#i have midterms coming up too i’m cooked fucking cooked

[bolshevik-rpf]

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[maxverstappensflatbrim]

Show Me Yours | Matty Healy [44]

chapter forty-four, act five: the ballad of me and my brain

masterlist

-this is the final chapter of this part, I'm slolwy writing the next part but I am alos doing my midterms right now so there may be a wait until it's out.

December 25th 2017

It’s Tommie’s first Christmas alone in five years.

She doesn’t really know what to do with herself, she’s currently sitting on the floor of her kitchen, staring at the TV that’s playing some shitty hallmark film in her living room.

She’s waiting for her pizza to finish cooking, she doesn’t want to eat a cooked dinner alone.

Adam invited her to go along to Christmas with him, but he’s going with Carly’s family, who she doesn’t know that well. So she lied and said she’s going back to LA to spend it with Phoebe in the studio. 

She’s not entirely alone, she has Allen who is currently curled up beside her on the floor, and Button who she’s been tossing a ball for every now and then the last few minutes.

There’s a letter in her hands.

Printed on the front is that familiar messy writing with her address spelled wrong and scribbled out.

Ross dropped it off three weeks ago now, she still hasn’t opened it.

Allen nudges the letter closer to her with his nose, as if he can smell the scent of his owner on it.

She sighs and nods, patting his head gently, “I know, Als.” Allen looks up, “I miss him too.”

Then despite her better judgement she finds herself tearing into the envelope. 

Dear Baby,

I don’t know how to start. I’ve written fourteen letters to you and every single one has ended up being crumpled up at the bottom of my bin. I know the reason that I can’t write is because deep down I don’t deserve for you to hear me out. I fucked up. I fucked up way too many times. And he was right. About you giving me too many chances, letting me walk all over you because that’s what I did, what I do. I took advantage because I knew you’d always be there. I knew I could fall back on you and you’d pick me up because that’s what you do. You’re so good. I don’t deserve that.

One of the therapists I’ve been working with here told me to write letters to the people most important to me. To the ones who I feel that I’ve wronged with my addiction. Apparently it’s a part of my healing journey. I think it’s just to make me feel like a dickhead.  I wrote to my mother first, for falling down the hole she worked so hard to steer me away from, the hole she herself fell down.  Then to Louis for being a shit older brother. To the guys for what happened in San Jose. And now to you. For everything I’ve ever done to you.

I’m not going to list all my mistakes. I’m sure you already have your own list highlighted and neatly stashed away somewhere. I’ve had a lot of time to think while being here (And I already know what you’re thinking, ‘wow, didn’ know you could do that’). I’ve had to think about what to do when I get out of here. I’m not sure if you’ll want to see me. But in my head the first thing I’ll do is come and see you. I’ll get on my knees before you, lit up by those fairy lights we spent three hours trying to hang on your front porch. You’ll open the door and you’ll probably be wearing that old AM concert shirt and your stupid rugby zip-up I keep telling you to replace but you won’t because you’re too sentimental (it’s one of the things I love the most about you). I’ll beg you to just say that you forgive me. Even if you don’t really mean it. And I know you will. I know you would forgive me in an instant because I know you. Then we’ll have everything we’ve wanted, our own studio, we’ll be back on the road, never having to settle, just us the guys and the open road up ahead of us. Endless music, endless time, whatever we want. But I’m going to stay away. Or at least I’m going to try to. I want you to move on and have a better life without me. You’ll do great things. And I can’t be a part of them as much as I want to be. It’ll be hard, for both of us, but in the end you’ll come out on top. You’re the smarter one, with the talents, you have the voice, the skills, the lyrics, the heart. I just have the confidence. I’m nothing without you. Matty Healy is simply nothing without Tommie McDuff, it’s always been that way. But Tommie McDuff is everything. You are everything.  I’ll watch from afar as you keep doing amazing things, with Phoebe, alone, whatever it is you’re doing. I’ll be your biggest supporter, I want you to know that. But I’ll do it from afar. I’ll try to do it from afar.  I say try because you’re my strongest addiction. It’ll take everything in me to stay away. I’ve always been addicted to you. More than any drugs I’ve ever taken. I’m addicted to the way you touch me, a hand on my arm as you laugh, the way you smile at me, those little sarcastic ones you do when I annoy you are my favourite because I know you’re trying your hardest not to break into the biggest grin. I’m addicted to the sound of your voice. And the way your mind works, from your lyrics to your solos, I want to see inside your mind. To study you like an old Victorian sculpture. I’m addicted to your laugh, even when it’s directed at me. To the way you love and the feel of your lips. Ever since your lips first touched mine I’ve searched for others who may make me feel some sliver of the way you did. None have ever compared. Not one. They’re not soft enough, not gentle enough, not exciting enough, they’re not you. They’re never you. I hate myself for doing that to them, to myself, to you. Most of all to you. I hate myself more and more everyday as I sober up, because as each day goes by I’m forced to sit with the knowledge of how I treated you for longer. 

One of the questions I’ve been told to answer is what would I do if I saw you again? What would I do for you? I’m not sure if you’ll want to see me again. But if you did, if you gave me that gift of blessing my eyes with you one last time, I’d hold you. For as long as you let me, hours, days, weeks, months, years, until we both grew old and grey. I’d love you until the moment I died, and even longer if you let me. I’d wait as long as you wanted me to, until the earth ends or just the first sign of spring. I’d collect the stars and bottle them up because I know how much you love them. I’d create a whole new religion just to worship you. I’ve realised now that I’ve rambled. (I’ve run out of paper and only have three lines left) But I have so much more to say. I’ll sum it up in a few words for you. ‘I would give you the moon.’

Yours, Matt.

She puts the letter down. 

One tear escapes her eyes.

There’s a knock on the door.

taglist

@thereisaplaceintheheart, @indierockgirrl, @sofaritsalrightt, @julezs-bl0g, @eaglestar31, @sophinthealpss, @noacfemcel, @if-my-heart-bleeds, @befrwime, @fallingforel, @sexorchocolateorpillowsorclouds, @3terna15unshin3, @1975sophie1975, @thesocraticjunkiewannabe, @littlesoldierelleora, @procrastinatinglikeapro, @beatr2x, @byyourside28

-let me know if you want to be added :)

[zhongster]

could u write something with eddie eating too much food that steve cooks and he gets really full & burpy so steve rubs his belly

Sorry this is a bit short hahaha

THIS IS KINK CONTENT, DON’T READ IF YOU DON’T LIKE IT

“Steviiiiiiiiiie!”

Steve could, of course, hear Eddie coming from a mile away. Eddie had had a particularly grueling midterm in Mrs. O’Donnell’s class that day and as motivation, Steve promised that he’d make Eddie’s favorite meal for dinner that night.

Eddie bounced into the kitchen and threw his backpack on the ground to peer over Steve’s shoulder at the Mac n’ cheese he was layering in a glass pan. “That looks amazing, FUCK I’m so hungry!” He whined.

Steve laughed quietly, “That’s why I have another one in the oven.”

Eddie’s eyes lit up as he made his way over to the oven. He opened the door and sniffed deeply, giving an approving hum as he did so.

Approximately thirty minutes later, the Mac n’ cheese had finished cooking. Steve had eaten an average sized portion and was feeling very comfortably full. Eddie, on the other hand, had eaten an entire pan by himself and now sat sprawled out on the couch fruitlessly rubbing his stuffed tummy. “Y’alright over there Eds?” Steve asked, placing the dishes in the sink.

“I’m so fu-uuurp-cking full” he whined.

“Alright c’mere” Steve sighed, moving Eddie’s legs and sitting down next to him.

Steve placed his hands on Eddie’s stomach and began to gently massage the bloated mound. “ohhh fuck I need to burp so bad” Eddie complained, gripping onto Steve’s pants.

Taking this as his cue, Steve began to massage a bit harder into Eddie’s underbelly. Eddie pulled harder on the handful he had of Steve’s jeans as he writhed, “I can feel it moving around but it won’t come out!”

“Alright,” Steve soothed “I’ll get it out I promise.”

He began to gently pat Eddie’s chest as he rubbed Eddie’s tummy in an upward motion. Eddie made a face of discomfort as a massive air bubble dislodged and made its way up his chest. The belch that escaped him was absolutely gargantuan in size. It exploded out of him for a solid fifteen seconds and was absolutely deafening. When it ended, Eddie let out an obscenely lewd moan from the sheer relief he felt. “Who knew burping was the thing to get you moaning like a porn star” Steve laughed.

Another low burp crawled up Eddie’s throat as he flipped Steve off. He blew the gas to the side and responded with a humorous “fuck off.”

Steve chuckled back at him as he continued to massage Eddie’s tummy. “All jokes aside,” Eddie continued “there’s definitely more where that came from.”

“Aye aye captain” Steve said, starting to rub Eddie’s stomach in an upwards motion to encourage the air to come up.

This method worked absolute wonders. For the next several minutes respectably long belches gurgled out of Eddie in response to Steve’s ministrations. Some surprising even Eddie himself with just how long they were.

Eventually they began to taper off as Eddie’s stomach grew less and less bloated. Despite that, Steve continued to rub Eddie’s tummy; the repetitive motion was surprisingly relaxing.

“Hey Steve..?” Eddie began, jolting him out of his reverie.

“I’m kinda hungry again.”

[kyufessions]

Late Night Dinner

synopsis: you meet your boyfriend, johnny, for a late night dinner after work

pairings: non-idol boyfriend! johnny x retail worker! g.n. reader

genre: fluff drabble

word count: 0.6k

a/n: just wanted to write something about this johnny ,,, a small something

general taglist: @jwnghyuns

smiling tiredly at your approaching boyfriend, his brightening smile made your heart skip consistent beats. you made exhausted grabby-hands in his direction, quickling signaling for him to approach your arms so you can give him the long awaited hug you’ve been craving from him. he happily obliged, wrapping you up in his arms and placing a small peck on your lips before sitting down across from you at the table. his hands subconsciously slithered into yours, fingers automatically intertwining together.

the small family-owned restaurant was nearly empty from it being 1AM, and to be honest you were even surprised it was still open. but you didn’t complain because it was the perfect place to sit down and eat after a long thirteen hour shift at your exhausting retail job, and by perfect you mean a twelve minute walk from your shitty new york city apartment that was way too overpriced for your liking. the rent rarely left you with enough money for grocery shopping but you made it work. besides, since you started dating johnny around nine months ago you learned he loves cooking- especially for you. so, you didn’t have to waste much money on eating out or shopping much anymore.

“how was work, baby?” he asked, his eyes not leaving yours for even a split second. he already knew your answer, but he still figured he’d ask to be polite.

an aggravated sigh left your lips, making you roll your eyes at the remembrance of the annoying customers you dealt with today. “annoying as ever. the day i stop working retail is the day i’m truly happy, i swear.”

a waitress soon approached you both, asking your orders and johnny ordering for both of you. although you both didn’t come into the retiring often, you both had come here enough to know each other's orders. knowing how tired you were, he just ordered for you as you rested your eyes for a split second before hearing her walk off and your boyfriend speak up again.

“when’s your next class?” he asked you as he stared at you with love yet slight concern. midterms and work had both been kicking your ass lately, and the dark under bags you were presenting was making it evident.

“at 9:30 in the morning. i’m just glad all my classes are online, otherwise i’d be even more exhausted.” the lady approached with both of your black coffees, making you perk up and start adding coffee creamer and sugar to it to wake you up a bit. you watched as johnny drank it black, scrunching your face up in disgust to tease him.

he smiled, making you calm your nerves a bit. well, that and the coffee. he noticed the slight change, making him a bit happier. “take off next semester and move in with me.”

you nearly choked on the hot drink that was gliding down your throat, making you put down the small coffee mug and cough into your hoodie sleeve. although johnny was laughing, he was leaning over and patting your back along with asking if you were alright. all you did was nod, starting to laugh along with him as the workers and some customers just stared at the two of you in the back of the restaurant.

once you contained your composure, you stared up at your boyfriend who was hovering over you. your eyes met, his smile never fading as yours grew. “are you fucking serious, suh? don’t joke like that.”

his lips met your forehead, then your cheek, before finally meeting your lips with a small peck and sitting back down so as to not make others in the area uncomfortable with PDA. “i’m serious, 자기야. why would i joke about that?”

suddenly, you weren’t tired at all. the exhaustion left your body as you both discussed moving in together when your lease ended in three months, right after the new year. and although johnny was fighting against hello kitty bed sheets, you were going to scheme against him on how to get him to say yes.

[harrysfluff]

College!Harry

A/n: slayyyy i wrote something. Happy halloween! I quickly typed this up, it’s not much and is loosely based on my life. 

 College harry would include 

choosing whose apartment to stay at 

“I have an 8 am so we should really stay at mine”

“yeah but your roommate has a cat and I’m allergic” 

“well my bed is more comfortable”

“touche”

waking up to each other’s alarm 

he would offer to drive you to class on days when he can because he knows it would you more time with him 

texting each other live updates about your guys’ day

Y/n: the person in front of me rn is playing tetris and is quite good 

Harry: arent you suppose to be paying attention?

Y/n: yeah but they’re like crazy good

cooking dinner together 

harry would suck at making chicken, that man could not cook chicken I just know it 

“Harry you can’t use that cutting board! It’s touched raw chicken!”

he would also definitely burn shit 

doing work together at night 

“this groupme is so annoying”

“do you still have your labs from last year?”

“can i have your chegg password?”

“I got a 70 on my midterm, do you think i could still get an A?”

going to bed 

Harry definitely enjoys being held by you and after a while youve been conditioned to fall asleep everytime you hold him

you both have to have a full bed in your guys’ apartment just because the trauma of sharing an twin XL freshmen year 

there are a lot of limbs, too many even 

sex stuff 

harry and you have perfected being quiet during sex 

audible moans are just obnoxious when you have roommates 

anytime the bed creaks, you both move to the floor 

harry almost always places a blanket down on the ground for your comfort 

harry always liked missionary as he was able to look at you beneath him, watching you squirm and come undone 

he liked to leave some space between the two you, to allow you room to comfortably rub your clit while he fucked you 

Harry would lean down to give you a sloppy wet kiss as his body began to lose composure

“jesus fucking christ y/n, i’m gonna cum” 

“me too harry, fuck” 

your bodies would soon then collapse into each other as harry gently rocked his hits into you, slowly riding out his high  

[yarichin-imagines]

could you do like headcannons for yuri and tamura and how they express their love for their s/o? 🥺 either nsfw or sfw is good :))

Hi thank you so much for requesting! I wasn’t sure if you meant a poly relationship or separate, so I went with separate for right now! If you wanted something different, don’t hesitate to send in another ask!

Ayato Yuri 

Yuri, shockingly, is pretty hard to write for. I don’t think anyone really knows what is going on inside his head. So these headcannons are purely what I think. 

I would like to think he is the type to show his love for you rather than speak it. I love him to death but I know is not good with words by any means. Unless you know the full Yuri dictionary, then I don’t see how anyone can point out his verbal hints that he loves you.

Sweets! We all know that Yuri absolutely loves his sweets. After a while of getting to know you and dating you, he would figure out your favorite candy and or baked good. And every morning before school, he would hand you some so you can notch throughout the day. And on anniversaries, you’d find a whole package laying on your bed after class.

He would walk you to class every morning. Majority of the time, he would either sleep over at yours or have you sleep at his. But still, he makes a point to walk you to and from class. He just loves seeing you every moment he can.

He would look over your homework for you! Especially if you were struggling in a particular class. He would take it from you and disappear only to return with your paper. There would be red marks on the ones you got wrong and in the margins - you would see his sloppy handwriting with the right answer. He would also do the same thing with your tests once you got them back. It’s routine now that he expects to see your test every time. And he would do the same thing he did with your homework.

If you did good on a test, He’d definitely reward you with kisses and candy! His heart just swells in pride when you get a good grade that he can’t help but to cover you in kisses. 

If you are scared or even anxious during thunderstorms, he’d be the one to place his headphones over your ears and let you listen to his music. He’d hold his hands over your eyes so the only thing you could focus on was the songs coming through the headphones. I’m sure he has fears of his own or things that make him anxious so he knows how you feel.

He makes sure to always have dinner with you. He likes to make sure you’re eating well. Don’t let him cook though. Just don’t. While I think he is a decent cook, he’d probably manage to slip in some unwanted ingredients.

NSFW

He’d always show his love by going down on you several times in each session. He wants you to feel as good as you possibly can. He wants you in the clouds. Plus we all know how good he is with his tongue - even he knows how good he is with his tongue. This definitely leads to a lot of overstimulation.

Another way he’d show his love in the bedroom is by wearing protection with you in the beginning. Now hear me out. There’s a method to this madness. He has been with a lot of people. He knows he’s been with a lot of people. He doesn’t want to risk giving you anything. He cares about you too much and is too scared to risk it. But I know that when the two of you become closer and more committed, he’d stop using it. Although, if you are a person who could become pregnant and you wanted him to continue to use them, he would.

If you wanted him to, he’d stop having sex with other people. I am a firm believer that any relationship he goes into - it would be an open one. But if you sat him down and explained it to him, he would try and limit his partners and eventually stop altogether. But! If you do this, prepare to be railed about three times a day minimum. He has a really high sex drive hence why he had so many partners.

During sex, I think he would choose a lot of positions that would allow him to see your face and lets him be close to you. He wants to see you and feel you everywhere. When he’s with someone he loves, it’s almost like he wants to be enveloped by them. He begins to see them as home. So during sex, it’s natural he wants to have them wrapped around him. 

He’d take off his glasses during sex. Like above, he wants to see you. And he wants to do it without the tint hiding the way your body flushes in the setting sun that pours in through the window. He might even pin his bangs back so he could watch your reactions as he’s between your legs, making you see stars.

He would want you to look him in the eyes during the act. He shows a lot of his emotions with his eyes. The act of someone looking into your eyes is extremely intimate. You lay your emotions bare to him with your eyes. And he really appreciates it!

Yui Tamura

One of the ways he shows his love is through his physical strength. He would thrown down with anyone who tried you. And if anyone makes you cry? He’s beating them to a bloody pulp. He does it to protect you and your emotions. If you didn’t approve of him going around and beating up anyone who makes you feel slightly upset, you’d have to sit him down and explain why and that he has to stop. But for you, he would.

As I explained in another Tamura post, he loves the sunset. And he would love to watch them with you. He’d take you to the best viewing spot and sit with you wrapped in his arms as the two of you watch the colors fade to night.

He’d skip class with you to go on dates. He’d casually stroll into your math class and say the office needed to see you and that you were excused for the rest of that class. Once outside the class, he’d take your hand in his and run out of the building to a quiet place. He’d take you under the stands near the soccer field where he set up a small intimate date. He’d have all of your favorite snacks and he’d demand to feed them to you.

Unlike Yuri, Tamura would voice a lot of his love for you too. While it may not be a direct “I love you”, it’s in the questions he asks. “Have you eaten today?”, “Did you sleep well last night?”. 

He’d also remind you of a lot of stuff. If it was going to be particularly cold the next day, he’d remind you to set out your coat and gloves. If it was midterms, he’d remind you to drink enough water and not stay up all night studying. 

He’d randomly pop up to your dorm during one of your study sessions with a meal from the cafeteria because he knew you wouldn’t set a reminder to go grab it. As he sets it down, he’d definitely gently knock you in the back of the head for not remembering to eat.

He would be one of the ones to verbally say he loves you. If you were stressed about anything, he’d remind you that even though it feels like the world is against you, he’s there for you. “You know I love you right? Then relax and let yourself go - even for a minute.”

NSFW

Not to beat the dead horse, but he’d cover you in marks. When it comes to sex, I see Tamura being like a basic alpha male. He wants everyone to know you’re his. It gives him a sense of security. He loves you so much that seeing you covered in his love bites does things to him. When he sees them the next morning, he might have to pull you into the nearest closet or classroom and relive the previous night.

He would take things a lot slower when it came to sex. It would be a lot more intimate. With most of his other partners, there was no intimacy. Once they were done, they would just go their separate ways. But with you, he would keep you as close as possible.

The aftercare would be amazing. He’d pull you to his chest and kiss your face, asking if you needed anything. He’d massage the tense muscles if he needed to. He would use one of his old shirts to clean you up before hopping back into bed to just lay with you. In the afterglow when the room was silent all except for your breaths, he’d feel at peace with himself.

His dirty talk wouldn’t be as rough. Instead of the normal explicit words, he’d say things along the lines of “you feel so fucking good around me” or “you’re so good to me”. And of course the classic, “I love you so fucking much”. If you wanted him to be a bit more rough with his words, he will. But for the most part, he’d be more romantic with it.

When he cares for his partner, he learns to give more than receive. He would put your pleasure above his own. He would make sure that you are always the first to come. He puts more of his effort and time into your pleasure rather than his own. He would ask what you like in order to make you happy. He would even show vulnerability and let you tell him where he is lacking in certain areas of sex.

He’d kiss you a lot! Kissing is something that is very intimate to some within the walls of sex. When he has you on your back and is thrusting into you slowly, his lips would be on yours, pressing his tongue deeper into your mouth with every slow drag of his hips. His bedroom persona would drastically change when he finds someone he loves and cares for.

I hope you enjoyed! I’m sorry if these are really sappy! I put on a slow Japanese playlist and a lot of the songs happen to be love ballads. Again, thank you so much for requesting! 

- Admin Pinky

[tsukishumai]

Prank Wars w/ their S/O - Tsukki, Kuroo, Akaashi, Bokuto

My Gym 3 babies! 

Couldn’t get this idea out of my head lmao, so I cranked it out real quick.

Hope you like!

Aged-up characters :)

TSUKISHIMA –

You looked at the clock on the wall of your shared apartment.

It read ’11:56 PM’

Tsukki’s birthday was in four minutes, and the two of you were spending it huddled around the kitchen table, papers scattered all over while you both attempted to finish your midterm papers.

Not exactly the most glamorous way to spend it, but such is life for college students.

Still, that didn’t mean you didn’t have something up your sleeve.

Tsukishima was sitting across from you, eyes trained to the screen of his laptop, headphones on with the volume undoubtedly maxed it.

“Kei,” you called out, and just as you expected, he couldn’t hear a word you said.

You rummage through your bag, and found the pair of scissors you stowed away earlier for this exact moment.

“Kei,” you said again, a little louder this time. Still, you were met with nothing.

‘Perfect.’

“Kei!” you yelled out, and with a quick snip, you had cut the wire that was connecting his headphones to his laptop.

You watched as Tsukishima’s eyes widened slightly, eyes darting from the cut wire to you, then back to the cut wire, then back to you.

“What the actual fuck?” he said in disbelief.

“I’ve been calling your name for ten minutes now, and you were ignoring me!”

“So you cut my headphones” he sputtered out, still trying to process the situation.

“You couldn’t hear me!”

“Wha – I – Are you an actual moron?!” His eyes narrowed at you, taking the now broken head phones off his head and throwing them off the table, “There were a hundred different ways to get my attention, and you had to pick the most idiotic way. Jesus fucking Christ, how the hell am I supposed to –“

You cut him off by placing a small box on the table, wrapped in a light green wrapping paper patterned with a cartoon dinosaur wearing a party hat.

He stared at the box.

“’How the hell am I supposed to drown out your annoying voice’? That’s what you were gonna say, right?”

He glared at you.

You pointed to the box.

“What the hell is it that?” he asked, eyeing the box suspiciously.

“It’s a present,” you rolled your eyes, “or are you too stupid to – “

He snatched the box from the table at your words. You smirked with satisfaction as you watched him quickly ripped off the paper, his hands stilling once he realizes what was underneath.

It was a set of Bluetooth headphones – ones that he has been eyeing for months but hadn’t been able to save up enough money to get.

He looked up at you, eyes softening immediately at the proud smile you had on your face.

“Happy birthday, Kei!” you giggled.

He stood up from his chair to make his way around the table and gave you a sweet kiss on the forehead.

What’s a present without a little psychological torture?

KUROO

Kuroo was planning to be nice to you today.

Really, he was.

He even took a quick pit stop at the mall so he could get you a drink from your favorite boba spot.

But when he walked passed the kiosk selling cheap hair extensions, an idea so great popped into his head, he couldn’t ignore it.

He got to your apartment, and the happy smile on your face almost made him hesitate to go on with his plans.

But then you said, “What’s up with your hair today, Tetsu? Couldn’t be bothered to look in the mirror for longer than two seconds?”

His eyebrow twitched.

He waited for the perfect opportunity, and it came when you went into the bathroom to finish doing your make up.

He grabbed a pair of scissors from a drawer in your kitchen, and then cut off a thick lock of hair from the extension he had bought that matched your color.

He tiptoed his way into the bathroom, making sure not to make much noise so that you didn’t notice him.

Making a big show of it, he snipped the scissors loudly behind your head, then held up the fake lock of hair for you to see in the mirror.

He couldn’t stop the shit eating grin from spreading on his face as he watched your face slowly register what you just heard, and what you were seeing in the mirror.

Your face contorted with anger and disbelief, quickly snapping your head around to stare at the lock Kuroo was holding.

“WHAT,” you shrieked, “THE. FUCK!”

Kuroo was bent over laughing at this point.

“KUROO TETSURO, I – YOU –“ You sputtered, but then you turned back to your sink, pulling open a drawer and rummaging through the contents.

Kuroo wondered for only a minute what you were looking for before you produced your own pair of scissors.

Kuroo’s eyes widened, “Y/N…”

“COME HERE YOU ASSHOLE,” You tried to grab at his hair, but he was too quick, and grabbed your wrist.

“Hey, calm down,” he shrieked, “You’re gonna hurt somebody!”

“YEAH, THAT WAS THE PLAN.”

“It was a prank!” he said quickly, and you stopped thrashing around, and Kuroo let out a sigh of relief.

He ran out of the bathroom to grab the plastic bag of fake hair, lifting it up for you to see when you trailed after him.

“See,” he said, “I got it at the mall earlier. Now… Please… Put the scissors down?”

Akaashi –

You and Akaashi were having a peaceful Sunday

After spending the morning lazing around on the living room couch, the two of you decided to go for a run around the neighborhood.

Bad idea.

You absolutely hate running.

Akaashi managed to convince you with the promise of making you chocolate chip pancakes when you finished, but not even that was giving you the motivation to pick your feet up from the ground.

 “Alright, that’s it,” Akaashi called from twenty feet ahead of you, his natural athleticism making you more irritated by the second, “Almost there, you can do it!”

You know he was trying to be motivating, but it just made you want to chuck your shoe at his pretty head.

Your body was aching and exhausted by the time you got back to your door.

Akaashi gave you a quick peck on the cheek, told you to go take a shower while he prepared breakfast.

You agreed, but made your way into the kitchen first to grab an apple sauce packet from the cupboard cause a bitch hates cramping.

When you noticed the box of dried pasta sitting in the corner, an idea flashed into your head.

Quietly, you opened the box and grabbed a few dried pieces, shoving them into your mouth before you turned to Akaashi.

“Hey, Keiji? My back is kind of aching, do you think you could help me crack it?”

He tiled his head at you, setting down the bowl of pancake batter he was mixing.

“How do I do that,” he whipped his hands on a towel before positioning himself behind you.

You crossed your arms. “Just wrap your arms around me, then pick me up and squeeze really tightly.”

Akaashi nodded, wrapping his arms around you. “Ready?”

You nodded, and as soon as you felt Akaashi lift you from the ground, you bit down on the dried pasta in your mouth, creating a loud cracking sound.

Akaashi let go of you in shock, dropping you onto the floor, but you were trying so hard not to laugh, you didn’t even mind.

“Holy hell, was that your back?! Oh my god, Y/N, are you okay?!””

Akaashi knelt down from where he stood, trying to hold you up while you clutched your stomach.

You couldn’t hold it in anymore, and you burst out laughing.

Akaashi narrowed his eyes as you grabbed a napkin from the counter and spat out the dried pasta from your mouth, laughing even harder when Akaashi looked at you in disgust.

 Realization dawned on his face, and he dropped you on the floor once again, stood up, and started heading towards the bathroom, leaving you to pick yourself up.

“Aw come on, Keiji~”

“I’m taking a shower. Make the pancakes yourself.”

“No! Keiji!!”

Bokuto –

You were trying to enjoy the newest episode of your favorite show when it was interrupted by loud screaming.

Screams that you could only recognize as Bokuto’s

You rush out from your room, only to find your boyfriend screaming his head off from the kitchen counter

“Kou?! What the – “

Your eyes barely took in the sight before you.

Bokuto with a knife in his right hand while his left is on the cutting board and all you saw was red – so much red.

“OH MY GOD, KOTARO, WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK”

“Y/N, OH MY GOD, GET SOME PAPER TOWELS!”

You scramble around, and in a panic, you grabbed the dish rag that was on the sink, and threw it at him.

“NO, THAT’S A RAG, THAT’S DIRTY!”

“OH MY GOD, WHERE ARE THE DAMN PAPER TOWELS,” you scream out, scrambling around the kitchen that you’ve lived in for the past year, “WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU DOING?!”

“I WAS TRYING TO COOK US SOME DINNER,” Bokuto cried out, and you finally found the damn paper towels under the sink.

You grab the entire roll, ripping off a few sheets and pressing them onto Bokuto’s fingers.

Except, when you wiped the paper towel away, there was no blood. It was… tomato sauce?

And Bokuto’s fingers were neatly intact.

When you finally noticed Bokuto’s phone recording you, you turn to glare at him.

The bastard had the audacity to burst out laughing.

“That’s not funny, Kou!” you shrieked, throwing down the paper towels and storming out of the kitchen.

“Aw, come on, Y/N,” he said in between laughter, “I’m surprised you even fell for that.”

“Well, what the hell was I supposed to think when I come running down, and you’re screaming your head off!”

You crossed your arms and pouted. Bokuto snickered, washing his hands before he wrapped his arms around your waist.

“You gotta admit,” he smiled, nuzzling his face into your neck, “That was a good one.”

You sighed, wrapping your arms around him. “Yeah… it was.”

[yoongiseesawmp3]

brown piano - yoongi

i’ve never written fic on this account before so bear with me, but here’s a little something about the only man i trust. and no i will not be capitalizing anything xx

summary: friends to lovers. yoongi and y/n have known each other casually for a couple years and never intended to take their friendship further than a few study groups together or the occasional dinner with friends. but being in the same applied piano class has brought them together, and their mutual love for epik high bonds them more than they’d like to admit. 

warnings: language, probably. there’s a couple cliches in here too, i couldn’t help it. i probably only refer to yoongi as a honey dumpling twice 

word count: 8.3k (its really just a long ass love letter to bv4/in the soop yoongi)

playlist: end of the world - epik high, gsoul / love song - epik high, park sung woong / go - epik high / can you hear my heart - epik high, lee hi / life is good - epik high, jay park

“fuck,” you whisper, nimble fingers slipping over the wrong keys once again. for a music composition major, you’re pretty lousy at practicing your instrument. mostly because you practice and mess up and get so frustrated that you stop for a minute to scroll through your phone and before you know it, your time in the practice room is over. 

the time limit on your practice contributes to your stress, but the keyboard you keep tucked in the corner of your apartment just doesn’t do this song justice. a lot of the students in the school of music ignore this room, because the old brown spinet creaks too much for their “high class” performances, but you like it for its personality and the all-encompassing feeling it gives to your songs. when you play this piano, you can’t help but listen to its song. a keyboard or a grand can easily become background music to you, but this one is stubborn. it will not be ignored, so you come back to it when you need to fall in love with a song again. 

the pinging of your phone pulls you out of your daydreams about the daunting black and white keys in front of you, and you check the time left on your reservation before opening your messages. 

it’s a text from yoongi, who’s been talking to you more often lately. usually you just exchange pleasantries with each other when your big group of friends happens to get together, but you’re both in this applied piano class and it was nice to have a familiar face among the pretentious students you struggle to get through lectures with. 

the quiet music technology major never caught your attention before this class, because he never had much to say when you were talking in passing. but this class has taken your friendship from nonexistent to yoongi texting you semi creepy photos of you through the practice room door with the text “your posture is shit, that’s probably why you keep messing up.” you swivel around on the bench to glance at the door and notice a mop of black hair in the distance. he must be finishing up a session in one of the studios because he’s usually your competition for this practice room. the piano reminds him of the one he played growing up, he says, so it’s the easiest for him to practice on. he’s more gifted than you are however, so he doesn’t need to practice for class as much as you do. hell, he could probably think of a song to play on the spot and still ace the performance midterm without another thought. 

“where are you headed?” you text back, shuffling your sheet music together as neatly as possible before you start gathering the rest of your things. “i sounded so bad that you’re running away?”

“no,” he replies, and you can picture his shoulders shaking with a silent laugh. “need coffee.”

“omw,” you text quickly, going from tenderly placing things in your bag to slightly shoving them down enough to zip everything up securely. you gaze sadly at the piano before you leave. you really should try and practice some more, you have a few minutes left in the room, but you let out a sigh and head for the door instead. you need coffee and your dumpling shaped friend right now. hopefully the combination will help you get over some of your stress.

you find yoongi just outside, leaning up against a pillar of the building with his hands in his pockets and a bucket hat that he’s produced out of nowhere pulled over his head. he peeks up at you from under the brim when he hears the rickety doors clang shut, and he smiles slightly before pushing himself off the stone column. 

“how’s the song coming?” he asks casually, leading the way to your mutual favorite coffeeshop like it’s second nature. which honestly, it’s getting to be like that. how did you go from barely knowing yoongi to spending almost every day with him? 

“uh, my fingers don’t work anymore i think,” you explain. “i’ll get it though. i just need to practice more.”

“i could always help you,” he offers. you quirk an eyebrow at him and he continues. “like, i could listen and maybe watch the way you’re playing, and if there’s a spot you’re constantly messing up on i’ll just know to cough a lot during that part of your performance so the professor doesn’t hear it.”

“wow, who would’ve thought that min yoongi would be my knight in shining armor,” you joke. “what were you working on?”

“another song for my mixtape,” he tells you simply. “i want to sample an epik high song, but i can’t find one that fits the vibe yet.” 

“hmm,” you think. “you’ll find one. or you can wait for their new album and use something off of that.”

“yeah, but i won’t have the same connection to those songs that i do with the old ones, you know?” 

“then just go back to your favorites. have you tried doing something like lesson one?” you ask as you arrive at the coffeeshop. yoongi opens the door for you and ushers you inside, scooting you out of the way so someone zooming by on a bird scooter doesn’t accidentally clip your heel. 

“when i first started working on this i tried doing my own version of it, but i don’t think anything i have to say would be better than tablo,” he explains.

“that’s not how you should be thinking when you’re making music,” you scold. “whatever you make will be worth listening to, and whatever you say in those songs will mean something. thinking like that will only limit what you make, min yoongi.”

he pauses and looks at you with an unreadable expression before he pulls his lips into a straight smile and nods. 

“huh. you’re right, y/n,” he sighs. 

“and for that little nugget of wisdom,” you say, “you owe me a coffee. toffee n-”

“toffee nut latte with no sugar, i remember,” he says, cutting you off as he pulls out his wallet. “what size?”

“considering i’m a little high strung from not nailing my song yet, probably a small,” you tell him. he nods and orders you a medium anyway and gets a muffin for you two to split. you fall into a comfortable silence as you wait for your order, but yoongi breaks it after checking his phone.

“namjoon wants to know if you’re free this weekend,” he deadpans, making it sound like a statement when it’s meant to be a question.

“i don’t know, why?” you ask, pulling the warmed muffin closer to you. you start picking out one of the chocolate chips before you continue. “isn’t it fall break? i’ll probably stay here and practice. it’s too short of a break for me to go home.”

“apparently we’re all staying in a cabin or a box or something up in the mountains,” yoongi says. “it’s supposed to be a combined birthday trip for him and jungkook, i think it might just be the guys but he says you’re welcome to come with us. he says you look stressed.”

“why does he think i look stressed?!” 

“because you do,” namjoon says, popping up beside you from one of the couches against the wall. he must have been buried in a book or his laptop, because neither of you noticed him when you first walked in. he gives you a casual side hug, tussling your hair and talking to yoongi above your head. “hey hyung.”

yoongi grunts a hello in response, and you share an eye roll with namjoon before he goes on about the whole mountain thing. he explains where it is, how long you’ll stay, and some of the other specifics that have already been arranged. it sounds nice, so maybe you should go.

“you should really come,” namjoon half pleads. “it’s kind of last minute, so not many of our friends can make it, but we need you to be the dj for the weekend. and i think you deserve a break.”

“you do,” yoongi chimes in, picking up your drinks and leading your small group to a table near the window. “it’ll help you come back to the song later without getting tired of it. you should never be frustrated when you’re playing.”

“i guess i’ll consider it,” you say. “you’re lucky i live too far away to go home for just a couple days, otherwise i would have to turn you down.”

“and i don’t need that kind of rejection on my birthday,” namjoon teases.

“your birthday was last month,” yoongi points out. 

“but i’m celebrating it now, hyung. birthday rules still count for the celebration of said birthday.”

“yeah, but it’s not fair that you played the birthday card then and you’re doing it again now...”

sipping your latte, you laugh to yourself as yoongi and namjoon go on with their petty argument. you notice a fleck of chocolate on yoongi’s lip from the muffin, and you involuntarily lift your hand to wipe it off, but you stop yourself before it can be noticeable. you just let your hand fall to your coffee cup and take another sip of your drink, thinking about how many clean sweaters you have that you can wear this weekend. 

-

you end up in the car with jin, hoseok and yoongi on the way to the cabin that they all rented. you’ve been roped into cooking duties for the weekend, and the four of you went grocery shopping before heading up to the mountains to meet everyone else. actually, you begged them to let you cook, bring booze, anything, since they didn’t let you chip in for the weekend at all in the first place.

“i’m not going to invite you last minute and then make you pay for anything,” yoongi told you clearly as you left the coffeeshop after talking to namjoon. “plus, jimin owes me at least $50 for ruining one of my mics, so i’ll just make him pay extra.”

like namjoon said, you are technically the dj for the weekend. you know the guys well enough to know what kind of music they want to listen to, so you crafted the perfect road trip playlist and shared it with hoseok, who’s in the front seat. he’s groaning and skipping each song he doesn’t like while jin calmly drives, complaining every now and then when hoseok skips a song jin knows all the words to.

and yoongi? well, he’s quietly scrolling through his phone beside you in the backseat. jin insisted on you sitting back there, claiming hoseok has some kind of carsickness that only appears when he sits in the back, so that meant you and yoongi were cramped in the tight space together. no biggie, but you keep bumping elbows with him, and you have to pee, and you didn’t sleep enough the night before so you’re already a little testy. you try to situate yourself so you hopefully forget about your need for a restroom and you bump into yoongi once again, and it sets you off. you don’t do anything aside from shoot him an angry glare before huffing a little bit and adjusting yourself so you’re fully looking out the window next to you. a few moments pass in silence save for the sound of go by epik high playing over the speakers. 

you’re pulled from your mini rant session in your head to, oh my god, yoongi nudging your arm. you’re ready to give him a piece of your mind when you turn to lock eyes with him, but the delicately peeled tangerine that he’s offering you is so...confusing? and slightly endearing, so you abandon your plan to be mean to him and just graciously take the sweet fruit. 

“where’d you get this?” you ask as you pull apart the half he handed to you.

“did he give you a tangerine?” hoseok asks with a smile, peeking at you both in the rearview mirror. 

“yeah, like out of nowhere too.”

“if it’s oddly warm y/n, don’t be alarmed. he keeps them in his pockets for safekeeping,” jin explains.

“in your pocket?” you laugh, making yoongi’s cheeks tinge pink. “have you ever sat on one?”

“i don’t wanna talk about it,” he grumbles, bowing his head to focus on peeling off the stringy white skin left on his slices of citrus. the car falls into silence again and you notice everyone bobbing along to the epik high song still playing. you smile to yourself and finally pop a piece of the tangerine into your mouth. 

it’s maybe the sweetest thing you’ve ever eaten, and you surprise yourself by thinking for a moment that its sweetness could be due to the fact that it came from yoongi. 

“are you still working on your mixtape hyung?” hoseok questions, once again warmly breaking the quiet of the car.

“yeah, why?”

“have you tried doing something like this?” he asks, referring to the last few bars of go that play as jin turns down a road that must be just seconds away from the house, it looks exactly like the pictures the boys have shown you and you let out a sigh of relief at the thought of a bathroom and a bed. 

“i have,” yoongi starts, peeking at you without turning his head. “y/n suggested it, actually. we talked about going back to this album for inspiration and it’s helped a lot.”

“it has?” you ask, beaming at the thought of bringing yoongi out of his funk with your mutual love of this group. yoongi simply shrugs and makes some non committal sound as the car comes to a stop.

“alright everybody, thank you for riding jin express. please don’t forget to rate and tip this ride in the app once you exit the vehicle,” jin jokes. everyone shuffles to get out of the car, and as hoseok pops the trunk you’re reminded that you really should start cooking right away. you politely ask hoseok to bring your bag in with his stuff, and he promises not to drop it before you grab some of the groceries and head for the kitchen. 

-

once everything is taken care of and the cars are unloaded, you find yourself in the middle of a crowded kitchen full of ingredients and booze and boys. not a bad place to be.

hoseok did bring your bag in for you, you can see it laying by the couch a few steps away from the kitchen island. you’ll just have to hope there’s a room left for you at the end of the night, because your back won’t do well on a sofa.

“so what are we making, chef min?” you ask, washing your hands after playfully pushing jimin out of the way.

“carbonara,” he says simply. “namjoon’s request.”

“and did you get what i asked for hyung?” jungkook asks, several beer bottles distributed evenly between both his hands. as he waits for yoongi’s answer he passes the bottles around until everyone has a drink and he looks satisfied.

“yeah, we got the pizza stuff. we’ll make it tomorrow when we watch the movie.”

“what movie are we watching?” you’re curious, only because the last movie you watched with them was one you’ve all seen hundreds of times collectively so it was less watching and more reciting the movie line for line.

“that’s a secret,” jungkook says with a glint in his eyes. “my choice.”

“it’s gonna be some sappy love story, i’d bet ten bucks on it,” jin jokes.

“make it twenty and i’m in,” taehyung adds. 

“oh you’re on.”

-

despite never cooking together before, you and yoongi are a well oiled machine. you receive some help from jin in the form of chopping or washing, but for the most part it’s you preparing everything, from the chicken to the sauce and handing it off to yoongi to be finished in the biggest pot of pasta you’ve ever seen. it smells amazing though, and you’ve attracted a park jimin who’s a few drinks ahead of the chefs and he has a mischievous idea in his head.

“so how long have you two known each other?” he starts out innocently, speaking more to you than to yoongi. 

“uh, i guess i met yoongi at a party freshman year, when i met all of you. but he was arguing with someone, so i didn’t get to say much. just introduced myself and moved on,” you explain. “we haven’t really been friends, at least i would say, until we took this piano class together.”

“and how’s that going?”

“fine, considering he and i are the most competent out of all of them,” you state matter of factly, earning a chuckle from yoongi.

“most of the kids in there took this class thinking it’d be an easy elective grade.” yoongi adds, sliding beside you and reaching across to grab the colander you just used to drain some vegetables. as he retreats you catch a whiff of his cologne and a hint of tangerine. you smile to yourself and turn back to jimin.

“plus yoongi and i played the same song for our first assignment, so i had to confront him about that to establish dominance.”

jimin laughs maybe too much at this, and yoongi pipes in from the stove to quickly change the subject.

“y/n, i’m gonna need the cheese for the topping soon.”

“yes chef!”

dinner is ready soon after that. jimin had to be removed from the kitchen for tasting things that weren’t quite cooked yet, and jin took his place next to you. it seems that all of the boys are interested in learning more about the person that yoongi insisted on inviting this weekend, but you don’t know that. after a final taste test from the three of you and several approving nods, jin summons everyone from the rest of the house.

“it’s ready!!!” jin yells. it’s too loud for the situation but you’ll soon learn that these boys usually are. it gets their attention though, because one by one they file into the kitchen and grab plates and start serving themselves. you get your own plate and follow behind taehyung, who’s currently wearing a blanket cape. while you wait, you feel a tap on your shoulder and turn around to find yoongi.

“y/n, i already made you a plate,” he tells you, holding up one of the two plates in his hands. “c’mon.”

“oh, thank you,” you reply, returning the plate in your hands and gratefully taking the one yoongi extends to you. 

“did you hear that? he made y/n’s plate and not mine,” jungkook pouts.

“yeah, my feelings are hurt,” jimin whines. 

“at least it’s not your birthday!”

“i wouldn’t have made you a plate no matter what, jimin,” yoongi defends himself. “but i wanted to be sure y/n sat next to me, i was at the food, i got a second plate. no biggie.”

“leave the man alone,” namjoon cuts in. “he’s being a good host to the outsider.”

“outsider?!” you ask incredulously. “i just made you dinner. be nice to me, birthday boy.”

“y/n, i looooooove you,” jungkook coos, plopping down at the table across from you and yoongi. “it looks delicious.”

“it really does,” namjoon agrees. “thanks for making it. especially you, y/n. you didn’t have to.”

“i don’t mind,” you shrug. “besides, i wasn’t sure how well any of you could cook and i didn’t want to eat shit for the weekend, so...”

your sly remark is met with a chorus of insulted voices, mostly from jin and yoongi, but jimin pipes in that he’s good at everything while namjoon and taehyung insist that they “try their best” in the kitchen, and jungkook just nods and says something about ramen for eight. 

“yoongi’s quite the chef, actually,” jin says. “he can make almost anything.”

“that’s impressive,” you say with a nod, peeking at yoongi. his cheeks are turning pink ever so slightly. 

“yeah, you should ask him to cook for you sometime,” jin continues. “maybe after one of your late nights in the music building.”

there are knowing glances exchanged all across the table, but you and yoongi are oblivious. he hasn’t looked up from his plate in a few minutes just to be safe, and you really have no clue, you think it’s some best friend inside joke. which it is, depending on how you read the situation. namjoon brings the attention back to what the plan is for tomorrow, and the little tension between you and yoongi dissolves without notice until it’s time for bed.

after dinner, everyone went their separate ways, jin and jungkook flocking to the game console in the living room with hoseok watching on, jimin and taehyung made a mess of the kitchen as they cleaned up after dinner, and you found yourself outside by the fire with namjoon while yoongi shuffled through the cars, mumbling about some bag of producing equipment he couldn’t seem to find. it was easy hanging out with them, which is saying something considering that these boys are basically family. but they’ve welcomed you with open arms, and it isn’t until you’re bundled up with a nice blanket and a crisp cider that you realize how much you needed a break like this.

your eyes start drooping as you stare into the fire, and namjoon seems to have the same idea as you because you both stretch at the same time and mumble something about going to sleep. he says he’ll handle the fire, and you take the blanket from his chair, along with yours, and trudge back into the living room.

“hey, where did you guys put my stuff?” you ask, looking behind the couch where you noticed your bags earlier. jimin and jungkook are the only ones left awake, and jimin glances at you quickly before replying.

“i think jin brought your things upstairs, y/n,” he explains. “first door on the left.”

“oh, thanks,” you reply, gently laying the blankets on the back of the couch before you head to the stairs. “night guys.”

“good niiight,” they both sing-song back, and you laugh as you shuffle up to your room. 

the door is closed, so you reach out to open it with no hesitation, but when you see yoongi sprawled out on the bed, you jump a little.

“damn, y/n, you scared me,” he mutters, sitting up and dropping the notebook he had been scribbling in. “do you need something?”

“uh, no?” you reply, looking around. “i just, um, jimin said this was my room, so, i guess i opened the wrong door, is all.”

“wait, are those your bags? i thought they were namjoon’s,” yoongi says, pointing to, yep, your bags, laying at the foot of the bed. 

“what?” namjoon asks, poking his head into the room. “i’m with jungkook.”

“are there any rooms left?” you ask, looking between them both. “i don’t want to intrude, so if i have to sleep on the couch-”

“what’s with all the chit chat?!” jin whisper yells, popping his head out of the room across the hall. 

“y/n doesn’t have a room,” namjoon answers.

“no, y/n is sleeping with yoongi,” jin says, face twisting into a smile once he realizes his wording. “i mean, the two of you are sharing a room. you have the biggest bed, so i thought it would be more comfortable.”

“are you sure there isn’t another room one of us can sleep in?” yoongi asks with a certain emotion hidden in his voice that you can’t quite place.

“nope, y/n is your friend, so you’re stuck together,” jin says with finality. “now shut up, i already have to listen to hoseok snoring, i don’t want to hear any more bickering about beds.”

“hey, i don’t snore!” a voice, obviously hoseok, shouts from behind jin. 

“good night!” jin laughs, shutting his door. namjoon chuckles as well, giving you and yoongi a sympathetic shrug before he heads to his own room. leaving you all alone with yoongi. you slowly turn back to him, quietly shutting the door behind you.

“i, uh-”

“sorry-”

“no, you go.”

“i was just gonna say i could sleep on the floor,” yoongi offers, but before he can even finish his sentence you’re shaking your head.

“no way,” you refuse. “it’ll be no biggie, right?”

“right,” he agrees. 

“right,” you nod, convincing yourself that this isn’t as awkward as it seems. “i’m, uh, gonna go change in the bathroom though.”

“that would be smart.”

-

falling asleep in the same bed as yoongi was no big deal. really, what was the harm? it’s not like this trip has awakened feelings for him that you didn’t know you had...except it absolutely has. which is why you’re so freaked out in the morning when you wake up next to the man you just dreamt about cuddling all night. 

wait.

your pillow wasn’t that warm when you went to sleep. 

and you weren’t holding onto anything either.

cool, yeah, no big deal, definitely. you’re just latched onto yoongi’s arm while you drool on his shoulder. very attractive and not at all weird friend behavior. as you’re silently freaking out, eyes barely open, you register warm breath hitting the top of your head, and you look up to catch yoongi staring at you.

“oh, shit, sorry,” he stutters, pulling his arm from your grasp too soon. “i’m sorry, i wasn’t, like, i was trying to figure out if you were awake or not-”

“yoongi, it’s fine,” you laugh. “you staring at me is better than me turning you into my personal teddy bear. sorry about that.”

“you’re good,” he mumbles, sitting up. his hand rubs at the back of his neck, something you register as his go to nervous habit, as he keeps speaking. “it was nice actually. uh, because of the cold.”

“right,” you say, smiling to yourself. a layer of silence falls over you both as you lay there and yoongi fumbles for a minute on his phone. now you’re the one staring, looking up at yoongi’s delicate features like someone just took a blindfold off of you and you’re seeing the world in such a clear, sharp image. you’re noticing yoongi like you’ve never noticed him before. 

to stop yourself from memorizing the outline of yoongi’s profile, you pull the covers off and get out of bed, groaning at the cold. you throw on an extra hoodie and some wool socks, noticing yoongi doing the same. once you’re both dressed, you’re staring at each other again, and the silence returns. it’s not awkward, just heavy, and you break it with a simple, “yoongi?”

“yeah?”

“don’t tell the guys i drooled on you, please.”

“as long as you don’t tell them i was staring at you.”

-

the kitchen is buzzing more than you thought it’d be, cups of coffee already poured and the stove sizzling with eggs, sausage and some sad attempt at pancakes. last night when taehyung said he tries to cook, this must be what he meant, because the finished plate of “pancakes” looks like...a good try. 

you beeline for the coffee, inhaling the comforting scent and enjoying the warmth it brings to your fingers. as you take your first sip you realize the boys have been quiet since you and yoongi ambled downstairs.

“so,” jungkook begins. “how’d you two sleep?”

“fine,” you both reply simultaneously, raising a few eyebrows from your audience. convincing. 

“sorry,” you apologize. “not a morning person.”

“neither is yoongi,” namjoon notes. 

“seems like it’s a good thing you’re sharing a room then,” jimin says over the rim of his coffee mug, smug smirk not as clearly hidden as he’d like it to be.

“hyung,” taehyung pouts from the stove. “can you help me with these?”

“i’m not good at flour-based things,” yoongi replies without a glance, deepening the pathetic pout on the chef’s face.

“i can help you, tae,” you offer, sliding past him and taking the spatula. he utters his gratefulness, going as far as kissing your hand, and yoongi finds his ears flaring red at the sight. chill out, he thinks to himself. tae’s just being tae. 

but jin notices the change in yoongi’s demeanor after taehyung’s playfulness. it seems that when it comes to the two of you, one of the boys will always notice something before either of you do. 

-

ok, so, something that wasn’t made totally clear to you is the fact that this is a ski trip, the main event of the weekend is skiing, and here you are with nothing thicker than a nice sweater to keep you warm. maybe it was mentioned in passing and you just didn’t pick up on it, but the conversation last night at dinner made you realize how under prepared you were. 

that’s how you end up shuffling through the ski lodge down the street, laden in several borrowed layers. an extra pair of pants from jimin, a hoodie from jungkook and a jacket from hoseok. and yoongi’s gloves, which he insists he won’t need because he suddenly has to work on his mixtape before he loses his inspiration. you wonder if it’s the sight of the mountain covered in artificial snow that does it, because you’re even thinking about how you wish you could paint or draw so you can capture the true beauty of this place. 

but yoongi knows the reason he has to write these lyrics down now is because of the lingering feeling of you holding onto his arm, head on his shoulder and delicate breaths brushing over his chest as you slept so peacefully. in all honesty, yes, he had been staring at you, for quite some time actually. and it was while he stared that he got the idea for this song. 

so, yeah, he needs to write it down now, and he figures the best time to do it without prying eyes is while everyone is occupied with skiing. he hunkers down in the ski lodge, promising to watch everyone’s stuff as the rest of you layer up and carry the rented equipment outside to the slopes. you follow jimin and taehyung to the bunny slope while jin, namjoon and hoseok go toward the snowboard-only trails with jungkook deciding on the competition style ski slope. as you walk out, you look back at yoongi, admiring the concentrated look on his face as he passionately writes down whatever is on his mind, and for the briefest moment, you hope that he’s writing about you.

-

“i’m never going skiing again,” jimin declares, dropping all of his wet clothes in the living room of the rental as soon as he gets inside. “why did i fall down so much? how did i get so wet because of that?”

“well, jimin, snow is just frozen water, and water is wet, right?” namjoon teases. jimin’s response is to throw a soaking scarf at namjoon, gross ski slope water flinging everywhere in its wake.

“ew, jimin!” you yell, dodging the tail end of the scarf as it makes a terrible sound when it collides with namjoon’s chest. 

“he deserved it.”

“yeah well now i’m covered in your gross sweat water too,” you whine. jimin acts like he’s going to throw something else wet and squishy your way, and you shriek before you dodge behind yoongi as protection.

“don’t get me involved in this,” he groans. you mumble an apology, secretly wiping some of the water off on his scarf.

“i’m gonna go change,” you tell him. “so knock before you come in.”

yoongi nods in response, heading toward the kitchen to get out the ingredients for dinner tonight. as per jungkook’s request, you’ll be assembling your own pizzas, which means you’re off the hook for cooking, at least. everything is premade, it just has to be warmed in the oven, and jin has already declared himself the pizza master, so you just get to enjoy.

“wait, y/n!” yoongi semi-shouts, stopping you on the first step of the staircase. “can you take this up with you? you can put it on top of my black bag.”

“which one, you have three,” you playfully dig, taking the bundle from his hands anyway. it’s his jacket from earlier wrapped around something, his journal maybe? and you tuck it under your arm as you continue upstairs.

you drop the bundle on top of yoongi’s things, knowing he’ll grumble about it messing up how neatly he arranged all of his bags and their contents. that’s why you find yourself peeking back at it after you’ve changed. plus the nagging feeling in your brain that maybe, just maybe, there’s something written about you in there has you tip-toeing to the corner of the room before you gingerly pick his jacket up, letting his notebook tumble out. you hold back, neatly folding the jacket and draping it over one bag before you lean down to grab the notebook, which happened to fall face down, pages open. 

it’s not a crime that you glance at the words as you pick it up, and you’re reading the whole page before you can stop yourself. you’re about to start on the next group of words when you hear a knock at the door, and you drop the notebook, feeling caught. you scramble to put it neatly with his jacket, but the words inside are running through your head as you call out to yoongi that he can come in. 

if he knows that you were snooping, he doesn’t show it. he simply thanks you for folding his things, and you nod at him quickly before you duck out of the room and go back to the kitchen, all the while thinking about the lyrics that made your stomach do backflips while at the same time making your heart feel totally content. what you read on that page was pure comfort embodied in a few words, and it came from the comfort yoongi feels when he’s around you. you recognize that feeling, those words resonating because that’s the same way you feel when you’re around him. you smile to yourself, thinking about how to confront yoongi about this. 

except you can’t. because then he’ll know you were looking at his things, his innermost thoughts. you know how personal his lyrics are to him, and you know he’d be upset that you looked without his permission. so you resign yourself to making your sad little pizza, distracting your mind with cheese, cheese and more cheese. hoseok must notice the gloomy look on your face, because there’s suddenly a ball of sunshine at your side. he slides ingredients onto your pizza without you knowing, until you look down and see a smiley face staring back at you. you can’t help but laugh and lean into his warmth, giggling as he makes up some silly voice for the new pizza face he created. 

yoongi enters the kitchen at that moment, seeing how you smile at hoseok like that, laughing so easily at his actions, and suddenly the song he was so eager to write, to compose, to pour his heart into, suddenly he wants to go upstairs and burn the pages. he won’t, because he knows he’s just being jealous, but he distances himself immediately, silently helping jin with slicing some fresh onion or prepping the oven for another pizza. yoongi was ready to show the song to you after dinner, but now...maybe he never will. 

-

once you’ve all eaten an unhealthy amount of food, and consumed an impressive amount of alcohol (”we have to finish it before we leave!!” - jimin), you’re all gathered in the living room to watch a movie, another jungkook choice. it’s some sappy love story, and you find yourself looking over at yoongi each time something touching happens onscreen. jin notices as well, nudging yoongi the next time he sees your eyes drift in their direction. yoongi acknowledges jin, who directs yoongi’s attention to you, and when your eyes meet you can see something has changed. you turn away, looking back up at the tv and shivering despite the warm fire just a few feet away. taehyung, sitting next to you on the floor, offers you a corner of his blanket, and you take it, scooting closer to him as you try to focus on the terrible plot of this movie.

the boring movie, the warmth of tae along with the fire, and the two glasses of yoongi’s fancy whiskey you wanted to try now sitting in your stomach all lull you to sleep at some point. tae shuffling around next to you wakes you up, and in your stupor you look around and can’t find who you’re looking for.

“where’s yoongi?” you mumble with a yawn.

“already in bed,” taehyung explains. “he went up a little while ago.”

“hm, ok,” you half-whisper, voice barely returning after your quick nap. you stand up and stretch, alerting everyone to your movements because you’re right in front of the tv. jungkook whines, and you side step out of the way. “m’goin to sleep too.”

“alright,” taehyung says, pushing the blanket out of your way so you don’t trip. “sleep tight!”

“don’t let the lovebugs bite!” jimin chirps out, making some of the boys giggle. you don’t register it as you walk to your room, just barely awake. 

for the second night in a row you’re surprised to see yoongi on the bed, still awake, but tonight he’s got his laptop and all of his producing equipment is laid out around him. he doesn’t acknowledge you entering the room and you don’t pay him any mind either, kneeling down to rifle through your bags at the foot of the bed. once you find what you’re looking for, you can’t decide if it’s the sleep or the whiskey, but you unabashedly take your sweater off right in front of yoongi. suddenly he’s jumping out of bed, equipment scattering.

“uh, what- why, what, what are you doing?!” he asks, voice an octave higher than usual as he looks anywhere but down at you. you laugh at how jumpy he is, and quietly apologize.

“sorry, i should’ve warned you,” you explain. “too tired to go to the bathroom.”

“tha-that’s fine,” he replies, still not looking at you. “tell me when you’re ready.”

“good,” you say once you’ve pulled on the shirt you slept in last night. “why’d you come up here so early?”

yoongi risks a glance at you, color coming back to his cheeks once he sees that you’re clothed again. he starts meticulously packing up the tech covering the bed, leaning over his laptop and furiously saving what he was working on before he closes it. 

“uh, i just didn’t like that movie,” he lies, not wanting to mention how jealous he was seeing you laughing with hoseok and then sharing a blanket with taehyung. he doesn’t have a right to be jealous, but he is. he wants to tell you how that made him feel, but he doesn’t. 

“ugh, me either,” you groan, rolling up one of the stray wires on the bed before passing it to yoongi. “not my favorite genre.”

yoongi notices that you’ve folded the wire the way he likes, without harming it too much and with the ends tucked in just so. the fact that you remember such a small detail has his heart warming again, and suddenly the gloomy thoughts he had about tonight have washed away. he all but forgets why he was in a bad mood in the first place as he looks at you, crawling under the blankets and he has the urge to stop you, to wake you up again so that he can play you what he was working on. but he can do that later, he will. he sees you glance up at him, patting the bed next to you.

“c’mon, i promise i won’t drool on you tonight,” you assure him, and he laughs before pulling the covers back on his side so he can lay down. he turns the lamp off on his bedside table and then settles in, suddenly missing the warmth of you from last night. 

“good night,” he mumbles, looking over at you on your phone, setting an alarm for tomorrow. the rental ends in the early afternoon, so there can be no sleeping in. 

“night yoongi,” you reply, locking your phone. you keep it on your chest for a moment, contemplating how tired you actually are. before you came in, you could’ve fallen asleep on the floor, but now, laying next to yoongi, you’re reminded of those lyrics and you don’t think your mind can turn off. after a few minutes of silence, you decide it’s probably best to just try to sleep, having your phone on might bother yoongi. you need to charge it anyway, but you groan as you remember you never packed your charger. 

“hm?” yoongi hums at your sound of frustration.

“do you have a phone charger plugged in over there?” you ask quietly. 

“mhm.”

“can i use it?”

“yep.”

“are you almost asleep?” you ask, even quieter now, moving over so you’re a little closer to him than before. 

“trying to be.”

“i’ll plug it in then,” you say, carefully reaching over him to grasp blindly until your fingers reach the cord. you fumble with it for a moment, successfully plugging your phone in eventually, and you start to retreat to your side of the bed. as you pass back over yoongi, you place a quick kiss on his cheek and mumble another good night, not even realizing what you’ve just done. 

there’s no way you can fall asleep now, and neither can he. there’s a beat of silence before he speaks up. 

“y/n.”

“what.”

“look at me.” 

slowly, you turn your head back to him, and his intense gaze has you blushing before he even says anything.

“sorry.”

“don’t apologize.”

“ok. right. sorry,” you quickly reply, voice still barely audible, but with the lack of space between you two it’s not hard for yoongi to hear. 

“y/n,” he says again, this time grabbing your hand beneath the blankets. 

“yeah?”

“i think i might be in love with you.”

“that’s....nice,” you squeak back, and yoongi lets out a loud laugh. your blush deepens at the sound.

“that’s nice?” he laughs. “that’s all you have to say?”

“yoongi?”

“yeah?”

“can i kiss you?” you ask, propping yourself up on an elbow. it’s dark in the room, but you clearly see him nod, and you don’t even remember moving to connect your lips to his. the moment you do, there’s a spark of electricity flowing through you. it’s a simple kiss, lips moving in sync with each other, both knowing what move the other is going to make before you even make it. yoongi pulls himself up so he can cage you underneath his arms, long fingers brushing your cheek and sending more sparks down your spine. he cups your face as he delicately tries deepening the kiss, your lips opening just slightly to let him in. he tastes like mint, and something else, something....citrus-y. even though you don’t want to, you pull away from his lips, his pout chasing you as you rest your head back on your pillows.

“what, what’s wrong?” he asks, fear slowly creeping in.

“when did you have time to eat a tangerine?”

“seriously? that’s the question you have for me right now?” he asks, laughing again but quieter this time. it still makes you smile at the sound.

“hm, i do have one question,” you say. it’s dark in the room but you can see yoongi encouraging you to go on with a lift of his eyebrow. your smile deepens as you speak. “how long have you been in love with me?”

“okay, good night,” he grumbles, turning over. you let out a sound of frustration and prop yourself up on an elbow, holding onto his shoulder with your other hand. 

“this ok?” you ask quietly, slowly melting into his side. he makes a sound of confirmation, and you pull him back towards you slightly. “i still don’t have an answer to my question.”

“when did i fall in love with you?” he asks for confirmation.

“ooh, you fell in love with me, how romantic,” you tease. “i asked how long it’s been, but i’d take either answer.”

“ok, yes, i did fall in love with you,” he begins. “you’re annoying so it took some time.”

“hey.”

“not done.”

“sorry.”

“and how long?” he continues. “mm, when i saw your name on the sign up sheet for the room with the brown piano, that’s when i knew for sure. so i guess a couple months.”

“hm. alright,”  you respond, butterflies suddenly in your stomach and fluttering up to your throat. “that’s.....nice.”

that sends you both into a fit of giggles right as jimin and taehyung are passing outside your door, and jimin pulls him toward the sound. but taehyung accidentally bumps his knee on the door, alerting you and yoongi to their unwanted presence. 

“go to bed!” yoongi shouts, making you jump while scaring the now snickering boys outside your door. yoongi lays an arm over your waist seeing you jerk at the sudden noise, and you feel a little bit of that comfort that he so perfectly put into words with his lyrics. 

“you too!” jimin shouts back, laughing all the way to his room.

“and you called me annoying,” you whisper to yoongi.

“you know they put you in here on purpose,” he tells you.

“huh?”

“they knew i was into you, so they made sure we were sharing a room,” he explains. 

“so you knew about it too?” 

“i-i knew we might share a room, i didn’t know we’d be sharing a bed,” he stumbles out. “once i saw there was one bed i assumed they gave you your own room. i’m...i’m glad i was wrong.”

“well min yoongi, i never expected this,” you tell him.

“pff, seriously?”

“seriously,” you confirm. “guess i was too busy with my own feelings for you to notice that you were into me.”

“really?” he asks with a smile. you nod, but realize he may not see it in the dark.

“yeah,” you whisper. 

“how long?” he whispers back.

“honestly? probably longer than i’d like to admit. you’re really cute, you know.”

“back at ya.”

“not done,” you scold.

“sorry.”

“but i finally accepted it when i...” you trail off, and then you decide it’s best to just tell him. “when i read the lyrics in your journal.”

you can feel him stiffen at your words, but he doesn’t move his arm from its place on your waist. 

“which song?”

“the one from today,” you reply. “wait, which song? there’s more than one?!”

“uh, good night!” he exclaims, trying to turn away again. you grab his arm and stop him though, placing your hand over his.

“min yoongi!”

“hey,” he mumbles.

“i hope i get to read the other ones at some point.”

“you will,” he assures you. there’s a beat of silence before he speaks again. “uh, so, you still haven’t used the l word, and that’s totally fine, i swear, but, did i cross a line? by using it already?”

“nah,” you shrug. “i’m just not good at this, so you’ll have to give me a little time. i’ll say it when i’m sure.”

“alright. take your time,” he says with a nod. it’s quiet again, and you think you’re both finally going to fall asleep when you feel yoongi’s lips on your cheek. “good night, for real. feel free to use me as your teddy bear again.”

“you sure?” you ask with a smile.

“i insist.”

- 

the next morning, you keep it chill, trying not to tip off the guys and let them know their little plan worked. but damn, how sneaky of them! you’ll have to thank them later though. for now, you’re helping them clean the house so you don’t get charged for leaving the rental a total mess. yoongi is in the living room clearing bottles from last night and you’re washing dishes with hoseok. yoongi keeps stealing glances at you, and you stick your tongue out at him whenever he catches your eye. once everything is clean, and the bags are in the car, you’re ready to head back to the city to enjoy the last bit of break. 

you’re the car dj again, next to yoongi in the backseat again, but this time you have a new playlist. epik high’s new album came out this morning, so you queue that up for your intimate little listening party in the car. everyone is in a good mood from the trip, so you’re talking over most of the songs in the beginning, just noting quickly when you like a lyric or a beat. yoongi scribbles things down when the inspiration strikes him, and your mind starts drifting back to your performance midterm. you’re starting to think you may be playing the wrong song, but the question is, what song will you play instead? 

as you get to the end of the album, and the end of your weekend, one song catches your attention. you check your phone, noting the title as you turn the volume up slightly. you listen extra hard to this song, trying to memorize the chord progressions as they come. you start composing the song in your mind, tapping out the melody on your lap as you decide: end of the world will be your performance song. you glance over at yoongi, still focused on his notebook, and you reach out to lightly tap his hand. he looks up at you, hair falling into his eyes, dewy cheeks shining and mouth slightly open, questioning your actions with a quiet “hm?”

“i’m sure now.”

[thiswasinevitableid]

62. you set off the fire alarm and I have a test tomorrow, and I might strangle you

Sternclay, sfw, please!

Why do fire alarms only go off in March? The one time Stern set one off (he fell asleep studying and the dinner he was reheating started smoking) it was in that endless stretch of time where the snow is no longer festive but will keep falling for at least two more months.

More importantly, who is responsible for interrupting his carefully planned out six hours of sleep before his midterm at eight this morning?

He stands in the freezing cold with the building’s other three occupants; the single man who looks like he stars in lumberjack porn and the girlfriends who live on the ground floor.

“Sorry” The other man mumbles, “I was making doughnuts and the oil I was using got too hot without me noticing.”

Stern runs a hand through his hair and keeps his voice low, “Why were you cooking with hot oil at three in the morning?”

“When I can’t sleep, I bake.”

“Can I suggest a less flammable hobby in the future?”

“Hey man, it was an accident. And it’s not my fault they stuck the fire alarm too high up for me to get to it before it called the fire department.”

“Too high? You’re taller than I am and I can reach mine.”

“My ceilings are higher and it was tucked between the cabinets and the roof.”

“Oh yeah, ours is in a super-weird place too.” Aubrey, one of the ground-floor neighbors, pats the offenders arm, “it’s okay Barclay, it’s just a little smoke.”

“That may be the case for you three, but I have an exam that’s worth thirty percent of my grade in six hours and I need my goddamn sleep.”

“Yeesh, man, chill out. They’re already waving us back in.” Aubrey points to the door of the three story house.

“I timed everything to optimize my sleep schedule so it actually is a big deal.”

Barclay glowers at him, “Look, I said sorry. But maybe get used to the fact the world doesn’t run on your schedule, mr. control freak, and fucking get over it.”

Stern keeps a smile flat as he bites out, “go to hell” and heads upstairs to salvage what’s left of his schedule.

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

The crash from downstairs comes at nine p.m; he has a huge day at his internship tomorrow, but Stern doesn’t hear any sounds after it, and he is not about to let a neighbor die on his watch.

“Barclay? Are you okay?” He puts his ear to the door, the heater drowning out all ambient noise.

“Nope, not really, agh, fuck, the doors locked, lemme try to stand-”

“Stay put.” He runs upstairs, grabs his wallet, and uses his debit card to trick the lock, “Shit, what happened?”

Barclay is clutching his forehead, blood between his fingers, and his ankle is swelling. “I got really dizzy, caught my foot on the couch and then my forehead on the table on the way down. Ow, fuck, it better not be broken” he growls as Stern kneels to look at his foot, “I’ve got a shift in six hours.”

“I can’t tell. You should get to a hospital; if it’s injured and you try to work on it, you might have an even worse fall.”

“Fuck, I’m not even sure I can afford the ambulance, let alone the fucking E.R.”

He knows Dani and Aubrey are out, “Any family in town, or a boyfriend?”

“No, if there I woulda called them.” He snaps, then tries for a slow inhale, “sorry, it just, it hurts-”

“I can take you in my car, that’ll be one less worry.” Stern helps Barclay up, gets him to his sedan, then tells him to hold tight while he gets something for his head. He ends up grabbing the first clean fabris he finds, which is how Barclay ends up in the E.R while holding a “Roswell, NM” tank-top to his forehead.

“Sorry to ruin your, uh, souvenir?” He mumbles as they wait for the doctor.

“It’s for a good cause. Besides, I know how to get bloodstains out of fabric.”

“That...that makes you sound like a serial killer.”

“If I were a serial killer I would wear things that could stain.” Stern winces, “sorry, I read too many true crime books.”

“I just don’t have the stomach for them. I like fictional mysteries but real ones?” he shivers, “makes me think an axe murderer is gonna break into my place. I mean, you did it with a credit card.”

“If you’d had the chain thrown it might have been another story. “

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Barclay shifts in the plastic seat, “you, uh, you don’t have to hang around. Know you got a rigid schedule.”

Joseph runs a hand through his hair, “I’m sorry for being so annoyed last week when you set off the alarm. I’m not always great at handling changes.”

“To be fair, doughnuts probably weren’t the best stress baking choice.”

“Did they turn out?”

“Nah. I’ll have to try ‘em another time. Did, uh, did your test go okay?”

“Yes. I, um, I got a perfect score.”

Barclay laughs, the sound like warm honey, and Stern blushes at looking so deeply nerdy in front of someone with a smile like that.

“Mr. Cobb? We’re ready to see you.”

The bearded man gives an slightly awkward wave as he follows the nurse through the double doors. Stern returns the gesture, pulls up the chess app on his phone, and settles in to wait until his neighbor is done.

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

Barclay comes out his nap the scrchh of a brush on tile. His first thought is that he’s so late for work he’s unavoidably fucked. His second one is who the fuck is in his bathroom?

His ankle twinges, jogging his memory; he got back from the hospital at 11:30, no stitches needed on his head but bedrest required for his ankle. He’d been contemplating how to convince his manager to let him shift from the warehouse to somewhere he could sit. Joseph raised an eyebrow and asked for his phone while telling him to go get into bed. All Barclay overheard was a polite, steely voice mentioning the labor laws in Dane County and how it’d be a shame if someone were to arrange an OSHA spot check. The last thing he recalls before falling asleep was Joseph telling him he had the next day off.

That doesn’t explain the cleaning sounds, though.

“Oh, you’re up.” Joseph pokes his head in from the hall. His hair is coming loose from his usual slicked-down style and he’s in a V-neck and sweatpants instead of the suit Barclay sees him in most days, “I hope I didn’t wake you; since you gave me the spare key I thought I’d check on you when I got back from my internship and leave you some take-out from the Thai place around the corner--you said the green curry was your favorite--but then I thought I should wait until you got up to see if you needed anything, so I, um, I cleaned your tub while I waited for you to wake up.”

Barclay isn’t sure what part of that is the most baffling. Or the most touching.

“Why the tub?” He eases his legs over so he’s sitting on the edge of the bed.

“It’s satisfying. And I, um, I clean when I’m stressed.” He wipes his hands on the rag in his front pocket, “I was worried about you, and my internship was murder today. They’re mounting a case against one of the biggest employers in the state and everyone’s on edge.”

“Heh, kinda makes me glad I work at WalMart.” Barclay takes the crutch Joseph offers him and hobbles into the kitchen, “oh, uh, if you want to try some cake, there’s leftover cinnamon spice cake in the fridge.”

“I think I will, thank you.” He bends into the fridge and wow has his ass always been that nice, “can I grab you a drink from in here?”

“One of those pre-bottled Kahlua things in the door; have ‘em for a friend but one sounds good right now.” He watches Joseph open it for him, setting it down before he pulls out Barclay’s chair for him. Normally, the kind of fussing and light ordering around Joseph has directed at him makes him bristle. This last day, it just made him feel safe and cared about.

He could get used to this.

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

“Good lord, we’ve even got a flood warning.” Joseph sets down his phone as rain attempts to pummel the house to dust, “Some days I wish we lived closer to one of the lakes but this is not one of them. Should we check to see if Dani and Aubrey need any emergency supplies for if we have to shelter here? I always keep more than I need.”

“Nah, Dani’s got a strong self-sufficiency streak; got her a bucket emergency kit for Christmas last year.” Barclay pops the cork on the Pinot Grigio they got for dinner, “and I don’t think they forgot your semi-drunk promise that if they ever had to run from a flood they had full permission to break open your front door to be safe on the third floor.”

“I meant it, drunk or no.” Joseph takes down the plates and portions out the carbonara; he’s been trying to cook when he has time, both because he likes it and because it gives him and Barclay something to talk about. Not that they need the help.

Things changed after the trip to the E.R; Barclay would bring Joseph fresh cookies or pie. Joseph would offer Barclay rides when their schedules overlapped. Barclay introduced him to his favorite trivia night spot. Joseph took some of his cookies to a worker-owned bakery where a former co-student worked, which led to Barclay getting a new job.

Now they see each other almost every day, whether that’s watching movies on Barclay’s cramped couch or joining Dani and Aubrey for board game night.

He’s pleased with how the pasta turned out, even more so with the fact that when their legs bump together beneath the table, Barclay doesn’t pull away.

They’re on the couch, chatting about the recurring themes in ghost movies, when the storm starts in earnest. The sky is so dark it may as well be nine at night, the lighting and thunder performing a cacophonous two-man show across it. The closer the thunder gets, the more Barclay tenses.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah” a thunderclap makes him jump, “I know it’s silly but I fucking hate thunderstorms, I have since I was a kid.” He chuckles, “my mom would always end up making a pillow fort for me to hide in.”

“We could do that now.” He offers, tapping his foot against Barclay’s own.

“Know this might be hard to believe, but I wasn’t always six-two.” The other man teases.

“Don’t count me out just yet. Wait here.”

It takes some precarity and most of his thumb-tacks, but soon he’s waving Barclay to come join him.

“Holy shit” Barclay laughs as he sees the bed and part of the floor in Joseph’s tiny bedroom are curtained in blankets, “do you ever half-ass stuff?”

“No one can ever prove I haven’t.”

“Uh huh.” Barclay climbs into the fort, “that’s Joseph speak for ‘no.’”

Joseph plugs in his UFO lights and follows him in, “I’ve failed plenty of times.”

“Not on this. Man, this is gr-” A thunderclap makes him jump, nearly knocking one blanket down, “uh, maybe if I…” He lays on the bed, Joseph deciding it’s the least awkward option to join him in that position.

“You really didn’t have to do this.” The green of the lights add a charming tint to Barclay’s eyes.

“I wanted to.”

His friend looks away, keeps his gaze on his feet as he murmurs, “How come you’re always so nice to me?”

“Because we’re friends.”

“It’s, uh, it’s not because you want something from me?”

“Of course not. Barclay,” he touches the cooks arm, “anything you’re thinking is a favor with an ulterior motive....well, it isn’t. It’s something I did to look out for you.”

“What if I, uh, I didn’t think it was favor hunting and was, uh, a different word that started with “F’?”

This time, when the thunder sounds, Barclay nestles closer to him.

“Oh, Barclay” he drapes a protective arm over his waists, “I didn’t mean it to be. At least, most of the time. There were, um, sometimes when I was more flirtatious than I’d have been if it were anybody else.”

“Do you...want to flirt more?” Barclay mumbles into his shoulder.

Joseph tips Barclay’s chin with his hand, brings their lips together as lightning flashes through the window. When he pulls back, Barclay’s eyes are wide. He kisses him once more just to see if he can make them entirely pupil, then whispers, “I hope we can do more than just flirt.”

“Joseph” strong arms slip below and across him, “fuck, babe, if it’s not flooded tomorrow, promise you’ll let me take you out tomorrow?”

“I’d like nothing better, big guy. In the meantime..” he rolls so Barclay is atop him, “I have some thoughts on how to keep your mind off the storm.”

[simonsrosebud]

Imagine how much of a wreck Morgan’s parents are when she goes on her first date

morgan has a resting bitch face, just like kevin.  and people at school know exactly who she is, and who her father is.  morgan kayleigh day is a force to be reckoned with.

especially on the court.

and one weekend when kevin is free, he and neil get talked into going to the court- her high school, that is, to do some drills.  some raven turned fox drills.

except kevin and neil have a habit of calling out in french to one another, and since morgan grew up learning both english and french she easily falls into that when practicing with them.

despite her easy talent with the sport, she’s always had the advantage of the majority of her family, on kevin’s side at least, being involved with exy.

it’s when she’s locking the court doors afterwards that she catches a kid sitting in the stands.

she stops.  “were you here the whole time?”

he looks up, and it’s one of the kids from her team, josh.  “no, just towards the end.”  he shuts his notebook.  “sorry, i wasn’t spying or anything, i just... i don’t like studying at the library.”

for midterms, he must mean.

“you’re weird.”  but morgan smiles and wipes her face.  “you can join next time, if you want.  they’re both strikers.”

josh smiles, and shrugs.  “i dunno.  that’s like asking a three year old to cook for gordon ramsey.”

jesus, he’s a dork.

“who cares?  the point in practicing is to get better, anyway.”  she starts for the gym doors.  “i’ll be here next week at noon.”

she is, and josh comes again, but only watches while he does some homework and takes notes.  mainly on neil.

and two weekends after that, he’s geared up on the court by the time morgan rolls in with her father and uncle behind her.  and today, andrew’s with them.

josh’s face goes white until he sees andrew retreat to the stands instead of the court.

“you’re playing with us.”  morgan sounds surprised.  she kind of is.  josh is quiet, and shy, both of which her family is not.  she didn’t ever expect him to actually join them.

he just shrugs.  “if i do bad then i was never here.”

“deal.”

josh doesn’t do terrible.  he gets lots of criticism from kevin, not too much from neil.  but that’s because he plays more like neil, heart over head.

but josh also sucks up every ounce of help and suggestions and tips offered and puts them to use with ease.  he doesn’t waste time with the switch from how he played to how kevin is telling him to play instead.

“you play like josten.”

josh pauses.  “really?”

“how he played when i recruited him in high school,” he corrects.  “you play like like it’s the last time you’ll play.”

he impresses their coach enough to let him start a game and play it fully halfway like the seniors all tend to do.

the game is on friday, but he’s right there with morgan and her dad on saturday.  it’s a lot of one on one while kevin “coaches” from the side.

morgan invites josh over on sunday.  they play table tennis in her basement while they talk about random things.

and then they start getting together more often.

and josh gets more playing time, which morgan likes, because he’s a reliable player and isn’t afraid to call for help when his mark is too much.  morgan’s seniors don’t do that and it infuriates her because then it’s her fault for not dropping her mark and helping out.

plus, josh calls “get them off” in fast french that morgan taught him, so his mark never sees her coming as a result.  it’s helped the team more than they realize. 

and then josh starts getting invited over for lunch after going to the court.  he meets dalton, who grips his hand a bit hard when he shakes it because this is the kid that’s been making my daughter smile at her phone so often?

and then morgan goes to josh’s for dinner one time.

and at the winter banquet once the high school season is over, morgan sees josh standing outside after one of the guys comes in.

“bored?”

he’s startled.  “you too?”

“nah.”  she shrugs.  “just saw you out here.”

he turns, and his smile returns for a second.  “are you cold?”

“oh, no, it’s fine.”

“come on, morgs.”  he tosses his jacket to her.  and when she puts it on she joins him to lean against the balcony railing.

“how come they spend so much on a banquet we could’ve had in the gym?”

josh laughs.  “the aesthetic.”

morgan laughs, and knocks shoulders with him.  “i’m glad you liked to study at the court,” she says.

he smiles, and she’s smiling at him, and he just… he kisses her.  cause it’s quiet and it’s just them, hiding from everyone else.  and because he knows he’s a year younger than her but he likes her so much.

but morgan’s so shocked by it that when he pulls away she pauses.

the look on her face makes josh regrets it.  he flees.

morgan doesn’t go back inside for a while, but when she does josh is gone, and she can’t really leave the banquet because she’s a senior and a captain, but when she gets in her car afterwards she leans her head against the wheel.

she drives to josh’s house.

josh lives with his aunt and uncle because his mother died a few years back and his father is in prison.  his aunt answers the door.  

fuck.  i should’ve thought this out.  “hi, i’m morgan, i’m on josh’s exy team, is he home?”  she asks.  “he left his jacket at the banquet.”

“oh!  thank you.”  she takes the jacket, and morgan panics when it seems like their business is finished.

“can i talk to josh?”

the aunt nods and calls his name, and when josh comes up behind her he ushers her away.  he steps outside and closes the door behind him.  “hey.”

“hey, sorry for freezing up earlier-“

“no, you did nothing wrong.  i shouldn’t have kissed you.“

morgan’s mouth fishes open a little as he rambles on.  “you can,” she says.  “kiss me again... if you want.”

josh stops.  what?  “do you really want that?  we can be friends instead, i can get over it.”

“no, i’m serious.”  she frowns.  “um, i like you.  sorry, i just, i’m not forward with stuff like this, so i never said anything.”

josh smiles, and when he doesn’t make a move, morgan steps forward and kisses him instead.  just a small one.  short and sweet.

but josh slides a hand to her waist and chases after her mouth to pull her back in.

“will you go out with me?”

it’s morgan that asks, faces close and hearts pounding.  it takes josh by surprise, a bit.  she can tell, but he rallies and doesn’t let it bruise his ego that the girl asked the guy out.  he actually likes it, thinks it’s nice.

“yeah, can i take you out?”

“like... on a date?”

“what else would you expect?”

“i don’t know.”  she shrugs.  “just never been on a date before.”

josh takes her out the next day, saturday.  and because morgan doesn’t want her dads making a big deal, she only tells them an hour before she gets picked up.  “i’m going on a date.”

kevin coughs on his drink, but dalton looks delightfully surprised.  “with who?”

morgan shuffles her foot.  “josh?”

kevin wipes his mouth.  “on your team?  the one we know?  that one?” 

“don’t make a big deal out of it.  if you act weird then i’m not going.”

kevin shuts his mouth.  he looks at dalton when she continues down the hall.  “she’s going on a date?!”

“that’s what she says.”  dalton sits next to him on the couch.  “you’re freaking out,” he mumbles and kisses him.

“yeah, within reason though, right?  our daughter is going on a date.”

okay.  dalton sighs.  “kev, not to alarm you, but there’s also a good chance she’s kissed a boy by now, too.  she’s seventeen.”

kevin frowns.  “going on a date is different.”

dalton raises a brow, but ultimately kisses his cheek before getting up to go to the kitchen.

kevin is the one who answers the door to josh, who looks startled for a second before schooling his expression.  “hi, kevin.”  he doesn’t know whether he should call him mr. day like he did when he first met him, but once he became a regular with practicing with him and morgan on the weekends, kevin told him to ditch the mr. day.

“hey, josh.  you’re here for morgan?”

dalton texts morgan that josh is here.  for josh’s sake.

“yes, sir.”

kevin nods.  “i like you, josh.  don’t fuck that up, yeah?”

“absolutely.  i-i won’t, i promise.”

morgan slides past kevin and kisses his cheek before spitting quick russian.  “leave him alone, dad.  we’re heading out, love you.”

“bye josh!”  dalton calls with a smile from the hall.  morgan is pulling him by the arm, though, so he just waves.

“have her home by eleven!”  kevin says.  and in french, “be safe, don’t do anything stupid!”

“bye, dad!”

dalton shuts the door.  “she’s fine.  they’ve hung out before.”

“yeah,” kevin’s pouty.  he follows dalton up to their room.  “but that’s still my baby.”

[missinghan]

give it a chance ⤖ lee minho

❖ genre : college au; roommates au; friends to lovers au

❖ word count : 9,6k.

❖ warning : explicit language, slightly suggestive & mentions of alcohol

❖ summary : you convinced yourself to attend a party in order to prevent Lee Minho from doing stupid things; however it’s not so stupid anymore when your roommate said he needed to tell you something important.

❖ a/n : the continuation of what if we is dedicated to @chaninfused, so *clears throat* this is where I hereby declare that she deserves more than what the entire universe can possibly give her; oh hi furat, this is why I’ve been so cryptic all this time. I know this isn’t much but I want to thank you for tolerating me and letting me be mean to you even though we only started talking for a few months; you’re an incredibly great friend and an amazing writer, don’t ever forget that 🖤

one.

It’s been almost a week since Jisung last talked to Minho (albeit texts and FaceTime) and he wakes up to his best friend roaming around his crusty kitchen, struggling to find a bottle of honey. Seungmin’s mom has been constantly sending them thirty packets of rib soup per week. And Minho thinks the sight of Han Jisung slurping on nothing but distorted rice with pork ribs while stressing over his paper for seven days straight is more tragic than his non-existent love life.

“It’s like you’re trying to turn us into gym rats,” Hyunjin snickers lazily, flinging his bangs away from his face. “You even brought us Tupperwares, are you really expecting us not to order tacos impulsively on study nights?” He’s a little dubious about stuff like this because he can feel the actual horror of only eating chicken breast and string beans just by seeing Chan cooking them up. 

Seungmin chucks a piece of lettuce towards his direction, “Don’t you have anything else to do other than complaining?” He knows that when Jisung and Hyunjin decide to order food on study nights, they’re gonna do anything but study.

“Uhm, I actually do,” he replies nonchalantly. “I’m going through Minho’s phone.”

Jisung takes a seat next to him by the counter, propping his head onto his hands, “What’s the point? There’s nothing but cat photos and cat memes...and also Y/N as his background.”

“That angle is hideous, by the way,” Hyunjin comments like the true photography geek he is, which is completely ignored by Minho because he’s too cranky to start a fight at ten in the morning. “But it’s kinda cute for you to do that, so I’m gonna turn a blind eye.”

Jisung asks out of the blue, “Who’s going to BamBam’s party this Sunday? Well, besides the other two-thirds of 3RACHA.” 

“I have a midterm on Monday, dumbass,” Seungmin mumbles while washing his vegetables at the sink. 

“And I’m sleeping over at Lix’s for a project,” Hyunjin informs him lamely, having no intention to attend another single frat party. At least not BamBam’s frat parties—that guy has the weirdest friends; a chick was so drunk that she thought Hyunjin was her boyfriend and almost tried to make out with him on the dance floor. 

Jisung secretly hates going to parties without his friends- no, actually, he never goes to parties without people from his social circle because he dreads the whole introduction part that requires formalities and inevitable awkwardness. But it’s not like that with Minho, ten minutes into their very first conversation and he feels like he’s known him for years. 

In short, he will die if Minho doesn’t come to the party. Chan can only chat with him for so long until his DJ duty occurs and Changbin’s probably gonna be too busy doing keg stands to care about his antisocial friend. 

“Fine, I’ll go,” Minho gives in while chopping up the chicken breasts and this prompts Jisung to clap happily like a seal for the next twenty seconds as he skips over to the fridge to fetch a water bottle. “But we’re gonna need a ride, I’m not taking my motorbike for some crackhead to puke on it. Ask Chan later when you crash at his place.”

Jisung tosses his head back to take a peek at the clock hanging by the bookshelf, and it reads 10:07 AM. He really should be getting for his class at eleven because traffic sucks but he’s not feeling like sitting through two hours of Park ranting about marketing strategies. “Can’t Y/N just drive us? I don’t think she’d let anyone else take you home when you’re not sober,” he ponders, earning a nod of agreement from both of his roommates. 

Just when Minho opens his mouth to brush it off, he stops himself to process the information again and holds back a ‘you’re right’ because he hates letting people know that they’re not wrong. He wouldn’t let anyone drive you home when you’re drunk either. “Her car’s with her dad right now,” he tries to sound casual when three pairs of curious eyes are glued onto his back. “I, uh, sorta had it run into a tree last week.”

“You what? How are you still alive?” Hyunjin’s jaw is on the floor and Seungmin accidentally dumps too much vinegar into his salad while Jisung’s choking on the iced cold water, coughing furiously after into the sleeve of his hoodie. Guess Chan’s gonna have to drive them both. After all, he can never say ‘no’ to J.One. 

Minho murmurs, “A dude rear-ended me, fucking idiot.” He finishes marinating the chicken breasts and arranges them nicely onto a tray with aluminum foil on top, pushing it into the preheated oven. “And basically she’s never letting me touch her car again,” he sighs while staring into midair dreamily, flashbacking to last Friday when you immediately Ubered yourself all the way from campus to downtown after picking up his call. All he got was thirty seconds of affection; you made sure that he’s not hurt and the rest was just a monstrous tantrum. He ended up sleeping on the couch that night. 

“My my, you two are just like an old married couple,” Hyunjin chuckles lightheartedly and shakes his head, scrolling through the series of texts in amusement, “What even is this? I swear your conversation consists of 60% ‘when are you going home?’, 40% ‘your lunch is here’ and 20% terrible cat memes.”

“We’re roommates,” Minho drags the word through gritted teeth, holding back all the murderous thoughts inside his head because he feels like Hyunjin’s just asking for a death wish. It’s too early for this. 

Unexpectedly, Seungmin decides he’s in a pretty good mood today since he aced his OChem pop quiz yesterday; meaning, he’s gonna stick his nose into his friend’s business whenever there’s a chance. “Don’t you guys share a bed too?” he pretends to play dumb only to receive a kick in the shin from the older boy. 

“We’re also broke,” Minho cranes his neck tiredly, washing the dirty knife under the tap. “Besides, the heater in the living room sucks.”

“You both even smell the same, it’s getting kinda creepy. Please don’t tell me you guys also share showers to have a light water bill,” Jisung makes a gagging noise and Minho thinks he’s already said too much. His grip on the knife tightens for a split second before letting it drop into the sink. He doesn’t trust himself with anything sharp the moment Hyunjin started this unwanted conversation. He also regrets stealing Changbin’s meal prep recipes to feed his trash friends. 

Minho questions callously, “We just use the same shampoo and shower gel, what’s the big deal?” His hands go for the box of oatmeal that Felix left here last time in the cabinet full of random food. He doesn’t get why Seungmin would buy so much groceries like he’s in a pandemic knowing damn well that his idiotic roommates can’t cook for shit. 

Hyunjin purses his lips, trying to prove his point, “Don’t you think that it’s weird? You don’t do those things with us.”

“Because none of you would fucking house me when I was on the verge of being homeless!”

“And why is she yelling at you through texts anyway? Bro, there’s like ten missed calls here with at least a hundred ‘where are you?’. Why is she terrorizing you this early in the morning?” Minho immediately snaps out of his semi-angry trance, chest heaving up and down. 

“Oh shit,” he facepalms himself. “I promised to pick her up at ten from class, what time is it again?”

“You’re fifteen minutes late, my friend,” Jisung supplies unhelpfully. “It’ll take another ten to arrive at campus, without traffic that is. You’re so dead. D-E-A-D.” It feels weird to hear something correct coming out of Jisung’s mouth (twice in a row) and now Minho wishes he could just whack his friend unconscious on the floor with the new set of microphones that Chan gave him last year for Secret Santa. 

“Oh, I left your rice sitting at ‘warm’, by the way,” Minho makes a grab for his biker jacket and helmet on the counter before fleeing out of the apartment with his sneakers half-way tucked in. It’s not even been thirty minutes since they’ve seen each other for the past week and Jisung’s already choked on water, not once, but twice because of Lee Minho. Sometimes he wonders if the universe is telling him that he needs new friends. 

two. 

“Your boyfriend is late.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you hiss at Yeji while staring at Minho’s contact on your phone anxiously. There’s no reason for you to be; worst-case scenario, you can just take the 0325 home and lock him outside for the night so that he’ll have no choice but to endure Chan’s embarrassing sleeping habits. He wouldn’t even notice either way because he’d be too busy swearing in his sleep to be annoyed. 

Yeji puts her hair up into a ponytail after stretching her limbs tiredly. She only has one class today and no choice but to stay on campus for her shift at the café before lunch break. Too bad Woojin can’t cover her today because of midterms. “I’m only speaking facts,” she tells you with a yawn and notices the slight pout on your face. “Hey, don’t be sad just because your stupid boyfriend can’t pick you up. I can call Chaeryeong if you need a ride here and there, she wouldn’t mind.”

“I’m not fucking sad!”

“Y/N, you look more depressed than Ryujin when she got a B+ in calc.” That’s irrelevant, Shin Ryujin already has a GPA booster after signing up for Kim’s stats class, one B+ won’t make it any less sparkly.

You only let out a prolonged sigh after checking your phone for the tenth time in the past half an hour. He isn’t picking up any of your calls, your messages probably can’t even reach him and now you’re sitting at M.I.A Cafe with a cup of plain water after standing outside at the front gate for so long like an idiot. An idiot, who’s hopelessly in love with her roommate- wait what? 

Listen, you already know that this is going to happen. It’s awfully inevitable and it’s getting harder and harder as the days pass by because summer is almost here. Meaning, Minho’s gonna move out soon, according to the contract. 

Are you sad about that? 

Yeah, kinda.

The more you think about it the more you regret your decision that day to let him stay with you. Because now you don’t think you’d be able to sleep without him next to you, hogging the blanket all to himself; you get angsty when he’s not home even if he’s just at dance practice; you’re definitely getting way too used to sharing an earphone with him while you both are dreading your assignments silently at the kitchen counter. And now you’re getting nervous just because he’s thirty minutes late. He’s never late, not even to your Monday Movie Night where you both can pig out and binge-watch the Avatar: The Last Airbender series until you’re sick of it. 

Maybe you’re relying on him too much. Hypothetically speaking, it’s not his fault for the damage of your car but you’re just making excuses to be with him. You even set him as your emergency contact. It’s kinda tedious to be your roommate, you realize. All of those things aren’t mandatory and he can simply mind his own business without having to feel obligated because of the ‘roommates’ label yet he’d still choose you, over everything else. Perhaps he’s dealing with his own first world problems and forgot to leave you a message this time. 

Yeji inquires breezily, wiping a cup dry with a towel, “Also, are you going to BamBam’s party this weekend?”

“For me to carry your ass home after getting shitfaced and sit through another two-hour lecture from Lia? I’ll pass thank you very much.”

She indicates with a quirk of her perfectly dark brow, “What if I tell you that Minho’s gonna be there?” Now she sounds like she’s the one who’s crushing on Lee Minho and not you. Never knew that your friends can be this creepy but the more you learn… “Jisung just told me he found a plus one aka Mister Celebrity to attend that frat party with, you wouldn’t have the heart to let me be the loner right?” she pouts with her nose scrunched and it reminds you too much of Light Fury so you look away, knowing that you wouldn’t stand a goddamn chance if she kept this up.

“How is that my problem?” you merely roll your eyes, slightly annoyed. “And also, isn’t Jisung supposed to have his marketing class now?”

Yeji doesn’t give a damn about what on Earth Han Jisung is doing with his life so she just brushes your question off. “Would you let Minho drink irresponsibly?”

You nod without hesitation, though it feels wrong coming out of your mouth, “He can do whatever he wants...as long as my carpet remains clean after his hangover.”

“Would you let me drink irresponsibly?”

“The same goes for you,” you tell her monotonously. “And I only picked you up because Lia sounded like she was hyperventilating when you attended that one law brat’s birthday party. Na Jaemin, wasn’t it? Hate that guy, by the way.”

Yeji thinks it’s time for you to open up even more and not despise people that much. Having Lee Minho as your roommate is already a huge step-up but it’s not like there have been any modifications to your routine except the fact that another human being is simply enduring your bitchy ass of a loner. She wants you to be really out there, just not messing with shit like doing keg stands because Seo Changbin is a terrible influence. Woojin once had to drop his shift at the sushi place to drive Jeongin home because Changbin left him hanging on the beanbag chair for a game of beer pong. Jeongin has never gone to another single party since. 

“You hate literally everyone!” Yeji’s getting impatient, you can feel it.

“Are you telling me it’s my fault that people are shitty?” you bark, massaging the sides of your temple tiredly. You wish you could just drop the entirety of your current presentation to Yeji because your brain cells are already evaporating one by one into thin air.

She barks back, merely sneering, “C’mon! Y/N, it’s not like you ever have plans for the weekend.”

“But I’m having midterms on Monday, I didn’t spend my time on those notes for nothing.”

She shakes her head at you almost in disapproval. Sure, you’re a coward for backing out on this because BamBam’s no stranger to you. That Thai kid has been hanging out with Chan since middle school and he always offers to buy you coffee whenever you happen to drop by as they’re working on a project together. He’s a nice guy, but you don’t know him that well. Something in your gut is telling you that he has weird friends (he totally does). And you’re not about to overdrink only to blurt out an awful confession to Minho while being surrounded by a bunch of crackheads that aren’t in your social sphere.

“I heard kids are vapi-” Yeji stops herself, thinking she should just give up, and get ready for the next batch of sleep-deprived customers coming in at lunch break before Jeongin chucks an avocado at her direction for chit-chatting too much about your gigantic crush on Minho. “Nevermind, it’s not like you’d care anyway, have fun with reviewing I guess.” And with that, she leaves you alone with the cup of plain water to dump the used coffee grounds in the trash.

It takes you at least ten seconds to comprehend what she just said. And you’ve come up with a new yet very last-minute decision: screw midterm because you’re making sure that Lee Minho’s going home in one piece. 

Very timely, your phone buzzes on the wooden counter.

[10:38 AM]

lino | hey you still on campus?

three.

The blush scattered across your cheekbones just grows ten shades darker when you see Minho at the front gate leaning against his black Kawasaki; disheveled hair, hands stuffed inside his pockets, occasional puffs of smoke escaping his lips, and unbothered gaze. You’ve never told him this, you’re not telling him this now, and you’re never gonna tell him; but he looks stupidly good in that biker jacket. Again, you don’t get how someone can look this good early in the morning. 

“What are you doing here?” you murmur grimly, approaching him from behind. It feels like he’s doing this to your heart on purpose, without even trying. And those girls over there are making you very uncomfortable by eyeing your roommate up and down like he’s an expensive piece of steak with a gold leaf sticking to it.

Minho turns sideways and flashes you a smile; your little heart just did a perfect cartwheel because of that, it can only take so much. “Sorry, I kinda lost track of time, but I still promised to pick you up, didn’t I?” he says casually as your face morphs into a deep frown because you’re basically confused. The only problem is: you don’t even know why you’re confused. There’s this fluttering feeling at the pit of your stomach and now you feel as though someone just gives you a blow to the head when Minho looks straight into your eyes, brows slightly knitted together.

This is not healthy. 

“You didn’t answer my calls or my texts.”

Minho thinks you look cuter than usual when you’re silently fuming because you’re not the type to lash out on people. But it’s not so cute anymore when you threatened to flush his AirPods down the toilet that one time when he spilled ketchup on your carpet. He just hopes he doesn’t end up sleeping on the couch tonight like last time. 

“I put my phone on silent, as always,” he reminds you of how much of a pain in the ass it is to receive a call-back or a simple reply from him. 

You make a face, “Whatever, didn’t I tell you not to make a scene? Have you seen those chicks back there? They’re watching me as if I’m sabotaging their dreams of eating you alive.” Well, you can’t exactly blame your roommate for having girls gushing over him wherever he goes because...it’s his fault for looking like a snack all the time. 

Minho quickly detects how you’re not overly fond of his admirers and needless to say, he’s fairly amused. “Then let them,” he puts an arm over your shoulders and pulls you flushed against him, ruffling your hair. Moments later, you’re already hearing scandalous gasps along with hushed whispers going through your eardrums like a never-ending train. It’s really setting your nerves on fire. 

“Don’t you think that this is weird?”

“What?” Now it’s Minho who’s confused here. 

You slightly push him away and avert your gaze elsewhere to avoid eye contact. “We’re roommates, right?” you mumble, slightly unsure about...all of this. 

“Hmm, what about it?”

“Well, I don’t know…” you fiddle with the hem of your jacket and sigh. “What if people keep getting the wrong idea about us?” You sound somewhat regretful as if your decision of taking him in as your roommate was a mistake, as if you feel like it’s better off if he wasn’t in your life at all, as if the past month was completely meaningless. Since when did things become this complicated? It started with a harmless one-month contract and now Minho’s not sure of what he should do next. But that’s not it, is it? Maybe he’s just overthinking too much. 

He looks hesitant for a moment there, very not-Lee-Minho of him. “We’re still cool right?” Minho tilts his head to the side, the afternoon sunlight slips through fluffs of white clouds and brings the constellations in his warm brown eyes to life. Though he looks like a scolded child, you can’t help but want to put this moment into a frame and simply cherish it for the rest of your life. 

“Beats me,” you breathe out, silently hating yourself for not being able to get angry at him. It’s harder than you thought, really, and it doesn’t help when his eyes keep doing that thing to your poor little heart. “Make me pasta and we’re good,” you end up chuckling when Minho’s expression turns a solid three hundred and sixty at the offer.

“That’s not a very smart move for a business major, your loss,” he replies with a goofy smile, tossing the helmet that he got you yesterday in your direction. And if you pay attention enough, you can almost see Minho exhaling out of relief. But you’re too busy staring at the ground to douse yourself in your own giddiness to notice. “Oh crap, I think I left my wallet at Hyunjin’s,” he tells you after swinging a leg over on his shiny vehicle. 

You narrow your eyes at him, “You don’t need your wallet to make me pasta now do you?”

“By the way, are you going to BamBam’s party?”

“Only if you’re going,” you scratch the bridge of your nose with your ring finger, a little embarrassed to admit that he’s the only reason why you’re ditching midterms. 

Minho’s hearty laugh fills your eardrums, shit-eating grin and all. “If it makes you feel better, Chan’s driving us,” he voices without looking at you, but your chest still swells either way. 

You fucking hate how you have the softest spot for him. 

four.

You’re already regretting this although you’ve only been sitting in Chan’s back seats for less than twenty minutes. Crankiness takes over your body as a result of reviewing for the whole afternoon, your eyelids are getting droopy, and your head seems to be all too big for your neck at this rate. More reasons for you to not drink tonight. 

“Ugh, why am I even here?” you groan, and Jisung scrunches his nose, slightly alarmed because you’re not usually this loud unless you’re high on caffeine. 

Minho tells you in the most lighthearted way possible, “Because you love me.” 

You wish you could just put his head through a wall because everything and anything coming out of his mouth are never healthy for your mind, or heart. “Uhm, no I don’t.”

“But you did confess your love to me,” he singsongs as if he just hit a jackpot with his lottery ticket, angling his head to toss you a wink. “I have receipts, ma’am. They’re right here, in my heart.” Minho’s never seen you so giddy before so he recorded everything, but he’s not planning on putting himself on a chopping block by telling you that. 

You shove his arm and purse your lips, flaming cheeks but the car’s too dark for him to see it. “I was sick, asshole, I talk shit more when I have a fever than when I’m drunk,” you defend yourself helplessly, not enjoying the fact that he had to bring it up when you’re in a confined space with Seo Changbin and Han Jisung. 

“Minho doesn’t like it when Y/N raises her voice.” Great, now he’s talking in third person. 

“What are you even? Four?”

He winks at you, “Baby me, baby.”

“Oh my god shut the fuck up and get away from me!”

“You’ll never get rid of me, baby.” Eventually, you give up because you’re too mentally exhausted and there’s still a long night ahead of you. You’re not wasting your energy in pointless arguments with him because you both yell at each other on a daily basis anyway. 

“Maybe he’ll zip it if you tell him that you love him,” Jisung suggests innocently with a not-so-innocent look on his face. He’s already acting dumb when he’s this fucking sober so you’re not looking forward to two hours later when vodka’s practically replaced his own blood. 

“I’d rather chew off my own foot.” Changbin snorts involuntarily at your stiff remark, Chan mutters a small ‘ouch’ while Jisung’s too busy laughing his ass off. And a demeaning silence descends after that. 

Minho’s right next to you, oddly unresponsive to the situation, his head leaning against your shoulder as he gazes dejectedly out the window. You don’t see how stormy his eyes are. He also misses his motorcycle tremendously because Chan’s the safest (slowest) driver to ever exist. No joke, if he keeps going at the pace of thirty miles per hour then you should just skip the party and watch a movie while getting drunk at his place altogether. 

“Can you go any fucking slower?”

“Excuse me?” Chan laughs in disbelief, he’s a little offended because he personally thinks he’s a good driver, maybe a little bit too obedient when it comes to the law. Hey, at least you know you’re in good hands. “I’m not trying to get us all killed before BamBam could poison one of you guys.” 

Jisung purses his lips as he’s reminded of the last party where he ran into that Thai dude. He gave him a plastic cup, telling him that it’s merely a harmless fruity vodka only for Jisung to get kicked out by an Uber driver after throwing up in the back seats. Turns out, the lemons and oranges in the cocktail were relatively spoilt. 

“I’m gonna die from boredom before we could even get into a car accident,” Minho informs him unconstructively, staring at some random notifications from Instagram of people commenting on his cats’ photos, text messages from his mom and swipes them all away. Mostly to chuckle to himself like a moron because of his lock screen. Yes, your stupid face is still on there after three weeks and you don’t know if you should be crying or laughing.

Chan narrows his eyes at the rear-view mirror, “It seems like you’re entertaining yourself just fine by looking at Y/N’s face.” 

“This photo does make me laugh because it’s priceless,” the younger boy states without turning his head to look at you. “But still, bored.” 

The car grows silent again soon after because Chan’s already been stressed out enough from traffic since clearly, people can’t drive to save their own lives. But it’s not like your friends can keep their mouths shut for the rest of the trip anyway. 

“Boreddd,” Minho voices randomly while a J.One’s song is blasting through the speaker. It’s a terribly soft song and it doesn’t help when Minho feels like he can downright sleep through an earthquake, potentially falling into an enormous crack on the Earth’s surface and still being able to nap like there’s no tomorrow. He’s just glad that Jisung grew out of ‘Wow’ and embraces his awkward self through his own music. It’s..sentimental but what’s a J.One song without that element?

Changbin looks up from his phone for half a second, wholly uninterested. “Then shut up and sleep,” he says expressionlessly. Very timely, his most recent track comes up next on the playlist and he starts rapping along with it. Minho thinks he can really use a good eye shut as SpearB is performing live right behind him because Changbin can only stay sober like this for so long until he gets his hands on one of BamBam’s sketchy-looking concoctions. 

You’re starting to get bored too at this rate because usually, during times like this when the car is filled with nothing but music and everyone (except for the driver) feels like they’re falling into a food coma, a certain idiot will—

“Y/N, don’t you have a midterm on Monday?” Ah, there it is. 

Jisung bends himself forward and drapes an arm over the leather seat, scrunching his nose at the sight of Minho sleeping soundly against your shoulder. He’s still bitter about the fact that Minho refuses to drive anyone other than you with his motorcycle for some reason. Exclusive things are always so annoying. 

You exhale deeply because Jisung reminds you of that one kid who always asks questions that stress the hell out of the teachers back in high school. Would it kill for him to just shut up once in a while? 

“I do, and I haven’t got a wink of sleep since yesterday afternoon,” you tell him rather lazily, shifting when Minho snuggles himself closer to you, his hair tickling your jawline. You pray he doesn’t know how fast your heart is beating. “A little alcohol might spare me a night of crying myself to sleep.” 

Jisung lets his bottom lip stuck out like he’s a fucking five-year-old not allowed to get his favorite ice-cream flavor. “Aww, you should have asked Minho for cuddles then, pretty sure he’d be more than happy to—,” he remarks sarcastically and you wish you could just throw him in the middle of an intersection. He’s lucky because Minho’s a heavy sleeper or he would have been knocked senseless or something. The last thing Chan needs is being forced to pull over for having wild animals wrestle the shit out of each other in his vehicle. 

“Hey, fuck off,” you snarl at him, knowing you should have chosen the passenger seat instead. That way, you wouldn’t be fuming inside because you can’t physically strangle Han Jisung to his imminent death. He has already tattooed that image into the back of your brain and you swear you’ve never heard a creepier chuckle from your friend. 

Jisung notices the coral tint on your cheeks and sneers, leaning back against his seat. “Yeah right, as if you’re actually gonna get drunk,” he says snarkily. “You’re just gonna be there to prevent Lee Minho from making bad decisions.” 

“I decided to come because Yeji wanted me-“

“Yeji who? In what world will you have time for her when you’re too busy staring at Minho like a total creep? Wanna bet ten bucks?” 

That’s bullshit because Lee Minho is already your entire world. 

Chan butts in, “Make that fifty.”

Changbin raises his hand, “I’d bet my Tesla.” Your friends really spelled out ‘a bunch of fucking clowns’ in bold, gigantic capital letters and you’re this close to facepalm yourself against Chan’s steering wheel. This is why you don’t go to parties with them that often because you’re stuck with cleanup duties with Seungmin until these crackheads grow out of their amateur drinking habits. 

“You’re just jealous because he would rather call you an Uber than give you a lift himself,” you say pointedly and Jisung lets out the loudest, most scandalous gasp. So dramatic. 

“You,” he jabs a finger at you, eyes wide in accusation. “Need a nap.”

You laugh dryly, ignoring the urge to snap a picture of his flabbergasted expression and turn it into a new meme for your group chat. “You don’t say, Han, you don’t say.”

And Changbin rolls his eyes over the moon, vividly picturing where this disastrous conversation is gonna go. Basically, he wants you to get shitfaced as soon as you step foot into BamBam’s house so he’ll have a sappy, drunk confession video to toss on Twitter tonight because Woojin just posted a picture of him with a drumstick dipped inside a glass of what looks like a watered-down Margarita. He’s highly concerned since there hasn’t been anything juicy on his feed other than his friends creeping people out with their questionable content. 

“If you two don’t end up getting drunk and kiss, I’m gonna be pissed,” Changbin says casually as if it’s just an afterthought. This prompts you to chuck your phone in his direction—you can care less about your screen protector at this point if it means stopping him from taunting you further. 

He asserts like a snake, “Hey, remember that time where you tripped over Kkami and totally crushed Minho under your weight?”

“I blame gravity for that.”

“But Albert Einstein said you can’t blame gravity for falling in love.”

“Who cares about Albert Einstein?!” you whisper-shout harshly, cautiously eyeing Minho’s sleeping figure. He scrunches his nose and murmurs something that you can’t quite hear before turning over to face you completely. His arms unexpectedly slip underneath yours like second nature. He furrows his eyebrows occasionally, other times he’d be grinning like an idiot and his lips are slightly agape, full eyelashes framing his eyes beautifully. Sometimes you wonder how weird his dreams are whenever you caught him talking (and cursing) in his slumber. 

Changbin wants to pry aloud when you start staring at Minho for too long; he might as well be tossed on the freeway at this point before exasperation squeezes the little amount of oxygen left out of his chest. This is worse than Hyunjin’s terrible rom coms. He props his head onto his hand in boredom as Chan pulls over and turns off the engine. “Hey we’re here, why not wake your prince up with a kiss—”

“I’m gonna kick your ass,” you threaten. 

Now there are two distasteful tattoos at the back of your head. And you will not hesitate for a heartbeat sacrificing the entirety of your bank account to get them removed. To get Lee Minho removed from your mind.

If only it were that easy.  

“Mhmm,” the figure beside you lets out a low grunt and hugs your arm closer instinctively. His warmth seeps through the fabric of your denim jacket and sets your heart on fire. You’re ready to flick his forehead any second now to interrupt his slumber but before you could even do anything, Seo Changbin aggressively opens the door and you widen your eyes in horror. Where the fuck did he get a megaphone? And what for?

“Bitch wake up! Those drinks aren’t gonna finish themselves!”

It’d be a miracle if you ended up finding him alive by dawn. 

five.

“Y/N you ass, give it back!

“No, we’ve only been here for three hours and this is your fifth cup already,” you tell her in a mildly serious tone before dumping her cup of whatever the fuck of a yellow substance that Ryujin gave her ten minutes ago into the sink. 

Yeji plops herself onto the sofa in the living room after you drag her out of the kitchen where people are making out on the marble counter. Glad to see nothing’s changed...idiots. “God, you’re such a party pooper, I shouldn’t have told you to come,” she complains in between small hiccups, alcohol tinting her cheeks beet red. 

“I’m here to save your ass and this is how you’re repaying me?” Your question didn’t come out as coherent and threatening as you imagined and every single cell inside your body is shaking for no specific reason. 

Your friend narrows her eyes down into a mere glare like a detective in those crimes shows that you spend way too much time on and you’re debating whether you should be laughing or pissing yourself. She fucking knows that you’re lying. She fucking knows the sole reason for you to be here. “Give me a break, it’s not like you’re doing anything besides staring at your boyfriend from afar,” Yeji scoffs dejectedly. 

“God forbids ‘Lee Minho’ and ‘my boyfriend’ go in the same sentence,” you grit, subconsciously averting your gaze around the living room to spot your roommate. All he’s been doing is being held back by Chan when he tried to murder Changbin once, catching up with his old friends from high school and hanging out with some of his classmates, ranting about how much he dreads Kim’s eight AM, gushing with Hyunjin over some senior’s choreography set. By the looks of it, Jisung must have handed him at least seven of those red party cups from the bar—thanks to BamBam who keeps restocking them every hour. 

Yeji chuckles creepily when the alcohol finally hits her hard, you think you just got chills by the way that she’s leaning closer. “Of course not,” she hiccups into your ear, words slurred, “Lee Minho’s not my boyfriend, he’s your boyfriend.” You look at her in the eye, and mentally regret your life choices. How insufferable. 

“I mean, seriously,” she slams her body back onto the couch and groans; you can’t tell if it’s out of frustration or the cushion is too soft for her back. “It’s like you’re living the life of the main protagonist in a Harry Styles fanfiction! Do you know how many girls and boys would kill to live in the same apartment as that?” Her index finger is pointed directly at the person you’ve been watching and avoiding all night, across the room with a dart in his hand as he stands in front of the dartboard. 

“Were you aiming for the board or were you plotting to kill me? Because I can’t tell! I-can’t-fucking-tell!” Changbin shouts over the music and you momentarily cringe at the crack in his voice; it’s never a college party without one of your friends riling each other up over the dumbest things. And also, who thinks it’s a good idea to lend an unstable Lee Minho a sharp object of any kind?

You look away as heat flares through your nostrils when Minho accidentally glances at you after laughing at some corny joke that Chan made. He’s more than mildly hammered right now, you suppose, because, well, Chan can only make people laugh when they’re exceptionally drunk. 

A stupid question then slips out of your lips. “With what?” It sounds like you only have one brain cell and are perpetually dumb. It makes you feel even dumber when there’s nothing but a can of Coke inside your body. 

“A hottie who dances, cooks, has a good sense of humor, lowkey a genius, highkey a tsundere, shares a name with a famous actor. Far more handsome than the actor himself, if I dare.” Yeji has no hesitation whatsoever naming every reason as to why people on campus shamelessly throw themselves at your roommate on a daily basis. And now your head grows ten times fuzzier, floating mundanely in the clouds above. Basically, you feel like you’re drunk—except your confidence isn’t sky high enough to do something stupid—which makes no absolute sense. 

The silver-haired girl next to you puts an arm around your neck and giggles, you’re highly perturbed that her vocal cords are gonna give in tomorrow when she convinces you through FaceTime that you should be extra careful with your notes since she won’t be showing up to class. “Oh! And he has three cats, right? Cat people are said to be more intuitive and thoughtful, that’s a bonus,” Yeji asserts and your jaw is on the floor at this rate. She doesn’t even spare him a second glance during lunch break and she already knows this much?

No wonder Minho never talked about his cats with Felix and Seungmin again.

“I bet you read that off a Buzzfeed article.” 

“Doesn’t necessarily mean it’s wrong!”

You inhale and exhale deeply, linking your fingers together, “Yeah, but that’s all people will ever see.”

“Well, what else can they like about him?”

“I don’t know,” you say bluntly, but the rouge on your cheeks is anything but ‘blunt’. “They don’t see how stuck-up he is, how he loves hogging the blanket all to himself, how he secretly stocks up a stash of trashy snacks. They don’t see the way his eyes sparkle when he looks into their eyes during a conversation because he’s actually a very attentive listener.”

Yeji pats your back without turning her head, slightly amused, “I think you meant how he looks into your eyes during a conversation.”

Your eyes scan the room one more time to find Minho hugging his stomach from laughing too much, there are actual tears in his eyes because Changbin just lost a bet and apparently he has to belly flop himself into the pool as a punishment. You haven’t seen him this happy in a while, even when he’s potentially dying from a really bad stomachache but it still puts your heart at ease knowing he’s having fun tonight. 

Needless to say, he always knocks the breath right out of your lungs without much effort. Even when he’s ditched the leather jacket and ripped jeans, you still think no one looks better than him in a large t-shirt and sweatpants. 

“But I don’t get it,” Yeji looks over at you this time, real carefully because your tone just grows firmer and more serious. “How can he just stand there, laugh...and look so beautiful?”

“I told you—”

“Yeah that’s exactly what I need to hear right now, Yeji,” you facepalm almost immediately, highly disappointed in yourself. 

Jisung’s getting his ten dollars on Monday when you surprise him with two slices of cheesecake from his favorite dessert place. Changbin can keep his Tesla and Chan...Chan isn’t getting anything.

You push yourself off the blue velvet couch and groan, you’re getting sore quickly because the cushions are far too soft. “Let me get some fresh air, I feel like I’m gonna to lose my mind,” you tell your friend but you doubt that she caught it since the music is all too loud for students to communicate properly. Maybe that’s one of the reasons why fistfights during parties are a thing. 

“Uhm, wait,” Yeji tugs onto your sleeve and jerks her head towards the direction of Minho. “I’m sorry but what the hell does your boyfriend want now?”

“Huh where—“

Like..three feet away. Or a whole lot closer. 

“Why didn’t you answer my texts?” And you find Minho standing in front of you with his arms crossed stubbornly, eyebrows knitted together and tinted pink cheeks. He looks a little pissed off, and you don’t think you’re both on the same page here. 

When you give him a ‘what do you mean’ look, your roommate feels the need to unlock his phone and jab his index finger against his poor crusty screen as he shows you at least fifty messages that he’s been spamming in the last half an hour. This reminds you of the yellow Post-It note that Minho violently smacked onto your fridge the very night when he first moved in. 

‘I hereby fucking declare that if we did end up going to the same party (doubt btw), we would keep our phones with us 25/8 so one can save the other’s ass from stupid decisions— lee minho’ he wrote. Minho knows all too well the only ass that needs to be saved is his. And you’ve thought about taking the note down several times but you don’t think you’d have the heart to. 

“Oh,” your head draws a blank canvas and you look for your phone in your pocket. But then, “I left my phone in Chan’s car.”

Minho rolls his eyes at you and decides that he’s too impatient to wait for Chan to sober up and remember where he left his keys. “Whatever,” he manages to crack a small smile, one that shines through the dimmed LED light on the ceiling and makes your heart stuck in your throat. “Let’s get out of here, I have something to tell you.” 

“Hey hey hey,” Yeji tries to get up from the couch but her limbs are too wobbly. “You can’t just tap out all of a sudden and steal her from me like that. Don’t even think for a minute you second rate—”

“Yeah, no, she’s mine.”

You’re downright baffled. But you’re not sure if it’s because of what he said ten seconds ago and your heart is going haywire, your brain cells are giving in on you or it’s because he’s tugging you by the wrist and piloting you through the impending chaos of sloppy college students. 

You’re not sure if you want to know. You’re not sure if you’re ready. 

six.

Fall arrives sooner than you thought and it almost makes you miss summer. Though you didn’t really have anything exciting besides an internship that refrained you from living on YouTube for too long. 

The evening is oddly cold, but you’ve never had a problem with the tips of your fingers growing chilly. It’s different tonight—it’s the kind of coldness that slips through your flesh and into your bones, coming in contact with the thumping force of your heart, causing it to shiver. There’s nothing to do but keep your gaze straight forward, your feet moving on their own with the one and only goal of heading home. Clouds with the murky color of wet ashes pass by, and the ground as its dank reflection—a reminder of how humanity is ruining the planet. 

The streets are so quiet and tranquil; you’re afraid that Minho might be able to hear your heartbeat. Now you’re pointing a finger at society in accusation because it’s the weekend yet no elder couples are taking their night strolls, no middle-aged ladies in fluffy jackets are walking their spoiled teacups dogs and no wasted college students are roaming the streets with ‘trouble’ spelled out on their forehead. Really, you’d rather stare at people in a creepy way and zone out than constantly thinking about Lee Minho when he’s right beside you. 

This is terribly suffocating and you don’t think if you can keep this up in the next thirty minutes until both of you get home and melt into the comfort of your bed. 

“Sober up, Mister Celebrity, that’s too much fun for tonight.” Minho winces slightly when you press a can of cold green tea against his cheeks as he’s about to doze off on the wooden bench next to the vending machine. While he’s taking a swig, you feel a silent obligation to take a seat but your eyes are determinedly fixed on the curb. 

The bench suddenly feels far too big and the night breeze is far too cold for Minho’s liking, so he shifts his body closer, fingers brushing over yours and sending electricity down your spine. “What do you mean?” he scoffs, finding it hard to not look at you so his gaze is temporarily glued onto the can of green tea in his palms. “Tonight was nothing compared to Jisung’s birthday.” He can still feel the remaining warmth from your hands, it makes him wonder how it’d feel to actually hold them. 

“Ugh, god,” you shake your head in disbelief, internally cringing. “Don’t even remind me.”

You still don’t know what Hyunjin fed him that day to the point he couldn’t remember what happened. All hell broke loose Felix posted a video of him pretending to be a stupid ostrich and trying to do a mating dance towards Jisung on Twitter. No one dares to talk about that scarred video since. Now that he’s reminded you of it, you wish you didn’t own brain cells in the first place. This is why the internet is scary. 

“What is it that you wanted to tell me anyway?” 

Minho stops for a second at your question and places his beverage down on the bench. He stares distantly at the space ahead as if he’s fighting with himself inside his own head, seriously contemplating something. It’s come to your attention that this isn’t very like his usual self. Minho never hesitates for a second when he has something in mind. Even when he knows that you might rip his head off.

He exhales deeply, turns his head, and makes direct eye contact with you for what seems like an eternity. His eyes are as wide open and honest as a child’s, they possess something so much more the longer you stare at them. A warmth, safety. Your heart is gonna combust if he doesn’t get this over with soon. 

Then, “I think I forgot to put yeast in the batter.” Wait what?

“Minho!” you punch his arm, earning a low grunt from the blond-haired boy. “Don’t fucking scare me like that!” He’s looking at you as though your eyes are turning red with rage and smoke is coming out of your ears, scared for his own life but truthfully, you’re just relieved. Surprisingly. 

“Wait, so you’re not mad?” he asks you with a wide-eyed expression, trying way too hard to keep a straight face. “Aren’t we supposed to bring homemade bread for the get together at the nursing home tomorrow?”

“Old people still enjoy Bingo for some reason, they can have that instead of bread.” His mouth forms a small ‘o’ as he scoots closer to you and you can tell that he reeks off alcohol, which is making you a little dizzy. When your gaze falls elsewhere but Lee Minho, you attempt to appear casual, “But if you wanna bake so badly, I can still pull an all-nighter and start over with you.” That was doable, but you could have done better—should have sounded like you didn’t really care. 

Minho flings his bangs away from his face and tosses his head back, chuckling breathlessly. “Don’t you have a midterm to stress over instead of me? I don’t want you to pick out every single strand of hair on your head after baking with me.” He finally said something nice once in a while, you sorta appreciate it. “It’d be embarrassing when my parents FaceTime me and see you as bald as my great grandfather.” Nevermind, he’s still the same old jerk. 

“You don’t have to be embarrassed, you’ll be moving out in two weeks, either way, right?” Your tone sounds sad and grim all of a sudden; it really dampens the atmosphere because Minho is now looking at you with concern laced in his brown eyes. “Look, I get that it’s bothersome to be my roommate so there’s no need to feel bad. I’ll be fine going back to my old life where my feet don’t get cold in the middle of the night because no one would be there to hog the blanket anymore.”

Minho feels the need to clear things up here. “I never said anything about moving out,” he grabs you by the shoulders and hopes you could just look at him when he’s being serious for once. “Y/N, who even said anything about moving out? Was it the landlord?”

“No,“ you say, still not willing to face him directly. You’re such a coward. 

“If so, why would I move out? Did I do something wrong? Did I piss you off or something?”

You’re trying so hard not to snap at this point. “No!”

“Then why can’t you just fucking look at me?!”

“You’re still drunk, let me buy you another—“

Minho shakes you forcefully, hoping to knock some common sense into that brain of yours. “For fuck’s sake, I’m not drunk!” he cries helplessly, not caring about the fact that he’s waking up every cat possible in the neighborhood. “Just- just look at me, will you?”

You stubbornly keep your eyes anywhere but him. “Why would I look at your stupid face?”

“Don’t bullshit me, Y/N. You’re not usually like this.”

Every single cell inside your body quivers simultaneously when he says so—good god, no, he’s testing you. Minho knows something’s off. Now to think about it again, you’d rather let him dirty your carpet than being put on trial like this.

“You wanna know why I’m acting like this? It’s because of you! You’re making me nervous! It’s your fault for making me feel this way!”

“What?” he blurts, eyes blinking numerous times in disbelief. “What did I ever do to you?”

“God, Minho, you can’t possibly be this dense. Tell me, that you’ve never, not even once, seen me turning beet red when you simply look at me in the eye. Or when you’re just sitting there, laughing your ass off about something stupid. It makes my heart flutter, okay? You make my heart flutter. Do you know how much of an effect you can have on me? You don’t go around juggling with others’ feelings like that,” your voice grows smaller and smaller towards the end until there’s nothing but an oddly comfortable silene floating midair. A sense of relief washes over you; you unknowingly exhale.

Minho stares at you in awe for a moment there, until he also speaks up for himself. “Maybe you should take your own advice,” he almost snickers, and this causes you to peel your gaze away from a random bush to gawk at his response. “You’re telling me to not go around juggling with others’ feelings? If anything, you’re the one who keeps messing with my heart. What am I supposed to do? Not get drunk so that I won’t be able to get away for doing dumb things?”

“What dumb things?”

“I don’t know, kiss you?”

“Fuck, you can’t get away with it this time now, can you?”

You’re already regretting this and there’s no turning back. Because when Minho subconsciously runs his tongue over his bottom lips, you’re already fighting the rouge spreading on your cheekbones. He shortens the distance between your heads until your lips are practically a breath away from his. Impatient, you grab a fistful of his shirt to smash your lips against his. Minho stays frozen for a nanosecond, taken aback by your boldness before pulling you closer by the waist. You’re hesitant at first, but he guides you through it, telling you that it’s okay by embracing you more tightly. Dear god, Minho’s kissing you and the world just falls away. It’s slow, comforting in ways that words can never be. He slackens his jaw to deepen the kiss, smiling into it when giddiness bubbles up inside his stomach. 

The world still feels like it’s spinning when he parts away, an alcoholic taste mixed with the green tea ghosts your lips, and your face grows ten times hotter. Even in this cracked darkness, Minho sees you blush hard and is fully aware that his cheeks are mirroring yours—he doesn’t even bother to convince himself that it’s from the alcohol, because it isn’t. 

“Why aren’t you saying anything?” Minho questions though his breath is still a bit shaky from the kiss. He really didn’t lie when he said that he could never stop bothering you. 

You can’t help but smile at him brightly; this causes his heartbeat to spike inside his chest. “Well, do I have to?” He shakes his head and stares down at your hands until he musters up every strand of courage left to finally intertwine them with his own. Fits like a glove. 

“Come on, let’s go home,” he tells you softly, eyes crinkling into a pretty crescent moon shape. But you stop him right there when he attempts to stand up and wordlessly lean your forehead against his. Minho understands that you simply need a moment so you both hover right there, simply melting into each other’s touch. But what you say next just makes the ignited passion inside his heart flare-up. He’s at a loss for words, utterly speechless. 

“I am home.”

“Welcome home then, Y/N,” Minho whispers.

Everything feels like a dream that you’d never want to wake up from. His hands are clasped on either side of your face, resting just below the lobes of your ears. His thumbs gently caress your cheeks so that you won’t drift away, your breaths mingling. Never before has your own name made your heart flutter. But you guess it’s only because Minho said it. You do know that it’s not an afterthought, nor out of impulse. It’s a promise, for whatever’s coming your way on this path, he’s never gonna leave you behind. And the moment he feels that thing beating inside his chest is in sync with yours, he slowly leans in again.

Albert Einstein once said you can’t blame gravity for falling in love. And you have every right to argue with him in the afterlife because you’ve confirmed that Minho is your gravity. Gravity keeps you grounded, always get a hold of you so that you won’t ever have to wander off too far away. It’s there for you but it doesn’t have to act like it cares. Minho’s kinda like that too—he picked you up every time you said you’re good walking home, he only stocked up the stash of candies to secretly feed your midnight cravings. They only differ so much where his heartbeat for you is loud, undaunted and he loves you fearlessly; nothing shall meddle with his feelings for you as long as the way your eyes light up when they meet his doesn’t change. 

Before you met Minho, you didn’t know that it was possible to just look at someone and smile for no reason. The way his lips curl up when he smiles, his sarcastic remarks, his kindhearted nature though he’s awfully good at hiding it. That’s what people do when they’re in love, they say—to fawn over the littlest things but they’re what makes you fall so hard for him. But as time passes by, you’ve learned that it’s actually quite nice to be in love with someone. Because then, you get to spend your time and effort on their happiness as well, not just your own. In exchange, that person is capable of bringing colors to your dull world, tearing down your walls, and showing you just how beautiful life can be. Surely, Minho might not stay by your side forever in this crazy game of Monopoly but you’d risk it all for him even if the sky comes crashing and the universe turns upside down. 

After all, you can’t love alone. 

[ladynoirelf]

Dark Crystal Tik-Tok challenge: Calling s/o the wrong name.

Deet to Rian:

Deet was writing up her midterm paper comparing Stonewood and Grottons weapons for her elective history class. Thanks to Rian and Ordon, Deet had tons of research material to work with thanks to Ordon’s collection and Rian’s expertise. Though she was having a bit of trouble remembering what a specific sword was used for. She also made a mental note to call up Amri and see if he could send her a picture of his family’s old bombs that they used. She called to her boyfriend:

“Amri! I-I mean Rian”!

“Amri”!?

Oh crud.

Rian walked out in robe, pink facial mask on and his hair tucked under a towel.

“Of all the names to call, you call Amri? Your EX”?!

“Im so sorry”.

“Amr-Does Amri sounds like Rian? D-Do I look like an egotistical grottan with a bad haircut who makes horrible fashion choices ”?

“Hey”!

“Oh don't defend him Deethra, short or long just pick man”!

Deet stifled the growing lump of a laugh in her throat. “He was on my mind, I meant to call your name-”.

“Why was he on your mind? Why are you thinking about your ex-boyfriend when you have all this”?! Rian circled his hand around himself.

“I need help with my paper”. Deet giggled, finding humor in her boyfriend’s reaction.

“No you know what, get an F”.

“Huh”?!

“Yeah, you want to hurt your boyfriend’s feelings, you get privileges taken away. No more help, no more access to the family weaponry, you want help you get Amri”. With a final humph and quick tightening of his robe, he left Deet alone cackling on the bed.

 Rian to Deet:

After a successful date, Deet recommended that they grab some burgers and fries from Wimpy. 

Deet was driving despite Rian’s gentle protest, but the young Grottan loved using the car since it took to roads so well compared to a Grottan vehicle that was more suited for the paved sirt of her hometown. The problem was that Deets turns were quite harsh and sharp as if she was still trying to trek through the caves roads.

Rian held on to the coat handle for dear life as Deet skidded the car into the parking lot, nearly knocking over one of the trashcans by the outdoor seatings.

“For the love of Thra! Mira you're gonna kill us”! Rian screeched just as Deet spiraled to park perfectly.

“Who”? Deet put the car in park, brows raised in question.

“Huh”?

“D-Did you just call me by your ex-girlfriend's name”?

Did he? He was too terrified for his life to even comprehend what he was saying.

“Did I”?

“Yeah, did my driving make you think of her”? Deet grinned leaning in close to a flustered Rian, who was clutching his thumping heart. 

“Probably, she drove crazy like you. Though she didn't have an excuse she just liked giving me a scare”.

“Awww, you’re still going to introduce me to her right? She sounds fun”. Grinned Deet, grabbing her purse from the back seat.

“Oh yeah, she’ll love you”. Rian breathed, shakingly getting out of the car. 

His legs were so wobbly Deet had to help him inside the restaurant.

 Brea to Kylan:

Brea was on her phone while Kylan was at the foot of the bed folding their laundry. 

As she scrolled through her phone, she got an email from her friendly ex, Rek’yr. Apparently, he had tickets to a museum benefactor gala. He was going to go with his plus one but apparently, they had to cancel. So Rek’yr decided to offer the two tickets for her and Kylan to use. Delighted by an evening out, Brea immediately accepted the offer.

“Rek’yr what are you doing on Friday”?

“...”

“...”

“A-Are you...Were you addressing me”?

Brea slowly looked up from her phone, mortified as she realized her error. Kylan looked at her, a mix of confusion and hurt on his face.

“... I am so sorry”.

“I-Its fine, i guess. I mean...It was a mistake right”?

“Yeah”. Brea’s lips quivered, tear bubbles forming in the corner of her eyes. Kylan cooed, pulling her into his arms he rubbed her back as she began to cry.

“Shhh, it's okay Brea, I know it was a mistake”.

“I-I-Im so sorry”. She wailed, clutching Kylan’s snotty shirt.

“There is nothing to be sorry for Princess”. Kylan sweetly assured, kissing her temple as she continued to cry in shame.

Completely forgetting about the tickets.

 Kylan to Brea:

As much as Kylan was getting used to Brea’s family members randomly coming over to their apartment, It was a hassle when one of her sisters just came over randomly. The latest ‘visitor’ was Brea’s second older sister, Tavra.  Who apparently stopped by to drop off some leftovers she thought he and Brea might like then left in a hurry. 

So when he heard the door open, he assumed it was Tavra coming back for something.

“Did you forget something Katavra”?

“Excuse me, Ka-who”?

Kylan looked from his book to his girlfriend's confused frown. Brea pushed her sunglasses over her eyes, hands on her hip and amber eyes narrowed.

“Who is Katavra”?

“W-Wha”?

“You heard me”. Brea sauntered over, her intimidating demeanor forcing Kylan to scramble to the side of the couch. “Who is Katavara”?

“Is this a trick question or are you having fun with me”?

“Kylan, do I look like I'm having fun with you”. Brea leaned over, caging Kylan with her petite body. “I'll ask again.Who.Is.Katavra”?

“...Your sister”. Kylan warily answered.

Brea blinked, irritation morphing into realization. Her mouth opened in an “oh”.

“You mean Tavra”?

“Did you forget your sister’s name”?

“Well I mean, no one calls her Katavra so...Yeah I forgot her name. Sorry larva”.

“For the love of Thra woman”.

 Mothria to Gurjin:

The best thing about being chosen to dance in the Sog community’s up-and-coming festival was that Mothria had an excuse to ditch Pop-Pa’s excruciating farmwork. To replace it with an excruciating hour of practice, though it's not all bad. It was nice to spend time with Naia, as both of them were partnered up to dance the part of the maiden. Although, having your ex-boyfriend as the head director can be quite awkward. Thankfully, Geal was very professional and only talked to her when needed.

Unfortunately, when Mothria got home after a long rehearsal her greeting was a little off.

“Geal I'm home, wanna get take out”?

“The FUCK you just call”?

Mothria stiffened as Gurjin stomped over to the foyer, arms crossed and eyes burning with anger.

“Did I call you Gael by accident”?

“Yeah, you did”.

“I messed up bad huh”?

“Mm-hm”.

“Couch tonight”?

“I'll get it set up for you”.

Mothria didn't move as Gurjin’s locs hit her snout as he swiftly turned to march to the linen closet.

“I love you”. She called.

“Love you too, but you're still on the couch tonight”.

 Gurjin to Mothria:

If there was one thing Gurjin liked doing, it was messing with Mothria when was in a pissed mood. Not to pissed that would kick him out the loft, but pissed enough to at least get kicked out of the room for thirty minutes to an hour.

And he cooked up the perfect way to agitate his love moth even more.

His ‘victim’ was sitting at the kitchen island on her phone probably venting to his twin. With natural born charm, Gurjin slid to Mothria’s side wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulders.

“Hey, Lovemoth, why so sad”?

“Oh, just dealing with family drama Gur-Gur”. She sighed, leaning into his touch “Not to be a brat but can you cuddle me later. We can watch whatever I just want snuggles”.

“Of course, Resha”.

Gurjin bursted out laughing as he was roughly shoved on his rump.

“I freaking hate you”! Mothria growled, stomping their shared bedroom after gently punching Gurjin below the belt.

“OOF”! Gurjin guffawed as he clutched his gentiles “M-Mothy what about cuddles and movies”? “You're banned from cuddles and movies! I'm going over to Naia’s”!

“Can I come”?

“NOOOOO, people who call me by ‘Resha’ don't get my love”!

The fuming Mothria stepped over her still laughing boyfriend who was now rolling on the floor. Grabbing her purse and keys.

“Love you”! Gurjin wheezed, tears in his eyes.

“Eat sog”! Screamed Mothria, slamming the apartment door. Leaving a chukaling Gurjin on his own for the next few hours.

[florenceandthemachine]

cutting down the family tree

@buckleydiazs​ said:

High school au where Buck’s the sad lonely kid with the shit family and Eddie’s the popular captain of the wrestling team who makes it his personal mission to make Buck an honorary Diaz and convince him that he deserves nice things I am just saying

WOW this got a lot longer than I thought, so I abandoned the ask and put everything all up in here. Only barely edited, SORRY LMAO.

8.5k, Buddie HS AU. underage-ish if you squint I guess? tw for abuse.

--

Buck was good at going unseen.

It was a defense mechanism—his parent’s couldn’t get upset with what they didn’t realize was there—and it had only amped up once Maddie graduated. Once she went off to college, Buck had no reason to be a distraction anymore, to try and pull attention off of anyone; so he just got better at it. He could pick things up and set them down without a sound. He constantly walked on the balls of his feet. He even kept his breathing even, slow and low, whenever he wasn’t alone.

At home, Buck had gotten really good at—nay, he had perfected—the art of becoming invisible. So it only made sense that it translated to his school life, as well. 

He got good grades—straight A’s—but only high enough to keep his grades at a 4.0, not high enough to earn Valedictorian, no AP classes, no crying over tests. Enough to ensure he would have opportunities after high school, but not enough to bring any student or teacher attention his way. 

He worked out every day, and had for years, years of defending himself or defending Maddie meant he had to be in the best shape he could be in—but while his body was packed with lean muscle and quick reflexes, he drowned himself in clothes that were a size too big, making him look smaller, unassuming. He kept his posture slouched whenever he wasn’t standing to take a few inches off of his height, to the point that he could get lost in a crowd while you were still looking at him.

He didn’t participate in after school activities. He didn’t run for school president. He didn’t have a flashy car, a high status girlfriend, he didn’t show any interests that might make him friends or enemies.

Buck was invisible to absolutely everyone.

Well... everyone except Eddie Diaz.

Eddie Diaz, who was a senior, like Buck was, but was new to Pennsylvania, moving over the summer — who was 18, a year older than Buck, because he was held back in the third grade for fighting — Eddie Diaz, who had joined the wrestling team and made captain in an embarrassingly short amount of time (well, embarrassing for the rest of the team). 

Why did Buck know all of this?

Because this was also Eddie Diaz, who, on the first day of Senior Year, locked on to Buck with laser-like focus, ignored all of Buck’s defenses, and apparently decided to take him on as a new friend pet project. 

And much to Buck’s annoyance, he just couldn’t. Shake. Eddie. Off.

He definitely tried. He changed his walkways, he changed the bathrooms he used, he changed where he parked, he did everything except change his schedule—and Eddie was still there, keeping up mostly one sided conversations. The only time he had to himself any more was his free period, the time he spent in the school weight room, and never before had be been so thankful for that regular moment of peace.

Buck finally hit his limit one lunch period, spent huddling in the library, when Eddie sat down across from him. "Eddie, isn’t there someone who actually wants to have lunch with you? Some of your friends, or teammates, or someone who isn’t me?” Buck had asked, barely looking up from the text book he had been reading—he wasn’t a fan of the ‘mean’ route, but he was at his wits end. When Eddie paused, Buck actually felt hope rise up in his chest, that he would be alone again. 

But Eddie had just leaned forward, made eye contact, and said “Nope.” with the biggest, shit eating grin Buck had ever seen.

Fine. It was less than a year. Buck could handle Eddie being around him for less than a year. 

--

Buck could not handle less than a year. 

Because Eddie, Eddie was nice. To him. To Buck, who had never said more than ten words to any other student since the day he started high school. Eddie was nice to him, and it was going to kill him.

It was going to kill Buck because he found himself wanting to be nice back. 

Not that Buck was a mean person, because he wasn’t, but niceness was followed by friendship, and friendship was followed by attachment, and that was simply unacceptable as far as Buck was concerned. 

... not that he hadn’t wondered, of course. He had always wondered what it would be like, to be able to hang out with friends, to have people come over to his house for his birthday, to have more contacts in his cell phone than the front desk of the gym near his house, his parents, and Maddie. 

He had wondered, sure, but he had never missed it. He had never craved it. He knew it was more important for him to be on his own, at least for the time being—an attachment would make it that much harder to get as far from the east coast as possible when time came for college, and that was unacceptable. 

But...

As he pulled in the parking lot, to a familiar spot near the back of the school, and saw Eddie waiting there for him so they could walk in to class together... 

Alright, so he wanted it. So sue him. 

“Buckaroo!” 

Well, that was a good way to make him want it a little less, at least.

“Eddie, I’ve told you,” Buck said with an exasperated sigh, locking his car behind him. “It’s just Buck.”

(Eddie had called him Evan once. Just once. Once the blind panic had subsided, Buck had put a stop to that, real quick.)

“And I’ve told you,” Eddie said in a sing-song voice, “it’s a nickname. Nicknames are what friends do, remember?”

“Your words, not mine.” 

Friends. Is that what they were? He rolled his eyes and shouldered his bag instead of thinking about it too deeply, but he couldn’t deny the spike of anxiety that rippled through him as Eddie started to ramble, falling back into the easy habit of talking for the both of them. He didn’t want friends. He just wanted to get out. 

“...and so I told him...”

Besides, it wasn’t like Eddie actually considered him a friend. They had barely spoken—well, Buck had barely spoken anyway. There was no way in hell that Eddie actually cared about him, right? He had to have some secondary motive.

"and after that, she...”

But that was frustrating in and of itself. Buck had been so sure that Eddie was up to something, or had some ulterior motive, or but damn it if Buck hadn’t been able to determine what it was. None of Eddie’s little douchebaggy wrestling friends had approached them, Eddie hadn’t even tried to get Buck out of his comfort zone yet, he hadn't done anything, and somehow, that was even more frustrating.

“...just because Ms. Syzmaski’s a wrinkled old bitch.”

Buck let out a laugh, in spite of himself, as Eddie rambled on, shaking his head. Ms. Syzmaski wasn’t that bad, and—oh. 

He covered his mouth as soon as he realized what he had done. He didn’t think he had laughed at all since Maddie left, and to have one pulled out of him so suddenly was a little surprising, to say the least—but as he turned to Eddie, beet red, he could tell that he wasn’t the only one surprised. 

The look that Eddie was giving him, however, was the closest thing to “starry eyed” that Buck had ever seen.

“I, uh, I have to get to class. Bye Eddie.” Buck blurted as he turned and booked it down the hall, not quiet quick enough to miss the smile and the incredibly soft “Bye, Buck” that followed him.

--

Things only got worse as more time went on.

Better?

No, worse. Definitely worse. 

Because Eddie could make him laugh, and the more time he spent with him, and the more he actually listened, the more likely those moments were. He was nice, too nice, on the rare occasion that Buck actually had lunch in the lunch room instead of hiding in a stairwell or the library, Eddie said goodbye to his friends and joined him kind of nice. The kind of nice that worked its way past Buck’s defenses, instead of breaking them down.

The kind of nice that made Buck actually want to open up, which, as he would never forget, was a dangerous kind of nice.

It was also, as he learned too late, the kind of nice that made him fucking cave in way too easily to Eddie’s whining. 

“Come on, Buck,” he had begged. “I’m going to be failing Chemistry if I don’t get a B on the midterm, and if I fail chemistry, I get booted from the team. You have to help me.”

And like a sap, Buck had sighed in agreement, giving up a Friday night doing nothing to help the intellectually infirm (“Hey!”).

Wincing as he touched up the concealer on his cheek, Buck dragged his backpack out of the passengers seat of his car, giving an appreciative look up to the small, ranch style house that spread out before him. It probably said a lot about his own expectations if he already felt more comfortable in front of a row of little ranch houses than he would in front of his own house, but… well, that was just it. His house was a big, gaudy house in a neighborhood full of big, gaudy houses. But everything about where he was now—the sound of a dog barking, the smell of someone cooking on the grill, the fact that you didn’t need to ask anyone to buzz you in to a front yard—screamed home.

He didn’t think anything could spoil how light he felt—and that was certainly proven true as Eddie opened the door before Buck even had a chance to knock. 

“Hey Buck, thanks again, you… uh, wow. You look, uh, great.”

It was a small surprise, but a nice one. He had ditched his regular, baggy, hiding-in-plain-sight clothes for a simple pair of jeans and a polo shirt, casual but comfortable, and he tried to ignore the smile tugging at his lips even as his face heated up. 

“I mean, it’s nothing special, it’s just jeans and a—“

“Eddie! Bring your friend inside and close the door!”

It didn’t matter how he had tried to prepare himself, there was something about a parent yelling that would probably always cause Buck to tense up, and tense up he did. If Eddie noticed, he didn’t say anything, thankfully, just hooked his elbow in Buck’ as he yelled right back. “His name is Buck, Mama, I told you that!”

He tried to get his heart to calm down as he felt Eddie tug him to the doorway, his free hand clinging to his backpack strap for dear life, bracing himself as he walked into… 

…something that could not have been more polar opposite of his own life if it tried. 

Eddie’s house was smaller, sure, but it was homey in a way that Buck had only imagined or seen in Hallmark movies. He was all smiles as Eddie introduced him to both of his parents (he knew how important first impressions were, had had that beaten in to him from a very young age), but he found that it wasn’t fake—he was genuinely glad to be there. Even if it still threw him for a loop when Eddie’s mother had insisted on being called Helena, had shoved a tray of snacks into Eddie’s arms, and sent them to Eddie’s room to study. 

“Go on, we’ll let you know when dinner is ready. Get your studying done.”

“Thanks, Mama.”

“And leave the door open!”

“Mama!”

Buck was only mildly placated by the fact that Eddie was blushing as brightly as he was. 

Any concerns that Eddie wouldn’t be taking this seriously, or was just looking for a reason to hang out and fuck around, were quickly put to rest as Eddie pulled out his chemistry book. It was comforting to know that Eddie was just as serious about his grades as he acted, and it made things a lot easier—when Buck didn’t have to spend half of his time telling Eddie to pay attention or to focus, as he had feared, things moved at a pace he hadn’t anticipated. 

Eddie was incredibly smart. That much was obvious from the get go. Chemistry just didn’t click with him, but that was easy enough to rectify—he just had to help Eddie see things from a different angle, to focus more on the process than the end result, and “seriously Eddie, would it kill you to take a legible note for once in your life?” 

Buck had set to work on transcribing some of Eddie’s rushed notes into a legible format while Eddie continued to work on a few practice problems, and before Buck knew it several hours had gone by and they were both being called down for dinner, and… look, Buck had a live in cook for most of his life, but damn if Helena’s enchiladas didn’t blow them out of the water. 

He found himself drawn into the family dynamics easily—Eddie had introduced him to his sister, Sophia, explaining that Adriana was out for the night, and they talked, bickered, poked fun, everything that Buck had figured was out of his reach for the longest time. He spoke when he was asked questions, and let himself engage in a few conversations, but more than anything, he just sat and ate and soaked up the delicious atmosphere.

Was this what a family really felt like? He didn’t think he had ever felt like this at home, even before Maddie had graduated, even before his father had started drinking. He felt something white hot burn in his chest as the night dragged on—not jealousy, or envy, something more dangerous, want. It seemed like a cruel joke, that someone so close to him got to have it all, while he had… nothing, but as he looked over at Eddie, his head thrown back in laughter at one of his mothers jokes until Sophia flicked a piece of corn into his open mouth and he sputtered, he wouldn’t wish the reverse on even his worst enemy.  

--

The good part about Pennsylvania was that it didn’t matter what time of the year it was, it was usually cold. Cold meant long sleeves and sweaters to cover the arms, and long pants to cover the legs, especially as the sticky feeling of Summer turned to foggy breaths and dew, and Buck could breathe a little easier. 

Just a little easier, though, because when you were tugging your hoodie down over your head to cover a black eye, you couldn’t relax. Not really. 

He was usually so careful. He was usually so good about covering his bruises (hell, he was usually good at getting bruises anywhere other than his face), but the last time he had touched himself up, he had forgotten to cap the concealer and the entire tube had run dry. He was sloppy. He had been reckless and stupid and sloppy and now he was paying the price; because as confident as he would have been a semester ago about getting through the day with a shiner and no one noticing, the day now included Eddie. 

He didn’t know if he could avoid Eddie for an entire day. What was worse, he didn’t know if he wanted to.

The day had started off pretty well. He took the train to school instead of driving so Eddie wouldn’t see his car. He was barely on time to each and every class to avoid Eddie in the halls. He ignored every text that came in—though he did allow himself a grin when Eddie sent him a picture message of his Chemistry test, a big 91 circled on the front of it. He even managed to find a new place to eat his lunch, one he was sure that Eddie wouldn’t know about. 

And then everything had gone to shit. 

He had finished his History midterm early, turned it in with his head down, and walked out of the classroom. His next period was his free one, so he decided to head to the gym early, taking a quick stop in the locker room to change into a baggy, long sleeved shirt, chucking his hoodie and his backpack in a locker before getting to the gym. There was only one other person in the room, back turned to Buck as he walked in—it was as good as it could get, and he sent a silent prayer up to anyone who was listening in thanks.

It was going to be a cardio day, Buck could tell—his right wrist was a little sore, and his shoulder too, and while thankfully neither of them felt dislocated it definitely wouldn’t be a good idea to try to lift weights. He could feel the tension bleed out of his shoulders as he started to stretch out his hips and legs, nearly ignoring the telltale buzz he felt at the base of his skull until it was too late. 

“Buck! There you are!” 

Buck bolted upright at the same moment as a hand clapped onto his shoulder, squeezing in the friendly way Buck had become so accustomed to—but now, instead of a familiar warmth in his stomach, it sent a bolt of pain through his body. He sucked in a gasp and jerked his body away from the pain, fists halfway up as he turned around, his body sagging when he saw Eddie standing opposite to him.

Eddie, who he had been avoiding all day, who’s multiple messages he had left on read, who now looked like he was face to face with a ghost. If he could imagine how he looked right now, he might have laughed—black eye, slumped shoulder, pale, panicked face. It was probably hilarious, even if Eddie didn’t seem to think so.

“Buck?”

“Hey, Eddie.”

“Buck, what... what happened to you? Is this why you’ve been avoiding me all day?”

The biting comment was on the tip of Buck’s tongue, to tell Eddie to fuck off, to get lost, but Eddie sounded so small and scared he couldn’t bring himself to snap. Instead, he offered a weak smile, shrugging his good shoulder. “Nothing I can’t handle. You should see the other guy, right?”

It probably was in poor taste to go for a joke, and Eddie’s dark expression only confirmed that fact, but what was Buck supposed to say? ‘Hey, no worries, my mom broke a picture frame so it was either let her get the shit beat out of her or take the heat?’ Yeah, no.

Suddenly, his face was in Eddie’s hands, and oh wow that was nice, and he had to work to keep from sighing as Eddie’s fingers went feather light over his skin.

“Buck, this wasn’t just a little love tap.” Hah, no, there was no love in it at all. “You know, I could teach you how to block a few hits. Some self defense.”

Buck laughed, humorlessly, shaking his head. “No, that’s okay. Not a lot of good there, I don’t think.” he shrugged, shaking his head, even as Eddie opened his mouth to protest.

“But I can—” 

“Stop. Don’t worry about it, seriously.”

“Buck, I am serious. I’m really worried about you, have been all day.”

Buck had to swallow at that, his heart sinking, and he looked down as he weighed his options. Neither were good. But if one kept Eddie from worrying...

“...fine. On one condition.” Buck said, his voice a little thick as he looked back up to Eddie, who... well, he looked like he would do anything Buck asked at that moment, and wasn’t that an interesting swarm of butterflies in his stomach?

“You stop asking about how I got them.”

Eddie’s face did a funny kind of flip flop, but eventually, he nodded. “Fine. First lesson starts now.”

Buck sighed again as he thumbed the hem of his shirt, debating for only a moment before he pulled it off. The tank top he was wearing beneath didn’t hide a whole lot, but he figured Eddie had already seen one bruise, and had promised not to ask about the rest, so he didn’t think much could come from getting rid of the heavy, hot garment.

What would come of it, apparently, was Eddie gaping at him, eyes nearly bugging out of his head. Buck felt a sense of shame pool in his stomach, ready to put the shirt back on in another second—he didn’t think the bruises were so bad, but maybe—

“Buck, you’re—you’re ripped.” 

What?

“How are you not on the wrestling team with me? Or the lacrosse team, or football, or... something?”

Buck blinked for a moment before he felt blood rush to his face. Oh. Oh. Eddie wasn’t staring because he was disgusted, or horrified, but because he apparently... liked what he saw. From a sportsman perspective. That had to be it. Right. He cleared his throat, willing the pink to die down on his cheeks. “Eddie, are you gonna teach me or what?”

Eddie’s eyes snapped up, wide as dinner plates, voice an active higher as he spoke. “Right!” He cleared his throat, shaking his head as he stepped closer to Buck. “Okay, so, if someone is going to come at you from the front, if they try and throw a punch, you just move the outside of your arm to knock the arm back, and—good.” 

Buck didn’t even wait for Eddie to finish speaking, as soon as the hand was up he batted it away with perhaps a bit more force than needed, a thoroughly unimpressed look on his face. 

“Okay, but then you need to follow through with a hit when they’re open. See—” 

Eddie moved to throw a punch again, slow and painfully obvious, and Buck followed his instructions, pushing it away, and then... not doing anything. Eddie scowled, raising his hand again, and just like before, Buck knocked it away with the inside of his fore arm, trying to focus on the best point to hit to knock the hand away.

“Buck, you have to follow through. Blocking is great but you have to use the opening to hit back.”

Punch- block. Punch- block. Punch- block. Eddie started picking up the tempo, moving around Buck, 

“I’m not hitting back, Eddie.”

Yeah, right. Buck hit back, and he’d probably get beaten beyond recognition. Pass.

“I can see that, but you have to. If someone is going to try and hurt you, you have to strike whenever you’re open. One good hit and you can run like hell.”

Punch- block. Punch- block. Where exactly was he supposed to run to? The living room? The kitchen?

“No.”

Eddie gave a quicker shot—still weak, but Buck ducked, pushing the hand away from him. This was actually proving to be pretty useful.

“Look, I get not wanting to hit someone, but you just need to daze them if you’re going to get away.”

“Eddie, I don’t hit back. That’s now how this works.”

“Well why the fuck not—” 

“Because it doesn’t fucking matter!” Buck yelled, his tone taking himself by surprise, as did the heat that suddenly burned through his face. “It doesn’t matter if I land a hit or not, it doesn’t matter if I get hurt, as long as he doesn’t hurt anyone else!” 

“He?”

The words hung in the air, heavy and dark, and Buck almost swallowed his tongue when he realized what he had said. 

“Buck, who did this to you?”

“I have to get to class.”

It was too much. Buck swallowed as he turned around, abandoning his belongings in the locker room as he fled through the gym doors. He didn’t have to run far—thankfully he had his phone and wallet with him, which meant he had a train ticket—and only when he managed to throw himself between the closing doors of the Thorndale line did he manage to breathe again. 

He pulled his phone out when the train took off, shooting a quick message to Maddie, asking her to call him out for the rest of his day.

Then he turned off his phone, put his head in his hands, and started to cry.

--

When Buck came to school the next day, he had his concealer on, and as far as he was concerned, the day before had never happened. He parked in his regular area, locked the doors, and tried not to sigh too heavily when he saw Eddie waiting from him. 

He didn’t have it in him for a fight, but Eddie had both his hands up, and that was enough to keep Buck from running again. 

For now.

“Look, Buck, I won’t ask details, but.... just tell me, are you okay?” Eddie asked, his voice slow and unsure, and Buck felt a frown creeping over his face in spite of himself. 

He tilted his head as he looked Eddie over, brow furrowed. “You really care about me.” A statement, not a question, but Eddie nodded all the same. “Why?”

If the question caught Eddie off guard, he didn’t show it. Instead, he looked away, seemingly chewing over his words as he tried to answer. 

"Because you’re worth being cared about, Buck.”

Buck hummed as he considered the answer, acting like it didn’t just rock him to his very core, and sighed as he opened his arms and pulled Eddie into a hug—Eddie seemed surprised, but pleased, and Buck didn’t have to wait long before Eddie was hugging him back, so gently and mindful of Buck’s body that he thought he might start crying again.

“So, it’s not just these rugged good looks?” he mumbled into Eddie’s hair, and Eddie groaned, shaking his head. 

“Buck, please.”

“My charming personality?”

“Buck, please.”

--

Somehow, nothing changed, and everything did. 

Eddie didn’t bring up the bruises anymore, possibly because they weren’t visible anymore, but he held himself differently around Buck—instead of grand claps on the back, he tugged at Buck’s elbow, instead of a teasing elbow to the ribs, it was a playful shoulder bump—all, Buck knew, things that Eddie could do without risking aggravating an unseen injury.

Any doubt in his mind that Eddie knew what was going on was dashed almost immediately, when Eddie intentionally steered the conversation in their little friend group (which was mostly the wrestling team, who had decided beyond all reason that Buck was okay) away from family matters. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together, and Buck was sure it was at least a little obvious when you got to know him where the bruises came from, but that was why Buck had been so hesitant to get to know anyone in the first place.

What was new, though, was the hand holding. It started off as Buck being led around, but then Eddie never really let go of his hand. Buck didn’t mind it, even though he felt he should—he was more or less dying for any physical contact that didn’t hurt, an itch he didn’t even know he needed scratched until Eddie showed up. But it was still... weird.

It wasn’t until later on, as Thanksgiving break loomed around the corner, when Eddie let his hand trail over his shoulders while dropping a burrito and chips from the Qdoba off campus did Buck start connecting dots. 

Eddie was always a touchy feely guy, and it had only increased as of late.

Eddie had blushed when Buck took off his shirt—and for good reasons, apparently. 

And now, Eddie was treating him to lunch. 

They were all fine things on their own, but once was an accident, twice a coincidence, and three times, a pattern.

He swallowed his bite of burrito—the perfect order, even though he was sure Eddie had only asked him what he liked once, weeks ago—and derailed whatever train of thought Eddie had going in one fell swoop.

“...but if you look at the—” 

“Eddie, are we dating?”

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting. A denial, maybe? Or another blush and topic change?

What he wasn’t expecting was for Eddie to nod his head, his smile a little wider, and then just continue on. 

“Anyway, as I was saying—” 

“No, hang on. We’re dating? This is like, a lunch date? You bought me lunch, because we’re on a lunch date?”

Eddie’s smile was so soft that Buck instantly felt at ease, even though he knew he was probably asking the dumbest questions of all time. “Yeah Buck, this is a lunch date. I didn’t want you to freak about it, but I knew you’d come to the conclusion eventually.”

Buck hummed as he reached over, stealing one of Eddie’s chips, chewing it thoughtfully before he rose his brow. “Well, this is a pretty nice first date, then.”

He tried not to be offended when Eddie snorted, raising his brow as he met the challenge. 

“Buck, this is at least our second or third date. Our last date was me bringing you home to meet my parents.” Eddie said with a smirk, but Buck frowned, shaking his head. 

“Wait, Eddie, that was forever ago. What was our first date then?” Buck asked, confusion written all over his face. 

Eddie actually blushed—okay, Buck was officially never getting tired of seeing that—as he looked up, humming in a way that was probably meant to be nonchalant but definitely wasn’t. “Oh, uh, well I consider our first date to be the first lunch we had. Um, the one where I made the joke about Ms. Syzmaski’s wrinkly old ass?”

Buck was honestly lucky he had swallowed before Eddie spoke, because that would have been a spittake for sure. “What the fuck about that joke made you think of that as a date?” 

Eddie was pink again and Buck had to physically bite his tongue not to goad him about it, but he was steadily getting redder as Buck waited. Finally, Eddie threw up his arms, sighing in defeat as he buried his head in his hands. 

“It was... it was the first time I made you laugh, okay? That’s why it was so nice.”

Oh, that was cute. Fuck, that was so cute. Buck could actually feel his resolve start to give way, which was unacceptable on more than one level, and he took a breath as he steadied himself. “I’m not staying.”

Eddie look like he had been punched. “What?”

“I mean it. I’m not staying. As soon as I graduate I’m getting out of this state, hell, this time zone if I can.”

“Buck—“

“I mean it, Eddie, I can’t—can’t stay here. And I like, you, I really like you, but if you’re staying in state, you have to know that I won’t. Not for anything, so if that’s a dealbreaker for you, you should just…”

His lungs ran out of his air as he forgot to breathe, but it was probably for the best, Eddie taking the moment to jump in before Buck could continue freaking out. “Buck, what makes you think I’m staying?”

Buck swallowed, his thoughts completely derailed. “What? You just moved here, why would you be leaving again?”

“The only reason we’re here this year is for my dads work. He has a year long contract, then we’d probably be moving back to Texas, but even then, who knows? No offense, but I have zero urge to stay in this snooty, Ivy-League bullshit state.”

Buck spoke slowly as his brain tried to catch up with what Eddie had said, brow wrinkling in a way that Eddie was definitely going to remember to call cute later on. “So… you’re not planning on staying. And you don’t care if I leave either.”

“No, Jesus. All I want is for you to be happy.”

It probably said a lot about how much that simple statement shocked him, but at this point in his life, he wasn’t sure anything would sit as “normal” for a long time. 

“Oh. Well, then, care to explain how we’ve apparently gone on three dates and you haven’t kissed me yet?”

Eddie lit up like a Christmas tree as he scooted forward on the bench, his eyes bright. “Are you sure you’re okay with it? I didn’t want to scare you off or anything—“

“Eddie, if you don’t kiss me right now, I swear I’ll—“

He didn’t get to finish his threat—which was mildly annoying—but the warm pressure of Eddie’s lips against his own drowned out any other objection he thought he may have.

He was almost late to class, his lips bruised in a way he absolutely loved, and he regretted absolutely nothing.

--

The day before they were due back in school from Winter Break, Buck had been planning on spending the entire day in bed, recuperating from the incessant display of familial togetherness that the holidays usually had brought. Eddie had been his one saving grace—near constant phone calls, texts, and snapchats had been the only thing keeping Buck’s temper low enough to avoid a few new bruises.

And, if the sight of Eddie wearing the simple leather corded necklace that Buck had gotten him for Christmas made his heart beat a little faster whenever he saw it, that was between him and God.

The past three months had been… alarmingly good, if Buck was being honest. If his home life had taught him anything, it was that the other shoe always dropped—so as much as he loved spending time with Eddie, as much as he loved their kisses, and rare dates, and holding hands in the hallway, as much as he honestly, truly thought he could see a life beyond high school with him, he was constantly, constantly waiting for that other shoe to drop. 

Which was why, when Eddie called him at one o’clock on a Sunday, Buck let it ring a few times before he gathered himself to answer the phone.

“Hey, are you busy tonight? I want you to come over and meet everyone.” 

“What do you mean, meet everyone? I’m pretty sure all of your family knows me by now.” That much was definitely true—Buck had been spending more time at Eddies than his own whenever he could help it, and while there was always someone out on an errand or at work or doing something else, he had participated in enough dinners, family calls, and video chats that he knew more of Eddie’s family than he did his own. “What, you have another set of siblings you’re hiding away from me?”

Eddie’s resounding laugh was a little too loud, a little too tense, just enough to spike Buck’s curiosity without making him fear the worst. He agreed easily after that, asking if he needed to bring anything, and made plans for a few hours later.

When he pulled up to Eddie’s house, though, it was almost unrecognizable. There were streamers tossed through the tree in the front yard, balloons tied to nearly every horizontal surface Eddie could see, and there were enough cars parked out front that Buck had to squeeze in behind a truck and a fire hydrant (and hope that he wouldn’t get a ticket). 

As usual, Eddie met him at the door (Buck had teased him once about waiting by the window, and when Eddie blushed and didn’t deny it, Buck had gone in to full hysterical laughter), the obvious nerves he was displaying not enough to dissuade Buck from punching him in the shoulder. “Eddie, what the fuck! Is this a party? You told me not to bring anything, I could have—“

“Oh whatever, I’ll sign your name on my card, calm down.” Eddie said, like he wasn’t the bundle of nerves himself, leaning forward to press a kiss to Buck’s lips (which he accepted, of course, he wasn’t a monster even if he was annoyed). He easily succumbed to the whirlwind of introductions—aunties and uncles and people who were clearly of the Diaz family, and damn, Eddie wasn’t kidding when he told Buck he wanted him to meet everyone. Eddie’s nerves started to hitch back up as they made their way to the backyard, and Buck was about to call him out on whatever it was that was going on when Eddie beat him to the punch.

“Alright, you ready to meet the man of the hour?”

“Only if you’re ready for me to.” Buck said with a hum, smiling as Eddie’s face did some impressive expressive gymnastics. “Eddie, you’re wound like a damn spring. If you don’t want me to meet this person, or any of these people, I don’t want you to feel like you have to. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, yeah?” He said, bringing his other hand up to link with Eddie’s as well.

Eddie, to his credit, looked like the weight of the world had been lifted off of his chest, and he beamed as he leaned in to kiss Buck agin. “God, you’re perfect. Have I ever told you that? Well, probably not enough, but it will have to wait, because…” Eddie pushed through the back door and towed Buck along with him, where a circle of chairs were set up around a table stacked high with drinks, snacks, party games, and in the middle of it all— 

“…because here’s the birthday boy!”

—was a high chair, fully equipped with a tray table, a soppy cup, and a baby. 

A baby. 

Buck felt every nerve, every tense minute, every rational thought melt in his body and turn into a warm puddle of goo at the very core of his soul, and his face must have reflected that fact because Buck was vaguely aware of two of Eddie’s sisters laughing at him, but who cared there was a baby and it was the most adorable, pudgy, perfect baby Buck had ever seen. 

The baby quickly let out a high pitched squeal as his attention landed on Eddie, smacking his hands against the table in front of him, and Buck could not be held accountable for the noise that he made when Eddie swooped forward and undid the tray, pulling him out of the high chair easily, tucking him into an arm like he was a seasoned pro.

“Buck, this is Chris.”

And now Eddie was walking toward him with the baby, the baby who’s name was Chris, and Buck only waited for the barest hint of a confirmation from Eddie before he moved closer, cooing toward the excited little bean in Eddie’s arms. 

“Today is Chris’ first birthday.”

Which, that made sense, he was still so small and pudgy but still so energetic, and Buck nodded along with the rapid fire babbling as he squeezed Chris’ little foot playfully, feeling more proud of anything at the peal of laughter Chris let out at that.

“Chris is my son.”

Well, that made sense, Chris had the same complexion as Buck did, and he was just as quick to smile, and even though his hair was lighter in color it was still thick and wavy, and—

Wait. 

His brain caught up with his ears and yanked him out of his baby haze as he looked back up to Eddie, and oh, yeah, there was that nervousness that Buck had felt radiating off of him all afternoon. It seemed to echo around the yard, where there was conversation and laughter just a moment ago, everyone seemed quieter now, hushed, or maybe that was just the rushing in Buck’s ears. Things started fitting into place as Buck thought about it—how he had met all of Eddie’s immediate family, but not at the same time, probably because someone had probably taken Chris out whenever Buck came over. How Eddie so obviously loved his family, but still got a little awkward talking about them at times. Why Eddie had only rarely badgered him about going out after school, because he was spending most of the time himself with his son.

“This is your baby.”

“Yes.”

Oh. 

“You’re his father.”

“Yeah.”

Oh.

“Eddie, he’s beautiful.” 

Eddie sagged like a puppet with its strings cut, the tension bleeding out of his body, and the smile he shot to Buck was more open and honest than he had ever seen before. He could feel a collective sigh breathed around him as the voices picked back up, apparently approving of Buck’s reaction. “He really is, isn’t he? When he was born last year, his mom wanted to give him up, but… I couldn’t even imagine that. My parents stepped up and really helped me out, we took him home, and it was just… perfect. Like it was meant to be.”

Buck looked up with a smile as Eddie spoke, utterly entrapped in how soft he looked as he held his son, his voice low and slow as to not startle the curious kid safe in his arms. “When my dad took a contract up here, I thought it would be the perfect chance to start over, you know? I wouldn’t give Chris up for anything, but I could tell teachers were going easier on me, boosting my grades, and I didn’t know if it was pity or… whatever. This was the chance for me to prove I could do it. You, uh, you’re the only one outside of my family who even knows.” Eddie said, and Buck had to physically bite his tongue to prevent himself from gushing.

“He’s perfect, Eds. You’re perfect. I’m… I’m really honored you told me.” Buck said easily, leaning forward for another kiss, mindful of the giggling body between them. “But if you think I’m going to let you forget that you told me not to bring anything to your baby sons first birthday, you have another thing coming, I can’t believe you didn’t let me get a gift or something—no, seriously!“

Eddie let out a groan as he leaned forward into Buck’s bickering, the sudden lull in the party long since forgotten as the night carried on.

--

The other shoe always dropped, though, and Buck 100% blamed himself for not seeing it coming. Hell, he 100% blamed himself for letting it happen. He had become complacent, he had let his guard down, Eddie had wormed his way into Buck’s heart and showed him how good things could be, and Buck had dared to believe him. 

Buck had had hope, as stupid as it was, and now, here he was, standing at Eddie’s door, knocking at the wooden frame, begging, pleading for him to open the door—he didn’t realize how much he loved Eddie always meeting him at the threshold until it didn’t happen, until he wasn’t sure if Eddie was going to open the door at all, until he didn’t know what else he could do.

As it was, Eddie wasn’t the one who opened the door. It was Helena, who he had just spent the day with, and the sound she had made when Buck came into view was unholy. 

The day had started off so well, too—Eddie and Buck had both been accepted to Texas A&M (while Buck’s pre-acceptance letter had come almost a month ago, he still waited until Eddie received his to even open the envelope), and Eddie’s parents had been so thrilled with him—with both of them—that they had insisted on treating everyone to breakfast before cheering Eddie on at what was likely the last wrestling match of the season (because as great as Eddie was, the team as a whole sucked). 

Helena had forced him into a “Team Diaz” shirt, and Buck looked at himself probably a little too long in the mirror, tracing the name over his chest—if anyone noticed, no one said anything, though the smile on Helena’s face told Buck all he needed to know. Eddie, on the other hand, had absolutely lit up when he saw them all in the stands, his gaze lingering a little too long on the word Diaz splayed across Buck’s chest, and the look he gave Buck when they locked eyes again was nothing short of sinful (Buck was glad that he had been put on Chris duty—holding a baby was probably the only way he was able to distract himself from the sight of Eddie in spandex).

So, it didn’t come to a huge surprise when Helena opened the door and let out a sound that would have pushed him over the edge, had Buck not already been crying. 

Well… halfway crying. He was only really tearing up in one eye, the other was too swollen to do anything more than squint. 

His front was covered in blood, the “Team Diaz” stained red, his lip split and swollen and his cheek covered in bruises. It was probably for the best that his left eye was swollen shut, because blood was leaking around it from a split in his eyebrow, so he probably wouldn’t have been able to see anyway. Beyond the lip and the eye, though, the biggest concern was his nose—he didn’t think it was broken, but it was still sluggishly bleeding, and it just wouldn’t stop. 

Helena pulled him into the house and immediately started barking orders (“Adriana, bring Christopher to the nursery and put him in his playpen. Sophia, tell Edmundo to get home right now, his Buck has been hurt. Ramon, give me the first aid kit.”), steering Buck easily to the back yard as the rest of the family scurried around.

By the time Eddie got home, Buck had been mostly cleaned up—or, at least, his nose had stopped bleeding long enough to mop up most of the blood on his face, and Helena had taped the gash on his brow closed with butterfly bandages, and had a cold compress pressed against his face. Eddie looked wild, his eyes wide and face unforgiving as he kneeled next to Buck, and if Buck had any tears left in his body he probably would have started crying again as Eddie cupped the uninjured side of his face. 

Buck knew that Eddie was trying to find words, but he also knew there were a hundred wrong things to say at that moment, so he took the step for both of them.

“My dad found out about us.” There was no sense in sugar coating it, no sense in leaving the bandaid on too long, he just had to rip it off so they could move on. “Apparently he didn’t much like the idea of his son not carrying on the family name, he… didn’t take it well.” 

Eddie let out a sound that could only be described as someone breaking, and Buck blindly reached for his hand, feeling something burn through his chest, deciding then and there that he wouldn’t let another ounce of his father hurt Eddie the way it had hurt him. “But you were right. One block, one hit, all I needed to get away.” His tone had soured into something dark and sticky, good eye burning as he remembered Eddie’s little self defense lesson, all those months ago. He could tell the moment that Eddie’s mind reached the same conclusion, and he scrambled to look at Buck’s hands—there were some bruising around his right knuckles, but that was it. 

One punch, that was all he needed. 

One punch, and just like that, he had left everything behind—his phone, his car, his father bleeding from what Buck could only hope was a broken nose, coughing and sputtering on the entryway floor. The only thing he had on him was his wallet and his hoodie, and even the latter was tossed into the trashcan as he got off the train, too thoroughly wet with blood to be of any good at keeping him warm.

Instinctively, he had gotten off the train and trusted his feet to take him somewhere he knew he would be safe. He had finally realized that that place would never be with his family, would never be his house. His house would never be his home.

“Eddie…” Buck started, his voice thick with emotion. “Eddie, I… I don’t want to go back. I never want to see them, ever again. I’ll call up Maddie, I’ll… I’ll do something, but I can’t go back there, ever.”

Eddie looked like his heart was breaking; but before he could open his mouth and tell Buck off for considering going anywhere else, Helena spoke again.

“You will do no such thing.”

Her voice soft but hard as steel, leaving no room for argument, and Buck looked at her with pleading eyes (well, eye) as she shook her head. 

“You will not be going back there. I have half a mind to drive over there right now and—no. I will do everything I can to make sure you never have to see them again.”

Buck could feel himself sag in relief, a breath he didn’t know he had been holding coming out ragged and raw, even as Helena continued.

“And Buck, I don’t know Maddie, and I’m sure she would be happy to help you out however she could, but. I would never let another Diaz out onto the street. Never in my life.” She said, and Buck had to swallow when he realized who she was talking about. 

They considered him a Diaz?

“So if you would really be happier, or safer, we can get in the car and I’ll bring you to your sister tonight, but it’s just a few months until you and Edmundo leave for college anyway, and—“

“Please stay. Please. God, Buck, please, at least stay with us until you heal up a little. Please.” Eddie had apparently had enough of his mothers talking in circles, his voice shaking as he spoke, and Buck’s shock must have shown on his face because Eddie looked like he was going to start crying again.

They really considered him a Diaz.

He wanted to question it, to object, to do anything to prevent himself from being in their hair, but just like it was the first time they had lunch together, Eddie had worked his way too far past Buck’s defenses, and apparently, he had brought his whole family with him.

Buck barely had to nod before Eddie had him wrapped up in his arms, tight, and Buck returned the favor easily, seamlessly, his head buried in Eddie’s neck like he belonged there. 

The thought resonated as Helena went back inside, letting the two of them have their moment; though, just a moment, announcing that it would be a lovely night to have dinner outside on the patio. It bounced around his head as Eddie kissed his cheek when they passed each other with plates and glasses, setting the table beneath the string lights in the yard, the spot on his cheek tingling long after the contact had broken. It took root when Buck found himself laughing, sitting easier in his own skin than he had ever done before as Eddie tried to justify whatever foolish thing he had done in Ramon’s story, failing miserably, his hand laced tightly with Buck’s beneath the table.

Maybe this was where he belonged.

For the first time in years, Buck saw something that was worth holding on for, that was worth keeping and protecting and letting grow.

For the first time, he had hope.

[mirakumiruku]

Honor Roll

Posting a fic? On my blog? It’s more likely than you think!

Touya Todoroki x Sister!Reader Warnings: Sibling incest, unsafe sex Word Count: 1.4k

There were times when you wished you had gone off to university like your brother. Natsuo never had to deal with your mother’s angst while he was off living the dorm life, nor did he have to listen to Shouto arguing with your father. 

Fuyumi had already graduated, but she had made the mistake of moving back into the family home, dragging Touya back into relatively normal life kicking and screaming. You weren’t sure how she found him after he had run off with his junkie friends, but you were glad to have him back.

It wasn’t uncommon for Touya to pop in while you were studying, questioning your progress on your parents’ behalf, or alerting you that dinner was ready. If you were lucky he’d bring in some kind of snack for you, usually some kind of sliced fruit or a bowl of chips, since anything he cooked himself would end up burnt to a crisp. 

So you didn’t bat an eye when Touya entered your room unannounced, leaning over you and resting his chin on your head. “How’s it goin’?” He mumbled, glancing over your notes that littered the table, and the study guide on your laptop screen.

“Fine, I’m working on my midterm.” You didn’t look up from your work, only continuing to write down notes as Touya pulled up his own chair to sit beside you.

“Can I help?” He narrowed his eyes at the page, trying to make out your messy handwriting.

“What do you know about biology?”

“Not much, but I can pull up flashcards or somethin’. Maybe I can give you a practice quiz.” 

“I can just do that myself.” You nudged him in the side, though it didn’t deter him. Quite the opposite; you felt an arm wrap around your waist as Touya pulled himself closer to you. 

This wasn’t too unusual as of late, your brother had been a lot more touchy since he returned home. It was usually innocent brushes, though they had become a bit more risque as time wore on. Arms over your shoulders had turned into hands resting on your hips, or his chest pressing into your back so he could help you grab something that was just out of your reach. You had figured that his friends were deviants from the beginning, so you assumed that their manners had only rubbed off on Touya. He’d get used to regular family life soon enough.

“Sure you can quiz yourself, but don’t you wanna do it with your big brother?” Touya gave you a playful wink, then a flick to the head. 

“Because you’re being so annoying!” You whine and giggle, whacking him on the head with your notebook. 

“That’s my job, imouto-chan~” Touya took the opportunity to pull you into his lap, ruffling your hair in the process. “Come on, I’ll give ya a good reward if you let me test you.”

“Fiiine.” You pouted, leaning your head back against his shoulder. 

Touya hummed, turning you around to face him, then letting you slump against his chest. You relaxed against your brother’s warm body, relishing in the relaxing heat, before a tug at your bottoms pulled you out of your stupor. 

“T-Touya, what…?”

“You know how I used to give you candy when you were little? Well… big girls get ‘special’ treats from their nii-chan, y’know?”

You blush and nod, teeth digging into your lower lip. You knew this was wrong, that you should tell him no, but those thoughts flew out the window the moment Touya’s calloused fingers brushed against your clit. He quickly took his hands away to search for some flashcards, and hummed as he looked over the questions.

“So, imouto-chan, what are carbohydrates?”

“Um… a short term e-energy source?”

“Good girl.” Touya brought his fingers back to your quivering sex, circling your clit before plunging one finger inside of you. “How about lipids?”

“A l-long term energy source.”

“Mhm.” He gave his finger a couple thrusts into your wetness, and while you wanted to beg for more, tell him it wasn’t enough, you knew that it was only a teaser for what was to come. “What are polymers made out of, babydoll?”

“M-monomers…”

Touya didn’t give any words of affirmation this time, instead just pressing another finger into your cunt. “What’s an example of a carbohydrate?”

“Mm… glucose?”

“Good…” A few more thrusts into your heat, and a thumb rubbing at your clit. “And what kind of monomers are carbohydrates made out of?”

“S-simple sugars…” 

Another finger delves into your walls, Touya purring as you clench down on his digits. “What’s a single simple sugar called?”

“A m-monosaccharide…”

“You’re doing so well, imouto-chan~” Touya hums, and you hear the zipper of his jeans, then a warmth pressing against your stomach. “I think you’ve earned a break, hm?”

“Th-that was just six questions!” You pout, though you weren’t exactly complaining.

“I know, but I’ve got needs too.” You felt his fingers retreat from your dripping cunt, only to be replaced with the head of his cock. 

“Mmh, if you say so, Touya-nii~” Your playful purr was cut off by Touya burying himself within you, punctuated by a groan. You let out a yelp at the sudden stretch, and out of surprise when you felt the metal of piercings running along your walls as Touya gyrated his hips against yours. 

“S-such a good girl,” Touya growled, holding your head against his chest while you adjusted to his size, “So good for her nii-chan, right?” 

“Y-yes, Touya-nii, I’ll be a… a good girl for you~” You whine out, your hips starting to bounce on his while you look up at him with the sweetest doe eyes you could muster.

“Shit, babydoll, you make it really fuckin’ hard to hold back.” He groaned, his thumb coming to circle your clit once more, drawing a moan from your lips. 

“Th-then don’t!” You flash Touya a grin, which he returns with a devilish smirk of his own.

“If you insist.” He holds your hips in a bruising grip, lifting your body until just the head of his cock was still snug within your core, only to drop you back down so you were seated on his cock once again. You both let out a tandem moan, yours muffled by Touya’s chest in an attempt to keep your noise down, heaven knows your family is a nosy bunch. 

Touya quickly set a healthy pace, fast enough to draw adorable mewls from your throat, but not so fast that it hurt. He knew it was your first time, he’d made sure of it, so he’d be damned if he didn’t make it ecstasy for you. 

As the rhythm sped up, you silenced yourself by mashing your lips against Touya’s in an inexperienced kiss. Your brother guided you through it though, punctuating it with nibbles on your lower lip and delving his tongue into your own mouth.

Touya’s hands were all over you: rubbing at your clit, pinching your nipples, squeezing the flesh of your breasts and ass. He mumbled praises into your lips, how you’re such a good little sister, how amazing you felt around his cock. Each thrust had him grazing against your cervix, pulling a keen from you each time. 

Touya couldn’t help but wonder whether you were on birth control or not, but he was going to cum deep within you either way. He had waited so long for the opportunity to fuck you like this, no way he was going to pull out if he’d already gotten this far. He could go get you some plan B later if you were upset about it.

He was drawn out of his thoughts by your breathy voice in his ear, mumbling out “Touya, Touya-nii, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum–”

You interrupted yourself with a silent cry as your eyes flew open while your veins filled with white hot pleasure, your walls clamping down around Touya’s cock, sending him over the edge alongside you. 

Once you had come down from your high, you flopped your head against Touya’s chest, softly panting until your breath turned back to normal.

“Th-thank you, Touya…”

“Of course, imouto-chan,” Touya purred as he ran his fingers through your tresses. “So what do you think, you wanna try another set?”

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Here’s a half formed thought about Calum going back to school at the same time as you during the crazy ass pandemic. Enjoy. 

Reader insert. No race or gender. 

********************

You were always going back to school. When you ran into Calum last year--though it really wasn’t you running into Calum; he was doing his grocery shopping and you checked him out--you knew being a clerk at the grocery store wasn’t the end all be all for you. 

What you had noticed over the couple of months is that whenever Calum seemed to be doing his grocery shopping, he always came through your line. It didn’t matter if you were the only line opened or on the weekends one of the several lines open, Calum was there. He started with small talk, asking you how your day was going. And you asked about his. He shocked you the first time he used your name. But you forgot that it was on your name tag. “Well if you know my name it’s only fair I know yours,” you teased. 

“Calum,” he returned easily, taking the brown paper bags after you carefully packed them. 

Sometimes you noticed his dog in the cart and asked about them. You learned his name is Duke and that he’s been affectionately dubbed Baby Grandpa by Calum. And eventually, though you hadn’t really meant to, you noticed things he bought frequently and whenever you happened across his path while walking to or from back break, you’d let him know if there was a sale going on. 

And thought it was only just friendly chat while you were on the clock, you were out pumping gas on your way to lunch with your friends when you heard your name. As you turned, there was Calum, walking out of the gas station, waving as he pushed his sunglasses back to cover his eyes. 

“Fancy meeting you here,” you laughed, waving in return. What you hadn’t expected as Calum walked across the lot to the pumps is that he would chat until the question of a date fell off from his lips. And sure Calum was attractive, and sure the conversation over the weeks while you checked out his items had turned a little flirty but you hadn’t expected that Calum felt anything remotely serious about you to ask you on a date. 

But you accepted. And there you were able to talk over a nice picnic that excluded Duke, but at your explicit disappointment at not seeing the old dog, Calum promised that next time, he would make sure to include Duke. That picnic lead to a movie, which lead to dinner, which lead to a date shopping for Duke because of the upcoming holidays, which lead to dinner at his place, and then hanging out with his friends for a quick drink one night, which lead to movie nights at each others place. 

And somewhere in all of it, you were dating Calum. He called when you had the closing shift at work to make sure you got home safely. Or if you spent the night, he’d make you breakfast, and he soothed your back as you hunched in front of your laptop to paid for applications for grad school. And he listened to the way you talked about knowing you couldn’t stay in this spot forever and he encouraged you go back to school. You could feel out that school was something that Calum was considering but he hadn’t been too serious about it. Not the band, the tours, the in the studio’s late--just never felt like he had the time.

Occasionally, you talked about some of the online courses you saw the schools had. But Calum hadn’t fully budged. By the time you got news about you going back to school, with funding, and sorting that news out with your job, Calum asked you if you thought he should give a crack at school. You told him the truth, that if he wanted to go for it, he should. And soon, things crumbled globally with the pandemic. And locked in the house most of the time, you dropped subtle and not so subtle hints that making those online classes might be closer and closer to coming true. 

Now you’re here, sitting at the dining room table, your printed out readings and books scattered in front of you. Calum’s on the couch. His notes on the coffee table. You’re in class, listening to the lecture headphones in and you look over to Calum, his class ended just as yours started. His fingers are working over the keys. 

He’s only in a couple of classes. And though you’re in one more class than him, there’s the added struggle of the work you do too. It’s administrative, but there’s meetings once a week and you still find yourself being offloaded onto with lots of small annoying data tracking tasks. It’s paying for school, so you do it with minimal complaints, but a few nonetheless. 

You’re so lost watching Calum working that you don’t even realize that the class you’re in is preparing for small breakout rooms until someone calls your name. You blink and turn back to the screen. “Sorry, zoned out. We’re discussing the reading, yeah?”

Your group nods and you manage to get back on track until the end of your class. Just as you’re closing down the Zoom app, at least for the half hour before your meeting for work, Calum calls out. “Class done?”

You nod, popping out the earbuds. “Yeah. Got that meeting for work soon though.”

He hums, glancing up from the screen. He seems tired. Most of your nights both of you are up kinda late. Though, you make sure to turn it in early and practically drag Calum to bed a couple hours later. He’ll get caught up, work way too late into the night and then have to be up early for band meetings too. “Want me to fix dinner tonight then?”

“It’s my night. I can still do it.” 

“You sure. I know you’ve got to fix that spreadsheet too and do your readings for the week.”

You shake your head. “I can still cook. Might even start during our meeting.”

Calum laughs, remembering the other times you turned off your camera and shuffled around the kitchen to cook in meetings or in classes too. “Nonsense. Almost done with this paper, so I’ll cook. But as an exchange, if you don’t mind, could you read over this? It’s only a response to a reading and it’s not super long or anything. But this instructor’s a fucking hardass.”

You nod. You’ve read over his papers before. Most of the times it’s just making sure he has correct citations and you might make a note about needing a thesis statement or needing more of his analysis between his evidence. But it’s not much that you ever feel like you need to mention on his papers. You’ve found, most often, what Calum needs is just someone to listen to his ideas so he can sort them out loud and then all you do is take down the notes of what he said. Listening to him talk about this philosophy class and Literature class is awe inspiring. He always has more questions than answers, but it’s those questions that always lead him to some pretty amazing places in his writing. 

“Is this the professor that got on you about the spacing on that first paper?”

Calum nods, pushing the laptop to the coffee table on top of his notes. “Yes! Even you couldn’t see what was wrong, so I still don’t understand what they got on me about. And I formatted the second outline in the exact same way and didn’t get any points taken off, so I really don’t understand.”

“Well, it could’ve been Google Docs. When you downloaded it into Pages, the formatting might’ve gotten wonky? But even the Pages document looked fine, so I really don’t know what happened there. But you’re doing it all in Pages now and then exporting to a PDF when you submit correct?”

“Yeah, I am. Thanks for that tip though. I didn’t realize Pages wouldn’t work in the submission center.” His shuffle into the kitchen is paired by the click of Duke’s paws on the floor. Calum presses a quick kiss to the top of your head. “Spaghetti?”

Holding onto his forearm draped around your chest, you nod. “Spaghetti sounds lovely.”

“I saw you staring at me while you were in class,” he whispers close to your ear. 

“What? You’re hot. Sue me.”

His chuckle is soft, a rumble in his chest that you feel through your back. “Most definitely can’t sue you over that. But don’t make me go in the office. I need you to pass these classes.”

“I appreciate the concern, dear. But I think I’m doing pretty good. Besides, I’m signed up for a random art history class. I can say you’re a piece of art I needed to analyze.”

The laughter’s not soft now, he full on giggles--a bit of it getting cut off as he inhales into the sound. “You’re ridiculous.” His lips are soft against your temple as he stands back up. “So spaghetti. Garlic bread is a must. Salad?”

“Ugh, I guess I do need veggies.”

“Yes, yes you do.” He continues into the kitchen, the clinking of pots hitting the isle’s of the stove and bowls, boxes, and jars setting onto the counter. 

“How’s the other class going? You guys starting your novels yet?”

“19th Century Lit is well, 19th Century Lit.” Calum seemed intrigued by the Evil Children’s class you told him you saw. But it had filled by the time Calum got his work schedule sorted out. He turned to 19th Century Lit as his backup, and so far, it appeared to be going well. “We’re spending the first part on poetry. And that’s the most interesting. The rest of the books sound a little boring.”

You hum, nodding even though he can’t see you. “Hopefully the class picks up. I took a look at the spring classes. If you want to focus more on poetry there’s a Modern Poetry post 1930′s class.”

The glance is quick, but his brows are pulled upwards, in a slight intrigue. “I’d consider it for sure.”

The alarm on your phone goes off, letting you know you have ten minutes until the meeting. You turn back to your computer and start logging into the meeting. “You haven’t had an assignment for that class yet have you?”

“No. The midterm’s coming up soon though and I don’t even know how to begin to study for it.”

You pop one earbud in making sure your mic is muted. “You know I got you, babe.”

“Yeah, but you’ve got your classes too. I-I might stop by the professors office hours and ask for help.”

“That’s always a good idea. Do you know when they are?”

“Tuesday’s and Wednesday’s.” You know he doubled checked them because he probably wouldn’t have that readily available from the first day of classes. “Gonna go tomorrow.”

Popping up from the chair, you press a kiss to his cheek, as the pan sizzles just a little and the pot of water not showing signs of bubbles just yet. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” Calum returns, pulling you fully into his chest for a swift kiss. “Now, go! You’ve got a meeting.”

“Meeting schmeeting. Would rather kiss you.” You kiss him one last time before ducking back into the chair and turning the camera on. You notice just faintly in the background Calum’s visible as he shuffles between pans and pots. Duke walks up to you, standing up to get attention. 

“Oh, you know I can’t say no,” you mutter, setting him in your lap.

“Is that Duke?” your supervisor asks. He’s crashed a couple meetings before. 

You unmute and hold him better for everyone to see. “Yeah. His pops is cooking us dinner and that lack of attention just won’t do.” 

“Hey, you say that like I don’t love him,” Calum retorts, threatening the back of your head with a spatula. You giggle before muting yourself and place Duke back into your lap, digging up the word document you’ve started for all the meeting notes. 

Your supervisor laughs. “Well I think he’s getting plenty of attention in the chat.” There are some more dings as people join the meeting. “Looks like we have everyone, so let’s begin.”

tagging @calumscalm because you might still be taking that exam, love. 

and @5-secondsofcolor bc sunday reads bubs. 

[supernatural-jackles]

The Man on the Side of the Road - Part 10

Title: The Man on the Side of the Road - Part 10

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 4,907

Warnings: Minor Angst, Alcohol Consumption, Self Hate, Mentions of Suicide, Fluff.

Summary: Driving down the road, going well over the speed limit. You come across a man walking in the opposite direction with a bouquet of flowers in his hands. His head cast down as he walked. Your gut instinct is telling you to check on this man, no matter what your parents told you growing up. Little did you know just how much this would change your life.

The Man on the Side of the Road - Masterlist

A/N: I hope y’all enjoy this part! As always, feedback keeps me going! Please share your thoughts! Happy reading!

Dean was anxious and you could see it in the way he was sitting. You were meeting Sam and his girlfriend Jess in a restaurant halfway between your hotel and their apartment. You could understand why he was. After all, it had been years since they had spent any time together. You knew he needed this more than anything. You wanted to make this as stress free for him as you could.

 “You sure you don’t want to have dinner alone with him? I can take Jess out somewhere, and give you guys a chance to really talk,” you offered, reaching over to rub between his shoulders.

 “Yeah?” he questioned nervously.

 “Yeah. It’s not a problem. It’s stressful enough that it’s him. It’s even more nerve wracking having his girlfriend there too,” you added in. “I can ask her to take me shopping somewhere to get souvenirs. You can text me when we can come back.”

 “You’re amazing, you know that?”

 “Yeah, I know,” you smirked. “Here they come.”

 Sam and Jess walked up to the table, hand in hand. She gave you a warm smile, and a soft wave before she took a seat next to you. Sam sat closest to Dean, giving him the same half smile he did the night before.

 “How did your midterm go?” you asked, trying to start the conversation.

 “Good,” Sam nodded. “Easy.” Oh boy.

 “Jess, I was actually wondering, could you show me some good places to shop and get souvenirs?”

 “I was actually thinking about asking you if you wanted to go check out some places,” she revealed. Good, they were thinking the same thing you and Dean were. It made it a lot less awkward.

 “Alright, well we’ll leave you two to catch up,” you smiled, glancing over at Dean for a second. He gave you a nod, reassuring you what you had already gone over before they got here. You hoped he could catch up and get to a good place with his brother in that time. Jess leaned over, giving Sam a quick kiss before getting up.

 You and Jess headed out of the restaurant, and out onto the busy streets. You took a deep breath, trying to keep yourself calm. You weren’t all that good with strangers. Dean was an exception when you met him. Jess was different. She was a girl, and she was the girlfriend of your best friend’s brother. You didn’t want her to hate you.

 “So how long have you and Sam been together, “ you broke the silence.

 “Four and a half years,” she smiled. She seemed nice for the most part. She had that kind voice. One that said she was approachable, and not a complete bitch if you were to ask her a question. It made you a lot more comfortable. “What about you and Dean?”

 “Oh, we’re not together,” you shook your head. “Just friends and roommates.”

 “Oh okay. Sorry, I just assumed you were together. Sam doesn’t really talk about Dean as much anymore. I know he loves his brother, but when he came here, he wanted to get away from all of his family drama. I know Sam and his Dad didn’t get along in the slightest. Sam wanted the chance to talk to Dean alone. I know they have a lot to talk about.”

 “Yeah. Dean and I talked about it before you guys came in.  He wanted to talk to him about whatever without the added pressure of two other people listening in,” you chuckled.

 “So you’re from Lawrence then too?” she questioned.

 “Around there, yeah. I grew up in another part of town. I just met Dean a little while ago. He moved in with me ‘cause he needed somewhere to live after his landlord screwed him over. He was my roommate, then he easily became my best friend. Hands down, the easiest person to live with,” you shared.

 “Really? He doesn’t leave the toilet seat up, or his dirty dishes in the sink?”

 “Nope. He cooks, helps me clean. Does the groceries and laundry,” you told her. “Sam doesn’t?”

 “Nope. All me,” she let out a laugh. “Can I ask why you aren’t together? You two just look like you’d make a good couple.”

 “Nah, I uh - I think it could ruin a lot of things,” you shrugged.

 “So you do have feelings for him?” she asked with a smirk playing on her lips.

 “Yes, I do have feelings for him,” you breathed out. “There is a big part of me that wants to tell him. I keep tetoring over it. Things could be great if we do. But our friendship means the world to me, and I know it means a lot to him. If things don’t work out, then not only do I get my heart broken, I lose the one person I never want to lose. I don’t feel like I’m good enough for him half the time, anyways. I don’t think I could be that someone he needs me to be.”

 “No offense to you at all. I know I don’t know you at all, but why do you think so little of yourself? Why put yourself down like this when you obviously have a great guy who knows you better than I do?” she asked. The two of you turned into a bar. You followed her to the booth, taking a seat across from her. The bar wasn’t all that busy, not yet anyways.

 “It’s just - it’s complicated. I have my issues, and he has his. Somedays I think we’d be great together, but most of the time, I know that I’d make everything worse,” you told her. “What about you and Sam? How did you guys get together?”

 “Don’t think you’re getting away with this so easily,” she pointed out with a smile. “Obviously Sam and I are both in law school. We met freshman year in a coffee shop. I accidently spilled my coffee off the table and Sam just so happened to be next to me. He helped me clean it up and offered to buy me a new one. We got to talking about our classes, then little stories. It just escalated from there. I thought he was cute from the second I saw him. A little damaged, but his smile had me from the get go. One date led to more and now we’re here.”

 “Is he your one?” you asked.

 “Yeah,” she nodded. “I can’t see myself with anyone but him. No one gets me like he does and I don’t want to share myself the way I do with anyone other than Sam. I’ve had a lot of crappy relationships before this. Sam changed it all for me. He was raised right. I should really thank Dean for that. He practically raised him.”

 “Dean’s a great man. I know that Sam hasn’t been around him for a long time now, but Dean talks about him with so much pride. I can see it in the way his face lights up that he loves his little brother more than anything,” you added in.

 “I think it’s just hard for Sam because of his dad and how they didn’t get along. I don’t know if Dean told you about the day Sam left for college. I’ll leave that one for him to tell you, but it was one of the worst fights they’ve had. It was the last time he talked to his dad,” she revealed. “You’d be good for Dean.”

 “Jess,” you sighed in defeat, giggling a little at how smooth she was in transitioning that in there. You could see why a Winchester fell for her.

 “I’m not saying you need to do anything about it right now. But I am saying you shouldn’t be afraid of ruining everything. Life is too short to live it afraid of what might happen,” she shared. “I get that you’re afraid of losing him. But you need to give yourself a chance to be happy with someone like him. From what I know, Dean’s a great guy but I’m sure you already know that. I’m not saying act on it right away, but don’t hold back on something that will make you extremely happy. You’re beautiful, and he looks at you with adoration. Clearly you’re someone important to him. Someone he loves. Guys are usually better at showing how they feel. You’ll know how he feels that way.” she said with a smile.

 “Thanks, Jess,” you nodded with a soft smile. “You’re right. You can’t tell anyone this, but he actually kissed me last night.”

 “He kissed you?” she gasped.

 “Yeah, after we went swimming in the pool. We were alone, and it just happened. Neither one of us has brought it up since. I’m kind of afraid to,” you admitted.

 “Some kisses aren’t meant to be mentioned,” she shrugged. “Do it again, see what happens.”

 “We’ll see,” you smiled.

 “I can see you’ve been through some stuff,” she pointed out. “Don’t forget to give yourself some time to heal. It can’t hurt. Don’t act on your feelings unless you’re one hundred percent sure it’s what you want. You have to be fair to you and him.”

 “The day I met Dean was actually my wedding day. Well, I was supposed to get married. Found him fucking the maid of honour.”

 “Can we get some drinks over here?” she shouted, making you laugh. “Are you serious?”

 “Yep!” you nodded. “Oh and she’s about five and a half months pregnant.”

 “Whiskey would be great!” She called out again. You shook your head, grinning widely. You really liked Jess. She was everything you wished you had in a female friend. Someone that listened and actually cared about the words coming out of your mouth. It was a different dynamic to the friendship you had developed with Dean.

 “That’s my life right now,” you chuckled. Jess got up out of the booth, motioning for you to follow suit. You furrowed your brows, but followed her anyways. She was headed over to the bar counter.

 “Excuse me sir,” she greeted the young bartender. “Can we get two doubles neat and two beers please?”

 “Coming right up, Jess,” he smiled at her.

 “Friend of yours?” you asked.

 “My cousin, Andy,” she answered.

 “Make good decisions,” he chuckled. “Where’s the boyfriend?”

 “With his brother. They’re catching up. This is my new friend, Y/N.”

 “Nice to meet you, Y/N. I’m Andy and unfortunately related to her. She thinks she can come in here and boss me around,” he rolled his eyes.

 “You love me and you know it,” she giggled. Andy poured the two whiskeys before grabbing two bottles of beer from the cooler, handing one to each of you.

 “I’m serious, make good choices,” he scolded her before taking off.

 “When have I ever listened to you again?” she teased, sticking her tongue out at him.

 You walked back to the same table, taking the same seats. You took a sip of your whiskey, feeling the burn on your tongue instantly, followed by the same burn down your throat. It was bad, but so damn good at the same time. It had been so long since you last had a drink. Even longer since that drink was whiskey.

 Jess continued to tell you about Sam, and their relationship. In some way, you were a little jealous of her relationship with him, because it was something you’ve never had. At the same time, it made you realize just how toxic your relationship with Ketch was. You hated how you stayed with him for so long. You hated that you let him treat you poorly, that you stayed after he laid a hand on you and even more that you agreed to marry him. It was all really starting to hit you that the relationship was a lot worse than you remember it being. You were so blinded by it all. You were so afraid of being a disappointment to your mom, yet again. You were so afraid of being alone that you let it all slide. You couldn’t believe that you thought that little of your worth when you were with him that you actually believed you deserved it all.

 You downed the rest of your whiskey before moving onto your beer. Jess was in the middle of telling you about the day she got the tattoo on her shoulder and Sam made fun of her the entire time. You smiled while she told it. Seeing just how much she loved him made you happy.

 “Sam and Dean are on their way,” she informed you. “I hope their dinner went okay. Speaking of which, we should order some food so we’re not drinking on an empty stomach.”

 “That’s probably a good choice,” you chuckled. “See, we’re making good choices. What do they serve here?”

 “Fries, nachos, salads which Sam gets all the time. Disgusting if you ask me. You never order a salad from a bar. Uh, chicken wings.”

 “I want nachos,” you said bluntly.

 “Good. So do I,” she giggled.

 The nachos arrived at the table just before Sam and Dean walked in. Dean had a smile on his face, and you knew then that things went well over dinner. That was all you wanted. You didn’t want to stare too long at him, just in case he noticed. But watching him walk over to you with his thick bowlegs, and his strong arms. It did things to you. He did things to you.

 “Hey sweetheart,” he smiled, sliding in next to you. Sam did the same on the other side, kissing Jess sweetly.

 “Hey to you,” you smiled softly. “How was dinner?”

 “Good,” he nodded with a smirk. “How was whatever you two did?”

 “Whiskey,” you filled him in. “Whiskey and girl talk.”

 “Oh fancy,” he chuckled. “Now the two of us, beer and nachos.”

 “You got it. If you’re nice, you can even have a few,” you winked.

 You munched away at the nachos, listening to the conversation that was going on at the table. It was amazing to see how much the atmosphere had changed since the restaurant. They seemed so much better, happier even. Dean needed it, and Sam probably did too. It was clear they got everything they needed out in the open. You couldn’t wait to hear all about it when you got back to the hotel room.

 “Hey Jess, why don’t you go play Dean in a game of pool? I’d like to see who’d win,” Sam suggested.

 “Me obviously,” Dean scoffed, getting up from the booth.

 “Game on, older Winchester,” she stated, slamming her napkin down on the table. Sam got out of the booth, allowing his girlfriend to slide out. The two of them took over to the pool table not too far from your booth so you could still have a good view. What you didn’t expect was for Sam to slide in next to you, and turn to look at you.

 “Hey,” you said, almost awkwardly.

 “Hi,” he said with a laugh. “Thank you. My brother told me you’re the reason why he’s here. Like here right now, and breathing. I didn’t know it got as bad as that, and it’s my fault for not keeping in contact with him. I should have, and it’s on me that I didn’t. But to know that he was going to kill himself and you convinced him not to. I’ll never be able to thank you the way I know you deserve. Not only did you talk him out of it, but you gave him a place to stay. A home. He talks so highly of you. You’re the reason why he keeps going. You’ve given him so much that he’s never had. He deserves someone like you in his life. Even if you aren’t together like that.”

 “Thank you, Sam,” you smiled. It meant the world to you to hear that from him. Even though he hadn’t been a big part of Dean’s life, he was still his blood. He still cared for his brother. To know that he knew how you met and what you did, and to be thankful for it. It meant a lot.

 “You have feelings for him, don’t you?” he asked with a smirk playing on his lips. “I honestly thought you were his girlfriend.”

 “No. Just friends,” you stated.

 “Just friends but you have feelings for him?” he teased.

 “You know, you and Jess are made for each other.”

 “She gave you the same speech?” he let out a laugh. “That’s my girl. Anyone could see that you and Dean are good together. Friends or more.”

 “I’ll tell you the same thing I told her. I’m giving it time,” you shared lightly.

 “Why?” he furrowed his brows.

 “‘Cause I’m not sure I’m good enough for him,” you muttered. “I don’t want my issues to bring him down. I don’t want to be too much for him. I’m just his friend Y/N and I’ll always put that before anything else. I have to protect myself, and him in this.”

 “You are good enough. Don’t ever think that you’re not,” he revealed. “You are more than good enough for him, or any guy you want. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

 “Thanks Sammy,” you grinned weakly.

 “I like that you want to protect him though. No one ever has like you have,” he shrugged.

 “He doesn’t need it but I like doing it.”

 Both of them seemed to think that you’d be good enough for him. But then again, neither of them knew the specifics. Sam knew about Dean and how he was feeling, but he didn’t know about you and all of your issues. He was your roommate. He was your best friend. He was the one who protected you. What if things didn’t work out? What if you resented each other, and he had no one left? What if things went so sour that he never wanted to speak to you again. You already had this underlying feeling that you weren’t good enough for him, and you weren’t. He did make a move on you when he saw you naked. Then again, it was one of those moments where it just felt right. Both of you were so close together, his body touching yours. Dean was a decent guy and would never do something that you weren’t comfortable with. But you wouldn’t be able to keep a man like him; not for long. You weren’t anything special. You weren’t worth falling in love with and you had the history to prove it. He had his eyes on someone else anyways. Last night clearly didn’t mean anything, or else something would have been mentioned about it. He loved you, but as his best friend. Someone to protect. Family.

 You continued to watch Jess and Dean play while nursing your beer. It was really nice to see Dean happy. His smiles were genuine. He looked carefree and almost like he belonged here with the two of them. It made you wonder if he would ever consider moving to Palo Alto to be close to his brother. Have an actual fresh start here, where he had his brother instead of being a thousand miles away from him.

 Sam got up and headed over to Jess while Dean joined you back at the table. The two of them were going to play a round, giving you a chance to talk to Dean. By the looks of it, she won that game, but Dean definitely wanted a rematch.

 “Hey you,” he smiled, taking his seat.

 “Hey to you, stranger,” you giggled. “Good game.”

 “It was. She’s good,” he chuckled. “Sam and I are in a good place now. He’s going to come visit me in the summer with Jess. Stay a little while if it’s cool with you. We could always bunk together and they could have my room.”

 “I like the sounds of that,” you smiled. “‘M glad you are in a good place with him, Dean. You deserve to have your brother in your life.”

 “He likes you, by the way,” he told you. “Thinks you’re tough. You are.”

 “Gotta be don’t I?” you cocked your eyebrow before bringing your beer up to your lips, taking a swing. You could feel his gorgeous green eyes on you as you swallowed the drink. His eyes were soft. In this light, his freckles looked almost invisible. “You wanna some?”

 “Yeah,” he nodded, taking the beer from your hand. You watched as he brought the bottle up to his perfectly plump lips. You had to tear your eyes away from him. Why couldn’t you turn off your feelings for him? It would be so much easier.

 “You okay?” he asked you, looking at you with concern written in his eyebrows.

 “Yeah,” you nodded. “Just feeling a little off today. I feel like it’s all the driving and the lack of sleep.”

 “You sure?”

 “Yeah, I think so,” you nodded.

 “Anytime you want to head back to the room, you let me know. We can go whenever you want to,” he assured you. “We’re here another day before we leave. Sam’s got the whole day off tomorrow. I can hang out with him then before we head home. I gotta take care of you too.”

 “I want you to enjoy your night with your brother. I’ll be okay, I promise.”

 “How about we call it a night at ten thirty. We’ll head back to the room and watch old reruns of whatever on that flat screen tv, and I’ll tell you all the details of dinner with Sam?” he offered.

 “Yeah, okay,” you agreed.  “As long as you won’t be mad when I fall asleep on you. Literally on top of you.”

 “Nah,” he smiled.

 Dean helped you out of the booth, and lead you over to the pool table where Sam and Jess were playing. It was amazing to watch her kick her boyfriend's ass. You enjoyed listening to the banter between them. It was competitive as hell, and sweet at the same time. What they had was something real. It was something you didn’t see everyday. Those two were meant to be.

 Dean wanted a rematch with Jess. He was determined to win at least one game before you turned in for the night. You and Sam sat on the sidelines, watching intently while finishing off your nachos. The bar literally had the best nachos you had ever tasted. The cheese alone was to die for. Dean and Jess didn’t want either of you near the table while they played. Something about needing to focus away from distractions.

 “He loves you, you know?” Sam said while looking over at the table.

 “I know he does. Maybe not in the way I want him to, but I know he loves me,” you stated, glancing over at him. “He’s really great with me. More understanding than anyone I know. That’s why it makes me wonder why he was so alone before I met him. He’s got the biggest heart. He’s the most caring person I’ve ever met. The fact that he had no one, hurts me in ways I can’t even describe. Everyday, I am thankful that I found him on the side of that road. Every single day, and I will be for the rest of my life.”

 “His biggest issue is that he gives too much of himself to people who don’t give even a quarter of themselves back to him. I’m guilty of that. I’ve taken advantage of him growing up. Girls he’s dated have. My dad did after my mom died. Some of his friends. I can see it in the way you look at him that you are different.”

 “I’m learning to give myself to someone again. Kind of hard when things have gone south for me in the past. But Dean makes things a lot easier because of how understanding he is. Your parents would be proud of the two of you, you know that? I don’t even know you all that well, but I can see so much of Dean in you.”

 “Thanks, Y/N,” he smiled weakly. “That means a lot to me.”

 “He told me you and Jess are going to come visit in the summer?” you cocked your eyebrow.

 “Yeah. I’d like to come home. See my Uncle Bobby, and some friends. I want to spend some more time with Dean. You’ll have Jess,” he chuckled. “Hopefully by then, you’ll have figured everything out and you’ll finally tell him how you feel.”

 “Shut up, Sam,” you rolled your eyes, shoving him over a little.

 “You know it’s true,” he winked.

 It was just after eleven when you and Dean entered your hotel room for the night. You were beyond exhausted and ready for bed. Dean locked the door up as you walked towards the bed. You lazily kicked your shoes off, falling on the bed right after.

 “Tired, huh?” he chuckled.

 “I’m sleeping in tomorrow. You can’t stop me,” you stated.

 “I wasn’t going to,” he assured you with a soft smile playing on his lips. “You deserve to get lots of sleep tonight.”

 “So do you, Winchester,” you yawned. You sat up, tearing your shirt from your body before getting up. You had left your pyjamas on top of your bag so you could easily change into them. Most of the effects of the alcohol had worn off. Not that you had much to start. You pushed your jeans down your legs next, pulling them off, along with your ankle socks.

 “You can’t wait to get to bed, huh,” he let out a laugh.

 “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before, remember,” you pointed out.

 “Oh I’m not complaining,” he declared. “By all means, take it all off.”

 “You wish, Winchester,” you joked, keeping the tone light.

 “You can’t blame a guy for staring, okay? Especially when the girl is as beautiful as you,” he played.

 “Real smooth. It’s a wonder why you don’t have a girlfriend with your lines,” you teased him.

 You went about your nightly routine. Brushing your teeth and washing your face. You were in bed before Dean was. The covers were up high, keeping you warm. Thankfully the bed was comfortable enough that you could fall asleep right away.

 Dean shut off the lights, and headed over to the bed. You felt the mattress shift a little as he settled in next to you. You opened your eyes a little, glancing over at him with a tired smile playing on your lips.

 “Today went really good,” he breathed out. “I never thought it was going to go as well as it did.”

 “I’m happy you and your brother are talking again, Dean,” you muttered, your eyes locking with his.

 “Jess is pretty great too. ‘M glad he’s got a good girl on his side. Makes me a little jealous, honestly,” he admitted. “They seem really happy together.”

 “They are,” you told him. “She told me that Sam’s her one.”

 “Really?” his eyes widened a little.

  “She talked about him with a lot of adoration in her voice. It made me realize just how messed up my relationship with Ketch was. I can see why you’d want something like they have. I take it you’re more motivated to ask that girl out now?”

 “I don’t know,” he shrugged. “I want to, but at the same time, I’m content with how my life is right now. I’ve got you right now, and we’ve got our friendship. I don’t want to change our dynamic right now, because it works so well for both of us. We’re each other's support team and I don’t want that to stop.”

 “That’s fair. But don’t not live your life because of it, okay? If you think this girl could be good for you, you should go for it,” you stated. As much as it pained you to say it, you wanted him to be happy. All you wanted was for him to be happy. It was clear to you now that you weren’t the girl he was interested in. The kiss was a simple spur of the moment thing. It wasn’t meant to be talked about. It wasn’t meant to be brought up again. It hurt a little to say the least.

 “Someday,” he shrugged with a tiny smile that made your heart speed up a little. “I got my best girl in the meantime. C’mere.”

 You shifted closer to him, throwing your arm over his waist as you positioned yourself on his chest. He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you in tight to him. This was the best way to end the night. Safe in his arms. You were going to miss it when you got home and things went back to normal. This trip definitely made your feelings stronger. It was also a really big reminder that you couldn’t be with Dean like that. Not now. Not for a long time. By the time you were ready, he was going to be taken by someone else anyways. It wasn’t worth trying for. At the end of the day, you weren’t worth waiting for, and he had his eyes on someone else.

 It was what it was.

~~~~~~~~~~

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