do that? Why the hell did I do that? Why the hell did I do that?” 

The incessant grumbles tumble freely from your lips whilst you pace back and forth in the corner of the office. Typically, your colleagues would describe you as composed, reserved, and the level-headed half of an otherwise wild pair with Alex. This morning, however, they begin to question everything they’ve ever known about you as they watch through the corner of their averting eyes. 

“I knew I shouldn’t have left you alone!” Alex hisses under her breath along with the threatening glares she shoots at the audience. Considering how long you’ve been going at your mental breakdown, it doesn’t take very long for your shuffling footsteps and mumbling gibberish to transcend into yet another white noise in the office; and once the majority of the passersby settle on the new revelation of your hidden crazed nature, Alex hastily storms to your side as you begin banging your head against the wall. “Why would you throw a tantrum at your best friend’s engagement party?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying…” you pause momentarily to groan before proceeding to damage whatever is left of your seemingly deteriorating brain. “Why the hell did I do that? Why the hell did I do—”

“—not to mention, an ex best friend who never even knew about your unrequited feelings—”

—she comes to an abrupt stop when she finds the deadliest scowl in your dart-like eyes. No words are exchanged but the lethal consequences are clear enough to grant you her silence and the continuance of your destruction. 

“Why the hell did I do that, Alex?” you whimper, taking a break from your antics because, damn, your forehead is really starting to hurt. “Whyyyyyyy did you have to leave me alone? Maybe Jin wouldn’t have found me and I wouldn’t have had to confront him over something that shouldn’t even matter anymore! I-I barely even know him… it’s been five years and, suddenly, here I am, voila! At his engagement banquet, yelling in his face and getting mad over feelings that aren’t even his fault!” 

“I told you to go easy on the alcohol.”

“I told you to go easy on the alcohol,” you retort. Taking a deep breath, you let out a sigh along with the scowl plastered across your face. Your next words come out more as a helpless confession of fear than a rhetorical question to be answered. “Do you think he… hates me…?”

Alex observes you for a lingering second, perhaps contemplating between a merciful albeit exacerbating answer and a merciless albeit helpful answer. She speaks carefully, treading dangerous water, “well… would you like him to?”

“I don’t know,” you shut your eyes to heave yet another sigh because that weight in your chest refuses to leave you alone. An unapologetic swinging of the door and a series of loud, wide strided footsteps that follow have your brows furrowing and it takes everything in you and Alex, judging by the sudden shuffles you hear by your side, to finish the rare heart-to-heart conversation. “I think… I think if he hated me, maybe that would extinguish that part of me from the past. If he hated me, I would be able to get over it. Maybe I would hate him too, out of spite, but at least I would be able to get over—””

“—it…? Over what, Y/N?”

Over what? It takes you much longer than it should have for you to surmise the most probable answer to her question, an answer you were never willing to admit and an answer you aren’t quite sure you’re ready to admit even now. 

“You know what I’m implying, Alex,” you sigh, shutting your eyes even tighter when a rising heat marks your cheeks. “I want to get over—”

—but your words are cut short by a familiar voice that has your heart racing and striking an unprecedented strife in the mayhem that is your systemic state...

“You can’t possibly hate me, Y/N,” he proudly proclaims and you can practically hear him smiling, “no one ever hates Kim Seokjin.” 

...and when your eyes finally flutter open, you find the man, who had only seemed like a phenomenon of your feverish dream a second ago, standing before you and adorning that signature smile with raised cheek apples and crescent-like eyes that has yet to change under the influence of time and distance. 

“W-What are you doing here…?” you barely manage to utter. Eyes flickering around your surroundings, from Jin’s broad shoulders that shield nearly the entirety of a helpless albeit buoyant Alex, to your colleagues who fail to discreetly whisper over the lavishly suited mystery of a man, and finally back to the bouquet of pastel flowers wrapped with a bright pink bow. Brows furrowing, you struggle to organize your thoughts and even go so far as to check for the dent in your reddish forehead in a vain attempt to dispel the mind tricks. When the mirage before you fails to dissipate into thin air like sand, you slowly turn to face the wall again only to have your antics disrupted by his refreshingly cold hand on your burning forehead ; and when you turn, you find Jin’s mischievous smile growing wider by the second. “H-how do you know where I work…?”

“I’m your best friend, Y/N. Have you somehow forgotten after all that head banging?” Jin scoffs in disbelief, gawking with a chuckle. Suddenly, he leans in to grab your right hand firmly in his own, squeezing twice as he had always done and leading you toward the exit. “C’mon, let’s go recover those memories of yours, eh?” 

“Wait, wait,” you nearly stumble over your own feet at the pace he’s going, struggling to catch your breath when he bursts through the last door and a blast of freezing wind envelops the clash of the heat reverberating from your beating heart. “I have to go back! I still have work! And, and… and where in the world are you even taking me?” 

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, Y/N, so many dumb questions for someone who always topped my grades,” the boy holds the bouquet of flowers out toward you, refusing to continue until you reluctantly accept his gift with your left hand against your chest. Smiling at your reluctant acceptance, Jin turns his back on you and proceeds to march into the parking lot but his now warm hands intertwined with your now cold hands never loosens its grip. 

It’s been a long five years of waiting to finally relish in the hold of his familiarly slim, often teased albeit self-praised double-jointed hands, but, now that you’re finally living in it, you’re sure it was all worth it… even if the crashing flames at the end of this road is an inevitable, foreseeable future.

“Jin,” you frown as you stare at Jin’s opening of the car door and gesture of an invitation, reluctantly seating yourself in his sumptuous car. “I failed half of my exams... remember?”

The boy’s laughs can still be heard even through the closed door as he makes his way around the car front, all whilst swinging the keys in his forefinger. His cackling steps an abrupt many levels of decibels higher when the opposing door opens and he plops into the driver seat. “That never stopped you from boasting, did it?” 

Without the flare of your usual clever quips, you purse your lips in silence and subconsciously hug the bouquet closer to your chest to keep his space as unoccupied by your presence. The sudden turn of events has your head spinning and your heart racing enough for the thumps to be felt by your hands. 

How did he find out where you worked? Where was he even taking you and what was he planning to do with you? Why was he acting as if you had not angered him just two nights ago? 

You don’t think you’ll be getting the answer any time soon, particularly the latter question, but when your stomach growls loudly, eliciting a crackle of a laugh from Jin, the awkward tension in your muscles eases ever so slightly. 

“...s-sorry… I skipped breakfast.”

“I know,” he puts the car into neutral at the red light and turns to peer at you with a smug look that says he could still read you like an open book, “because you always skip breakfast. I hid some pastry in the bouquet.” 

“What?” you scrunch your nose but immediately dive your scavenging hands into the flowers; and sure enough, you find your favorite cream-filled bread of his warm in your hands and you can’t stifle the smile that spreads on your lips. “Why would you even do that?”

“Well, in case you suddenly got really jacked and physically refused to come with me, then at least you would have something to eat.”

“No,” you giggle, “I meant why would you hide the bread in the bouquet…”

His eyes brighten like a lightbulb, as if only now recalling the genius plan he had crafted himself, “oh, because then you can sneak a bite without having to leave your desk! It always worked with our backpacks, didn’t it?” 

Your sights fall to the bouquet and you can only reply with a sheepish grin, “right… it sure did.”

The engine purrs to life again when the light turns green and the remainder of the car ride is filled with the smooth drift of his ride and the ceaseless albeit completely welcomed humming from his lips. The old Jin never had enough of an incentive to drive, although his parents always suggested gifting him a brand new car and you had begged him to take the offer out of boredom and a never-ending desire to escape far away from university, but something about this moment in time has you feeling cozy, belonging, and at home. It’s almost like it was meant to be. 

But the silver ring shining around his finger under the angle of the sun is a dreadful reminder that it isn’t. 

So, as a slap to yourself back into reality, you fracture this perfect moment you would have once framed in that hopeless mind of yours, “so… how did you find out where I worked?”

“Ah,” his right hand casually slips onto the back of your headrest. “Still haven’t figured out, rank 292?”

“No, I haven’t, rank 295.” 

“First,” he raises a finger, “I asked some people through the grapevines and eventually your friend Alex gave out.”

Grumbling under your breath, you curse, “damn it, Alex.”

“And second,” he raises another finger before proclaiming firmly, “I’m proving you wrong.” 

“Proving me wrong?” you articulate with a scoff. “You’re going to prove me wrong? Right, keep dreaming.”

“I’m not going to prove you wrong, I am proving you wrong," he insists before shifting the car to neutral and leaning in toward you, gaze brimming with conviction locked with your own wary ones, as if ready to spill a secret sworn by the two of you and hidden from the rest of the universe. 

He's close enough for his minty breath to graze your burning cheeks, to breathe a vigorous life previously unknown by your dull five years. Heart pumping and lungs barely working, daring not to budge for being caught under the sway of his gravitational force, you can hardly catch him when he finally speaks.

"I haven't forgotten, Y/N,” he utters, “I'm a man of my word."

❀ ❀ ❀

Promise one. 

"I'll cook every meal for you for an entire day."

Promise two. 

"I'll bring flowers to you at work."

His unabashed, overly detailed tactic to ask for your hand in marriage still echoes from a time long past. Hopes for those promises were weakened by each passing second but unequivocally unassailed at birth. Eventually, smothered and disheartened, you had been forced to cut ties and confront the reality of broken promises and broken dreams. You had once somehow convinced yourself things would never return to the ways they once were, and, yet, here he is having returned by your side and here you are enraptured by the utter joy in his laughs after all this wavering time. 

It's like a dream come true; and if this indeed all just a nightmarish dream bound to death, you wish you never swore allyship to this alcohol, for now your only wish is for it to succumb you into a deep, long slumber. 

“I toooooooold you I don’t like paaaaasta!” you whine, the drag of your voice manifesting in white puffs in the still chilly spring air. The sudden transition between the warmth of his house to the frozen world outside has you spiraling into a series of trips and stumbles; and as always, your best friend Jin is the only one to hold you up, which is a good thing considering how you would’ve been tumbling into the death trap of a river beneath this bridge. “So whyyyy did you make me pastaaaaaaa? Whyyyyyyy?”

“What? Why’re you blaming me?” he retorts, obviously taking offence. “You always loved pasta! You ate it every single day at uni!” 

“I diiiiid love pasta,” you say through barely parted lips, “but it’s all just… just carbs, carbs, carbssss…” 

“Since when did you care about carbs?” Jin frowns, poking your cheeks that lean against his sturdy arms. “Should I call the police?” 

Your brows furrow and you lift your head to narrow your eyes at him, “what? Why?” 

And as soon as those words slip from your lips and he raises his finger-gun hands, you wish you hadn’t asked in the first place. 

“Because I think you’re an impasta,” his finger guns transform into jazz hands after you stare at him in dumbfounded silence, “...badumtsss….”

A series of empty blinks are exchanged, as if neither of you had just witnessed his most tragic dad joke to date; and so, you swiftly continue with a sigh, “I think… I think I started caring ever since heee mentioned I was getting fat.”

“I can’t believe you just ignored my unprecedented joke…” he grumbles to himself but lets out a little huff when he catches you from tipping over. Wordlessly, he hooks his arm with yours to keep you close to him. “And this ‘he’ you mention, who’s he?” 

“Heee.” 

“Who? Who’s ‘heeee’?” he spouts with pouty lips and a raised chin, flailings his body, and therefore yours, about every which way like a toddler. “Who’s this man I have to beat up, huh? He better square up!”

“I don’t think you could beat him up…” you mumble, eyes heavy but determined enough to reach his own flabbergasted ones. “It’s Jooooon, dummy, Kim-Nam-Joon, the boy I shared my first kiiiiss with…”

“Kim Namjoon?!” his eyes widen. “You think I wouldn’t be able to beat up that nerd?!”

You almost manage to push Jin away the foot of the bridge if it weren’t for his firm lock around you. “Have you seen his muscles?! He might not look like it with his books and all but he worked out all the time!”

“Yeah, well,” his lips sputter, “well, have you seen my muscles?!”

“No—” you freeze when you realize the sturdiness of his arm against your head is existing proof against your word, and maybe it’s because of his obvious flexing at this moment, but you could not believe just how built his arms had grown in the past five years, “—and I don’t want to.” 

“Hah! You just don’t want to admit that I’m right. C’mon, I’ll show you. You feel it, huh? You feel it?” he flexes persistently, twisting and turning to maximize his little showcase. “So? You think I can beat him up now?” 

“Well…” your voice trails off, mind clearly preoccupied with sticking your cheeks to his arm like glue in a somewhat fruitful attempt to hide the flush in your face. “You don’t really need to beat him up…”

“What?” he almost yells. “Why not? He called you fat!”

“Well, he…” your shoulders rise with each confession, “he said one of my dresses looked tight on me…”

“And?”

“...and he wasn’t exactly wrong…”

“So?”

“...so he didn’t actually say anything offhandedly…”

“What? You should’ve told me earlier!” Jin exclaims, arms thrown high into the air and consequently pushing your helpless self onto the hillside grass beside the run of the river. Lips gaping and eyes popping, you watch him in full offense as he mumbles to himself before resuming his stroll down the hill. “And here I am getting worked up over nothing… can’t believe I thought I could play hero for once…”

“Hey, Jin, what do you mean by that?” you call out to him. “Wait! I said wait for me, Jin!”

When your rhetorical questions are answered with silence, you hasten to your feet in order to catch up with those damn wide strides of his. Damn it, how did he make it halfway down the hill already? Each of your exclamations are unsurprisingly disobeyed by the boy who just throws his head back over his shoulder with that cheeky grin of his as he quickened his pace. Following suit, your strides turn into a jog and your jogs turn into a full out sprint until the both of you are full on running the 100 meters dash, one chasing and one fleeing, wind blowing refreshingly into your heated face and into your tangled locks and inflated lungs that relish in the breath of life. 

In the midst of all the chaotic bliss of an epiphany, you find yourself screaming and laughing at the top of your lungs...

“Hey! Jin! I swear I”m gonna kick your ass!”

...and it’s at this moment in time that you realize having forgotten what it means to be a fool who lived and not to live to be a fool. 

At some point in time, after having caught up to the knucklehead and giving a piece of your mind, the two of you settle down along the concrete ledge beside the river after a jittery, welcomed high. The sunset that followed was a pleasant surprise that had you two reminiscing over the countless mornings and evenings you had spent watching the sun rise and set together whilst churning throughout tireless exam nights. Pink, golden streaks now hidden behind a thick coating of midnight blue embellished by magical glitters all throughout, tonight’s stargazing becomes a first for the two of you. 

As much as you hoped you could numb yourself from the inevitable aftereffects of this death wish of a dreamy day, you can’t help but smile, thankful to have been completely sober to engrave this night into memory. 

“So...” Jin’s utter is the first to break the silence. He turns his head to give you a playful look of eyes that beams with wary curiosity, “...you started dating Namjoon after I left?”

“Mm… maybe,” you hum, “why? Got a problem with that?”

“What? Psh, what? Why would I have a problem with that?” he snorts. “The only problem I would have is the fact that you never asked me for permission.”

Your eyes widen, almost threateningly, “are you saying I need permission from a man to date another man? Not to mention a man who abandoned me without warning!” 

“Okay, first of all, it’s not my fault you cancelled your phone plan! I called and called, I tried everything I could even though I was deadbeat tired every day. It’s not my fault I thought you hated my guts! So please just understand that I didn’t abandon you, alright?” he spills in an endless stream akin to a water faucet left on the highest setting, clearly a performance either practiced in private or incited by years of pent up pressure. You can practically see the steam shooting out of his fiery red ears and the accompanying whistle manifesting into words; and by the time his chest is heaving, his lungs are panting and very dramatically so, and his eyes flicker nervously between you and the passing water, you can’t help but snicker. Unsurprisingly, your lack of empathy elicits an unamused look on his face. “Hey, hey, what’re you laughing at, huh?” 

“Me? Oh, nothing,” your hands move into your laps and you bat your eyes innocently, “it’s just that I can’t believe you’re blaming me, a helpless, poor girl with absolutely no connections, for cancelling her phone plan as a last resort to make ends meet.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he warns with an accusatory finger, “don’t you dare think I’ll fall for that eye blinking and whatever cute act you’re playing up again!” 

“Why?” you pout, almost cringing at your own antics. “Am I not cute?”

“No, you’re hurting my eyes. Plus, if anyone’s cute here,” he declares adamantly before puffing his cheeks and poking one with his forefinger, “it’s me.”

The both of you stare at the other for a stagnant few seconds, one completely dedicated to his performance and the other utterly flabbergasted by what plays out before her. 

The only word you manage to crank out is a, “uh…”

“What do you think?” he raises another finger to poke his other cheek. “I practiced just for you.” 

“Um… you’re 27 now, Jin.”

“So?” he tilts his head in the other direction. “Still 22 and young at heart.”

“Yeah? Then I’m still 22 and still equally disgusted by aegyo—” just as he parts his lips to provide another rebuttal, you quickly add in “—by your aegyo.” 

And just like that, the man drops his boyish character just as quickly as he had stepped into it. He mumbles, dropping his hands and shooting an equivocate look at you, “okay, tough crowd. Sorry, ma’am.”

It shouldn’t have been that hilarious nor should your response been so delayed, but it only takes a split second of his surrender for a thunderous cackle to slip from your lips. Throwing your head back and peering at the dangling stars above, you allow yourself a moment to close your eyes and take a deep breath of the incoming wind. The fresh petrichor of spring and the earthiness of mowed grass whisks themselves into the cold, clean breeze from the vast body of water. Thin locks of hair grazes across your cheeks, swaying in the wind as does your spirit. Years are lifted from your shoulders and all that is left is the heaviness that remains in your chest; nevertheless, you have never felt so free from the past. 

“Also,” he adds nonchalantly, cocking his head to look at you, “I wasn’t speaking from the position of a man. I was speaking as a best friend. As your best friend.” 

And just like that, sitting side by side and sharing a cool breeze, it’s almost as if all these moments of remorse, spilled tears, and unreleased frustration were made to build the climax to this grand finale: the night you can finally speak your truth. 

“It’s funny how things never change, huh?” you say when your eyes flutter open and you find Jin looking over with a fondness identical to the one you’ve spotted years before. “We can split for five years, thinking one hates the other’s guts, and reunite again as best friends… as if nothing had ever happened.”

Jin chuckles, hands grabbing to the ledge and head lolling back to join you but his eyes remain fixated on you, “I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not. Are we vampires and we just don’t know it?”

“Yeah, well, I’m not sure either… not sure about the good thing and not the vampire thing, that is,” your laugh settles into silence when you spot the reflected light inflicted by the ring around his finger, sitting on the ledge just an inch away from yours. Close enough to touch but far enough to confirm an unequivocal truth. Sighing, you turn your head to meet his intent gaze with a bittersweet upturn to your lips, “normally, I really despise the idea of change; but lately, when I think about how things might never change between us, how we’ll always banter as a pair of stupid best friends, I start wanting it more than ever.”

Is this the moment? Is it all really happening right now? Judging by the course of your blithe actions, if change is what you’re looking for, then change is what will surely ensue after tonight. Whether for the good or for the worse, you’ll take a reluctant guess of the latter. 

The man scrunches his brows before playing it off with a nervous laugh, “what do you mean things haven’t changed? You dated Namjoon, probably got it on a few times here or there—”

“—what—”

“—please don’t confirm,” he butts in with a raised hand, “and I have, too. Sure things have changed!”

“Ooh?” you raise a brow, genuinely shocked. “You finally got some experience under your belt? I’m impressed, Mr. Kim.”

“Hey,” he scolds, “what do you mean by ‘impressed?’” 

“Well, I should’ve known… figuring you’re about to be a married man and all…” you mumble, forcing a smile despite the sudden dip in your mood. Turning your head to stare off into the opposite end of the river where the black silhouette of skyscrapers lie, you curse yourself mentally. You really thought you could get away with the inevitable truth for the entire day? “You know, I can’t believe I almost forgot that you’re getting married in less than a week. Almost like how I couldn’t believe you almost forgot our promises.”

“I told you Kim Seokjin is a man of his words.”

“You sure about that? Promise one: cook for me for an entire day. Check. Promise two: gift me flowers at work. Check,” you turn around once again to look him firmly in the eyes and it’s almost as if the both of you know what’s about to come next. “What about the three other promises, Kim Seokjin?” 

“Y/N…” his voice trails off but his gaze never leaves yours, almost as if too afraid to be misconstrued as another betrayal. 

Quick-mindedly, you chime, “stop looking at me so seriously! I’m just joking! Promise three: you won’t break my heart. How could you after a wonderful day like this? Promise four: you won’t forget our promises. Clearly, you remember. And promise five: you’ll keep all your promises. Check.”

“Y/N,” he stifles every wince but you can tell by the way his feet have stopped kicking into the void. “I don’t think I’ve kept all those promises.” 

“Well,” you shrug, pressing your lips into a line tightly, “I only see checks in my book, Jin. You’re good to go—”

“—no, Y/N, you need to listen to me,” he says sternly; and when your mouth falls agape and your head slightly nods, his wary eyes searching for a steady sign in the windows to your soul, he continues calmly, “my marriage is actually an arranged marriage.”

“Your—” you blink blankly, jaw almost falling to the floor “—your, you, what?”

An arranged marriage. 

All this time, all this pain, all this heartbreak of wanting to do something about your feelings but remaining hopeless because of an unrequited love… turns out to be an active, fully conscious decision? Not a falling out of love, not a helpless affection for another woman, but a matchmaking handcrafted without the heavens?

“My,” he has to stop himself just as his breath hitches, “my father... arranged it. ” 

“What? Why? Is it because he prefers you with a well off family?” 

“What? No,” he shakes his head with a slight upcurve to his lips that you’ve never quite seen before. Watching him hook a hand to the nape of his neck, clearly avoiding your eyes, you have an inkling of something much worse than the presented news. “You know my father would never do that… it has nothing to do with money...”  

“But you left this town for money, didn’t you? For a better job, a better pay, a better life, and for the sake of your dignity as a dutiful son, are you telling me none of those were related to money?” 

His eye twitches by your name-calling, clearly pained once again despite knowing very well of your precedent dislike toward his silver spoon background and his nonnegotiable obedience. Each second of silence culminates a tension even more formidable than the last. Guilt intoxicates your boiling blood enough for you to bite your tongue and hold yourself back; because after accusing him of holding onto his dignity, you, yourself, could not forfeit that of your own either. 

Worse yet, you’re a complete hypocrite. 

“Why can’t you just tell him to call it off?” 

You never knew silence could be so deafening.

“So… so do you...” you begin hesitantly. Usually, with your eyes locked with his, a thousand words would have been exchanged with each passing second; but now, with gazes that wade through the tides of the unknown, for the first time ever, you don’t recognize the mystery before you. “Do you... love her?” 

His lips part slowly, but no time in the world would be enough for him to find the right words. To you, his silence is as clear as any possible answer. Something sinks in you, perhaps after acknowledging the implications behind his choice to leave your question unanswered, but your blood boils from the audacity of those apologetic eyes that, even now, never stray from yours… as if this minute of sincerity would be enough to mend the inevitable decade of scars. 

You begin slowly, failing to hide the shakiness of your deep breaths, “...then what about the baby?”

“What baby...?” his face contorts with a frown until, out of the blue, something flickers across his numerous expressions: confusion, remembrance, contemplation. His hesitation that ensues might have been fleeting but its infliction upon your shattered trust will surely remain. “Oh, that… that was just a rumor my aunt spread because of the sudden marriage.” 

“And,” you force yourself to breathe, scattering for something, anything to throw at him, “and you don’t think you could’ve told me sooner?”

The man scrunches his brows, “and that would’ve helped, how?” 

“‘How?’” you repeat, as if it was the dumbest question you had ever heard. Mirroring his expression, your eyes avert between him and the river as scoffs of utter disbelief escape you. “‘How?’ What do you mean ‘how?’”

“I mean exactly that!” his voice suddenly escalates to a level of frustration you’ve never quite heard from him before. “How would it have changed anything? Why would you need to know earlier?”

Gawking, you exasperate desperately, “you know why!” 

“No, I might be your best friend but don’t expect me to just read your mind!”

“It’s cause...” you swing your leg over the ledge to face the sidewalk with your back on Jin as soon as you could feel an incoming constriction at the back of your throat, a notorious sign shared just between the two of you that waterworks were about to appear. Breathing slowly and doing just about everything to keep your voice from shaking, and fruitlessly so, you mumble before standing to your feet, “...you know what? I don’t even know anymore. I’m sorry. Nevermind.”

Why did you ever think you would have a chance? 

Is this it? Is this really it? The end? 

The questions come crashing into you as you make your retreat, head hanging low and palms drying the inconvenient tears that mark your face. After all the confidence you had built up, after finally thinking—actually, believing—you could get over him tonight, how humiliating is it that you’re now running away from a reality that would eventually and inevitably engulf you? 

The worst part of it is, Jin, like the best friend and good man that he is, persists to chase after you. You don’t have to hear the quickened footsteps of his usual wide, well-paced strides to know he’s coming. You don’t have to hear the calls he makes on the top of his lungs for you to know he’s on his way. 

As someone who so helplessly fell in love with their best friend, you just know he would be there through thick and thin—whether you like it or not. 

“Y/N!” Jin hollers; and when he finally catches up to you, having to sprint and consequently inciting for you to surrender with an abrupt stop to your path, every bit of air is knocked from your lungs. Arms wrapping over your waist and enveloping you into a tight hug, you can feel his heart pounding against your back. 

To most, it should have been the perfect method to comfort a crying friend; so, damn it, why does it only make you cry harder? 

“What?” your voice cracks as you just barely manage to smear the following tears within the wrap of his bear hug. “Damn it, Jin, why can’t you leave me alone for once?”

Head resting on yours, his voice is muffled by your hair as he murmurs, “I can’t just leave my best friend crying like that. I shouldn’t have yelled. I’m sorry.” 

He embraces you. He embraces you not only physically through the silence but also through the emotional rollercoaster that comes with it. He, Kim Seokjin, your best friend, holds you through the ups and downs and the rights and the wrongs. He even holds you now, comforting you in the hurricane that you brewed without ever knowing and never caring that he had, in fact, not committed any wrongdoing. If anything, you must be in the wrong. 

And when you put it that way, how could you blame yourself for falling in love with him?

“Jin… I’m sorry, I tried everything to stop myself but,” your voice shakes but your courage prospers, “but I just, I just really, really love you.” 

A second passes. 

Now, two. 

Then, three. 

Something strikes against your chest when the surreality of the situation settles into reality. His silence could mean many things, but the tightening of his embrace could only mean one. Blood flushes your cheeks as you lament over his sensation of your fervent heartbeats. Secrets thrown out into the spring air, your heated cheeks are equally exposed to the passing, chilly zephyr. 

He knows you love him. At this moment, he can physically feel the proof of your love and there’s nothing he can do about it. 

“Sorry,” you manage to blurt under your breath, “I shouldn’t have said anything. Forget I said—”

—the remaining words dissipate into thin air when he places his hands firmly on your shoulder and whirls you around. Face just inches away from his, you barely catch wind of his declaration before the unthinkable occurs…

“Too late. I don’t want to.”

...and his lips meet yours. 

It’s everything you have ever imagined. Years of admiring those plush lips, wondering what it would be like to feel the warmth of those wonders pressed against yours, are finally coming to fruition… except they don’t. His hands fall from your shoulders to the small of your back, but your hands don’t intertwine behind the back of his neck like you imagined. Instead, they hover in midair, hesitant to embrace him in your arms. Why? With your eyes and his fluttered closed and an audible deep sigh that signals a desire finally satisfied from the both of you, reality still manages to twist a dream-come-true. 

Does he actually love you or does he only pity you?

Finally, and ever so suddenly, your hands firmly push against his chest to plant an arm’s distance from you and him.

“Sorry…” you pant, avoiding those intense eyes. “We… we can’t do this.” 

“What?” Jin raises a brow, taking a step forward as you take one back. “Why not?”

Wordlessly, you point at his ring finger.

“Oh,” he chuckles nervously, hand scratching the back of his neck. You can only watch his every move, your stare gradually becoming a glare. Rosy hues coloring his cheeks, he speaks sheepishly, “I forgot we’re in public.”

His nonchalance irks you to your core. There isn’t any other way to put it. Blithe and dense have always been your favorite traits of his, but now that he’s here? Planting buds he could never sustain and sending mixed signals despite knowing of your feelings in an unfitting circumstance were never things you knew Jin for.  

“I-I don’t get it, Jin,” you shake your head. “I don’t think we should see each other any more. In any context. Not even after the wedding.” 

With his hands buried into his pockets and shoulders high enough to hide his reddened ears, he glances up at you, alert. “What? Why? What don’t you get?”

“It’s ‘cause... I just don’t get… this. I don’t get us,” you articulate, struggling to find the right words. “Why are you so… nonchalant about this? Why are you kissing me? Is it out of pity? Is it because I said I liked you—”

“—Y/N,” he says lowly like the drop of his previously cheerful mien, “you know I would never do something like that.” 

“Then why?! Why are you doing this to me? Do you love her or not?” you pause for a second to stifle the crack in your voice but, alas, all is in vain. “...and do you even… love me?”

He frowns, the tension in his body evident by the knitting of his brows as he struggles, “I… Y/N...”

“So you can’t admit that you love her and you can’t even lie to say you love me. So why the hell are you throwing away an entire marriage just to kiss me?” your scoff comes out more so like a plea. “You’re confusing me, Jin—”

“—that’s,” he abruptly pauses to stop himself from exploding, taking a deep breath before continuing, “that’s exactly why I can’t say it, Y/N! I don’t want to confuse you. I don’t want to disappoint my father. I-I don’t want to complicate matters more!”

“Then why the hell did you kiss me?!”

“I don’t know, okay?!” he throws his hands in the air. “I don’t know! It was a spur of the moment! I couldn’t stop myself from chasing after you and when I hugged you—I-I just wanted to, alright? I’m sorry.”

He’s... sorry. 

Sorry for kissing you, sorry for acting as if your feelings had been reciprocated, sorry for breaking all the promises he made and pretending like he was going to patch things up again tonight. Speaking your mind and hearing his words are all that you need to finally understand what you need to do. Your heart drops but you hold your head high because your final verdict is the right thing to do. Maybe this time you’ll finally be able to cease these useless feelings. What's the point in pursuing a hopeless love? 

The only one you would be hurting is yourself. 

This epiphany, in itself, is enough to drape an ephemeral clarity over your frenzic self; and just like a bandaid over a scar, you’re able to function, if only just temporarily.

“Hey, Jin?” you call out softly to the boy kicking at nothing on the bare sidewalk. It’s hard not to melt under the delicate glance he throws over his shoulder. “I’m not… mad. Well, I kind of am. But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m sorry for everything that I said about your upbringing. I know how close you are to your family. I’m sure you’ve been under a lot of pressure…”

“No, Y/N,” he shakes his head, turning his body to face you with a low hanging head, “it’s my fault. Even considering all that, I still shouldn’t have done that or any of this. I… I’m sorry for confusing you.”

Forcing a composed smile, you persevere, “do you have your fiance’s number?”

Head lifting with a frown, he answers, “yeah, what kind of a fiance would I be if I didn’t? Why though?”

“Right,” you say to yourself under your breath, hearing his ‘fiance’ echo relentlessly in your head. “I just need it, okay? To… to sort out everything...”

And just when you wonder how insensitive could this boy get...

“What?” he chuckles. “Are you going to fight for me?”

...it gets worse.

Rolling your eyes, you give him a hard, well-deserved slap against the chest before snickering at his loud wince and declaring your one last confession of the night. 

“No, I could fight for us, but I won’t singlehandedly fight for you,” you then declare with a bitter smile, “I will, however, tell her how jealous I am.”

And that's your most irrefutable confession, one that has Jin stupefied for the future midnights to come.

❀ ❀ ❀

Morning arrives much sooner than you had anticipated. White puffs mark the air whilst you wrap yet another layer of scarf around your neck. It seems as though the breeze from a night ago had intentionally danced around town, lingering and spectating on the resolution of your five year long love conundrum. Ironically enough, the two of you reunite at the very spot where everything had first started… except this time, everything will finally end.

The pain he had marked in you inflicted by the words he could not bring himself to say still stains your every waking second.

“You have to do this. You can do this,” you incessantly chant to yourself, pacing back and forth beside the most prominent cherry blossom tree in town. “You have to do this. You can do this—”

“—Y/N, is that you?”

What you presume to be Youngji’s voice perks your ears. Looking up, you spot her holding a phone in her hands as she flickers between you and her screen. A quizzical quirk of the brow plasters across your face as you wave at her and she jogs over to you as quickly as she could in that pink, wool poncho and those tan, fluffy boots. “Hey, Youngji, right?” 

“Yeah,” she says in between each pant of breath, “that’s me.” 

Her hands immediately find refuge on her knees whilst she bends over to catch her breath. Typically, you’re the very self-aware type, but there isn’t anything you could do to stop yourself from staring. The girl strikes you as… flamboyant. With her dark red pigtails, bright smile, and dainty attire, she’s everything you’ve always imagined a female version of Jin would be like. It’s hard not to wonder… maybe an arranged marriage really can be a match made in heaven, but you force yourself out of that rabbit hole before having another breakdown in front of an innocent stranger. 

The tang of jealousy, however, refuses to budge. 

“Sorry, for,” she pants, holding her hand up to show you her phone screen, “calling out to you like that.”

“No, it’s fine,” you squint at the sight of the screen displaying a candid photo of you, taken on this very street on that very day, as you stuffed one of his breads in your mouth. Drawn on your face is a mustache and a unibrow. “Did Jin do—”

“—Jin gave me a terrible reference photo.” 

Scoffing, you cross your arms, “damn it, Jin.”

Youngji crackles into a firework of uncontrollable laughter, rendering you stupefied. After a literal minute passes by, she finally manages to speak in between the bursts of giggles that follow, “you two—” giggle “—really are—” giggle “—close, huh?” And as a grand finale, she slaps her stomach with a loud sigh of relief that her laughs have come to an end. When she notices you staring at her bewilderedly, a light bulb flashes through her as she gasps and feigns a whimper, “o-oh! Ow! M-my baby!”

“You know you don’t have to pretend, right?” you can only let out a laugh of disbelief because you still can’t take in the mirror image your best friend. “Jin already told me about the fake pregnancy.” 

“Oh, in that case,” she smiles widely before giving her stomach one more big, satisfying slap, “see, you guys really are so close!” 

“I… I guess. I’m not sure if taking me out for one day after five years of radio silence really counts as close, though,” you then quickly add in with raised hands, “he only did so out of obligation, though! I swear it was nothing more!”

“Hmmm?” she hums, leaning in a curious ear with a cheshire-like smile. “Is it because of those promises he made?”

“...yeah, wait, he told you about those?” 

Of course he did, idiot, they’re engaged. 

“Well, something like that,” she shrugs, “so how much did he tell you?”

“About?” 

“About the wedding, silly!” 

“Uh, nothing much really. The pregnancy was a false rumor, the marriage was arranged by his father…”

“Father?” she inquires, watching you closely with those big, round eyeballs of hers. 

“Yes?” you hesitantly nod. “Father?” 

“Ah,” she nods, as if she finally catches drift of something, “I see.” 

“Oh yeah,” you add, “I also found out it’s on my birthday.”

“What?!” her eyes grow wider, if they even possibly can. “Jin never told me that! What the heck, man? A wedding? On his best friend’s birthday?!” 

“Yeah, yeah, I know right?” you nod passively before coming to an abrupt stop. “Wait, what? Why does it matter to you?”

“Of course it matters to me! You’re Jin’s best friend, aren’t you? You have no idea how much he talks about you back home. I know you so well that sometimes I feel like you might be my best friend,” she chimes before reaching out to cup your hands in hers. “Let’s celebrate properly with Jin after the wedding, okay?” 

“Um, sure…”

But you don’t exactly plan on unnecessarily sticking around his life for any longer than the wedding… except, seeing how close she must be with Jin in addition to her loose-lip impression, you decide not to tell her that. 

“So,” she drops her hands to the side, “what did you need to tell me?” 

Why did you call her to meet you here again? After witnessing her flamboyant entrance, it’s hard for you to keep yourself from derailing. 

“Oh, um,” you scratch the back of your head awkwardly, “I just wanted to meet my best friend’s fiance, that’s all.”

“Ahhh, I see.”

The woman pauses, nodding at you intently almost as if waiting for the real intentions to be revealed. Damn it, either you’re a literal open book or she reincarnated from the same soul as Jin’s. 

“So…” you purse your lips. “Are you okay with it? The arranged marriage, I mean?” 

“Well,” she shrugs, finally dropping the smile from her lips. “At first I hated the thought of it. I felt like I didn’t really have a choice, but… when I met Jin—” a smile is hinted in the corner of her lips and in the sparkle of her eyes “—I thought ‘I’m pretty lucky girl, aren’t I?’ I think the world must have finally taken pity on me.”

A soft, stifled laugh slips from you as your eyes fall to the ground and a bittersweet smile accompanies your lips, “yeah, you’re pretty lucky.” 

“Don’t get me wrong though,” your eyes immediately shoot up to find her raising defensive hands, “it wasn’t some sort of a love at first sight. He’s handsome, sure, but—”

“—a marriage is a lifelong commitment—”

“—exactly,” she sighs, “I didn’t really know him, but when I was forced to spend time with him… I thought if I had to get married, then he would be the best option. He’s not a bad guy.” 

“No,” you smile in your reverie, shaking your head, “he's not a bad guy at all; and when you really get to know him, his stupid dorky self, I think it’s impossible not to fall for him.” 

“Yeah?” 

“He’s mean when he jokes around but he’s actually very kind, he’s sensitive when you poke him where it hurts but he hides it deceptively well, he’ll apologize for being wrong when the both of you clearly know you’re in the wrong, he’ll cook and wear the hottest pink clothes he can find because ‘to hell with societal norms,’ he’ll tell you the dumbest dad jokes but I promise you’ll get used to them eventually, ” you let out a reminiscent laugh that comes out more like a sigh, “and, sometimes, very rarely, he’ll hurt you unintentionally, of course, but he’ll always go out of his way to make it up because that’s just… that’s Jin. That’s my best friend.” 

A breeze passes by to perfectly mark the end of your cadence. Branches rustle above you and freshly budded cherry blossom petals flutter their way toward the grass underneath the two of you only to be risen once again by a following zephyr. Having been there throughout his and your lives, it’s almost as if the long-standing tree is agreeing to attest to your words. 

“Wow,” Youngji finally says after witnessing your truthful albeit embarrassing spoken love letter, “I… I wouldn’t doubt any of it… but why are you telling me? Shouldn’t you be telling Jin?” 

“I’m telling you, because,” you emphasize, “because I'm jealous of your position but I can't do anything about it so I want you to take good care of Jin. I just… I need to know he’ll be in good hands. I want him to be loved like the way that he loves. You’ll do that, won’t you?”

Youngji just nods. It’s the most somber response you’ve ever seen from her. Almost like the joining of hands in marriage has finally become reality. 

“Do you…” you struggle to squeeze out of the knot in your throat, “do you love him…?” 

“Y/N—” she begins but suddenly lets go of whatever she must have had planned “—yes, yes I do.” 

“And… you’ll take care of him?” 

Youngji bobs her head lightly, “yes, I will.”

“Promise?” 

“...promise.”

“Okay, then I’m entrusting him to you, and,” you smile, leaning forward to shake her hands before heaving one last sigh, “and this time, please keep the promise.” 

❀ ❀ ❀

A curse sinks into the thickness of the sapphire dusk that quickly descends upon the hushed city. Keys tinkle to decorate the silence of tonight’s resting wind, a silence that would have been accompanied by an equally passive woman and an oblivious man whose hands persist to fumble to his guest’s dismay. 

Standing before a small willow, vintage-looking store tucked away in the corner of downtown, an inaudible breath ascends a cloud of white that momentarily shrouds the grand interior peeking from spotless windows that line the exterior. Golden warm studio lights illuminate the gorgeously exquisite ivory gowns from the trailing trains up to its waterfalls of dainty veils. Velvet suits and satin neckties accompany each headless mannequin, welcoming each passerby to imagine themselves in their wildest fairytales… your hand in his and his in yours as a fleeting moment becomes a sealed promise of a lifelong loyalty. 

Breath completely taken away, you, yourself, almost fall prey to your own far-fetched dreams. 

“I thought I said we shouldn’t meet up anymore,” your forced mutters drag you from your short-lived reveries, “why did you bring me here?”

“You said we shouldn’t meet up anymore, yet here you are,” Jin chirps before cheering to himself under his breath once the key finally clicks into place, “yes! Old man must have purposely given me these rusty old keys.”

Crossing your arms, you retort, “I came because you said your close friend from home would be here, too.”

Turning around to face you with his back to the door and a hand on the golden knob, he raises a quizzical brow, “and… are you not my close friend from home?” 

“I thought you meant the other—”

“—this is my home, Y/N,” he says firmly, looking straight at you, “and I want my best friend to see me in my wedding suit before anyone else.” 

“But why me…?”

“Because I only care about your opinion.”

He answered without hesitation, but in your head you figure he must have forgotten about Youngji, the true spotlight of the show.

Gritting your teeth, a staredown begins between the two of you; but the longer you face those unequivocal looks of determination in his eyes, the hotter your cheeks become in the middle of a contrastingly chilly night.  

“Alright, fine.” 

“Thanks,” he gives you a small, lopsided smile before pushing the door open with his back and ushering you in with a slight bow, “ladies first.”

Your eyes roll but not for very long when you step foot into the store and your mouth falls agape. The ceiling is much higher than you had perceived from outside, the sides are lined with grand, wooden staircases that lead to a second floor where hundreds upon hundreds of white dresses and black suits find purchase along the hangers, and the click of your heels against the marble tiles of the entrance floor echo into the extravagant expanse. 

The wooden insulation of the store proves infallible when the door closes behind Jin and the shrewd air leaves you to a much more bearable surrounding. Standing affixed to the entrance, you watch as Jin strides toward the carpeted floor where a taupe curtain hanging from the ceiling drapes over a raised platform sits across its partner platform in the opposite of the room. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so enraptured by something aside from me,” Jin chuckles as he begins stripping the suit off of a black, velvety mannequin before pointing at the mannequin standing beside the opposite platform, “oh, why don’t you try on some dresses while I’m at it?” 

“What?” you scoff, finally taking a step onto the carpet. “First off, I never stared at you like that before. Second, why the hell would I do that? It’s your wedding, not mine.” 

“I asked the store owner for permission and picked a dress for you to try on,” he continues, finally stopping in the midst of unbuttoning his white, collared shirt when he looks up to find the fear in your eyes. “Hey, haven’t you always wanted to try one of these?”

“Yeah,” you laugh in disbelief because he actually listened to your past rambles, “but never under these circumstances.”

“C’mon, you never know if you’ll ever have a chance like this again,” he gestures once more when he notices the start of your contemplation, “c’mon, go on!”

You really don’t want to. It’s that nagging feeling of something going completely wrong tonight if you were to succumb and let yourself go. After all, your worst fear is yourself. It doesn’t feel right and you begin to wonder if it’s alright for you to hold onto this moment you’ve always dreamed about: dolling up and swearing your vows side by side with Jin. 

If you were to live out your fairytale, just for tonight, would you finally be able to sleep dreamlessly at night? 

“...fine,” you groan and storm across the room, tossing your purse into the ruby sofas and stepping onto the platform. Turning around to face a gleeful Jin, you’re about to scowl at him until your eyes flicker between the cheeky grin on that youthful face and those sculpted abdomen of his elevated by the lighting above. Cheeks flushing red, you gulp at the unseen sight before clutching the curtain in your hands and swinging it closed with a mumble, “and at least have some decency and use the curtains, God damn it…”

The freezing touch of your hands doesn't hold a candle to the heat of your face. Trying to calm your racing heart, you curse to yourself at the way he merely cackles at you and, even worse, the way your heart intensifies in response. 

“Yes, ma’am!” 

“...shut up,” you say more to yourself and your deafening heart.

The gown standing before you, however, is no help to your case either, for when you glance over the dress, the long train that could awe an entire room, the complimenting silhouette that doesn’t scream too over-the-top but enough to fulfill the little girl within you, and the classic lace sleeves that you’ve gushed over whilst skimming through magazines, you realize Jin had always been attentive even when he was stuffing his face with bread or even when he was being petty over an argument and you tried to rectify with incessant small talk. 

It’s at this moment that you acknowledge the rabbit hole you had just willingly fallen into and the impossibility of its towering escape.

“So,” Jin calls out to you as the sound of rustling clothes fill the silent air, “what do you want for your birthday tomorrow?”

“My birthday? Oh, right,” you slam palm to your forehead, having dwelled over the marriage and consequently forgetting your own birthday. “Uh, nothing really. I haven’t really thought about it this year.” 

“Really? You? Y/N? Not planning her own birthday?” he gasps. “Who are you and what did you do to Y/N?”

“Oh, shut up. With age comes other problems to deal with...”

...problems like you.

“C’mon,” he chuckles. “You have to have something. You can’t tell me you’ve gotten every single thing checked off of that old ‘birthday gift ideas’ list you gave me.”

“I mean… I wouldn’t say I’m very far from it and it’s not like you were actually going to give me everything I asked for. Say, what did I even have on that list?” your eyes wander to the towering curtains that envelop you as your hands reach behind to the buttons on your back. “A bowl of your tofu soup, some pocket money, a matching sweater, a pair of earrings, a necklace, and a… ring.” The word slips from your lips and it floats in the stagnant air before you can even do anything about it. His silence rings in your ears, so you quickly add in, “but I don’t want materialistic stuff like that anymore.” 

“...oh, really?” 

“Nope,” you heave a heavy sigh and pat the poofy material of the skirt down, “I think I’ve come to realize that… I just want to be loved. I don’t need a dress or a necklace or a ring…  you wouldn’t understand, but I don’t just want to hear those words. I want to feel them. I want to be loved.” 

But only by him.

A lingering silence drifts long enough for you to start panicking until, finally, he answers, “no, I understand.” 

“...well,” you quickly chirp as you fumble with the lacey material of your dress, “enough about me, what do you want for your big day, hm?”

“Why would I need a present from you?” he remarks. You can hear him finishing his final touches and you can barely stop your heart from leaping out of your chest. “You’ve given me enough already.”

“You mean I’ve given you enough earfuls and tears,” you retort, clutching onto the curtains as you shut your eyes to muster every courage within you. “Isn’t there anything I can give you? Anything you want?”

Counting down to yourself, the curtains and drawn open in one, swift swing; and when your eyelids flutter open, you find him standing on the platform across from you, dressed in a classic black and white suit with the curtains clutched in his hands like a mirror image of you. He glances over you from head to toe, as you do to him, until the both of you settle in each other’s gazes for what seems like an eternity, willingly lost and ever-so-enraptured.

You almost forget this isn’t actually your wedding.

“This,” he answers with a soft smile, “this is enough.”  

“...stop it.”

JIn frowns, “stop what?”

“Stop… looking at me like that,” you articulate, hands covering your bashful grin. “It’s making me feel self-conscious.” 

“Hey, it’s not my fault I have such a good eye at picking clothes for you!” he says whilst pointing an accusatory finger. “I guess 22 year old Jin had a pretty good sense of fashion after all.” 

“You picked this five years ago…?” 

The man shrugs but his high chin says otherwise regarding his humility, “I told you Kim Seokjin is a prepared man of his word.” Eyes peering across to wink at you, he continues a bit more seriously, “I might not be able to fulfill all of our promises, but this is the closest I can to it.” 

“Jin… you’re…” you laugh in disbelief, bashfully avoiding his intent gaze, “...you’re so incredibly stupid that I can feel it from all the way here.” 

“Oh, yeah?” he grins mischievously and takes a step toward you and off the platform. “How about now?”

“Stop it, don’t spread your stupidity to me.”

He spreads his arms out wide whilst taking another few steps forward, “why not? Aren’t we supposed to be together through thick and thin?”

“No, not really,” you adamantly shake your head amidst a hysterical fit of giggles, “don’t come any closer.” 

“Oh, no,” he feigns worry. Another footstep. “I can’t stop myself.” He approaches even closer. “The stupidity is spreading!” 

With him just a footstep away, you cower behind the shield of your hands, “stop it, stop looking at me like that—”

—and just as you squeal, his arms wrap around you to pull you into a tight embrace.

Like two lost puzzle pieces, his hands fit perfectly in the small of your back and his chin rests comfortably in the crook of your neck. His hair grazes against your burning cheeks. His scent envelops you into a rosy haze. He could probably feel the beat of your chest against his, but you wouldn’t know when you’re preoccupied by the thuds of his own. You had never been aware of the lonesome emptiness you’ve felt all these years until now, under the warmth of his touch that completes your other half. 

You almost forget to breathe until he takes a deep breath and lets out a slow, dreary sigh. 

“You are so beautiful.” 

Under any other circumstances, you would have smacked him for lying. Perhaps it’s the stir of the starry skies or the impending occasion or even the look he made on his way to you with a gaze that oozed with absolute adoration, but something tells you he’s being his genuine self tonight… and that’s what you fear the most. 

“You shouldn’t be saying that, Jin,” you say, stroking his head buried in your shoulder, “and you shouldn’t be looking at any women but Youngji with those eyes.” 

Whether he’s quietly reflecting or stubbornly disagreeing, Jin remains silent. His breath entangles with yours, syncing with the wavelengths that you two have been running for an ongoing seven years and, perhaps, beyond. 

He frustrates you to your wits’ end. There’s nothing he hasn’t made you question. At times, when you’re tossing and turning in bed and hoping for a way out of that cavern of a mind, you wish time could skip to a year in which the voices no longer haunt you at night; and yet, when you’re here buried in his arms, you would do anything to freeze and relish this fragment in time. 

It isn’t right. You two aren’t right and you know it isn’t right… but how do you deny yourself of the cure to those deep scars when he, himself, wishes to be downed? 

It takes everything in you to finally drop your hands from his locks to his shoulder. Just as you’re about to deny the tempting elixir, Jin lifts his head along with his gaze that now meets yours, “Y/N, I have something I need to tell you.”

“...y-yeah?” 

The windows to his soul twinkle underneath the dim chandeliers above. Those starry dark brown eyes simply take your breath away.

“My dad,” his voice quivers like the water that wells in his eyes; and when you know he’s about to bawl, you pat his head ever-so-endearingly. Gulping, he finds the courage to continue, “he’s sick.” 

“Oh... oh, Jin,” you murmur, quickly wiping the few tears that drop onto his flush cheeks before bringing him into another tight embrace. “I’m sorry.” 

“I only moved—” and that’s what cracks his buoyant front into a full on bawl  “—I only moved to take care of him!”

“I understand.” 

He shakes his head, “I didn’t want to abandon you!” 

“No, Jin, I know,” your voice is buried underneath his whimpers, “I’m sorry for saying that. I didn’t know. I’m sorry.” 

“I didn’t know things would turn out like this!” he cries, holding you even closer. “I didn’t know!” 

“It’s okay, Jin. Really, it’s okay. It’ll be okay.” 

“No, it won’t be okay,” his voice hitches in the midst of his hiccups, “my father is dying and now I’m walking down the aisle with a woman I don’t even love!” 

Your strokes come to a temporary stop because how could fate be so twisted? Who is it to decide whose time shall begin and whose time is up? You have to hold your breath along with the waterworks that sour your eyes. You can’t cry now. He needs your stability.

He needs you. 

“Did you…” you take a shaky breath, leaning back to watch him cover the messy state of his face, “did you tell your dad?”

“I-I couldn’t,” he stutters, voice muffled by his voice, “you know how long he’s been waiting for this.”

I know,” you ponder for a second before hesitating to continue, “...why didn’t you consider me?” 

“I—” his hiccup interrupts him as he roughly smears his tear-stained cheeks with his palms “—I thought you hated me. I didn’t think you would agree. I thought our promises were just a joke. But when you confessed that night, when you said you would fight for us—” his voice cracks again as he laughs at himself, eyes to the ground “—I thought damn, fuck, how did I mess up so hard? I should have fought for us. I’m so stupid—”

“—no you’re not—”

“—so fucking stupid!” 

His self-reprimanding curse echoes in the room. Each of his demeaning scorns inciting a fiery justice in you. 

“No,” you state, “you’re not stupid.” 

Without the dignity to face you, his hands clenched into fist and he continues with bangs shrouding his sorrowful eyes, “I’m sorry, Y/N. I hurt you—”

“—no, Jin, you did not—”

“—I messed us up—”

“—no, Jin, look at me, hey, look at me,” you place a finger under his chin to lift his spirits until those bloodshot eyes of his find refuge in yours. Smiling, you speak, “see? I’m okay. So what are you apologizing for?”  

“Aren’t you… mad?” 

“Mad? No, silly,” you laugh, wiping another tear. “Sad? Maybe.”

“See—”

“—sad because I wasn’t there by your side when you needed me… and maybe a bit sad that I won’t be the one holding you like this tomorrow,” you apologize with a soft smile over the latter jab that incites a wince from the boy. “Why didn’t you tell me about your father?” 

“I didn’t think it was that serious,” he hiccups, “and when I found out, I tried to call you but it didn’t go through.”

“Shit,” you curse under your breath, “I’m sorry.” 

“No,” he takes a deep breath to calm his high, “it’s not your fault.”

“And it’s not yours either,” you affirm, breaking out into a laugh when you take another look at his reddened eyes and dampened cheeks. “Look at you! Why are you looking like a mess on our wedding day, huh?! At least let us be ignorantly happy for one day!” 

“What…?” he frowns whilst hastily smearing every last evidence of his breakdown on his face. The result is an equally red, irritated skin across his cheeks. “What’re you talking about? Kim Seokjin never looks like a mess… hey, what’re you laughing at?!” 

“Look at your tie, idiot! What kind of a rich son are you if you can’t even tie it correctly? Come over here,” you say just as you grab the end of his necktie to pull him up onto the platform. With his necktie now at your eye-level, you begin to unravel whatever knot he had attempted. All the while, you can feel his gaze as he watches you do your thing, completely enamored. This time, it’s your turn to turn red. To distract yourself from the rising self-consciousness, you clear your throat, “call me whenever you’re going through a hard time, okay? I’ll give you my new number…”

The piece of fabric flails around into equally atrocious knots that Jin had previously created until you groan in frustration and disassemble everything. You had practiced this so many times while he was gone, foolishly believing it would come in handy the day he returned, but why does nothing ever work out the way you want it to? 

“I swear it worked last time I tried…”

Your best friend just watches silently, chuckling as you wrap the fabric around your own neck this time; and when he speaks, much steadier like the Jin you have always known, he looks you directly in the eye. “Youngji told me about your guys’ conversation.”

“Huh?” you pause as soon as your embarrassing declaration of love begins reciting itself in your head, but not even the resumed work of your hands could distract you from the ever-growing shade of red. “O-oh, that… what about it?” 

“I heard what you said about me.” 

“Yeah?” you hum nonchalantly, even though the trembling of your hands and the avoidance of your eyes from his give you away. “Well, did she tell you about all the complaints I made, too? About you being a stupid dork?”

“She did,” he utters before placing a finger below your chin to avert your attention to those dazzling works you desperately avoided, “but would you still be willing to marry this stupid dork?”  

“This isn’t even a real wedding,” you feign a frown under the spotlight of his intent gaze, “why are you asking me a question like that?”

“Sorry, I didn’t have the funds to hire a real priest.” 

“You don’t need to for a fake wedding.”

“I thought you said we should be ‘ignorantly happy for one day?’” 

The bantering just never stops, does it?

“Okay, well… to answer your question,” you mutter, eyes averting to the side, “under normal circumstances…”

“Under normal circumstances…” he repeats.

“Where you aren’t engaged…”

“Where I’m not engaged…”

“And your father approved of me…”

“And my father approved of you…”

“Then yes,” you say without hesitation, eyes returning to find a newfound comfort in his relieved gaze, “yes, I would marry you.” 

“And that’s why I love you,” Jin smiles, chuckling softly. “I’ll always want to marry you.”  

And just as a nearby clock tower strikes its church bells to signal the stroke of midnight, Jin grabs the end of your necktie and pulls you in to press his lips onto yours. The body of his warmth and the acceptance of an inevitable end to your paths serve as the last page of a book never to be read again; and yet, he holds himself close, refusing to let you go. 

But when the end nears and the magic of the bells resume time once again, the two of you pull away to catch your breaths. Forehead against yours, Jin gives you one last, fleeting kiss. 

“Happy birthday, Y/N.”

❀ ❀ ❀

Deja vu would be the perfect term to describe this feeling.  You can almost see yourself in the room of hundreds, stealing glances at the man from afar. It only takes one blink for you to relive the rollercoaster of jubilance and confessions and tears. In the split second of darkness, the past week flickers before you like a film reel: breaking down in the middle of the hallway right in front of Jin, staring bewilderedly at the large bouquet in the hand of a man at the office, confessing with tears that stain your face and sobs that conquer your voice, meeting the woman who had stolen your spot beside Jin, and holding him in your arms as he cries his heart out at the stroke of midnight. 

And just as quickly as the whirlwind of memories had taken you on a trek of time, your eyes flutter open to find yourself in another suffocating room of hundreds once again. 

Youngji [8:39 P.M.] Hey Y/N do you think you can visit me real quick? 

The glaring text on your phone screen glows in an otherwise dimly lit reception room. Thumb hovering over the screen, your mind goes blank. People pass by you, commotions and laughter fill every corner of the room, and you stand there frozen and affixed to the floor beside the table of food with a glass of red wine in your hands. 

“Hey, Y/N,” someone whispers into your ear and you immediately turn your phone off only to find Alex on her tiptoes, “what’s the matter?”

“Oh, um, nothing,” you respond under your breath, “it’s just that someone wants to talk to me.” 

“Well, you better hurry then,” she ushers you with a gripping hand on your left arm, “the ceremony is about to start anytime now.” 

“O-oh, okay,” you nod, allowing your footsteps to follow the momentum of her push. 

This isn’t exactly what you had planned, for the original plan involved your complete avoidance of the groom and bride, but it’s unsurprising that things never quite go your way. Nothing could quite topple you like last night’s revelation anyways. Taking a deep breath, you weave through the audience, wandering about the venue until you finally find yourself in front of a door with a “BRIDE WAITING ROOM” printed in gigantic black letters taped to it. 

Hesitantly, you knock, “hello? This is Y/N…? Youngji called for me—”

“—Y/N!” The wooden door swings wide open with a highly distressed Youngji hiding behind it. Before you can reply or even confirm the identity of the woman, her hands clutch yours and pull you into the room with a force unimaginable for a human of her size.  Practically lurching forward, a heap of air is knocked from your lungs just as the door slams closed. Coughs force their way through your throat, but Youngji wastes no time to rush to your side. “Y/N, this is an emergency! I need help!” 

“W—” you wheeze, peering up at her as you’re doubled over “—what in the world are you talking about?” 

“I don’t know,” her hands jitter as she paces back and forth, “I don’t know why I feel so… so nervous!”

“Hold on,” you frown, finally straightening your back, “that’s perfectly normal. It’s your wedding—”

“—please don’t say that word again,” she begins biting her freshly white-coated nails.

“What word? Normal? Wedding? Your—”

“—I can’t believe it’s my wedding…” she says repeatedly, hands flying to her head and disheveling her previously perfectly conditioned curls. She suddenly turns to face you, eyes wider than ever with a look that screams of an epiphany. “I-I don’t think I can go there. Y/N, I don’t think I can go out there!”

“What?!” you almost yell, flabbergasted. Recoiling from your outburst, you start much more softly this time. “Are you sure? I’m sure it’s just your nerves getting to you. You’ve been okay with it for at least a year, right?”

“Why?” her eyes widen to unprecedented diameters as she grabs your arm for support. “Is it because it’s too late? Do you think I should back out, Y/N?”

“What? No, no, no, calm down, follow me,” you shake your head, grasping her hand and guiding her to the chair in the center of the room where an entire photo shoot has been set up. Lowering yourself to a squat, you give her a squeeze as firm as the smile on your lips.  “Hey, you’ll be okay. It’s just the jitters. Everyone gets them. I’m sure Jin is freaking out in his room, too.”

“...okay,” she nods, pouting as her eyes lower to your hands that hold hers. Peering up at her from below, you can’t help but notice how beautiful she looks dolled up on this special occasion. From the extravagant poof of her princess gown to the gorgeous glow of the bride herself, you find yourself lost in a trance that burns with heart-panging jealousy. You almost miss her when she murmurs, “how are you so calm, Y/N?”

“Huh?” you raise a brow and laugh. “Why would I be nervous? I’m not the one getting married here.”  

“But… your best friend is getting married,” she shifts to get a clearer look of you but finds you with your eyes to the floor, “are you sure you’re okay with that?”

“Of… of course. I’m happy for him,” you say through barely parted lips and stand to your feet before making your way to the door. “It’s not exactly traditional, but do you want me to get Jin? Maybe he can calm you down—”

“—do you know why Jin agreed to this arrangement?” 

Freezing in your tracks, you throw a glance over your shoulder to meet her distraught gaze. 

“Why are you asking me that now?”

“Because,” she blurts, clearly without thinking as words fail to follow through, “because I want your blessing! I want you to be okay with it!” 

“Blessing...?” 

“Yes,” she nods. “I can live with marrying a man I don’t love because I know I’ll come around, but I don’t think I can live knowing I’ve broken your relationship with Jin.”

Your weight shifts from your left to your right but the force of burden weighs immeasurably heavier on your very being. There’s nothing that would have prepared you for her request. Preparation, however, proves unnecessary, for your mind runs on its own and the words come to you as if rehearsal is all it's ever done. 

“I don’t think I’m in the position to grant you permission. That’s your decision and Jin’s,” you say, “and if my blessing is what you’re asking for, then I can give you it as many times as it takes to convince you. But if you’re asking for me to be okay with it, then I’m sorry. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to give you that.” 

Those are your last parting words as you slump on the wall behind you and a heavy sigh is shared between the two women on opposite sides of the door. Head low like a woman unjustly ashamed for speaking her truth, you take a deep breath with those heavy shoulders that carry the weight of a woman who had essentially cursed the joining of two hands. Nevertheless, somehow, you persist to make your way through the halls just as the ceremony begins; but as the audience settles and the light dims, something tells you the guilt that intoxicates your blood would have a longer-lasting aftermath than you had first expected. 

“Hey,” Alex leans into you, whispering, “is it just me or does Jin seem really jittery?”

“...no,” you answer, making sure to keep yourself hushed amidst a room of seated spectators. From the second bench to the front, fortunately on the opposite side of where Jin’s parents sit in the front row, you get a clear view of Jin and Youngji in between the black silhouettes of a couple heads; but anyone in the room can tell the bright studio lights and elevated platform don’t help his constantly shuffling case. “I don’t think it’s just you.”

“I see… so both the groom and bride are getting cold feet, huh?” 

“Well,” you utter, quipping, “in Jin’s case, he’d probably just say he forgot to sleep with socks on.” 

Alex turns to you with sheer confusion across her furrowed brows, “huh?” 

But before Alex could inquire further, the priest clears his throat and begins the opening ceremony. The officiality of it all, a long-dreaded image of Jin standing by another woman’s side manifesting into reality, has you subconsciously sent into a frenzy. 

“Dear Beloved, we are gathered here today in the presence of these witnesses, to join Kim Seokjin and Heo Youngji in matrimony commended to be honorable among all…”

The clearing of his throat strikes once and hard against your chest. Each word that reverberates in the room echoes the vibrating pain in the blood pumped from a gaping wound. Your chest heaves and heaves and your lungs struggle to maintain composure, and while your breakdown may have gone unseen by the rest of the universe, you know for sure only two would catch sight of your state.

You and him. 

“...if there is any person who can show cause why they should not be joined together…”

The priest continues and the tension in the audience rises by the second of a stress-inducing prompt, but the moment Jin catches your eyes and the panic painted across it, his every attention remains on you. Guilt should’ve painted your expression now, having stolen the groom’s admiration from the rightful bride by his side, but all you can do is relish in a fleeting moment you deem the least this cruel world owed you. 

Maybe he feels the same way, because something catches in your throat like the hunch that has chills running down the nape of your neck. You don’t dare move an inch. You fear any movement would give you away, though you’re sure he already knew the second he met you halfway.

His eyes, those dazzling eyes that could single-handedly freeze any moment in time, they ask you for a permission only he could grant. 

“...let them speak now or forever hold their peace.” 

No one speaks but the thick air that engulfs every witness in the room is telling enough. Holding a shared, bated breath, everyone awaits and prays for the quick passing of this deafening silence. Your heart is pounding so hard you worry your passing out would be the one interruption to the ceremony, if not anything else. It takes everything in you to remain hidden, glued to the chair. You can hear every single movement in this room, the squeaking of a nearly retired bench, the rustling of clothes amidst a fidgeting audience, the anxious tapping of someone’s heels against the wooden floor, yet no one dares to speak now. 

The priest sighs a soft breath of relief. 

Everyone but you follows along. 

The priest clears his throat and pro—

“—I would like to speak.”

A loud gasp travels across the room. Every witness, including the priest himself, stares at the young man, wide-eyed. The knot in your throat inhibits you from following suit, but the hammer against your chest works harder than ever; because there he is, your best friend, standing boldly before the audience with a puffed chest and a tightened fist that brace for the repercussions. 

It all happens so suddenly, so swiftly. The strings that were left raveled now unraveled, the paths that were abandoned now explored, and the love of a lifetime whomst once bid you farewell now holds on with a determination that tells you they aren’t quite ready to let go, by happenstance or by conviction, everything falls into place. 

You had reprimanded yourself relentlessly for envisioning a moment like this and you truly believed this would be the worst case scenario, so why is it that only now, as your peering eyes are enamored by the sparkles in his, you find yourself smiling proudly and thinking to yourself… that’s your man. 

“Father, mother,” Jin turns to face his parents in the front row, declaring loudly and firmly, “I don’t want to marry someone I don’t love.” 

“What,” Alex shrills under her breath as she clutches your hands, “what is going on, Y/N?!”

Her voice doesn’t reach you and neither do her cold, nudging hands. The ongoing commotion around the room are like white noise in your background. You can’t even spare a second of your attention to the picturesque vision before you, the man who fights not for you but for the two of you.

Jin bows, head hanging low to his parents and the audience, “I’m sorry for saying this too late.” 

Everybody watches as his mother attempts to hold her husband in place. All is in vein, however, when one look of the baffled expression on her husband’s face conveys enough to everyone of the mayhem that is soon to ensue. He rips her grip apart from his arm and storms to his feet, pointing a finger at his apologetic son.

“W—” he struggles to find his breath “—what are you saying? You said you were okay with this just last week!”

“I did,” Jin affirms with his head still hanging low, “I thought I was okay with it until this week.” 

“How—”

“—honey…” the mother murmurs.

“No, changing your mind is one thing, but changing it at the very last second is another,” his father shakes his head, yanking his hand and stumbling on his feet before his distraught son could lend a helping hand. “Did I teach you to inconvenience others like this? Do you know how much trouble you’re causing Youngji and her family?”

“I do,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

His father grunts, “don’t you see, Seokjin? ‘Sorry’ can’t fix everything—”

“—actually, Mr. Kim, it’s not just Jin,” Youngji bounces to Jin’s side then pivots to bow to her parents who sit in the row before you, “I, too, don’t want to marry anyone until I really know them.” 

Physically, the spotlight remains affixed to the stage. Mentally, it feels as though everyone’s attention is gradually creeping its way toward you. It takes everything in you and the grip of Alex’s hands not to run from the prying eyes. 

“What?” their parents gasp. “Didn’t you say you were okay with it if it were Jin?”

“I did!” she insists, suddenly retracting. “I did, until…”

“I’m sorry,” Jin lifts his head to turn to Youngji’s parents before bowing once again, “this is all my fault.”

“No, no, you wouldn’t do this... tell me, son,” his father takes a step toward the stage, beckoning for an explanation, “tell me who did this to you?” 

Jin lifts his head, brow furrowing and lips thinning as he chooses to remain silent to his father’s question. Suddenly, it’s everyone’s duty to catch the perpetrator. The audience begins craning their neck every which way to skim over the possible candidates. Your heart sends threatening waves of pain that foreshadow the inevitable chaos you’re about to be dragged into. 

You can barely move from staring at the floor in between the groom and bride but you can spot the gradual direction of his mother’s eyes making its way toward you… and when they finally spot you, a lightbulb flashing across her eyes the second you make the lethal mistake of meeting her gaze for the first time in many years, it’s as though her son’s rebellion is the only thing that makes sense in this universe. 

Only naturally, his father catches onto his partner’s maternal instincts along with the rest of the crowd as their diverged attention converges, one head turning after another, to stare you down—some with awe plastered across their jealous front, some with ghastly colors than drain their face of blood. 

“Is that… you, Y/N?” his father’s voice echoes in the room. “Seokjin, don’t tell me…”

“No, father!” Jin jumps in, holding up a defensive pair of hands as he attempts to quell the fiery in his father’s temper. Wide-eyed and panicked, he glances between you and his father. “It isn’t her fault. I swear. I”ll explain—”

“—don’t tell me you’re going through all this trouble for a childish crush from five years ago?” 

A loud shriek began the chaos the second Jin’s father exploded, lurching forward with a vexing fist. Everyone in the front rows jump to their feet to hold him back, whereas people in the back rows stand to their tiptoes to get a better view of the climactic show, which includes a once-to-be-groom insisting his father punishes him and a once-to-be-bride slapping her ex-partner in the head for his submission. 

People are hysterically laughing, crying, screaming, yelling, fighting, but you sit there, frozen and petrified, until a hand shakes your entire being to your feet. 

“Y/N, Y/N, God damn it Y/N, earth to Y/N!” Alex raises her hand, just about to give you one hard slap to the cheek when you suddenly flinch awake. She then hastily pushes you toward the door in the corner of the room whilst everyone is too distracted to notice your discreet escape. She looks you directly in the eye, “you need to run before things get too crazy. I’ll handle things here for now.” 

“But Alex, I’m at fault here—”

“—yes, I mean, maybe,” she corrects herself with the shake of her head, “but you being here doesn’t help matters. I’ll help Jin and Youngji.”

“But—”

“—now go,” she starts your momentum with an encouraging push, “go!”

Nodding, you begin your long trek of the night. You run and you run and you run. Your mind runs blank but your feet run a mind of its own. You sprint down the dimly lit streets, you pay no mind to the traffic lights of endlessly empty streets, and your hair twirls in the wind that impedes your speed down the hills. Your surroundings become a blur as your arms swing desperately, your chest heaves incessantly, your eyes sting with tears, and your lips spill anguished sounds of incoherency until somehow, under the sway of the town’s cold spring air and your flux of emotions, you find yourself in a familiar street of your greatest dreams. 

Depleted of gas, your feet stumble into a trot that has your knee nearly buckling, which then turns into a jog that then drifts into an untroubled walk in which your lungs try to catch up and your mind is scrambling at a hundred miles per hour but you, yourself, have gone elsewhere. 

The luminescence of the full moon is blinding but all the more soothing as you navigate your way through this street you’ve walked one too many times before. For some reason, perhaps out of habit or a hope for something waiting at the end of the tunnel, you begin to count each passing light post. Seven fluorescent lights, you count, seven lights resembling the rays of moonlight until you finally reach your old acquaintance of many years at the corner of the street. 

Leaning your head back to stare at the familiar white text on a green sign post, you smile at the homely sight. 

CHERRY BLOSSOM AVE

A comforting breeze blows by you, the branches above you rustle in the wind, and the cherry petals from your old pal flutter into the air to envelop you in a solace you had long sought but failed to obtain. It’s like the calm after a storm. Not quite disconnected from the string that loops around your fourth finger to those of another man’s—no, you couldn’t unravel it after all this heartache—but at least away from the prying eyes that could tear you apart and away from the people who whispered gossip of matters they had none in. 

Hours seem to pass in the clouds that retire to reveal patches of new twinkling ornaments. You would have believed it if someone were to tell you all control of time lies within the blink of your eyes. The silence was calming initially; but the longer you stand here and the more the numbness begins to fade, the more you become aware of your lonesome circumstances. 

The silence is deafening. It knows your greatest fears and your innermost thoughts. You can’t handle it. You can’t bear the thought of being left alone to that voice in your head. 

You have to go. 

Where? 

You don’t know. You just know you have to go somewhere. You can envision all the places you can run to but all the roads lead you to one destination. Yes, anywhere would be fine, anywhere that leads you to him. 

“This marks the second time you’ve ever been so enraptured by something other than me.” 

Whirling around, seconds seem to become milliseconds and gravity becomes a law unbeknownst to earth, for you can’t believe the sight your eyes lay upon. There he is, standing by the tree just a few meters away with a loosened necktie and disheveled hair, almost as if a pitiful albeit wondrous mirage crafted by your shoddy prayers to the moon above. 

“Hey dummy,” he simply utters, taking a step or two toward you before poking your forehead, “what? Why’re you staring at me like I’m a ghost?” 

“What?” you manage to say under your breath. “I’m not staring…”

“I was just joking, you know?” he chuckles. “I wouldn’t be jealous over a street post. Psh, I’m not that dumb—”

“—why…” you frown when he quirks a brow, “why are you here? How are you here?”

“Oh no, she’s gone crazy,” Jin laughs at the stupefied look you give him. “At least an hour or two has passed since you left. Somehow, I managed to sit my father down and explain myself.” 

“And… what did he say?” your hands begin fidgeting. “He must hate me, doesn’t he…”

“I wouldn’t say ‘hate,’ per se… he’s perfectly okay with you. In fact, he likes you, really. He’s just mad at how things happened. After he calmed down, though, he understood where I was coming from.” 

Cautiously, you peek at those eyes that peer down at yours, “and your mother…?”

“She said she saw it coming from a mile away. Apparently she saw us arguing at the engagement party and knew right away,” Jin purses his lips. “Psh, yeah, as if I’m that easy to read.” 

Allowing yourself the smallest of laughs, you still can’t seem to rid yourself of that panging guilt. “And… what about Youngji?” 

Jin stares intently at your expression before cracking a smile and chuckling, ruffling your hair, “don’t go crying on me now, Y/N. Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of everything.” 

“But I just,” your voice cracks, “I just hate myself for ruining everything for everyone—”

“—hey,” he cups his fingers underneath your chin to lift your gaze to his, “you did not ruin anything for anyone. I did this. I chose to fight for us.” 

Hesitantly, you nod and he smiles in response. 

“Youngji’s still explaining to her family right now. She told me to find you and Alex told me you would probably here.” 

Frowning, you mutter to yourself, “how did she know…?” 

“Well,” Jin drops his hand from your chin to raise them in the air, “we did promise to swear our wedding vows here, didn’t we?” 

“So what?” you deadpan. “You’re gonna marry me now after all this mess?” 

“I know you really want to marry me as soon as possible, but I think I’m gonna have to take a break from weddings for now.” 

Rolling your eyes, you mumble, “ditto.”

“But hey, I may have already broken the third promise,” one corner of his lips curve into an apologetic smile before he shrugs, “but that doesn’t mean I can’t marry you in the future! Plus, I may or may not have promised my father I would marry you in the near future to make up for it, so...” 

Scoffing, you gawk, “and who said I would marry you?” 

“Who wouldn’t marry me?!” 

The two of you stare at each other in silence, but the mirrored grin that stretches across your lips are undeniable. Soon enough, a loud fit of giggles and cackles fill the air. It happens all too quickly. The banters come to you like second nature, the conversation flows like a river through time, and somehow you find yourself lying beside him on the blazer he had laid out on the grassy hill and star-gazing for hours on end. 

It’s almost like you’ve seen this all before, just five years aged. 

“So,” Jin speaks, “how’s your birthday been?” 

“Oh, shut the hell up.” 

“What?” he cackles, getting up to lean on his arm whilst hovering you. “You know it’s not too late to tell me what you want for your birthday!” 

“I already told you,” you narrow your eyes at him, “I wasn’t joking when I said what I said.” 

Jin smiles, “in that case…”

He leans in to diminish the distance between his lips and yours. A lulling zephyr blows gently on the cherry petals as you close your eyes and you can picture the way they gracefully descend upon the two lovers below. Having witnessed the unforeseeable promises from start to finish, it’s almost as though an old accomplice was applauding a long-awaited finale. 

And when he finally pulls away, eyelids fluttering open just as yours do, he speaks, “happy birthday.” 

“What was that for?” you giggle. 

Jin’s mouth falls agape, “I’m giving you what you wanted for your birthday!”

“Well,” you purse your lips, “where’s my ring to confirm it then?”

“After all this time, do you really need a ring at this point to confirm my love for you?” Jin rolls his eyes. “You know I’ll always want to be by your side, married or not.” 

A fit of laughs escape you as your hand reaches up to squeeze his cheeks, “I know, I know. I’m just joking.”

“Well, good, cause I’m bankrupt at the moment,” Jin sighs, plopping back onto the grass beside you. A momentary silence passes before he turns his head to look at you, “just to make sure, you said you wanted love, right?” 

Turning to meet those sparkles in his gaze, you answer, “yeah?”

“You said you wanted to feel love, right?” 

Your grin grows wider by the second, “yeah?” 

“Well,” he says, “do you feel it?” 

“I do,” you answer. “What about you? Do you feel it?”

The vows hold a truth much closer to his heart this time around, and he smiles as he swears...

“I do, too.” 

[dindjarindiaries]

Resist

summary: You’re Steve’s cousin and you have a secret relationship with Javier—which you know will be much to Steve’s distaste. (requested by anon)

note: translations included at the bottom

pairing: javier peña x f!reader

warnings: swearing (obviously), a little bit of fluff, angst? idk how to describe it

rating: R

word count: 3.872k

masterlist

“Javi!” you exclaim between kisses and giggles, pushing your boyfriend closer and closer towards your apartment door. “I’m—serious! You have—to go—before Steve—gets—suspicious.” You leave a firm and final kiss on his lips before pulling yourself away completely, still finding yourself trapped in Javier’s arms.

“Pero no quiero dejarte,” Javier mumbles, trying to convince you by planting fervent kisses down your neck.

“You’re… always there… well before us.” You struggle to get the words out, having to intermittently swallow the breaths of pleasure that try to escape your throat.

“Puedo decir que me desperté tarde.” Javier pulls away but leaves his face just inches from yours, looking deep into your eyes with his alluring dark gaze.

Damn, he’s good at this.

“Usa tu inglés.” You earn a chuckle at that. “They can’t be suspicious, Javi—especially Steve. He’ll kill us.”

“He’ll kill me,” Javier corrects you, causing you to scoff at him. You swallow that sound right back when Javier pulls your body tight against his, smiling down at you. “But it would be worth it.” He leans down to kiss you once more before pulling away. “I’ll go just to make sure we can have more of a future.”

You smile up at him, momentarily losing yourself in his dark pools of affection. “Muchas gracias, mi amor. Te veré pronto. Te amo.” You run a hand over his cheek as you speak.

“Adios, amada. Te amo mucho.” Javier leaves a soft kiss on your forehead before he pulls away from you completely, opening your apartment door and closing it quietly. You secure it behind him, closing your eyes as you take a deep breath and let your smile persist.

You haven’t been this happy in so long—but there’s limitations. The thing is, the embassy would not be as happy to know you and one of your DEA partners are dating. And Steve, well… it was going to be hard to convince your closest cousin that you and Javier made a good couple.

You and Steve had grown up very close together, and he was the closest thing you had to a brother. It’s how you both ended up in the same career field. You trained together, confided in each other, and you even worked together—when Steve’s partner got killed. You and Connie were his main sources of strength during that time, and so, naturally, Steve asked you to come to Colombia with him when he was reassigned. You were hesitant at first, but you agreed, and you soon found yourself living right down the hall from him in a Colombian apartment building.

A building in which you soon discovered your other new partner lived: Javier Peña. As utterly handsome as you thought the man was, your first impression of him was… not extremely flattering. Steve had warned you about his tactics, and you could easily see how he operated like that. The man oozed sex appeal, from the tight shirts he wore to the excessive buttons he left open on his chest. Not that you had noticed or stared at those details perhaps a few moments longer than necessary. Still, it’s not like you were one to make judgments on his love life—or lack thereof. His gruff responses and know-it-all nature were enough to make you extremely wary of him.

Long story short, you got to know him much better—thanks to encouragement from Connie, who invited the two of you to many events to force you to actually interact with him—and you soon found yourself falling for more than just his physical appearance. You noted the way he deeply cared about not only his job, but the people, and how he always put everyone’s safety first. He became especially protective over you, beginning to stick closer by your side on any outside ventures and offering to accompany you whenever you had to go somewhere outside the embassy or your apartment.

It happened on a day when you hadn’t read the weather forecast. You’d needed to do some grocery shopping, and as you were leaving your building, Javier caught you and asked if you wanted a companion. You agreed, craving his presence at that point, and found yourself lost in conversation with him the entire trip. Soon after you’d finished your shopping, thunder had rumbled in the distance, and rain followed it quickly. With no jacket and no umbrella, you found yourself completely vulnerable to the harsh rainfall—but Javier wouldn’t accept that. He’d taken off his own jacket and given it to you, holding your bags for you so that you could hold the jacket over your head. By the time you’d gotten back to the apartment building, you were semi-dry, and Javier was soaked. You felt terrible, and you offered to have him over for some soup and coffee once he’d gotten himself dried off. Of course, he obliged.

That gesture alone had told you that Javier likely felt the same way about you that you felt about him, and so it wasn’t a surprise that after your dinner conversation had sidetracked greatly, you somehow came to the topic of what’d happened. The feelings came out—on both ends, surprisingly for you—and you found yourselves making out on your couch soon after. Javier had promised to wait for more as soon as you were ready and had also promised that as long as he had you, he was done rendezvousing with his informants. You’d also agreed that absolutely no one could know, especially Steve—who was still skeptical about Javier as far as his personal life went.

Now, it’s been months, and you’ve somehow kept your relationship successfully under wraps. Sleepovers are a regular thing for you both, typically at your apartment—since Javier’s was directly under Steve’s—and you try to get Javier out for work at the usual early time he shows up so no one suspects anything. If you arrive together, it’ll just be obvious that you’re operating on the same schedule. Also, Javier’s been teaching you more Spanish, so that you can speak to him around Steve and Connie and not have them pick up anything too obvious. Since Steve’s Spanish is shit, you find yourselves communicating easily without fear of him finding out what you’re saying. It’s all been working perfectly, but you know the secret can’t last forever.

Steve’s been acting a bit different around you two, now. You try to act as natural as you can when you go out with him, Connie, and Javier, but you can’t help wondering if he can sometimes see yours and Javier’s hands entwined underneath the tablecloths, or the two of you hiding in the dark corners of the bars to dance together. He’s been asking you a lot of questions about your life outside of work, more than usual, and you’re beginning to run out of excuses. You always tell each other everything, and so you also feel a pang of guilt for not telling him about a major part of your life. But you know it wouldn’t be good for anybody if he found out, so you continue keeping it to yourself.

You think of all of this as you exchange one of Javier’s shirts you’ve been wearing for an appropriate work outfit, humming one of Javier’s favorite songs under your breath as you get ready. You find yourself going faster than usual, already missing Javier’s presence. The room still smells of him, a scent you pick up especially when you finish making the bed. It’s a strong smell of his cologne mixed with a touch of smoke, and you find it intoxicating. You can’t help laughing a bit to yourself at the way you’re thinking and acting. You hadn’t imagined in a million years that you’d be head-over-heels for the man the day you met him.

You’re ready a few minutes earlier than usual, but nevertheless, you find Steve waiting for you when you walk out of your apartment. He jingles the keys in his hands, giving you a nod before you walk out of the building together. He always drives you over to the embassy, since it’s your chance to have some conversation before the workday begins. It’s just another one of the many reasons why you have to kick Javier out of your apartment so early every day.

Your drive begins in silence, but it’s soon broken by Steve as he does a double take over at you. “Hey, you dressin’ to impress today or what?” His question is accompanied by a scoff, and you look down at your outfit to see what he’s getting at. You curse mentally as you observe that, because he was all you could think about throughout your morning routine, you had subconsciously dressed to impress Javier. Your three-quarter-sleeve button-up’s one of your tighter-fitting selections, the first few buttons exposing just enough to leave any observant man satisfied at the sight. The dangling pendant necklace that Javier had gifted you doesn’t help to avert anyone’s gaze from the sight, either. Your pants also fit tightly, but that’s your typical style, so you don’t think too much of it. “And I don’t think I’ve seen that necklace before. Where’d ya’ get it?”

“I found it at a marketplace,” you inform him, bullshitting as best as you can. “And this is one of my only clean shirts right now. Maybe it’ll help us get someone to tell us something.”

Steve chuckles, shaking his head as he stares at the road. “No, I don’t want people to use you like that.” He looks over at you again. “Especially—.”

“I know, Steve, I know.” Your words come out in an exasperated sigh as you roll your eyes. “Don’t worry. I feel the same way.” It almost pains you to say the words.

“Well, hopefully he does, too, ‘cause he’s been looking awful suspicious to me lately.”

You try your hardest to keep your expression from changing at his words. “What do you mean?”

“Javi hasn’t gotten any information. Haven’t you picked up on that?”

You crease your brow, feigning confusion. “And?”

“And? Where does he usually get his information from?” Steve looks over at you upon hearing your silence, and all you can offer him is a shrug.

“Maybe he’s just… sick of being used and using people.”

Steve scoffs. “Javier? Being sick of gettin’ laid? Not a chance.”

You look over at him in a frustrated manner. “Then what do you think he’s up to, Steve?”

Steve shrugs, releasing a sigh as he stares at the streets ahead of him. “Honestly, I don’t have a goddamn clue. But… I’m afraid he might like you.”

You choke on air, trying your best to transform your panicked reaction into a surprised one. “Like me? Steve, you’re joking, right?”

“I’m serious. Connie thinks so, too.”

You chuckle, crossing your arms as you look out of the window. “I don’t think so.”

“Yeah? Why not?”

“This is Javier Peña we’re talking about. You think he could ever give into feelings like that, especially for a coworker?”

Steve’s silent for a few moments, and when you look over at him, you can see that you’ve won the battle—for now. “Well, either way, I’m still cautious. Just… be careful, alright? You never know what he’s gonna do.”

Oh, I know full and well what he does. You manage to keep the retort in your head as you nod instead, resisting the urge to take a breath of relief as you and Steve park at the embassy. You head inside in silence, hoping that the stress of the conversation goes away. Yet, as excited as you are to see Javier again, you know it’s only going to make you think of everything Steve’s just said—and that stress won’t go away easily.

As soon as you and Steve are in sight of your tri-desk setup, you can see Javier look up from where he’s been sorting through some files. His eyes light up at the sight of you, and he holds back a smile with difficulty. This is something that only you, hopefully, can notice. You also notice that his eyes drift down a bit as they look at you, and you try not to let your cheeks heat up as you remember what your shirt is revealing.

“Eyes up, Peña,” Steve quips, causing your blood to run cold for a moment.

Javier scoffs, shrugging as he gestures with his head towards you. “Then tell her the same thing for me.”

You chuckle, punching Javier’s shoulder playfully as you sit at your desk. “Don’t flatter yourself like that, Javi. I was just making sure you actually wore a shirt to work today.”

You can hear Steve snort in amusement, and as soon as his attention is averted, Javier sends you a sly wink. You shake your head at him, looking down at the work you left on your desk for yourself yesterday. A few minutes go by, during which you try to forget the ever-present tension between you, your cousin, and your boyfriend. It’s all spent in silence, but it’s suddenly interrupted by Javier’s phone ringing. He picks it up, and you try not to stare at him as he talks. He hangs up quickly, directing his next words at Steve.

“Murphy, Messina needs you for a few minutes,” Javier informs your partner.

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Did she say why?”

Javier shakes his head. “Probably somethin’ I’m not allowed to know.”

Steve chuckles, rising from his desk with a sigh. “Wish me luck.” He then walks off in the direction of Messina’s office. Javier immediately looks at you, his dark eyes sparkling. A smile begins to tug at your lips.

“Agent, I’ve got something you should see,” Javier says, gesturing with his head towards one of the vacant soundproof offices near you. “I’ll show Murphy when he gets back.” He stands up, grabbing a random file folder and beginning to walk in that direction. You follow him, attempting to bite back your smile as you walk.

As soon as the office door is secured behind you, the folder’s tossed lazily on the desk and Javier’s mouth is on yours, and you laugh into the kiss as you find yourself trapped between him and the wall. He pulls away soon after, giving you a smile. You can’t help returning it, feeling elated to see him so joyful after all the dark shit he and you have both seen recently.

“You have no idea how excited I am to see you, querida,” Javier mumbles, his gaze drifting down as his hands crawl up your sides. “And it looks like you wanted to make me extra excited, huh?”

You let out a small laugh, using one of your hands to tilt his chin back up to look at you. “It wasn’t exactly intentional,” you tell him. “But it was you.” You use that hand to brush your thumb across his cheek. “And it’s nice to see you too, amado.”

Javier’s smile persists, and you see a flash of it before he wraps his arms completely around you, burying his face in the nape of your neck. “No quiero trabajar hoy, amada. Quiero pasar todo mi tiempo contigo.”

“What did I tell you about your inglés, Javier?” you tease, running a hand over his hair. He chuckles, tickling your skin at the sensation of it. You let out a sigh, resting your chin on his head as you think of your drive to the embassy. “We gotta be careful, Javi.”

“Why?” Javier’s question is gruff, but he still leaves his head where it is.

“Steve was talking to me on the way here. He said that he thinks you like me, and he’s suspicious of you.”

Javier finally lifts his head at that, smirking at you. “Well, he’s not wrong.”

You shake your head, trying to hold back a chuckle. “I’m serious, amor. He could be onto us soon if we’re not careful.”

Javier sighs, stepping back and taking both of your hands in his. “I know. I’m trying my best. It’s just… so hard to resist you, amada.”

You give his hands a squeeze. “I feel the same way. But, remember, for our future.”

Javier nods to agree, leaving a lingering kiss on your cheek before he begins to walk back out of the office. He picks up the folder on the way, returning to his desk as if nothing’s just happened. You do the same, and thankfully, you’re able to make it last throughout the workday. It’s a slow day, anyway, and so much of it is just spent flipping through files and trying to see if you can come up with any new intel.

You finally feel free by the time you’re back to your apartment. Steve drops you off with a quick embrace, insisting that he would’ve offered to take you out with him and Connie, had she not been so exhausted from her own workday. You assure him that it’s alright—you already have plans with Javier anyway, though you keep that to yourself—and you’re soon practically skipping around your apartment. You get comfortable, slipping that shirt of Javier’s back on and releasing your hair from where it’s been pulled back all day.

Soon, you’re stepping back out into the main part of your apartment, and you’re about to crack open a fresh bottle of wine for you and your boyfriend when you hear muffled commotion coming from downstairs. Panic climbs inside of you, and you hurry over to the door. You press your ear against it to listen for what’s happening.

There’s a vicious knocking against one of the downstairs apartments. It’s soon followed by a harsh, “Open the fuck up, Peña!” You wrinkle your brow at the sound of it. Steve? Why the hell is he bothering Javier so aggressively?

You hear the knocking stop, and you assume the door’s been opened as a new voice appears. “Murphy? What the hell—” Javier tries to ask.

“What the fuck, Javi?” Steve yells, and you hear a thud as if something’s been shoved into a wall. “What are you doing with her?” Your eyes widen at the obvious reference to you.

“What the fuck are you talking about, Murphy?” Javier tries his best to retort with confusion. “I haven’t done anything with her!”

“You’re a shit liar, Peña!” Steve laughs almost maniacally, and you hear another thud. “You haven’t done anything, huh? Then why do you stare her down every day? Why are you bringing her into the office so often? And why did my wife see you come out of her apartment this morning?”

Your heart drops into your stomach. Oh shit.

“Steve—.”

“She’s like my sister, Javi! What the hell is wrong with you?” Your eyes are widened to twice their usual size, and before you can think more about it you whip open the door of your apartment. You rush down to Javier’s apartment, seeing the door still open as Steve pins Javier against the wall of his small entryway. He’s too angry to notice your sudden presence, and Javier’s too busy trying to rack his brain for excuses to notice you, either. “She’s not one of your whores! She’s like goddamn family to me!” He pauses, grabbing Javier’s collar with both of his hands as he hisses the next question. “Are you just fucking her, Peña?”

“No, Steve!” you interject, catching both men off guard as you break them apart. “Calm the fuck down!”

Steve starts saying your name, but stops himself when he observes your outfit, his eyes darkening even more. “Is that… Javi’s shirt?”

You let out a breath, raising your chin a bit as you nod at him. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

Steve nearly gapes at you, his brow raising in disbelief. “What the hell is going on?”

You look over at Javier, seeing his dark eyes widened at you. Your lips curve up into a smile as you step closer to him, reaching for one of his hands and securing it in yours. You then look back at Steve. “We’re together, Steve.”

Steve’s speechless for a few moments, looking as if he’s gotten the wind knocked out of him. “You two? Together? What…” He trails off, evidently at a loss for words. You look back over at Javier, seeing his slight nervousness at the situation. You give his hand a reassuring squeeze before looking back over at Steve. “How long?”

You swallow hard. “Almost four months.”

“Four months?” Steve’s voice comes out almost like a squeak. He chuckles to himself, shaking his head as he runs his hand over his hair. “Damn. I can’t believe you two managed to hide this for four months.”

“To be fair, you were just starting to get suspicious,” you say, causing him to laugh a bit more comfortably.

“Yeah, I guess.” Steve then sighs, looking between the two of you with just a hint of happiness. “Sorry, Javi, I guess I was a little harsh on you. As long as you make her happy.”

Javier nods earnestly at his partner. “Of course, Murphy.”

Steve then narrows his eyes at him. “But if you ever hurt her, Javi, I swear to God—.”

“Steve,” you hiss, raising an eyebrow in warning. “It’ll be fine.”

He lifts his hands in surrender, stepping further away from the two of you. “Alright, alright, I’m just sayin’.” Steve pauses again, looking between the two of you with a growing smile. “Damn, I can’t believe it was her who got you to crack, Javi.”

Javier shrugs. “I’m just as surprised as you are.”

You scoff, turning around to slap his shoulder with your free hand. “¡Pendejo!”

Javier laughs, and you see Steve chuckling a bit. “Well, I’ll leave you two to… um…” Steve trails off, as if he can’t conceive of what you could possibly be doing. You and Javier laugh as he stumbles out of the apartment, closing the door behind him.

You let out a heavy sigh, facing Javier fully again. “Holy shit, that was terrifying. Are you okay?”

Javier smiles down at you. “I thought Steve was gonna try to beat my ass, but you saved me. So, yes, I’m okay.”

You return his smile. “Good.” You reach for his other hand, giving them both a squeeze as your smile persists. “Well, I’ve got a brand-new bottle of wine upstairs, and I know we could both use some right now.”

Javier pulls you against him, holding your waist delicately as he brings his face close to yours. “All I need is you, amada.”

You shake your head at him, brushing your lips against his as you speak. “Eres demasiado encantador, amado. Te amo.” You press your mouth fully against his, letting the overwhelming feeling of affection and pleasure run through you before Javier pulls away.

“Te amo más, amada.”

translations:

Pero no quiero dejarte = But I don’t want to leave you

Puedo decir que me desperté tarde = I can say that I woke up late

Usa tu inglés = Use your English

Muchas gracias, mi amor. Te veré pronto. Te amo. = Thank you so much, my love. I’ll see you soon. I love you.

Adios, amada. Te amo mucho. = Goodbye, sweetheart. I love you so much.

querida = dear

No quiero trabajar hoy, amada. Quiero pasar todo mi tiempo contigo. = I don’t want to work today, sweetheart. I want to spend all my time with you.

¡Pendejo! = Asshole!

Eres demasiado encantador, amado. Te amo. = You’re too charming, sweetheart. I love you.

Te amo más, amada. = I love you more, sweetheart.

[a-d-curtis]

Haggling the High Stakes

Everyone knows that Aang loves to haggle.

It certainly had become a running joke among their friends at least. Thankfully Aang’s haggling abilities had improved in spades from the first time Katara had witnessed him trying to negotiate with a pirate. Skills improved, he still brought just as much enthusiasm to it now as he ever did.

Katara found it pretty ironic, that for a guy who put so little stock in “worldly possessions”, the act of bartering brought him such great joy. Truthfully, Aang really did care little for “possessions” – he didn’t own a lot of things, keeping his life almost monastically lean. But there was something about the act of haggling -- the game and theatrics involved in getting the best price -- that would bring out the shrewdest of tradesmen in him.

Aang “talked price” in a way that was so obviously airbender. The way he and the vendor would flit from topic to topic, bantering good-naturedly, talking about seemingly unrelated topics that would then circle around to either drive up or down the price. The way he would feign interest in another item at the stall to, in a round about way, pull down the cost of the original. Or even walking away to examine another vendor’s wares to then be called back by the first seller, who suddenly appeared more willing to part with a product he earlier claimed he couldn’t bear to part with. Aang’s tactics weren’t as directionless as they might appear from the outside; he knew the price he planned to end at, he just employed a lot of weaving and schmoozing and crafting in the getting there. It was rarely strait forward and involved a lot of dramatics, but in the end, almost always, Aang walked away with what he wanted and for a price few others could hustle.

It was not uncommon for Aang to spend forty minutes or more wrangling price with a vendor at a bazaar, only to turn around and give whatever he had bought away without thought. “It’s the quest, Katara! Not the prize…”

Since Aang rarely shopped for himself, he was notorious for offering his “skills” to others, to spend their money for them. “Oh, Suki… I saw you looking at that saber over there. Want me to negotiate a good price for you?!” “Hey Sokka, I see that bag does look great with your new boots, but don’t buy it unless they throw in the belt for free!” “Toph, let me help you out here. I’m sure I can find something here for better quality and half the price!”

It was not unknown for him to approach perfect strangers in an effort to keep them from paying too much. “What’s the problem, Katara?! That peddler was clearly gouging that guy! I’m pretty sure it’s part of my duty as the Avatar to keep people from getting ripped off!” “Sure, sure, Aang,” she’d placate him as she’d steer him away from other people’s shopping business.

The glow on Aang’s face after cutting a great deal was almost Avatar State-esk – a wide toothy smile, self-satisfied smugness, lots of backslapping and handshaking post-haggle with any truly artful hawker. Katara found it hard to hold back a laugh with how truly pleased her boyfriend got after “whittling a great bargain”: chest puffed up, arms swinging proudly as he would recount the play-by-play of the exchange, his footsteps barely touching the ground.

Aang claimed that he had learned from the best. “Monk Gyatso didn’t love things, but boy did he love the process of bargaining for things! And no one was better at it, Katara! Monk Gyatso was a real master of the art. Wish you could have seen him in the zone!”

A nostalgic, far away look coming to Aang’s smiling eyes, “Did I ever tell you about the time Gyatso traded his glider for a couple of hopping lamas? Well he bought them from a one-legged butcher who thought Gyatso’s glider staff would make a perfect crutch. Well Gyatso took the lamas and sold them in the next town over to a soybean farmer for twenty whole silver pieces! The farmer’s fields had gotten infested with chokeweeds (and everyone knows hopping lamas LOVE to eat chokeweeds!). The farmer was so happy he gave Gyatso a big batch of his fresh made Tofu as a bonus!

“Well Gyatso took the twenty silver pieces to the local carpenter and bought a mahogany peg-leg (complete with a built in boot) which he took back to the one-legged butcher to trade for his glider back. The butcher was super happy! Gyatso gave him some of the tofu too (with a suggestion that it made an excellent substitute for meat). Not only did Gyatso save two hopping lamas from certain death, get a big basket of fresh tofu, AND help out a cripple, he did it all without loosing a shilling!

“But that was just the beginning! Gyatso took the tofu to the All-Nomad Airball Tournament and gave it to Cook Lhakyi to add to the pre-games feast. Gyatso knew that Monk Sangyal, one of the Head Monks from the Northern Air Temple, had a thing for tofu, but he also knew it gave him some serious gas. You see, Monk Sangyal was scheduled to referee the match between the Southern and Northern Air Temples, but we all knew he never called a fair game for the South. But once he’d loaded up on tofu, let me tell you there was NO WAY Monk Sangyal could stay in his seat when he was gassy – we’re talking shooting ten feet in the air every time he, you know, uh, broke wind… so he had no choice but to bow out of that match as referee, which left Monk Dhondup as the backup referee (and he was always more fair). PLUS with Monk Dhondup refereeing, it freed up his front row seat for Gyatso, which is what Gyatso wanted all along! PRIME spot to watch the championship tournament, which was why he went to the market to buy the lamas in the first place! I tell you, the man was a haggling Master…”

Occasionally Aang would get so caught up in nattering a deal, however, that he would completely loose track of his larger goal. Once at the end of shopping for traveling supplies (and taking way too long to do it in Katara’s opinion) Aang proudly held up what looked like a pair of pirate eye patches he had just spent the last twenty minutes negotiating for. “Look what I got, Katara! I really walked away with a steal for these! Not only did I get a great price, but I got the guy to throw in the second one free of charge!”

“What are you going to do with one eye patch, Aang? Let alone two!” Katara asked in exasperation.

Sokka joined in, “Yeah, wouldn’t two eye patches kind of defeat the purpose? I mean, if you need patches for BOTH eyes, why not just wear some dark glasses?”

“Or go all natur-al – like me,” Toph added pointing a confident thumb to her blind eyes.

Aang’s posture deflated as he looked down at the patches in his hands. “I guess I just got a little caught up in the moment…” he admitted.

“No point in being a cheapskate chaffer if you end up buying useless junk, Twinkletoes.”

But Katara had laughed out loud a moment later when she turned to see Aang and Momo both wearing matching eye patches and chittering out of the sides of their mouths like pirates together. Katara was beginning to think that it wouldn’t matter how much older Aang got, he was likely to be a kid-at-heart forever.

And admittedly, she loved him all the more for it.

But when the two decided to get married, and it came time to negotiate the bride-price, Katara began to dread Aang’s affinity for haggling with a new kind of apprehension.

Honestly, the fact that paying for a bride was still a tradition at all in her village rankled her. But it was common practice in both Water Tribes for the prospective groom to pay a bride-price to the woman’s family upon engagement.

“It’s archaic, Dad!” Katara had argued heatedly. “Not to mention humiliating! To be… bought… like a good canoe or a new polar-bear dog saddle?! Its completely demeaning.”

But Katara’s Gran Gran had stepped in and put her foot down, “It is tradition! Tradition as old as memory in our culture. Paying the bride-price is a covenant that helps to solidify a marriage union, to make it a promise between more than just a man and his wife, but between the couple and their tribe. And you will not rewrite thousands of years of history in one fell swoop, Katara!”

And so the couple had begrudgingly agreed to go through the motions of negotiating the bride-price, which was done in a sort of ceremony, in front of the whole tribe.

………

The sun was just setting over the horizon as the tribes people gathered in the large rounded gathering hall for the negotiation. Given the high profile of who was getting engaged tonight, the turn out had been nearly comprehensive – most of the village’s families were in attendance to Witness. The tribes people sat close together, shoulder to shoulder with their children on their laps, all straining to see and hear the impending negotiations. The prospective bride and groom would enter last.

Aang flew in on Appa just a few minutes before the negotiation was scheduled to begin, giving the couple little time to talk before it all began.

As the two entered the assembly chamber Katara grabbed Aang’s elbow whispering in exasperation, “Cut it a little close, didn’t you Aang?!”

Aang shifted the knapsack on his shoulder and kissed her forehead in apology, “Sorry! I got held up gathering… well never mind. I’ll tell you later.”

As the two entered the packed room, the chatter quieted down, all eyes on them. Chief Hakoda sat on a mat to the east of a fire in the center of the room; Gran Gran knelt by his side on the south. Katara looked at the empty place by Hakoda’s side, knowing that if Sokka weren’t at Kyoshi Island today he would be sitting with their father. For a fleeting moment, she missed her brother terribly; feeling that somehow if he were here then perhaps he could help diffuse this feeling of dread in her chest.

Aang was directed to sit on a mat directly across the center fire from Chief Hakoda. Katara knelt down next to her Grandmother; Kanna reaching out a withered old hand and gripping Katara’s hand in hers. “It will all be okay, my little Snowflake,” Gran Gran whispered.

But Katara was not feeling like it would be okay. Her stomach clenched in nervous dread. She had no idea what to expect from tonight. Traditionally, a bride price would be paid in trade: a good pair of sled dog-foxes, or a two-week supply of tiger-seal meat, perhaps a leather handled hunting spear thrown in for finesse. However, with the end of the war, and the prosperity and commerce that had returned to the South Pole, money exchanges had become more common. And given that Katara’s father was the Chief (and Aang unlikely to pay in meat), a money price would be the most likely exchange.

To date, the prices in coin generally ranged from twenty to thirty gold pieces, although last month a man from the North had paid the unheard of price of forty-five gold pieces to secure the hand of a girl from Katara’s tribe!

Katara looked over at Aang and groaned. He didn’t look at her, his face serious in the flickering firelight as he regarded her Father. She thought she could see his brain figuratively warming up for the negotiations ahead; preparing for the haggle of a lifetime! She had to look away.

Katara imagined Aang driving such a hard bargain that he would manage to buy her hand in marriage for a warm winter blanket. Inexplicably the thought made her chin tremble as she bit back tears of shame. This whole thing was so humiliating!

Katara knew that these events were anything but quick. Sometimes, when an agreement could not be decided upon right away, they would retire and continue the negotiations the following evening. Katara sighed thinking of Aang’s incredible bargaining stamina, and wondered how many days this would take. As the ceremony began, she tried to prepare herself for a long night…

A large basin of water and a small ceramic jug were brought in and set on the floor opposite the fire from Katara and her Grandmother. Aang and Hakoda both dipped their hands in the water: the washing of hands symbolizing the washing away of any past ills between them. Then both drank from the jug, first Hakoda, then Aang, as a promise to bring no deceit to their bargain and as a show of goodwill between the two parties.

Hakoda cleared his throat, preparing to recite the traditional opening words. He spoke as much to the gathered tribe as to the man seated across from him, “Avatar Aang, what brings you to sit at the fire with me this night?”

Aang responded also from rote, “Chief Hakoda, I sit with you this night to ask for the honor of marrying your daughter,” Aang’s silver eyes caught hers for a moment, “the esteemed Master Katara.”

Everyone there knew of their history. How she had left the village to rescue the Avatar, had helped to teach him to waterbend, had fought with him to end the Hundred Year War, and how they had fallen in love in the process. The two had been a couple for years now, this moment coming as a surprise to no one. But tradition called for certain sentiments to be expressed regardless.

Hakoda spoke up boldly: “Katara is my only daughter, my strength and support, my one great reminder of her mother who I loved with all of my heart. To part with her would be to loose a piece of my own soul. What merits do you claim, Avatar Aang, to be worthy of the hand of my daughter?”

Although she knew this type of speech was all part of tradition, Katara was nonetheless moved by the genuine emotion behind her father’s words. Back strait and tall, Hakoda sat with the confidence of a proven chief. But even with his chin held high, Katara could see that his eyes were soft, even a little sad.

This tradition was part of protecting his daughter, of ensuring that she would be cared for. Although she still did not like the idea of a bride-price, Katara began to appreciate the value in the ceremony. For her Father’s heart, if for nothing else.

All eyes now turned to the Avatar. It was his turn to respond. To build himself up, to lay out the many reasons that he could and would be a suitable match for Katara. To prove that he was powerful enough, capable enough, to protect her and provide for her needs.

But Aang said nothing.

Katara’s eyes darted to his face as he stared into the flickering fire, trying to read his expression, to understand the unexpected pain behind his furrowed brow.

She was fairly well acquainted with Aang’s griefs, and she had a pretty good idea what kind of insecurities he was wrestling with right now. She knew that he worried for her safety, that he worried that somehow her affiliation with him might put her in danger. Aang had worked hard to forgive himself for running away before the war, knowing that he had been just a child, afraid and lonely. But the knowledge that whether he had run away or not, he was the reason his people were massacred, plagued him. As much as she tried to reassure him otherwise, he worried that she would somehow be the same. His anxieties had gotten so bad a couple of years ago that he had even tried to cut ties with her; to break up in a half-baked attempt to keep her safe. Of course she hadn’t bought it, and truthfully he hadn’t really wanted her to, but it had dug up some intense buried pains for both of them. Sometimes she wondered if he would ever be free of his twin demons: grief and guilt.

After an uncomfortable silence Hakoda cleared his throat and asked again, this time his voice a bit softer, “Aang, what makes you worthy of my daughter?”

Aang looked up, locking eyes with Hakoda, and spoke quietly, “I’m not.”

Hands covered mouths as whispers were exchanged among the Witnesses, an audible murmur rippling around the room. Katara was sure she could hear her brother slap his forehead in exasperation all the way from Kyoshi Island!

“Aang…” Katara started to speak, but was silenced by her Gran Gran’s firm hand on her own. Of all the times to leave your Air Nomad humility behind, Aang, it would be now! Be Water Tribe and proudly proclaim who I know you are!

“I am not worthy of Katara,” -- another murmur rippling through the crowd -- “But I will do everything in my power to keep her safe and to make her happy. She means everything to me…” Then sitting up straighter, he added with conviction, “And there is no one who would love her more than I do.”

Although this was a discussion of marriage, it was strangely taboo for declarations of love to be expressed. This event was more about practicality than sentiment. Katara could see some people shifting uncomfortably in their seats.

Even though it was supposed to be Aang trying to convince Hakoda of his merits, Hakoda spoke up for his soon to be son-in-law, helping him to save face in front of the Tribe. “I know, Aang. I do not doubt either you capabilities nor your motives.”

As though worried that Aang might declare his adorations again, Hakoda quickly pushed forward the process. “As you know my daughter is dear to me, and her leaving my household will be a great loss to us all. In a demonstration of your capabilities to care for my daughter, and as a small way to alleviate our disadvantage at her loss, I propose that we agree to seventy-five gold pieces as a bride-price for your engagement to Katara.”

There was a loud buzz of surprise from the onlookers. Seventy-five gold pieces?! Starting a negotiation this high was unheard of! Katara looked at her father in surprise. Why?

The noise grew steadily until the tribe members shushed one another loudly to hear the Avatar’s response.

Katara knew this was when the counter offers would begin. Somewhere well below the first offer but with room to go up in price as the two parties would parry back and forth until landing somewhere in the middle.

“Chief Hakoda,” Aang began, his voice carrying throughout the room, “No, I couldn’t pay seventy-five gold pieces…”

Katara’s forgotten embarrassment returned as she looked down to her lap, remembering why they were here, waiting for “Aang the Haggler” to begin bargaining in earnest.

“… I simply could not feel right about paying any less than five hundred gold pieces.”

There was a collective gasp from the room… before it exploded in noise!

Some people got to their feet, some yelling out, still others sat in astonishment, mouths hanging open stupidly. Cries of “Has he lost his head!?” and “Clearly this foreigner does not understand!” and “FIVE-HUNDRED GOLD PIECES?!” could be heard.

Hakoda himself sat back in silent bewilderment.

Katara, finally overcoming her own shock, hissed at Aang, “Do you even HAVE five hundred gold pieces?!?” before her Gran Gran slapped her hand again with a “Hush!” and “It is not your place to speak in this!”

Aang, face stoic, (although the edge of his mouth showing the slightest hint of a grin) looked at Katara and nodded, almost imperceptibly. Then, reaching into the rucksack at his side, he pulled out two full drawstring pouches, and set them before Hakoda with a heavy jangle.

Hakoda looked down at the bags in silence, then up at Aang like he would protest, but couldn’t seem to find his voice. Aang sat at the ready, as though prepared to offer more. Surely this was the strangest bargaining in the grand history of bride-price talks! This night was destined to go down in tribal history: a story to be told, and retold, for generations to come!

Aang spoke again, “No amount of money or treasure could ever compare with the privilege of spending my life with Katara. No matter the agreed upon price, I will forever be in your debt. But I hope you will accept my offer -- but a fraction of what I wish it was -- that I may receive your blessing and permission to take your incredible daughter, Katara, as my wife. I promise to honor her, and respect her, and to cherish her with all that I am until my soul moves on from this life to my next.”

The room was still loud and chaotic as Hakoda, his voice seemingly still unrecovered, looked back down at the bulging coin bags in a stupor. Then nodded once. Twice.

And that was that.

Technically, the bride-price was agreed and the engagement was official. Too bad there was too much disbelief and chaos in the room for the usual congratulations to be extended.

Gran Gran pulled on Katara’s elbow, leaning into her with a husky laugh, “One thing I like about your Airbender, Katara – he never ceases to surprise me!”

Katara couldn’t agree more.

……..

Having received Hakoda’s nod of approval, Aang wasted no time in grabbing Katara by the hand and pulling her out of the hubbub of the still startled and excited crowd. Running and giggling the two stole out into the chill night, only slowing once the din from the assembly hall became but a distant hum.

The moon shone her beautiful beaming face brightly upon them, as though sending her congratulations. They listened to the music of the back and forth of the waves on the icy shore. For a time they just walked in silence, holding hands and bumping shoulders, smiling widely. The glances they shared were, for some reason, unexplainably coy, like their new official change in relationship status hadn’t had time to feel real yet.

At long last, Katara broke the silence with a tease, “Not your most impressive performance as a haggler back there, Aang.”

Aang, unable to hold back his radiant smile, looked down and laughed. “Ah, but even a good haggler would never low-ball a truly fine treasure when he finds it. I could never insult your Father with an offer so far below its worth.”

Unable to hold back her smile, Katara raised a flirtatious eyebrow at him, “Oh yeah?” She couldn’t help but feel important, and so, so loved. Contrasted with the humiliation she had felt earlier at the idea of being bargained for, the difference was stark.

“Yeah.” Aang sighed with a dopy grin as he pulled her close, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist. “Besides,” he began, his mouth close to hers, his breath coming in warm puffs on her lips, drawing her own mouth to tilt upward seeking his.

“I still walked away with a steal!”

……………

A/N: I must admit that I based some of this on my own love of haggling =) So… how much for a review, eh? ;)  ;)

[mileycyprus-hill]

What the Water Gave Me

Chapter 3/?

Notes: So, it took me longer than it should’ve to finish this chapter. That’s what working 6 days a week this summer will do to me. And returning to college to get my second degree. *sarcastic whoo*

We’re still sort of in the introductory stages of this fic. However, I’ve got ideas for further chapters already planned out. So hopefully I’ll get those out faster ‘cause I’m excited to show you the romance between Arthur and our mermaid reader! This chapter starts from Arthur’s POV then switches to reader’s and then flip-flops back and forth. So I hope reading it doesn’t seem confusing or clunky.

Chapter 1 and Chapter 2 here. 

»»————-　★　————-««

Arthur has no idea how long he’d been passed out on the beach. Or how long it had been since the shipwreck. Time was lost to him. Had it been hours? Days?

He looks around and notices he’s alone. The strange woman who washed along shore with him is now gone. 

As he wearily raises himself up on his feet, Arthur tries to tell himself that she was just a mirage...a figment of his imagination due to severe dehydration. 

But she looked so real. 

He remembers the blue-ish, green mass laid in front of him, inches from his face. 

The scales. 

The fin. 

It all felt so real. 

But Arthur trudges on. To where? Who knows. All Arthur does know is that if he wants to survive, he can’t wait around the beach.

“Lay there much longer and you soon might be.” the woman’s voice replays in his mind.

Arthur shakes his head. Real or not, she was right. Whoever she was. If Arthur stayed, he’d be dead. 

He has to find fresh water. It’s the only thing on his mind right now. 

Each step is agony on his bare feet as they burn on the hot sand and rock. 

The thought of cool, fresh water causes Arthur’s throat to ache. Each dry swallow is worse than the last, like he’s continuing to dry his throat of every last bit of moisture with each small gulp.

He looks across the horizon at the sea. 

It taunts him. The salty white caps of the waves softly crash upon the beach. Here he is, surrounded by sea water, with nothing to drink. 

As Arthur walks on, he sees out of the corner of his eye a small plume of smoke. He turns to his left and can’t believe the sight before him.

His mind must be playing tricks on him again. 

He calls out.

“Dut...Dutch,” Arthur shouts weakly. 

He nearly collapses, but he has to stay awake to make sure his mind isn’t playing tricks on him again. He was worried he had lost Dutch and the gang forever.

“Arthur!” Dutch calls out to him from beneath the shade of the palm trees. “You’re...you’re alive! Somebody get him a goddamn drink!”

Arthur is handed a canteen and greedily guzzles down the water.

........................

A few hours pass as Arthur regains his strength by the group. He is able to think a little more clearly now he’s had water and is resting in the shade. 

While he’s still nervous, he feels a wave a relief to see Dutch’s familiar face. Like a small child who had been separated from their parent, only to be found in their embrace again. Hearing Dutch’s voice gave Arthur a sense of security.

No matter the situation, Dutch always had conviction in his speech, a confidence that things could turn for the better...even if they didn’t. 

In fact, they didn’t.

.................................

(Y/N) had been silently watching from the waters ever since she left Arthur on that beach.

She was going to leave him there after he passed out, but something kept her close. Some unexplainable guilt. Even though she couldn’t trust humans, she couldn’t leave this one to die.

Who was she to judge? She may have been hurt by humans all her life but, what if this man is a good one? Could she bear to let an innocent castaway die?

So she found herself swimming back to shore, back to where they had washed up together.

But he was gone.

“Dammit,” she whispered as she slapped the water in frustration.

She was tempted to call out for him, but she didn’t want to risk getting unwanted attention. She knows what lurks on this small island, and who runs it: that greedy dictator Colonel Fussar. 

She’s already risking her life by staying close. 

She begins to swim parallel to the beach, keeping her distance and herself submerged, only poking out a few times to check for Arthur.

The further she swam on, the more concerned she had become. She worried that Arthur had been captured by Fussar’s men. She wasn’t even sure if he’d be walking along the beach if he hadn’t. 

The more she thought about this, the more it became apparent just how futile this search is.

Perhaps he went inland into the jungle. 

“(Y/N), you idiot,” she cursed herself, “you shouldn’t have left him there. Now what are you gonna do?” 

As she sighed in defeat, she heard voices. 

Male voices, numerous ones. 

She ducked underwater and swam to a natural stone arch in the distance. She poked her head out behind the rock and looked to see two groups of men: one group in shackles, the others in blue with guns drawn. 

From behind the stone arch, she studied the men chained together. She assumed they were escaped laborers. Colonel Fussar is known for taking prisoners on the island and enslaving them to work on the plantations. In fact, it was a laborer who freed her from Fussar’s clutches. A merchant who was enslaved after making an emergency stop on the island when his crew members were deathly ill. He found her confined in a small pool, starving and sick. The man risked his life to save her. He could have left her when he came across her on the run. But he couldn’t bear the thought of a poor creature living in a cramped tank, only to be gawked at in a traveling freak show. He had heard talk of a mermaid across the plantation, and when he saw she was real, it was his chance to save her. 

A bellowing voice shook her from her thoughts, “Excuse me sir! Who are our new friends here?”

It was from the chain gang; a tall, dark-haired man. Even from a distance, she could see his face was red from sun burn. 

 A guard replies with a malevolent speech, “Criminales.”

Additional men are shackled together to the pack and begin to walk. As (Y/N) scans the group, her eyes land on the man at the end and her heart stops.

She immediately recognized Arthur, walking barefoot and barely keeping up with the group. 

He was alive.

For now.

He must have felt her gaze as he looked over to the arch to where she was lurking and saw her. Their eyes locked. 

(Y/N) froze, her heart now racing.

Arthur stops in his tracks, pulled slightly from his waist by the chain connecting him to Dutch. Unfortunately, one of the guards notices and beats him twice across the shoulder and his legs.

Arthur cries out in pain and nearly falls over from the impact, but limps on like a beaten dog. 

“You alright Arthur?” Dutch quietly asks behind him.

“...’m fine,” Arthur replies, sucking in a breath.

Arthur squints his eyes over to (Y/N) at the arch. She hasn’t moved from her spot. Her face grimaced at the scene. 

They’re about to turn into the jungle when the blast of gunshots halt them. 

It all happens so quickly. 

A guard falls dead next to Arthur. (Y/N) helplessly watches from her hiding spot as Arthur scrambles to grab a gun off the man.

(Y/N) goes against her better judgement and swims closer to the beach to get a better look, stopping behind another rock. 

She watches the carnage ensue as Arthur kills the rest of the guards. They’re hopelessly distracted by the gunfire from the trees and don’t notice Arthur shooting them from behind. He expertly shoots each guard through the head. Their legs buckle underneath their weight and their limp bodies fall hard on the sand, one by one.

As quickly as it started, the fight stops and the group of men unchain themselves. Suddenly, voices are heard in the distance. (Y/N) looks to her right and sees another cluster of soldiers arrive. Looking back over to Arthur and his gang members, she watches him and the other men flee into the jungle, leaving discarded cartridges in their wake.

She grinds her nails against the rock as a short prisoner falls to the ground in pain, shot through his leg. 

“Javier!” a man calls out.

“Get outta here! Go on, get outta here!” Javier shouts.

Arthur and Dutch stand together in the tree line, contemplating for a millisecond whether to grab him or leave him. 

Arthur looks out to the waters in search of (Y/N). He can’t see her anywhere. 

Dutch pushes him on into the trees. Sprinting into the dense forest, Arthur hears a distant, womanly voice holler from behind them. 

“Hey! Hey over here!” 

Arthur halts, skidding his bare feet into the dirt, and turns to look towards the beach, but he’s quickly grabbed by Dutch and is pushed on further.

......

(Y/N) doesn’t think for a second to regret her decision. Though, she soon might.

She watches Arthur and the men run further into the forest. Her focus goes back to Javier on the ground. The group of soldiers are quickly approaching and shooting wildly.

She has to act fast.

With a swish of her massive tail, she swims nearer to the beach, to the soldiers.

“Hey!” she calls out “Hey, over here!”

*CLAP!* She slaps her tail on the surface of the water.

She hopes to bring the soldiers’ attention to her and away from Javier as she swims in the direction where they came from. There were at least a dozen of them. A number of them stop in their tracks and turn to look at the commotion her way.

“Please…help me!” she cries, stopping at a small rock and holding on.

She counted six men who stopped. Four of them run towards her, while the other two continue to Javier.

“Shit,” she exclaims under her breath. She was really hoping the whole group would be distracted.

Staying by the rock on shore, she attempts to submerge her lower half underwater, away from view.

“Señora!” a soldier shouts, “Swim to us! Señora!” They jog closer, rifles in hand.

“Uhh…I can’t! Please help! I don’t know if I can hold on much longer!”

Her mind races to come up with a plan. She feigns exhaustion and pretends to lose her grip on the rock.

A wave crashes upon her and she slips a hand off the rock. Her strong tail is wrapped to it below the surface.

“Heeeelllllp!” she screams.

The four men have now reached the edge of the beach, just a couple hundred yards away from her.

C’mon….c’mon.

“Hold on, Señora. We’ll getcha!” Two men begin to enter the water, one of them abandoning their rifle at the beach. They wade their way through before reaching out to her; just close enough for her to stretch out and brush her fingertips with the man on her left. They’re only waist deep in the ocean.

“Closer! I don’t think I can reach.” she whines in her best pathetic tone. “My legs…they’re – they’re broken.” She pretends to lose her strength on the rock as another wave crashes. The look of frustration is clear on both soldiers’ faces as they step closer to her. Both of them start to lose their balance as they continue deeper into the waves. 

Both men are now on either side of her. Reaching to the one of shorter stature, she grabs onto his hand. The soldier appears to be young, with a pencil-thin mustache and a missing front tooth. Even in the water, he looked minuscule, dwarfed by the man next to him. His hands feel thin and soft. The man to her right however, is the exact opposite: rough, scarred, and heavy. This one would prove to be difficult.

She wraps her arms around the young man’s shoulders.

“Oh! Oh thank you! Thank you!” (Y/N) cries behind fake tears and doesn’t hesitate.

She grabs his shirt collar tightly, and drops underwater, pulling him under with her. The young man is stronger than she thought, as he struggles violently against her grip. (Y/N) quickly wraps both arms under his armpits and interlocks her fingers at the back of his head. His arms are rendered useless against her grip, but he continues to kick and thrash wildly.  The older man shouts from above the surface. By now, he can see her true form through the clear water.

She feels him grab at her tail and attempt to pull her towards shore. Wriggling herself free, she maintains her tight grip on the young soldier. Flapping her tail, she swims further away, dragging the man with her. The further he thrashes, the weaker he falls beneath her grip. As they continue to wrestle on the sea floor, they’re soon enveloped in an opaque cloud of white sand.

She feels the tension of his body soften, but maintains her grip. Not until she’s choked every bit of life from him. Soon, his body becomes completely limp in her arms, his eyes wide and mouth agape. The look of permanent shock and fear is locked on his face as the cloudy sand clears.

(Y/N) let his body go and he sinks to the ocean floor. She pokes the top of her head above the surface to find the second soldier. If she struggled that much with the younger man, this one would require more tenacity. The large soldier quickly spots her and grabs at her, managing to latch onto her arm. (Y/N) yelps in fear as he drags her towards him. The remaining two men on shore are wading through the shallow waters as fast as they can towards the commotion. She can barely think as the man’s calloused hands grip tighter around her forearm, his other hand holding his rifle above the water.

She acts instinctively and thrashes her hands, using her weight against him. She instantly knocks the rifle from his hand and it crashes into the water.

“You bitch!” The man shouts, balling his now empty hand into a fist and striking the side of her head.

A flash of white blinds her eyes from the impact of his massive fist. She’s left disoriented for a moment and cannot fight against him. Suddenly, two thundering shots ring out from the beach. The pair of them look to the source of the gunfire.

It’s the man named Javier, now bleeding out on the beach. The trauma of his leg wound exhausts him, but he manages to kill the two guards holding him down on the sand. Their bodies now lay beside him, one of them missing a revolver from their holster.

(Y/N) realizes now this leaves the remaining four men to her. She hears one of them shout.

“Get her back to the beach! We’ll deal with this one!”

The two guards wade back to the shore, leaving her with just the one. His hands are gripped tightly around each arm, bruising them. He closes the space between them and sneers with tobacco-stained teeth, his dark beard stinks of rum and rotten meat.

(Y/N) struggles against his grip, it grows tighter and tighter like a vice the more she wiggles. He drags her closer and closer to shore. A large wave swells from behind them and crashes into their bodies, the large man soon loses his footing and nearly falls into the water. (Y/N) takes her chance and wriggles an arm free, reaching behind her head. From her hair she pulls out a brooch, carved from bone with two long, sharp prongs. Another wave rolls upon them. Using the momentum of the wave, she stabs the man deep in his abdomen with all her might. He howls in pain as (Y/N) pulls it back out, producing a rush of blood to spill out into the water. She rips another arm free and slaps his face with her tail.

Now free, she swiftly propels through the water, heading for the deep. Swimming back to the hidden safety of the stone arch, she tries to regain her breath. Her heart hammers in her chest, the sound of blood thumping in her ears and her body trembles.

Now what? She wonders.

[sabraeal]

In plain sight, please!

I started In Plain Sight for one reason only: Witness Protection AU was on the row I wanted to do for AU bingo last year, and I felt confident I could at least bullshit a good fic for that if I didn’t come up with something to hook it into. This last year my board had a LOT of good spaces, but none of them made a good ROW, so I spent a good few days deciding whether to mulligan or not until I really settled in on the row I actually did.

I saved this one toward the end, I think? Yeah, second to last. I really had no idea what I was going to do with it. I was actually half tempted to pull a Witness, but that seemed like FAR too much research for how fast I had to pull this out. Which was...extremely fast, because I got massively held up through personal issues and also having SO MANY fics to write for July, some of which got MASSIVELY long.

This was originally going to post before Sic Semper Monstrum’s second chapter, but I realized as I was wrapping up Fae AU that I could fill the “post-apocalyptic au” space with that instead, and pushed off working on this, because, hoo boy, I had no fucking idea what I was going to do. And then suddenly the idea came to me and I was like, oh man, I’m gonna write the teaser to this and everyone’s gonna tell me I have to write more.

....The teaser got so long I had to cut off half of what I had planned. And then drafting got so long I had to cut off two thirds of the first draft. Having written two chapter of it, I still have not finished what I got to in the first draft of the teaser. THAT is how writing this fic went

The leader of her orientation was an older man, thin but not gaunt, dark hair peppered with gray. He spoke with the sort of firm, no-nonsense tone of her favorite professors: soft-spoken, but not timid; a man who did not have to shout to have his voice heard. His boxy suit hung off his shoulders like a coat hanger, but still he had presence, still commanded the attention of a half dozen people squeezed into a letter-box sized room. 

This scene blebbed off from where I first started the fic, which was what became the second scene. But I realized there was...too much flashback, too much exposition drop, and it was ruining the flow of the fic keeping it there, so I pushed it to the beginning, made it better....and dropped a Herr Anda cameo, because it’s my fic and I can do what I like. So there.

She sighs, lugging it off the belt. Or, at least, she would have, if she was four inches taller and had any upper body definition to speak of. 

I’m just below 5′10 and honestly, my little noodle arms have a hard time lugging my shit off the conveyor belt too. I live in fear of not being to grab it in time.

Shirayuki can perceive attractiveness; it’s a skill she’s cultivated over many years, trying to feign more than a passing interest in guys her friends had swooned over. Celebrities are easier; they are airbrushed to be perfect, an easy thing to agree on, and if she watches them in enough movies, she can grow fond enough to feel that burgeoning attraction, somewhere far off and safe. But in real life, with real people, it takes a lot more than a glance in the hallway to get her rolling in that direction, and never very far.

But now she’s standing next to – to him, and she can only assume that the people she’s known just exist somewhere at the middle of the attractive scale. Which is a logarithmic one, if this man is any indication.

I get asked about this a lot, and I really thought I’m pretty clear in fics! But yes, Shirayuki is absolutely supposed to be gray-ace/demisexual here. I usually always write her as demisexual, because it just makes a lot of sense to be re: her really not understanding that she had a romantic relationship with Zen until he kissed her in canon. And being able to have her go through that demi panic moment of, OH MY GOD, IS THIS WHAT SEXUAL ATTRACTION IS LIKE? PLEASE SEND IT AWAY feels very true to her character. However, I really did put a concerted effort in making her more demi in this than in other fics, and trying to convey this in the first chapter. For reasons.

Roos. That’s her. Or it is now, at least. 

It took me forever to settle on a name for her cover in this story and I still kind of hate it but IT IS WHAT WE HAVE NOW. I wanted to make a play on the snow white thing by having her last name mean red, which...I mostly got.

and thigh-adjacent assets, which feels very, ah, un-governmental this close

Some of the most fun I have writing modern Shirayuki is the way she describes someone’s secondary sexual characteristics. Because lbr, she can be clinical....but if she can’t, she would be SUPER AWKWARD.

“Hey, hey! It’s okay.” He pulls back, and when their eyes meet, his concern isn’t feigned. She might have though him harsh when she first saw him, but it’s hard to think that when his brows are drawn tight over the bridge of his nose, when his hand comes up to brush away the straggling strands of her hair that always hover at her hairline –

When he leans in, eyes at half-mast, and she – she just tips her head back to meet him.

I wanted to really make it clear-- especially since Obi is....such a charmer after this-- that Obi is actually a really nice, empathetic guy. He knows how hard this is, and if he’s going to keep up the boyfriend cover he DOES need to act affectionate, but also...I think that at least a hug would have happened anyway. She’s a cute, small girl in a big old airport by herself somewhere no one is supposed to recognize her, and Obi is definitely like ADOPT HER on the inside.

...Until she kisses him, of course.

For the number of times she’s been cornered – sometimes with a shy smile and ducked chin, sometimes with a smug smirk and unearned confidence – she half expects she’s going around with kiss me written on her forehead.

This is definitely some personal experience I felt like would almost certainly apply to Shirayuki. Sometimes being a nice person is a real fucking pain.

He holds her, firm enough make her confident that this is all purposeful, that she isn’t making another mistake about his intentions, but gentle enough that she knows she could pull away, put space between them. Strangely, she doesn’t feel the urge. 

I know no one’s complained about this kiss, but this is definitely Obi really trying to sell this cover. Like that first kiss was WAY too awkward for long-term bf/gf, so he needs to make this LOOK GOOD. And then Shirayuki gets into it, and he’s like WHOOPS, maybe I made that a little too good.

His eyebrows arch over the lenses as she climbs in, using the door, and he says with a grin bordering on dangerous, “That’s really something you should have checked before you got into my car.” 

He is definitely upping the asshole because of that kiss. Trying to put some sort of barrier between them. AND DOING A REAL GOOD JOB OF IT.

“Yeah, good. Also, for the record,” Obi says, throwing the car into gear and pulling out with a screech. “I cannot believe they let you keep the hair.” 

Lbr, as much as this is a dick movie...Obi totally has a point.

[vitanes]

say it’s okay when it’s not

chapter 7: i’ve got you

When Lucas thinks all hope is lost, his friends come through.

Okay, so maybe he isn’t completely fine. Lucas has no idea where to go from here. His hand is shaking, he’s cold and scared of the darkness surrounding him. He’s been aimlessly wandering the streets after he calmed down slightly. Every shadow and noise gives him chills. He’s not sure where he actually is, everything looks the same.

He knows the city, but it seems foreign after the sun sets. And he’s just a frightened kid, mostly running on adrenaline now. If not for it, he’d have collapsed a couple of hours ago.

His knees are wobbly and when he can’t take this any longer, he plops down on a bench he stumbles across. With a heavy sigh, he reaches for his phone with his uninjured hand. Lucas needs to squint at the bright screen once it’s unlocked.

There are a lot of notifications, much more than he expected. Missed calls from everyone from Mika to, surprisingly, even Emma. Everyone asking him where he is and to come back. The group chat with the guys is flooded as are his private chats with them. Manon texted him saying they’ll figure it out. Will they?

He feels his throat closing up when he gets to messages from Yann.

Mika called and said you ran off

What happened?

Please call me we are all worried

Then he tried calling Lucas instead. Lucas snorts through his stuffed nose. It’s making him lightheaded, to be honest. He didn’t mean to cause trouble, to concern anyone.

Was the situation reversed, he’d want Yann to contact him as soon as possible. Lucas only hesitates for a moment. He presses the call button despite the fact it’s the middle of the night and waits. Yann picks up after two signals.

“Lucas?”

“Hey,” Lucas says, his voice hoarse.

“Where are you? What’s going on?” Yann sounds shaken up. He shouldn’t. After all, nothing bad has happened to Lucas and it hasn’t been that long since he left.

“Mika hasn’t told you?”

“He only said you left the flat and that he can’t reach you.”

Lucas appreciates that Mika didn’t go around telling everyone Lucas is too broke to pay for his room.

“I’m being kicked out,” Lucas admits bitterly.

“What?”

“I can’t pay rent. They can’t keep there for free.” He shrugs one of his shoulders. Feigning nonchalance is better in that situation.

“Where are you now?”

Lucas looks around but still can’t recognize the area. Something clenches at his chest. “I don’t know,” he says, his voice breaking halfway through.

He hears Yann sigh. “Okay. Can you turn on your GPS and use it to come here? If you aren’t too far away?”

“Are you sure? It’s the middle of the night. I don’t want to… bother.”

“Come on, stop talking dumb things and just come home,” he says and Lucas believes him when he says ‘home’.

In truth, Yann’s house has been Lucas’ safe place for many years. When his parents kept fighting that’s where he’d find himself seeking comfort. Yann’s mom always would take him in, no questions asked. When Lucas’ mom was getting worse and father decided to move out, Lucas spent at Yann’s most of his time. He hasn’t been there as often recently, maybe because he thought he finally found his own place or the current turmoil he’s been going through was something he couldn’t tell Yann about. And he always told Yann everything. Confided in him when they were sitting shoulder to shoulder on Yann’s worn out bed. It felt like safety and Yann’s offering it again. It’d be foolish of Lucas to turn it down.

Thankfully, he finds out he isn’t that far away. Can make it in thirty minutes if he tries hard enough. The matter of whether he’s still capable of it should be concerning, but with a loud groan he stands up from the bench and lets his phone guide him

 ***

 It’s half past two when he reaches Yann’s house. Lucas briefly wonders if Yann has possibly fallen asleep, if he shouldn’t have come but then he gets an are you close? right before he rounds the corner and finds himself in front of the building.

Once he’s facing the all too familiar door to Yann’s flat, Lucas tucks his phone in and tries to hide his right hand before quietly knocking. A whole minute passes and then it’s Yann pulling him inside and towards his room.

“Everyone’s asleep,” he explains in a hushed tone when he locks the door behind them and sits down on his bed, expectantly looking up at Lucas.

Lucas doesn’t know what to do with himself. He feels out of place, like an intruder. His throat is dry.

Yann’s eyes widen for some reason. “Lucas, whose blood is it?” he asks.

Lucas looks down at where Yann’s eyes are glued. Indeed, there are traces of blood all over his jacket. He hasn’t thought about it when he was clutching his hand to his chest when his knuckles kept bleeding out.

“It’s mine. I… lashed out.” He reluctantly takes his damaged hand from his pocket and flinches when his fingers move. “It was a wall, don’t worry,” he mumbles, not meeting Yann’s eyes. He doesn’t want to see the disappointment he knows is there.

“Man, what’s going on with you?” Yann says, his voice panicked and Lucas gulps. “Sit down. I’ll look over it.”

Lucas does as he’s told all the while Yann leaves the room. Lucas’ heart is beating loud for some reason, completely unrelated to his throbbing fingers. He never wanted Yann to see him like this. But if not Yann, then who? They’ve both seen each other at their lowest. And not once have they rejected one another. But what if there’s a limit and Lucas is going to finally reach it?

Yann comes back after a few minutes, two bags of frozen cauliflower in one hand and first aid kit in the other. He sits down next to Lucas and starts gently disinfecting Lucas’ wounds. It hurts, hurts like a bitch, but Lucas clenches his jaw and takes it. Up until all of the dried blood is gone. Only then does he notice how some of his knuckles are crooked and his skin bruised. It looks really ugly.

Yann cradles Lucas’ fingers between his own, avoiding touching the open wounds. “Can you move them?”

Lucas tries to flex his fingers and hisses. “Hardly.”

“We’ll take you to a doctor tomorrow, ‘kay?” he asks, his big brown eyes boring into Lucas’. Lucas can’t do anything else but nod. “Tell me what’s up, now.” Yann puts Lucas’ hand between the cauliflower. Lucas welcomes the cold with a loud exhale. It almost kills the pain.

Yann pokes him in the side and looks at him meaningfully. Right, talking.

“Well, my father doesn’t want to give me money and I haven’t paid for two rents as of now. The owner wants me gone.” Lucas shrugs.

Yann visibly deflates.

“What a fucking piece of shit. He has to give you money, though. Right?” Yann asks, frowning.

“Apparently he doesn’t have to do anything.”

There are a few beats of silence, both of them looking down. Then, Yann puts his hand on Lucas’ shoulder and squeezes.

“I’m so sorry for not noticing earlier. You’ve been going through this whole shit completely alone. I’m a shitty best friend. And sorry for how I acted last week. Telling you to stop worrying everyone, fuck.”

Lucas casts him a glance. “It’s okay, I’d snap, too. You’ve caught up on something being wrong with me. Don’t blame yourself for me sitting quiet,” Lucas says, trying to send Yann a smile but failing miserably. He still hasn’t told Yann everything. He’s not sure he can bring himself to do it. “It’s not all,” he whispers and sees Yann perking up out of the corner of his eye. “There’s one more thing that’s been fucking with me.” He threads his fingers through his hair in irritation. He sighs and looks at Yann. “Someone’s been blackmailing me. That’s why… that’s why I ran out of money so quickly.”

Yann looks baffled. “What? How?”

Lucas stands up suddenly and walks over to the other part of the room, unable to stay in close proximity to Yann. He’s barely keeping it together. He’s been holding it all in for so long he can’t even imagine talking about it out loud. But… he owes as much to Yann, doesn’t he? Yann’s been nothing but patient and supportive, wanting Lucas to come to him with his troubles. He’s offering Lucas shelter despite his unawareness. And it’s not like Lucas thinks he’s ought to come out to Yann because of that, but he needs to explain himself and that’s the only way.

On the other hand, this secret has been his to bear for such a long time, sharing it with someone feels almost like betrayal in some twisted way. Lucas has been the only one to be drowning and it’s become a part of who he is. He’s built a whole persona around it, has been so damn protective of securing it safely. Lucas doesn’t even remember the time in his life when he didn’t have to hide. And now, giving that piece of information to Yann? It’s like losing something he’s been desperately clutching on. Being stripped of his own identity.

And there’s also fear. Fear of rejection. He wouldn’t be able to handle Yann not wanting him in his life anymore. Years ago, they decided to be best friends and it’s been the most precious thing for Lucas. He can’t imagine losing it.

But it’s Yann. The kind-hearted guy who notices something is wrong in an instant. Someone that’s been Lucas’ person, his anchor. His first love. Lucas needs to trust him.  

He takes a deep breath, both of his hands trembling. His tongue feels like cotton and it’s hard to look at the photographs standing on the shelves, some of them showing him and Yann together.

Lucas opens his lips, looking directly at a stain on the wall he remembers Yann leaving. His shoulders are nearly drawn to his ears when he says, “Someone took pictures of me. Kissing someone. Another boy. And I’ve been paying them so they wouldn’t leak them. And out me,” he says, his voice cracking every few words. He feels sweaty and cold. And the longer Yann doesn’t reply, the faster his heart is beating.

“So that’s what you meant by saying I wouldn’t understand,” Yann says thoughtfully after what feels like forever. Lucas hums in agreement, not trusting his own voice at the moment. “You were right.” Something sinks down in Lucas’ stomach and he feels sick. That’s what he was scared of the most. He wishes he could take it back. “I couldn’t possibly understand how you must feel. I wouldn’t know what to do in your situation, but I’m with you, okay? No matter what. I’ve got your back, Lucas.”

Then, Yann proceeds to come up to Lucas and with no ounce of hesitation, envelop him in a hug.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you when you needed it the most. But I’ve got you, okay? I’ve got you,” he whispers reassuringly into Lucas’ hair, holding him so tight it feels like he may never let go.

Lucas shakily exhales. He’s home.

 ***

 Lucas spends the night at Yann’s, sleeping quite well after he swallows some painkillers for his hand. Yann’s family doesn’t have anything against him being here, which he appreciates. If the looks of pity they send him is anything to go by, they’re probably thinking he’s having troubles with parents again. He doesn’t mind it, though, if it means he has a place to sleep in.

He doesn’t contact anyone else, but Lucas figures out that Yann does since his phone stopped being flooded with more notifications. He enjoys the quiet, it’s not as overwhelming.

Yann, true to his word, drags Lucas to the doctor to check his hand. It’s awful and embarrassing, especially when Lucas has to dodge the questions about the reason his hand is in this state. He keeps things vague and the doctor doesn’t push. Lucas gets prescribed painkillers(which he can’t buy, so sucks for him), the doctor tells him how to treat the two fingers that are broken(that’s why he couldn’t move them, huh) and shows him how to properly wrap the gaze so everything is secured.

Yann insists on buying them something to eat on their way to his home. Once they have their orders and begin eating, Yann speaks.

“We need to figure out what to do with the room issue and this blackmail.”

Yann’s ‘we’ makes Lucas nearly trip over himself. It’s been only ‘I’ for such a long time.

Lucas’ phone buzzes at this moment and he checks what it is. “Speak of the devil,” he mumbles. The blackmailer hasn’t contacted him in weeks.

“Huh?” Yann lets out and Lucas shows him the screen. They are a team now, so he’s allowed. “You haven’t sent the money for the last week. I won’t remind you again,” Yann reads aloud, his tone growing angrier with each second. “What an entitled asshole.”

Lucas hums, typing out a response.

“What did you tell them?”

“The truth. That I don’t have money,” he says, taking a bite of his hamburger. He may appear calm, but he’s feeling far from it. Just grasping the concept of being outed makes him want to scream. But what good would it do?

Lucas gets another message and he gulps. “They want one hundred euro as soon as possible or the photos are out,” he says. Where can he get this much from? Especially if he has to focus on rent first. “What do I do?” he says weakly.  

“Lucas, hey, Lucas.” Yann shakes him slightly. “We’ll get through this,” he assures Lucas, grabbing his shaking hands.

 ***

 Lucas knows he can’t stay at Yann’s forever, but when he gets offered yet another night, he can’t say no. He can’t go back to the flat he shares with Mika, Lisa, and Manon. There’s also no other place for him. He’s aware he’ll have to figure out the solution, but at the moment all he can do is try to fall asleep.

Of course, he can’t. There are so many thoughts invading his mind, all of them attacking him at once.

Yann knows about his struggles. Lucas hasn’t told him about sleeping with Chloé or about how much he hates himself, he decided to spare him. Especially since Yann seems to feel guilty about not being enough as a best friend. Nevertheless, he’s found out Lucas’ biggest secret. And despite the still paralysing fear of everyone else knowing, Lucas feels lighter. That doesn’t change the fact he doesn’t particularly love how the things are.

He’s gay no matter what he does. And he can’t just accept himself overnight simply because he came out to his best friend. No, he is still too scared to call himself gay out loud, still too scared to acknowledge his sexuality. He can’t not feel gross about himself. Lucas keeps thinking Yann will find him disgusting sooner or later. Or worse, he’ll realise Lucas used to have feelings for him and will put distance between them and their friendship will change forever. He doesn’t want this.

What would other people think if they knew? Lucas doesn’t feel like finding out any time soon. But it may happen. He’s not going to magically find a couple hundred euros to pay off the blackmailer and for the bills. He can’t even fathom to think about where he can end up in a few days. Logically, he knows he should start thinking about what’s next, but every time he tries his brain stops working altogether. Becoming homeless is huge and Lucas’ chest feels like expanding each time even a mere thought about it crosses his mind.  

Lucas should be looking for some shelters that could possibly take him in. He’s still a minor and what if the authorities find out he’s homeless and neglected by his parents? Will they put him in an orphanage or a foster home? He’s got no idea how it works and his head aches from all the possibilities.  

Is his father really going to abandon him completely? Should he let his mom know? Would she even be present enough? Last time they talked was months ago and Lucas has completely erased the memory, that’s how bad it was. But maybe she’s better now, she’s been getting treatment. But what can she do, honestly? She’s got no money to give him, relying on his father at the moment. And him telling her all of that could just cause unnecessary stress that would result in her condition getting worse. He can’t do it to her.

Lucas is so fucking lost right now.

 ***

 He stays with Yann throughout most of the Sunday, waiting for the other shoe to drop, checking whether the blackmailer has contacted him yet and hoping he isn’t as much of a disturbance as he feels.

They are currently playing a video game, courtesy of Yann. It’s his way of distracting Lucas.

“I did a thing,” Yann tells him halfway through the round and Lucas frowns.

He glances at him out of the corner of his eye, not losing focus on the game. “Yeah?”

“Please, don’t be mad,” he pleads in a small voice and Lucas’ throat goes dry.

“Why would I?” he asks, chuckling nervously.

“I’ve been thinking about how to help you. And then I reached to the guys and girls. I told them you’ve got no money and we started brainstorming. It was Daphne who suggested the idea, though. That each one of us could give some money and eventually we would get the whole amount for your rent.” Lucas pauses the game, his hands too clammy to keep pushing the buttons. “It was on short notice, but we’ve got enough. Everyone contributed as much as they could and yeah.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Lucas whispers, hanging his head low. Yann clasps him on the shoulder.

“Thank you would be enough,” he says, a smile audible in his voice.

“I– I can’t take it, though,” he cracks out.

“We all figured out you’d be too noble or some other shit so the money has been already transferred. There’s nothing you can do about it.”

“I don’t deserve that,” Lucas conquers. He shouldn’t be given money, shouldn’t be their charity case and a burden. He feels guilty. He should have handled it alone.

“Hey, I told you I’ve got your back. And I mean it. No one forced anyone to give money, everyone wanted to. Because we all care about you. You’re not alone, Lucas. Let us help,” Yann says, tugging Lucas closer. Lucas shudders but doesn’t say anything more. He’ll pay them back, he doesn’t know how, but he will. After all, they’ve saved him from losing a place to live for at least another month.

 ***

 Lucas gets back to the flat on Sunday afternoon, expecting things to be stiff and awkward. He’s scared to cross the doorstep, he doesn’t feel like he’s allowed inside. Especially after how he’s rushed out of here in the first place. Lucas is first and foremost, embarrassed.

When he hangs his jacket, he lingers by the door for a long moment, not knowing what is appropriate in this situation. He can’t simply go to his bedroom, but facing his flatmates seems like the last thing he wants to do in this circumstance.

“You’re back.” Lucas hears behind himself and turns around. Mika is looking at him, through him, frowning. He’s got his arms crossed over his chest. Lucas swallows loudly. Mika’s eyes briefly jump to Lucas’ right hand before they move back to his face.

“I’m sorry,” Lucas mutters, his pulse speeding up.

“You should be. Do you have any idea how worried we were? We were about to call the police before Yann let us know you came to him. And your hand? What happened?” Mika lets out a loud exhales and scrubs a hand down his face. “Never do something like that again,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m too old for this,” he adds under his breath.

“Is it okay if I stay?” Lucas asks quietly and Mika lets out an indignant noise.

“Of course! Lucas, I know I kind of handled it badly when I told you the news but I never wanted to scare you off. I’m not good with words when it comes to situations like that. The point is, it’s your place and we’re with you. No more running away,” Mika says solemnly and Lucas nods reluctantly.

“Okay.”

He gets a grin in return and before he knows it, he’s being dragged to the living room where Lisa and Manon are occupying the couch. They both smile at him when he enters and Manon points to the spare space on the couch next to her. Lucas sits down and is immediately pulled into a hug. Seconds later he’s being suffocated by all three of his flatmates wrapping their arms around him.

Man, that’s definitely an unexpected turn of events.

 ***

 Once Lucas is totally exhausted, he excuses himself to his room. The moment he locks the door behind himself, he lets out a loud breath and his knees buckle under him. Lucas slides down to the floor and closes his eyes.

The fact he’s back in the flat is so surreal to him. Lucas was sure it was the end for him, that he’s lost a place to stay. He can’t believe he’s gotten a second chance thanks to his friends. Lucas has already sent them messages to express how thankful he is and they mostly told him not to mention it or never hesitate to reach out for help. As if it was really not a big deal. But for him it is and he’s going to owe them for a very long time. Also the fact people he doesn’t know that well like Alexia or Daphne have helped, or Emma that he wronged in the past. He can’t wrap his head around it.

His phone buzzing with a new message stops his train of thought. Lucas looks down and sees it’s Eliott who’s texted him. He has given money as well despite all the weeks Lucas was hostile towards him.

Just writing to ask if everything is fine. Would it be okay if I called you?

Lucas raises one of his eyebrows, surprised, but writes a yeah. They’ve never called each other so that’s new.

Less than a minute passes and Eliott calls Lucas.

“Hello,” Lucas says.

“Hi. How are you?”

Good question.

Lucas moves a hand over his face and sighs. “I’m spent. Also once again, thank you a lot.”

“You’ve thanked enough. I’m glad I could help you out. Things are settled now, right?”

“At the moment. Ugh, it’s embarrassing that all of my friends know about how I don’t have money,” he mutters. He’d even consider it humiliating. It was really one of the things Lucas tried to handle himself and not have everyone finding out. “I don’t want you all pitying me,” he admits.

“I don’t pity you. And I’m sure the others aren’t either. You have a difficult situation, it happens,” Eliott says, his tone gentle. Lucas almost believes him.

“Can’t help feeling like a failure.” Lucas’ head thumps against the door. “For the record, I’m not letting you do this again.”

“Fucking watch us,” Eliott teases and they both chuckle. “Are you coming to school tomorrow?”

Lucas hums. “Can’t miss much of it anymore.”

“But hey, it has some pros,” Eliott notices cheerfully which brings a small smile to Lucas’ face.

“Which are?”

“I’ll be there.”

“Wow, so full of yourself, aren’t you?” Lucas bites down on his lower lip. Talking so lightly with Eliott feels good and only now does he realise how much he needed it.

“When you’re me, you can’t help it,” Eliott retorts.

“Oh, a furry that loves dubstep? I can’t imagine getting on your level.”

“I can’t believe you just said that,” Eliott says but there’s no real malice in his voice.

“Said what? The truth? I always do.” Except when he doesn’t, but that’s not the point.

They talk more, about nothing in particular, throwing into it playful insults. It lets Lucas relax and forget about his problems at least for a short while. Eliott has this weird something that activates whenever they are together. It creates a bubble, their own world and Lucas relishes in it as long as he can. They don’t touch any serious topics and Lucas thinks that Eliott knows. He could sense that all Lucas could handle as of now was some senseless blabbering. It’s comforting, being understood in such a way.

At some point, Lucas yawns into the receiver through a smile and hears a snort on the other end.

“My voice is putting you to sleep, huh? So I’m that boring,” Eliott says thoughtfully.

“That’s not it,” Lucas replies, his voice a bit slurred. “It’s just been a lot.”

“Yeah, I know. You should go to sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Lucas hums and soon after that Eliott hangs up. Lucas has barely any energy but somehow he makes it to the bed.

 ***

 Waiting for everyone to show up the next day, Lucas is a bundle of nerves. He isn’t sure what to expect from his friends and at this point, he’d rather not find out. Of course, they helped him out, but should he be prepared for an investigation? Looks full of pity? It’s the exact reason he wanted to avoid anyone finding out about his financial problems.

His leg keeps jiggling and Yann sends his way confused looks, but he doesn’t comment on Lucas’ behaviour. Lucas supposes it’s good, he’d sound ridiculous if he were to explain himself.

“Hello everyone!” Arthur says, plopping down next to Lucas on the bench. Lucas ends up squeezed between him and Yann. “Man, I stayed up all night watching this new TV show and I’m exhausted,” Arthur whines, placing his head on Lucas’ shoulder and yawns.

“That’s why you shouldn’t binge anything on a Sunday night,” Yann says cockily and Arthur snorts.

“I had to,” Arthur replies, sitting up straight. “I have history today so I’ll nap.”

Yann shakes his head, scrolling through his phone. “Good luck,” he says just as Basile and Eliott approach them.

Eliott sends Lucas a private smile and Lucas ducks his head.

“Guys, did you know Eliott is like, an adult? I had no idea,” Basile says excitedly, instead of a greeting.

Arthur scoffs at him. “Took you long enough.”

“Well, how could I know he was repeating?”

And Lucas sees the exact moment discomfort appears on Eliott’s face. There’s a reason he hasn’t talked about why he moved schools and it’s obvious he doesn’t want to start now.

Lucas stands up from the bench and swiftly shoves Basile in the place he was occupying before.

There are three pairs of eyes looking at him like he’s grown a second head.

“I need to stretch my legs a little, you know?” He chuckles. “What’s that TV show you watched about, by the way?” he asks, looking directly at Arthur who immediately perks up at it and starts rambling about the show with people that have superpowers but it’s not your typical superhero bullshit(Arthur’s words, not Lucas’). There’s time travelling, seven kids and apocalypse. Lucas gets lost by the time Arthur mentions a chimpanzee butler.

Eliott nudges him in the side gently and Lucas casts him a glance. There’s gratitude in Eliott’s eyes accompanied by warmth. The corners of Lucas’ lips twitch up. It’s the least he could do. Eliott’s been the one offering him some sort of protection and comfort ever since they started being buddies. Lucas doesn’t think of their friendship as something where they do things in exchange for others, no, but he wants to be the source of solace for Eliott the same way he is to Lucas. There’s that pull he feels that wants to be there for Eliott in situations like that. Or really, in any kind of situation.

“What happened to your hand?” Eliott whispers into Lucas’ ear when the others aren’t paying attention and it’s then that Lucas realises he’s taken his hand out of his pocket.

“You should’ve seen the other guy,” he jokes but it falls flat when he sees concern painted all over Eliott’s face. There’s a deep wrinkle between his eyebrows that Lucas itches to smooth out. But he keeps his left hand to himself.

“You got into a fight?”

Lucas looks at Eliott sheepishly, checks whether the guys are still in deep discussion about Arthur’s TV show and turns towards Eliott again. “It was a wall. I– uh, I was angry and I hit it a couple of times. It’s nothing.” He blushes in embarrassment.

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” Eliott mutters under his nose and his knuckles brush over Lucas’ bandaged fingers. He can only feel the pressure of Eliott’s touch but it’s enough for him to look away.

“Don’t worry, I had it checked,” he murmurs, for some reason knocking his hand into Eliott’s, seeking out his touch again. He realises what he’s doing is silly, especially when he feels Eliott’s eyes on the side of his face and he tucks his palm back into his pocket, restraining a hiss when one of his broken fingers accidentally catches on the material.

Eliott lets it go and Lucas sighs with relief, ignoring the tingly sensation dancing all over the place where their hands touched.

No one says anything about what happened over the weekend up until the first bell rings and they have to go to classes. It’s not mentioned during the lunch either and Lucas wonders whether he should simply let it go. But there’s an inkling in him that makes him feel like he hasn’t thanked enough, like he hasn’t shown them how much it meant for him. It’s not easy to brush off. They literally rescued him from being homeless. They and the girls, which Lucas would love to say thank you to as well.

He hasn’t thought of himself as important. He knew the guys care about him, that Yann is his best friend, but he’d never think they’d gather their own money to help him. Lucas is overwhelmed by this grand gesture and he can’t even give them anything in return since his bank account is as empty as it was a few days ago.

 ***

 He asks his father whether he’s going to stop supporting Lucas altogether, but he gets no response. Maybe that should tell him where he stands.

He messages the blackmailer asking them if he could get some more time, promising to figure something out. But this time he’s also left on read.

And Lucas thinks, how oddly construed this world is, where some dismiss him without a second  thought, toy with his life, while other people are there for him when he least expects it.

 ***

 “I was thinking… maybe we could invite both the boys and girls on Friday?” Lucas suggests, looking at Manon who’s reading her book. They’re both sprawled on the opposite ends of the couch, quietly chilling together when Lucas gets this idea. He’s been trying to figure out a way to get everyone in one place and let them know how grateful he is. And yeah, he knows inviting them over isn’t exactly the most brilliant idea, especially since he can’t buy drinks for them and entertain them in a way a party could, but it counts for something.

“I think it’s a good idea,” Manon says, folding the corner of her book and closing it to move her eyes towards Lucas. “I could cook something, I’ve been trying out new recipes and they could tell me if it’s any good.” She grins at him. Lucas noticed, there’s barely a moment when Manon isn’t in the kitchen, cooking or baking. He’s actually surprised she decided to read a book now, instead of making yet another dinner she’ll have to share with the rest of the flat because it’s always too much for her.

“That would be pretty nice. I could help you?” he offers uncertainly. He’s not good when it comes to cooking, but it would be unfair if Manon was the one doing something for the gathering he proposed.

She only waves him off. “Nah, I like to work alone. Smaller chance to get distracted,” she explains with a smile. “What’s the occasion?”

Lucas sighs, frowning. “I just want to say thank you for all you’ve done for me,” he says in a small voice and shrugs.

“Oh, Lucas. But you don’t have to.” She reaches out one of her hands and covers Lucas’ uninjured palm. She squeezes for emphasis.

“I want to,” he says, his tone meaningful and she tilts her head to the side.

“You’re organising a party when I’m not here?” Mika walks into the room, interrupting the moment and Manon retreats to her end of the couch again.

“It’s not a party,” Lucas says. Damn, he actually wanted to thank Mika as well. Despite him saying he couldn’t help Lucas anymore after he and Lisa covered his rent last month, Yann told Lucas that the both of them were way too eager to add something to the sum. Even though they didn’t have to. “Where are you going to be?”

“I have a date,” Mika says, wiggling his eyebrows, and throws himself between Lucas and Manon. Their legs miraculously move out of his way before they could get trapped under him. “So behave, kids. I can’t be here to supervise you.”

“Oh, yeah. Since you’re always on guard,” Manon teases, one of her eyebrows raised and Mika splutters.

“Of course I am. I’m the one keeping this whole flat in check,” he says solemnly just as Lisa enters the room.

“Like shit you are,” she says, squeezing herself between Manon and Mika.

 ***

 Despite initial hesitance, Lucas reaches out to everyone and tells them to come over on Friday. None of them decline and additionally, Yann and Eliott promise to bring something to drink, which is like another thing Lucas has to thank them for.

When it comes to it, Lucas is preparing the flat for nine people(because he counts Manon even if she’s currently locked in the kitchen, cooking ever since she finished school today). Both Mika and Lisa can’t be here – one has a date and the other is working the evening shift. That’s okay, Lucas will pay them back eventually in one way or another.

He cleans up the living room and his room in case someone wants to stay the night. Then he panics upon thinking that Eliott has never been over and it’ll be the first time he’ll be seeing the whole place. What if he’s the one who wants to stay the night and goes to Lucas’ room, concludes it’s a disaster and decides they can’t be friends anymore? Oh, geez. As an afterthought, maybe he should lock his room.

Once Lucas is done with the flat, he tries to go and help Manon. Tries being the keyword. The moment he enters the kitchen, she shoots him a look from the place she’s mixing something in the pot and he immediately steps back.

There’s still some time left so he goes back to the living room and plops down on the couch.

 ***

 In the end, Manon really outdoes herself. She prepared mini sandwiches, cooked a stew, made pasta with some fancy sauce and baked an apple pie and cinnamon cupcakes. Lucas isn’t sure if the stress cooking after breaking up with Charles will change into a real passion, but at the moment she’s milking it in the best way possible.

It’s around 7 pm when everyone comes around. It’s not only Eliott and Yann who bring something to drink. Emma has a six pack with herself and Daphne hands him a bottle of wine when she kisses his cheeks in greeting.

It’s a little crowded in the end when they all settle in the living room. Lucas is seated next to Yann and Manon on the couch with Eliott propped up on the armrest next to Lucas, Imane is sitting on one of the chairs while Daphne takes up the other one and Alexia, Arthur, and Basile sit on the pillows placed on the floor. No one seems bothered by the arrangement, though. Quite the opposite. They all eat, drink, laugh and talk. It feels great and Lucas is choked up with an emotion he can’t find a name for. All he knows is that he needs to say something or he’ll explode.

“Hey, guys,” he speaks out, raising his voice a little to be heard over the noise. He succeeds when everyone turns towards him and he clears his throat. “I wanted to get you here together, to thank you all for what you did for me. I know I didn’t deserve it and I’ll find a way to pay you back, but I want you to know that you literally saved my life. It’s… it’s hard for me to talk about,” he looks down on his bandaged hand, “and I’m glad none of you tried to get it out of me. You’ve been so patient with me and so many of you said not to mention it, but it means a lot to me and I can’t stress it enough. I–“

“Lucas, we know. And you’d do the same for us. Don’t kill yourself over thinking how you can pay us back or that you aren’t grateful enough. We did it because we wanted to. We’re your friends, no matter what,” Imane says, smiling gently at him.

“I hope you know I’m your friend no matter what, too,” he says. Just like with Eliott, he doesn’t want his relationships with either of these people to be one-sided, where he’s the one leeching off of them. Most importantly, he doesn’t want to be a burden.

“We know,” Basile says, extending his fist towards Lucas. Lucas huffs but fist bumps him. He looks over them, smiling and sees that they mean it. Even the people he’s never been as close with.

Soon enough the topic changes, people start talking and tiny groups form. Lucas is content enough listening, only providing a comment from time to time. He’s pleasantly buzzed from the beer he’s drunk so far, full from Manon’s cooking and surrounded by people that care about him and that he cares about in return. In this moment, he doesn’t need anything more.

His phone buzzes and distantly he hears other people’s phones going off with notifications at the same time. He unlocks the screen and sees that he’s been tagged in a post on Instagram. Lucas frowns and clicks on the notification. What he sees makes him unable to breathe and he hears ringing in his ears. He looks up from his phone, his eyes skimming over everyone in the room. They are all in the process of taking their phones out or already looking at the screen.

His grip on the phone tightens.

“Lucas?” He hears Yann through the thick fog in his mind. But he can’t speak.

[thatisnicemahogany]

Spine Breaker: Ch. 3

Summary: Life in the mafia isn’t just about killing and maintaining order, but also maintaining their lives as 7 individuals becoming family.

Genre: Mafia!AU with fluff and mild angst

Pairing: None? Platonic OT7?

Series masterlist

CHAPTER THREE: “Jin’s Backstory: A Mother’s Contract”

The flashing of neon lights reflected in the luminescent puddles of rain-water littering the sidewalk. Walking toward the restaurant, Kim Jiyoo’s heels echoed down the almost-empty alleyway tucked beside the five-star restaurant looming over the line of shopfronts. Stopping in front of the door to the restaurant, she breathed in the cold night air to clear her head.

Stop acting as if this is a life or death situation. You have your proposal; you know what you want. All you have to do is ensure they say yes. With these affirmations running in her head, she straightened her shoulders, positioned her head just high enough to look down on those she passed, and focused on the rhythmic clicking of her own heels to regulate her breathing.

As she walked in the door, the host looked up from his guestbook, and as their eyes met said, “Ah, yes. Welcome, Mrs. Kim. Sir and Madame have been expecting you.” With a sympathetic smile and a slight shift of concern in his eyes, he beckoned Jiyoo to follow him with a hand. “Follow me, please. They’re at their usual table upstairs.”

Trailing behind the too-unassuming host, Jiyoo fidgeted in the pockets of her blazer to maintain the façade of her calm and confident front and felt the little notecard in her pocket. With a small smile on her face, she let her mind drift to her husband’s antics earlier that day.

*** 

When she walked into her office after the hell that was her lunch meeting, she was greeted with the sight of the biggest bouquet of pink lilies she had ever seen. The fact that her husband still hadn’t forgotten her favorite flower after all these years brought color to her face. Next to them was a note in her husband’s barely legible writing:

Hello, my love.

When thinking of what I could possibly send you to make you smile today, I knew your favorite flowers would do the trick. Pink lilies to symbolize wealth and prosperity for the most talented and driven woman I know: the woman I fell in love with years ago. You are going to be amazing tonight. I only wish I was able to be by your side.

I will be with you in spirit, my love.

Forever yours, 

Seokwon

***

With the confidence-instilling words her husband gave her, she ascended the last steps and came face-to-face with the people who she hoped could change her life. The Kim family was, to put it lightly, influential. Simply being in the same room with them was overwhelming. They each carried themselves with a gentle air of authority.

Raking her eyes over the couple in front of her, Jiyoo forced her head high once again and approached the table with a feigned confidence. “Mr. and Mrs. Kim, thank you so much for meeting with me. My name is-”

“Kim Jiyoo. Ah, yes. I would recognize you anywhere. The so-called ice queen of the business world.” Kim Hyungjoon said in a quiet, yet sure voice.

When Jiyoo looked slightly stunned, the woman sitting at the center of the table, to the left of her husband, chuckled airily and said, “Ignore him, dear. He’s a few drinks in and feels the need to put up a manly bravado in front of new clients. Please,” she gestured toward the seat right next to her with a look in her eye that didn’t leave room for argument, “sit.”

As Jiyoo sat as gracefully as she could in the pencil skirt she chose to wear, she heard Hyungjoon mutter, “It is not a bravado thing.”

“Of course it isn’t, love,” Namjoo mutters as she pat her husband’s arm with a soft smile on her face. As she turned toward Jiyoo, her soft smile shifted to one a bit sharper, one that sent a chill down Jiyoo’s spine. “Now, I assume there was a reason you asked to meet with us. Not many people simply want to make friends.”

“Ah, y-yes. Of course,” Jiyoo muttered as she rifled through her bag for the papers she spent a full month preparing. “Yes, here is my proposal.”

“So, as I understand, you need us to fund a resurrection of sorts for your company,” Hyungjoon stated over his glass.

“Yes, all of the details are in the proposal. I simply need enough funds to start a clean slate with the hiring process. We are cleaning house, as some would say. I would also need funds to make up for what we lost in the last quarter. In retrospect, it is a large sum of money, but I also included a tentative plan to repay the money, if projections are correct.”

At this, Namjoo raised up in her seat and rested her chin on her well-manicured hand. Leaning in a little too close for Jiyoo’s comfort, Namjoo raised her brow and asked, “What exactly happened for you to lose your money? Upward of 300 million won is a lot to lose in a quarter. How can you prove to us that this won’t happen again?”

Jiyoo shrunk back in her seat momentarily but straightened her shoulders as she spoke. “We had a snake. One of our accountants was working for another company. He was skimming the top of too many accounts to name. The man who finally caught it is the only one staying on in the re-hire process. He is the only one we can trust.”

Reaching over to grab one of the folders on the table, Jiyoo quickly flipped through one of the many packets and stopped about halfway through. Leaning toward Namjoo, she pointed at a specific paragraph: “If you look here, this is our detailed plan for the rehire process. With your financial help, we could do more in-depth background checks and have more resources to monitor work as it’s happening.”

The night continued with this back and forth. An hour and three bottles of wine later, Namjoo looked at Jiyoo with a grin on her face. “Dear, not that I am unhappy that you’re coming to us for help, but this is purely a financial situation. We are the mafia. Why don’t you simply go to a bank and request a loan?”

Jiyoo chuckled. “No banks would ever give me a loan. As your husband mentioned earlier, I am the ice queen of the business world. I do that for a reason: no one ever takes a woman in business seriously. I’ve seen how you help women who want to do more with their lives than live in a man’s shadow. I love my husband dearly, but I don’t want to be known as Kim Seokwon’s wife. I want to be known as Kim Jiyoo, CEO. You are the only one who can provide that.”

At that, Namjoo reached over to press her hand to Jiyoo’s arm. With a subtle yet firm squeeze, she grinned. “Jiyoo, I look forward to seeing how you flourish.”

-

Within a few months, the money Jiyoo received from the Kim family not only brought her out of debt but provided the platform to expand her business. She was flourishing once again. She was able to fire those who proved a detriment to the company and replace them within a matter of days. Everyone in the business world wanted to work for CEO Kim Jiyoo.

She ran her company with quiet compassion and a stern demeanor. Though she is quite skilled at what she does, she knew how unlikely it is for a woman to maintain such a high position in Korea, so she put up a front. The headlines called her icy, cold, a dictator. They may have been right, but she was on top for a reason. Years in business school slaving away for pigs of men simply to get a chance at her dream were finally paying off. If she must be a bitch to succeed in business, then a bitch she would be.

Her husband knew the truth, though. Seokwon had seen her collapse on the couch after a 16-hour day wearing a corset of a pencil skirt and balancing on heels that keep her feet arched at an ungodly angle. He had seen her break down after a particularly rough day with the press. She never cried, though. No, she had been taught that crying was a weakness, and no one can think she’s weak. Instead, she stared at herself in the mirror, eyes void of emotion, shoulders hunched in on herself to make herself seem small. Seokwon would rather see her cry.

Each time this happened, he walked into the bathroom and took his place beside her. This time was no different. Hands slowly reaching for his wife, he gently pushed her shoulders back. He turned her to face him and forced a small smile onto his face. Index finger under her chin, he raised her head so she had to look down her nose at him. “A woman with so much strength should never look small, love. Stand tall and raise your head high. You should always be looking down at those around you, including me. Take a breath. Reset. Just be with me right now. The world can wait until tomorrow for their CEO.”

Taking a deep breath, Jiyoo’s shoulders relaxed slightly. She sagged into her husband’s chest and wrapped her arms around his waist. Leaving the venom-filled words for tomorrow, she breathed in her husband’s cologne. Always a comfort, she lifted her head, placed a chaste kiss to his lips, and with barely any room between them, whispered “I love you.”

Seokwon slowly backed them into the bedroom. Never letting go of his wife, he moved one hand to her face and the other to her hip.  “You are so strong, darling. I love you more than words can express.” Getting closer as he spoke, he leaned toward her ear and whispered, “Let me show you.”

Hours later, with the moonlight shining in their apartment window, the two entwined in their sheets and each other, Jiyoo knew that as long as this man was by her side, everything would be just fine.

-

Just over a month later, Jiyoo was standing in the conference room discussing the next month’s budget when she suddenly got lightheaded. What the fuck? I never do this. Just breathe. You can’t show them you’re distracted.

“The projections for next month seem to be higher than average,” the man to her left said; Hyungwon, she thought, nausea starting to affect her concentration. “I think we may be able to hire a few more interns if the numbers pan out the way they’re supposed to.”

Covering up a wretch with a cough, she breathed out, “Good. Start the paperwork on that as soon as you can. Is there anything else of importance I need to know about?”

Shrinking back from her cold tone, the man stuttered out, “N-no ma’am. We just n-need your signature on the n-new forms whenever they finish printing.”

Feeling bile climb up her throat, she shoved herself up from the table with a rushed “send them through my secretary as soon as they’re ready” and walked as quickly as she could out the door.

As soon as she was out of everyone’s sight, she ran to the bathroom. Just barely closing the door, she threw herself toward the toilet and vomited up the contents of her stomach. Once her stomach was empty, she sat on the cold tile of the bathroom floor in silence. Blankly staring at the cracks in the ceiling, she wondered why she was sick. I didn’t eat anything out of the ordinary. No one around me is sick. I had my…Oh shit. OH SHIT!

Scrambling to her feet, Jiyoo frantically pulled out her phone to look at the date. Oh no…I’m late. Pulling up her contacts list, she called the one person she could think of.

“Hello?”

“Hello, it’s me. Can we meet? I’m in trouble…”

-

Walking up to the Kim household was something Jiyoo never thought she would get used to. The architecture itself is intimidating, not accounting for the majorly influential family that lived inside. When she approached the door, she didn’t have time to knock before the door swung open to reveal Kim Namjoo herself.

Clutching her baby to her hip, Namjoo greeted Jiyoo with “Hello, darling. Please come in. You sounded so worried on the phone. What kind of trouble are we in now, hmm?”

As Namjoo ushered her in with a smirk on her lips, Jiyoo blurted out, “I think I’m pregnant.”

Namjoo froze mid-step, mouth hanging open as she stared at Jiyoo. After a few seconds, she composed herself and cleared her throat. “Kyungmi!” she calls into the kitchen, “Can you take Kyungjoon and occupy him for a bit upstairs? It’s almost time for his nap. Plus, us girls need to have a chat.”

“Yes, Mrs. Kim,” the young woman said as she took the baby out of Namjoo’s hands. Bowing slight to Jiyoo, she exited the room quickly.

“Now dear, let’s go into the living room and get comfortable. I think we have a long story ahead of us, don’t we?”

Namjoo led the terrified woman into a nice sitting area. The couches were all situated in a semi-circle facing around a rather large TV.

“Can I get you some tea for your nerves? Or would you like to tell me why you’re so scared?”

Before Namjoo could sit down, Jiyoo burst into tears. The older woman, seeing her distress, immediately brought her into her arms. She held her as the tears flowed. Once they stopped and Jiyoo told her everything that happened that morning, Namjoo sat and listened, a small smile stuck on her face.

“So, that’s it. I think I’m pregnant. I suppose I should take a test, but I’m never late. It’s the only thing that makes sense. What am I going to do? I’m not a mother; I’m a businesswoman. Sure, I’ve wanted kids in the past, but I thought I had given that opportunity up when I decided to pursue my company. And Seokwon, you know how he is. He’s so loving, but he can be irresponsible at times. Wait…why are you laughing?”

Wiping tears from her eyes, Namjoo chuckled and said, “Oh, Jiyoo. You sound like a mother already. Everything will work out in the end. You are one of the most determined women I know, and you are going to be an amazing mother…but I know you. You came here for another reason. You didn’t just come here to talk my head off about your anxieties. What did you come to ask of us?”

“…I want your protection. Well, I want this baby to have your protection. I want them to be able to go through life and not have to worry about the things I did. I want them to thrive. With your help, I know they will.”

“Jiyoo…you’re a dear friend. You’ve come to us for help before, so you know what our help means. I’d like to think we are a gracious family. We help those we love, but we do expect something in return. Your child will have to work for us to repay this debt.”

The expectant mother sighed. “I know…I want you to know that this debt will be repaid in full, however you would like. My child will work for your family, in a sense. Think of them as a friend to your child, children if there are more.  But I want to ask you one thing…If my child decided to leave, then they will be granted every right of a child of the mafia, a new start, financial help, whatever they may need. If that happens, I will ensure that I will take over that debt.”

Namjoo agreed to the terms and, after talking for a little while longer, walked the young woman to the door. As they hugged goodbye, Namjoo whispered in her ear, “Be sure that the debt is paid.”

-

That late December brought Jiyoo and her husband back to the Kim’s door, this time with a little baby in her hands. As soon as Seokwon opened the door, they were greeted by the silent Hyungjoon.

With a simply nod, he spoke and said, “Hello dear. How are you feeling? How’s the little one?”

Before she could respond, Seokwon cut in with a dramatic flair to the way he touched his hand to his head. “Oh Hyungjoon, how do you stay so young with a baby? It’s only been a few days, and this little one has aged me at least a decade. Do you know how bad wrinkles are for my career?”

Chuckling slightly, Hyungjoon stage whispered, “How do you two make it work again?”

“He keeps me on my toes, that’s for sure. But he makes me smile,” With her glance lingering on her husband, she walked into the very living room that, just months ago, she was sobbing into the arms of the only woman she could call her friend.

“Ah, I thought I heard trouble coming,” she said as Namjoo hugged Seokwon. Turning to Jiyoo, she kissed her forehead and gently placed her palm on the bundle in the younger woman’s hands. “And this must be the little gentleman I’ve been waiting to see. How is he doing? How are you doing?”

“It’s…an adjustment. I never thought I would be a mother, and this little guy is proving to be quite the dramatist. He takes after his father,” Jiyoo said with a roll of her eyes.

“Well, come in, dear. Everyone is here. We’ve just been waiting for the tiny guest of honor!”

As Namjoo escorted her and her tiny little family to the lavish dining room, nerves started to overtake her. Ultimately, Jiyoo knew the significance of this dinner. She had known since the day she asked for the Kim’s protection: her baby boy would live within the realm of the mafia, just like she and her husband already did. They lived on the outskirts, but she feared that her son would become too involved.

Meeting the gazes of the multitude of people seated at the long kitchen table seeming to span the entirety of the room, Jiyoo sat directly to the right of Namjoo, who sat at one end of the table, while Hyungjoon sat across from his wife at the other end. As everyone was seated, Namjoo cleared her throat, and everyone began to eat.

Dinner itself was met only with a few interruptions, the baby boy only waking up twice, once to be fed, the other to be changed. Jiyoo kept to herself and Namjoo, while Seokwon struck up a conversation with the young-looking man next to him. The poor boy looked slightly alarmed at her husband’s confidence.

With a chuckle, Namjoo stood up and gently tapped the side of her glass with a spoon. As her husband joined her in standing, the rest of the table followed. As she cleared her throat, the woman looked over at Jiyoo and started to speak.

“Thank you all for coming to our home today. We are all here today to honor the fact that the new generation is gaining another member. Your friends and mine have brought with them today their new baby boy. With his arrival, we see growth within the clan. We are honored to have this wonderful baby boy, Kim Seokjin, enter into this home. If you will all raise your glasses with me, to Kim Seokjin…”

At this, Namjoo glanced at Seokwon, put her hand gently over Jiyoo’s resting on baby Seokjin’s side, raised her head high and said,

“Welcome to the Family.”

[altean-plance-au]

Loose Ends (Part 1)

Continuing from the New Assignment series. This time: a lot of protecting happens and the title refers to the author finally posting something after what seems like forever. Also Keith finally makes his appearance in the AU.

Featuring a scene from this piece by @honestlyprettychill (AdminChilly)

Admin Hush ( @hushman) will provide part 2 in the coming days.

~~~~~~~~

The next time he and Pidge found a trail of shattered Balmeran crystals, he would take the wiser route and alert the Castle first before following it, Lance decided sorely.

Had he done so the first time, they might have been able to avoid this situation.

Heavy footsteps announced a new arrival, interrupting the eerie quiet of the dark room. Lance’s ears twitched, eyes closed to feign sleep and aide his concentration.

It was not armored boots, he knew what those sounded like better than back of his hand. The sound was more akin to softer shoes, like those nobles would wear.

Their host was finally going to introduce himself then.

Lance maneuvered his bound wrists the best he could behind his back, reaching out with the tips of his fingers as far as they could go. They sifted through a sea of crinkly material, the name of which rested on the tip of his tongue. He couldn’t see it, only able to turn his head to see a portion of what was over his shoulder. Even that was a difficult task between the darkness of the room and a taut rope keeping him tight against the back of the chair.

His hands finally made contact with flesh - another pair of hands - and he squeezed them.

“We’re about to have a visitor,” Lance told Pidge. “Stay alert.”

A squeeze back was all the response he received before the door opened and the room flooded with bright light. Lance winced and turned away, closing his eyes at the sensory overload.

“When my men told me I had some unscrupulous visitors, I hardly believed that the honorary princess was one of them,” the voice said with disgust. Lance recognized it immediately, but Pidge beat him to the punch.

“Duke Elor,” she said distastefully. Lance felt her body tense where their backs touched. “I should have known you were behind the drones. What are you planning to do with all these Balmeran crystals?”

Lance opened his eyes once more and turned his head to observe the duke. His gaze was drawn to what the only man held; his broadsword. The one King Alfor had given him upon becoming a Castle guard.

A part of him wanted to be very angry at the irreverence by which the duke held the special weapon. The luxury to do so was not afforded to him.

A very bad situation had just turned into a bodyguard’s worst nightmare. Helpless to protect his charge in the first place, Duke Elor had never been shy about his dislike of the Holt siblings. Although both families were equally distant cousins of the crown, Pidge and her brother had been granted the titles of princess and prince by virtue of their father’s valued scientific and military council.

Elor was perhaps understandably jealous, but Lance had never pegged him to go this far.

“Is it wrongful to do business in the trading of Balmeran crystals in peace and quiet?” he asked airily. “The drones are not mine," his voice carried in annoyance. "The trail which led the two of you here was an oversight which I have personally seen to the correction of.”

“It is illegal if you have them infused with additives,” Pidge accused. “For good reason. They’re a power source themselves, too dangerous to be mixed with any other energy.”

“A growing necessity in a demanding economy and viewpoint which our beloved king does not share,” Elor said condescendingly. “And because we do not see eye to eye, the two of you will remain here while I deliver this to my client.”

“You won’t get away with this,” Pidge growled. “King Alfor will find out about this.”

“Perhaps eventually, after I am long gone off planet,” he said coolly.

Lance scoffed, and grinned in confidence. “There’s no way you’ll get past space port security. They’ll be all over you before you can even break the atmosphere.”

His grin vanished as Elor’s mouth morphed into an unkind smile. “It is a good thing you both are here to provide a distraction, then.”

Reaching into his pocket, Elor produced a flare and lit it with the flick of his fingers.

The room illuminated and fear gripped Lance fast. The room in which they were being held was storage for mounds of dried juniberry and other tea leaves. Tied tightly to the chair, Lance hadn’t been able to feel the leaves through his armor, even though they piled up to his chest.

Leaves dry enough to catch fire with even the smallest spark.

Like the flare Elor had just lit.

“I thank you that your final act in life will be to my assistance.” He placed Lance's broadsword up against the wall next to the door. “I can at least afford you the luxury of perishing with your weapon. Farewell, children.”

“Wait, Duke Elor don’t - !”

The Duke dropped the flare to the floor and both captives gasped in fear as the leaves burst into flame, spreading quickly all around them.

“Do not feel as if you’ve failed your duties, Lieutenant,” the duke said as he stepped backwards out of the room. “Think of yourself as here to guard Miss Holt in the afterlife.”

The door locked shut with deadly finality. Darkness returned but for what the fire illuminated. To Lance’s dismay, it had already engulfed a whole quarter of the room.

“If you have something clever up your sleeve,” he said in panic, “now would be the time!”

Pidge wiggled her wrists furiously. “Don’t you think I’m trying?! The leaves are so far gone I can barely feel a pulse. You’ve got water magic, put it out before it gets to us!”

Lance went rigid, shrieking as his toes begin to get too warm for his liking and a soft glow appeared just before him. “I can’t move my hands. Even if I could there’s no water here!” Desperately, he blew hard towards the flame, hoping to hold it back.

“Stop it, you’re going to make it worse! Just - just give me a minute!” Pidge yelled. Though her words were sharp, Lance could hear the fear in her voice.

Lance gave her silence and felt the familiar warmth of her magic fill the space immediately around them. While normally it gave him good feelings, the encroaching threat and the increasingly unbearable heat on his legs made it difficult.

Pidge coughed and Lance found himself doing the same after inhaling smoke. Was this really how he was going to meet his end? The worst bodyguard ever? Never to see his family again - let alone if they would ever find out what really happened to him.

Maybe now was the time to tell Pidge about his budding feelings for her. The timing was awful, but it was the one regret he could fix right now - for better or for worse.

“Pidge,” he began, “there’s something I need to - “

A leaf cut across his cheek as sharp as any sword. More of them circled and cut the rope that kept him tied down. In a flurry, even more leaves pushed out away from him, reducing the agony of the fire.

Lance looked up in wonder. The words he had intended to say taken from his mouth, leaving him to gape like a fish at the sight. Leaves swirled around the both of them until the floor beneath was bare, making them the center of a vortex of leaf and flame.

The ropes no longer restrain him and Pidge’s labored breath snaps him out of his awe.

“Pidge!” he jumped out of his chair and ran around to face his charge, kneeling to get a better look at her face. She sat in deep concentration, also now unbound. Sweat fell from her temples and her breathing became increasingly strained. Pidge rarely used this much volume of flora in practice, but the amount of energy Lance knew she was using due to the near-dead leaves was overwhelming her.

“Pidge, it’s time to go. I’ll carry you, we’ll make a break for the door,” he prodded.

Pidge did not respond, her head bowed and brows creasing with strain. Her face was more pale than usual.

She wasn’t going to be able to hold the firestorm in place for long anyway.

It was his turn to come up with a solution then.

Lance called upon his magic and with great care not to disturb Pidge, took her sweat and gathered it into as big a ball as he could.

He used the knowledge from one of Pidge’s lessons and infused his own energy into the small sphere. It grew in volume, bolstered by Lance’s magic. Standing, and stepping backwards, he balanced the precious water between his palms. Then very carefully he maneuvered it into the firestorm that surrounded them. The water mixed in with the fire and it slowly began to sizzle out bit by bit, leaving only a tornado of tea leaves.

A moan from behind alerted Lance that Pidge could not last any longer. She fell into his arms and the leaves dropped at the same time. The fire had not been extinguished, but their powers had bought them time.

"Let's get out of here, Pidge. Hold onto me tight." He took her arm and slung it over his own shoulder, carrying her towards the door.

Pidge groaned and her eyelids fluttered. "I've got the door. Stand back."

She raised her arm and Lance saw what she was going for. He supported her arm and activated the computer on her wrist cuff for her once it was aimed at the door's control panel. In just a few tics it opened without a problem.

"Nice job, Pidge," Lance said. Pride for his friend filled him. "You never cease to amaze me."

"Save it for later," Pidge said as she flopped her head into Lance's side. "We need to get out of here and warn the Castle. Duke Elor is still out there."

Lance dutifully helped her outside, a fond feeling rising in his chest. "Let's get you to a safe place and we'll do just that. I have to do my job right once today," he quipped. He accompanied it with a forced chuckle.

Pidge didn't respond. Lance frowned, a serious demeanor falling over him. He collected his sword and sheathed it with his free hand.

He almost failed today. He wouldn't let it happen again.

~~~~

Pidge woke rejuvenated. Aside from a post-wake up haze, her body felt energized and ready. Her legs felt slightly damp. She opened her eyes to see Lance sitting up next to her, their backs against a tree. The morning dew still clung to the grass underfoot.

Not just any tree, she realized, the Father Tree. Pidge sighed in relief. She couldn’t think of any safer place for them to be right now save the throne room. Even though her relationship with the Tree was still tenuous, she knew permission was there to draw upon some of the Tree's smaller branches.

She still needed to fully earn its trust.

"I'm glad you're awake," Lance said in relief. "How are you feeling?"

"Much better," she said. "I think the Father Tree did me a favor and replenished my magic. Did you call for help?"

Lance nodded. "Shiro has some guards on the way. I told them where we're at." He paused and tears formed around his eyes. Without warning, he grabbed her into a tight hug. "I was so worried for you. Here you are, saving me when I'm supposed to be your bodyguard."

Once over the initial surprise, Pidge returned the hug softly. Something about Lance was so earnest and warm and it infected her with ease. It may have been cliche to think she was safe in his arms. "You brought me here. There was no way I could have gotten out of there alone. You more than did your job. We're a team remember? That was our deal from day one."

Lance chuckled, tears evident in his relief. "You're right. I'm just... so thankful you're okay. And not just because you're my boss. It's because you're my friend and you mean so much mo - "

"This is all very quaint, and rather annoying."

Pidge gasped and broke from the hug. Focused on what Lance had been about to say, she hadn't been paying attention to her surroundings. Inexplicably, Duke Elor stood before them. Two guards of his own aimed blasters menacingly towards her and Lance.

"How - how did you find us?" Pidge exclaimed angrily.

"I'm just as frustrated as you, young lady," Elor chided. "Here I am awaiting my ride only to discover that the two of you have pulled off the impossible and escaped. That building should be in ruins by now."

Lance shifted to his knees, sword between her and them. “We aren’t that easy to kill,” he said. Pidge couldn’t recall the last time he had sounded this devoid of all humor.

This situation scared him, she realized. Same as it did her.

“Careful with your choice of words, Lieutenant. I might take that as a challenge.”

Wind whipped up around the area, causing leaves and branches of all kinds to whirl about indiscriminately. Pidge shielded her face, but did not miss the shuttle that landed on the beach just yards away.

“Be obedient children this time and stay put for your death.”

The trees trembled in the presence of newcomers. It was Pidges only warning and she realized with a gasp that more enemies were inbound from the ship.

“Lance, above you!”

Lance raised the sword above him not a tic too soon. It clashed with a shorter blade descending from the trees. Lance grunted and heaved, forcing the assassin to land a good distance away and unable to complete the blow that had been intended for her.

The assassin was masked in purples and blacks, a sign of Galra make.

A greater fear than death took her. Pidge turned the fear to anger, directed at Elor. “We have been at peace with Daibaazal for centuries. Now you bring assassins and risk it all? For profit?!”

Elor did not react, placing his hands behind his back in proper posture. “We all must do what we can my dear child. Peace is simply bad for business.”

Lance stood to face the Galra assassin, practically snarling with his sword at his side ready to go. Pidge dug into her magic reservoirs, hidden behind Lance for the element of surprise.

Sweat dripped down her face as Pidge's brain fought for a solution. Now the situation had turned impossible. If they were killed by a Galra blade, Altea would go up in arms. If they killed a Galra, even provoked, Zarkon would go to war.

Lance understood this as well as she did. He held his ground, grip visibly tightening around the hilt of his sword.

Elor turned up to the trees on his left, smile savage. “Kill the princess,” he ordered.

“Don’t you touch her!” Lance yelled, and launched himself at Elor.

Elor’s personal guards fired their blasters. Facial markings glowing bright and magic concentration in the palm of her hand, Pidge summoned help from the leaves of the surrounding trees to create a barrier for Lance, desperate to make sure he wouldn’t be hurt.

The leaves could not shield all of the continuous blasts. Lance deflected some with his sword as he pushed forward, but his battle cry quickly turned into one of pain. He twisted and fell to the ground with his back against the enemy.

Pidge's breath caught in her throat as the assassin cut through her leaf shield and came at Lance with sword raised to strike a blow.

“Lance, look out!” she yelled.

Lance spun around on his back and once again met the Galra blade to blade. The two held the others blow, Lance clearly struggling after the repeated hits from the blasters.

The broadsword flew from Lance’s hand, flying and skidding a sizable distance away. The assassin’s blade thrust into his stomach and he screamed in pain.

Pidge wanted to go numb. Lance was her friend, possibly best friend. He was warm and kind and quick to be silly. He was her training partner, the first she’d ever had. Whatever she did, she did with him.

She loved him.

Through tear stained and fearful eyes, determination won out. She would not go numb, that wouldn’t help Lance at all. He would not die today, not if she could help it.

A warm, ancient feeling filled every inch of her being. Rage seeped into the gaps as the assassin ripped the blade out of Lance’s body and lifted him up by his collar.

Pidge saw everything. All around her each individual stem and leaf were outlined in a bright green glow. Thin vines surrounded her, twisting and twirling freely, ready to attack. She did not have to ask the plant life to do anything. They were of one mind and will.

The vines went rigid, making themselves as spears. Like lightning, they make their way to impale the assassin.

He saw the attack coming. With one great heave he threw Lance by the collar and jumped out of the way.

Pidge has no time to avoid Lance as she catches his full weight, sending them both tumbling to the ground.

“Enough toying with them,” Elor said in annoyance. “Finish the job.”

Pidge moaned in pain, but did not lose her wits. She rolled Lance onto his back and set him upright against the Father Tree.

The assassin raced towards the two downed Alteans, blade raised high. Abruptly, the assassin stopped. His blade slid out of his hand and fell to his knees, a bloodied shard of ice sticking out of his throat.

Lance’s markings continued to glow for a moment longer before flickering out. Pidge had no time to be fascinated by not only his quick thinking to use the dew, but also with his impressive phase changing.

He was in bad shape. Blood ran down from his eye, both of which were clenched shut in obvious pain. His right arm held fast to his abdomen and Pidge knew more serious injuries lay underneath his skin.

“Lance? Lance can you hear me?” Pidge said frantically, forcing herself not to shake him but rather apply pressure to his wound. Blood ran up to her wrists in an instant.

He groaned and bit his lip as he sucked in a breath. “Run,” he said. “I can spare you a few seconds. Get to the lake.”

“I am not leaving you,” Pidge declared firmly.

“It’s my job,” Lance said in equal measure. “Let me do it.”

“Shut up,” Pidge said. Instead of telling him why, she showed him.

She cupped her hand around his non-bloodied cheek and brought her lips in to meet his.

The kiss was soft and short. There was no time to dwell on how their friendship or professional relationship would change after this. Pidge didn’t have the luxury of time for it, or to wait for Lance’s reaction.

She stood between Lance and their would-be murderers. Vines from the Father Tree twist and curve around her hand, palm glowing more brightly and more powerful than ever. The sleeves of her dress ripped and her wrist cuff broke; her teeth grit in anger and determination.

They were both going to live, and only after they were both safe they would talk.

“You will not touch him,” she growled.

Elor rolled his eyes, clearly fed up with this whole matter.

“Defiant to the end. Captain.” He turned to his guards “Finish them!”

The guards aimed their blasters.

Pidge felt her markings light back up with fervor as she readied herself to defend against the blaster fire.

The standoff was interrupted as a curved blade flew in out of nowhere, embedding itself in one of the guards blasters. A hooded figure, dressed similarly to the assassin, raced in. With one hand he pulled the blade out from the weapon, and punched the guard in the jaw with the other, knocking him to the ground and out.

The second guard fired his blaster at the newcomer, who effortlessly blocked it with his blade. He raced forward and sliced the gun in half, using the handle of his blade to knock the guard unconscious.

Elor took several steps back, face full of raw fear. “What are you doing?! I pay you and this is how you repay me?”

“I take my payment in justice,” he said.

Gunfire from the shuttle blacked his path, which Elor took opportunity of to run to the safety of the ship.

The man in Galra colors shifted his head towards Pidge and dropped his mask. His black hair and pale face were the last features she had expected underneath the Galra uniform.

“Take down the ship! Hurry!” He yelled urgently.

Elor’s ship was taking off, loaded with the infused Balmeran crystals, Pidge could only hazard a few awful guesses about the type of people who would be buying.

She shot vines towards it, but even the Father Tree had limits. The flora stretched as far as it could, but the ship lifted high enough that they could not reach.

“No!” Their savior cried in dismay.

The shuttle hovered over the lake and turned to them. The telltale glimmer of the beam cannon charging made Pidge’s heart break. She scrambled to create a shield for the incoming blast, but no matter what she did, the physics didn’t add up. It wouldn’t be enough.

The ground shook violently. Instead of a laser from the shuttle, a much more powerful one rose from the center of Lake Altea and pierced the ship, causing it to explode on impact.

The gigantic figure of the Gombash leapt upwards to the flying debris, snatching fragments of metal and crystal before diving back into the lake. So large was the splash that the spray even reached them.

“Woah,” the man said in awe, shoulders slumped to a more relaxed position. “Can I get one of those?”

Pidge couldn’t help but feel only relief. The Gombash has saved not just them, but the Castle too. It was the one creature on the planet powerful enough to contain the explosions the crystals would inevitably create.

She let the plants return to their places. The grove looked as if nothing had ever happened.

She could now focus on the most important issue.

“Lance!” She flopped to her knees to check his vitals. Her tech confiscated and destroyed, she was forced to do it the old fashioned way.

He was visibly breathing. Still, she placed her forefingers at the base of his neck and read his heartbeat. Pidge deemed it within acceptable levels considering the situation. It wouldn’t stay that way if they stayed here too much longer.

Lance stirred and lifted his eyelids. “Are you safe?”

Her vision blurred at his concern. “We both are. We’ll have to explain Duke Elor’s death, but Gommy saved us from a lot of potential problems.”

“Gommy’s a good boy,” Lance chuckled with a soft smile. “I think I prefer your kisses to his though.”

Heat rose into Pidge’s cheeks. “We were about to die. I panicked.”

“I’m glad you did,” Lance said. With effort, he took her hands in his. His affectionate gaze somehow seemed different, a touch of love between the admiration and kindness.

“Is he going to be okay?”

She’d actually forgotten about the not-Galra warrior.

He knelt down the other side of Lance and produced a small container from his belt pouch. He began to rub a magenta colored cream over the wound. “This salve will start the healing process, but it’s not a cure all. He'll still need medical attention.”

Lance looked up at him quizzically, a single eyebrow raised. “Oh. Um, thanks?”

“Who are you?” Pidge asked, trying to figure him out as much as Lance was. “Why did you help us?”

“Because it’s my job,” he said, rolling back onto his feet. “My name is Keith. I’m an agent with the Blade of Marmora.”

“The Blade of Marmora?” Pidge repeated, her mind buzzing with the new information and trying to piece the puzzle together. “That’s Zarkon’s most elite military unit. You don’t look Galra.”

“Wait how do you know about the Marmorites?” Lance asked her. “That’s top secret stuff. Shiro had to call in tons of favors for my clearance.”

“Well, I’m technically not supposed to know,” Pidge admitted frankly. “It came up one day while I was searching the Castle archives.”

Lance’s eyes bulged comically. “Those are encrypted!”

“Yeah, poorly,” Pidge scoffed.

“I’m half Galra,” Keith explained. By the way his eyes darted between the both of them, he was just as equally trying to judge their character. “Dad was Altean. That’s why I was selected for this mission.”

“Wait, how long have you been investigating this?” Pidge probed. She was cautiously curious about the situation. Why hadn’t the guards been notified of this?

“I lost my reconnaissance drone several months ago, so I had to gather information on the ground. Duke Elor was my first suspect, so I joined the Galra mercenaries to see it first hand. Now the Duke is dead and the crystals destroyed. You two,” he said crossing his arms, “are my only witnesses.”

Pidge’s jaw dropped.

“The drones were yours?!” she and Lance exclaimed together.

Keith, taken aback and eyes wide, responded in kind. “You two destroyed it?!”

“So it was a Galra spy!” Lance declared angrily, leaning forward. “You should have told us, we wou - “ a coughing fit cut him off. Pidge gently pushed him back against the Father Tree.

“I did!” Keith defended. “I was assured that King Alfor was aware of everything.”

“He sure didn’t seem like it when we found the drone,” Pidge remarked with suspicion. “Are you sure Kolivan sent you?”

Keith opened his mouth to respond, but was silenced by the noise of Altean blasters. A five man squad from the Castle stood ready to fire.

“Step away from the princess and put your hands on your head, assassin. You’re under arrest.”

The combination of defeated and incredulous was amusing to see on Keith’s face as he raised his hands in surrender. Pidge frowned. This latest action continued to convince her that he was telling the truth. No assassin would give himself up so willingly or offer healing to a mortally injured target.

Help for Keith would have to wait. Lance kept his eyes closed, focusing on every breath. Speaking had drained more of his energy than he had anticipated. Although not in immediate danger, Lance needed medical attention, at least more than Pidge could provide at the moment.

Once the repercussions from today had settled and Lance was healed, then they could talk.

And they had more to talk about than just magic.

[shogetsus]

Stripes of Auburn, Eye of Sapphire

14. Masamune

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Summary:  “Pah! What are peasants but tools for your lord! It’s my decision when and where your worthless lives end!” And somehow, the man makes it even worse.

The comment makes Masamune’s blood boil in indignation, the coil in his gut tightening, threatening to snap in any moment. However, he does his best to remain collected, a dark chuckle leaving his lips as a cold smile finds its way to his face.

“Well, there we go…” He says low, his fingers finding purchase on the handle of his sword as he turns to the daimyo, a certain craving within him dangerously close to clouding what’s left of his rational senses. ”Looks like you’re not fit to be a leader.”

Spoiler alert! - Masamune’s route.

Masamune

Their ride becomes much more amicable after Masamune manages to redirect the lass’ distress elsewhere, racing under the twilight sky and the sparkling stars, offering quite a memorable display for the two of them alike. Basking in the fact of being able to make Mai relax around him, he keeps a casual and easygoing chatter on the rest on their way north; the noticeable fresher air from the region reminding him of home.

For some reason, the farther they ride and closer they get to the intended destination, Masamune can’t help thinking more and more about his people up in Oshu, even more so as they pass through a couple of familiar roads he’d been wandering about with Kojuro and the rest twice or thrice in the past.

Could mother be still troubling her maids with more of her extravagant requests? Hopefully his cousin isn’t sleeping on the job just yet, and keeping a watchful eye on what remains of the construction of Aoba Castle as Masamune’s left it before departing to Azuchi. He better would be, although it’s been some weeks since I left. And Shigezane even has two eyes!

A delicate hand waving in front of his face prompts him out of his reverie. “Ah, good, you’re still here,” The Princess sighs in apparent relief, tucked in his arms, “For a moment I feared you might have dozed off and we’d be riding to the middle of nowhere,”

“Mmh, that doesn’t sound so bad, kitten,” It’s almost impossible for him not to tease her a little, with those feline amber eyes staring at him so curiously, “Weather’s certainly nice for a quick nap, and you look like you’d make a very pretty pillow…”

The lass gives him a blank stare, clearly trying to figure out whether he’s kidding or not. “I was just about to ask if you’re okay in the head for even considering sleeping atop a horse, of all places,” She snorts in disbelief, “But then I remembered you have a tiger for a pet, so…”

“Yeah, I know. I can’t help being too cool,” Masamune guffaws, leaning down and rubbing his face against her copper mane, turning a darker shade of red and brown where the faint light of the sunset doesn’t reach it. “But mmh, this is a very soft spot, it’s so tempting. Why don’t you wake me up when we get there?”

“Wha—? Masamune! Are you for real?”

The Princess’ face turns into a clear picture of utter panic, “Alright, alright, it was just a joke!” He opts on to take some mercy of her, “It’s a shame though, but we’re here already,”

The residence of daimyo Yoshitoshi comes clear to view, yet suspiciously there’s closer to no people around to meet them, the clattering of hooves the only source of noise. Not a single worker around. This man must be expecting us, for sure. His small troop lead by Kojuro is a shadow further past the twilight horizon, catching up not long after as expected, despite Masamune’s intense pace.

Hideyoshi and Ieyasu take some time, though, arriving with matching scowling faces. “Damn it, Masamune! I told you not to go off ahead on your own!”

He shoots an apologetic smile, not truly reaching his eye, “Hah, sorry, sorry, force of habit.”

“You’re so lying about being sorry.” Ieyasu rolls his eyes in feigned annoyance but doesn’t bother mentioning any further.

At his side, Mai seems to hesitate for a moment, “Um, don’t want to point out the obvious but, is this place supposed to look this… empty?” Concern narrows her face, appearing to shrink and sink further into the saddle.

The hairs at the back of Masamune’s head start to itch, watching Kojuro and his soldiers glance suspiciously at their surroundings, hands on their scabbards and ready for anything. Guarding the sides of his two associates, they all stop before the gate to the palatial residence.

“We’re not leaving this place until we get him to confess. Agreed?” Hideyoshi says firmly, waiting for the rest to agree before dismounting and making their way inside.

With some luck on their side, they manage to find an attendant, being led into a spacious hall where the daimyo in question appears to be awaiting them. The arrangements and decoration remarkably contrast the view outside, prompting a disapproving frown on Masamune.

The farms are empty, but the palace reeks of incense. This daimyo better has some good explanation for that…

Despite being in charge of the mission, he opts for Hideyoshi to do the talking for the moment. “Now tell us, Yoshitoshi, is what you wrote in this letter true? If this is all a misunderstanding, we can pack everything up and leave your place right now.”

To upscale their annoyance, the daimyo keeps his lips pursed tight. “We’ve got reports that you’re exploiting the populace by seizing their funds. What were you doing to do with all that money?” Ieyasu steps forward, face hard as stone, “Buy weapons for your revolt, maybe?”

And yet, Yoshitoshi remains stubbornly silent.

Masamune huffs, “This is taking forever. I say we kill him.” He puts on a deadly serious look as he goes for his sword.

His threatening jab appears to work, the daimyo immediately breaking his silence. “It’s all true! Everything I wrote in that letter is true!”

Hideyoshi curls his hands into fists, knuckles going white with indignation. “That’s a start. Now tell us, why have you betrayed our lord?” He snarls.

“I only swore to lord Nobunaga because I believed my true lord was dead! But Lord Shingen Takeda is still alive!”

A tense silence falls over the hall, the three warlords stammering in sheer surprise at the statement. Ieyasu’s hand goes for his kodachi in a clear act of reflex at the mere mention of the dreadful name of his rival, Masamune struggling to keep a straight face and Hideyoshi all but utterly failing to do so, going white as a ghost.

“Not just him, but Kenshin Uesugi as well. He’s been sheltering Lord Shingen.” Yoshitoshi continues, his words escaping him one after another, “I was loyal to him before Nobunaga! I’m simply siding with my proper side!”

Lost for any coherent sentence, Masamune first glances at Mai—most certainly the less stunned of them all; why is that?—before fixing his eye on Ieyasu; the more knowledgeable among the group regarding ominous rumors about the Takeda clan. One of his emerald green eyes twitches ever so slightly, gaze unfocused, appearing to ponder the severe implications of the daimyo’s confession.

“So it is true…” Doubt lingers in Ieyasu’s murmur, a hard frown narrowing his face.

“You may be shocked, naturally, but it’s the truth,” The daimyo insists on his version of the events, growing more confident for reasons unbeknownst to Masamune. “Perhaps it’s time you three reconsider where your loyalties lie. Nobunaga is weak! He’s no match for the two of them!”

Even with not facing them on the battlefield, Masamune’s no stranger to the battle prowesses of the Tiger of Kai and the Dragon of Echigo in the past, deeming the two of them among the fiercest rivals in the land. Regardless and despite Yoshitoshi’s claims, this isn’t particularly the first time they’ve heard said murmurs of Takeda or Uesugi coming back from hell, leaving it so far to one of many ghost stories, with little space for some credibility.

To some extent, Masamune genuinely wishes for those stories to be true—the mere thought of dueling such bold commanders stirring deep into his soul. On another hand, having two of Nobunaga’s opposers arising once more on such close regions to his homeland makes him grow concerned for Oshu’s current welfare.

Not long after, Hideyoshi’s composure comes to a dangerous breaking point, “… Are you satisfied with those being your parting words?” Standing up, his face is hard as iron, and Masamune struggles to recall the last time he’s seen him just about to burst in rage, “Because nothing else you will say matter when you’re executed in front of our lord for treason,”

“N-not if he and you are utterly crushed first!”

And then he whistles, signaling dozens of armed men and swarming in from every entrance, surrounding the room. The invigorating feeling previous to facing a challenge course through Masamune’s veins, pumping in anticipation as a lopsided grin narrows his face.

“Um, guys? I have a bad feeling about this.” Concern laces Mai’s voice, tucking herself closer between him and Ieyasu.

The small number of troops Masamune’s brought leaps to their feet and draw their own weapons, Kojuro showing himself at the front. It’s clear they’re outnumbered, yet no northerner would find that troubling in the slightest, blazing determination burning in each one of his men’s eyes—a fact Masamune takes sheer pride of.

“Nothing to worry about, lass,” He says casually, fingers itching on one of his katana.

She seems to find his words hardly reassuring, though. “Shouldn’t we, I don’t know, run?” She mumbles anxiously, low enough for only him to hear.

“Don’t be ridiculous, there’s no reason to run.” Flanked by three commanders and a fearless troop backing them up, Masamune doesn’t have any qualms for the Princess’ wellbeing, “But watch your head, though. Wouldn’t want it to go flying off your shoulders…”

Yoshitoshi comes to a stand, more poised after most likely considering himself at an advantage. “I’ve been told you would be coming here, so I prepared to deliver your heads to Lord Shingen as a gift.” The group of armed, angry soldiers inch toward them, threateningly closing in.

However, the evident hesitation plastered all over the daimyo’s men makes Masamune grow skeptical, his brows knitting into a frown. “You there! Yes, you,” He nods towards one of them, a lean and short young boy. “You’re cowering. Are you in this fight to win or not?” On his periphery, Hideyoshi shoots Masamune an alarmed glare, but he ignores him, “You’re holding your sword all wrong. You’ll die too fast that way. Is that what you want?”

The mention of death makes the boy alarmed, stammering. “W-who’d want to die for a man like Lord Yoshitoshi?” His voice quavers, sword visibly shaking in his hands, “I was forced to come here! He said I needed to fight for him or he’d take my land and kill my family!”

Several heads turn to the daimyo, all but demanding an explanation to such preposterous act. At Masamune’s side, the Princess’ face scrunches in sheer indignation. “He takes the whole rice crop too, leaving us with nothing to eat.” A taller enemy soldier follows, “He torments our women and children, and lets thieves steal whatever little we have left!”

“Y-yeah, some daimyo! You’re the worst!” Spits a third man.

Slowly yet consistently, more men rally up to protest, “We’re not going to give up our lives for you!” Concludes another soldier, inspiring almost half the group to join Masamune’s envoy and turn on Yoshitoshi; their swords noticeably steadier as they point at their Lord.

Mai snorts darkly at the sudden turn of events. “You guys should meet my father. Never underestimate a worker if you know what’s good for you…” She arches a brow, her lips curling into a sly smirk.

“Your father must be a very cool guy. I’m starting to like them as well…” Masamune agrees wholeheartedly.

Ieyasu can’t seem to hold his grumbling any longer. “You know you made it harder to pick out whom to fight, right? You just had to step in…”

Technically, he’s not wrong, but Masamune doesn’t feel apologetic in the slightest, just shrugging nonchalantly. “All I did was giving these guys a little nudge in the right direction.”

“Pah! What are peasants but tools for your lord!” Yoshitoshi glares at his subordinates, face scrunching in anger, “It’s my decision when and where your worthless lives end!” And somehow, the man makes it even worse.

He thinks his people are tools, huh? The comment makes Masamune’s blood boil in indignation, the coil in his gut tightening, threatening to snap in any moment. However, he does his best to remain collected, a dark chuckle leaving his lips as a cold smile finds its way to his face.

“Well, there we go…” He says low, his fingers finding purchase on the handle of his sword as he turns to the daimyo, a certain craving within him dangerously close to clouding what’s left of his rational senses. ”Looks like you’re not fit to be a leader.”

Through his periphery, Hideyoshi shoots him a dubious look, “Hey, Masamune—“ But whatever protest he’s about to voice doesn’t stop him from finally drawing his sword, leaving its sheath with the same familiar noise that makes his blood pump excitedly.

The Princess takes a precarious step back at his menacing stance, gladly so. “He’s just confessed to treason, right? And as he says, it’s one’s lord who determines whether you live or die. Those are his rules.” Masamune points out, “And we were told to take whatever measures we deem necessary.”

Truth is, he’s been wondering if they could talk their way out of a conflict in the first place, yet the daimyo has just made it quite clear how that wasn’t about to happen. If that pointless revolt would have been about protecting his people, Masamune would have no issues going easy on Yoshitoshi; but it’s preposterous to consider having an honorable fight with such a bastard, who only appears to be looking to satisfy his personal greed and ambition.

I’ve got no pity for a man like that.

And so, to make it precisely clear, he points his sword at Yoshitoshi’s head, ready to kill. “If you want to live, drop your weapons and go back to your farms now. As for everyone else, make one move and you die.”

The hall falls silent, Masamune’s threat sinking in; the only sound being from the lass as her breath hitches, stumbling upon Kojuro. Yet his single eye is utterly fixed on the daimyo before them.

“What are you doing!? Strike back!” Yoshitoshi’s frightened call has little effect.  

“As much as I’d love to take you all on—and I would win, mind you—it’s time to choose a side,” Masamune grins in a challenging manner, taking a step forward, “We don’t have 500 years! Do you really want to die for this guy?”

“Don’t listen to him! Go get them!”

One man takes a hesitant swing and Masamune parries his weak blow, knocking his sword away with ease before his elbow connects with his head. “Follow Lord Masamune! Don’t fall behind!” Kojuro rallies the troops, not needing to glance at him to see the proud smile in his face.

“Y-yeah! Let’s do this!” A farmer appears to grow more confident, joining the Date soldiers and raising his sword.

Another soldier rushes to Masamune and he knocks him out just as easily as he did with his first partner, his brows knitting into a frown. Any unnecessary deaths on either side are going to cause resentment once this is over. The conscripted fight those who’re willing to serve Yoshitoshi, yet regardless, they’re all from the same land. He had created an untenable situation, not caring about the pain it caused.

Masamune focuses his eye on him. The best way to end this is to capture him quickly.

“Prepare yourself, Masamune Date!”

“Out of the way.” He growls menacingly, unwilling to budge. A taller man comes at him, and he could see he’s prepared to fight and die. He strikes him in the leg—a fast, effective way of incapacitating anyone—the warrior collapsing to the ground in pain. Stay right there and you’ll get out of this with no more than that.

One after another, enemies come at Masamune; Ieyasu and Hideyoshi stepping forward to assist in no time. However, after he manages to disarm and knock another man, he dares to throw a glance behind his shoulder, his breath hitching as concern courses through.

Where’s Mai?

Daimyo: Honorific for a Japanese feudal lord. Kodachi: Small or short tachi (sword).

A-N: To make it known, I'm kinda starting to diverge from strict canon at this point and adding some more depth to some other arcs I think it fits better this 'verse. It's not a huge deal to me, but thought of making it clear just in case. Either way, feel free to ask me about anything you may find confusing! :D

2nd part of this scene is coming up next Thursday. I hope y'all have a wonderful Christmas!! You certainly make it amazing and heartwarming for me with your support and encouragement, I can't possibly ask for anything else, so from the bottom of my heart, thank you so much!!! ♥ ♥

Also please let me know if you’d like to be tagged in these posts! In any case, you can follow the ‘Stripes fic’ tag for all updates :D 

[doyelikehaggis]

Not Even A Little Bit?

Yes! I have written yet another fic... or is it ficlet? I don’t know the right terms but either way, I decided to finish this short thing I started a little while ago instead of starting the next chapter for my main Teen Wolf fic or literally any other one that needs to be updated. So, I hope you enjoy this, it is the result of me procrastinating writing my other fics!

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"Anything interesting?" Stiles asks after swallowing his mouthful of food, peering over Lydia's shoulder to look at the book she's currently reading. 

She whips her head around to look at him, eyes narrowing. Stiles immediately puts his hands up and leans back into his original position, huffing as he shoves another forkful of food into his mouth. She turns her attention back to the book. Her hair is partly covering her face but Stiles can see the sly grin that spreads across her lips.

"Y'know, this part is actually pretty interesting," Lydia says. She glances up and her eyes seem to move past Stiles, focusing on something beside him - and since Scott is the one sitting beside him, he's guessing this isn't going to be good.

Then she looks at Stiles, her grin more of a smirk now. "Apparently, it's very common for a pack's emissary to fall in love with their Alpha," she says and the slight quiver in her voice lets her amusement show as she holds Stiles' gaze. "It happens in nine out of ten packs. And considering the fact that the two emissaries we've met have both been in love with their former alphas, I'd say it's pretty accurate."

Stiles squints at Lydia, his mouth hanging open as he silently asks her what the hell she's doing. She knows that he's in love with Scott. She figured it out within a week after they had just started talking but she never brought it up until they were closer and were actually starting to become friends. She promised to keep his secret but still advised him to talk to Scott.

But ever since they became part of the same pack and they started being around each other every day, Lydia has constantly been finding any opportunity to drop some sort of subtle hint, just teasing Stiles right in front of Scott without him even knowing it.

It's not much of a surprise that the rest of their friends all caught on pretty quickly, mostly thanks to them having supernatural senses and being able to smell the longing every time Stiles is even in the same room as Scott. But Stiles chooses to blame Lydia and her teasing for their non-supernatural friends finding out - and by that he means Allison, who was already looking at him with a knowing look in her eyes every time Stiles was with her and Scott so really it's more his fault for being painfully obvious about it.

Thankfully, Scott is somehow still oblivious. At least, Stiles is assuming he is. He hasn't said anything about it or brought it up or started acting weird around him so, Stiles is taking that as a good sign. 

But if Lydia keeps going like this, it's not gonna be long before Scott finally picks up on it. He's not stupid, Stiles is just really good at hiding his feelings and Lydia is about to undo five years worth of work with just a few simple sentences. 

Stiles finally responds, rolling his eyes as he swallows his food. "Yeah, and both of those unrequited loves ended tragically. And with death." 

"Who said anything about the love being unrequited?" Lydia asks, her smirk growing. She pauses and tilts her head to the side, probably waiting to see if Stiles can dig himself into an even deeper hole. Then she shrugs and looks back down at the book. "I mean, it doesn't say anything about it, but it seems pretty likely that the alpha would fall in love with the emissary as well. After all, alphas and emissaries have the strongest bonds out of everyone in the pack." 

It's like she's not even trying to be subtle anymore and she's just outright telling Scott that Stiles is in love with him. The more she goes on, the more flushed Stiles becomes because Scott is sitting right next to him but he's been quiet this entire time and he doesn't know what to make of his silence. He hasn't even snuck a glance at him, worried about what his reaction will be. 

A few seconds of them just sitting there, the rest of their friends knowing exactly what is going on and pretending that they're not waiting to see what's going to happen next. And then - 

"It does seem pretty likely," Scott agrees with Lydia, voice calm and not giving anything away. 

Stiles turns his head to look at him, eyes a little wide. He tries to act normal but normal for Stiles isn't what it is for others. He settles for closing his mouth as it had fallen open and trying to get his words right before attempting to speak.

"It does?" He asks cautiously and then immediately tries to correct himself, despite no one else even saying anything. "I mean, sure, it's possible. But it's also highly unlikely. We've only met two emissaries and yeah, they were both in love with their alphas but - but maybe that's why they became their emissaries?" He has no idea where he's going with this but he can feel all of his friends' eyes on him, including Scott's and he just can't stop talking, saying anything that sounds even slightly logical.

"Maybe it's not that the emissaries fall in love with their alpha. Maybe that person falls in love with an alpha and then said alpha makes them their emissary. Therefore, the probability of someone who is already an emissary falling in love with an alpha is extremely low."

He finally stops, breathing a little uneven as he glances at his friends. Most of them are wearing similar expressions; amused by Stiles' lame attempt at an excuse, confused because he was talking so fast that it got a little jumbled somewhere in the middle, and barely suppressing laughter. 

"Why exactly are you so defensive about this?" Isaac speaks up, head tilting innocently as he folds his arms on the table. 

Stiles has never wanted to punch Isaac in the face more than he does right now. 

"Yeah, Stiles," Lydia joins in, feigning just as much innocence, "Why are you so defensive about this? I mean," she casually shrugs, "it's not like I said it happens to every emissary. You'll probably be one of the ones that don't fall for their alpha. That's if you can resist Scott's dazzling charm, of course." 

Stiles hates that he knows Lydia was only half joking as she said that last part. And he also hates how his mind has gone completely blank, no good comebacks or witty retorts sitting on the tip of his tongue. The only thing his mind is focused on right now is how fast his heart is beating, which is pretty fast and definitely noticeable to anyone with heightened hearing. 

He ignores the smirks he receives from nearly all of his friends and he avoids looking at Scott completely, facing Lydia instead. 

"I'm not defensive," he replies and he already knows how pathetic it sounds. "I was just making a point. Not every emissary is destined to fall in love with their alpha. And I'm the perfect example of that."

At that, both Isaac and Malia snort, unable to contain their laughter. Stiles glares at them.

"You sure about that?" 

Scott's voice coming out of nowhere, and so close to Stiles, nearly makes him jump out of his seat. But then he's processing what he just said and he's turning to face him with the most terrified and confused feeling he has ever felt twisting his stomach. He only manages to get out a simple, slightly strangled, "what?" before Scott shrugs. 

"Are you sure you're the best example of an emissary who hasn't fallen in love with their alpha?" He asks, voice actually a little curious. 

Stiles just sits there staring at him with wide eyes and his mouth hanging open because how the hell is he supposed to respond to that? Of course he isn't the best example. He's the worst. He is literally so in love with Scott that he couldn't be further from the best example. But he can't just come out and say that. 

"Yeah, I actually do," he answers, plastering on fake confidence and hoping Scott won't see right through him and his lie. "As charming and good-looking as you are, dude, I ain't in love with you. And I probably never will be. Have you forgotten about my ten-year plan? Well, more like fifteen-years if my memory serves me right."

He can't believe he's resorting to bringing up his past crush on Lydia. Those feelings faded quite a few years ago but he's just been keeping up the act and pretending he's still in love with her because it's much easier than risking Scott finding out the truth. Lydia knows about this and has played along with it fairly well. He's just hoping she's not going to betray him now. 

"Oh, right," Scott says, nodding slowly as his lips curve up, "You mean the fake plan?" Stiles opens his mouth and then closes it several times and Scott's grin just gets brighter. "You really think I didn't know that you were lying about that? Come on, dude, I've known you for basically forever. Which is how I also know that you could not be more of a worse example." 

Stiles freezes. His heart is beating way too fast and he knows that Scott and everyone else with supernatural senses can hear it but he doesn't really care. What he does care about is that Scott just implied that he knows Stiles is in love with him. 

He tries to brush it off and forces a grin. "Wow, Scotty. Didn't know you had such a big ego." 

"Oh my god," Isaac mutters, hiding his face in his hands and nearly all of their friends makes a noise of agreement. 

"So, you're saying that you are one hundred percent not in love with me?" Scott asks with this look in his eyes. One that's challenging Stiles to say no, to try and prove Scott wrong despite knowing he's right. "Not even a little bit?"

"That's right," Stiles lies confidently. "Not even a little bit."

There are a few seconds where everyone is quiet as Scott and Stiles just look at each other, both silently daring the other to be the first to say or do something. This shouldn't be as intense as it is but Stiles has just dug himself into the biggest hole ever and he might as well use it as his grave at this point because he just knows he isn't going to be the one to win this. 

"Would you still say that if I kissed you?" Scott somehow manages to ask with the most adorable but also incredibly attractive smile Stiles has ever seen. 

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Yes, I would. Not that you would ever actually do that." 

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, for starters, you-" None of them get to find out what exactly Stiles was going to say as he's cut off by Scott leaning forward and pressing their lips together.

Stiles' mind immediately goes into full-on freak out mode as his eyes widen and he panics for a second because he has no idea what is happening. But it's like he just can't help himself and he might as well have just melted as his eyes flutter closed and he leans into the kiss. 

He knows he shouldn't because by doing this, he's admitting how he feels without really saying it. Not to mention all of his friends are right beside him. But how is he supposed to focus on anything else when Scott's lips are on his and they're moving and they're so soft and everything about it just feels so amazing. It feels too good to be true. 

But Stiles still doesn't care. The only thing he cares about is Scott's hands on either side of his neck and the way his thumbs are gently stroking along his jaw, not to mention the way he's dragging his tongue over his lower lip. 

Scott finally pulls back, hands staying where they are on Stiles' neck, and it takes Stiles a few seconds to fully recover from what just happened. Then he opens his eyes and is met with Scott's wide, brown puppy-dog eyes that are filled with so much fondness and love that Stiles isn't sure this is even real right now. 

"So," Scott says, voice quiet, "still not in love with me?"

Stiles can't help but grin at that as he shakes his head slowly. "Nope. Although, definitely a lot more attracted to you. You are a fantastic kisser."

Scott groans and lets his hands drop to his side as he grins back. "You do realise I know you're lying, right?"

"I'm not. You really are a great kisser." Scott raises his eyebrows and Stiles shrugs. "Yeah, I do, but this way I'm not technically saying it and am depriving you of the satisfaction of hearing it." He pats Scott's shoulder, grin widening. "Don't wanna make that ego of yours any bigger than it already is."

"Then you also know that that was pretty much a confession, right?" Jackson asks, surprising everyone as he had been staying out of the conversation up until now. 

He's smirking at Stiles but his eyes are darting to Lydia and Stiles wonders why that is. He ignores it for now and rolls his eyes. 

"Until those three words come out of my mouth, I have confessed absolutely nothing and you can prove nothing." 

"But what if-" Scott starts, still grinning.

"No, not even if you kiss me again."

"That wasn't what I was gonna say," Scott replies, laughing. Stiles silently urges him to go on then and Scott's laughter dies down until he's just smiling at Stiles. "What if I told you that I love you?"

Stiles misses a beat. He's pretty sure his heart just stopped but judging by the pounding in his chest, it's just going way too fast to be humanly possible or healthy. 

"You - uh, you... what?" 

Scott smiles fondly and he leans in for the second time, pressing a quicker but just as soft kiss to Stiles' lips. When he pulls away again, he says, "I love you, Stiles."

It takes a few seconds for Stiles to wrap his head around that. Scott just watches him with his brown puppy-dog eyes that are so freaking cute that they make Stiles melt just from looking at them. He groans. 

"Damn it, that isn't fair," he says, pointing at Scott. All he gets in response is Scott holding his gaze and another smile. He groans again. "Fine, fine! I'm in love with you, okay? There it is, I've admitted it. I am one hundred percent completely and utterly in love with Scott McCall, who just so happens to be my alpha. Happy now?"

Scott pecks his cheek, a delighted grin on his lips. "Very."

Stiles pretends to look annoyed but his face is heating up and he tries to duck his head to hide it. Of course, all of his friends can see right through his act.

"So, guess I was right then," Lydia says with a grin. It's clear how happy she is that Stiles finally told Scott the truth but that doesn't mean she's passing up the opportunity to gloat a little. "Emissaries do seem to have a habit of falling in love with their alphas."

Stiles, very reluctantly, lifts his head to face Lydia. He just stares at her for a second and then caves, rolling his eyes. "Okay, so maybe it is pretty likely. But I was technically right as well." Lydia tilts her head. "Clearly not all emissaries fall in love with their alphas after they become emissaries." He grins as he folds his arms across his chest. "My theory was right. I win."

Lydia raises her eyebrows. "You win? You only said that because you knew you were in love with Scott before you became his emissary!" Stiles just shrugs and she sighs but drops it. "Fine. You win." 

She shakes her head and closes the book before meeting Stile's eyes once more. "Oh and, by the way, the book never actually said anything about emissaries being in love with their alphas. I just said it did because I needed you to finally admit how you felt to Scott or else Jackson and I were going to lose a bet to Allison and Isaac and we were not prepared to do that."

Stiles gapes at her and Jackson. They both hold out their hands as Allison and Isaac hand them the money they owe for losing the bet. Lydia winks at Stiles, sending him an innocent smile while Jackson doesn't even try to hide his amusement. 

"Are you kidding me right now? You seriously made a bet on when I would tell Scott that I love him?" Stiles asks incredulously, shaking his head slowly. 

"Yep," Jackson answers, smirking at him. "And thanks to Lydia, we won." 

Stiles just continues to shake his head, pretending to be more annoyed than he really is. He actually finds it hilarious and is pretty impressed by their cunning plan. 

Scott nudges his shoulder and smiles as he slips his hand into Stiles', their fingers lacing together. He then joins in on their friends' conversation, absentmindedly stroking Stiles' knuckles with his thumb. 

Stiles' gaze lingers a little longer on their hands, his lips curving up. He definitely needs to remember to thank Lydia later for finally giving him the push he needed. Even if she also did it for the money. And Stiles definitely isn't mad that Lydia tricked him into confessing. In fact, he couldn't be happier.

[language-rxgers]

Best Boyfriend You’ve Never Had (Bucky x Reader)- Part 2

Summary: Reader tells Nat, Wanda and Sam of her situation, and confides in them the unexpected reason behind her denial that it will lead to happily ever after.

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Reader, Natasha Romanoff, Sam Wilson, Wanda Maximoff, Steve Rogers (mentioned)

Warnings: Feels, slight angst

Word Count: 2152

A/N: So sorry it’s been a while, but here’s part 2! I don’t know for sure when part 3 will be up, but it’ll be soon! Thanks for reading, and enjoy!

Masterlist

Part 1 (Previous) / Part 3

*gif is not mine; credit to rightful owner*

The next day, Bucky had gone on a small trial mission with Steve. He hadn’t been out with the team in the field since his return from Wakanda; while T’Challa’s scientists were successful in thoroughly erasing HYDRA’s trigger words from Bucky’s mind, he still suffered from haunting nightmares and PTSD from both his time in the war and as the Winter Soldier. However, he had been getting better, with the help of yourself, Steve and the rest of the team, and after months of training and recovery, he finally felt ready to join the Avengers on missions. Now, mind you, this wasn’t a real mission; it was just a trial scenario- a simulation set up by Tony and Maria, with former SHIELD field agents Hill had recruited acting as the enemies. You hadn’t a shade of doubt in Bucky though; he was really doing so much better, and he was so thankful to finally be free of HYDRA’s hold. He still had a ways to go, but you knew he would never be alone again, not while you were still breathing.

At around noon, after finishing the last of some paperwork, you headed down to the kitchen. You entered to see Sam and Natasha sitting at the counter, both nursing steaming cups of coffee, and Wanda was cooking on the stove. It smelled intoxicating, but then again, anything Wanda made was fantastic. Though the team had made a schedule for grocery shopping and cooking, it usually ended up being Wanda who would take over for the meals, claiming no one on the team knew how to cook. Not that you were complaining. You smiled at the young Sokovian as you claimed the stool next to Nat.

“What’cha making?” You leaned over the counter to peak at what was cooking in the frying pan, face splitting into a pleased grin at the sight of brown rice and steamed vegetables in one pan, with chicken breast in another beside it. It may look simple, but Wanda had some sort of secret recipe for the meal that was like no other. “Oh, Wand, I adore you.” She grinned, tending to the stir-fry.

“So, any news from Steve about Bucky?” She turned down the heat on the stove, looking up at you. You shook your head.

“Steve said it would most likely take a few hours, but I’m not worried. I’m sure Buck’s gonna do great.” A giddy grin split across your face at the mention of the chestnut-haired soldier. Ever since you had agreed to bring him as your fake boyfriend to your sister’s wedding, your chest swelled in excitement at the thought of him. Nat, of course, took note of this. She bumped your shoulder.

“What’s got you all excited? Ever since yesterday you’ve been irritatingly chipper.” She sipped nonchalantly from her mug, eyeing you from her peripheral. You simply shrugged.

“I dunno. Just in a good mood.” You played with a pen laying on the marble countertop. Nat gave an insinuating hum.

“Wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain team member possessing a certain metal appendage?” You felt heat spread through your cheeks. Your eyes flashed to Sam warningly, who was staring bug-eyed at your reaction, trying desperately to hold back a teasing remark. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“Okay, it’s not what you think-“ you pointed an accusing finger at a smirking Nat. “I know that look, and it’s not like that, but I guess I do have something I need to tell you. I’m only telling you guys because if I don’t then Sam will start a rumor-“ the mentioned former pararescue airman feigned an offended expression, placing a hand on his chest, “-and then everyone will suddenly think I’m in love with Bucky. I’m not, okay, he’s just my friend.” Please, don’t let them see through it, keep your face straight, (Y/N). “This doesn’t leave this room, got it?” Sam, Nat and Wanda all simultaneously nodded their heads with fervor, eager to hear your confession. Wanda leaned forward, rice and chicken forgotten on the stove. You took in a deep breath. “Alright, so yesterday, I got a letter from my sister- an invitation. She’s getting married.”

Cheers of congratulations were exclaimed, before you shushed them, smiling in gratitude. “She’s getting married, and I’m a bridesmaid, but she said that she expects me to bring a plus-one for once. I didn’t want to be that one sister who still doesn’t have boyfriend again, so I may have told her I have one. She was so excited, I felt like I had to, you know? I mean, I haven’t been on a date since dinosaurs roamed the Earth, and every family reunion, it’s always the same questions: ‘So, (Y/N), anyone special in your life yet?’; ‘Well, (Y/N), I’ve already met everyone else’s dates for the night, where are you hiding yours?’; ‘Oh, you still aren’t in a relationship? That’s fine, I guess. But not for too long, I hope, I’d like to have grandchildren sometime before I die.’ I just couldn’t do it again.” You sighed in exasperation. Nat frowned.

“So, you said you had a date, but you don’t. What next?” You bit your lip and met her eyes; you had a feeling she knew what was next.

“Bucky came by my office after I hung up, and I vented to him. I wasn’t expecting him to do anything, but next thing I know, he’s offering to be my plus-one. And I mean, plus-one, plus-one.”

Wanda’s eyebrows shot up. “Like a fake boyfriend type thing? Like the movies?”

You nodded. “Yes, it was like a scene straight out of ‘Can’t Buy Me Love’ or like one of those Hallmark movies.”

Sam straightened, pointing a finger at you. “Hey, don’t drag the Hallmark movies, they don’t get nearly the credit they deserve!” You raised an eyebrow at his outburst. His mouth fell slightly agape, hand slowly lowering as he sealed his lips again and avoided your gaze. Wanda held a hand over her smirk, giggling softly. Nat rolled her eyes and inhaled, turning back to you.

“So, what, now Brooklyn Boy’s playing your guy for the wedding?” You nodded, grimacing. You slumped forward onto the counter, head resting in your hands.

“This is a terrible idea, I’m so awful at acting. There’s a reason I never go on undercover ops. And even if I was, they’ll never believe Bucky’s with me. Ugh, I should just call my sister and tell her I’m coming alone. I’ll say we broke up or something, wait for Bucky to get back and tell him he’s off the hook.” You felt a hollow pain radiate through your skull, recoiling and sitting back to look at a wide eyed Nat. Her brows were furrowed in disbelief and her hand was still resting in mid-air. “What the fuck!? Did you just hit me upside the head? Who does that?” The bitter smell of burning chicken assaulted your senses, and you, Nat and Sam all turned to the stove. Wanda met yours eyes before snapping her head down to the sizzling food below.

“Shit!” As she scrambled to turn off the stove and salvage the meal, Nat turned back to you after the shock wore off.

“Are you insane? Why would you do that? Haven’t you ever seen a romantic comedy in your life? This is great!” You narrowed your eyes at the bright-eyed redhead, quirking a questioning eyebrow. She sighed in frustration. “Obviously, you guys are supposed to go to the wedding together, pretend to be a couple, fall for each other- if you haven’t already, which I seriously doubt- have some sort of falling out or misunderstanding, realize you can’t be without the other, reunite, and make up with some huge romantic gesture. Happily ever after’s practically been served to you on a silver platter in the name of James Buchanan Barnes.” You almost laugh at how naïve she was being. Someone like Natasha, who was raised knowing nothing other than the cruelty of life, that love is a fantasy children make up in blissful ignorance of the harsh realities of life.

“Nat, you know damn well that there’s no such thing as happily ever after. Especially not for people like me. That’s a pipe dream for idealists.” Wanda frowned, setting down the frying pan she was wiping down.

“People like you? What exactly do you mean by that?” Her question left no room for nonsense, but there was a softness in her eyes, a genuine confusion as to why you thought you wouldn’t deserve to be happy. Your eyes widened at your slip up.

“Uh- us. I meant people like us. T-there’s no certainty in what we do, anyone we dare to love could die at any time. Missions, threats, enemies- we’re surrounded by danger; we can’t risk getting close to anyone. It’s hard enough not being able to save innocent people you don’t know; I don’t know if I could handle losing someone who wasn’t just a civilian to me.” The kitchen fell into a somber silence as the other three pondered your comment. They knew it was true. They couldn’t not.

Nat shook her head. “(Y/N), I know that you’re scared. You want to protect everyone. But you can’t close yourself off and keep yourself from being happy for the rest of your life. Yes, this life is hard and unpredictable. But that just makes it so much more worth it to find happiness for yourself, in whatever form you can, for however long you can. You need to just run with it, be happy, for once. And you’re wrong. There is such a thing as happily ever after. Maybe it won’t last forever, but in that moment, it does. Even if it’s lost five minutes later, that five minutes of happily ever after is so worth the pain. Better to have had and then lost, than to never have had at all.” You were struck by Natasha’s words. Her peridot eyes shone with wetness, a faint smile gracing her full lips as her eyes glazed over in nostalgia.

You knew she was talking about Bruce. You had been there for her through every step of their story; her realization that she loved him, her confession, his hesitance due to the fear that he couldn’t give her a love she deserved, their brief moment of happily ever after, her heartbreak after his decision to disappear, and her recovery from it all. You had always thought that you would never let yourself hurt the way she had hurt, but now, as you reflected on how happy she had been before Bruce had hit stealth mode on that jet after Sokovia and disappeared into an oxymoronically fond yet painful memory, you felt a foreign sense of desire for that moment before the heartbreak. That perfect moment before the tide falls.

While you knew Bucky didn’t love you as you secretly did him, you knew that with your life, you rarely would get a moment in which there were no worries of impending threats and responsibilities. While maybe it wouldn’t be a romantic one, perhaps your five minutes of happiness could be that brief moment of serenity, a weekend away with your best friend and family, celebrating not a successful mission in which there were no casualties or lost friends, but the joining of two innocent lives on a path leading to their own happily ever after forever.

You met Nat’s eyes again, letting out a soft exhale, and she knew she had finally gotten through to you.

“You’re right. It won’t end up being romantic like the movies, but maybe it’ll be worth it. A weekend away with my best friend and family. Be a nice chance to get away from all this for a second. Pretend to be on my way to having what my sister has. Love, stability, I guess it is kind of a nice idea.” Wanda reached across the glossy marble and grabbed your hand, squeezing it gently. The corners of your lips brushed upwards in gratitude, then you met Sam’s eyes over Nat’s shoulder. He nodded, giving you a soft and genuine smile.

You and your three teammates- and now, confidants- fell into an easy chatter while you ate Wanda’s impressively salvaged meal, entirely unaware of a fourth presence lingering just outside the doorway.

Bucky leaned against the wall, mulling over the conversation he had been shamelessly eavesdropping on for the past few minutes, the same thought constantly repeating in his head. While you had insisted that your arrangement with Bucky wouldn’t end up to be romantic, you had never explicitly denied that you didn’t want it to. He knew it was a reach, but a flicker of hope sparked in the blue-eyed soldier’s chest as he continued on his way down the hall to his room.

‘Love, stability, I guess it is kind of a nice idea.’

A/N: Sorry it took a while, but here it is! Part 3 coming soon.

Part 1 (Previous) / Part 3

Tag List- Sorry if I missed anyone’s requests, let me know and I’ll be sure to add you! Strikethrough means the blog couldn’t be tagged.

@the-instrumental-mortal

@satans-knitting-club

@starkxpotts

@bexboo616

@learisa

@chaosinacoffeecup

[rotten-blue-blog]

The chemistry of us

Mal/Evie

PG

2454 words

cross-posted to ao3

No one really likes to pair up with them for school projects, even now. Things have gotten better, but they are still the villain kids from the Isle and that means more often than not they end up together when a school project comes up. Though, truth be told, maybe the reason Mal picked Evie for this particular Chemistry project is because Evie is top of their grade at it, and Mal takes nothing but the best.

Except they kind of forget about it with all the other things going on, being evil and plotting schemes and designing dresses and whatnot. Mal beats herself over it the whole day, fumes and glares at whoever dares as much as look her way.

“It'll be okay! We’ll figure it out.” Evie laughs during their lunch break. They are sitting alone because Carlos was quick to make himself scarce after getting a taste of Mal’s mood, and Jay won't let Carlos eat alone again. “We still have until tomorrow to hand it in. We can finish it tonight.”

Evie has always been the most happy-go-lucky, the most optimistic of them all. It's not like Mal is pessimistic herself, either. It's just that she knows life is - well, rotten.

“You know both the library and the lab are closed at night, right, princess?”

Evie sticks her tongue out at her. Mal used to call her princess when they first met, except back then it was just another way to mock her and Evie had hated it. Mal isn’t sure when it started being her pet name for Evie, but Evie had stopped glaring at her for it at some point, even if she still scowled at anyone else who dared call her that.

“Nothing a spell can't fix, luckily.”

“I thought you had told me to give up the Spell Book and quit magic,” Mal says even as she grins, mood lightening at the thought of some mischief.

“Just this once won't hurt. Pretty please?”

Evie cups her face in her hands, leaning in with her elbows on the table, and blinks prettily at Mal, a perfect example of feminine charm. Mal feigns an exaggerated sigh and rolls her eyes.

“What would you do without me?”

Evie winks and blows her a kiss, lips apple red. “Probably watch you fail this on your own.”

Evie’s laugh is clear and cheerful and Mal does her best act of ignoring it as she looks back down at her lunch. Evie is the only person Mal will ever take this banter from and they are both perfectly aware of it, yet Mal is strangely okay with the situation.

She makes a show of keeping her bad mood up the whole day and no one bothers them much, because even the teachers know better than to get on the way of Maleficent’s daughter when she is angry.

They still wait until it is late enough that there are little chances of anyone being around before sneaking out of their room. Evie leads the way through the dark corridors, her slippers barely making a sound against the wooden floors. Mal follows closely, and maybe they have been in Auradon for too long because even this sneaking around feels exciting, when back at the Isle there were never rules or curfews to break or care about.

There are footsteps behind them and both of them halt, hearts pounding madly. “Who’s there?!” Someone calls from the end of the corridor.

Evie turns to look at her, eyes wide. She grabs Mal’s hand and pulls her along as they run through the corridors, no longer caring how much noise they make. It’s a few minutes before they dare to stop and listen, but the school is quiet once again. When Evie turns to look at Mal her eyes are wide with excitement and she’s panting, but there’s a smile on her lips. Evie giggles and Mal can’t help but to laugh too, even as she tries to get her breath back. Evie’s hand doesn’t let go of hers even as they start moving again, and Mal only holds on tighter.

The door to the library is closed, but they weren’t expecting anything else. Mal takes a step to the front and winks at Evie.

“Make it easy, make it quick. Open up without a kick.”

She whispers the spell and the door creaks a little as it opens. Mal pushes into the room as quietly as possible, holding the door open for Evie to sneak in before carefully closing it behind them. It feels strange how quiet and empty everything is around them when they turn the lights on; their steps reverberate in the silence and when Evie giggles it echoes. It takes them both a moment to snap back into it, but then Mal is back into her senses.

“Okay, we better start before someone catches us here.”

Evie nods and immediately starts looking for the books they will need and pulls them out of the shelves. Mal lets her do, because Chemistry is not really her forte anyway. She reads whatever Evie points her to, scribbles down notes on her notebook and tries not to let Evie distract her. It’s not like Evie is trying either, but it’s hard not to look when Evie looks so serious, so focused and smart. Mal has always known Evie was intelligent, of course, but their school subjects at the Isle were so stupid that she had never realized just how intelligent her friend really is.

Friend. Mal repeats the word to herself, lets it sit in her head for a bit, savors it. She used to hate Evie, a deep irrational hate that had fueled her for years, but they are friends now. It brings a smile to her face, a wave of warmth through her body that catches her by surprise and throws her off. They were allies at the Isle, this whole friendship concept is an Auradon thing and completely new to them, yet Mal suspects friends are not supposed to make you feel the way she feels for Evie, like she would follow her to the end of the world and back.

“What are you staring at?” Evie is looking at her, half curious and half amused, head cocked to the side. Mal flusters and looks back at her notes.

“I don’t understand this part,” she lies, and regrets it immediately as Evie leans in to look at the papers too. Evie’s blue hair falls over her shoulder and her hand brushes against Mal’s cheek as Evie pulls a loose strand behind her ear. Evie smells like sweet apples and vanilla and Mal feels strangely hot around the neck.

“You just have to do it like this,” Evie explains as she scribbles over the paper. “And there you are, solved. It’s easy!”

Mal had just said whatever to change the topic, but now that she looks properly it was quite a complicated equation that Evie has solved like it was nothing. Mal huffs and swats Evie’s hair away.

“Show off.”

“Well, you told me not to play dumb to get the boy.”

Now it’s Evie who’s looking down at her notes as Mal frowns. “There’s no boy here.”

“No.” Evie’s cheeks are flushed red and she’s fumbling around with her pen. Evie is usually so confident and self assured, yet now she barely dares to look up at Mal. “But there's you.”

The silence feels heavy around them, only the rustle of papers as Evie fidgets with them. Mal can almost hear the echoes as she swallows, throat suddenly dry, and she wants to say something because she can see Evie slowly starting to panic, but she doesn't know what.

“A- anyway, we should finish this…”

Evie’s voice is shaking and it breaks Mal’s heart a little to hear the hurt in it. Evie brushes the back of her hand against the corner of her eye, swiping away tears that are not quite falling yet, and it’s more than Mal can take.

“You don’t need to get me,” she says before she can fully think about the words coming out of her mouth. Evie freezes at her voice. “You don’t need to get me,” Mal repeats in a smaller voice. “You got me already.”

Evie ducks her head and the loose strands of hair she had tucked behind her ear fall again, obscuring her face. Her shoulders shake with a small sob.

“E?” Mal reaches out to tuck the hair away again, gently. “Evie, princess, look at me.”

There are tears on Evie’s cheeks when she finally looks up, and her eyes are wide and wondering, almost scared. Mal cups Evie’s face with her hands and brushes a few tears away with her thumbs. Evie’s skin is soft, and warm, and the touch makes Mal’s fingertips tingle. This is new to her, to them, this way in which her stomach feels like it might turn around inside her, this way in which she could get lost forever in Evie’s eyes if she’s not careful. Evie’s lips are red and plump and so close that Mal can feel the breath of the little sigh that escapes them.

Mal closes the distance between them as she closes her eyes. Evie’s lips are sweet too, and moist, and Mal has never felt anything like this before. But then again, she figures, neither has Evie, whose hands are clinging to Mal’s arms like she will drown without the support. When Mal pulls apart Evie’s hands stay.

“I…” Mal feels stupid and awkward, but Evie just laughs a soft, breathy laugh. There are still tears clinging to the corners of her eyes, but no more fear. She tugs on Mal’s arms to pull her closer and kiss her again, warm and bold and perfect, and it leaves them both a little bit out of breath. Evie rests her forehead against Mal’s.

“I thought it was only me,” Evie whispers with a smile.

Mal shakes her head softly. She wants to say something, but before she can find the words there’s a noise outside the library and they both freeze.

“Oh,” Evie says, and it’s enough to send them both into a frenzy, quickly clearing their papers off the table. Evie laughs as they run through the corridors again, out of breath and exhilarated, and she doesn’t let go of Mal’s hand until they are back in the safety of their room.

They get an earful the following morning when they show up to class with no project to present. Mal rolls her eyes at the teacher’s speech about being responsible and Auradon values, like they are the first students ever to miss a deadline. Mal crosses her arms over her chest with a scowl and tries her best not to look at Evie, because she knows Evie cares much more.

Mal can’t stop thinking about last night, Evie’s teary face and the wonder in her eyes after they kissed. And the kiss. Mal doesn’t even know what had pushed her to kiss Evie, her best friend, and yet it had felt like the right thing to do. But once they had gotten back to their room the moment was lost, and Evie has been quiet and distant since they woke up. Mal is starting to go crazy.

“However here in Auradon,” the teacher goes on, “we believe in second chances.” Mal wants to laugh, but she just raises an eyebrow instead. “You two have until the end of the week to hand me the project. Obviously you won’t get full points, but you may still pass the semester.”

Evie mumbles a quick ‘thank you’ as they are dismissed. This time they go straight to the library, no magic and no tricks. Evie leads the way to a secluded table and immediately starts piling up books on the table. Mal lets her do for a while, but it’s painfully obvious Evie is trying as hard as she can not to look at her, and there’s only so long ignoring the elephant in the room will work. Next time Evie turns away from the shelf Mal takes a step forward to block her way.

“We need to talk, princess.”

“Not now,” Evie says. Her back is pressed against the rows of books and she’s very intently staring at the volumes in her arms. “We need to finish this project.”

Mal ignores her, because it’s easier than arguing with her. She puts both hands against the shelf, arms around Evie. “What was that last night?”

She doesn’t know where this confidence is coming from, when yesterday she could barely find the words, but she knows that the tension between them is killing her inside. She won't let it make them grow apart.

“I don’t know.” Evie’s voice is quiet, but at least she finally dares to look up at Mal. “We kissed.”

“Yeah.” Mal’s eyes dart to Evie’s lips, almost unconsciously, just for a second, and Evie blushes when she notices. “Yeah, we did.”

“What does that… make us?”

“I don’t know,” Mal says.

There’s no dating in the Isle, no such thing as boyfriends or girlfriends or friends. Mal doesn’t know where they stand now, what to say to make things less awkward. But she knows what she wants to do next.

“I don’t know,” she repeats, “but whatever it is, I would do it again.”

The books Evie is holding dig into Mal’s stomach when she leans in to kiss Evie, but she doesn't care. Evie tilts her head down a little to meet her halfway. It's a bit messy and a bit clumsy, a bit bold and a bit shy. Evie makes a noise, tangles a hand in Mal’s hair to pull her a bit closer, and Mal smiles against Evie’s lips.

Someone laughs a little too loud in the background and reality comes back around them. Evie’s blushing a beautiful shade of red, and her lipstick is a little bit smudged at the corner of her mouth. Mal’s chest heaving slightly.

“It’ll be okay,” Mal says, and she knows it’s true even if she doesn’t know how.

Evie smiles and rests her forehead against Mal’s with a small sigh. Her hand has slid from Mal’s hair to Mal’s waist, and her warmth seems to seep through every layer of Mal’s clothing until Mal feels full with a happiness she doesn't think she has ever felt before.

“It'll be okay,” Mal repeats, watches the almost imperceptible tremble of Evie’s lips. “We’ll figure it out together.”

It's not like Mal doesn't know that life is rotten, but maybe Evie's optimism is rubbing off on her - one kiss at a time.

[sophcaro]

Destiny | WMatsui - Chapter 26

A despondent sigh escaped Jurina’s lips when she sneezed and coughed for the umptieth time this morning. The whole SKE group was currently getting prepared in the dressing room for a handshake session in Nagoya, and she was far from being in top form. One thing was for certain; she always looked forward to meeting her fans and relished those privileged moments of interactions with them. However, something was telling her she was not going to fully meet their expectations today if her health didn’t show swiftly signs of improvements.

This last month, she had felt the lack of energy kicking. Not only did she feel exhausted after a long day of work, she dreaded the possibility of having caught a cold during her last photoshoot by the sea at Yumigahama beach. Because of the high level of humidity, Summer never was a season she favored the best, affecting her medical condition each and single year. It was a tricky period, one that required of her to be incredibly cautious, even more than during the rest of the year.

A part of her was still hopeful it wasn’t as bad as it looked and it may only be an allergic reaction to the weather, as it generally occurred to be. However, she had unexpectedly woken up this morning with a bad headache, watery eyes and a sore throat. At those symptoms, she hadn’t hesitated to take medicine before leaving home, praying it would solve the issue. She had a meaningful event to attend, and the idea of cancelling even one single slot was unconceivable.  

People were expecting her. Fans who had bought tickets months in advance, and waited eagerly for this moment to arrive. Letting them down was out of the question. She could rest tonight at home once it was over, after greeting properly each fan waiting in line outside. They had made the effort of coming all this way to meet her: she owed it to them to be present.

“Jurina… Are you alright?”

Jurina snapped out of her daze at the sound of a feminine voice addressing her. Across the mirror, she distinguished Churi’s silhouette approaching and she pushed her concerns at the back of her head, sending her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, it’s only the season. It’s the same thing every year. I’m used to it. It will pass.”

Her friend didn’t seem utterly convinced, as she gave her a preoccupied look when she took a seat by her side to study her. Starting to feel a little awkward under Churi’s intense scrutiny, Jurina averted her gaze to focus her attention on something else, and decided instead to check her clothes. This morning, she had opted for a casual blue, short-sleeved tee-shirt, along with a light brown pair of shorts.

A perfect outfit for a scorching Summer.

“You seem a little hot…” Churi murmured, after pressing her palm against Jurina’s forehead. “Are you sure you don’t have a fever? Maybe you should see a doctor today.”

“A doctor? Today?!” Jurina exclaimed, staring back at her in incredulity. “We have a handshake event, remember? You want me to cancel it and disappoint all my fans?”

“Of course not,” Churi replied carefully. “But we both know how demanding and tiring such days can be. If you’re not feeling well-”

“Hey…” Jurina cut her off, extending her arm to give her knee a gentle patting. “Stop worrying. I’m fine.”

“You can’t ask me that,” Churi protested softly. “You’re my friend; I care about you. I’ll never stop worrying.”

Jurina’s chest warmed up, moved by Churi’s affectionate words. Her compassionate side had always been appreciated, and even more welcomed during difficult times. Frankly, she didn’t know how she would have overcome those last two months without Churi’s precious and comforting presence. After her devastating breakup with the girl who meant the world to her, she had been a total mess, desperately seeking a shoulder to lean on, and someone to cry her heart out.

She couldn’t have wished for a more loyal friend than Churi, and she would remain forever grateful for her unfailing support. The pain caused by the separation had not subsided yet, and her heart inevitably ached when Rena’s image flowed her mind, and she was reminded of what she had lost. Nevertheless, Jurina was under the strong impression that her friend was being irrationally overprotective lately - watching her every move like a hawk - and never failing to voice her disapproval if she skipped a meal, or did longer days of work.  

It was already hard enough hearing her fans and the staff mentioning - way too frequently for her liking - her recent loss of weight and her drawn features…

“You don’t need to smother me each time I sneeze,” Jurina joked, choosing to play the card of humor in the hope it would distract her and ease her worries. “I turned twenty in March; I’m officially an adult now.”

“I know you are,” Churi conceded with a smile. “You’re an adult, even though you can still act quite childish some days…”

“Just admit it,” Jurina gave her a lopsided grin. “You love that side of me.”

Churi let out a laugh. “And flirty too. How could I forget that?”

Jurina was relieved when her tactic seemed to have bored its fruits and the mood had shifted positively between them, her friend now looking more appeased. Believing the matter to be over, Jurina diverted her attention to the mirror in front of her. Her features turned serious as she paid a closer look to her appearance, realizing she would need to add a little more makeup if she wished to cover better those awful bags under her eyes.

“Please,” Churi’s small, hesitant voice unexpectedly broke the silence. “Promise me you’ll go and see a doctor tomorrow if you don’t feel any better.”

Jurina tilted her head towards her, caught off guard by the request. She was confident to have successfully convinced her friend there was nothing to be concerned about, but it appeared her previous words hadn’t had the desired effect. This morning, Jurina sensed the other member would never drop the subject unless she had obtained the answer she wanted. “Alright…” she relented. “I promise.”

   Jurina was conscious the medication hadn’t worked as well as she anticipated when the handshake session began, and most of her previous symptoms had unfortunately not disappeared. With a heavy head and a troublesome headache that showed no intention of vanishing, she was nevertheless determined to put on a brave face, and greeted as cheerfully as possible each and single one of her fans. At first, the trick seemed to work as she managed to go through the first slot without too much difficulty.

The following one, however, proved to be more challenging.

The second slot had barely started that she began sweating abnormally, making her fear the current heat in the exhibition hall of Port Messe may not be the sole explanation for her growing discomfort. A few times, when her legs demonstrated sign of weakness and refused to fully support her frail body any longer, she took a seat to rest, but never more than a few minutes to not trouble her fans unnecessarily.

Being one of the most popular members, all her slots had sold out weeks in advance, and there was a long waiting line of fans impatient to share a few words with her. Despite all the signs indicating she badly needed to take a pause, she refused to come to such a decision yet. In nine years, it was not the first time she did a handshake session while not being completely physically fit. It surely never stopped her from conducting the handshakes until the very end…

“Hi,” she wrapped her hands gently around the next approaching fan, a young man in his twenties with black, short hair and wearing proudly a blue tee-shirt at the effigy of SKE’s ace. “Thank you for coming all this way despite the hot weather!”

“Jurina-san, I’m so happy to see you,” A broad smile plastered the male fan’s face in undeniable enthusiasm, his features nevertheless soon growing a little concerned. “Jurina-san… Are you sick? You don’t look well.”

“I don’t?” Jurina exclaimed, feigning ignorance. “Don’t worry, it’s only because of the season. I’m fine!”

“Oh… okay,” The male fan was swayed easily by his oshi’s charming smile. “I wanted to ask… Is it true what the article is saying about Rena-san?”

Jurina stiffened at the unpredictable mention of the graduated member. This morning, she had discussed various topics with her fans, but the older Matsui had never been a subject of conversation. Until now. “What are you talking about?” she asked, a mix of confusion and curiosity filling her voice.

“Ah, you still don’t know,” The fan’s eyes lit up in realization. “Bunshun published an article a few minutes ago. It says-”

Unfortunately, the male fan didn’t have the opportunity to explain further that the guard had moved forward and grabbed his arm, clear sign that the five seconds were over and his time was up. Having no choice but to abide to the rule, the fan opened his mouth to say goodbye, but Jurina intervened. “No, wait. Let him finish.”

The guard, who was about to drag the male fan away, stilled at once, casting Jurina a startled look at the unexpected interruption. Without a protest, he retracted his fingers and took a step back, enabling the SKE member to bring her full attention back to the fan. “Bunshun released an article about Rena?” she repeated, unease spreading through her chest. Experience had taught her the tabloid enjoyed intruding into people’s personal lives, and hearing the infamous name being associated with the young actress troubled her. “What does it say?”

“They took pictures of Rena-san with Yosuke-san in Tokyo,” The fan, who was pleased to have earned a few more seconds with his favorite member, didn’t wait to reveal. “The article says they are dating.”

Jurina widened her eyes, unconsciously loosening her grip around the fan’s hands. Processing the words he had uttered, her instincts were screaming at her not to trust any of it. After all, it wasn’t the first time Bunshun created fake scandals. On the shooting of Destiny, they had already used the excuse of a simple dinner between colleagues to spread the false rumor that they were dating. But it was more than a year ago… Why on earth was Bunshun coming up with this same silly story again?

Back then, Rena hadn’t waited to deny any involvement with the male star, her short but unambiguous tweet thankfully putting an end to the foolish rumors. That’s why it made no sense whatsoever for the tabloid to target both actors again. Unless…

“What… What kind of pictures?” Jurina couldn’t help asking, a shred of doubt sweeping through her. She and Rena had broken up two months ago, and the latter never made a secret her good relationship with her Destiny partner. Not only the actress always had flattering words to say about him when they chatted on LINE, their chemistry transpired on every media they appeared together, whether press conferences, TV shows or magazines interviews.

“They weren’t kissing but… they seemed really close,” The fan answered, a little uncertain to continue when he noticed a flash of apprehension in the idol’s eyes. “I don’t know if it’s true, that’s why I wanted to ask your opinion about it.”

The guard, who had kept quiet until now, stepped forward again, and Jurina didn’t oppose any resistance this time when he pulled them apart. Already, the next fan in line was approaching but Jurina was far too distracted, incapable of getting out of her head the information she had received. Right now, and against her better judgment, she wanted nothing more but to get her hands on that article and see the pictures.

Attest for herself if something was indeed going on between Rena and Yosuke.

“I need to take a break,” Jurina whispered to herself when a shiver ran through her body. Burying her burning forehead in one hand, she clutched the railing before her for support with the other. Against all hope, her health was not improving in the least as the morning was going by. Worse, it was now asking her all the effort in the world to remain standing still on her feet without wobbling.

“I will make a short pause,” she repeated decidedly, loud enough for the guard to catch it, before shooting the next fan in line an embarrassed, apologetic look. “I’m so sorry… please wait for me.”

Taking an unstable step back, she turned around and began walking towards the direction of the rest area. The following seconds went by like a flash. From her left, she noticed her manager drawing close, vaguely registering the latter inquiring what was wrong. She never had the chance to reply. Feeling her strength failing her, her eyes shut without her consent as she collapsed on the floor.

   Jurina blinked her eyes in an effort to wake up. Slowly and progressively, her sight adjusted better to her surroundings, heaving out a discouraged sigh when she took in the white, aseptic room surrounding her. No matter how many times she had ended at the hospital those last nine years, she still couldn’t manage to get used to the place, loathing coming here as much as the first day. Being stuck here, lying in a bed too narrow and firm, and wearing nothing more but a thin and irritating blue hospital gown, only served to remind her of the fragile nature of her health.  

A weak body that, annoyingly, seemed to take some malicious delight in constantly failing her when she needed it the most.

Jurina stared helplessly at the ceiling above her head, before distractingly casting a glance at the square window on her left. It was getting dark outside, the partial obscurity indicating her that she had slept most of the afternoon. Taking a nap never was her intention in the first place, but her fatigue had gotten the best of her, succumbing to her heavy eyelids after the nurse had entered her room to remove the lunch tray.

If truth be told, she continued to feel extremely sleepy. Keeping her eyes open proved to be a complicated task, and her numbed muscles didn’t seem ready for any kind of effort. Yet, she refused to listen to her body’s wishes, aware she would have real trouble finding sleep tonight otherwise. Reaching for the bedside table on her right, her fingers encountered a familiar rectangular device, pushing the middle button to raise the head end of the bed. Once at adequate height, her cellphone lying on the corner caught her attention and she took a curious look at it, horrified when she discovered how many new messages she had received.

Scrolling through them, she made a mental note to reply later to the work-related messages, lingering on the personal ones. Amongst the vast quantity of messages from SKE members wishing her a quick recovery, she noted a few from Mayu, Mariko and Churi, as well as her mother. Carefully placing the device back on the table, she couldn’t help feeling a tinge of disappointment at the absence of message from a certain person, until realizing it was foolish and senseless of her to expect a message from Rena. In two months, the other girl hadn’t contacted her once. Why would she come out of her silence now?

Not wishing to dwell on the painful reality as it inevitably brought out her melancholic side, she tried to focus on positive thoughts, and to rejoice at the notion that Churi would be visiting her in an hour. For two days straight, she had been glued to this bed, fighting a strenuous battle against the fever that had struck her without warning during handshake. Crammed with antibiotics, her body temperature had now thankfully dropped, her cold equally almost a bad souvenir. However, it would be presumptuous to affirm she had already fully recuperated.

Yesterday, when the doctor had paid her a visit, he had manifested his desire to keep her at the hospital for at least two more days, concerned about the results of her blood analysis and the low levels of iron in her blood. Jurina would always remember the stern look on Churi’s face when she came to hear about the doctor’s predictable diagnostic.

Anemia.

Jurina had accepted her friend’s scolding without complaining, not having the will and even less the strength to contradict her. Even though her pride prevented her from admitting it out loud, she knew deep down her friend was perfectly right: she hadn’t taken good care of herself lately. Persuading the doctor to discharge her from hospital didn’t even cross her mind; she guessed he would be reluctant to agree anyway considering her medical history. Even if she was aware of the countless problems her absence was causing, she wasn’t in position of winning this battle.

These last two months, she had buried herself in her work, not counting her hours and never refusing extra workload. It appeared she had pushed her body to its limits once again and it was requesting a necessary respite. In the past, she ignored him easily when he dared making such bold demands. As the ace of SKE, she couldn’t afford to rest or take a break. The weight of her responsibilities was too great; people had placed so much faith in her. But, more than anything, she wanted to reflect the perfect image of an idol: professional, hard-working, and not afraid of outdoing herself to deliver the best performances and satisfy the audience.

Maybe had she reached a higher level of maturity, enabling her to ultimately learn from her past mistakes. Or maybe was she solely too physically and mentally exhausted to protest this time. Nevermind the reason prevailing, she didn’t oppose any resistance to the doctor’s wishes, and agreed to stay under medical surveillance for a little while longer.

Looking up to the television hanging from the wall opposite her, Jurina grabbed the remote control from the bedside table, in the hope the activity would successfully keep her awake. As she was about to switch the television on, her attention was caught by the sound of light footsteps approaching in the corridor, and stopping in front of her door. Believing she had a new visitor, Jurina revised her plans and waited in anticipation for the person to manifest herself, but was perplexed when the door didn’t open as she predicted.

For an instant, she wondered if maybe the newcomer had gotten the wrong room number and was progressively realizing their mistake, leading them to shortly turn on their heels. The stranger’s odd behavior, who was neither entering or drawing away, but standing immobile on the opposite side of the door, began to unsettle her. Settling down the remote control on the bedsheet, Jurina straightened up and spoke up. “Who’s here?”

Her intervention produced the anticipated result as the door slid opened, revealing a feminine silhouette that made her heart stop.    

A beautiful slightly pale face she could recognize easily anywhere, even amongst the densest crowd. Long, black shiny hair that fell down her chest, and covered a short-sleeved red summer blouse. But, most of all, gentle small brown eyes that kept on haunting her days even after two, long months of separation. Jurina was frozen in place as her new visitor approached, asking herself if her imagination was not playing tricks on her mind, and this improbable scene was not in fact a mirage.

Because there was no way Rena could have just walked in her hospital room.

[seongkiran-blog]

( i’m sobbing she’s precious )

hi guys, i’m jules and i’m so excited to be a part of this rp !! i just saw that my app was in all caps by mistake bc my phone likes to fuck with me like that and i’m cringing omg. so i applied a few days ago but life got super hectic and i only just reapplied now that i’ve come up for air rip. but this is my eternally fucked, lowkey honey girl kiran who thinks she’s stoic and intimidating af but more often than not has the smallest of smiles at the v least on her face. here’s some basic — & extensive, sorry lmao — info about her ( TW: death, self-destructive behaviour, adjustment disorder/situational depression ) :

born seong kiran/kiran diana seong on march 12, 1997

scarborough, canada born and raised to first-gen korean-canadian parents

the epitome of a bitter smol™ that’s prepared to fight over everything (stubborn brat )

has twin five year old siblings that she fucking adores, which is a big deal since she doesn’t care intensely for many people

her parents were both only kids that ventured into science-based careers; her mom was a pharmacist at her late grandparents’ small clinic and her dad was a neurosurgeon at toronto gen hospital, so they were upper-middle class you could say

s u c k e d at making friends in her formative years and when she did, they didn’t stay for v long

plenty of chances for her to find new friends though since the gta is huge and has a ton of other kids around so it wasn’t all in vain

also her vanity when she was a kid was prob a turn off for others lol

smart af, like english? a’s. math? a’s french? a+

eventually didn’t suck at the whole friend thing and had a small group of people she grew rather fond of

she ended up graduating as valedictorian and was accepted to mcgill to study pre-med and become a neurosurgeon just like papa seong

always wanted to follow in his footsteps, so it came as no surprise to her parents

( TW: DEATH ) during her midterm break in her first sem, her parents decided to take the family to their cabin near muskoka for a weekend away from the city/suburbs

they were a little over halfway there when her dad tried to veer the suv away from a moose in the middle of their lane, but wasn’t successful

kiran was conscious during the whole thing, though she sustained a concussion and the twins were unharmed in their carseats; however their mother died on impact and their father suffered from a cranial injury ( .. i only just realized how ironic and morbid this is after working with this muse for a while oh my g o d )

she went with the twins to the hospital and was inconsolable over the loss of her mother alone, while her father was in critical condition and the outlook was promising, though not certain

he was put in a medically induced coma after being operated on and she and her godparents ( who advised her on the whole thing since they were docs themselves ) decided to hold out hope for a recovery

the twins were put in her care and she was left to deal with the burden of their loss, her education and the obvious, her brother and sister’s newfound dependency on her

she withdrew from the few people she became close to over the years, her grades began to slip as well, and she was always weighed down by grief and anxiety

she tried to stay in school while taking care of the twins, but it was becoming more and more difficult to do so. she just managed to keep her head above water throughout the rest of the first sem though

moved out of res, into an apartment and relocated the twins for the time being to see if she could pull it off

( TW: SELF-DESTRUCTIVE BEHAVIOUR ) add the fact that a part of her began to question if she could really follow in her dad’s footsteps, and that she let further anxiety from the pressures of making her parents proud get to her and she was soon on a downward spiral

she slipped away from her academics and was slowly becoming a poor guardian; soon, kiran was partying too hard and winding up in the hospital or a stranger’s dorm, skipping labs, and was generally a lost cause when the twins were under the care of a sitter

failed a couple of courses by the end of the second semester and had her godparents flying out to crack down on her dumb ass

felt hopeless and lost, but especially so when she posed the risk of losing the only family that she had left, realizing how selfish her actions were and trying to amend her mistakes

dropped out of mcgill for the time being and took up a job as a retail clerk to provide for the three of them ( despite inheriting their mom’s estate and all, as she put the money that came from it into the kids’ savings )

was soon in the clear in her godparents’ opinion and has tried to do right by her parents and siblings since then

after losing herself for a while, she found that she was right back to where she started with friend-making, but rather than it being her just not knowing how, it was that she didn’t want to let people in after everything that had happened

she didn’t remain a loner, but she didn’t have a ride or die by any means

for the sake of her a.d and bc of the bad memories that t.o and mtl held, she found herself relocating to greenville of all places

but deep down she knows mama seong would be happy about the kids growing up in a smaller town than near dt toronto

about four months after settling in, she began attending a nearby college in what would have been her fourth semester and has since maintained a high gpa after retaking the courses she fucked up in

her dad has since woken up, but he’s going through extensive forms of therapy to restore his motor, neurological, etc functions

she’d be back in t.o if her godparents hadn’t advised against it since it was still rly overwhelming for him and his three kids ( two of whom wouldn’t rly know him either ) coming back prob wouldn’t help ??

still has nightmares from the accident, the girl’s scarred for life and is thankful that the twins were too young to remember

sees a psychiatrist at the behest of her godmother bc she rly can’t cope by herself in all of this but she doesn’t like to burden others with her problems ( doesn’t like people knowing much about her regardless but )

now to her personality and extra facts ig ??? this has gotten so out of hand already, sTOP ME

the most stubborn chick alive, will never admit she’s wrong unless you weasel it out of her with some heavy guilt-tripping

she used to be a fucking NIGHTMARE to most people before everything went awry, still can be but it’s more or less an act with a little bit of it also being herself

a true instagram addict, which makes sense bc she can be p vain at times

rather intuitive tbh

can be insightful as well

feigns annoyance and boredom with people/their antics

some weird ass detachment method on her part that she didn’t shake, but question her on it and she’ll shut it tf down

but is still genuinely, easily irritated all the same ?? not even i understand this chick

curses like a sailor is she isn’t too curt in her responses

has a problem with trusting others, feels like she can only truly rely on herself so if you break through that barrier then congrats ig

she won’t make it obvious though, she’s a sociable being and will actually take to you if you pique her interest with free booze or a wild story

just don’t expect her to surrender much of her life story, but she’ll also get a bit offended if you don’t offer a bit of your own ??

the most annoying internalizer of emotions ever if you’re actually friends with her, 110% will not confide in you if you’re not one of four or five people in her life

also fears loss more than anything, so she isn’t close to many people for BOTH the trusting aspect, as well as wanting to spare herself the pain of watching more loved ones die or leave

but if you’re one of the v select few people she’s let in completely, she’ll never let you go. she’s the definition of loyal and will legit die for you

so so devoted to her little brother and sister, like she loves them more than anything and does everything so that they can succeed when they’re older

all of the sports acceptable for kindergarteners, music lessons, ballet, you name it, she’s got them registered

puts them before herself all the fucking time, her mom wouldn’t be impressed with her putting herself last as opposed to finding equilibrium

anyways, point is, you’ll never see her be more affectionate and joyful than with her family, godparents included

her being good with other kids though ?? she’s been working on it and she’s coming around

still can’t stand screaming brats though lmao

will be super polite to even her enemy’s parents mostly bc fuck that person.. unless their parents aren’t pleasant people either, then she’ll be unpleasant right back lmao

trust me when i say that she has a heart of gold and will do what’s morally right, is so so soft but will forever be in denial like i cannOT STRESS ENOUGH

defensive pessimism at its finest

fluent in french and korean

memes are lowkey the way to her heart

well, memes and food ofc

such a poutine hoe™

sci fi junkie

here for aesthetically pleasing everything

her place is almost never in disorder, oddly enough

quite the party girl, though not the same as when she was a frosh, is able to control herself when there aren’t too many stressors plaguing her

queer af, doesn’t know what her sexuality is but she knows she isn’t straight ( but for all intents and purposes, she’s pansexual )

she just needs someone else to take care of her honestly, she still doesn’t know what she’s doing with herself lmao

trying her best™ to be better in general but change doesn’t happen overnight so she’s not rushing into it, aka she’s still comfortable with being a bit of an asshole for as long as possible

you sometimes won’t know who she is from one day to the next, kind of the personification of a wild ride

so that’s kiran, if you’d like to plot just hmu or like this and i’ll come to you !! i’ll link some possible connections later bc my laptop’s about to die and i can’t find the charger anywhere ? @my mom, pls stop moving my stuff, it’s giving me more heart palpitations than my econ final last month

[whalebonetales]

"Corvo."

The single word existed in a vacuum, without echo or life. It carried a crushing weight that forced the assassin into a dull, dreary awareness, where his sole confidant was a lamp post spilling its sallow light over broken cobblestones. He started, and his vision lurched - the already disjointed landscape of the Void shifted its many islands tauntingly. Fear gripped him at once; did he die?

The events of the evening unspooled in a scattered mess. He recalled the greeting from Lord Pendleton handing him a glass, another over-imaginative drawing from Emily, Havelock and Martin exchanging loaded glances. He recalled the Gristol cider's bitter taste growing ever sharper, almost citrus-like in its bite, and he knew his fate in that moment. He knew that, if he exclaimed his realization, Havelock would have put a bullet in his back without question; their plan would persevere no matter Corvo's machinations. They cared not if they spilled his blood in front of Emily. It was, he thought, all he could do to save face and stumble up to his room feigning ignorance.

And now, the Void. And now, the Outsider. And now, the lecture over his life.

Sighing through his nose, the assassin waited for the summary of all his failures and accomplishments.

But no such lecture arrived. "Corvo," came the sound again, dead syllables raining down on him. "Here you are, poisoned by your own allies and left for dead on a raft. From the murder of your Empress to the death of the High Overseer, many would look on your murder as fortunate. Even now, your erstwhile associates are moving on the capital to install Emily as the new empress. Yet here you are, resigned to death. Are you truly willing to end your narrative here, Corvo? With Emily in the clutches of the men who betrayed you?"

Do I have a choice? The Serkonan looked to where the Outsider was to find nothing but a whale in the distance. There it hung motionless, frozen in time against scenes a thousand years prior and a thousand years further. It unsettled him, as did the voice that perpetually sounded in his own mind.

"You wear my mark on your hand and yet you ask me if you have a choice." While he never laughed, Corvo sensed levity in the tone. He felt a presence near his side, where the Outsider knelt above him. "That depends. How much are you willing to give for that second chance at life?

"Many have beseeched me for this very choice, Corvo. People the world over spent their life's fortunes on whale bone charms and runes in hopes of gaining my favors. They carved their wishes into rats and boiled them alive, hoping the bloated carcasses would deliver their messages unto me in the Void." His hands folded over one knee, and he pushed himself up - a strange choice of gesture that looked too deliberate to Corvo. "But maybe you're not the type of man to take a second chance at mortality. Maybe you're content to let the rest of fate unspool itself in the hands of Havelock, Martin, and Pendleton. Emily may survive on her own. She is a lot like you, after all."

Struggling, Corvo sat upright. He reached for the back of the Outsider's pant leg, fully expecting his fingers to meet dead air, and yet he caught the fabric. At first, the words stuck in his throat, his abject surprise at his simple luck (was it luck? Was it choice? Whose choice?) forcing his throat to stall. "Wait," he managed at last. "Don't go."

The Outsider hardly turned his head before the very form of him dissolved in an unearthly manner. The fabric slipped from his fingers, draining from his grasp like water. A thin wetness remained on his fingertips. Panic set in past the throbbing numbness wrought by the poison. "Wait!" His strength ebbed and flowed with each pulse, as death worked its way through him. He wondered, then - how long did he have before he became a part of this place? How long before all of his efforts meant nothing for his country? Soon he would die a dishonored man, afloat on a raft to the Flooded District. Soon he would know a marred reputation in history forevermore, as the murderer of the Empress - the bane of Dunwall.

"I'll do anything you want - I'll rewrite history, or fell the Abbey, or even spread your name from Morley to Serkonos! Whatever it is you're after, just name it!" He struggled to his feet only to hear his words echo back to him from the infinite wastes of the Void. The Outsider left, his back forever turned --

"I find your offers wanting, Corvo. I don't care to be known, nor do I find any preoccupation with the Abbey or its thousand grudges against me. Rewriting history falls beyond your boundary.

"Was I wrong to have Marked you?"

Incensed, Corvo wrenched around to seize the throat of the Outsider and felt his fingers close over gentle heat and solid muscle. He felt like no wraith, no apparition sent to haunt his dreams - and this scared him all the more that he already met his fate. Now the Outsider toyed with him and taunted him for all the choices he could no longer make now that he was excised from the world. He squeezed with the strength that he still possessed, and found in his wake a dead smile to match dead eyes. Corvo reached with both hands now, and his grip turned white around the neck of Daud's Black-eyed Bastard. On his forearms settled a grip disturbingly weak, almost boyish in its lack of power and --

Corvo realized, then, the folly of choking out that which does not breathe.

"I'm waiting, Corvo." His lips moved, yet the assassin felt no whisper of air beneath his fingers. Nothing moved, not even a pulse. "Every night you spent since your escape from Dunwall Tower, I visited you. I questioned you, and I appraised you for the choices you would make. I gave you just enough insight into the consequences to pressure your decisions. Your actions were your own, yet it was my presence that dogged you through the whole of it - that afforded you the power to overcome your adversaries. It must have incensed you - knowing that, all this time, you had me to thank for the possibility of choice.

"Now, at last, you have me in your grip. What will you do?" The Outsider offered no further resistance. Where they stood now, Corvo could just as easily snap his neck as any mortal man that crossed his path. This creature, this otherworldly being, the source of his power felt all too human in his grip.

So Corvo pressed on, forcing the god back through his own realm. The scattered streets of Dunwall unraveled into a setting far older, far bleaker than any he encountered in the plague-infested districts. No frozen weepers or static mountains of corpses littered the area, yet he tasted a sharp sense of sorrow on the air. This ageless place possessed a feeling, where the Void was otherwise bereft of emotion. Yet Corvo only noticed the change of scenery when the Outsider's legs pressed up against a low wall, and Corvo halted in his advance.

Here, they were encircled by hundreds of timestopped men, all robed, all cheering soundlessly with fists forever raised. While his hands tired with the effects of the poison, Corvo never slackened his grip. The low wall, he found, was an altar. He wasted no time in forcing the Outsider down upon its sturdy surface. "Take me back to Dunwall," he commanded as he leaned his weight into his attack.

"We're --"

"I didn't ask where we are. I said, take me back. You owe me that much." He realized, then, the folly of trying to choke out that which did not breathe. He released his grip, though he did not back away from the fallen form of the Void's god.

And the Outsider made no effort to right himself. He stretched his arms far above his head, exacerbating his vulnerability. "We're in one of the oldest parts of the Void. This was where I died." He looked toward the knife that Corvo could not see. "They cut my throat in a ritual that would cast me into the Void. Four thousand years of history changed because of them. You would throw all that away to break my neck? You fascinate me."

Corvo could think of nothing else to do. He had nothing to offer a god that the rest of the world could not - his connections, his strengths, his weaknesses all meant nothing in the view of four thousand years of watching the world turn. But the Outsider was once a man, which meant he could still be a man, even as he stared out at Corvo through nothing but darkness. He had Piero for philosophical debate, Daud for serial murder, and doubtless many more to sate every part of his twisted psyche. So what could Corvo trade in turn for another day in Dunwall?

Surrounded by sightless eyes, with the Outsider prostrate before him, Corvo could think of no other option. Desperation fueled him as he reached for the deceptively simple coat and wrenched it upward. He half-expected to find nothing but blackness beneath, but there lay taut skin over ribs swollen with breath. His fingers traced ridges and valleys as he forced the fabric upward until he found the basins of the Outsider's arms. Corvo leaned against him now, trusting his weight to the Outsider, and found him just as solid as before. Still, it bothered him. He shook it off to free the other man from his coat, and cast it upon the nearest pair of eyes.

"Does everything change for you when you can feel me watching?" The irony was palpable in his tone.

"You tell me." Corvo knew acutely that the Outsider surveyed him now, that those depthless black eyes lighted upon him with the most pronounced interest yet. He knew this, and chose not to look. Instead, he leaned down against the surprising warmth of the other man, and while swallowing his own apprehension for the act, pressed lips to the Outsider's throat. He felt fear in doing so, which fueled a misbegotten thrill. Ignoring it, he pressed a hand to the underside of the Outsider's jaw and pressed for more room. Teeth grazed over territories paved by his lips, and he felt a peculiar heat in his left hand as he worked. A shudder passed through the god's skin and he felt the rumble of breath, as if he was beginning to recall how it felt to be human once.

There came no response, but the body beneath him slowly woke to life. A hand clasped over his wrist, and he felt the Outsider's thumb forge a gentle path from wrist to palm. Breath wetted the fingers that strayed too close to his mouth, and Corvo felt the Outsider's tongue upon his fingertips. Again, he pushed the welling revolt from his mind. There wasn't a place for regret and disgust when his life hinged on making a favorable impression. So when he felt the body beneath him rock against his form, he made no mention of it.

And he wanted to ignore it entirely for the moment, but the Outsider had other plans - namely, the possession of his marked arm. His hand moved beyond his volition, pathing downward across skin to the lip of the other man's pants. Corvo loosed himself from his ministrations for a moment. "I get the hint." As he spoke, gooseflesh roused on slick skin. Swaths of red marked the areas that Corvo traversed.

He knew then, perhaps through the Outsider supplanting his wants into Corvo's thoughts, to move further. He moved from neck, where his teeth seized the handlebar that was the Outsider's collar. His left hand struggled for dexterity with the unseen buttons until assisted by his otherworldly companion. In a couple sparing seconds, their clothing simply melted away.

Now Corvo was faced with the brunt of his choice - lying out stark naked upon the stone altar, animate beneath the frozen descent of the knife. He knew a surfeit of choices concerning the ends of men's lives - powerful men with world-changing agendas - yet he was never faced with a duty quite so otherworldly as this. The Outsider's affairs were always unknown to him, and he preferred their contact minimal at best. Yet here, he faced a choice of life by pleasing something that he wasn't sure was human. There wasn't time to prepare himself for this.

Corvo caught up a leg in his roughened grip, and hoisted the limb high until the back of the Outsider's knee met with his shoulder. The joints fit unnervingly well against each other, and briefly Corvo speculated that the other man was able to manipulate his own anatomy to some extent.

"Would you settle for serendipity?" A smirk, and those waiting eyes fell upon him again.

The heel of his unmarked hand braced against inner thigh, and forcing the other man's legs open proved easy. Corvo even felt the strain of muscles as they reached the end of their flexibility. Waiting beneath him was the Outsider's cock, remarkably not crooked as the turns of phrase suggested. Perhaps he would have made comment of it if his current predicament hadn't left them as strange bedfellows. But the Outsider sensed the hesitation, and again his left hand began to drift from the Outsider's knee to upper thigh to the crown of his cock, where thumb pressed firmly into wanton flesh.

"Fine," Corvo muttered, reclaiming control of his hand. He seized his own cock, and found it already slick, though he knew not how or why. He learned to stop questioning such matters here. His fingers grew wet with the contact, enough so that he could press them inside his proposed bedmate without great resistance. He knew not what to expect in tactile response, but the smooth, long undulation of heat ranked not among forecasted outcomes. He thought little of it, forcing himself to identify a fragmented building in the distance. A second finger joined the first, then a third. He pressed skyward and heard a stuttered gasp from the Outsider.

Perhaps there was reassurance in that he was human enough to feel such a move.

As his three fingers swept against smooth muscle, the Outsider arched slowly in response. The silence between them felt laden with unsaid expectations and bated observance. He pressed with greater vigor against the other man's prostate and earned a strained gasp of it. If nothing else, this arrangement offered Corvo the opportunity for revenge. Such a thought spurred him from toeing his choice tepidly.

But when he pressed himself into the Outsider, he felt a tight pressure on him unlike anything experienced with women in his life. He ventured into a trap where the Outsider constricted him tantalizingly, and Corvo stopped himself to catch his breath. Pressure built up alarmingly quickly at the base of his spine. "Loosen up."

The Outsider, conversely, looked to thrive on the pain. "Having trouble, Corvo?"He leered down at the other man from his place on the altar.

"If you don't cut me some slack, I'll cum." The statement earned enough of a response that he could move again. Surprisingly, no mocking comment or bored analysis came with his suggestion. Corvo resumed a slow, rocking motion to test his boundaries and found the Outsider almost bored beneath him. But the Outsider proved patient, and Corvo knew this for all the hours spent mapping guard patrols when he felt black eyes upon him. They never abated even when Corvo never moved for half a day, so why should that patience fail him here?

As Corvo himself loosened up, he drew deeper into his otherworldly partner. His hands framed the bony ribcage stretched taut before him, and the Outsider's hands lay unrestrained above his head. Seizing on the idea he had before, Corvo trusted his weight more fully to his partner in a subtle shift, then framed his unmarked hand around the man's throat. The skin still felt warm, smick. He very nearly gleaned a pulse beneath his flesh. Again he squeezed, and this time he felt a response in how the Outsider tightened up around him, choking him in return, stealing his breath away --

Corvo jerked the black-eyed man upright by the neck, and in a practiced rearrangement, shifted himself atop the altar while forcing the Outsider beyond its bounds, and there the other man arched backward in a rare display of vulnerability. Both the Outsider's hands splayed against the slate-covered ground to maintain balance in the demanding position, and every muscle in his body grew taut with careful balance. Corvo shuddered responsively, again fighting back against a tepid climax. With the Outsider's legs now arranged around his lap, Corvo seized one of his thighs in a long, raking grip, His marked hand palmed against the flat of the Outsider's stomach, forcing him to hold the position while taking repeated, jolting thrusts.

No matter the strength in which Corvo railed against his partner's hips, the Outsider never complained of the punishment. And it came to be that Corvo pushed himself too far to regain his composure. In a hoarse moan, he forced himself deep into his god-lover as all muscles seized, and gritted his teeth against the nigh insurmountable pleasure of release. Red rutted nail marks turned deep red with new beads of blood on the Outsider's thigh. His flattened palm curled into a fist against the other man's stomach, and in their wake lay five distinct marks as arrows pointing to the very center of him. Slowly Corvo's muscles slackened, and heavy thrusts dulled to a languid rocking while the last of his orgasm petered out.

But the Outsider was patient, and while he remained tantalizingly near to cumming himself, he wondered with interest how Corvo might address the lack of release on his end. He needn't wait long, however, as a rough hand closed over his waiting cock and set to work before Corvo even separated himself from the black-eyed man. For this, he almost smiled.

"The choices you make are quite interesting, Corvo." He spoke in the same, carefully-measured tones as with their first meeting. With each stroke, he felt the revival of long-forgotten habits from more human times, when he knew blood and pain and fear. These specters were dangerous, he knew, but he welcomed them regardless. As he opened himself to the idea, he drew long breaths into his dead husk. With each passing respiration, he felt more a visitor in his own Void. The deep, burgeoning want grew as Corvo reached a more vigorous pace, and soon the Outsider felt almost human.

While the Outsider tried to sit up during Corvo's ministrations, the heel of a hand met the bottom of his ribs with brute force at every occasion. Were he a lesser man, were he a man at all, the Outsider felt certain that the force alone would've shattered his floating ribs. At this, he did finally smile. Soon his breaths quickened, his muscles tightened, and he flexed his hands against the ground in wait for the inevitable.

And for the Outsider, the thought of climax remained a question in his mind. Did he still retain that much humanity?

He did not wait long for his answer; Corvo's vigor was matched only by his stamina, and in minutes, release seized the Outsider's body in three undulating strokes. Only shuddering breaths left his body, accompanied by fragments of wrung-out, tightened fragments of voice. It was then, perhaps, that Corvo realized what whale oil resembled most. As the thick strands of cum cooled against the black-eyed man's skin, their opalescent gleam shined at him tauntingly. Another breath passed between them and they vanished altogether - along with the Outsider.

Before Corvo found time to react, a voice sounded behind him. He turned to find the patron god of the Void floating as he often did, entirely clothed and unruffled by the encounter. The barest hint of smirk remained in his features. "Do what you will with your second chance. I'll be watching." Before he quite finished his last syllable, the whole of the Void vanished in a whorling, sucking vortex.

And as soon as his disorientation ended, Corvo opened his eyes to two vapor masks belonging to the whalers - and cursed his luck.

He cursed the Outsider's crooked cock, too.