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svtshine · 4 years ago

Text

— The sun and its petals

pairing: Jeonghan x reader

genre: fluff, Royalty!au

type: imagine

word count: 6.1k

warnings: mentions of abuse and cursing

extras: Hi guys! In about a week, i won’t be posting as much. So if anyone of you guys would still like to request send in the ask by this week. thanku ^^

summary : When a prince meets a commoner.

The sun was high. The wind was a gentle howl, blowing softly through your hair as you stood up from the flowery fields. The basket in your hands were filled with bright coloured flowers.

You raised your hand to feel the sun ray, warm against your palm. You smiled, satisfied and closed your eyes. Taking in the scent of the oak trees and flowers surrounding you.

The wind blew stronger and your dress danced gracefully along with it. The weather was perfect. You sat down on the vast fields and gently braided some of the flowers you had collected. After some time, a mixture of soft blue and white adorned the crown of your head in a flower crown.

You twirled around, following the direction of the wind. As it guided you into a slow rhythmic dance. You imagined a man infront of you, offering you his hand and bringing you so close you could feel the warmth radiating off him.

The sun shifted as the day began to set. You watched the bright blue sky contort into a palette of pink and orange. You picked up your basket and walked the path that led you home. The majestic castle of the Yoons were in clear view, as you turned around. You raised your hand, almost as if you could feel it from where you stood, miles away.

Wishful thinking, you thought

You stared at the castle for a while longer, before turning around and leaving for home.

How you longed to find your prince charming. The one who would rescue you from the wretched hole you called “home”. You wanted someone who would whisk you off to a land far away, where no one would ever bother you again. Someone who could make you smile because you were genuinely happy.

But you smiled crookedly to yourself.

This was the sad truth of the world.

Happy endings truly belonged, only in fairytale books.

One you would never have a role in.

Jeonghan stared into the distance. The night sky resembled an abyss. The stars that twinkled in the distance was the only object that made him smiled.

With his chin atop his hand, he perched on top of the grand castle called his “home”.

Jeonghan knew this place like the back of his hand. He remembered the memories kept deep within him as he was growing up.

This used to be “home”. But now it was a cage, trapping him within.

Jeonghan smiled as a light wind blew his hair softly. He stared at the town below. Streets lighted up by lanterns and candles, there were hardly anyone out at this hour.

He longed to be free. He felt trapped in his own cage like a lonely bird. Jeonghan wanted to sprout his wings and explore, fly freely. He wanted to get to know his citizens, how they lived.

Jeonghan wanted a fantasy that wasn’t his.

Jeonghan raised his hand to feel the wind, trying desperately to reach the stars.

The entrance to the roof opened. Jeonghan didn’t bother to turn around till the newcomers spoke up while panting.

“Yah Jeonghan, we’ve been searching everywhere for you. You changed your hiding place again” Seungcheol panted out while wiping away his sweat.

Jeonghan shrugged his shoulders and stood up to walk to his two closest guards.

“Your Majesty, you really have to stop running around, as much as you hate it here. I’ve lost so much weight running around to find you” Joshua said, playfully joking with Jeonghan.

Joshua and Seungcheol has been assigned to Jeonghan ever since they turned 16. Being the best of their training academy, they were both requested to guard the only prince of the kingdom.

They’ve been through thick and thin together and they were both Jeonghan’s best friends. Jeonghan has never liked being called formally by his two best friends. However, only Seungcheol was comfortable in calling him by his name since he was the oldest.

Jeonghan apologised to them in a joking manner and left for his room, hands in his pocket. They followed slowly behind him, knowing if he found a new place, he wanted to be alone.

Jeonghan stretched his arms as he passed by his father’s room.

“The date for his ball is arriving soon, by then he gets to choose his beloved.” His father spoke.

“But dear, i’ve already found good suitors for him. I’m sure he’ll like them” The voice is his stepmother made him furrow his eyebrow in disgust.

His father sighed heavily and stood up from his seat and walked up and down. “This is our tradition, we can’t take it away from him. i’ve promised him that”

“Sweetie, look at him, he’d sad, lonely. These suitors will be perfect for him, i know it, trust me.” She said slyly.

“Jeonghan would be able to find happiness faster” His stepmother whispered.

Jeonghan rolled his eyes in annoyance.

“Really?” His father said. “Well i guess if that would make him happy—“

Jeonghan’s eyes widened and shook his head.

“Of course, my king” His stepmother replied, smiling maliciously.

Jeonghan clenched his fists tightly. He was not going to be the pawn of her game yet again.

That, he promised himself as he walked away back to his room quietly.

You woke up to the sun rays entering your room and the birds that chirped outside your window. You made the bed and quickly got changed into your daily dress.

You headed downstairs, dodging the empty bottles of alcohol on the floor. Your mother was collapsed on the couch, spread out and snoring loudly.

You cringed as you looked at the mess infront of you. It has become a daily thing, picking up your mother’s mess quickly so that you can make breakfast as fast as possible.

When you accidentally knocked over a bottle, the noise stirred your Mother awake. You didn’t dare look into her eyes as she screamed at you, “Hey! What’s wrong with you bitch. You’re so useless you can’t even clean? This is why your Father left!”

Tears filled your eyes as you bit your lips from crying out when she stood up and smacked you so hard you slipped and fell. Your Mother looked at you viscously. “Get up useless. Go open the damn store. Buy me more beer. Got that?” she said. When you nodded timidly she slapped you and shouted, “Speak you’re not mute”

“Y-yes Mother” She rolled her eyes and tumbled to her bedroom. You picked up the shattered glasses and the rest of the trash that littered your small living room.

Tears fell one by one and you hissed when you accidentally cut yourself. The blood dripped from your palm and landed onto the floor. Why, what have you done to deserve this you reflected.

Your Mother was not always a raging alcoholic. She was once a dignified women that brought a smile to everyone. She loved tending to flowers which also influenced you. When you were young, you would help her around the flower shop that was passed down to her by your grandfather.

She would teach all about gardening and taking care of plants gently and would even reward you with candy.

Your father was also a kind soul, he was a knight. When one of the allied countries required help, your father was sent to fight in a terrifying war. He never came back to the both of you, his last words, “I will always love the both of you. Always”

You were ten back then. He taught you how to read, write and play different instruments like the flute. You missed him dearly. After he left and never returned, your mother fell into a dark place of never ending hatred.

Blaming you for his disappearance, degrading your sole existence. Your Mother was never the same.

You made prepared breakfast and covered it so that she could heat it up later on before heading out to open up the shop.

It wasn’t the most fancy, neither were you earning the most. But it did get you food and basic necessities which were enough for you. You loved gardening and plants so it wasn’t a problem.

“Hi Mam, lovely dress as always” You greeted the people you passed by.

Your shop resembled a small greenhouse. You put on your apron and opened up the shop. As you were moving the different pots of plants, you couldn’t help but stare out, into the vast land. Flower fields, and a beautiful forest. You were blessed to have grown up in this kingdom

You just hoped that one day, you would get to enjoy all that, peacefully.

Jeonghan was bored. His Father, The King had made him eat with his Stepmother. A meal he has been avoiding since the last time. He played with his food and glanced out of the window, the city and people on display. How he wanted to live a life like theirs.

“Now Jeonghan” The king said. “In a week, you’ll be turning twenty one. It will be your time to choose your own wife, a queen. i would be stepping down as king. “

Jeonghan continued to stare out of the window

“Your dear stepmother has already picked out a few suitors she thinks will be good for you. But ultimately the choice is yours” His father said. Jeonghan turned his head to look at his stepmother.

Jeonghan knew of her bad intentions. As much he liked to cheat to win or outsmart others to get his way, she was playing a game of pure greed.

She blinked innocently at Jeonghan, and he wanted so much to throw up at her facade.

Jeonghan couldn’t take it anymore, standing up from his seat and bowing to his father. “Father, i will keep in mind your words. Please excuse me, i’m feeling unwell” with that, he rushed out.

Jeonghan rushed to his room and changed into a commoner’s outfit. The walls were suffocating him. The sun was inviting him, it was hard to resist.

He left a note telling Seungcheol and Joshua that he would be visiting town till night falls when they finally figured out that he was missing.

Which turns out, was not long.

Jeonghan smiled as he scaled the walls perfectly and running towards the secret exit he found recently. He heard the commotion as Seungcheol and Joshua rushed to find Jeonghan.

He ran as fast as he could and soon he reached the beautiful town. People were walking from places to different places. Shops were buzzing, people were getting their chores and jobs done.

At once, Jeonghan didn’t feel alone.

He walked around town, while trying to hide from the castle guards that were on high alert for him.

Jeonghan admired the different shops and simple food. He perked up at the voice of Seungcheol, “Jeonghan? Yah, come back here!” Jeonghan took off immediately, trying to find somewhere to hide.

There was a small flower shop near the corner, he immediately entered and shut the door behind him. He looked to find you holding a watering can, eyes widening at the sight of him panting.

Jeonghan was sure that he had never met someone as beautiful as you. However he raised his lips signalling for you to stay quiet. You stayed still, shocked by his abrupt arrival.

Jeonghan immediately went behind the shop when the entrance was opened roughly yet again, and you came face to face with what seems like a palace guard.

He must be hiding from them, you thought. You placed down the watering can ans kindly asked the guard. “Hi sir, how may i help you. A bouquet? Flower arrangement perhaps?”

The guard looked around the shop, “Is anyone else here by any chance? I need to find someone” He rushed out. You shook your head slowly, “i’m sorry, but it’s only me. I think i heard someone rushing towards that direction just now” You said pointing into a random direction.

The guard’s eyes perked up and he quickly thanked you. “Thank you, and i’m sorry for bothering you” You waved him off and watched him run in the direction you pointed.

“It’s safe. The coast is clear” You said. Jeonghan peeked his head from where he was hiding and looked left and right making sure you were correct.

You stared at the man who was dressed normally and he didn’t seem like a crook. Strangely you felt almost comfortable around him like you knew he wasn’t bad. “Who are you?”

Jeonghan stared at you for a little while before replying, “Jeonghan” His name sounded familiar but you just couldn’t remember. You took in his whole form, trying to figure out what could he have possibly done to have the guards chase him. It was like he read your mind, “A game with the guards” It didn’t make sense, but who were you to judge.

“Are you staying?” you asked Jeonghan

He thought for a little while, “Will you make tea?”

You smiled at his adorable request, “I’ll make tea”

As Jeonghan stood at his whole height, the sun shined across his face, making him look like a dream. “Then i’ll stay”

Since then, Jeonghan has been a regular at your flower shop. He left that day filled with warmth and happiness. The two you talked for the whole afternoon and didn’t even notice time has gone by so quickly. Jeonghan assisted you with some labour work as you tended to some customers.

You were a kind, beautiful woman. You listened intently when he talked about his thoughts of being trapped and even about his interests and goals.

“I want to travel, see the world beyond the horizon” Jeonghan mumbled as he stared out of the window. You stood beside him and listened. “I love this country, but sometimes i just want to spread my wings and fly”

He glanced at you for a second, his heart skipping as the array of sunset colours washed onto your face, making you look magical. The smile on your face told him that you agreed with him whole heartedly.

Jeonghan cleared his throat, “I better get going then. See you tommorow?” He asked, his voice filled with hope. You smiled brightly and nodded. After he left, you quickly closed up the shop and left for home.

For the first time, you skipped back home while humming to a song. Going through the event of today as you smiled to yourself. Your time with the man named Jeonghan was short, but it was the most fun you had with someone for a long time.

Your smiled dropped a little as you heard crashes coming from the house. Sighing, you mentally prepared yourself for the blows that were going to come at you next.

“You bitch, you forgot my drinks” Your mother hit you for the tenth time in five minutes. you crawled away from her before she landed another blow on you. “You’re really just a piece of garbage. Why did i even give birth to you?” She screamed at you.

You whimpered as you shield yourself from the shards and glass bottles thrown at you. “Get out now, you better get those drinks if you don’t, don’t even try to come back here. There is no place for you” She boomed.

You quickly grabbed your bag and ran out. The crashes and her screaming were not getting any softer. You cried as you ran down the path, cradling your arm that was cut by the shards. You cried for yourself, for your father that died for your country and the small memories of your kind mother.

You bought the beers she asked for while wrapping your sweater around you tighter in the chilly night. The lights were still on but the house was quiet. You entered hesistantly. Her form was spread out on the couch like before. You left the new bottles on the table and left again. You couldn’t take it anymore, this place you once cold home was now just a horror house you desperately wanted to escape from.

You stayed at the flower shop for the night. Pulling out a hammock and staring through the window as you thought about Jeonghan’s words.

“Sometimes i just want to spread my wings, and fly”

That was your dream too.

Jeonghan got a stern scolding from his friends. Although he had to endure an hour of scolding, he didn’t fight back or disagree anyways. Meeting you was probably the best encounter he had ever had. He learnt about the different townfolks and most importantly about you.

Even thought it was barely two hours since he left, his heart longed to see you again. You caught his eye and he felt at peace with you.

Jeonghan looked out of his balcony and into the city, trying to catch sight of your small little flower shop.

He signed excitedly and let out a smile as he couldn’t help but be excited for the next dawn.

You woke up early the next morning, taking care of the plants and getting breakfast at a nearby coffee house.

“Hey hey hey, did you hear? The prince’s ball is this friday! Everyone maiden is invited we should go!” the girls beside you chattered. You took a sip of your tea and finished up your food.

You’ve always wanted to visit the castle. Watching it from afar has always been a hobby of yours, visiting it? Would’ve been the best.

But you sighed, you didn’t even have the dress for it. You left the table and went up the counter to thank the shop lady.

You were very close to her because she was one of the people who tried helping your mother when she was mourning for your late father. She would talk care of you whenever your mother went out of control but now that the shop was getting busier and you were getting older, you convinced her that your home situation was improving.

Lies

“Y/n darling, i heard about the ball. You should go, you’ve always wanted to visit the castle since young” She told you gently as you stayed to chat with her.

You shook your head and sent her a sad smile, “With all due respect, i don’t even have the dress for it. I can’t show up in this old dress” Lifting it up as evidence.

She shook her head and told you to wait. You rest your hand on the table and thought about Jeonghan yet again. You were beyond excited to see him again.

Without knowing, you smiled.

She returned holding a box. You lifted a brow at it, wondering why on earth did she randomly take it out. She winked at you and shooed you away, “Go back to the flower shop and open this. Have a good day my child. Come back soon!” You waved back at her, holding the slightly heavy box and lifting it to your shop.

You turned on the lights as watered all the plants before opening up the box. Inside was a ballroom dress of your favourite colour. Your eyes widened as you took it out and checked if it fit you. You twirled around, holding it to your chest.

The dress was absolutely gorgeous and it fit you perfectly. There was a note inside of the box as well as a pair of shoes matching to colour of the dress.

“For you, Child. The prince’s ball is a tradition, having three sons, i wouldn’t have the chance to make a dress for any of them. But i have long taken you as my daughter, Y/n. Change it however you like, but i hope you’ll have the fun time at the ball”

You covered your hand with your mouth at the surprise. Now you were able to attend the prince’s ball taking place in three days. You reminded yourself to thank the shop lady soon.

You quickly kept the dress and opened the shop officially.

You exited the shop to take a breath of fresh air. It was crisp and the wind was perfect. The sun ok your skin made you smile.

Everything was perfect.

Everything was not perfect.

“Jeonghan meet Princess (R/n). She was one of the matches we thought would be perfect for you” Jeonghan’s stepmother’s words made his skin crawl.

The princess infront of him was nothing short of a pampered brat. She raised her nails to check them and when she saw Jeonghan she immediately pressed herself onto him. Jeonghan immediately stiffened and he desperately wanted to run away right now.

Seungcheol and Joshua tried not to laugh at the corner while watching Jeonghan’s face contort into a mixture of disgust and cringe.

He knew of her, having taken studies about different royal families. Her family was stacked with good natural resources and connections with other rich families, no doubt making them one of the wealthiest royal families.

The king wrapped his arm around Jeonghan’s stepmother. “Now son, although we said that it would be your decision ultimately, we want you to spend some time with Princess (R/n). We’re positive, the two of you would have lots of things in common” Jeonghan looked steely at his Father and Stepmother, noticing how proud she looked of her scheme.

He clenched his jaw, as much as he hated his situation, hated his stepmother. Jeonghan respected his father and would do anything for him.

“Fine”

Jeonghan wanted to tear his limbs apart, the princess infront of him. The spoilt princess? was making him lose his eardrums.

“Last week, i got my pedicure and new dresses. But they gave me the wrong colour. I got so mad i told daddy and guess what!” She exclaimed

Jeonghan sighed out, “What?”

“Daddy fired her. isn’t he just the greatest?!” she continued wrapping herself tighter around him.

Jeonghan didn’t respond as his thoughts wandered to you. He knew he promised to return but he just couldn’t get out of this situation. Literally.

He remembered your kind voice, your beauty, inside and out. The way you talked about flowers and plants like it was the most exciting in the world. And how your listened to him even when he assumed no one could understand.

Jeonghan desperately wanted to see you. Talk to you, anything just as long as you were there.

He knew who he wanted to be his princess, his wife, his soulmate.

He wanted you.

Jeonghan thought of a quick plan, pulling his arm out of Princess (R/n)’s tight grip and quickly pointing to the castle and saying that he needed to do something else.

Which wasn’t a lie.

Jeonghan ran and ran to the secret exit, without changing out of his royal clothes and only wearing a cape he grabbed along the way.

He smiled as he ran down the familiar street to your flower shop.

It was nearly four when Jeonghan finally arrived. He was dressed smartly and almost royal like but hidden beneath a cape. He held up a bag.

“i brought snacks” On cue, your stomach rumbled.

The two of you munched on the snacks he brought and drank the tea you prepared.

“I’m sorry i’m late” Jeonghan said. “i got caught up with some, burdens”

You chuckled, he looked extremely disgusted with his “burdens”

“What’s with the fancy clothes hannie?” You asked, putting down your mug.

Jeonghan smiled at his given nickname, “I work for the royal family and things have been busy for the ball” His eyes widened, “Y/n, are you coming for the ball?”

You nodded excitedly, “I wasn’t planning to, i didn’t even have a ball gown” you laughed. “But one of the kind ladies made me one. It’ll be fun visiting the castle, even thought it’ll probably be my only time visiting.” you smiled sadly at the last part.

Jeonghan listened to you attentively. You turned to look at him, “Are you going to be there?”

“Of course”

You smiled. “So will you offer me a dance?”

Jeonghan smiled back. “Make that hmm” he said before pausing, furrowing his eyebrows like he always thinking about something hard and tapping on his chin lightly. “five dances”

Your eyes widened in shock before Jeonghan laughed at you. You pouted and slapped his arm

“You should’ve seen your cute face” he said, holding onto his stomach.

You blush heavily at his comment.

Finally the day of the ball came. You’ve been slightly adjusting the dress so that it’ll fit you better. You twirled in the shop with the dress. You haven’t been home since a few days ago, but so that your mother wouldn’t bother finding you, you have been leaving alcohol infront of the house.

You knew if she saw you in that dress, she would’ve never let you go.

You picked went outside the shop, to be met with the shop lady and her son. Her son was like a brother to you and he happened to have a carriage and offered to send you to the castle.

The shop lady shed a few tears as she sent you off. You gazed out of the small window of the carriage. Mountains and clear sparkly water in view.

Your feelings the reflection of that. You felt confident, tall and excited.

Jeonghan smiled and hummed as he got ready, he couldn’t wait to see you. He knew if he had shown how much he cared about you and not about the other princesses or ladies, his father would’ve let him be.

He imagined your ball gown, you and him dancing together just like her promised. Jeonghan stared at the mountains and the clear sea infront of him. Stretching his arms and taking a deep breath, he left the room and headed for the ball room.

You stood amongst the other ladies in the ball room. It was fascinating. Gold spreading almost everywhere in the room giving it a majestic glow and the decorations were top notch.

You walked around the corridors secretly as you couldn’t hold in your curiousity. That was until a hand tapped on your shoulder and you whipped around to find Jeonghan infront of you.

He was dressed handsomely and you could’ve melted into a puddle right there. But you held yourself steady, leaned into his touch as he brought you in his arms.

If he hadn’t told you he worked for the king, you could’ve easily mistaken him for the crown prince.

“You shouldn’t be here y/n” his breath against your forehead and placing a gentle, soft kiss. “The prince is going to enter the ball soon”

You giggled shyly and mumbled, “sorry i was just curious” He smiled at your cuteness but shooed you away.

“Now hurry along, you have to catch the prince” he stared at your figure as you hurried back to the ball room.

“Nice choice. I always thought the florist was one beautiful lady.” Seungcheol said as he smiled.

Joshua on the other hand went up and asked, “Is she the one?”

“Oh boy, she’s definitely the one” Jeonghan mumbled happily, his eyes filled with adoration at the thought of you.

Seungcheol and Joshua smiled, satisfied.

“The Prince will now take his place on the throne before choosing a partner for his dance” One of the royal staff announced.

You realised you haven’t actually seen the prince, the royal family was very secretive about the media. You glanced up at the thrones seated above the floor.

“Please bow to His Majesty, The Crown Prince, Yoon Jeonghan” Your eyes immediately widened. Your mouth dropped and even thought you instinctively bowed you kept your eyes on Jeonghan.

His eyes were already on you, he smirked at you and waved to the rest. There he was, standing proud in the crown and handsome as ever. Your heart started beating faster.

As Jeonghan climbed down the stairs from the platform, his eyes were still on you. Never moving away.

A path was made by everyone as he walked onto the floor. It was completely silent as everyone watched his every move.

Who was he going to pick?

it wasn’t hard for Jeonghan as he made his way slowly to you. Everyone stared as he stopped infront of you. You were frozen for a split second before you remembered to curtesy.

Jeonghan said in the gentlest voice, ringing through the whole room. “Would you do me a pleasure, and dance with me?” Everyone gasped as you nodded and he kissed your palm affectionately.

The music started playing. A soft tune, a gentle melody. Everyone stared at the two of you as you placed your arm around his shoulder and he moved his other arm around your waist.

It was like everyone else beside you disappeared as he spun you around. You were lost in his dark brown orbs and his scent that made you want to hug him as tight as possible. It was hazy yet the only thing you could see clearly was Jeonghan.

“Y/n?” you continued to stare at him.

His arm on your waist tightened slightly as he pulled you in closer to whisper in your ear

“You look absolutely stunning darling” you looked away shyly.

“I also forgot to mention, i’m the prince” He winked. You pouted and shook your head at him.

“To me, you’ll always be Jeonghan. The handsome, gentle yet playful man i’m in love with” You said as he twirled you around.

Other partners started to dance around the two of you. The music changed, a different song but the same soft vibe

“Then would you, Y/n L/n give me the honour, and be my queen?” Your eyes widened at his request. He glanced at you nervously and your eyes started to water. You pulled him in and hugged him tightly as he spun your around.

“Yes! yes! yes! i will” Jeonghan smiled widely as he pulled you away from the ball room to the throne platform to meet his Father.

“Father is going to love you as much as i do Y/n, which is a lot” You giggled at his words.

He presented you with a proud smile, his arm around your waist protectively. “Father, this is Y/n. Y/n, er the king, my father”

you curtsied you His Majesty and the Queen as Jeonghan continued, “I’ve decided and have the permission from her” His eyes on you, “to take her as my wife, the future queen”

“No” His stepmother said harshly. Her eyes were cold and glared daggers at you. “You will not marry this low-life. Bringing dishonour and embarrassment to the royal family? Unacceptable” She said. She then pointed to you, “Especially this one. Her mother is nothing but a raging alcoholic, wasting her life away. She could only be pretending to be kind to you because of your wealth”

Jeonghan glared back at her and his grip on you tightened. “You are in no position to tell me what to do Stepmother. Of all people, you’re the one telling me to be scared of gold diggers like you? Maybe you should be teaching that crash course to father. Who was decieved by you” He said in a serious manner.

You glanced away. Jeonghan’s stepmother’s words reminding you of the way your own mother treated you.

“You’re really just a piece of garbage. Why did i even give birth to you?”

You let go of Jeonghan.

“Hannie” catching Jeonghan’s attention.

“She’s right” you said lowly

Jeonghan whipped his head to you as you smiled sadly at him, “E-even if we do get married, i won’t be able to give you anything. You really deserve someone better” Jeonghan shook his head, his arm reaching to catch hold of yours as you started running to the entrance and back home where you were sure Jeonghan wouldn’t find you.

“Y/n wait-- no please” Jeonghan shouted after you. Joshua and Seungcheol following behind. You immeditately boarded the same carriage you came from. The shop lady’s son looked back ta you for a moment with worried eyes. The tears started to fall as you were sent back home.

Jeonghan tried chasing after you on his horse but his stepmother and Father told the guards to close the gates before he had the chance to leave.

“Jeonghan, you’re better off without her” his stepmother tried convincing him. His father studied Jeonghan’s behaviour. “Let’s go and meet the other suitors--”

“No” his father said

The king went up to Jeonghan, ‘’I’m sorry i didn’t see it before son, now go after her” He then turned to his wife, “I can’t believe i ever saw kindness in you. Your heart is made of greed and believe me, you’ll get what you deserve. In jail”

As the guards took away the screaming ex queen, The king turned to Jeonghan. “I was close to Y/n’s Father, he was one of the best guards we ever trained. After sacrificing himself in the war, his wife, Y/n’s mother, fell into a dark place. They were a kind family and i bellieve Y/n has a heart of gold considering she thought of your needs before hers”

Jeonghan nodded and he realised exactly how strong you were for all these years. He quickly left to find you. You weren’t at the flower shop so he asked around about you.

“Her cottage is near the fields, why? what happened to Y/n” A shop lady asked him. But he took off before he could answer her.

His horse raced through the night as his mind went back to you. Your small acts of kindness, to him, to the townfolks. You went throught so much when you were younger, you’ve been alone and by yourself the whole time. But now, he wanted to be beside you, go through everything with you.

Your sad smile flashed in his mind, he never wanted to see a similar expression from you again.

Even after learning your history and family situation, Jeonghan wanted you more than ever.

He caught you walking towards a lit cottage, rubbing your arms up and down to keep warm.

“Y/n!” you turned behind, recognising his voice. You stopped in your tracks as he dismounted his horse and came up to you.

“You don’t have to give me anything. You’ve already given me enough, more than enough” Jeonghan whispered. You began to shake your head but Jeonghan continued, “I only need one thing from you, your love” You teared up again

“But your stepmothe--”

Jeonghan scoffed at the mention of her, “Darling, i believe you mean that golddigger. Yeah my dad finally saw how greedy she is and now she’s gonna rot in jail” He took hold of your hands, “But forget about her, what will your answer be?” You stared into his eyes, you knew he was going to make you happy.

“Would you take a girl like me” you asked him softly.

“Y/n sweetie, you could wear a potato sack and still look like the most beautiful woman i’ve ever met”

“Then i’ll be your queen” Jeonghan carried you and spun you around. He brought you closer to him, his hand rubbing your cheek and finally sealing the promise with a kiss

“Honey? I need some help with your son” Jeonghan chuckled again and got out of his seat in his office. He wrapped an arm around your pregnant figure and greeted you with a kiss.

“Playing hide and seek again?” You pouted

“The castle is too damn big for me hannie” Jeonghan shook his head and ran around. “Now where is my little prince?”

You smiled as Jeonghan caught your son and twirled him around. Rubbing your tummy, you realised how perfect your life had become. Recently, your mother finally started to limit her drinking and even started to work at the flower shop again with your abscence.

She apologised for the way she has treated you and although the two of you weren’t very close, you were happy with her improvement and even learnt to forgive her.

The previous king started travelling the world and occasionally visiting and bringing presents for his grand kid and children. He had taken a liking with you quickly and saw you as his daughter.

Seungcheol and Joshua has also became very close to you and your son. With Joshua teaching him music and linguistics and Seungcheol training him in various sports.

Your son came up to hug your leg, “Mummy, mummy! Daddy found me..You took too long”

“What are you thinking about?” Jeonghan whispered to you. All of you stared outside the window.

“Nothing, i was just thinking about how much i treasure you guys.” Jeonghan nuzzled into your neck

“I finally feel free”

#seventeen #jeonghanxreader #caratwritersclub #yoon jeonghan #jeonghan #Jeonghan x reader fluff #seventeen royal au #seventeen royal #prince!seventeen #prince!jeonghan

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coffeestainsandcashmere · 4 years ago

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Let No Man Steal Your Thyme - (older Dramione) Chapter Six

Thank you for your patience with this one, folks. Here it is. All 7k words of it... Thank you too for the beautiful anonymous (and otherwise) owls you’ve sent me! I can’t tell you how lovely that’s been!

If this were on AO3 (which it will be when it’s complete), the rating would have gone up to “E - Explicit”, so please make sure you’re the appropriate age to consume it (18+).

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five

___

Hermione apparated into an unassuming and rather ugly back street in Whitechapel and took a moment to straighten herself out afterwards. A fine, sheeting mizzle had begun sometime around midday, shrouding the whole of London in a choking, miserable haze, and it hadn’t let up since. It was nothing a subtle impervius charm couldn’t ward off, of course, though it sent Muggles scuttling for shelter or huddling beneath umbrellas in a way that never failed to make her heart twinge just a little for a life that was long behind her.

Miraculously, her hair behaved itself despite the humidity, and had complied with both will and wand so that it now fell in loose ringlets around her shoulders. It was all held in place with more charm-work than she’d done on herself in a very long time, but even she had to admit that she’d done a pretty decent job of it. Pansy would be proud. She just hoped the dress would do its job too and flatter her in the way Theo and Pansy had both promised it would when she’d bought it.

As her heels clicked along on the uneven pavement, she wished there was a charm to ward of self-consciousness. After years of scruffy jeans and soft, woollen jumpers, the dress seemed rather snug around the areas she’d grown a little shy about, but she drew on the well of experience from her Ministry days, squared her shoulders, and set off towards the address Draco had sent her by owl.

Rounding the corner, she nearly stumbled in her heels as she drew up suddenly short. Standing with arms folded, shoulder blades pressed heedlessly against the masonry of the building behind him and his whole body tense as a piano string, stood Draco Malfoy, scowling. Whereas she had forgone a bulky cloak in favour of a warming charm, he cut quite the figure in the heavy, black garment, fastened at the throat with a silver clasp that seemed to match his hair.

As her heels announced her approach, he looked up, looked away, did a double take, and then levered himself off the wall with a slightly slack-jawed expression.

Theo was right, she smiled to herself. I probably owe him a drink now or something.

When she came to a halt in front of Malfoy, she couldn't help the way her lips twitched. He looked a little like he’d been slapped. “Evening,” she chirped, and watched his throat work as he swallowed thickly, pupils blown wide in the dark.

“Granger,” he said. “You… You look…” He floundered, and then to her immense surprise and absolute delight, his cheeks flushed a deep, vivid pink and he looked away.

“Likewise,” she laughed, ostentatiously eyeing him up and down, though the cloak revealed little. “Though that was pretty much a given.”

“I didn’t mean —” he began, snapping his gaze back to her face with his grey eyes wide. “You just…” Then he laughed and forcibly relaxed his shoulders, exhaling through his nose. “I should have known you’d leave me a babbling idiot again,” he muttered, subtly offering her the crook of his elbow. “It’s like third year all over again.”

“Third year?” she said as she accepted and slid her fingers under his arm. “I punched you in the face in third year.”

“Mmm,” he said. “And I don’t think I ever truly got over it.”

She laughed and he relaxed a little more beneath her touch. “So I’ve never actually heard of this place, but Theo said you have to know the owner just to get a table…?”

“Yes,” Draco said. “I hope you don’t think it’s too much, but after everyone was staring at us in the Leaky, I thought it might be nice to go somewhere where people have a bit more… discretion… My mother’s side of the family has been friends with the owner’s for generations.”

“I’m sure it’ll be perfect,” she said as he steered her towards a blind arcade of sandy-coloured bricks that flanked a large stretch of the street.

“It’s concealed with an enchantment like the one at Kings Cross,” he said as they approached the third one in the row. Glancing up and down the street, he stepped halfway into the wall and held his hand out for her to take, as if she were a lady about to alight into a carriage. He clearly saw her burning with interest about the spellwork and added, “Some scholars believe it was the first instance of the charm’s use in London.”

She beamed at him, took his hand, and allowed him to steer her through the wall.

When they emerged on the other side of the illusion, she found herself in a cosy, dark-tiled entrance hall, illuminated with tiny lumos charms. A waiter in smart, black and white livery appeared almost immediately from the main restaurant beyond, and bowed politely. “Lord Black,” he said and then turned to her and offered a seemingly genuine smile. “Ms. Granger. If you’d like to follow me please. My lord, may I take your cloak?”

Malfoy unclasped it and handed it to the man, but Hermione wasn’t watching that. She was too busy staring at the way he looked in his suit beneath.

Draco Malfoy had always been a creature of harsh lines and a cool palette, but this time the sight of him actually robbed her of breath. Though his outfit was understatedly simple, the slate-blue suit, with a crisp white shirt and a silvery tie had clearly been made bespoke for him, and it fitted him to perfection, emphasising slim hips, long, lean legs, and a breadth to his shoulders that spoke of strength without raw bulk. The only hint of colour to him lay in the residual flush from the cold in his pale cheeks, but his eyes sparkled warmly enough.

“Shall we?” he murmured, a hint of shy embarrassment to the corners of his mouth that she’d rarely seen in his youth, and she nodded, still mute. She wasn’t sure if he was shy about the waiter’s ‘my lord’ or the way she was gawking at him like a teenage fan at a Weird Sisters concert.

He ushered her in front of him, and she followed the waiter through the restaurant.

All the while they walked, she was intensely aware of Draco behind her.

Naturally, once she’d got past all the initial ‘oh my god is my skirt tucked up into my knickers’ panic, she tried a little experiment and began to sway her hips a little more than usual. Pansy had once told her she had the walk of a ‘dowdy headmistress charging down a corridor towards the sound of troublemakers’. Even if she’d said it in jest, it hadn’t exactly inspired confidence in her ability to sashay sexily through the tables in front of someone she was hoping to impress, but by the time they were settling into her seats, she noted a very slight rise in the colour in Draco’s cheeks again, and chalked it up as a victory regardless.

“Can I get you some drinks while you wait? I’m sure you’re both aware that the restaurant is chef’s choice though.” He did not offer any kind of drinks menu, however, and Hermione’s already fragile courage sputtered.

Draco nodded curtly at the waiter, and then looked expectantly at Hermione, who cleared her throat and said, “Look, Draco, I’m already a tad out of my depth here. I think I’ll leave the decision-making to you tonight and save us both the embarrassment…”

His lips parted slightly, as if he were going to speak, but a soft look crossed his face before he inclined his head. “Wine alright?” he asked and she nodded.

He ordered two glasses of a white he’d never heard of.

Before the waiter left, he enquired about any allergies, and when both replied that they were fortunate enough not to have any, he retreated, and Hermione blew out a soft breath.

“It’s not too much, is it?” Draco asked, shoulders high and tense again. All the recent colour had drained from him, and he looked faintly nauseous.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, gazing around at the vaulted room. “And this is a real treat, Draco. I’m really glad you asked me, though I promised your owl I’d have words with you about her manners. Damn near lost a finger to that beak of hers.”

“Apologies,” he said, voice a little hoarse. “She was a gift from my mother after my own owl was lost after the Battle of Hogwarts. She’s been a menace to me and my unfortunate correspondents ever since.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. The bird was much older than she’d expected, but then again she shouldn’t have been that surprised; the Weasley’s had had Errol seemingly for generations after all before he’d finally snuffed it.

She hadn’t really taken note of the other patrons of the restaurant on their short journey through the tables to the secluded alcove, but now she glanced around again and saw that the place was full, though there couldn’t have been more than fifteen covers. The other diners were not witches or wizards she recognised, and no one seemed to be paying anyone else the slightest bit of attention, to her relief.

Relaxing a little, she looked back at Draco who sat with his hands folded neatly atop the dark wood of the table, his silver signet ring glinting softly in the light of the little candle between them. His gaze was intense, and his expression a little awkward. He was as nervous as she was, she realised. Maybe more.

He pursed his lips briefly and then said, “It’s quite different from a lot of the restaurants in Diagon Alley, largely because of the building’s history, I think.” He stopped, as if worried he was about to bore her and instead blurted quietly, “I’m glad you like it.”

The place had clearly once been an enormous foundry building, but since being repurposed, it had been divided up from one open casting hall into cosy little niches and alcoves of sandstone brick, with large, industrial panes of glass filling the spaces between the dividing arches. It felt private without being claustrophobic; atmospheric but not dingy or oppressive.

Taking another breath, Hermione smiled at him and admitted, “It’s been so long since I’ve been out for dinner with anyone, Draco. It’s almost embarrassing really. And Theo doesn’t count in this context,” she added with a flash of her eyes.

“Likewise,” he muttered, carefully pouring her a glass of water from the carafe between them before filling his own.

Again, she noted his hands. Somehow they were simultaneously the elegant hands of a nobleman and the rough, scarred hands of a man who used them for a living — spotted and flecked with innumerable small scars — and she found herself instantly fascinated by the story they held. The last person she could recall with hands in that condition was Professor Snape.

She nearly said that Draco at least had good reason for not going on dates with every witch in Britain, being a widower, but she bit it back and said, “Well, that should make things easier for both of us. Tell me though, I’m dying to know why you had to go to France at such short notice. Your letter was too cryptic.”

Draco’s face softened and he sipped his water. “We have estates there still,” he said, not meeting her gaze. “One of the wards was triggered, so I arranged a portkey to check up on it, but it was nothing in the end.”

“Nothing? Come on; it usually takes magic to trip a ward, Malfoy. There has to be some story there…?”

His eyelashes looked like strands of silk in the candlelight, pale and silvery as they framed his grey eyes, and she almost forgot to listen to his story as he flicked his gaze back up to meet hers again.

“It really isn’t very interesting. One of our tenants has an elderly mother and she is unfortunately not as… compos mentis as she once was. She used to work as a maid for my maternal great-grandmother. It turned out that she had wandered up to the main house in the middle of the night, spoken some long-forgotten spell to gain admission, and had tried to prepare breakfast. Of course, there was nothing in the larder, so she became distressed. Her daughter collected her and sealed the house up again, but the owl didn’t reach me before I left England.”

“I see,” she said. “Another case where modern Muggle communication methods might have come in handy,” she chirped under her breath, and he hummed softly in agreement, though he didn’t seem to understand fully. And then because she was a nose bugger who couldn’t help herself, she asked, “Do you have a lot of properties then? Other than the house in Wiltshire?”

She caught the smile in his eyes and he nodded. “One or two,” he said with bashful modesty. “A number of my father’s holdings and inheritances were confiscated by the Ministry in reparation for war crimes, but my mother was allowed to keep much of what was hers and, by extension, mine.”

“And those are in France?”

He shook his head, and with regret she watched him becoming increasingly uncomfortable. “There’s a place in Scotland - not far from Hogwarts, actually - and one in the arse-end of nowhere in rural Romania. It’s the Malfoy side that has the connections to France, though that one I just mentioned is the only one left to us now.”

“I see. I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to pry. I was genuinely curious, that’s all.”

“It’s fine,” he said. “You can ask me whatever you like.”

She smiled and said, “I didn’t even get to inherit my parents’ little house in Surrey because of a complication with the will, so it’s all a world away from what I know… Has Scorpius been to these other places?”

“Not really,” he said, “Though mother and I took him to the vineyard in France last summer before school started.”

Hermione tipped her head back, exposing her neck a little, and smiled. “My parents used to take me to France during the summer holidays,” she said dreamily. “Little stone cottages that smelled of lavender, with long, dusty driveways and rooms that stayed chilly no matter temperature outside. Sometimes when it got really hot, those adorable little lizards used to come out and bask in the sun on the wall. My parents were dentists, so we weren’t exactly all that short of money growing up —” nothing like you though, she wanted to add but didn’t “— and they always tried to choose a place with a swimming pool. I used to love to swim.”

Draco’s expression was unreadable, but there was a light in his silver eyes that shone like a full moon. He swallowed thickly and had been on the point of speaking when the waiter returned with their wine and a small amuse-bouche for them.

He set the tiny plates down and stepped back. “Blini with trout roe caviar and crème fraiche.”

“Thank you,” Draco and she said as one, and the waiter nodded and left them to it.

Draco raised his glass and Hermione tried not to stare at his long fingers or the way he held it so gracefully by the stem as he lifted it. She felt like she might fumble and drop hers if she tried to emulate that, but she did her best. After all, she’d endured a fair few dinners and functions at the Ministry, so she was hardly about to embarrass herself now, however hard Draco seemed to make it.

“Thank you for…” Draco began, trailing off into uncertainty. His eyes turned glassy and he blinked rapidly a couple of times. “Well, thank you for giving me a shot, Granger. I know I have a lot to make up for still, but thank you for joining me tonight.”

She smiled and playfully chinked her glass against his. As the soft chime of glass on glass dissipated, she said, “Like I told Theo after his little chat, to which I understand you were also subjected —” he nodded wryly but let her continue uninterrupted “— I wouldn’t be here if I believed you were still the same person you were at Hogwarts. There was so much going on back then, and we were all pawns in a larger game to one extent or another. By this point, I’m honestly happy to let the past lie and look forward.”

He exhaled expansively. “I’ll drink to that,” he muttered.

Their food when it arrived was incredible; never too much (or too little, she was pleased to note), or too fancy so as to be basically inedible. They talked lightly while they ate, mostly of the goings on of people they had in common: Theo and Dan, Pansy, and Blaise.

By the time they were halfway through dessert, Draco said, “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” she smiled. “Why should you be open to any and all questions, but not me?”

“Just because I said that about me, doesn’t mean you have to take the same stance, Granger.”

“True, but this is a date, right?”

He swallowed. “If you’d like it to be.”

“All on me?” she chuckled. “I’ll admit I was rather hoping it was.”

“Then it’s a date,” he said quietly.

“Well, shouldn’t dates be about getting to know the person better? Ask away, Malfoy. Whatever you’ve got, I can take it.” Within reason, she added privately.

His answering smile was dazzling, and it brought little dimples to his cheeks that she’d not noticed before. It made her heart beat oddly in her chest, and a new heat pulsed between her legs.

“Good lord, Malfoy,” she hissed, “You’re handsome when you smile like that.”

He pursed his lips and flushed a dark pink right up to his ears.

“Sorry,” she said, still laughing a little. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. But I’d be happy to encourage more smiles like that in the future. What was your question?”

He opened his mouth, cheeks still pink, but his eyes turned serious. “Why did you really quit your job as Minister? You were so young…”

“I peaked too soon,” she shrugged easily enough, though she felt the playful mirth settling down again in a way that had nothing to do with the chocolate dessert lying heavy in her stomach.

She sat back in her seat and picked up the remnants of her wine, swirling it thoughtfully for a moment.

“I felt like…” she stopped and changed tack. “At school I felt like all I amounted to was how smart I could be, you know?”

His brows flickered into a frown, but he didn’t interrupt her.

“I didn’t have the looks of someone like Fleur or Cho, or… Lavender,” she said, raising her eyebrows inadvertently. “All I really had to validate myself was my latest test score, or how useful I was to Harry, or how much research I could condense into one last-minute panic whenever the latest life-threatening event popped up…” She sighed. “I think that set me up for failure when I left school and discovered it wasn’t all about grades and how many facts you could regurgitate.” After a slight pause, she cocked her head and said, “Nobody likes a smart-arse after all.”

The brief colour in Malfoy’s face had drained to parchment white again as he listened, and he sat perfectly straight in his seat, tense and serious once more.

Nervously, she began to babble a little. “So… I obviously cottoned on to that after I started at the Ministry, and I adapted, and I did pretty well at the DMLE. They kept asking me to be an Auror because of my spellwork, but I freeze up completely under pressure, and I’m a terrible dualist, so that was out of the question. I do much better behind the scenes - always have. But…” she sighed and drank a little more wine as her monologue threatened to run away with her. “To answer your original question, I lost sight of where the line was,” she said.

“What line?”

She shook her head, loose ringlets shivering with the motion. “The line between work and family, I suppose. I took on more and more work to try and prove my value, and stayed later and later every night at the Ministry. I didn’t even realise I was losing our marriage until it was far, far too late. Ron and I argued an awful lot towards the end, but somehow it was still a shock to me when he asked for a divorce.”

She tucked a stray ringlet behind her ear, revealing a simple silver earring.

“It was like I was so wrapped up in all this work — which I could have delegated, but I was still it doing anyway because…” she puffed her cheeks out and shrugged, “…because that’s just what the Minister for Magic does, right?” With a final sigh she finished her wine and said, “So a week after the divorce went through, I was sitting in my office, and I looked at all the memos still zipping around in front of me, and I just thought… ‘this is my life. This is all I am’, and I quit that afternoon.”

“Brave of you,” he murmured.

“I didn’t feel like it at the time,” she said, grateful beyond words at his reaction. No one, bar perhaps Harry, had reacted that way back then. They’d all thought she was nuts. “I spent a month in a Muggle cottage in the middle of nowhere in Pembrokeshire, and then another five months back here in London doing almost nothing. I was a complete mess. It was around then that Ginny got pregnant with Lily, so I was there for her quite a bit, looking after Albus and James and teaching them. That was fun. I really enjoyed that. I think… I think brought me back down after the chaos of quitting my job like that, you know?”

“Children can do that,” he commented wryly. “You and Weasley never had any though.”

She’d seen the blow coming — set herself up perfectly for it — but it still caught her full in the chest. She swallowed and shook her head, unable to look him in the eye for reasons she hoped to keep secret from him. “We tried, but…” she shrugged. “It wasn’t to be. Not long after that though, I saw the advert for the bookshop, and I’ve never looked back.”

Draco frowned. “I’m sorry.”

“It was probably for the best anyway. I don’t think I’d have made a good mother back then. I barely made time for myself, let alone for a family.” She cleared her throat and then asked, “Speaking of sprogs, did you find out why Scorpius is in detention?”

He barked a laugh at that and she found herself relaxing again as he let her artlessly change subjects.

“My dear little mandrake somehow brewed a stink bomb in his dormitory and set it off in the library near some Gryffindors. They’d apparently been mocking Albus for being a Potter in Slytherin. Did the job so well that the Gryffindors smelled of rotten eggs for a week, no matter what they tried to get rid of it.” He seemed quietly proud of Scorpius for that, and she couldn’t really blame him, knowing what a talent Draco himself had had for potions back then.

Her face did darken at the news of Albus being bullied though, and she made a note to check in on Harry. Then she reeled back through his last sentence, to the part where he’d called Scorpius his ‘dear little mandrake’, and chuckled. “You still call him that then?”

“What, ‘mandrake’?” Malfoy seemed surprised by her question.

“Mm.”

“If the shoe fits, Granger. I’ve never heard of a child that could scream like Scorpius, so when you dubbed him that, it kind of stuck.”

A huge smile dawned on her face and her stomach swooped somehow.

“What?” he asked.

“Draco Malfoy is a huge sap,” she said. “Who’d have thought it?”

He rolled his grey eyes but couldn’t keep the answering smile off his face. “Don’t broadcast it, Granger.”

“It’ll be our secret, I promise,” she said.

Draco’s gaze slid over her shoulder a little while later and he signalled the waiter with a subtle raising of his pale eyebrows.

When the man appeared, it was not to take payment in coins the way every other wizarding establishment did, but it was with a parchment and quill for him to sign. It struck her as oddly modern for the magical world, akin to a cheque or even a credit card. Transaction complete, the waiter departed, leaving behind a small tray of delicate petit fours.

“Draco, I don’t think I can eat another thing,” she said, looking wistfully at them.

“I can ask them to box them up for us if you'd prefer?” he said.

With that done, they rose and headed out. Draco collected his cloak and swirled it around his shoulders, and they stepped through the illusory wall and back into a damp, Muggle London.

“Draco,” she whispered, standing on the pavement beside him and becoming very aware of just how tall he was now, even with her heels to help.

His eyes were dark, pupils wide once more, as he regarded her. “Mmm?”

“I don’t want tonight to end,” she whispered. “Isn’t that silly?” She almost sobbed as she thought about going back to her sorry little empty apartment after spending all evening either smiling or laughing or really just… talking.

“No,” he replied. After a beat of silence, he hissed, “Granger, may I kiss you?”

“Yes,” she breathed, and parted her lips as he brought his warm, slightly rough hands to her jawline and held her delicately. He moved as if he were convinced he still wasn’t allowed to touch her at all, but when she smiled up at him, he exhaled roughly and returned it faintly.

Then he leaned down, angling his head slightly to the left, and brushed his lips against hers so lightly she almost missed it. He still tasted of chocolate and wine, but she chased the retreating gesture hungrily, pressing her lips against his, placing her hands on his hips and drawing their bodies together. She could feel how sharp his hipbones were through the fabric of his trousers and it made her ache inside and out to map his body.

Draco moaned and his eyes fluttered closed as he kissed her; gently at first, and then, as a fire kindled in him, he became more demanding. His teeth nipped at her lower lip followed by the tantalising brush of his tongue that left her tingling all over. Unquestioningly, she let him deepen their kiss until they were both breathless, and she could feel his growing arousal where she pressed her body against his.

Panting, Draco finally drew back, still without taking his hands from her face. He stood stooped, his eyes closed, his teeth sunk into his lip. “Granger,” he breathed at last.

“Are you going back to the Manor?” she asked, feeling slightly giddy.

“No, I have a flat in London. If you… If you wanted to come back with me, you’d… you'd be most welcome.”

“Is it far?”

“We’re probably best apparating from here,” he said, finally lowering his hands, though he didn't step back.

She could have counted every one of his silver lashes if she’d had the concentration for it. As it was, her core burned, and she was suddenly wetter and more turned on than she could ever remember being.

“You could side-along if you’d like?” he rasped.

She frowned, the fog in her mind starting to clear just a fraction. “You don’t have wards up?” When he pursed his lips, the knut dropped and she laughed. “You already adjusted them? That confident were we, Malfoy? I don't know whether to be impressed or insulted…”

His cheeks darkened and he chuckled. “More like… I was being hopelessly optimistic. But I don’t want you to feel pressured, Granger. We can call it a night here if you’d prefer.”

“Thank you for that,” she said quickly, but she took hold of his fingers where they rested by his side, and squeezed his hand. “But we’re not in our twenties, and we don’t have to pretend to wait for the third date or whatever to know what we want. Besides,” she added with a glint in her eyes, “If I have to go any longer than another few seconds without your mouth on me again, I may just explode.”

Pleasantly stunned by her affirmation, Malfoy recovered quickly, and kissed her again. It was not chaste or fleeting this time. “Ready?” he asked when he eventually straightened.

She nodded, and clung to him as the unpleasant, hook-like apparition spell took hold of both of them and yanked them across London to the centre of Malfoy’s living room.

He let her catch her breath before robbing her of it once again with kiss after kiss, over and over. Then he moved his attention down her neck until she was gasping, chest heaving, and hot all over. Her small clutch hit the floorboards as her fingers went limp, and he shrugged off his cloak and jacket, dumping the clothes on the nearby white sofa before returning to her.

She had barely had time to take in the sleek, austere, and rather soulless furnishings of the apartment before he was sucking a bruise at her collarbone and she flung her head back with a broken cry of pleasure.

“Gods, Granger,” he said between kisses. “I’ve wanted to do that to you all evening.”

“You have?” she laughed as his hands skimmed down her sides to her hips and gripped her tightly.

He growled something inarticulate and then moved his touch to the zip at the back of her dress. “May I?”

“I’ve thought about you doing that all evening,” she said playfully, eliciting another growl from him before he had turned her and drawn the zip all the way down to the small of her back.

“Oh Merlin and Morgana,” he purred appreciatively under his breath as he began kissing her where she stood, working his way over her shoulder blade and down to her bra clasp. He raked his teeth over the slightly freckled skin of her back and then delicately drew the shoulders of her dress down so that the fabric pooled around her waist, leaving her upper body exposed in only her bra.

He moved her to face him again and continued to undress her, staring wide eyed and hungrily at her in a way that made her squirm, heat and wetness pooling between her legs. When he got to her matching underwear, he knelt before her on the floorboards and kissed her lower stomach and hips before sliding his fingertips under the dark lace and caressing the impossibly sensitive skin where her groin met her thigh.

“Granger, sit back for me?” he asked and she sank, shaky-kneed, onto the sofa behind her. Self-consciousness crashed through her as he continued to stare openly at her and she swallowed.

Clearly sensing something was wrong, he looked up and frowned. “Is… Is this alright?” he asked, hands faltering where his fingertips rested on the inside of her thighs.

“Yeah,” she said truthfully. “Just… Well…” she inhaled and then let it go with a nervous laugh. “It’s been a while since anyone’s seen me without my clothes on, Malfoy. And even with yours still on, it’s hard not to feel a bit… you know…”

Malfoy snarled, lip curling. “You’re exquisite, Granger,” he growled. “I’ve been half-hard all fucking evening. Let me show you how bloody gorgeous you are?” he asked, and with that, he spread her legs a little more and drew her underwear to one side.

He skimmed the pad of his thumb slowly, reverently over her clit and she bucked, abandoning much of her embarrassment as a jolt of pleasure seared through her. “Oh God, Malfoy…” she grunted as he kissed up the insides of her thighs, occasionally closing his teeth over her skin.

“Can I taste you?” he asked from his vigil on the floor between her knees.

“Yes… God, yes…”

And with that, he drew her underwear down while she hitched her hips up to help, and his mouth closed over her sex. The sudden, pressing heat of it made her head loll back and her spine arch, but then he brought his tongue to her and laved a long stripe up over her folds and circled her clit and she shuddered.

“You’re so wet,” he breathed, sounding astonished.

“Mmm,” she said. “Not the only one who’s been thinking about this all night,” she laughed.

“Fuck…” he hissed to himself as he returned his mouth to her.

The steady motion of his tongue dipping occasionally inside her before returning to suckle and lick at her clit had her shaking and clutching the sofa in minutes. Nothing that anyone had ever done to her had ever felt this good. Heat built inside her like a stoked furnace and she arched again while Draco held her with both his arms beneath her thighs, drawing himself into her. He was going to bring her to her peak with nothing but his mouth.

“Draco I’m going to come,” she gasped. “Draco… Oh fuck… Draco!” and with that, she shattered. A convulsing wave of heat and blinding white light ripped through her and she cried out, head thrown back, mouth open, eyes screwed shut as Draco kept his tongue pressed to her pulsing clit and eased her through it.

When he sat back on his heels, his lips were puffy and shone from her arousal, and he gazed up at her as if she were some kind of goddess. His eyes were blown dark, wide with a kind of reverent lust that she’d never imagined him capable of.

He looked her up and down and smiled.

“I didn’t even take my shoes off,” she laughed a moment later as the realisation dawned.

“I know,” he smiled. “That was partly what made me lose it so quickly. You clearly have no idea how fucking incredible you look, Granger.”

She had to smile at that. How could she not smile when he was still kneeling between her legs and the evidence of his own arousal was plain to see.

“Would you like me to help you out of them?” he asked.

“Please,” she said.

His hands held her ankle so delicately that she bucked again, though the movement was muted. He caressed the bones of her ankle and after he had slipped her feet from the shoes, he set them to one side and rose gracefully to his feet. He held out his hand and asked, “Bedroom?”

“Unless you want me to ride you here on your living room couch,” she said and his jaw slackened slightly. “Then yes.”

He led her, naked save for her bra, to a room just off from the sitting room, and while he still had his back to her to focus on casting a soft lumos spell, she unclasped her bra and let it fall to the floor. Drawn by the sound of it hitting the carpet, he turned. In two steps, he had crossed back to her and in his right hand he took a handful of her hair and tipped her head back, while in his left he cupped the weight of her right breast and moaned against her mouth.

“Are you trying to get me to spill in my trousers like a teenager, Granger?” he hissed.

She laughed. “Let’s get you caught up then,” she said, and began to undo the button and zip at his waistband. He stepped out of his trousers and left them crumpled on the floor, and she whispered, “You have the most incredible legs, Draco. I’ve always thought so.”

“You have?” he asked, hands going to begin on his tie and shirt buttons while she ran her fingers around his lower stomach beneath the waistband of his black boxer-briefs.

“Mmm. I know I didn’t like you as a person back then, but even I have to admit you looked incredible out there in your quidditch kit.”

He smirked, clearly pleased, and fumbled a button.

“Let me?”

His cock twitched noticeably, and he raised his chin a little, hands falling limply at his sides. Before she’d managed even a single button, his fingers had found her hips again and he began tracing idle circles with his thumb over her skin.

Hermione took her time undressing him, and when she finally peeled back the front of his shirt, she bit her lip at the sight of his torso. Without removing his shirt completely, she brought her fingertips to his pecs and trailed them down, circling one nipple without quite touching the dusky pink bud, and then moved down over the clear ridges of his abs. He was in incredible shape, seemingly without an ounce of fat on him anywhere. She swallowed, throat dry.

“How are you even real?” she found herself whispering. “Draco, you’re beautiful…”

He flushed from his collarbones, up his neck, all the way to his ears, but didn’t move. His eyes fluttered closed, and as she drew back the fabric of his shirt a little further, she noticed a long, silver scar slashing across his chest like the after-image of a lightning strike. It stretched from his left shoulder, across his chest, down to below his right ribs and, she realised as she followed the line of it with her fingers, he had a second right above the waistband of his boxer-briefs. A third, smaller scar curled around his left hip.

“Is that where…?”

“Potter,” he hissed through closed teeth. His smile was sad, like he’d long ago forgiven the boy for lashing out with a spell he’d never even heard of.

It was only as she pulled his shirt slowly off his perfect, marble shoulders, that she remembered his Dark Mark. Instantly her eyes went to his left arm, where all of Voldemort’s followers had borne his brand, and there in fading, dark, smudged ink, sat the leering skull with its coiling snake.

“Don’t,” he snarled softly, drawing his arm back away from her. “Don’t look at it.”

“Alright,” she said.

His eyebrows rose, as if he’d expected her to argue and lecture him somehow, but instead, she hooked her finger beneath the waistband of his one remaining piece of clothing, and pulled his underwear carefully down, freeing his cock.

Pre-come beaded instantly at the flushed head, and he inhaled softly as she smiled and pressed her palm into his hip, steering him back towards the bed.

In a daze, he let her move him, and he laid his head back on the pillows, hair as white as the cotton beneath, and stared up at her with his eyes dark and lidded. “Granger,” he whispered, and she straddled him slowly. His hands found her hips as she sank down and rocked her wet folds up the length of his hard cock. At the contact, he gasped and jerked his sharp chin up towards the ceiling, heels digging into the mattress behind her. “Oh fuck, Granger…” he said.

“Mmm?”

“Oh gods. Oh Merlin… fuck…”

“I’ve reduced him to a babbling idiot again,” she giggled, and he laughed too. The sound was open and free and truly delighted, and she leaned down and took his nipples between finger and thumb and tweaked them slowly.

A deep, guttural groan left his throat and the tendons jutted out in sharp relief against his neck as his whole body went taut. He tried to buck beneath her, but she held him firmly between her thighs and he dug his fingers into the muscle of her legs hard enough that she thought she might bear the marks of it afterwards.

Draco began to pant as she rolled herself repeatedly along his cock, luxuriating in the gliding contact.

Then she heard him hiss a contraceptive spell, and she almost laughed. Clearly it was little more than a reflex for him, and she didn’t interrupt him for it, but the surprise of it nearly brought her out of the moment altogether. Next he had brought his hand to his cock and was guiding the head to enter her. She was slick and sensitive from having come already, and he eased into her without resistance.

She was, however, as he declared in a broken moan, “…so fucking tight…”

Hermione began to rock again once he was seated inside her to the hilt, but he grabbed her hips and curled his torso in on itself, panting. “Don’t move, Granger. Fuck. Don’t fucking move.”

She smirked. “You’re that close already?”

“Shut up,” he snapped without sting, and then let his shoulders drop back down to the mattress behind him again. “Fuck…” he laughed, almost shyly.

Then he surprised her again by reaching his hands up to her shoulders and suddenly the world tilted, and she found herself beneath him and lying on her back on the mattress. She parted her legs a little further, allowing him deeper, and he growled again. He looked ethereal as he loomed over her, all pale skin and silver hair, and her core tightened.

“You’re going to make me come again, Draco,” she whispered as it built inside her anew. This time it was less raw and needful, but no less intense.

And with that, he began to move. At first, he withdrew until he was almost all the way out, leaving only the tip of his cock inside her, but soon enough he sank back down to the hilt with another glorious groan. Picking up a rhythm that soon had him heaving for breath, he raised one of her legs and hooked her knee over his shoulder, her thigh to his chest. With that new angle, he hit her so deep with every stroke that she saw stars.

“You’re going to come for me, aren’t you Granger?” he rasped. “Gods, I can feel it. I can feel you… you’re so tight. You’re perfect, you’re… Granger…” he grunted and then he was coming. His torso clenched and his head bowed low, and the rush of his release inside her and the way he clung to her shoulders tipped her over the edge and she followed him.

Malfoy raised himself on shaking arms a long moment later, one hand braced on either side of her head, and looked down at her. His white hair was dishevelled and a sheen of sweat stippled across his forehead, but it was his eyes that held her. Dark and glassy, he stared in open wonder at her, and then he smiled.

“Granger…” he whispered, and she laughed with elation as she kissed him.

___

Chapter Seven

Let me know what you think, and help a newbie (at least to contributing anyway) to the fandom out by reblogging!

writing masterlist | Ao3

#dramione #dramione fic #older dramione #draco malfoy x hermione granger #hermione granger x draco malfoy #draco x hermione #hermione x draco #let no man steal your thyme

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ladymoonveil · 4 years ago

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Thoughts on Zack Snyder’s Justice League

If the original JL was a 3/10, this one is closer to a 6/10. It's definitely an improvement given the fact that it has twice the running time to flesh out various characters and scenes. Unfortunately, this movie still doesn't make me excited to see more of the Snyderverse, and I'm kind of glad that DC is starting to go in a different direction with their cinematic stuff. Some additional thoughts below:

The Good

There are some really gorgeous shots in this movie when the slo-mo is aptly used. A standout scene for me is the football match in the falling snow; from a visual perspective it looked fantastic.

Cyborg got a lot more backstory compared to the original JL, and so did the Flash and Aquaman to a lesser extent. This time around I was more interested in Cyborg, so the additional time taken to develop his character paid off well.

Overall, the plot is also a lot more cohesive. For the most part, I understood why the characters acted in certain ways, and the story flowed better from scene to scene.

Despite the fact that this movie is 4+ hours long, it didn't feel like a drag. I think breaking it up into chapters was a smart decision, and the pacing was fine.

Steppenwolf looks much better in Snyder's version. I really like the way they animated his armour.

There are some neat fight scenes, and all the characters got their chance to shine at least once.

The Bad

The slo-mo in this movie is like 300 on crack. It's so excessive that even the moments that really benefit from this effect became less special because you see it so often.

I particularly disliked the scene where the Flash saved the girl from the car accident. It felt like a worse version of the Quicksilver scenes, and him brushing back the girl's hair instead of just saving her right away is kind of creepy.

I also did not understand why Wonder Woman used her gauntlets to blow out part of that building instead of just incapacitating the guy with the gun. She's obviously fast enough to do it, and she didn't have to put anyone else outside the building in danger of falling debris or give the impression that a bomb went off. Just felt incredibly out of character.

There is no reason for the Martian Manhunter to be in this movie. The fact that the discussion between Martha and Lois was actually a discussion between MM and Lois really cheapened that entire scene for me. Martha and Lois have barely anything to do in this movie, why didn't Snyder let the real Martha have a heart to heart with Lois about the death of someone that they both loved dearly? Instead, he turned it into a cheap cameo that ruined the emotional impact between the two characters

Although new characters like Cyborg had some additional screen time to flesh out their backstories, we should have gotten more. For example, they brought up the huge revelation of Cyborg having control over all the nukes in the world, but then completely glossed over how that works. Does he need to be in proximity to the nukes? Can he "accidentally" fire off the nukes if he has a nightmare or something? Does he even have nightmares anymore? Cyborg deserves to have his own solo film instead of just being thrown into JL.

Overall, the palette of this film is quite dark and dreary. The most obvious is when you compare Mera's hair to how it looks in Aquaman. Even the scene of Clark standing in the field with the sun shining down felt less vibrant than it should have been because of the muted colours.

I'm okay with the whole "motherboxes were sleeping until Superman died" thing, but Darkseid just...forgot where he left the motherboxes and anti-life equation?? What???

The Ugly

Although this cut was better overall, the major failing of JL (and the DCEU in general) is still very clear. They rushed to get their Avengers equivalent ensemble film but forgot to establish the building blocks first. This movie basically introduced Aquaman, Flash, Cyborg, and the Martian Manhunter. That's four new superheroes in a film already dealing with the return of Superman plotline. Even with the extended running time, this is a terrible idea that does not translate well to a movie franchise, even if it might work in the comic format. (I honestly forgot that the Aquaman solo movie came after JL. The order in which they released these DC films is all over the place.)

To be honest, I still think that it was a bad idea to give Snyder Superman. All the characters in these films keep talking about him as a beacon of hope and a source of inspiration, but I never really felt it. Snyder's Superman is hyper-focused on Lois Lane, but doesn't seem to care much about humanity in general. I'm wracking my brain but I can't remember any instances of genuine joy or compassion from this version of the character. I just don't think that Snyder is capable of writing a good Superman story without turning him evil or killing him. (I'm still salty that Snyder had the Kents suggest to Clark that maybe he should hide his powers instead of using them to help people, and that Clark watched his dad die in the hurricane instead of saving him. I much prefer the comics where Jonathan Kent died due to a heart attack, since that was a perfect way of humanizing Superman. No matter how powerful he is, when it came to the unexpected death of his father in this manner, he was just as vulnerable and helpless as the rest of us.) I guess I have a soft spot for the boy scout characters, and Marvel did a much better job at bringing Steve Rogers to life while keeping him true to his character. Somehow they made me care more about Captain America than Superman in the cinematic universe, even though Superman is probably my favourite superhero. I honestly think a lot of the fault lies with Snyder's portrayal of the character on the big screen.

It looks like Snyder's original plan is to build towards something like Injustice (which doesn't surprise me at all). However, because his Superman is already toeing the edge of darkness, I don't think it will have nearly as much impact/contrast if he does turn evil.

Final Thoughts

This new cut of Justice League is worth watching if you are 1) a fan of the characters, 2) a fan of the genre, and 3) a fan of Snyder's directorial style. If you don't fit into any of the categories above, you can skip this and spend four hours watching something else instead.

Maybe the biggest issue for me is that he never got me invested in his version of the characters. I waited for years to see Superman and Batman together on the big screen. World's Finest are some of my favourite comics to read. What I got instead was the absolute dumpster fire that was BvS, where Bruce acted like a murderous psychopath, Clark was emotionally detached from the world, and their fight was resolved because "Martha". While it's true that his cut of JL is better than BvS, it still wasn't enough to redeem the DCEU IMO.

To leave things on a more positive note, if you're as tired of the evil Superman/dead Superman/brooding Superman storylines as I am, might I recommend Jeff Loveness' works? He's one of my favourite Superman writers, and when I read his stuff I always get that injection of hope that Superman is meant to inspire. Two of my favourites are "Help" (where Lex Luthor is assisted by a regular civilian when his car breaks down), and "Glasses" (where we see Superman through Lois Lane's eyes). You can also find the scans of these stories on Tumblr if you look around.

My favourite line about Superman from Loveness' comics is, "He could be anyone...and he chooses to be kind."

I wish that we saw more of this Superman in the DCEU, because we could all use a little more kindness in our lives these days.

(And if you do prefer the darker stories, Loveness' entry for the Dark Multiverse: Death of Superman story is fantastic too.)

#Zack Snyder's Justice League #Justice League #Superman #spoilers #DCEU #my thoughts

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seokiloquy · 4 years ago

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Pumpkin Spice - Miya Osamu

AU: Regular, coffee shop(?)

Server Collab (Linked)

Tags/Warnings: GN Reader, swearing, time-skip spoilers

Word Count: 9.2k+

Working at a cafe in the middle of the busy streets of Tokyo’s business sector often led to many customers in need of a nice brew and in association, tips. Lots of tips that often fell into your pocket at the end of the day. The pay was good enough and made up for the moderately long commute from your campus that you spent sleeping on the train. On top of that, your boss was the nicest and most supportive old woman in downtown Tokyo.

The interior of the cafe was soft and homey in comparison to the reflective silver exterior of the building outside. Seats with red vinyl cushions filled the open area leading to the wooden top counter that you worked behind, mixing up whatever ludicrous drink they asked for. The customers loved you. You loved the money. It was the best.

It was sunny that day, people were smiling for once as they walked to work for once. The traffic was light, people weren’t running late, and to top it all off you had just gotten an email that morning with the mark for your latest assignment, a perfect grade.

“We’re closing.”

“Like, just for today, right?” you asked Juri, brows furrowed as a disbelieving smile pulled on your face as if you were being pranked. She gave you a sad look. “Right?” you repeated, pouring in a measured amount of coffee beans into the espresso machine.

“(Y/N), I’m so sorry,” Juri gasped. “The building owner jacked up the renting price and I just can’t afford it now.”

You reached behind you for the counter, gripping it tightly between your fingers as you pulled yourself closer to slump onto it. A dull ache began to grow right between your eyes. “Don’t apologize, Juri. There’s nothing you can do. I’m fine.”

“Well, that’s a lie,” she spoke after a moment, skating over the thin ice that froze over your conversation. “You can spend more time studying now at least, university gets harder in your final year.”

“University’s the reason I needed this job though.” You walked around Juri’s stout form, reaching for the coffee machine, grabbing hold of a mug and readying yourself for the freshly pressed beans. “I have to pay for it somehow.”

“(Y/N), darling, maybe a three shot espresso isn’t the best thing to have right now.”

You gave the old woman a sour look over your shoulder before shooting back the mug of dark bean soup. Immediately, your tongue tried to escape your mouth. “Oh god, you,” you gagged momentarily. “You were right. That was horrid.” An uncomfortable shiver ran over your shoulders and through your spine.

Juri’s wrinkled hand came to rest over the black strap of your apron that hung desperately to your shoulder, squeezing it tightly to the point of bruising. She pulled you down roughly and flicked your forehead with her nail. “Stupid,” she chastised.

Walking to the sink, she grabbed the mug you held and rinsed it out before handing it back to you, filled to the brim with cold water. She rubbed your back, encouraging you to suck back the water to rid the bitter taste from the corners of your mouth. “If you want, I’ll write up a letter of recommendation for your resume.”

“I’m not sure whoever would hire me would take the time to read it, no one uses reference letters anymore. But thank you, I’d appreciate it.”

She smiled, making the wrinkles on her face shift slightly. “Anything for you sweetheart. Besides, you’ll need every advantage you can get with your horrid cooking.”

On your last day of work, Juri sent you off into the dark streets of Tokyo with a notebook filled with homebrew, baking and cooking recipes —the last two being one’s you have never and likely never will touch— and a container of cookies that she had made that morning.

The book, in and of itself, was innocent enough. A relatively mute earthy colour palette that made flowery designs from one edge to the other. But, you knew there had to be some secret spells of torture within the pages, or just something that you’d injure yourself with.

Not even a day later, far into the night, a sugar-covered cookie was left forgotten on your table as you scrolled through job listings on your computer, occasionally getting distracted by the scantily clad fictional characters that promoted a game on the edges of the webpage. You reached for the cookie, shooting your eyes back to the list and scrolling.

Your dorm was rather modest, more like a small apartment when compared to some of the other dorms on campus though. Which admittedly saved you money and made it more expensive at once. With your own kitchen and modest living space attached to a bedroom and bathroom, you successfully managed to isolate yourself from any other students in the building for just an extra fee. Luckily, having a kitchen meant that the school didn’t supply you with food, saving you money, but also leaving you starving since the only recipes you had in your head were for coffee. Moment’s spent in your kitchen alone with a grumbling stomach sometimes made you wish you were roomed with another person, or had taken the university's food plan. Curse your late teenage pride.

The walls were off white, surrounding a room filled with mostly dark furniture —namely navy— and reflecting the light that came off your computer screen. They made large shadows against your floor and walls. Your two fingers swept along the mousepad, moving the dry list up your screen. You bit into the cookie, quickly scarfing it down and clawing for another, mumbling to yourself as you skimmed over all the nanny jobs, and full-time positions. Corporations that would likely not give you enough pay were quickly forgotten, also.

The neighbours above you were playing study music rather loudly, letting the smooth sounds seep through the walls gently, it made you want to sleep, they probably had an essay to work on. You sighed, rubbing your eyes before sparing a glance at the time displayed in the corner of your screen. 1:32 am. Swallowing down the tired taste in your mouth, you swiped your fingers harshly against the pad, entirely too tired to do any more thinking and letting the loading screen of the website choose your job for you. You threw your head back, slumping into your seat with a worried wince, desperately hoping that you wouldn’t regret it.

You squinted at the top result of the most recent listings. “Huh.”

The black uniform wearing man scratched his head through his matching, logo crested hat, making it shift slightly to reveal his dyed hair underneath it. You sat silently on the plush stool at the counter as the older man —he couldn’t be much older than you, could he?— skimmed through your resume lightly before reading the reference letter Juri had written for you. The sweater he wore tightened at each opening, puffing out into what looked like a cozy crewneck. Definitely not the most common uniform for a food establishment, but you wouldn’t complain, it was starting to get colder. He rested his elbow on the counter-table, turning the top of his stool to face you directly.

“You’ve never worked in food before?”

The open-concept space of the man’s restaurant/cafe seemed to close in rapidly, making the light brown tables and decorations blend in with the white walls and red seats. The colours spun in your vision, blurring all your surroundings except for the tall, hunched man in front of you. He seemed to pop off the screen of your static vision with a halo of light surrounding him. You blinked rapidly, mentally shooing away the loopy visions. There wasn’t enough sleep in your system. That and it felt like you were about to be penalized.

Noticing his intense, stoic eye-contact, heat from your stomach rushed up to your cheeks and ears. He had pretty, grey eyes. Your lungs vibrated under your sternum as you tried to suck in enough air to speak. A bashful smile crept onto your face as your fingers fiddled together, occasionally dragging the pad of your thumb over the length of your nails.

“If I’m being honest, I’ve never been very good in the kitchen. Juri, my old boss, wouldn’t let me help her with baking the pastries because I would always burn myself. I’m working on it though.” That was a lie, a total lie. You weren’t working at it at all. You continued, laughing at yourself, “Because of that, Juri always had me doing beverages. So when I saw you were looking for a barista, I applied.” Well, that was only a partial lie.

The silver-haired man chuckled lightly, “I received your request for an interview, your request, 5 minutes after I posted the listing.”

Biting your lip, you reached for a napkin from one of the dispensers as you forced yourself to maintain eye contact. He seemed to enjoy watching your fingers fiddle with the limp piece of paper. You coughed, “Is that a good thing? Cause my desperate self is in need of a job. I’ll even risk burning my hands off if that’s what’s needed.”

He laughed again, taking the black, curve-rimmed hat off his head and set your papers down next to it on the sleek wooden counter. “(L/N), relax. I am looking for another barista, I had my previous one go work at our second location because it’s closer to home. So I’m short-handed and know only the basics about coffee, and with winter fast approaching I need help.”

You ripped the tissue paper in your hand in half before compiling it and stuffing it quickly into your pocket. “Does that mean I’m hired? Cause I need to pay for my tuition.” He watched, an amused smile pulling at his face, he stood up gesturing for you to follow him. With an awkward grin, you followed his silent instruction.

The rectangular counter you were sitting at wrapped around the back corner, creating a two-metre space walkway that led to the bathrooms and cut off an unlabeled wooden door from being easily accessed by customers. You followed his steps, watching his black Adidas sneakers step over the lines of the large wood floor panels. He opened the wooden door, gesturing you inside, before pulling a box off of the shelf that sat against the back wall and dropping it onto the counter next to a sink. Pulling out a cozy-looking crewneck sweater with a proud and yet desperate smile.

“This is the kitchen and break room,” he said, throwing out an arm to the rest of the large space, before walking back over to you, sweater and cap in hand. “Can you come in tomorrow? I can show you the ropes.”

“I’m sorry Miss, but we don’t have that drink here, it's not the season yet.” You smiled apologetically at the older woman who was digging through her bag in frustration. You hated telling customers little white lies, the feeling dug at the sides of your stomach each time you had to. It was becoming more frequent with October fast approaching.

“I’m sorry too,” she replied, letting her purse drop onto the counter with a smack. “My daughter has been nagging me all day to pick up one of these drinks and no one has it yet.”

You flexed and clenched your fist underneath the counter before adjusting your cap to try and give the woman a confident facade. “We’ll be getting the ingredients next week, so hopefully she can hold off until then. For now, would you like some onigiri? They’re freshly made.”

“Please.”

After ringing up the woman’s total and sending her out the door with a wave, you turned to your co-worker with an anxious grin. Taichi scoffed in response, openly laughing in your face. “You have to stop lying to our customers!” he berated with a lopsided expression.

“I know, I know! But I hate seeing them annoyed or upset. I can’t help it that they keep asking for a drink that we can’t make!”

The 1st year university student (who you quickly found out went to the same school as you) chuckled, leaning against the onigiri display. “What are the ingredients for it anyway?” he asked, watching you rest your hip against the counter next to the cash register.

“One cup of pumpkin puree, half a cup of sugar, half a teaspoon of pumpkin spice seasoning but that’s optional. That’s to make the pumpkin sauce. Then you need a quarter cup of pumpkin sauce, two ounces of espresso, eight ounces of milk, and then whipped cream and cinnamon on top,” you listed, staring off onto the floor.

“You have that memorized?” Taichi asked rhetorically, mouth hanging open.

You crossed your arms. “I’ve been working as a barista for over 3 years now. You start to remember things.”

Taichi lifted his hat, taking a moment to ruffle his straight cut black hair before setting it back down on his head. “Well, you can just ask Miya to order some, right?”

Snapping your finger, you sent the younger boy a finger gun with a pensive look pulling your eyebrows upward, “I hadn’t thought about that.”

On your next shift, after an early morning lecture about the global economy and stock market (which you tried not to sleep through), you walked into the break room to find your silver-headed boss curl over the edge of the small round table in the corner of the room while sitting on the old futon next to it, hair tousled in an oddly pleasant way. His hands moved quickly as he scribbled into the papers before him, the tight grip on his pen making his muscles flex slightly in his arm, that was made visible by his rolled up sleeves.

You quickly looked to your shoes, trying to calm your breathing down. “Um, Miya,” you called lightly, trying not to startle him. Nearly dropping the pen in his hand, he looked up. “Sorry,” you said, pulling your hands into the sleeves of your uniform.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m almost done,” he said, watching your fidgeting hands. “Did you need something?”

“Pumpkin sauce.”

He gave you a strange look, nose scrunching as a single eyebrow lifted. “Pumpkin sauce? Oh right, that’s a thing isn’t it?” Miya said as if just remembering the time of year, looking away from your wiggling fingers to the empty kitchen across from him.

You gulped. “Yes, for pumpkin spice lattes. A lot of customers have been asking about it.”

He raised the other eyebrow in your direction, trying to strangle down a teasing laugh. “You lied to the customers didn’t you?”

“I might have told a little white lie so they wouldn’t get upset.”

Miya sighed, holding eye contact with you for a moment, before signing the last sheet of paper in front of him with an entertained smile. He looked back up while gathering the papers into a neat pile. “I’ll get an order in by next week.”

“Thank you.”

Why did you ever decide that philosophy was a good thing to take in university? Seriously. What were you thinking? You stared at the empty document before you, blinking tiredly as you groaned.

Aesthetics. The first unit that your professor chose to discuss for a university-level because it’s likely the easiest to discuss. The essay itself was more introductory than anything. The instructions were to write an essay about how aesthetics and attraction to particular aesthetics are created, how society plays a role, and finally, your own personal stance.

You clearly remember glaring at the young professor when she said she wanted to gain a deeper understanding of each student. That’s for high school, you thought, mentally going over the three years of university you’ve already suffered through. Then again, maybe an easy grade. The only downside was that even though you’ve gone through nearly a decade and a half of school, you’ve never been good at writing an introspective piece.

“Professor Suzuki, How introspective should it be exactly?” you had asked her after the lecture had finished.

She gave you a sharp pointy smile with a light, slow shrug. “However much you think is needed. But I do want to learn about you and your experiences.”

Your brows were pinched together tightly, as you tried to understand. “So like an attraction autobiography?” That's deeply concerning.

She never did give you a clear response after that. Dancing around the direct answer you needed to hear. She must’ve been a high school literature teacher at some point.

A self-deprecating chuckle escaped you, making the younger boy who was lazing about on your couch turn his attention away from the tv. “What crawled into your pants?” Taichi asked, pouring the last remains of your chip bag into his mouth.

“I have to write about stuff for a philosophy essay.”

“Isn’t that the whole point of an essay?” The empty chip bag crinkled loudly in his hands as they folded the plastic messily.

You scowled at him. “If you’re going to be a smart ass you can stop eating my food and go back to your dorm.” Standing up from your kitchen counter, you scanned the junk-filled counters, eyes landing on the small carpet patterned notebook that sat sadly on the corner edge.

Taichi ran up from his seat, pleading for you to not send him out, claiming that his roommate was mean and hogged up the whole space. You partially ignored him, letting his yapping ring numbly in your ear as you flipped through Juri’s old recipe book.

“Wanna help me make cookies?” you asked, turning your head his way and effectively cutting off his rambling.

He paused, letting his bottom lip hang open before snapping it shut in a cautious sneer. “You’re deciding to bake? I’d rather risk getting bullied by my roommate. Bye.” He ran out of the dorm. Ran.

“God, my baking skills don’t warrant that kind of a reaction, jeez,” you huffed to yourself, slamming the notebook shut. No longer in the mood to experiment in the kitchen.

“Did the new rice come in?” the blond asked, letting his whole torso lie flat on the short table extension of the main counter.

The light click of a plate resonated in the empty restaurant. “You’re lucky,” the grey-haired one said, monotone response making the other look up to the large, meat-filled onigiri waiting for him on the porcelain plate. “Fresh shipment just came in this morning.” At the entrance of the building, the bell attached to the door sang lightly as it opened. Notifying your entrance, while a cool autumn breeze rolled past you. “Speaking of shipment. (L/N), the pumpkin sauce came in!”

You unravelled the scarf around your neck as you walked, giving your boss a large grin that made him gulp slightly. “Really? That's amazing, Miya..” The blond, noticing the other man’s reaction upon your entrance, spun in his chair, making his honey brown eyes meet yours. “There’s t-two. Two of you?” The scarf you had taken off sat limply in your hand as you stared off blankly at the two identical men.

“(L/N), this is my brother. You can call him Atsumu.”

The blonde sent you a small vibrating wave and a smirk, leaning his elbow against the counter as he tilted his head in your direction. With tightened brows and a tight, awkward smile, you nodded in response, bowing as your hand began to grip your colourful scarf a bit tighter. The blond followed up his brother’s introduction. “If you’re gonna call me Atsumu, you might as well address him as Samu.”

“Samu?” You questioned.

Over the table, ‘Samu’ smacked his brother with the black cap from his head. Hitting his shoulder with a loud smack before facing you. “Osamu is fine.”

You nodded hesitantly before bowing again. “Call me (Y/N), then. The both of you.” Facing your silver-haired boss, who still gripped his black baseball cap tightly between his fingers, you pointed to the back room with a meek smile. “I’m gonna go put my stuff down. Sorry for being a bit behind. I was up late working on an essay.”

Osamu nodded. “Sure thing, I have a new recipe for you to try out when you come back out,” giving you an understanding smile before ushering you off to the back, watching the folds of your jacket move with each step. He gulped. As soon as your back fell behind the door frame's edge, he weaponized his flimsy hat again, making the older twin howl as the top button hit his temple.

“What was that for?!” the fake blond screeched.

Osamu sent him a deadly glare. “Don’t flirt with my employee. They’re too young for you.”

“We’re the same age, Samu,” Atsumu teased, as he dropped his voice a couple of semitones. “I don’t see you restraining yourself.”

Atsumu left Onigiri Miya with a number of small bruises running along his hairline that morning. Though, he refused to leave without sending you a request to watch his upcoming game. “I want to have everyone watching,” he said, forgetting to even tell you what you’d be seeing, leaving his younger twin to take the burden.

You sat on one of the red plush stools, swinging it side to side and Osamu stood on the other side of the counter, onigiri filled plate in hand. He wore a hesitant grin as he set the plate down in front of you. Then, he started talking as he walked around the counter. “They’re slightly different than the ones I usually make so they look a bit weird, but we had the ingredients so I thought I'd play around with the different flavours.”

The store was empty. As expected for an early Saturday morning. It was also windy outside, making the inside of Onigiri Miya feel that much warmer as the howling wind ran loudly against the glass wall of the entrance, occasionally making the polyester awning above the entrance flap around like paper.

You gave him an encouraging smile as he walked around your seated form, nearest hand brushing over the length of your shoulders through the black sweater. A chill ran down your spine as his hand fell from the end of your shoulder. He sat down beside you, spinning the stool to face you head-on, much like how you both were during your interview. “I’m sure they taste great. What are the fillings?” you asked, reaching for one-half of the two pairs of onigiri on the plate.

“Well, since the pumpkin sauce came in, I figured I would play around with it a bit,” he said, reaching for one of his own.

Once you bit into the centre of the rice ball the smooth sweet flavour of the sauce rolled over your tongue. The orange sauce dyed the rice on the inside, making the colour soak in the individual grains. You let the flavour sit on your tongue for a moment. “Were you going for a sweet onigiri?”

Osamu chuckled a bit. “Kind of. I made the other one more savoury though.”

You looked at the other slightly misshapen onigiri on the plate, then up at the maker of them, meeting his eyes with a kind supportive smile. “The choice is yours,” you said, taking one off the platter and taking a large bite out of it. “But I think they’re both pretty tasty.”

“Really?” he asked, resting his elbows on his knees, leaning toward you in earnest. “Not too sweet or bland?”

“They’re perfect. Just like the chef who made them," you complimented happily.

Osamu flushed slightly, trying to pout as he chewed away at his onigiri. "You don't have to be so nice, they still look a bit lopsided."

"Does the appearance of the food really matter? I thought the taste was the biggest factor," you teased lightly. Whenever you made a brew for a customer, most never really cared if there was a cute design sprinkled on the top, or if the layers were visible from the side of their plastic cup if they took it to go. All you ever focused on was the taste, and when the 7 am rush comes through, patrons are typically too tired to even care about the look so long as they get their dose of coffee in.

"Do you never look at the exterior of things? Most consumers judge their first impressions of things based on their appearance. Like book covers."

You furrowed your brow. "I've never really thought about it. A lot of the books I read are digital now so there's no need for a fancy cover."

"What about people then," he prompted, leaning further forward, forcing you to maintain eye contact with him. His normally grey eyes seemed to hold tints of the honey brown from those of his sibling. "Have you ever... let's say, been attracted to someone based on their appearance alone?"

Your gaze shot back and forth between his eyes and the fringe of his silver lightly brushing over his eyebrow before finally settling on his left, blown out pupil that started more directly at yours. "Maybe subconsciously." It came out in a light whisper.

The bell at the entrance rang, a ragged, tired looking suit-clad woman wobbled in. Eyes blinking slowly as she waved her hand in the air. "Light roast, double shot espresso with whipped cream! I am running late!"

You shot out of your seat, knocking off Osamu's hat by the brim with your own, before grabbing a mug from over the counter and rushing to the mixtures. "On it!"

"Thank you," she panted, handing her card to Osamu to ring up.

Your head and shoulder twitched as you bounced on your toes outside the glass wall of Onigiri Miya. The wet concrete and frozen air of the early morning made the idea of curling against the polished glass with your face tucked into your scarf all the more tempting. Another silver tickled your spine.

Groaning you spun around to face the golden brown and red streets. Wind carried the dry leaves over their drowned sibling until falling into a puddle themselves. You closed your eyes, trying to redirect the heat in your body to your hands that were tucked into your pockets, clenched tightly.

Something cold lightly smacked against your nose and eyelids.

Cracking your eyes open, your lashes pushed against a brown decaying wall that blocked out all the light of the early morning. When it was away, leaving a cold residue behind, the light made your squint.

“You're here early,” the silver haired man said, tossing the old leaf over his shoulder before pulling a collection of keys from his coat pocket and gently tucked you out of the door with his free hand. Opening it up, he placed the keys into his back jean pocket.

“Did you just give me a face mask with an old leaf?”

“Sure did,” he said, matter-a-factly. “Why are you here so early? You’re not a morning person.”

You followed him through the glass door, letting him take the responsibility of flicking off the lights as you pulled your coats and scarf off. “You said today was your brother's game, I didn’t know what time, so I figured I'd be here a bit early.”

Mouth open, Osamu stared at you without blinking, as if searching for a joke. “You know most post games happen in the evening right?”

“So I’m here early for nothing then.”

The two of you walked through the empty restaurant, coats slung over your arms as you conversed.

“I wouldn’t say nothing,” he teased, hanging up his coat on the hanger in the back, lifting the bottom hem of his shirt slightly. “You get to work.”

“Yay,” you yawned, reaching for your uniform sweatshirt.

“For money.” He added.

He had trouble making you laugh throughout the morning, only receiving yawns and frustrated pout in response as you made coffee for all the equally tired customers.

You’ve never seen a volleyball game before, only ever having tried to play during gym class in high school. On top of that, you never understood the rules, but you blamed that on the phys ed teacher rather than your own inability.

The live recording of Astumu’s game was being played on multiple sports channels. It got pulled up on the large screen of the tv that sat against the wall 30 minutes before the game even started. Osamu stood with you and Taichi —who had made it to work at a reasonable time to watch the game—, explaining the rules and positions over layers of customer chatter, as he made onigiri in view of the game instead of in the back where he normally worked. He pointed to the screen.

“That’s Hinata in the opposite hitter position. He pretty much does the same thing as Bokuto,” he shifted his arms angle to point to the duo-tones haired player on the screen. “An outside hitter.” Then, facing you, he watched as your nose scrunched in thought.

“What makes them different, then?” Beside you, Taichi nodded along, handing a customer a plate of onigiri.

“Their orientation with the setter,” Osamu replied. Before letting out a loud cheer, fist clenched and elbow tucking quickly into his side as his brother scored another point.

You let out a loud, exasperated laugh, shaking your head slightly. “There are a lot of rules and stuff you want me to memorize.” On the other side of the counter, a girl came up to stand in front of you, asking for a pumpkin spice latte. “Sure thing. Taichi, ring her up for me would you?” you asked, making your way to the coffee machines that sat along the length of the counters, continuing to talk to Osamu.

You looked at the available ingredients. “We’re gonna need more pumpkin sauce.”

“I’ll order it. Is it that confusing?” He asked, following you to the machines.

Mug in hand, you gave Osamu an unsure look as you reached for the whipped cream, stretching your arm only to knock it farther away. “A little? But at least their mascot is cute.”

“The black jackal?” he laughed, taking hold of the whipped sugar and placing it in your open palm, to which you smiled in thanks. He quickly diverted his gaze, staring at the blank walls as he bit inside of his cheek. “Didn’t even bother to listen to me ramble then, too busy gushing over the cute mascot. I thought visual exteriors weren’t important to you.”

“Oh shut up, I was listening,” you scoffed haughtily, smacking Osamu’s shoulder as you walked past his tall figure to give the girl her mug. “And he was interacting with the young fans, it was cute.” You looked at the clock. “It’s 6:30, I’m gonna take my break. I got an essay to write.”

Taichi laughed mockingly. “Good luck. We’ll hold down the fort.”

Osamu watched your back as you walked away, adjusting his hat as he turned to face the upcoming customer that had just walked in.

“Bake at 450? Oh, that's Fahrenheit? Why, though? Okay, got it. Oh shit, did preheat it too much then?”

Juri, as lovely a lady as she is, had terrible handwriting, or terrible in your opinion because you couldn’t read it. Whether it was a letter, or note for an order of cookies and bread, the intricate curls of her connected lettering always made your brain feel like it hit a brick wall. Holding the book in your right hand, you used the other to carry the tray of separated butter cookie dough and hooked your foot underneath the oven handle to pull it open. Still glaring at the writing, you slowly lowered the metal tray onto the racks.

“Hey, (Y/N)! Can—”

“Fuck!”

Taichi let himself in, turning the corner of your kitchen counter to quickly pull your hand away from the immense heat source. You clenched your teeth tightly, airy and painful laugh falling through your grimace. Dropping the notebook, you wrapped your hand around your left wrist, squeezing it tightly as Taichi helped you stand up. An endless series of insults left you, directed at the large cubic fire instrument.

“Okay cold water, here we go.” Taichi then left your side to finish tucking in the metal tray, silicone glove on his hand. He turned back around to see you hunched form leaning over the running sink, choppy breaths flying out of you. “Why are you baking?” he scolded.

“Oh, I can’t bake now?”

“You’ve never been able to bake.”

“Oh screw you, dude. I’m trying to learn a new skill.”

“Learning how to kill, more like it.”

Hand still stuck under the cold running water, and pain still crawling up your arm like red ants deciding to feast on your flesh, you slowly turned your head to face the younger boy, smacking your lips. You glared, “Why are you here, Taichi?”

The new university student dug his socked toe into the tiled floor of your kitchen. Pursing his lips and sending you a pair of finger guns as soon as he met your glare. He lowered them when you didn’t laugh. “I was hoping you could take care of my closing shift tonight? I have a group assignment due tomorrow and no one did any work.”

Spinning your head and torso uncomfortably to look behind you, you stared at the clock on your wall. You bit your lip. “Taichi, your shift starts at 6.”

“Uh, ya.”

“It’s 5:30.”

“Uh-huh,” he continued, barefaced, as he tucked his hands into his jean pockets.

“You're working here and waiting for the cookie timer to go off.”

Taichi nodded, moving his feet to look at the oven counting down. “Okay, got it. Do I get to eat some of them?”

You sneered at him as your blistered hand throbbed painfully at the movement of you grabbing your things, notebook included, in haste. “If they don’t kill you.”

“Osamu! I’m so sorry for being late!” You yelled rushing through the main door and startling a few customers. You ran towards the staff only door unravelling the warm scarf from around your neck and letting your jacket fall off your shoulders as you went.

Osamu’s eyes followed your frazzled movements, chuckling lightly as you kicked the wooden door open. He yelled through the door as you changed into your cozy uniform. “Calm down, (Y/N). You’re not late. Taichi called in too, so don’t worry.”

You poked your head through the door, brows pinched in the center before slowly walking up to stand next to him. “So I’m not late?” you asked, adjusting your hat.

The customers had gone back to their individual activities, typing away at their computers or reading whatever book in hand or chatting over a simple brew and snack Osamu had put together for them. You looked out the front window, the sun was already beginning to set over the darkening leaves, letting a warm glow pour in through the glass to cover every surface inside the cafe despite the temperature outside being the opposite.

The evening was spent with both of you helping the late-night customers with their requests, often having to dance around each other's forms with a light ‘sorry’ or ‘excuse me’ to notify the other.

“Thank you both. Have a good night!” the last customer called, waving, as they walked through the door.

Osamu waved back as you collected the mugs and plates that were left at the tables, taking them to the back room. “I’m gonna wash these up then take my break. Is that alright?”

“No problem, we probably won't see anyone else for the night so I can handle it.”

The door swung shut behind you.

When you turned on the tap hot water poured out quickly, and without thinking much of it, you stuck your left hand under it. You flinched, letting out a strangled yelp before switching the water to cold, letting it wash over somehow forgotten burn on the back of your hand. You sighed at your own stupidity, grabbing a dirty plate. Luckily the dishes were quick to clean, the light music you set up on your computer beforehand helped. Before you even realized, the dishes were washed and dried, and you could get some work done on your essay.

You sat down on the couch futon, blowing cold air onto your burnt hand that you switched tabs on your laptop. The constant yawns escaping you only seemed to make lying on the slightly deformed seat way more tempting than trying to get some school work done.

“Can’t do beauty standards, everyone’s gonna do beauty standards,” you yawned again, taking your fingers off the keyboard and turning your eyes away from the bright screen. Your eyes burned as you closed them, leaning your head back against the back of the folded futon. Another yawn. “Maybe books covers?” you breathed slowly. “Hmmm.”

On the other side of the door, Osamu wiped down the table seats and counters until they were spotless, letting the red vinyl and wood patterns shine through uninterrupted. As he cleaned the glass front, squeegeeing it to crystal clear perfection, Osamu watched as the last bit of sunlight that bounced off the top of the buildings across the street disappeared. It suddenly looked a lot colder in the streets.

Hanging up the damp towel, he made his way into the backroom, flicking off the lights in the main area as he walked through the door. “(Y/N) how’s the essay going?” he trailed off, catching sight of your curled up body lying sideways along the old couch, laptop continuing to play a soft tune.

You had one foot off the couch, touching the floor, and another resting on the wooden armrest. The open legged sweats you often wore were crunched up at the knees. Your torso was twisted so you were partially on your side and your hands were pulled into your chest. Mouth slightly parted, Osamu could hear your small breaths as your chest rose and fell.

He chuckled, walking over to your side, and glancing slightly to your screen. The essay you had been rushing to complete was left open, unfinished. He closed the computer, tucking it into your bag, pulling out a small notebook to make space. The bookmarked page fell open as he set in down on the table. With a curious huff, he read the recipe over.

“Huh, simple enough.”

As he reached to gently shake your shoulder in hopes to wake you up, he caught sight of the burn that ran along the back of your hand. Huffing, he lifted his hand, put the book back in its place —tucked between your laptop and the side of your bag—, and walked over to where the first aid kit was.

A scratchy hum was the first noise you made upon waking up. Bleary-eyed, and drained of energy, you slowly blink up to see your hand being gently wrapped in a soft cloth-like bandage. You squinted up to the black-clothed man as he fastened the bandage together.

“Did I really fall asleep?” you asked sadly, voice slightly hoarse. “I have to… write.”

The light in the room was dreadfully bright, making you squint as you tried to look at Osamu’s face. All his features were hard to see, leaving only his hair as an anchor point for you to admire as the light bounced off of it.

He said something, but in your delirious state, all you could make out was the smooth deep hum of his voice reverberating in your head like a slow waltz. You hummed again, letting out a lethargic ‘nice’. Your eyes shut again, and you drifted off to his low, breathy chuckle. An unconscious mumble followed, but you were too tired to hear his immediate response.

“Come on (Y/N),” he cooed, massaging your shoulder gently. “Time to wake up.”

Another incoherent mumble bubbled out of your mouth as Osamu tried to sit you up. Your head bobbled as you moved to be upright, falling backwards before he could catch it. Chuckling at his own mistake, he stuck an arm out, curling his hand around the back of your neck to bring it forward again. As he cradled your head gently in one hand, he used the other to continue prodding at your shoulder.

“Okay, sleepyhead. You gotta wake up now.”

There are those moments where people wake up and they think they see an alien, or shadowy figure at the edge of their bed. Those scary figures that seemed to carry a negative connotation a majority of the time. Most people, if they were to wake up, eyes fuzzy, and see a silhouette immediately before them they would very likely think the same, flail about, and duck for cover. You were not most people.

Eyelids hanging millimetres away from shutting, you gazed drowsily at the blurry from before you, tired mind trying to put together the dark shape as your body swayed back and forth. Falling forward slightly to get a closer look.

Osamu grunted slightly, catching your limp weight. The hand he used to rub your shoulder had now made its way around your back, lifting you from a different angle. His other hand still protected your neck from strain, holding your head closer to his chest. He looked down at your hazy gaze, perfectly timed with your own sudden need to lean upwards.

A near chortle of a huff forced its way out of Osamu’s nose, painting your cheek in warm air as your eyes shut fully. The feeling of your lashes dancing against the bridge of his nose tickled, making his shoulders scrunched up slightly. His grip tightened, pulling you ever so slightly closer. The light scent emitting off of your hair washed over him like a wave of fresh air, and the heat radiating off your body felt like a warm blanket on a cold night. There was a light tug at the end of his sweater as you wrapped the fabric gently between your fingers. Tough dried from being parted in your sleep, Osamu could feel the malleability of your lips as they pushed against his.

This one last surge forward, you let your arms relax, falling almost entirely limp in Osamu’s arms as you pulled away.

He blinked slowly, trying to look at the colour of your eyes between the slits of your lashlines.

Another warm hum left you was your head curled into his shoulder. “Cute.”

Osamu scoffed quietly to himself, laughing as he shook his head. “You never stop lying.”

Osamu liked to think he was a nice brother, a good brother, the best even. He kept his twin out of trouble, made sure he didn’t get injured and protected him from bullies. All for the payment of letting Osamu torment him for all eternity with repeated punches and kicks. Osamu liked to think he was a nice brother, but he wasn’t.

“Assumu, shut up or I’m gonna punch the daylight out of you.”

“Vulgar. That’s a new one, Samu. Try me.”

Hinata grabbed hold of the blond twin’s forearm as he made taunting motions to his brother, pinning it down onto the table. The smaller red-head cried out for the two brothers to stop, calling for Bokuto’s aid.

“Ya, both of you stop it. I’m trying to eat here.”

From behind his white mask, Sakusa let out an exasperated sigh, brushing a hand through his wavy hair at the part. “Would you all calm down?”

Atsumu teased out a laugh as he settled back into his seat between Hinata and Bokuto, who both happily went back to eating their donated snacks. The blonde leaned his elbows onto the counter and bounced a leg beneath him as he looked up to his uniform wearing brother.

“So,” he drawled, smirking at the grey-haired man. “You kissed (Y/N). While they were asleep no less. Doesn’t that seem kind of rapey to you?”

Osamu groaned, ripping the black cap off his head before throwing his arms into the air. “I didn’t force it! (Y/N) was hardly even awake, definitely in some sort of dreamscape, and then just kissed me.” He groaned again, knocking his forehead into one of the coffee machines, making it rattle lightly.

“Damn,” Atsumu replied, finally relenting his mockery and reached for his own onigiri. “Guess I lost my chance then. Do you know if they even remembered it though?”

Setting down his hat, Osamu walked around the counter, pulling up a chair from one of the tables to sit with the four teammates, making them spin in the stools.

“No idea. I just drove (Y/N) back to the university dorms with Taichi’s help.”

Bokuto’s muffled voice spoke up, as he tried to talk through his full mouth. “How is Taichi doing anyway. It’s been a while since we’ve seen him.”

Osamu grimaced at the visible mushed rice poking out between the duo-toned man’s teeth. “He had a project to finish, that’s why (Y/N) was here last night. Overall he’s been doing good though.”

Hinata swallowed his last bit of onigiri, turning the top of his stool to face the older man more clearly. “When will we get to meet (Y/N), then? We could probably see them both at the same time.”

Osamu scrunched his nose up, digging his face into the palms of his hands and let out a tired, run-down laugh. “Hopefully soon if I don’t get arrested for sexual misconduct.”

Sakusa glanced at the drink orders that were written in chalk against the side wall. “Hey Atsumu,” he switched the subject. “Can you make me a pumpkin spice latte?”

Sighing, the owner of the restaurant got up from his chair and walked back to the coffee machines he had earlier abused with his forehead. “I can give it a go, but it definitely won’t be up to (Y/N)’s standards.”

Sakusa just waved it off, not caring.

“I mean, they’re still bad, but at least they’re better than last time.”

You stopped your slow typing and let out a puff of hot air. “If you actually helped maybe you’d be eating better cookies.”

“Hey hey, no no no,” Taichi laughed, munching into another dry cookie from the pile. “You’re the one that wanted to learn a new skill.”

You threw your head back into the soft couch of your living room and grabbed one of the throw pillows from the corner, shoving your face into it to muffle your angered scream. Running out of air, you dropped the pillow into your lap, shutting your eye tightly as you panted for air.

“Here,” he said, stuffing one of the burnt biscuits into your open mouth. “Eat a cookie.”

Taking the box of poorly made cookies with him, Taichi stood up from the wooden bench at your kitchen counter and made his way to flop down onto the other side of your couch. He stuffed another straight into his mouth as he kicked his slipper clad feet onto the coffee table right next to your laptop.

“So, What’s got you all wound up? It has to be more than these cookies.”

“I,” you paused, taking a large intake of decaying leaf air into your lungs through the open window. You got up, wiping your hands on your well worn sweats, and shut the window lightly, so the only thing coming in though it would be the view of red leaves. The palms of your hands dug into the window sill. “I need to get this essay done. It’s due in two days.”

“Not buying it. Keep going,” he said, flicking his finger in a circular motion in the air.

You sighed, still looking at the old piles of leaves in the courtyard outside your dorm. “My baking skills still suck, this essay is due in two days, and I still haven’t written the personal reflection portion of it.” You spun around and leaned against the window, challenging Taichi’s disapproving expression.

He tsked, sucking in the air. “There’s something you're not telling me. What happened?”

You quickly diverted your gaze to the top corner near the exit. Your nails made a clicking sound as they flicked against each other. “I, I can’t.”

“(Y/N),” he strained.

“Nope.”

“(Y/N).”

“I can’t.” You played with the bandage on your hand.

“(Y/N). You’re lying to yourself.”

“I’m gonna get fired.”

Taichi stood up from the couch, stalking over in your direction, meaning to pin you into the corner. He stood tall in front of you, arm crossed as if he were a principal. “(Y/N), what happened?”

“I kissed our boss.”

“You did what?”

You squeaked uncomfortably, thrashing your arms about and shaking your hands to calm your nerves. Head thrown back, you yelled. “I kissed Osamu!”

His arm dropped. Taichi threw his back into a curve, spinning around as he laughed wildly in sharp honks. “That’s amazing!” he squealed, throwing himself onto the couch and kicking his feet into the plush armrest.

“Shut up, I could get fired!”

Taichi, gasping for air, sat up from his fit of giggles and sighed. “Okay, what the hell happened?”

You puffed out an annoyed gulp of air and waddled over to the couch, slumping into the open space next to him. He leaned forward, beckoning you to talk.

“I was half awake, delirious after trying to write an essay about fucking aesthetics and attraction of all things. Osamu tries to wake me up, and I plant a big one on him before falling asleep again.”

Taichi laughed, happy to hear your tale. “That’s what happened yesterday? I just thought you were overworked.”

“I was!” He smirked, watching you squirm around. “Don’t take it out of context, you know what I'm talking about.”

“Fine, fine.” He relented and reached for the half-empty box of cookies, holding it in your direction. “Eat one. You need it.”

You frowned as you bit into the over-salted cookie, swallowing it as fast as you could before the taste settled in your mouth.

“Besides,” He said, grabbing another for himself. “I don’t think getting fired is something you’ll have to worry about.”

Long night shift. The sun had fully set, making the neighbouring stores’ exterior decorations glow in all their spooky glory. You shivered as you yawned, feeling cold air run over the length of your shoulders underneath your sweater.

With a spray bottle and damp towel, you swiped down all the counters, really digging into the coffee stains that were left by an overworked mother and her grumpy toddler. For the umpteenth time that night, another yawn tore it’s way out of you as you walked toward the sink behind the counter to wash the dirtied cloth. You kept your bandaged hand out of the hot water, doing your best to just use the one.

After ringing out the both you grabbed one of the clean mugs from the counter, stalking over to the coffee machines to whip up something for yourself. You yawned again.

“Tired?” From the backroom, Osamu emerged, hands tucked neatly behind his back.

“Hmm? Oh ya. I’m whipping up a pumpkin spice mocha of sorts. Don’t want to fall asleep again.”

Osamu coughed and leaned against the counter next to you, setting down a small box that you didn’t bother to look at, too busy with your coffee. “Ah, right. Do you mind making one for me too? I’d like to be coherent, tonight. I’ll grab some fresh onigiri too.” He smiled at you.

Trying to beat the heat that was quickly climbing up your neck to try and darken the colour of your cheeks, you bit your lip and poured all your focus into the orange-hued liquid in front of you. Behind you, Osamu reached for the freshly made onigiri from the chilled display case. You could hear the fabric of his sweater shuffle as he bent down to pull it out. You reached for the whipped cream with your eye tightly sewn shut.

“Got it,” he said as you turned around with both mugs in hand.

Once in the back room, you set down both mugs onto the table, before sitting down in one of the corners of the futon, letting him take up the other half. Osamu sat down slowly, pushing the second onigiri your way. “Eat up. You can restore some energy.”

You thanked him before taking a bite from the rice ball, it was filled with spicy salmon. Smiling, you took another bite.

Osamu took a sip from his coffee, trying to lick off the leftover whipped cream from his upper lip. It looked like a small mustache, and you laughed.

“Enjoying the food, over there?”

You chuckled again. “It’s great, but. Jeez, you have a mustache.”

Osamu grumbled, whipping the top of his lip with his thumb. “Here,” he said, grabbing the small box off the table and holding it out to you. “These are for you.”

Setting down the half-eaten Onigiri, hesitantly took the box between your fingers. You gave him a confused look as you brought it into your lap. Lifting up the attached paper lid, you found yourself staring at a small collection of cookies, iced and cut to look like the adorable black jackal mascot from his brother's team.

“I saw the recipe in your notebook that...night. I wanted to make you something as an apology, and you said that the mascot was cute.” You looked up to see him scratched back of his head, staring pensively into his mug before glancing up to meet your eyes. He flinched back, pursing his lips and racing to look at the mug again.

“You don’t have to apologize, Osamu. I initiated it.” you reached into the box, pulling out one of the cookies and took a small bite out of the jackal’s ear. “I didn’t hate it either.”

You chuckled in embarrassment, watching from the side as his ears turned a rosy colour. Taking another bite from the cookie, you leaned forward a bit, trying to catch sight of his pink cheeks through his hanging fringe. You prodded.

“I did call you cute too, remember?”

Your fingers danced over your laptop’s keyboard.

I don’t often find myself thinking about the way aesthetics affect my opinions. Looks, trends, and opinions are always evolving and changing. I don’t have the capacity to keep up with such superficial things in the same way a majority of people do. Though, on a rare occasion, I will find something endearing enough to call ‘cute’. /

Outside your window, you could see the last few leaves fall off their branches. You sat down, curled up on your dorm’s couch as you saved the final copy of your essay, nibbling away at the cookies that sat on the table next to you, pumpkin spice latte in hand.

This is now the longest thing I’ve written thus far, and so the next few I write will be short cause I’m lazy.

Once again, this oneshot is part of a fall themed server collab, the masterlist is linked at the top, so I recommend that you give all the other stories a read, I would appreciate it. -Bacon

Posted: 25/09/2020

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amphtaminedreams · 5 years ago

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Paris Haute Couture Week S/S 2020 Plus a Little Jacquemus: Okay, Dior DID Suck (Part 2/2)

Hi to anyone reading,

First of all, thank you! I have never had a post do as well as the part 1 of my haute couture week review did and I am so overwhelmed with the positive feedback. This is probably funny to read for those of you getting thousands of reblogs on your posts, me acting like I won an academy award because I got a couple of hundred, but honestly I don’t expect any traction when I write on here (it’s basically just me word vomiting everything I’m thinking as if people want to hear it aka. mouthing off into what I thought was the void) so if you did read it, thank you! I do spend a long-ass time on these so it means a lot:-)

I’ll leave the self-indulgent ramble there though as it’s probably not what you came for and jump straight into part 2 of my thoughts, starting with Jacquemus. Yeah, I knew what I was doing when I tagged that in my last post. Simon Porte Jacquemus is the man of the *fashion* people right now; I’ve even found myself coming round to the Le Chiquito bag despite my original thought being “well, that’s fucking useless”. I know, I know, technically it’s not haute couture; it was part of Men’s Fashion Week, but it happened around the same time and everyone was talking about it on Twitter, so I feel like I have to include it.

In a way, it kind of reminds me of Bottega Veneta’s last RTW show, in that, especially with the women’s outfits, we seem to be sticking with simple, fitted garments and chunky, more statement jewellery. I’ve got to say I like the styling here a lot more though, and in general I’m a fan of this collection. The collared tops with cut outs underneath blazers are cool and I can’t wait until it gets warm enough for me to not feel dumb wearing my headscarfs like this; there’s a LOT of summer outfit inspiration. It’s not a mind-blowing collection or anything but it is effortlessly sexy and that’s something I wish I could say about myself. Most of us can only hope to look half as good as these models do whilst making the effort but at least Jacquemus is aspirational, lol.

I also fucking adore this colour palette. I’m sick of neutrals literally just meaning brown and white; the navy, sand and muted khaki is a fresh edition to what is usually interpreted as the colours you’d seen worn by Disney’s Riverboat Cruise staff and only Disney’s Riverboat Cruise staff. And I mean, come on-what is more neutral than typical English school carpet blue.

Next for the whole reason I had to make this haute couture week review 2 separate posts: Jean Paul Gaultier’s final show.

In the best way possible, it’s a lot. I don’t even really know where to start, except to say that I guess this is a fitting last show; a celebration of everything campy, messy, weird, performative, and punk is the perfect send off for a brand whose best known perfume of the last few years is called Scandal. More than anything, the final show represented the range of characters and cultures that have influenced JPG throughout his half-a-decade-long career, the lines that supposedly separate what is “masculine” and “feminine”, “old” and “young” and ultimately art and fashion blurred in the most exaggerated way possible. Sure, there are some looks which are individually a bit messy here but the way they were grouped into almost chapter-like segments meant that when you see them all together, they work. Nods to the patterns and structures that recurred from season to season were sprinkled throughout, from sailor stripes to corsets to the expected whirlwinds of colour. I’ll even allow the wellies in that one outfit; if I can get over bucket hats in Peter fucking Pilotto’s last RTW show, I can get over some questionable shoes here. Middle aged fishermen and boys who liked to pose with monster carp in their Tinder pictures as some weird display of masculinity everywhere rejoice.

Now onto a show that I personally found slightly disappointing: Margiela.

I think this one is a bit TOO weird for me. Like if you’re gonna go avant-garde, go all out. Chiffon gimp masks (I don’t know if that’s the intention here but that’s what I’m getting, sorry Maison) are something I’m not particularly fond of and I’ve never been a fan of the Tabi boots in the first place, let alone when they’ve seemingly been blown up to Michelin man style proportions. I didn’t find the show to be a total lost cause-I enjoyed the colour palette and I’ve always liked that contrast stitching detail, plus the bowler hats are interesting-but on the whole considering how much I liked the last RTW show, this is a bit of a let down.

The looks I included are salvageable but (I feel mean saying this) there were genuinely a lot of pieces that did just resemble bits of fabric draped over each over with no discernible rhyme or reason, so much so that they reminded me of some of the monstrosities I saw at a Drag Race pub quiz this one time where we had 5 mins to make some garms out of loo roll and then have a team member model them for points down a makeshift runway.

Ralph and Russo was alright. There were a few pieces that I really liked but again, I can’t help but compare this collection to the last, where it felt like the fussy details of bows and sequins and feathers and the Barbie Dreamhouse palette were utilised with a direction in mind. Here, I don’t get that. As ever, the gowns are gorgeous and I’d pay good money just to try one on for five minutes but as an overall collection I’d say there was a lack of higher vision, which is probably the snobbiest sentence I’ve ever written so forgive me.

As for Ronald Van Der Kemp, I could’ve done without including it to be honest, if it weren’t for the few pieces I’m in love with: the velvet cape, fur trimmed jacket and blue satin dress are probably my favourite pieces here.

So onto a collection I liked a lot more: Schiaparelli.

The influence of nature from flowers in bloom to insects to the organic structure of the human skeleton is as present as ever, though this collection includes a lot more delicate symbolism than usual. Honestly, the details make it for me; the brooches, earrings and facial jewellery are other-worldly touches to outfits that could otherwise be simple fashion magazine editor on-the-go. That’s not in itself a bad thing! The suits are gorgeous. I mean, I’m talking fashion editor in New York in a power suit yelling orders down the phone while she rushes along with a coffee. A Miranda Priestley in the making type woman. THAT’S a modern take on the divine feminine that Maria Grazia should’ve been going for; our goddesses aren’t women who sit around looking pretty (though that helps too) and place curses on mere mortals anymore, they’re women who get shit done.

With regards to Valentino, which was also a delight, let me start by saying this colour palette is EVERYTHING. It’s ugly sisters in Cinderella fantastic, and we know those 2 were the real fashion icons really. Other than that, I adore the Old Hollywood silhouettes from the gloves to the Liz Taylor-in-Cleopatra-level-dramatic earrings. Everything is opulent and expensive-looking and pretty much what we’ve all come to expect from Valentino. A strong 8/10.

For me personally, Viktor and Rolf was a standout and one of my favourite collections of haute couture week. It’s not going to be everyone’s cup of tea and I know it’s at the complete opposite end of the spectrum to what was probably my other favourite collection, Elie Saab, but this is just my style down to a T, the perfect balance of grungy and cutesy that I want to achieve.

There’s probably going to be a lot of objections to the temporary face tattoos and I get that, but I think they’re fucking sick. I obviously wouldn’t get a permanent one lest my mother murder me in cold blood however if I did, you bet I would be pairing them with frilly-ass babydoll dresses that you could pick up in Camden Market like this.

And last but not least (that would be Dior), there’s Zuhair Murad.

Sigh.

IDK, man. Seeing Zuhair Murad dresses on Tumblr and WeHeartIt (remember that site? It still exists!) as a 14 year old was one of the things that got me into fashion, so it sucks that almost every time a new collection comes around, I feel underwhelmed. Disappointingly, the brand hasn’t really progressed all that much since 2013. It goes without saying that the stoning and the embroidery and sequins are stunning and would make anyone feel like a princess but from a critical point of view, I’m just not seeing anything new here. Whereas I feel like Elie Saab, for example, reflected the growing fascination with East Asian fashion and recognition of the supremacy of the region’s street style in his haute couture last collection, Zuhair Murad seems to be stuck designing the same dresses he was 6 years ago.

To pick one example, the rounded stoned necklines are so outdated that they’ve been making their way onto department store prom dresses for years. I get that it’s supposed to be a reference to Ancient Egyptian style and I respect that, I was one of those 8 year old that was obsessed with mummies and the “Curse of Tutankhamun”, but couldn’t it be done in a more interesting way? It’s Maria Grazia’s spin on Ancient Greece all over again. Now I get how how the I imagine very niche subsection of people who are into fashion and Julius Caesar (okay, so I don’t even know if they still believed in mythology and all that malarky at that point in history but just roll with my comparison here) might’ve felt going through Vogue Runway. Anyway, I hate to end on a critical note and so be clear, these are still absolutely magnificent dresses. If we ignore those ugly round necklines, that is.

So that’s it for this post! If you read part 1 and 2, I hope you enjoyed it! As always, let me know your opinions and feel free to disagree. I’m literally just about to start trawling through all the A/W 2020 RTW collections though I imagine that’s gonna take me way longer to do than this, so I wouldn’t expect that for a month or two. In the meantime, I’m trying to fit shooting a Euphoria-inspired lookbook into my days off work which is looking atm like it’s going to be the end of March, so look out for that, and also a review of the red carpet fashion from this season’s award shows.

As ever, thank you so much for reading and again, thank you for the reception on part 1 if you were one of the people that read it. It makes staying up til 3am with the jitters seem worthwhile, lol!

Lauren x

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wwounu · 5 years ago

Text

love talk | lee jihoon

—every thoughtful curve of each letter on the ivory paper, it’s rose pink envelope standing out from the rest of the simple, white envelopes, your heart can only yearn more from the warm, loving words. you yearn, yet, you don’t seem to realise the answer is a miracle waiting to happen

“because of you, each day is beautiful. sometimes, i’m afraid it’ll all vanish, but each time i think that, you look at me and smile. you’re my miracle, it’s you.”

pairing: jihoon x reader + love letter!au

word count: 15k

warning: tiny tiny angst

note: 15.1k words?!?! this may have been the longest piece i have written ever, and i’m still late for woozi day... ah, i’m so annoyed with myself, i stayed up until 1am twice just to finish this, but never did get to finish it! but here we are! if i had more time, then i would’ve been able to write the ending much better, i think the only reason why it became an adlib to me was because i wanna watch vagabond... i’m also officially back — hooray! it’ll take me some time to adjust, i guess, a lot has happened since i’ve been gone, but i still followed svt because it’s me. in regards to opposites attract i’ll make a separate post about that, but for now, i hope you all enjoy this long fanfic! it really challenged me as a writer and, little fun fact, this was supposed to be a minghao fic originally. happy belated birthday, jihoon, i hope you remain happy and healthy for eternity. i admire you so much. (i promise you this is a jihoon fanfic haha — this isn’t proofread either... also iida best boy mwah)

An ivory paper sits securely inside your palm; its fluffy, blunt edge from where it’s been ripped apart multiple other pages, contrasting with neat and straight folds, care put into them. The envelope that originally held the note was rose pink — different from the simplicity of white envelopes — the change unusual but comforting as you read each handwritten curve of your name, a small heart at the end, possibly drawn hesitantly, probably not.

A wave of familiarity hits upon unfolding the contents, simple yet pretty handwriting filling the page, its ink radiating all the warmth from the words.

I thought about you today.

A strange thought to confess to you, but I just felt like saying it, so please hear me out.

You look like you’ve been busy these days, which is why I haven’t been writing as much to you. I didn’t want to be such a disturbance to your studies. Though — as I realised — it’s also important to support you and give the positive reminders you deserve. I know I’m quite late to it all, so I hope I can make it up to you next time… Not sure how I’ll do that yet, it’s still in the works.

I’m getting off track — just remember to take it easy on yourself and that you’re doing well so far. Good luck on your remaining essays! Things will get better afterwards, so hang in there for me, promise?

Oh! Do you know the strawberry milk on the table? That’s for you too. I promise I didn’t drug it or anything, in case you’re wondering. It’s a lame present, but I hope it energises you through the day… Ah I’m so lame haha. One day I’ll give to you in person.

I missed your smile, I hope I can see it again. You shine the brightest when you do.

(Did you also like the change in envelope? I think I’ll be using coloured envelopes more these days~)

Miracle.

You fold the letter and place in back into the envelope, eyes attracted to the carton of strawberry milk, a baby pink post-it note taped onto it saying drink well~ in the same writing. Your hand immediately reaches to the drink, punching the straw and taking a long, refreshed sip.

While you enjoy your drink, your eyes fly back to the letter, mind lingering on a particular thought.

“Something on your mind?” Someone’s voice registers near you, breaking the train of thought. You see the pout form on his lips, face innocent as he removes his bag.

“Nothing, Jihoon. Blanked out a little,” you awkwardly stammer, smiling with the straw in your mouth.

Lee Jihoon — one of your closest friends. Before the term friends, you knew about each other through friends until he found out you were going to the same university as him, giving perfect reason to start a friendship there and then. Despite having contrasting courses (in fact you weren’t in any classes together), you were easily each other’s go-to.

Jihoon’s eyes acknowledge the open envelope with the letter hanging out, soon turning back to you. “Where did the milk come from?” He points to the cute-sized carton.

Do you tell him?

No one knew about your secret, it didn’t seem important to mention really, but it stuck in your mind whether you’d tell it someday.

The letters began at the start of the year, in the middle of a cold, cold January, the wintery hex making you go as far as to forget your backpack in the library. Fortunately, your bag was still at the same spot where you left it, saving you from the panic and fear that would’ve came if it wasn’t the case.

But as you inspect the inside, that’s when you see it. When you see the snowy white sleeve of the envelope, no name addressed, except for simple letters spelling an ode to you on the outside. Curious, you pick it up assuming it’s for you, fingers working to slide across the envelope’s tongue, revealing the note that held your first ever love letter.

Miracle was his name. Or what he called himself, really. Even though you were curious about the name’s origin, it was all explained in the second letter, where he wrote the name as a last-minute thing (that letter was written a week after the first, found inside your textbook).

Seemed fitting for him in your case.

It was strange — having multiple love letters, let alone just one — but through time it made you more excited as you received them frequently, each day being less of please don’t be a serial killer and more of I hope he writes today, ending with a small smile that you don’t admit to having whenever you say so.

The thought alone triggered your finger to hover over the letter, a sudden burst of eagerness spreading inside you.

Time to reveal yourself Miracle, you think, I’m going to do everything it takes to find you.

“Long story short,” easily, you begin, “the milk and this letter are from Miracle.”

“Miracle?” Jihoon repeats, his expression wanting more coverage.

“Miracle has been sending me letters for a while now. I know the point of secret admirers is to be anonymous, but he seems like a cool guy, I wanna be friends with him.”

“And you’re telling me you aren’t convinced this is some prank or...”

“This is my first admirer, be more happy for me!” You frown instantly, fingertips gently brushing the envelope flap. “Problem is, I have no clue who Miracle could be. He could be anyone!”

Jihoon hums, his hand held out. “Pass me the letter,”

“Don’t rip it.”

“What makes you think I’ll do that?”

“Just a hunch.”

Busy finishing the strawberry milk, Jihoon opens the letter, eyes concentrated on the page for a strong five seconds before nicely handing it back in your possession.

All of a sudden, he leaves his seat.

“Hoon?” Eyes appearing childlike, Jihoon only hums in the midst of lifting his bag. “Are you going somewhere?”

Once his bag is lazily hung on one shoulder, he says, “We’re going to Seventeen. We’ll talk about Miracle there.”

Naturally, a smile spreads across your lips. Jihoon never fails to make you float with words — always trailed with gentleness.

By Seventeen, he means the campus coffee shop. Everyone in the university has visited the cafe one way or another, whether it be the Valentines day special offer (which its ridiculous slogan was ‘All orders half price if you bring someone you like a latte!’) or to daydream over the baristas.

Its exterior and interior was as equally impressive. Walls splashed in snowy white and accented with raven black, the sign outlining 7-TEEN in a muted sapphire blue, the dangling chalkboard displaying the specials in chalky rose writing. The inside held a same, homely feeling, following the palette of desaturated pink, blues and whites, completed with the dark floorboards and tables for comfort.

You seat yourself by the window — specially requested by Jihoon — able to see most of the coffee shop and Jihoon’s place in line from the corner.

He comes back with a black mug steaming with heat, a mountain of sugar packets at its side, and a cake for you and him to share (even though you both knew that you were finishing it).

“The love letter please,” Jihoon requests after bringing out one of his many journals, pages taken out and deflating the fullness of the book. You react unpleasantly to the term, handing the item nonetheless.

He sets up the letter beside his journal, fingers holding his pen as he produces rushed, messy scribbles — it was almost unreadable. The words at the top of the page read Miracle Suspect List, a tiny giggle earned from reading it.

“Now... Any ideas?”

Even Jihoon doesn’t need words to understand the utter panic frozen your face as he asks. He huffs a sigh.

“Let’s read what Miracle says, maybe that’ll help.” Jihoon leans to the note, eyes drawing strange patterns as they move across the note. “Hm, Miracle noticed you’ve been struggling these past few days, does that ring any bells?”

“I’ve been so busy I didn’t even notice...”

“It’s okay, you had other things to focus on. Totally valid.” Rhythmically, he taps the pen on his chin, lips pouted like a baby duck. “If Miracle was aware about this, maybe he’s someone in your major. Anyone from your lectures that you can think of?”

Rather than answering a simple no, you think very hard this time. Jihoon does a really good job in trying to narrow the perspective for you, so its your role to meet in the middle. This secret admirer business was harder than you thought.

You think through everyone in your class, filtering them one by one until it comes into your head, radiant as ever.

“There’s Junhui. We chat when we’re in the lecture hall and sit next to each other sometimes, I probably told him about my worries. We don’t talk outside much... Unless!” You exclaim, “Unless I meet him whilst he’s on shift here, then he doesn’t shy away from me.”

Right after saying that, Junhui enters the shop, greeting the cashier at the counter, his goofy smile plastered as he disappears into the staff room with a laugh.

“Okay. Junhui...” Jihoon says, stretching Junhui’s name as he scribbles, classmate and works at Seventeen jotted underneath.

Another person comes to mind, your hand tapping repetitively on Jihoon’s arm as you tried to recall. “Oh, oh!”

“Ow, ow — what?!” Mimics Jihoon.

“There’s Soonyoung!”

“Kwon? Dance leader Kwon?”

“I heard some rumours that he liked me when I helped out with the department spring showcase—“

“You won’t like him.” Deadpans Jihoon, the interruption slightly out of place.

“What?”

Jihoon shrugs. “I don’t like him,”

The statement further confuses you, given that the dance and music departments fit hand in hand, not to mention the student’s between both departments were the most stable (in this case, the drama majors were scarily the lone wolf of the three).

And other than you, Jihoon — being the music department’s campus prodigy and following the cliché — stuck like superglue to dancer Kwon Soonyoung.

“Aren’t you friends?” Your face paints a fusion of disgust and confusion.

“We’re friends,” he confirms, nodding firmly, “he just doesn’t seem like your type. He’s... Gullible sometimes. His energy will refresh you, but it’ll eventually drain.”

“You never know.” Replies you, only focusing at the statement about being your type.

Jihoon continues to write down Soonyoung’s name even after voicing his opinion, small devil horns and a pointy tail doodled at the around his name.

“Better than nothing. Anyone else on your mind?”

“Jeon Wonwoo?” You raise your tone at the end. “I don’t think he’s that interested in me though,” you lips pull into a frown at the thought of the university’s famous librarian slash well-rounded student. He was also your tutor, but he tutored many people, so it wasn’t something out of a k-drama.

Jihoon’s hand moved right away as he notices your look. Unlike the past two, Wonwoo’s name only had a question mark underneath. “We’ll add him. There — three potential Miracles — who shall we investigate first?”

“I’ll hang around them and report back to you—“

Unexpectedly, your phone rings. The caller ID makes it clear to you that you had to take the call. You excuse yourself from Jihoon, taking one more bite of the cake before you head outside, getting lost in your conversation.

When the lengthy chat ended, you walk back inside to find your friend gone. Before you broke into a cold sweat, a light ding comes out of your phone, the screen reading a short text from Jihoon.

A classmate ran into me and they asked me to do a favour, sorry I left all of a sudden. Text me when you get to your dorm. Get there safely.

The gesture touches you, lips concealing a smile. The text also signalled to you that you should get going too, the sky outside slowly blooming into darkness.

Yet as the chair is pulled back for you to access your bag, an envelope appears.

Heart racing, your fingers scoop the item in one motion, rushing to take out the contents inside.

Two letters in one day... It doesn’t suit my style haha. I hope you’re secretly happy about it though.

I saw you in Seventeen earlier, and correct me if I’m wrong, but did I hear you talk about me? The wonderful, most-handsome Miracle?

First of all, I’m flattered, who wouldn’t talk about me? And second, I heard a little more that I should’ve. You want me to reveal myself?

If you think I’m going to give myself away, I’m not. Just because I like you doesn’t mean I’m going to tell you~

It’s your turn to do the chasing now, I can’t wait to watch. This is going to be so fun — I’ll be super hurt if you mistake me as someone else...

Joking! All I’ll say is I’m supporting you from here, I’ll be watching closely! Please don’t be disappointed when you find out who I am. Hehe.

(Before I go! I recommend Seventeen’s Poet Latte, it’s a million times better than the Hope Macchiato. Ask for hazelnut syrup too, that thing is like sweet magic)

Miracle.

Now determined, your eyes scan over the lines again and again, each word being critical yet painfully ambiguous.

That’s when it crosses your mind. His words craft you into the right direction, even though Miracle has the power to do the complete opposite depending on how he wants to play his cards.

For now, you’ll take his words as gospel, aware that he was present at the time you were in Seventeen. All the signs pointed to Junhui, majorly assuming that he was the only one that who entered the cafe, and that Miracle recommended the Poet Latte.

It settled your first target quite quickly: Wen Junhui.

Stashing the letter in your bag, you head outside, eyes following Junhui practicing latte art until you can’t see him anymore, thoughts already planning on certain strategies.

If Miracle wants this to be entertaining, you’ll make it entertaining.

It’s been a week.

And nothing has happened.

“It’s been a week.” Jihoon voices, “And you‘ve gained zero progress.”

Panic stricken, you blurt, “I’m still working on it...”

“We’re gonna get nowhere if you carry on stalling.”

“I know, but I don’t know when to do it—“ Which was partially true. You were just too shy around Junhui.

“Just do it today!”

“Ugh, okay!” As equally as loud, you shout like Jihoon. Geez. Why did he get so hot-headed? “I’ll head to my lecture and see if he’s there.”

A smile shows on Jihoon’s lips. “Great. You can do it, good luck!” He balls his fists in attempt to encourage you, passing the motivation on.

When you arrive you instantly want to go back to Jihoon. By the notice board — other than confused, tired students — stood Junhui, his face standing out almost the others as he points his fingers to one direction while talking to other students of your major.

The students walk in the direction Junhui pointed to instead of the hall, prompting a perfect chance to talk to him.

“Jun?” You add the slight confusion to neutralise things, heart racing. “What’s going on?”

“Oh, hi Y/N,” Junhui naturally grins when he sees you, finger pointing to the board. “The lecture hall is being used, so our professor changed it to the other side of campus.”

“What?!” You groan, the act washed away once hearing about the announcement. “Ah — I’m so exhausted already, we don’t get paid enough to do this.”

“We don’t get paid at all,” muses Junhui. “Should we walk together? Saves you being bored and me being lonely.”

Right, Junhui’s a potential Miracle, act along, you tell yourself.

“Sounds great.” Gladly accepting, you and the male walk together, chatting amongst one another.

Nothing special happens from there. You chat with Junhui — who has a strange calmness when it comes to talking to him — until you get to your class, sitting next to him. The both of you intently listen to your lecturer, taking notes and sharing them, but halfway through the two hour session Junhui opens a new tab on his laptop to play chess, obviously being bad at the game.

You join in, too, helping the clueless man on how to win. It leads to you and him doodling on a sheet of paper he tore out, zoning out of the lecture from what was time to time to completely not listening.

The lecture comes to a close, making you and Junhui realise how much trouble you’re in as your essay was due for the weekend after.

“Come to Seventeen tomorrow,” tells Junhui, “I’ll ask a friend to recap the lecture today and we can go through it together while I work. Does that sound okay?”

Perfect — this was perfect!

A little too enthusiastic, you blurt, “Yeah!” Before coughing loudly, realising the awkwardness. “I mean, yeah. Sorry for distracting you today Junhui,”

“It’s okay. I like studying with you, it’s fun.”

His words, along with the soft smile he has, makes you want to swoon with glee inside. It was hard to tell if he was a smooth flirt or if he was usually like this.

Either way, you said your goodbyes and hoped for the next day to come as soon as possible.

“Y/N, welcome!” Is what Junhui greets to you as you walk into the cafe, the morning atmosphere ruined as Junhui shouts, waking up half the people in there. He didn’t seem to mind though, so you made your way to him.

“It’s ten in the morning Junhui,”

“It wakes people up. They’ll thank me for it when they don’t sleep in their classes later on.”

He tells you to seat yourself while he finishes the next few orders. Once you do, you stare out of the window whilst waiting for your laptop to load, the day transitioning from gloom to a morning sunshine, more people coming onto the campus site.

You even see Jihoon walking with Soonyoung (even though it was hard to identify him under the hat, but judging by Jihoon’s mannerisms it definitely pointed to Soonyoung).

Chair sliding, the male taking a seat as he hands you a warm, rose mug. “A Poet Latte ordered by the lovely Y/N.”

“Thank you,” you warmly answer, grinning at the latte art of a panda with hearts swirled around. “This is amazing Junhui.”

“Doing it is harder than it looks,” confesses Junhui, “and in the end people will just consume it. Imagine that, eating all of my hard work... Literally.”

“Aren’t you going to drink something?”

Junhui shakes his head. “I don’t like coffee.”

Oh?

“Oh? That’s a shame.” You counter, trying to stay composed. “It isn’t for everyone — um — random question but, if you had to recommend a drink from here, what would it be? I’m up for taking some new drinks.”

The excuse made things sound more natural and by the look on Junhui’s face, the verdicts in your head point to not Miracle right now.

He taps a finger on his chin, “Out of all the orders... The Truth Iced Mocha, mainly because I don’t like warm drinks either.”

Uncertainty shows on your face, not knowing whether Junhui was telling a lie or not. There was a high chance he wasn’t, but he could most likely be lying. If he was, he was a great liar.

Studying your face, Junhui speaks. “I’m a bit picky,” he admits, laughing, “my friends hate me for it, but I’m a simple man with simple needs.”

His statement causes you to laugh, the tension in the room quickly gone. Junhui sure knows how to tone things down.

So Junhui doesn’t like coffee. Huh.

You come by Seventeen for the next two days, chatting with Junhui more often as he works. However, you walk into the male while he’s off-shift, a bouquet of pink daisies and a cinnamon-coloured teddy bear sat on the table.

Staring intensely at it, Junhui doesn’t even notice you sit across him.

“Is something on your mind?”

Breaking out of the odd staring contest, Junhui sits up, shrugging. “Which present would you like more?”

He turns the teddy’s head and the flowers to face you. The question shifts the atmosphere slightly, your mind nervous of what to answer.

“Can I have the context?” Instead, you ask that question, hoping the answer would give more indication where this was going.

“I wanna give something to my friend for support,”

Junhui doesn’t hesitate in his answer, but there’s no denying over the pinkness in his cheeks. Although he was still being vague, you point at the flowers.

“Flowers are the best go-to. Maybe the teddy can be for another time?” Nodding, Junhui relaxes in his chair, patting the bear’s head as he exhales a sigh. “Isn’t this something you’d give to a girlfriend or boyfriend?”

The question catches the other off guard, his ears burning with red as he slowly sinks his head into his arms, his face hidden.

“You caught me.” Muffled, Junhui admits.

Caught what? We’re definitely getting somewhere now, you think.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m still showing support to my friend — she’s having her first art exhibit today and she’s been working on it a lot — I just... Wanna be subtle but I need to man up,”

One hundred percent what you didn’t expect. Kinda, since you had suspicions here and there.

“Man up? You’re, like, the most easiest person to talk to! I’m sure if you acted like yourself then you’d be able to confess easily to her.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. What’s there to worry about? People fall for you like a snap,” you snap your fingers simultaneously, a laugh from Junhui followed.

“Thanks for the heart to heart Y/N. I really needed it. The exhibit opens in an hour, I should get going.”

“You can do it Junhui!” Cheers you, Junhui getting up from his chair. Out of the blue, your mind mentally clicks. “Junhui—“

Junhui hums. You hold the bear out for him.

“Bring it with you, it’ll create a bigger memory for the both of you.”

Smiling, Junhui takes the bear from your hands. “Thanks for everything... Again.” He carries the bouquet and bear in one arm, his free hand reaching to pick out a daisy. “Take it as my thank you,”

“How corny,” you say, happily taking the pretty flower, “you’ll do great!”

“I’ll see you later! I’ll tell you how it goes.”

Like that, Junhui exits out of the cafe, jogging to the entrance of the campus. You sit back once he disappears.

So Junhui has a crush on someone else.

Your hands search to find your phone, scrolling through your contacts before you lift it to your ear, waiting for the other line to pick up.

“Hoon? Let’s meet.”

“Rather than liking you, he likes a student from the art department?” Jihoon asks, strolling around the town with you half an hour after you called.

You nod, confirming it. “It was hard to tell though, every second felt like he was flirting with me. Guess he was just really good at smooth talk.”

“Not surprised about that.” Jihoon pulls a face, but his arm moves to pat your hair as you twirl the pink daisy. “Don’t act so blue, you still have two more guys!”

“But Hoon—”

“No buts, it’ll work out. I promise you. If it doesn’t, I’ll look for Miracle myself and teach him a lesson.”

You snort, “Jihoon—“

“Oh yeah, you still wanna be friends with him. Got it.” Jihoon grins when he sees your smile, pinching your cheek all of a sudden. “Now c’mon, I know what’ll cheer you up,”

“Do you?”

“Unless you don’t want food, we can just go back to campus—“

“No, wait!” You panic. Great, you’ve fallen for Jihoon’s offer. “Fine, I’m starving anyway!”

With a big grin, Jihoon takes you by the hand and walks to your favourite restaurant.

Days pass and the memories with Junhui go along with it. It was a weekend and Jihoon wanted to meet in the recording booth to talk, additionally asking if you could bring some coffee.

He stops replying after you send multiple texts — capitalised and angry emoticons — giving you no choice but to get him something.

Heading into Seventeen, your appearance catches one of the workers immediately.

That worker, being Junhui.

“What a coincidence!” He exclaims once he heads out of the break room for the second time, a flimsy item in his hand.

“Coincidence?” You repeat in return.

“I found this in the lecture hall yesterday, I thought you left it,”

“But I didn’t go to the lecture yesterday—“

All of your words dissolve as soon as your eyes hit the pastel blue envelope, slowly taking it out of Junhui’s hand, your expression indescribable.

“How did you get this?” It wasn’t the words you wanted to say, but they were clearly in your mind.

“I saw it sitting on one of the rows before I left. I would’ve given it to you straight away, but I didn’t see you on campus… And I don’t know where your dorm is so…”

You analyse Junhui’s face for a moment. Gaining all the evidence you’ve gotten, it was confirmed that Junhui wasn’t Miracle. He was telling the truth about everything.

“That’s okay! Thanks for looking after it for me!” In gratitude, you let your lips spread wide — mainly towards the fact that Miracle is writing after a week (seriously, what took him so long?), but also because of Junhui’s massive help.

Forgetting about the coffee, you exit the cafe, finding a safe spot to read the letter alone. Your fingers were trembling in anticipation as you lifted the flap.

I’m guessing you’ve been waiting for me… If not, I feel really embarrassed because I had to hold myself back from writing to you.

(God, that was so cheesy)

You figured out that I’m not Junhui. Congrats!

When I first saw him walk with you, I thought — ‘Ah, you are taking it seriously!’ — and I’ve been watching here and there, but not all the time because that would be creepy. I also had classes so there were a few clashes.

After a while I began wondering why you thought of Junhui as me. It shouldn’t be a thought I should ponder on too much, but I find myself going there sometimes.

Junhui is really admirable. He has that ability to make anyone feel at ease with him, and overall he’s very bold with his actions — so bold that I even thought he was going to make an actual move on you (totally wasn’t gonna be heartbroken…) — I get why people like to be around him so much.

He’s someone that you easily get envious over. The personality, the social skill, the confidence. He makes it look so easy. Talking to so many people, adjusting to them…

I wish I was like that; I wish I had that confidence. Maybe, if I had that same level of confidence like Junhui, then maybe I’d boldly confess my feelings without the doubts or worries orbiting my mind.

At first I was going to scribble that part out and start from scratch again, but I thought I’d share my thoughts with you. This isn’t Junhui’s level of confidence, but I think starting like this will help me build on it. My heart can feel heavy on some days and I feel like you’re the only person I can go to.

Even if you don’t write to me back, I hope you’ll always stand there on the other side.

Miracle.

“Come with me.” Out of nowhere Jihoon gets his things and starts walking away.

Fazed, you hastily gather your things and begin trailing behind him. He’s always like this — announcing he’s going somewhere at the same time he leaves — and you get the other end of the stick by rushing after the male.

“You’re seriously so annoying,” you grumble without context, “at least tell me what we’re — what you’re — doing...”

“I forgot something... And I’m doing you a favour.”

The last part wasn’t picked up by you, but Jihoon’s footsteps accelerated as he rushes into one of the department buildings.

The building appeared unfamiliar to you, it clearly wasn’t the music department, so you wondered why Jihoon knew which corridor to turn and what level he was looking for.

He doesn’t bother knocking before heading into one of the dance studios, dancers unfazed by his appearance. Worried, you harshly break out a whispered Jihoon before he stops walking and you walk into his back.

“Ow, jerk!” Complains you.

An unknown voice replies, but it isn’t directed to you. “Jihoon?” The male voice gasps. “You okay?”

Suddenly, the owner of the voice gets up from the floor, a black cap covering the front of his face, dressed in loose clothes.

Soonyoung?

“My journal’s here right? I think I left it somewhere…”

“Journal?” Soonyoung juts a lip, completely focused on Jihoon, he hasn’t even said hi to you yet. Unless he doesn’t like you. You hoped it wasn’t the latter. Like a hit to the head, Soonyoung’s eyes nearly sparkle, “Ah, let me get it!”

Soonyoung turns around and crouches down, giving you perfect time to ask what the heck Jihoon was doing.

“A favour,” is all Jihoon says, Soonyoung cheerily handing the ripped-paged book and Jihoon snatching it off him. He glares. “You didn’t look inside, did you?”

Fingers moving the cross his heart, Soonyoung simultaneously shakes his head. “Not a peep—“ his eyes acknowledge you and he immediately chokes on air, releasing an ugly cough. “Y/N! Have you been here all this time?”

Jihoon holds back an amused chuckle. Ignoring your friend, you put on your best smile and shyly nod.

“Sorry I didn’t see you there!” He’s yelling now, and it’s getting the whole room’s attention. “How… How are you?”

“I’ve been good, and you?”

“Me? I’m good too! I’m glad to hear that—“

Jihoon’s voice overlaps out Soonyoung’s, “Picking up my book just turned into a damn reunion,” a puppy-like sulk comes out of Soonyoung, but Jihoon continues to speak, “also, I’ll give you your USB back tomorrow, I’ve done all the improvements you asked.”

Soonyoung brings the other into a sweaty hug, sighing loudly. “Wow, my hero—“

Pushing Soonyoung off, Jihoon clears his throat. “But I’m leaving town for this music course tomorrow, so I’ll lend the USB to Y/N and you’ll get your USB back, then we’re all happy.”

“I’m not—“ you harshly whisper next to the male, pulling him closer by the arm, surprised at Jihoon’s proposal, “what are you doing?!”

“A latte would be okay, but you can surprise me. I’d also like extra whipped cream,” Jihoon whispers back at the same volume. He looks back at Soonyoung. “Is that alright with you?”

The apples of Soonyoung’s cheeks paint red, lips scrunched as he forces a nod. “Sure — sure! Tomorrow, yeah?”

“Mhmm. We better get going now.” Turning to you, Jihoon tilts his head to the exit, promptly looking at Soonyoung. “See you man,”

“Bye Soonyoung!” You greet energetically, causing Soonyoung to snap out of his gaze, waving his hand as you two walk out. It seemed like he wanted to say something, but, it never got off of his tongue in the end.

Once you were away from the building, you stop Jihoon by grabbing his arm, a deathly expression upon you. “What was that all about?”

Although you were mad, Jihoon’s face didn’t flinch one bit at it. He digs through his pocket, pulling out a silicone tiger figurine smaller than his palm. Removing the tiger’s head, the USB is revealed.

Without a word, Jihoon hands it to you. “I finished the thing he asked ages ago.”

“Then why didn’t you give it to him earlier—“

“Because now you have an excuse to hang around him. Use it wisely.”

“Oh. Smart.”

Turns out, Jihoon actually did have to go to that course for the day, so you wished him a text of motivation before mentally preparing yourself to meet Soonyoung.

You hastily make your way to the dance department (that’s what Jihoon said Soonyoung would normally be), but because you were so overwhelmed over what you were going to say to Soonyoung, you forgot the directions Jihoon went to the dance studio.

Dumbass, you curse inside. Now you had to ask people if one, they were a dance major (which was such a stupid question, but you couldn’t help asking) and two, if they knew Soonyoung.

Onto asking the third student, you see a figure stepping out of a room, a bag lazily hung around his arm.

“Oh — never mind — thank you anyway,”

You semi-run towards this figure, watching the surprise spread through his face as you welcome him with a grin.

“Y/N?” Soonyoung stammers, shaking in his place a little. He had a black shirt hugged his torso and jeans to complement the look — it definitely gave a different tone to the exhausted, sweaty boy you met yesterday.

“Hey.” You dangle the small tiger in between his eyes. “Special delivery for Kwon Soonyoung?”

Sparkles appear inside Soonyoung’s eyes, gladly taking the item from you. “Thank you Y/N! Tell Jihoon I said thank you — actually, I’ll tell him that later—“

“It’s no problem,” you can’t help but giggle at his gratitude over the tiger USB, it make you curious on why it was so important, but right now that wasn’t your priority.

Operation Soonyoung is a go.

“Are you doing anything right now?”

“Um… Not really, why?”

“I’m craving some food, I was wondering if you’d like to eat with me… Since you just finished practicing I’m guessing—”

For the second time Soonyoung chokes on the air, hitting his chest as he lets out harsh coughs. When he’s somewhat calmed down, he looks straight at you — a slight pinkness in his cheeks — bluntly answering, “I don’t mind going!”

The answer was leaning towards an exclamation, but a yes was a yes, and the two of you agreed to get street food and eat in the park.

Watching Soonyoung munch on a burger with great interest, you feel like he’s still acting awkward with you. You had no reason why, but the showcase pops into your head. Maybe the rumours were true, but you can’t jump so easily; this Miracle business had to be very subtle.

So much for loud, muses you, Jihoon must be out of his mind, he’s so quiet with me…

To lighten up the mood, you show your interest to the USB stick once more. “So, the stick. What’s it for? If it’s okay asking,”

Soonyoung wipes the corners of his lips cutely, pointing to a bench and asking a can we sit here with half stuffed cheeks. Sat down, he brings out the USB, watching it dangle on his finger.

“They’re music samples for dances I put together. I don’t just work for myself but for my juniors too — they rely on me when they need music for their piece. I can do the basics, but when I or my classmates need something extra to make the piece stand out more, I go to Jihoon to help me. Without him, I wouldn’t have so many students joining the dance club at all.”

“Can I listen to some?”

“Huh?” Soonyoung’s eyes expand, lips parted the slightest. “Oh — oh! Okay. Just give me a sec…”

“Soon, you don’t need to if it’s a hassle—“

“Ah! I owe you one, so, this is nothing to what you’ve done!”

“All I did was give your things back…”

Soonyoung pulls out his laptop, connecting the USB to the device, his fingers tapping against the touchpad whilst waiting. The files appear, some names sensibly and with their correct name (those were probably for his juniors), while some files were called ten-ten, hoshi, rawr, for the ultimate gemini ONLY, NOT THIS ONE.

Those were definitely Soonyoung’s.

“The ones Jihoon has fixed are the unnamed ones. He’s never creative with names,”

“Of course.” You and Soonyoung laugh over the thought, the latter pressing his finger on the play button as the music begins and the volume rises. Listening for a while, you say, “This is super good, I can’t believe Jihoon can produce something like this.”

“Well he isn’t called the music prodigy for nothing. Now check this out.”

He sets his laptop aside, the music continuing to play, and he stands in front of you, breaking into a small dance like it was second nature to him. Such fluidity, well-crafted even though Soonyoung kept a smile the whole way through, rushes of excitement inside him.

You cheer him on, laughing at the sight. He laughs with you too, brightly.

The barrier of shyness between Soonyoung and you begins to break as you meet frequently, Jihoon mainly being the reason why you three met.

More of Jihoon’s colours shone, like the grumpy, cold-shouldered character when he was Soonyoung, but he would still laugh the hardest if Soonyoung told a stupid story that happened over the weekend, or small snippets into his life.

The thought about Miracle becomes less important to you as you slowly value Soonyoung as a true friend. Don’t get yourself wrong — Miracle was still heavily important — but Operation Soonyoung was diverting down another path.

But the one time you spend the day with him without Jihoon (who knows what he was doing, he just left without any word), you accidentally slip into the topic of the rumour again.

Actually, you had no idea why you transitioned into it, Soonyoung was showing you a video of himself doing dumb things during dance practice last night, and after a long laugh with him, it came out.

“To be honest, when I first met you, people kept telling me you had a crush on me,” is what you say along with your laughter, taking a bite out of your cake.

“… Is that so?”

No laugh, no burst of giggling — and when you face Soonyoung, his face is stoic. Despite that observation, his cheeks were dusted in a faint red.

You nod. “Yeah, I didn’t believe them.”

“Oh.”

“Wait — so you’re saying — you liked me?”

Soonyoung grunts in surprise, eyes widened. He shakes his head but as he directs his vision onto the floor, he sighs and hesitantly nods.

Operation Soonyoung was suddenly back on the radar. That means the chances of being Miracle were high.

“Soonyoung—“

“Listen to what I say first! And then if you’re uncomfortable, I’ll understand…” He, again, says with hesitation, eyes concentrated on the table or your hands. “Yeah, I did like you a few years ago, during the spring showcase… But we didn’t talk to each other, so what chances did I have?”

He inhales a sharp sigh, clenching his eyes shut and nose forming crinkles, sucking in a small this is going to be so embarrassing.

Fortunately, you pick those words up. “Embarrassing? What’s embarrassing.”

“There’s another reason.”

Is he going to confess he’s Miracle?

“I…”

Oh my god, he is—

“I thought you and Jihoon were dating.”

What?

“What?” You mumble softly.

“God, that’s the dumbest reason out of the book, and I fell for it.” Soonyoung covers his face with his hands, shielding himself from the weirded out looks he thinks you have on your face. “And Jihoon didn’t wanna say anything about it either, so I sucked it up and tried to get over it. Then, he tells me you were just good friends a year after.”

“Soonyoung… I’m so sorry, I didn’t know—“

“Nothing you can do,” shrugs he, “truthfully, I didn’t get over you until the winter break the year after. But I got over it in the end.”

“Still, you went though all of the emotional gain because of me,”

“It’s not like I regret it.” He smiles a bit, trying to reassure you. The smile fades as he faces the reality after explaining his side. “I bet you’re like Soonyoung, you creep, now that you’ve heard me say all of this, so feel free to laugh at me all you want… Not too much though, I have a weak heart.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not thinking that at all.”

“Yeah, I— what?”

Confused at your words, you continue to smile to let him know you’re being genuine. “We’ve become really close in a little more than a week, and you’re an amazing friend on top of that. It makes me regret not being friends with you sooner.”

“Man, if the Soonyoung years ago was hearing this, he would either feel so touched or badly friend-zoned just now.”

Alarmed, you react as if Soonyoung was still attached onto his feelings, ready to apologise.

“It’s okay, I’m not affected,” he beats you to it, which was the most reassuring thing of them all.

“Friends?”

“Friends.” Soonyoung links a pinkie with you, hoping the promise would last a lifetime. He was a precious friend after all.

After the chat, you highlight one topic Soonyoung mentioned. “You thought Jihoon had a thing with me? Why?”

“Probably because I saw you two together a lot. Before he became friends with me and the rest of the department, you were all he’d go to. He cares about you a lot, if you didn’t know.”

“Hoon? Caring about me?”

“You sound surprised — it’s pretty obvious. Didn’t he make you a cake for your birthday last year?”

“Yeah… What does that have to do with anything?”

“We both know he’s a terrible cook — I mean, he microwaved ice cream one time because it was too hard to scoop out — but he wanted to make you something like that for your birthday.”

“The cake was nice though…”

“It took him a month to get the recipe right. He didn’t want my help, he even used the culinary department’s kitchen just for that and didn’t want their help either. And you know why he did that?”

“Becuase it was my birthday?”

“Wrong!” Soonyoung lightly taps your head as an incorrect gesture. “It was because you were going through a hard time during that time. He just wanted you to cast your worries aside and see you celebrate because you deserved it. He told me everything about it.”

Your heart skips slightly, thinking over the fact Jihoon did something like that to make you happy. It was a strange feeling to experience.

“He’s going to hate me for saying all of this to you, but he looks out for you a lot. He notices things, he’s smart.”

Agreeing, you hum, deeply thinking over his words.

Later that day, a stray envelope is sticking out from the front pocket of your bag as you left it unattended. The sweet, lilac hue instantly telling you who the sender is.

You do not hesitate to open it.

Turns out, I’m not Kwon Soonyoung either. Are you disappointed? I can sense your frown right now... Don’t frown dear, I’m sorry for letting you down...

But the game still goes on, and although I don’t know who’s left on your mind, I might reveal myself. Not for now, but I feel a little daring, kinda unusual for me, isn’t it?

Now.

Kwon Soonyoung.

Believe it or not, I’m truly the opposite to him. I’m sometimes glad that I’m not like him, but over time I sometimes dislike it. The things he can do, I don’t think I’m fit to do them. Like Junhui, he’s confident, and he always has his mind set on something. Me? My mind changes so much. I’m a big coward ha...

Soonyoung’s loud too. I could say it’s what I don’t like about him the most, though I’d be completely wrong. It’s simple enough. He stands out. I blend in. A harsh truth I have to come to terms in, but I’m guessing that’s why you chose Soonyoung too, because he stands out. He shines.

Yet among that, you shine the brightest. I know it’s hard finding me, but I know you’ll be able to find my identity and when you do, I’ll be ready to confess my feelings to you to the world. No backing out, no shying away.

I’ll find a way to make something happen, as if my life depends on it.

Miracle.

The letter felt... Sadder in terms of Miracle’s usual way of writing — light and thoughtful — as words become raw. Once you find him, you’ll definitely tell him how much he means to you, even if it was a silly love letter at the end of the day.

He sure doesn’t know Soonyoung either. The dancer, surprisingly, is insanely shy underneath the loudness he has. It makes you think whether Miracle doesn’t think highly of himself.

When you walk out to the campus, you spot Jihoon exiting a nearby building, busy looking at texts.

Soonyoung’s words form in your head again, realising the care Jihoon had for you. And without a thought, you run to the male and surprise him with a sudden hug.

Jihoon grunts quietly, but it only makes you hold onto him more.

“Huh, Y/N? Is everything okay?” You nod into his chest. “Are... Are you sure? We can talk about it—”

“Just shut up and hug me,”

With no more complaints, Jihoon gladly keeps you in his arms.

Six.

You’ve been say in the library for six hours, your paper due at midnight. Although you had eight hours left, you still didn’t fee like it was in top shape. Words felt messy; sentences didn’t flow the way you wanted to; it was just so confusing.

Your head meets the desk the nth time today, remaining at that mental block ever since you had your lunch that consisted of peach juice and a half-assed sandwich that you didn’t even finish. Sure, you came at the library at six, but you were also up until two in the morning to do the minimum of what you were aiming to do.

That didn’t happen, hence, you’re still stuck in this damn library.

The only thing in your mind right now is sleep. If no one noticed, you could get away with sleeping in the library, but not sleeping in the library is better than getting kicked out for a month because of sleeping in the library.

A headache kicks in in the midst of working, deforming your face as you wince in pain, hoping to go home soon. It’s unlikely you will, but you wanted to sleep.

At some point, all you do is stare at the screen. Stare at every blank word on the screen, done rushed or half-tiredly.

“Everything alright?”

Registering the voice, you rapidly blink and sit up, trying to be as awake as you can. Your eyes move to the person, vision slightly altered due to the fuzziness in your eyes, but you could make out the silver framed glasses and hair the fell gently on top.

“Wonwoo?” He responds to his name through the tone of his hum. “Oh, uh, yeah... Not really,”

The librarian takes a seat next to you, a strong, fresh scent radiating from him. It was almost like a magical spell, luring you to sleep. Wonwoo scans the laptop, frowning after knowing what you were doing.

“Due in tonight?” Crap, he caught you out. You nod in shame.

“I was trying to get it done last night but my body gave in... And I haven’t left this library since—“

“Since ten.” Wonwoo noticed too? “My partial job is to sit here all day, but you’ll get muscle cramps the more you stay in one position, you should’ve taken a little break... But that’s a little late to tell you that.”

“I know...” You see the textbooks in his hand. “Oh, you’re probably busy putting back books, I shouldn’t disturb you—”

“These are just to text mark for my next class. You’re fine.” Wonwoo proceeds to stay seated, in fact, he readjusts his seat to sit more comfortably, picking up a book and setting the rest aside. “You must be tired. Take a rest, I’ll cover for you.”

“Wonwoo—“

“Just face me while you sleep, alright?”

You give into his words, smoothly resting your head on your arms as you close your eyes, falling asleep within seconds.

It was a nice nap which you awoke after an hour. An hour wasn’t what you intended, but damn, you really needed that.

Blinking, your vision comes into focus with a book marked with colourful sticky notes. If the book is still there, that means...

“Good afternoon, did you rest well?”

Your eyes direct themselves to Wonwoo, smiling down at you as he breaks away from what he was doing. After a short hum from you, Wonwoo goes back to finishing something he wrote.

The action initiates you to sit up, the reality of your paper flooding your head once more. Though, when you look at Wonwoo’s notes — neatly sorted in colourful rows — you sit and stare at the notes, mind pondering.

His handwriting is pretty.

“Oh.” Quiet, Wonwoo lets out. He begins flipping pages in his book, all decorated with some form of colourful note until he stops at a particular page and brings out a long note with minimal bullet points in.

He gently peels it off the page and locates it on top of your book.

“While you were sleeping I skimmed through your paper and highlighted a few things you could work on...”

Wait, what?

Wonwoo continues, “I don’t mean to sound critical or anything! It’s just — you looked like you were having a hard time — I don’t know much about your topic but I wrote what I thought sounded relevant.”

You read through the list, the points showcasing good arguments and research topics to mention. “These are great points, I couldn’t think of these...” You pout, “You’re so book-smart Wonwoo, I’m so jealous.”

Wonwoo lets out a earthy laugh, his expression a playfully saddened. “Don’t say that, you’re intelligent too,”

“Everyone knows you though — Jeon Wonwoo, the campus’ treasure.”

“I wouldn’t call myself that...”

“Why not? It fits you.”

He looks directly at you, face tinted with some sadness. “I blend in.”

A flashback crosses your mind whilst saying the words and it doesn’t appear into your head until—

“Sorry, I’m distracting you now. You should get your work done, and I need finish this too.” He awkwardly apologises, turning back to his textbook.

Did Wonwoo just... No, don’t dive straight in yet, you warn beforehand, it was like a heated argument between your heart and mind.

As for now, you only hum and work on your laptop, more prepared thanks to Wonwoo’s involvement.

It turns to seven in the evening and you’re almost finished.

But you were starving.

Primarily, you were going to text Jihoon, asking if he could come over and bring food, but when you met him in the morning he seemed busy.

Embarrassingly, your tummy rumbles and it breaks Wonwoo’s concentration at that second, watching you clench your arms around your waist.

“I should’ve brought something else to eat...” You murmur, eyes squeezed shut. Although you thought Wonwoo didn’t hear that, it was slightly the opposite.

The male sets his pen down, patting his pockets before speaking. “I’m gonna go out for a bit. Look after my things?”

Reluctant, you answer him with bob of your head. Wonwoo exits swiftly.

Your phone chimes and you receive a from Jihoon alongside an attachment of his cap covering his full face.

His text reads I’m so tired followed by a crying emoticon.

The image is what cheers you up, catching up with Jihoon for a bit.

You talk about the majority of your day, but you somehow leave Wonwoo out of it all. You don’t even tell Jihoon your suspicions that Wonwoo may be Miracle.

The problem was that Wonwoo wasn’t an open book, so you had to play it safe.

Breaking away from the conversation, you excuse yourself by telling Jihoon you had to finish your stupid essay and Jihoon sends a bunch of hahaha and a gif of a kitten saying good luck!

Eventually Wonwoo comes back ten minutes later, a white plastic bag in hand as he sits back down, commenting something like it’s cold under his breath.

“Where’d you go?” You inquire.

“Convenience store, it was only around the corner outside campus.”

“I see...” Wonwoo brings out the items one by one, finally tying the bag and putting into his bag. Your finger points at a specific item. “Pepero? I didn’t know you liked those.”

Wonwoo sees the box of pepero, and his fingers slide it nearer to you. “I don’t eat them a lot, but I figured it would help you fill your stomach.”

“Seriously? Oh, sorry for making you go out your way to do that—“

“Rather than apologising all the time, can you just thank me for the food?”

Speechless, he knows that you know he’s right. “Thanks Wonwoo... A lot.”

“Anything for you.” Wonwoo flashes a smile, twisting the bottle cap of his drink before taking a long drink.

You pick up the pepero box, looking at its contents.

It hits you for a second time — the pepero was strawberry flavoured.

“Say, Wonwoo...”

“That’s me,”

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

“Because,” Wonwoo takes a while to gaze at you, your features softening at the sight when a gentle grin lifts Wonwoo’s cheeks, “because I care about you.”

It’s you, Jeon?

Days and nights pass and you find yourself spending more time with Wonwoo these days — staying at the library to chat, frequently passing advice to each other, each moment getting longer every time you stay with him.

Jihoon notices your change in behaviour, commenting on your recent rejection with wanting to meet up. You dismiss that idea quickly, saying that you just had to check for any suspicions. The ambiguity in itself confuses Jihoon — mainly due to the fact you hadn’t told him about Wonwoo — but he doesn’t ask any further, quietly going back to his laptop.

These chats with Wonwoo upgrade to meeting outside campus: trips to the cinema, visiting cafes or the newest KBBQ restaurant opening down the street, all memories posted on your social medias with some silly caption.

Waking up one morning, your roommate, in an obvious rush, briefly mentions about a letter addressed to you from the mailbox. Your ears throb at the information, dashing to the foot of your bed when your roommate leaves, a pretty pink letter distinct against the white covers.

Clumsy, you manage to open the letter.

I’ve come to a decision.

Meet me at the east garden. One o’clock?

I’ll be waiting~

(Gosh, I’m regretting what I’m gonna do now, apologies in advanced)

Miracle.

You practically let out a squeal, falling to the floor from the shock igniting through you. It wasn’t just that, but the fact the letter ended with a kiss in coloured chapstick — which was probably mentioning apologising at the end. Miracle certainly had a way of driving you crazy these days; now he’s finally revealing himself.

Right at that moment, you phone rings in the same chime again. It’s from Jihoon again, wanting to spend time with you. You feel bitter knowing Jihoon has been asking this question for a while, met with rejection every time, but you end up texting back a not today, something important came up, finished with, I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.

Checking the time, it already hit half eleven. “Perfect!” You cheer, getting up to dress yourself, full of bubbling excitement.

Because of your energetic nerves, you arrive at the garden ten minutes before the allocated time, the green hues standing out next to the bright sky, students enjoying their day either by laying on the grass studying or strolling with friends.

You analyse the place to see if anyone looked like they were waiting for you, but after two minutes, no one fitted the criteria. It turned twelve soon after and you decided to explore around to see if you can catch Miracle anywhere.

Turning to a small path leading to a less frequently visited area of the garden, you spot someone sat by the stone bench. Turns out, you recognise that person.

“Jihoon!” You exclaim, Jihoon flinching at the exclamation. He turns, his frame revealing a pen in between his fingers and a journal on his lap. WIthout any hesitation, he closes his journal.

Hand on his chest after a long sigh, his relaxed state smiles at you fondly. “Oh, it’s you,”

His tone is soft, standing up from the bench and heading your way, an embarrassed, shy curl on his lips — his dimples peeking through — shimmering eyes trained to the floor.

He stops in front of you, taking a gulp before nervously staring at you. He’s in the middle of opening his mouth, but you beat him to it.

You beat him to it, and it’s all the difference.

“Guess what, I think Wonwoo’s Miracle.”

In a blink of a eye, the shimmer in Jihoon’s eyes dull. Nonetheless, you don’t notice it, babbling on.

“It’s why I haven’t been hanging around you much,” you confess to him, frowning, “Wonwoo’s just — really hard to figure out — but after a while there are things that he and Miracle do. I’m pretty sure it’s Wonwoo, I don’t know who else it would be. I think I’m getting butterflies, I—“

“That’s… Nice,” Jihoon breaks out, not staring at you anymore. The journal held on his chest is now at his side, gripped with strength.

It took you a while, but you noticed Jihoon’s tone. “Jihoon…? Hoon, are you okay?”

“Yeah!” He replies with fake energy, but he isn’t looking up. He isn’t looking at you. “It’s great to hear that. I should go before he comes, right?”

“Wait,” you hold him by the arm, “you sound angry — are you angry at me? — did I do something wrong—“

“It’s nothing.”

“Why can’t you tell me? You know you can talk to me Hoon, I don’t like seeing you like this…” Hurt, you try to take a glimpse at Jihoon but he isn’t allowing it. “Is it because Miracle is Wonwoo? I thought you didn’t mind him. I thought you wanted to know too.

“I just said I don’t wanna—“

“No! There’s something wrong and you aren’t telling me about it!”

With enough strength to remove your arm, but not enough to hurt you, Jihoon gets out of your grip, staring at you again, though not with what you intended. He’s glaring at you, fusions of frustration and pain being hinted, but why?

“Everything’s fine. Just leave me alone.”

Before you stop him, he leaves much quicker than you expect, vanishing from the garden; besides, if you follow him, he’d only avoid you more. So all you could do was wait for Miracle to come, in hope that whoever he is will cheer you up.

Miracle never came, nor any love letter from that point.

It’s been a quiet month. Life became static, classes felt like a drag, and Jihoon certainly had no intention to contact you after everything.

You wake up at ten, knowing your roommate went out because of the bed across you done well. Although you were against it, you figured that you should do the same — at least it helps you start the day.

Feet settling on the rough floor, you blink at the stray piece of paper in front of your door. It looks like someone slid it in. Groggily, you walk towards it, complaining as you bend down to pick it up, sitting back down on your messy bed.

It was a simple, white letter. It’s sides were slightly blunt, the page looking like it was ripped out of somewhere.

“Letter?” You question, heart dropping to your stomach. You open the letter with anticipation.

Y/N.

I… I’m really sorry about that last letter. You must’ve waited a long time for me, but I never got to reach you because of my fear that you won’t look at me the same once revealing myself.

I’ve liked you for so long, I care about you so much it pains me to think you have to go through hard thoughts. I remember liking you because of your smile. It was pretty; it was contagious. Then, through watching from my safe distance, I fell for you more and more. Your kindness, your sweet nature and overall comfort seemed to make my fondness grow, it just couldn’t be helped. I was in a stage of hopelessness, but I had to make sure I wasn’t too weird or anything.

From your posts on social media… It came to my realisation you and Wonwoo became much closer.

Is it okay for me to say that I’m jealous?

‘Hurt’ is a better way to call it, but, Wonwoo’s something else. You and him connected without difficulty, and it didn’t take you long for the both of you to watch movies together or have lunch. During that time, you seemed to smile a lot more with him, I almost felt upset that it was all because of Wonwoo, meanwhile I couldn’t do any of that. I can’t make you smile like that. I’m guessing you thought I was Wonwoo — that Wonwoo was Miracle — but no, I’m not. Sorry to disappoint you…

Maybe I’m so jealous because… Because Wonwoo is everything I’m not.

My heart is being poured onto these pages and I’m sorry for my flow, but I just needed to let this out. You need to know before I finish this. I can’t even show my face, let alone confess to you… It’s pathetic. But if I can’t express my feelings the way I do internally, I’ll keep these emotions guarded if you truly like Wonwoo. In the end, I want you to be happy. I’ve never devoted myself to someone before, is that why my chest hurts so much?

So this is a letter — an ode — for you. To thank you for everything. It’s a lot to take in, and a lot for me to declare, but you’re my first love. And before you begin to think negatively through this letter, don’t. That’s the last thing I want you to do. I just think its time to come to terms with myself and my place in your eyes.

You’re still the most wonderful person I know and I want you to always remember that. Writing these cliche letters have grown as a part of my routine, each with memories that’ll remain in my mind for a lifetime and until the next. They’ll remain in my heart forever.

This letter will be last. I’m sad it had to end this way, but let’s think of it for the best. Let’s remember this beautifully rather than in pain.

I love you, Y/N.

Miracle.

You grip onto the paper, holding back the tear that want to seep through.

After a month of silence, you’re given this?

No, no, it can’t be like this. It didn’t feel right at all. It felt like all your fears creeping from behind, pushing you down into a hopeless hole that runs for an eternity.

Like an instant reaction, you do the first thing that comes into your mind: searching for your phone and tapping away on the screen, the cold screen pressed against your ear.

“Wonwoo? Can we talk?”

You and Wonwoo meet half an hour later in Seventeen, yourself ordering a sweet treat to unhealthily energise you. Wonwoo, on the other hand, ordered himself the Real Cocoa, a new order that was added just last week (which was basically their branded hot chocolate).

You do admit that you truly did think that Wonwoo was Miracle, but after the situation, it didn’t just confirm that Wonwoo wasn’t him, but that it was better off being friends with him. Towards him, your feelings never escalated because in the end, Wonwoo was just a really good friend.

“Care to tell me what’s up? You made me worried after that call…”

“Sorry… Just, let me explain all of this to you.”

“I’m all ears.”

And you tell him everything. You tell him about Miracle, the love letters, the strawberry milk, about your desire to find Miracle, Jihoon helping you along the way, even admitting that you thought Wonwoo was Miracle because his actions fit into the actions of Miracle, the so-called reveal, the month of silence after that, and finally the present day: the ode.

Wonwoo props up a paper crane made from his tissue next to him, humming as he takes in all of the information with a calmness to him.

“Do you have it on you?” Wonwoo asks, “The ode — that goodbye letter.”

You search through your bag for the item, handing it to Wonwoo, his fingers unfolding the paper’s contents and exposing their woods, letting his eyes scan paper systematically. His lips move along to the words, whispering a few phrases. In such a short time, you manage to remember most words of that letter.

The male gestures that he’s finished reading by placing the letter back on the table. First, he sighs, head jerking itself slightly. “Wow. I’m flattered that someone thinks of me as if I’m perfect—“

You whack him on the arm, a little angry he had to joke in such a scenario, but it lost some of the tension inside yourself.

“Kidding, but, I do feel slightly responsible. I never intended for my actions to affect him. So this was the last letter he sent? No hints to who he his, not even a name?”

Shaking your head, Wonwoo tuts at the response. “I can only tell you that his handwriting is pretty. It’s also why I thought you could’ve been Miracle too, but guess not, so…”

“True, it is nicely written. Lets just read through the letter again until we come up with something.”

So you look through the letter over and over until every word is memorised, nothing relevant coming into mind.

“Whatcha’ guys looking at?” The unintended scare makes Wonwoo and you jump, Junhui reacting along with the both of you despite being the one who scared you. He’s in his uniform, so he must be working right now.

“Love letter.” Wonwoo states, but you glare at him.

He isn’t wrong per se, but to say something like that out loud was awkward.

Correcting him, you add, “We’re finding out who wrote this letter.” To be honest, you didn’t want to add Junhui — the first suspect on the potential Miracles list — into this, but it was too late to tell him something else. Wonwoo ruined that chance anyway. “Wanna help? We kinda need all the help we can get.”

Junhui’s eyes widen. “Woah, you have an admirer Y/N?!”

Brokenly nodding, you also think it’s better to confess to Junhui as well. Keeping it in will only feel heavier on your load. “Actually, at first, I thought it was you…”

“It wasn’t just me?” Wonwoo asks, surprised.

“Mhmm. It’s just three of you, though.”

“And who’s the third?”

“Um… Soonyoung,”

Junhui points at the letter, “You really think Soonyoung has handwriting this nice? We should get you to an opticians after this—“

“Jun!” Wonwoo nudges him, Junhui laughing.

“Hey, I’m not wrong!”

Shrugging, Wonwoo bends his elbow over the chair, turning to Junhui. “Any ideas then? Anything is helpful.”

Junhui bends over, head moving left and right like a metronome as he reads through the letter, face concentrated like when he was picking between the teddy and flower. You should ask him how that story went.

In the end, Junhui shakes his head. You and Wonwoo grunt.

“Unless,” He comes closer to the paper again, “Miracle wrote this letter in here.”

“Here? How the heck can you confirm that?” You ask, taking glimpses of the paper.

“The coffee ring.”

Wonwoo argues, “But that could’ve been from any other coffee shop.”

Junhui moves back and presents the paper for the both of you to see. “If you feel it, it still feels damp and you can see some of the coffee imprinted to the other side where the note is folded. What time did you get this letter Y/N?”

“Almost an hour ago? It was slid through my dorm door.”

Triumphant, Junhui snaps his fingers. “Exactly! If this note was still fresh with these coffee stains, Seventeen is the only one that fits the criteria because your dorm wouldn’t be too far away from here.”

“Holy shit. He’s onto something.” Wonwoo gasps.

“Did you see who wrote this Jun?”

“Nope. I was restocking items then, sorry Y/N — but I probably guess it was the guy sitting near the entrance by the corner wearing a cap and mustard shirt. A gasp came from that corner and I got a glimpse of coffee being spilt there. I never got to see his face though.”

“Progress.” Inhaling a sharp sigh, Wonwoo relaxes in his chair, noticing your sullen star at the paper.

“We need a little bit more than that though… I swear, Miracle will forever be a mystery— AH!” You yell when you look at the window, Soonyoung’s face pressed against the glass, producing an ugly face. Gaining a reaction from you three, Soonyoung laughs evilly as he walks into the cafe, slinging an arm around Junhui.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere Wonwoo! I thought we were going to that new PC bang you’ve been talking about non-stop! I even ended dance practice early for it… Oh, hey Y/N!”

Wonwoo scrunches his face. “About that, well…”

“Anywho!” Soonyoung interrupts. “I saw you all crowded here, so, let me join in on the fun!”

Junhui picks up the light item for Soonyoung to see. “Can you guess who wrote this?”

Soonyoung takes it from Junhui’s hands, his reading combination of squinting his eyes and jutting out a lip. Furrowing his eyebrows, his head cocks back.

“Oh, it’s Jihoon’s hadnwriting.”

Jihoon?

“Him? Why bring him up all of a sudden—” You stammer, unable to keep the nervousness inside. “Besides, he doesn’t write like that.”

“He does! This is totally Jihoon’s! I see it inside the books he carries.”

“His handwriting his messy. Like really, really messy.”

“I know his handwriting when I see it,” you go mute over Soonyoung’s argument, Wonwoo noticing the argument progressing somewhere else.

Wonwoo takes it into his own hands. “Okay, we trust you Soon, but is there anything else you can connect to Jihoon other than that?”

Soonyoung shows the neatly torn side of the paper. “You can tell it’s been ripped from a book. He does this a lot when we’re together, but normally crumples them and throws it on the ground or something like that when it doesn’t ‘sound right’ to him…” Soonyoung faces you. “You also notice he rips a lot of paper out of his journals too, right?”

You nod, further improved by the addition of Junhui, stating, “Jihoon isn’t great with words either — he must’ve had to write what he would wanna say multiple times before writing the final thing—“

“Which explains why so many pages are ripped out from his book!” Soonyoung finishes for him, baffled.

Wonwoo leans into the table a bit more, propping himself with his arm. “Have you met him today? Jihoon?” Soonyoung nods. “What did he wear?”

“Let’s see. He wore a yellow shirt—“ Junhui’s eyes open in panic, Soonyoung rambling on, “I don’t understand how he wasn’t cold, it’s freezing.”

You look at Junhui and Wonwoo. “He didn’t say anything about a cap, anyone could’ve worn a yellow shirt…” Why were you arguing against this? Half of you didn’t want to believe it, the other half…

“Cap? I let Jihoon borrow mine because he left midway during dance practice. Guess he got bored. Was it white?”

For confirmation, Wonwoo looks at Junhui — Soonyoung mirroring Wonwoo to make it look like he knows what’s happening — who slowly nods in somewhat horror.

After the reaction passes on to the other two, they hurry to the note and reread it together, all the faint murmurs about Jihoon turning into exaggerated exclamations as they get to the end of the letter.

Drowning into deep thought, ignoring all of the others’ reactions, you piece together the truth. “No way — the garden — it was him. He was waiting for me. Jihoon is Miracle. Holy shit, what have I done?”

“Garden?” Junhui questions. Because of your late realisation to how oblivious you were, you thoroughly rub your eyes, letting this sink in. Wonwoo’s lips thin, hand tapping your arm to comfort you.

“At least we revealed Miracle’s identity,”

“It took you this long to figure out it was the person you’ve been around this whole time?”

“It didn’t seem like it was him Soonyoung! And I still dragged him into it… I flat out rejected him that day, he must hate me—“

“Hey, that isn’t true.” Reasons Wonwoo. “You two need to talk it out and apologise. Sure, you took a while to come to your senses, but he shouldn’t have led you on and decide to call it quits last second.”

Junhui puts a finger against the window. “Jihoon’s right over there — exiting campus.” All of you swivel your heads to watch the male walk out of the grounds, expressionless. “You should talk to him!”

“I can get him—“

“Wait, Soonyoung, stay. I think I have a plan. But all of you need to help me.”

It’s a nice day, Jihoon thinks, walking across the hallway, his eyes concentrated on the window and the students in groups enjoying their day. Other than that, he isn’t paying too much attention to anything, music coming through his headphones.

But his phone vibrates, causing him to tap the screen and see what the text is.

Is it okay if we talk?

Jihoon hitches a breath as he rereads the six words over and over, his heart slightly throbbing too fast, the rush of feelings flooding in. He doesn’t like this feeling — or the reason that they came back so quickly — it was like an uninvited guest.

As much as his feelings were at the tip of the iceberg, he didn’t want to give into you. He promised himself to let things go; to have time to himself before acting as if everything was fine.

So, he sets his phone away and continues walking, turning up the sound even though he’s fully aware it’s not going to distract him. He’ll reply to you in a few hours, maybe say his phone died on him, or something.

He glances at his hand, it’s shaking — what the heck?

There’s a prodding around his shoulder blade and a muffled noise behind him, but it takes him a while to finally reacts to the student who stops him in his tracks by standing in front of him. Hanging his headphones around his neck, Jihoon looks at the other with widened eyes, shifting them from time to time as he has never seen this person in his life.

“Jihoon, is it?” They say. Careful, Jihoon nods. “Someone wants to meet you at the lecture hall. He’s… This high?” The student raises their hand to estimate their height. “You won’t miss him.”

“Okay… Do you know what it’s for?” After saying that, he realises he should’ve asked who this person was, but Jihoon went against changing his question. The student shrugs and Jihoon can’t blame them — he doesn’t even know why someone would want to see him anyway, unless it’s Soonyoung asking to eat for the millionth time — “It’s alright. Thanks for tell me anyway. Um, have a nice day.”

Walking away, Jihoon’s mind lingers on what he could be asked, an odd feeling in his stomach the more he tries to push down his emotions.

Arriving to the lecture hall, he takes glimpses inside to see if there was one vacant or had someone that remotely looked like they were waiting for Jihoon.

Luckily, he finds one that fits the first criteria, and also revealed someone packing up their things near the front rows. Jihoon isn’t too sure if that’s who wants to see him, but it wouldn’t hurt to ask anyway.

He steps down the stairs until he’s level with the person, shocked to see it was Junhui. “Jun?”

Nonchalant, Junhui faces Jihoon and forms a kind face when he sees the male. “Jihoon? I haven’t seen you in a while, you doing fine?”

“Oh — I’ve been well,”

“Nice,” Junhui nods in appreciation, midway packing his things, “my lecture just ended. Did you want something?”

Junhui didn’t want to see me? Did he just forget? Jihoon puffs his cheeks. “Ah — no, it’s okay—“ he’s about to leave, but something inside him stops him from doing so. “By any chance, did you wanna talk to me?”

“Right!” Junhui gasps, digging back into his bag as he brings out an item. “Can you give this to Soonyoung? I forgot to this morning since I was in a hurry and my shift is soon.”

Doing such a simple favour can make Jihoon just say no, can you do it when you see Soonyoung again? to Junhui, but he doesn’t want to look rude so he complies to the request, being lent the white cap into his hands.

“I’ll see if he’s in the dance studio.”

“You’re a lifesaver Jihoon, I owe you one. You like food don’t you? Let’s eat next time. Okay?” A grin widens on Junhui’s face naturally and Jihoon, like he’s under a spell, nods the slightest, Junhui finally packing up and slinging a bag over him, walking away whilst humming.

Jihoon gets to relax when he finally leaves, expressing a whole sigh. Junhui’s so relaxed, isn’t he? Not to mention friendly too. Who could say no to him?

Now heading to the dance studio, Jihoon twirls the cap around his finger, his mind still going back to your text. Then he remembers he’s going to Soonyoung, and a funny memory comes into his head.

It’s the time when Soonyoung asked him about you — if you were seeing someone. In Jihoon’s mind, it wasn’t his place to say if you were dating, but at the same time, he didn’t like to think about you with someone else. From what began as platonic blossomed into something more, a slight desire to treasure you for himself, but it sounded crazy in Jihoon’s head.

Therefore in the end, he didn’t answer Soonyoung’s question. Jihoon was also aware of the feelings Soonyoung had for you, despite Soonyoung’s bad attempts of trying to disapprove of it. Jihoon was tagged to not express his feelings, so Jihoon kept it that way. Nevertheless, he didn’t want to break up his friendship with Soonyoung by admitting he liked you too — he wanted Soonyoung to keep his puppy love for you.

“Hey man, what’s up Hoon?”

Jihoon flinches a little. He didn’t even register that he was in the dance studio already. He greets Soonyoung with a wobbly smile. “Jun wanted to give this back.”

“Oh, I’ve been searching for this everywhere!” Soonyoung throws his current cap away and wears the white one. “While you’re here, I need to give you something.”

“Am I being a messenger owl today?” Scoffs Jihoon.

“What?”

“Nothing,”

An item is placed into Jihoon’s hand — a laptop that was familiar to him — and he looks at Soonyoung’s face, smiling as if it was nothing. He couldn’t blame Soonyoung, but it was like a stab to a fresh wound.

“Can you give this to Y/N? I used it to transport some files to my phone. I pretty sure she’s in the library with Wonwoo. They’re familiar with each other aren’t they?”

Yes Soonyoung, I know that, Jihoon grits his teeth. Jihoon shouldn’t be like this; he has no right to be. Why, out of all people, does he have to see Y/N and Wonwoo face to face? Fate was probably laughing at him today.

How sad.

“Whatever.” Jihoon eventually comments, walking out. Soonyoung shouts love you Jihoon! as he walks out, Jihoon scowling secretly. But he can’t get mad at Soonyoung — it was a harmless act in the end.

Soonyoung exhales loudly once Jihoon leaves. There’s a reason why Soonyoung isn’t a drama major, thank god he played it off decently. He finds his phone, lifting it to his ear. “You’re up.”

It’s quite a walk, but Jihoon makes it to the library, holding in a breath. Is it normal for is heart to beat this fast? Maybe not, but it was.

Jihoon slaps himself lightly on the cheek, wanting to come back to the reality of this all. It’s over. The simple words keeps Jihoon motivated to enter the library, quiet and unbothered.

Yet to his surprise, you couldn’t be seen anywhere. Like an idiot, he walks up and down and around the library three times before concluding one, everyone was certainly beginning to think he’s insane, and two, you aren’t in the library.

“Fantastic.” Jihoon clicks his tongue, preparing himself for what’s about to happen. Right now, he wants to kick a chair, yet he suppresses that as he walks to the desk, paper cranes of different sizes and colours filling the sides.

Jihoon stares at Wonwoo, who’s in his own world, silently folding more cranes one by one, multitasking as he reads through a textbook.

Slowly arriving in front of the desk, Jihoon clears his throat. Awkwardly.

“Wonwoo?”

“Hm — Jihoon?” Wonwoo puts down his in-progress crane, tilting his head. “How may I help?”

His chill tone makes Jihoon bubble with envy inside. Insecurity hits. Manifests. Jihoon presents the laptop to Wonwoo, hand running along one of your stickers in the corner.

He either had two options: ask where you were, or ask Wonwoo to give the laptop to you.

Jihoon comes to a decision.

“Give this to Y/N please,”

“Ah, Y/N just left, what bad timing,” Wonwoo pouts, now holding the laptop and storing it behind the desk, “I’ll return it as soon as possible. Y/N will be really happy.”

“Okay.” Forcing a smile, Jihoon thinks he can’t hold this up any longer. It feels like the world is closing on him. “Now I, uh, better go—“

“Before you do,” Wonwoo disrupts, “Y/N left this.” He shows a closed letter, sliding it along the desk to Jihoon. “I think it’s for you.”

Me? “I don’t think so…” Jihoon shakes his head, rejecting the letter. “Its probably for you.”

“Pretty sure it isn’t,” the other holds up a smile, “we’re just friends. Whatever it is, I don’t think Y/N would tell me something through letter.” Wonwoo pushes the letter just slightly, enough to tip over the edge and for Jihoon to clumsily catch it. “I have no idea what it’s about, but the name says what it says.”

Jihoon checks the letters on the flap. Lee Jihoon.

“Oh.” Jihoon says intelligently. He moves his lips to add something, but recognises the person waiting behind him, giving no option but to quickly say goodbye and walk out.

Sitting after much exhaustion, Jihoon unfolds the black letter and takes out the tiny-sized paper.

Dear Jihoon,

This is long overdue on my behalf, so here it is.

You had me fooled.

Fooled you were helping me all this time; fooled that you were just tagging along with this; fooled I was going the wrong way all this time. But you know what? You fooled yourself too.

Fooled yourself by watching me go through each person, one by one. Fooled through pointing out the good things about everyone. Fooled because when it came to you, you looked at yourself negatively. I could be mad — I’d have a right to be — but it’s not what I’m here for.

I’m here to tell you the truth.

The truth that you don’t have to be Junhui to be loved by everyone, or be Soonyoung to catch my attention, even Wonwoo to make me smile ‘brightly’. I want you to be you.

Jihoon who’s always hardworking, the person who brings a smile to my face every day without fail, who I hold precious to my heart, who’s amazing in every single way but stays grounded. You — with a loving heart even though he doesn’t want to admit, that through the stubbornness, you cherish those close to you; admire them, even.

You admire them to the point that you think you can’t get to their level, and it hurts me to see you can’t recognise your glow. Because of you, each day is beautiful to me. Persona or true self, you are held dear to me, because in the end, it’s you.

Out of all possibilities, I wouldn’t have thought you’d admire someone like me. ‘Why me?’ Is what I thought the first time I recieved that letter during that cold January. Though, I slowly loved myself more and more with your words, and I was always on the receiving end.

What I’m trying to say is… I wanna return the favour. Show you how special you are, make you love yourself the same way you did to me.

So please, meet me in the garden? I miss you so much.

I miss your face, smile, voice, the stupid texts you send at 2AM — I miss it all. I hope you do, too.

It’s fine if you don’t come. I just wanted to let you know all of this.

My miracle; that’s who you are in my eyes.

Love, Y/N.

Jihoon begins to run to the garden, heart beating faster than ever. Inside the library, Wonwoo smiles, soon texting you.

Out of the endless possibilities.

Jihoon stumbles into the garden, turning around and round, searching with every fibre of energy in him. He stops, thinking deeply before his eyes lighten — shimmering — when he goes into the direction of the hidden area, hidden behind vivid green leaves and small, white flowers growing.

He sees you standing there, a fresh breeze coming to him. He feels unworthy of being dressed so casually like this but it doesn’t matter because you’re there.

Your hand gripped onto your arm as you’re seated on the stone bench, gently swinging your legs and face sullen yet calm, eyes moving from your shoes to the stone path.

Only one miracle has happened before our eyes

Quietly, he calls out your name.

Your ears pick it up, the quiet call feeling like the loudest thing in your mind, all the messy thoughts fading away. The two of you meet face to face, taking in every curve and expression forming on your face.

Jihoon’s smooth skin kissed with faint beauty marks, deep irises shaking as they gaze at you, eyelashes moving beautifully when he closes his eyes, the hue of his cheeks warming to a cherry blossom pink, being bridged over his nose, lips agape, no words escaping out of him.

He’s just like you remembered him: beautiful.

Even if we miss each other, it’s alright, I’ll find you.

He approaches you first, walking with a little sigh while his eyes concentrate on you. You couldn’t just break away, you were enchanted too.

When Jihoon stands in front of you, he takes you by the hand, pulling you up and not letting go afterwards.

“Hi,” dumbly, you say.

“Hi.” He says with the same tone.

It makes the both of you laugh, breaking away in shy giggles as Jihoon’s lips wobble once more, and his hands begin to shake. You hold onto his hands tight, running a thumb over his skin. “Look at me,” you whisper.

Jihoon looks at you. After all the feelings he kept inside, the insecurities he hid away, the admiration he has for everyone else but himself, he looks at you and it goes away.

He finds it dazzling how you have so much impact on him. You, standing there, and letting every single thing in his head dissolve. Just like that, it’s done all because of you.

You smile, moving your hand to his cheek. Naturally, Jihoon nuzzles into your palm. Just watching it, you knew that you didn’t mind this.

So let’s be in love even more, so we won’t lose this miracle.

Jihoon breaks away from your touch, his hand reaching into his back pocket, revealing a crumpled piece of paper. His hands, still shaky, takes it out, flatting the deep creases made in them.

You remember that piece of paper; it was from his notebook the day you met in this exact same spot.

“Y/N,” Jihoon reads off the paper, and it’s apparent that you can hear his heartbeats from all the way here, “I’m aware I’m the last person who you would’ve thought to be,” you laugh in between his words, Jihoon relaxing along with you, “but I hope you aren’t disappointed. After all, I did warn you.”

He looks away from the paper, putting it by his side.

“So enough with this persona, and time to formally reveal myself. I’m Jihoon and I like you so, so much Y/N. I can’t think of anyone else but you. It’s always been you. Finally, I can say this — no worries, nothing. Will you be mine?”

Happiness rockets inside you, pulling Jihoon into a hug without any warning, nodding speechlessly. Jihoon melts into the hug too, hands wrapped securely around you.

“Say it again,” you softly ask.

Jihoon’s chuckle vibrates from his chest, sending a warm feeling to you. “I like you,”

You smile so much that it hurts, hands playing with Jihoon’s hair. “I like you too, my miracle.”

All the beautiful words from the countless letters sent to you finally come to a reality, its beautifulness more apparent inside Jihoon’s eyes, not able to comprehend such a sight that he’ll cherish for an eternity. He hums questionably, causing you to look at him with shy eyes.

Forever, this was wanted for forever.

“It’s you; you’re my miracle.”

Thank the heavens Jihoon reciprocated that feeling too.

#jihoon #lee jihoon #seventeen #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #jihoon imagines #jihoon scenarios #woozi #kpop #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios

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everlarkbirthdaygifts · 6 years ago

Text

Happy Birthday, lana0605!

Today, we wish @lana0605 a Happy Birthday! We hope you’re having a wonderful day so far, full of all your favourite things! To kick things off right, @ally147writes has written a story just for you!

AN: Happy Birthday, @lana0605! I hope you’ll enjoy this little bit of Prom Couple!Everlark, though to be fair, it’s more about how they got to the prom, rather than the prom itself. I hope you’ll enjoy it anyway :)

Rated G. Unbeta’d - all errors are my own.

Prom.

The word rings in Katniss’ head, echoing over and over like a taunting whisper. She glances at the clock in the corner of her room, careful not to upset the loose, wavy curls Prim spent hours setting for her. Almost seven. A shiver runs through her. He’ll be here to pick her up soon.

Senior prom never registered on her radar. She’d have been perfectly happy letting the occasion slip her by. Girls like her, ones with blood caked under their fingernails, a truckload of responsibilities rammed on them about twenty years too early, and a wardrobe of threadbare flannel shirts, ripped jeans, and their late father’s hunting jacket, don’t do prom.

And they don’t do prom on Peeta freaking Mellark’s arm, either.

When he stuttered out his proposal two weeks ago, if she wanted to go with him — as in, with him. With him! — maybe, if she wasn’t already going with anyone else, too much panic flared within her to say no. As soon as she blurted out the untidy, ineloquent Okay, the smile that stretched Peeta’s lips had enough wattage behind it to light an entire city, full and wide and real enough to dissuade her of any notion that he might be asking her as a joke.

There was no way she could back out on him, no matter how much she kinda-sorta wanted to. Especially not after he started spending their shared study period in the library with her, getting over the stutter he only ever seemed to have around her and telling stories and cheesy jokes that somehow always managed to draw a laugh and a smile.

The dress, she found at the local Goodwill for twenty bucks. A vintage wedding dress, of all things, though she refuses to think of the connotations of wearing such a garment; cream-coloured, tea-length, boatneck neckline, with a pretty lace overlay. The details don’t mean as much to Katniss as they seemed to the effusive woman who sold it to her, but it was the only thing in there that fit her off the rack, and she thinks she looks nice in it. As nice as she can manage, anyway, with her sharp angles and menacing scowl.

Her makeup is a light sweep of one of Prim’s blushers, some concealer around her dark circles and the stubborn spot on her chin, a swipe of tinted lip balm, and a little mascara. Money doesn’t stretch far enough in her pocket to reach things like eyeshadow palettes, contour powders, or fancy foundations, but her world functions fine without them, as does her face.

The shoes are her mother’s, from when she was a teen: a simple pair of white heels that shimmer in the right light. The heels are so tiny Katniss has no trouble walking around in them. Even her toes are painted, for what she thinks might be the first time in her life. Prim wouldn’t let her have her toes visible without something on them. Now, they’re a soft gold colour, barely metallic, only visible if you stare.

All put together, it doesn’t look as bad as she thought it might, and it’s much more comfortable than she was expecting, too. But most importantly, she looks like herself. If Peeta was expecting to take a Cashmere or a Glimmer on his arm, all tall and statuesque and designer-clad, he should have asked one of them.

A doorknock ripples through the house. All the tension in Katniss’ body seizes and shatters at once.

“He’s here!” Prim screeches from the kitchen. “Wait in there, Katniss. I’ll let him in.”

Katniss frowns. “Why can’t I come out?”

“It’s meant to be a surprise!” Prim calls back, with all the sass a fourteen-year-old can muster. “Just a minute, all right?”

“Fine.” She sighs and plonks herself back on the edge of her bed. The thud of her heart rings louder than the muffled opening of the front door and the muted exchange of greetings. Then footsteps, one set measured, the other almost tapdancing.

“You can come out now,” Prim sings.

There’s no good reason for her to be nervous. Peeta’s the one who asked her, and it’s not like she even wanted to go in the first place. She’s got nothing riding on tonight, no expectations to dash or exceed.

Still, her hand trembles, just a little bit, as she twists her door handle and slips into the hallway. A small, beaded purse she borrowed from her friend, Madge, is tucked under her arm — God, she hopes she’s not sweating too hard.

The closer she gets, the more worlds she can make out of Peeta’s murmured responses to Prim’s rapid-fire questions. When she rounds the corner, she catches a peek of his wayward curls and indulgent grin as he speaks to Prim. Coupled with the sharp black tux he’s wearing, she swears her heart skips a beat at the sight of him.

But she must make some sort of noise, because as soon as she’s in the narrow doorway, Peeta drops his sentence and his jaw. Prim scuttles to the sink and giggles to herself.

“Wow,” Peeta breathes, looking at her in a way no one ever has or ever will again, she’s sure. “Katniss… you look —”

“— Thanks.” She ducks her chin before he can finish the sentence, her cheeks hot as a supernova. “You look great, too.” It’s an understatement, but it’ll do.

“Thanks.” But he’s still staring at her. “Really, though. You’re beautiful. Completely. Radiant, even.”

She tucks a loose strand behind her ear, just for something to do. “Thank you.”

“Oh! Um, I got you this?” He says it like a question as he fumbles with a small box she didn’t notice in his hands before. “Prim would only give me hints about the colour of your dress, but I think I got it right…”

“You asked Prim about my dress?”

“I didn’t think you’d tell me about it,” he says, smiling. He hands her the box, brushing his fingers along her own. “Isn’t it tradition or something, to keep your dress secret?”

“I would have told you, if you asked.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time. Do you like it?” he asks as she opens it, revealing a delicate corsage of cream and golden silk flowers on a leather cord. Peeta lifts it out of the box and, with gentle fingers, affixes it around her wrist with a flick of the arrow-shaped clasp.

“It’s lovely,” she murmurs. She glances up at him and finds that same dopey grin on his face. “Really, thank you.”

“Photos!” A flash blinds her for a split second before another one goes off. Peeta’s hand tightens around hers.

“Prim!”

“What? Mom asked me to take pictures.”

“You got them, all right? Put that thing away, please?”

“Fine. But this first one… wow.”

Katniss rolls her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, he’s got your hand in his, you’re wearing a wedding dress, he’s in a suit, and you’re staring at each other with gooey eyes. Just looks like a different sort of picture, if you ask me.”

“No one did.”

“You ready to go?” Peeta pipes up beside her, but the spark in his eye tells her he’s having way too much fun.

“Yes, please.” She does one last rummage around in her borrowed purse, making sure her phone and bank card are exactly where she left them. “Prim, you’ll be okay ‘til Mom gets back, won’t you?”

Prim all but shoves her out the front door. “I’ll be fine, Katniss. See? Door’s locked, and Mom gets off at nine.”

“You’ll call Gale if anything happens?”

“You know I will. Have fun!” Before Katniss can say anything else, the door slams in front of her nose.

“She’s a sweet kid,” Peeta says, smiling some more. She doesn’t mind.

Katniss lets out a chuckle. “She definitely has her moments.”

“My brothers are the same.” He nods towards his car, parked a little off-kilter in their driveway. “Come on, we should get going.”

The car ride over is quieter than she imagined it being, seeing as how Peeta can barely keep his mouth shut around her now, but she appreciates it. It’s enough to gather her thoughts and steel her nerves. Even with Peeta by her side, she’s still not sure she wants to present herself to their entire year group for public scrutiny. But when she catches Peeta staring at her out the corner of his eye at least a dozen times, she can’t help but smile a little bit, and it’s like maybe her nerves don’t matter so much if she’s sharing them with him.

When they find a carpark and pull in, Peeta keys off the ignition but makes no move to get out of the car.

“You’re not having second thoughts, are you?” he asks her softly.

“Not about you,” she says, revelling in the half-smile he graces her with this time.

“Not what I meant.”

“It’ll be fine. Besides, we can always ditch and get milkshakes if it sucks, right?”

He laughs and reaches across the console, taking her hand and twining their fingers. She’s kind of surprised she lets him, and even more surprised by how good it feels to be this close to him.

He meets her eyes, all serious now, and squeezes her hand. “I’m, uh… really glad you came with me tonight, Katniss.”

She squeezes back. “I… I’m glad, too.” And she means every bit of it.

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #everlarkbirthdaydrabbles #everlarkbirthdaygifts #fan fic #by ally147writes

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drink-n-watch · 5 years ago

Text

When Fire Force is good…well I tell you what I think about it over on 100 Word Anime. I hope you stop by and read all about it.

One thing Fire Force in which is consistent, at least in my opinion, is impressive and playful visuals. This is why, even though I tell myself each week that I’ll just drop the screencaps here with a few words no more, I always end up with a full post of observations. These images just speak to me.

Actually, just a quick anecdote about my header gif before we get into it. When I saw that scene with Lisa turning into a fire octopus, I said out loud, Look it’s Ursulisa! then laughed at my own lame joke for about 30 seconds. AND felt the need to share it with you all. So there’s that…

Do you know that when I upload the screencaps they get all out of order and I have to rearranged them in chronological order manually? It’s quite a puzzle.

Anyways, I’m going to talk a lot more about the colour story during the Hinawa vs Arrow confrontation later on but we got a taste of it in the opening tag. I also included image from the little episode prologue because I love them.

This is the only time we see Shinra or Licth during the episode and I just can’t bring myself to trust Licht. That’s what makes him great! I was hoping to find some clue in the images that he was only pretending to be a hostage but sadly I couldn’t spot anything…

It’s impressive how expressive Shinra’s face is.

I’m breaking up this sequence into two parts to not end up with a huge block of images but really, the majority of the episode was dedicated to this one sequence and it was all visually consistent. I only realized how long it was when looking back over the screencaps. I could have sworn it was not more than half the episode but no. Like 2/3.

And visually it was amazing. The colours almost completely desaturated to a barely perceptible sepia tones black and white with only pops of colours. The dull red of the wagon and the Evangelist cross, the shining blue of the Fire Force uniform and arrows eyes, the gleaming flames and Hinawa’s unusual pale gold eyes.

We’ve never seen Hinawa’s eyes shine before. As a second generation he would have glowy eyes but it’s still impressive to see.

The colour story here is fantastic. It went hand in hand with the muted sound design and frantic animation to created this tense and unnerving yet oddly bare atmosphere. Like a moment of shell-shock in the middle of a heated battle. There were some great compositions as well. Especially with Hinawa in the wagon.

The lack of colour was so effective at creating a mood that the few cells of full colour seemed fantastical and particularly striking.

Hinawa looks so different without his glasses. Somehow more reckless? Is that just some tired trope about people with glasses being all studious and serious. Probably. But still, the show did choose to have him loose them in his bad*ss moment. Why do I censor myself? I’ll never know.

Arthur brought a tension break and a touch of comedic relief with him (as he usually does) and you can see how throughout his scene, the colour gradually comes back until the palette is more or less back to normal (for a dark tunnel that is).

The palette wasn’t switched back all at once. It’s like the saturation was slowly brought up over the course of a few minutes and the sound effects came back as well to show us that the world was gradually getting back om track. Pretty awesome non verbal story telling!

I didn’t think we would get to see the ladies in this weeks Fire Force but we did. And it was sweet!

Lisa is obviously going to make a face turn. If it wasn’t obvious for the OP, you can clearly tell from the facial expressions. The visuals of Lisa in Giovanni’s grasp really reminded me of Eri and Overhaul in My Hero Academia. Odd coincidence

This image. OK so 90% is probably just the creepy bird mask but you have to admit, there are some tonal and visual similarities here which are striking since it’s not exactly a common visual in anime.

Despite the fire theme and all, Fire Force rarely uses red as an atmospheric colour so this scene looks particularly ominous to me. I actually think it’s another indicator of an upcoming redemption. Walking through the fire and all that. Or I guess you could make some scarlet letter analogy for Lisa but I feel like that would be stretching it pretty thin.

In any case, it’s another great looking episode and I want to see the next one.

Fire Force Episode 19 – A Shooting War – Gallery When Fire Force is good...well I tell you what I think about it over on 100 Word Anime.

#action #anime #comedy #episodic #Fire Force #screencaps #shonen

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reylo-solo · 6 years ago

Note

Reylo neighbors

I had way too much fun writing this and I DEFINITELY got carried away, lol. Thanks for the prompt!

Read it on AO3.

➳ Say It With Roses

The house at 515 ParkwoodCrescent was built in the early 1950’s. It had a beautiful widow’s walk and anenclosed porch, picture windows, a cobblestone walkway, and a lovely fenced-inbackyard, perfect for parties. It had also been vacant for two and a half years.

Every morning when Ben Solo wokeup, he would take his cup of coffee and drag his feet over to his living room,where he would gaze sternly out the bay window and his eyes would always roamover the weathered ‘For Sale’ sign next door to his house. He would think tohimself, For Christ’s sake, is the placehaunted or something? He had seen any number of people get a tour inside bythe realtor over the last two and a half years, and not a single one had madean offer on it. They always left smiling, but it never amounted to a damnedthing.

Thecompany that oversaw the management of the lot consistently forgot to mow thelawn, and Ben consistently had to phone and complain to remind them. It drovehim insane. The picketed half-fence his property shared with that house waspristine on his end, but was peeling and hideous on the other side.

BenSolo was a perfectionist. He liked things to be just as he wanted them to be,no more, no less. He liked things to be kept tidy. 515 Parkwood Crescent hadnot been tidy in almost three years. So obviously, this was a big point ofcontention for him.

Untilone fateful morning when Ben’s alarm roused him from his deep slumber at 7:30.He all but fell out of bed, stretched, and put his comfortable sheepskin suede slipperson to walk downstairs to the kitchen. This time when he looked out his window,something was different. The ‘For Sale’ sign had changed. Now, it boldlyproclaimed ‘SOLD’.

“Holyshit,” Ben cursed under his breath, “it’s finally happening.”

Nowcame the anxious wait. Who had bought it? Was it a family? A single person,like himself? Would they be lazy, or proactive? Would they keep their lawn niceand orderly? Would they have children? God forbid they had a dog, whoever it was. Dogs always chewedup gardens, and Ben had a lovely row of prize roses along his side of the fencethat he would sure like to keep planted in the soil.

Therest of May went by quickly, with no signs of life next door. But Ben knew howthis worked. They would get possession on the 1st of June, and afterthat he would know who his new neighbour(s) would be.

Hehad grown oddly used to having no one living on that side of his house. Forinstance, he had enjoyed walking about naked with the blinds on that side open,because no one could see him, especially when he was upstairs in his room withits window that faced the vacant house. It would suck not to be able to do thatanymore, but if it meant the fence would get painted he supposed he should begrateful.

June1st came and went. There were no moving trucks that day, but Ben didspot an old Volkswagen car parked out front and some lights on inside thehouse. He wondered if he shouldn’t go over and say hello, but then heremembered that Mrs. Graham, who lived on the other side of his house, had donethat when he had first moved in, and he still kind-of resented her for it. No, he thought. I’d better give them a few days to get situated first.

By June 2nd, the moving trucks werethere. He saw them in the morning when he was going to work, and spotted some movingcompany workers laboriously hauling a heavy-looking leather loveseat into thehouse. But still no sign of the occupant(s).

Hedidn’t have to wait much longer, however. When he came home from work at 6:00on the dot, grabbed his briefcase from the backseat, and began heading up hiswalkway, he was surprised to hear excitable yipping getting closer and closerto him. When he looked down he saw a small blur of white and brown.

“You’vegot to be kidding me,” he grumbled under his breath. “A fucking dog.”

Indeed,the rambunctious little pup, with the brown spot on its rump and the streaks ofrust colour in its ears, was jumping up at Ben’s legs, stubby little tailwagging in pure euphoria. Ben looked down at the dog with unbridled distaste.

“Bo! Oh my god, I’m so sorry!”

Ben’shead snapped up at the sound of a human – female – voice. A petite brunette waslaunching herself off the porch of 515 Parkwood Crescent, rushing down thecobblestone walkway, crossing over into Ben’s yard, and scooping the pup upinto her arms. Ben was stunned into paralyzed silence.

Shewas young, not far into her 20’s, with lively eyes and a sun-kissed, bronzecomplexion. Wherever she had come from, it had been warm there. Freckles weresplashed across the bridge of her nose, a few dabbled along her cheekbones. Hersmile was 10,000-watt; so bright and intoxicating in nature. She had her hairpulled up in a bun and she wore a ragged old tank-top and camo cut-offs. Shehad a touch of periwinkle paint smeared across her left shoulder and dirt underher fingernails. She extended a hand to Ben.

“Hi,I’m your new neighbour, Rey.”

Benswallowed, surprised at just how dry his throat felt. He shook her hand firmly.

“Myname’s Ben. Nice to meet you, and your, uh, dog.” He said the last word with justthe right amount of sour inflection.

Reyblushed lightly. Ben could feel his own face warming significantly.

“Yeah,again, I’m sorry. He slipped out right when I opened the door. He really likesmeeting new people.”

“Howcute.” Ben muttered.

Thetwo spoke for a short while. Rey told Ben all the minor details he couldpossibly want to know. She had grown up in London as an orphan, and had justfinished travelling the world with a photography scholarship. Apparently shewas world-renowned, but Ben had never heard of her. She was doing a lot ofrenovation work to the house and couldn’t wait to “put down roots here”. Benhad been as cordial as he possibly could be. In truth he didn’t mind listeningto her speak. Her accented voice was intoxicating. But eventually her spellbroke when little Bo took to barking at a biker riding down the street,squirming in his owner’s toned arms.

“Ah,you’ll have to excuse me. I need to get him back inside before his little heartjust can’t take the excitement anymore. It was really lovely to meet you,though. I hope we can talk again soon over the fence someday!”

Bensmiled stiffly, eyeing Bo with a healthy amount of wariness. “I’m sure wewill.”

Thetwo parted ways. After that their contact was minimal for a couple of weeks.Ben was busy with work and was out of the house six days out of the week (onthe seventh he stayed in his man cave watching terrible movies on Netflix inhis pyjamas, smoking one premium joint at around 5 p.m. – his special secrettradition to thank himself for getting through the week without killinganyone). Rey, on the other hand, clearly remained busy on her renovations. Benwould see lights on in the house into the wee hours of the morning, and if hewent outside on his deck and listened closely, he could hear muted hammeringnoises and soft, echoing music playing from somewhere inside the house. Hecan’t say he wasn’t curious about what she was doing in there. The interior ofthe house was beautiful wood and tile, with a stone fireplace, and crown moulding. It was a mid-centuryantique-lover’s dream. Surely shewasn’t making the mistake of trying to modernizeit?

Theymet once more in the evening on a Tuesday, when Ben was on his knees along thefence line, pruning his roses. Rey walked by with a heavy-looking camera bagslung over her shoulder and a binder full of papers in her arm. She gave himthat dazzling smile of hers, which made his heart actually skip a beat, on herway by.

“Evening!”she chirped. “Your roses are absolutely lovely. I’d love to have a garden likeyours someday!”

Hesmiled back, somewhat awkwardly. Ben’s smile was usually quite crooked innature; kind-of goofy-looking but in a charming way, like when a dog ‘smiles’.

“Thanks…”he replied belatedly.

Shewas clearly in a hurry. She unloaded her burdens into the backseat of her carand drove off somewhere. Ben went back to work, the look of her smiling faceburned in his brain for the rest of the night.

Reyhad barely been living next-door for a month when The Incident happened. Oh, it was a doozy, in more ways than one.

Benwoke up that morning and sauntered to the kitchen in his slippers and plaidflannel pyjama pants. His hair was a chaotic mess – he had tossed and turned alot in the night; June was turning out to be a hot month, and the fan in hisbedroom couldn’t keep up with the heat. He was just barely awake. He nearly forgotto put a fresh K-cup of breakfast blend into his Keurig. That would have beendisgusting.

Crisisavoided and with a fresh, aromatic mug of hot coffee in his hand, he wanderedover to his window. The sun had just come up, and the morning sky was streakedwith pink and yellow. A rose gold palette of natural beauty. Speaking ofroses…what was wrong with his roses?!

Heblinked and rubbed his eyes, forcing himself to wake up completely. Rich, darkdirt was scattered across his freshly-trimmed lawn, interlaced with shreddedrose petals, leaves, and a couple whole stems, dug out from their home in thesoil. And there, in the midst of it all, was a little white dog butt with abrown spot along the back.

“Areyou fucking shitting me right now?!”Ben bellowed. His coffee was instantly set down and forgotten about.

Bo,having heard Ben’s outburst from the garden, lifted his dirt-stained face up,floppy puppy ears perked towards the noise. When Ben emerged shortly after,still bare-chested in his slippers and PJ pants, with a look of dark fury onhis face, Bo froze in terror, completely unsure of what to do or where to go.

WhenBen got close, Bo suddenly rolled onto his belly, short little tail tucked inshame as much as it could be. Ben bent down and picked the dog up by the scruffof its neck. Bo couldn’t even meet Ben’s eyes.

“Whatthe hell, dog?” Ben snarled. “I can’tfucking believe this shit. It is 7:30 in the goddamn morning, and you’re goingto hurl this crap in my face? I don’t fucking think so…”

Heswiftly moved down his walkway and over into Rey’s yard, carrying the dog allthe way, tucked at his side. His slippers didn’t really make a veryintimidating sound effect as he stomped up the stairs and across the porch toher front door – which she had painted bright red for some fucking reason. Bright red. Fuck. How original. Ben’sknuckles rapped hard on the painted door.

Noanswer. The lights were off inside, but her car was most certainly parked outfront. Nope. No. He was going to get mad at somebody, goddamn it. The dogdidn’t count.

Hepressed the doorbell repeatedly and kicked at the door until finally, finally, she emerged, one eye shut tothe brightness of the morning, hair falling out of its messy bun, wrapped in anold threadbare robe that was much too big on her.

“Whatis going on…?” she mumbled, slowly registering the very angry half-naked manwith a very nice chest she was now facing. “Bo?”

“Yourfucking dog tore up my roses,” Ben growled, holding the dog up so she could seehis face, smeared with the evidence of his crime. “And I have to beg thequestion: what the hell was he doing in my yard at 7:30 in the morning?”

Reyblinked, colour quickly fading from her face. There it is, Ben thought poisonously. There’s that ‘oh, shit’ look I wanted to see.

“I-Iswear I don’t know…there’s a doggy-door out to the backyard. He must havegotten through the fence somehow, I—”

“Well.That fucking sucks, doesn’t it?” Ben spat. “Meanwhile my garden is destroyedbecause you think it’s fine to let him go out without a leash any damn time hewants!”

Rey’sexpression instantly soured. Her eyes narrowed and her chin stuck out.

“Ican assure you he won’t do it again,” she chewed out bitterly.

“Oh,you’re damned right he won’t,” Ben argued. “Because he’s not going to be letout without a leash until he gets his little digging habit under control,right?”

“Howdare you tell me how to take care of my dog?” Rey snarled, taking Bo roughlyfrom Ben’s arms and setting him down at her feet. Bo whined, blatantlyuncomfortable with the situation he had created.

“Wellclearly someone has to!”

“Whydon’t you piss off? Why do you even grow roses? What kind of soft-side bullshitis that?!”

“Whatare you fucking talking about? I’m not allowed to grow fucking roses in my own damn yard?”

“I’mnot allowed to let my dog go outsidein my own damn yard?!”

“Listen,I’ve been here a lot longer than you—”

“Oh,yeah? It shows!” Rey gestured to her facial area, even tugging down on onecheek, clearly suggesting dark circles and eye wrinkles.

“Ohdoes it?!” Ben yelled.

“Yeah,it does!”

Theirbanter was ended by the sound of Mr. Johnson shouting from a couple housesdown, reminding them both of the lovely, peaceful neighbourhood they calledhome:

“Shut the fuck up!”

Theyboth stopped, chests heaving, angry eyes never leaving the other’s face. It wasat this point Ben realized that, oh – Rey sleeps naked.

Thethreadbare robe she had so thoughtfully put on before answering the door washardly cinched at her waist, creating a very deep-V neckline that showed Ben alot more than he had been expecting to see. It only made it more eye-catchingwhen she crossed her arms like that.

Hecouldn’t help the sudden flush in his face. He was the first to break theirstaring contest, and he wasn’t proud of it. Rey had only a second to appreciateher victory before she too realized why she’d won. With a soft gasp she hastilytugged the collar of her robe closed. Now she was vibrantly blushing too, andshe also looked like she wanted to slap him, which in all actuality she hadevery right to do. But she didn’t, and in the moment she couldn’t quiteunderstand why.

“Keepyour dog on your side of the fence,” Ben grumbled. Most of his fire had diedout by now. He jabbed an accusatory hand at her side of the fence in questionas he descended the porch steps. “And for fuck’s sake, would it kill you topaint it?”

Thetwo carefully avoided one another for the next week, always checking out thewindow before daring to go outside. Ben watered his garden in the morning, Reymowed her lawn in the evening. Bo didn’t escape again. He didn’t even bark. Bensaw Rey out painting her side of the fence one day, but he didn’t dare go outand say anything about it. And it went on like this for a whole, painfully longweek. Until the first fault in the ice cracked to life.

Itwas a Saturday morning. Rey was always gone on a run on Saturday mornings, andBen left for work at 9:00. This morning though, when he opened his door at8:57, he had to pause in the threshold. For there, right outside his door andawfully close to the toe of his shoe, was a small potted rose bush,freshly-grown and healthy, with one small, deep-red bloom on top.

Mystified,Ben picked it up. Amidst the leaves and (this was no doubt done on purpose)thorns, there was a small piece of folded-up paper. Fine stationary, made ofsoft natural paper, and written on the outside of the fold in fine, flowyscript, was his name.

Muchto the (likely) chagrin of the sender, he only received one particularly nastyprick on his ring finger when he reached in to grab it. He sucked on this as hebrought the plant inside and set it down, before opening the letter addressedto him.

I’m sorry my dog toreup your roses, and I’m sorry I didn’t apologize in the moment. I should have.You were right to be angry. Bo feels really, really bad, and so do I. Just soyou know. I bought this at the Farmer’s Market and I thought you could maybeplant it and start fresh. If you don’t want to that’s fine. I understand yourroses were “one of a kind”. I hope you’ll keep this little guy alive, anyway,even if you don’t forgive us. – Rey & Bo (your apologetic neighbours)

Benwould be lying if he said the note didn’t make him smile a little bit. He setit fold-down atop his piano, and admired the little rose bush. Its leaves werea vibrant, lush green, and it was covered in buds. He flicked a leaf andwatched it tremble. He grinned. It would do just fine in his garden.

Hekept coming back to that little rose bush all day long. At work he’d catchhimself doodling, something he rarely did anymore, little sketches of roses inthe margins and bright, dimpled smiles. The plant was a sign of surrender;asking for a truce. Would he give in? Well, yes, he would. It hadn’t taken himlong to come to that conclusion. In all honesty, over the duration of the weekhis anger had faded. Once he had cleaned up his garden he noticed that thedamage wasn’t as extensive as he thought. He could forgive it, he supposed.

Buthow could he let her know it? It just didn’t feel right to him to go over toher house and offer her a plate of store-bought cookies, because lord knows hecouldn’t bake them himself. It felt fake, derivative, and cheesy. “Hey, it’sall water off a duck’s back! Here’s some Pillsbury crap on a plate!”

Itwas 3:36 in the afternoon when the idea struck him. The Grand Gesture. The wayhe was going to let Rey know all was forgiven. He had been inspired bysomething she had said the other day; her words floated back to him as though comingout of the ether of a dream. And suddenly he couldn’t wait to get home. Ofcourse, he’d have to make a couple stops along the way, pick up some suppliesand the like. He planned it out to the last detail, effectively wasting thelast hour and a half of work. And when it was finally time to leave, his deskchair had barely stopped spinning before he had left the building.

Heknew that starting at 5:00, he had only two hours before Rey would be home forthe night after she stopped at the gym (in the short time she had been livingnext door, he had quickly taken note of her daily activities). He could pullthis off in an hour and a half, if he was quick and had no interruptions. Hehauled everything over to Rey’s front lawn and set to work.

Thankfully,the universe was smiling upon him for once and everything went smoothly. He hadsuccessfully started a garden for Rey, in front of her large picture window inthe front yard. He had carefully transplanted a shoot of his own prize roses,right in the centre, with a colourful array of flora and grasses all around. Tohim it looked magnificent, but a nagging voice in the back of his head keptasking ‘Would she even notice it?’

When all was said and done, hiswatch told him it was 6:51. She would be home soon. He took this opportunity toplant his new rose bush in the spot where Bo had dug up the last one. He wasjust packing the dirt around the base of the plant when he heard her car pullup. He held his breath.

Her car door shut. He heard herunlatch the front gate and re-latch it behind her. Then came the soft shufflingsound of her shoes walking up the cobblestone pathway…and then all soundsstopped with a sudden, loud gasp.

Ben peeked precariously over thetop of the fence. She was standing halfway up the walk with her jaw slack, staringwide-eyed at the beautiful arrangement that had seemingly appeared in front of her house. She slowly walked up to it and bentdown to examine the flowers closer. Ben couldn’t see, but when she saw theroses, she grinned because she recognized them instantly.

At this point, Ben realized heprobably looked like a total jackass, crouched and watching her from across thefence. So he stood up, brushed the dirt from the worn-out knees of his jeans,and cleared his throat.

“You’re forgiven, in case itwasn’t clear,” he said. “Bo, too.”

She stood up straight and turnedto look at him, that one-of-a-kind smile glowing like the moon in the sky.

“You did this?” she askedquietly, her voice laden with emotion.

Ben nodded. “I didn’t know howelse to say it…and I remembered you telling me you wanted a garden like mine,so I figured I’d help get you started.”

“I love it,” she confessed. “It’sbeautiful, and it smells amazing.”

“Well, good. I’m glad.”

Rey sighed, shifting her weightto her left foot. She gave him an apologetic look.

“I guess we’ve been lousyneighbours, huh?” she asked.

“Uh, when the guy down thestreet has to tell us to shut the fuck up, I’m going to say yes, we have been,”Ben answered.

Rey chuckled. “Woops.”

“Woops.” Ben agreed with acrooked smile.

Rey smiled back at him somewhatbashfully, fiddling with the wire of her headphones.

“Would you like to come inside?”she asked quietly. “I think we could both use a drink, maybe. And…I’d like toget to know you better, if that’s okay.”

Ben’s eyes widened. He had beenexpecting a hearty thank-you, maybe some joyful tears, but not an invitationinside – into her life. Before hisbrain could even formulate an answer, he was nodding his head yes and hoppingover the fence.

“Careful,” Rey cautionedplayfully, “I just painted that.”

Ben smirked. “I know, it looksgood.”

“Thanks.”

As he climbed the steps of herporch for the second time in his life, he found himself in a very apologeticmood. Heat burned high in his face, turning the tips of his ears a deep pink.

“Oh, um…I also want to apologizefor, uh…well, the night of The Incident,I…I promise I wasn’t staring,” he mumbled, “at you.”

Rey smiled warmly, and Ben didn’tmiss the way her eyes jumped down his body and back up again in one quick,scanning motion.

“That’s okay,” she confessed asa sly grin spread across her face. “I just hope you don’t mind that I was.”

Ben didn’t know what to say tothat, so he just grinned like an idiot and followed her inside without a secondthought. She had freshly-baked cookies on her countertop and no Pillsburycontainer in sight.

#reylo #my fic #reylo prompt #reylo fanfic #kylo x rey #reylo au #BEN LOVES A PRIZE ROSE #REY IS A WHOLE PRIZE GARDEN 2 HIM #CHANGE MY MIND #if you liked it let me know!!

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