#i meant to write concerned first but my hands are really cold right now and i ended up accidently typing confused and it worked so i kept it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hongjoongspoetry · 5 months ago

Text

Cold Hands, Warm Heart

Part 3 – You Know You're On My Mind

⛸️ Summary: Would you rather A) represent Seoul at the Spring Championship, B) find the answer as to why Mingi was ignoring you or C) stay in your shared flat for the winter holidays? How smart of you to go with option D) none of the above.

⛸️ Genres/Tropes: College AU, non-idol AU, rivals to lovers but it's more like one-sided resentment, hockey AU, figure skating AU, angst!!!

⛸️ Warnings/Tags: Female reader, no use of (Y/N), explicit language, brief alcohol consumption, petnames (princess, beans), a lot of tears and crying, probably incorrect use of hockey terms, fist fight, blood, verbal fight, Mingi is really mean but also aware he's being a douche, Dasom is a good friend, more side characters!!!

⛸️ Wordcount: 16.6K

⛸️ Author's note: I freaking love angst 😈 Hence why I've looked forward to the third part of Cold Hands, Warm Hearts! A warning, I have absolutely ZERO knowledge about hockey so the things you'll read concerning the hockey game may or may not be wrong idk. I've tried watching a lot of hockey games on YouTube, but they move so fucking fast I can barely wrap my head around what's happening lmaooo.

I also wanted to write my own comments for the chapter (something I should have done since the first part tbh), but I've been home with a fever for some days now and I honestly can barely sit up, let alone write extra stuff so I'm sadly skipping out on that. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy this part and don't be shy to tell me your thoughts 🩷

AO3 Masterpost Moodboard Click on me!

This is all fiction and not meant to represent any idols involved in any way or form. This work is NSFW and not appropriate for minors as it contains explicit scenes, not just sexual content but descriptions of both physical and verbal fights, as well as adult language. Minors and ageless blogs, please, refrain from reading or interacting with this work or my blog!!!

December 9th, 2024.

The day was marked in Mingi’s little red calendar he kept away in his backpack — not that he needed the reminder, the day was practically burned into his mind — and the fanciest suit he owned was ironed three nights prior with the help of his best friend and roommate, Jeong Yunho. One would think it was an important day — as to explain why he woke up at a presentable hour with enough time to spare for a few errands and a brunch with his roommate — an exam determining his final grade or something to do with his hockey, but no it was just the day of your competition.

Currently sitting in a sandwich shop, thumbs twirling and eyes set on the flower shop across the street, Mingi contemplated whether bringing a bouquet — maybe roses or those tulips, they were quite popular nowadays — would be too much or not at all. The two parts of his brain clashed and before he could make a decision Yunho came back with their orders, a teriyaki chicken sandwich for Mingi while he ordered something nasty looking with a really fancy and long name that Mingi couldn’t bother remembering.

“There you go.” Yunho settled in the seat across Mingi and dove right into his food, letting out a moan of approval. “Best sandwich in town, no kidding.”

“Do girls like flowers?”

Caught mid bite, cheeks coated with crumbs and mayonnaise, Yunho looked up at Mingi who already had his eyes set on him with a seriousness that rarely outshone his happy and goofy exterior.

“Uhm, I suppose. I mean the girls I’ve given flowers to liked the gesture. Why? You looking to impress someone, Mings?” A teasing smile quirked at the edge of his lips. “Is it a quick fuck?”

“Dude?!” Mingi hissed and quickly threw a glance around the room making sure no one overheard their convo and labeled them as creeps.

“Oh, come on, we’ve talked about worse things than some sex deets.”

“It was a simple question, Yunho-ya. Do flowers equal happy girls? Yes or no?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, cool.”

Sensing this wasn’t a topic Mingi was all too keen to talk about, Yunho gave him some space and took another bite of his sandwich. Then he remembered their conversation three days ago and how Mingi begged him to help him iron his suit and teach him how to properly handle a tie, and if that wasn’t enough of a reason then he could always use the we’ve-been-friends-since-diapers card and pry whatever information he wanted out of him.

“Is this about that figure skating girl?”

“Absolutely not… Do you think she’d like roses or tulips?”

Mouth full of bacon, tomato, lettuce and bread, Yunho mumbled out a barely audible answer. “Roses. Definitely roses.”

“I’m just saying if Hyunjin brings you roses I’ll jump in front of the ice resurfacer!”

Keeho laid flat on your bed, legs dangling in the air and chin propped on both palms as his eyes burned holes on your back. While rummaging through your closet you threw a random shirt over your shoulder, purposely aiming it at him and you knew it was a success as he let out a surprised ‘ack’.

“That’s what you get for being noisy,” Dasom chirped and rolled over him, her feet hitting your pillow and arms reaching the end of your bed.

“You guys promised to help me pack! I’m so going to be late.”

An empty duffel bag sat on your bed beside the entanglement of limbs that were your friends. Despite waking up a whole twelve hours before your planned departure, you were running late or would be if you didn’t leave in the next fifteen minutes.

“Fine, but I’m just helping because I know you’ll make it big one day and I can use it to be a multimillionaire influencer. Yoon Keeho, best friend of the South Korean Olympic figure skater. It has a nice ring to it, no?”

Another shirt hit him in the face, this one coming straight out of the dirtied piles of clothes in the corner.

“No more throwing shirts!”

“Up we go, Kyo.”

Dasom repositioned to sit criss-crossed in front of your bag and began neatly placing necessary things inside; towel, spare change of clothes, bobby pins, hairspray, your skates.

“Where’s your suit?” She asked while zipping the bag.

“My coach still has it. Something about seeing it before the comp would bring bad luck or whatever. Like it’s a competition not a wedding and Keeho, get out I need to change.”

“I bet a round of lamb skewers Hyunjin is proposing after the comp– I’m leaving, I’m leaving, put that down!”

As the door closed you quickly stripped and threw on a sweatsuit bearing the logo of Tiny University printed on the front and back. Knowing you were practically working on autopilot while your nerves skyrocketed, Dasom didn’t want to step out of bounds and send you into a potential spiral of panic and stress but she was also very curious, and her greed won over her morals. With a soft call of your name she asked the million dollar question.

“Did you only invite Hyunjin?”

You froze with your hands in your hair, a bobby pin between your fingers and an extra in your mouth as your gaze fell on her. Flashing you a derpy yet reassuring smile that warmed you up like the sun on a summer afternoon filled with sugary strawberries and pink lemonade.

“No… Not just Hyunjin, I actually invited Mingi too, but I… don’t know why.”

You plopped down beside her and played with your fingers. It all felt so silly and you didn’t even have the time to think about him or Hyunjin or anything boy related overall. Not that it was a bad thing, in fact it was great, but that meant your mind was completely occupied of nailing your choreo, imaging everything that could go wrong and to not let anything go fucking wrong.

“Maybe it just felt right,” she whispered, as if the words were made of steel and you were of twigs that would break at the slightest contact.

Sighing, you nodded and fell back on your bed with Dasom in tow. There wasn’t much left to say. You couldn’t remember what drunk-you thought when inviting Mingi nor did you want to know. All you knew was that your heart did that little leap thing before violently kicking at your rib cage when he said he’d be there and that was concerning but not more so than your competition taking place in a few hours.

If Mingi showed up, great.

If he didn’t then that was great too, is what you forced yourself into believing.

Mingi stood before a body-length mirror and kept running his hand through his neatly made hair. Yunho placed a palm over Mingi’s shoulder and the shifting motion immediately subdued only to proceed as the hand withdrew.

“Stop moving around dude, you’re making me nervous!”

Taking a step back, Yunho quietly assessed Mingi, searching for creases in his black suit or stray hairs standing up funny. There were no faults, his tall friend — that was still slightly shorter than himself — looked perfect appearance wise. It was the slight twitch of his finger and sweat collecting at the nape of his neck that gave him away.

“Why are you so nervous, Mingi-ya? It’s just a figure skating competition, nothing more nothing less.”

Taking a hold of the perfectly wrapped bouquet of heart-colored roses he paid a good penny for, Mingi pouted and shrugged his shoulders as if a toddler being put on the spot for doing something bad.

“I don’t know.”

“You want me to come with?”

Yunho, dressed in an old tattered shirt and bright red basketball shorts with his naturally dark hair growing at the roots and taking on the look of pudding, was ready to drop everything and jump in his brand new suit planned for their graduation if that’s what Mingi needed.

“No, no. I’ll be fine, it’s just… Don’t you think it’s too much? Flowers, a suit? It’s a figure skating competition not a wedding.”

“Does it matter? Personally, if it were me, I’d rather see the girl I invited put in the effort even if it means wearing nice clothes over something raggedy. This shows you care.”

“I guess…”

Mingi jumped as Yunho reassuringly landed his hands on his shoulders, giving him an encouraging squeeze and smiling so his cheeks puffed up. “Come on, let’s get that tie fixed and then I’ll give you a lift.”

“Ah, the privileges of not having a driver’s license.”

“You mean the privileges of being a passenger princess?”

“Yah, Yunho-ya!” Came the whine as Mingi followed his friend like a kicked puppy on a rainy Monday morning.

The arena was packed and while it wasn’t an unusual sight for Mingi — always being a witness of how the bleachers slowly filled up during his warm ups — it was weird seeing it from an outside perspective. Everything seemed so much smaller and compact compared to when he was on the ice squinting past the blinding headlights to barely even catch a glimpse of the audience. Other than practice and hockey game, Mingi had no reason to visit the arena. There was no other sport that piqued his interest enough to stand in line, pay an overpriced entry fee and freeze his ass off on a plastic chair. He’d usually just enter through the changing rooms and skip all that yet there he was, all glammed up and standing behind a family wearing shirts with the name of some random chick printed in big bold letters.

Thinking about it, Mingi couldn’t actually give less of a fuck about figure skating and months ago he didn’t care who represented Seoul or if they were even capabale to compete with the other cities.

“All my friends are going to be there.”

“Nice friends you have.”

“We are friends,” you said matter-of-factly, your ‘S’ coming out with a lisp. “Alllll my friends are going.”

“You want me to come to your competition princess?”

“You’ll come?!”

You slinked your arm through his and squished it against your chest, cheek pressed to his bicep as you looked at him. One would believe Mingi hung up each and every single star individually in your name for you to look at him that way.

“Yeah,” he whispered, “I’ll be there.”

It was your stupid yet endearing eyes that did it all. The little shining glint that completely vexed him and before he knew it, the promise slipped off his tongue and was spoken into existence. Mingi didn’t get to indulge more in the memory of the beauty that was your face as the lights dimmed and an enthusiastic voice boomed through the speakers, welcoming everyone and announcing the start of the preliminary that would determine the female representative of Seoul at the annual Spring Championship.

Honestly, Mingi didn’t know what to expect. He didn’t know a lot of things; how long this would be, what time your performance would start, was he supposed to find you after or before they announced the winner? It also didn’t help that he was sweating through his dress shirt despite the freezing temperature inside.

Performance after performance passed and he was yet to catch sight of you. Honestly speaking, Mingi was growing impatient. The numbers weren’t anything extraordinary — he had seen you do much better even when ending on your rear — and he wasn’t here to watch some mediocre ladies flip around to classical music. The weight of his phone burned in his suit pocket and he was itching to reach for it. He was three taps away from dialing Yunho and making the taller man pick him up again. Oblivious to the curious and soft eyes peering at the bouquet in his lap, Mingi stared at the ice rink with a far away look on his face and bottom lip caught between his teeth.

“Those are beautiful,” a voice came from his left. It was comforting and full of kindness.

Snapping his head towards the person, Mingi faced a woman looking old enough to be his mom. The compliment pulled at the corners of his lips and soon a full blown boxy smile took over his face as his eyes creased into crescent moons.

“Thank you.”

Mingi contemplated whether to hand her the darned flowers and leave while you still hadn’t caught sight of him, that way his money wouldn’t go to waste and the flowers wouldn’t end up in the bin outside the venue.

“I’m Chaeryeong’s mom.”

“Song Mingi,” he curtly answered with a little bow of his head.

“Are those for your girlfriend?”

As kind as this woman looked she sure was twice the amount noisy.

“No, they are for a… friend. She’s competing today.”

“Oh, when is she up?”

At the sight of his uncertainty, she handed Mingi a pamphlet with several numbers followed by first- and last names of the competitors. Quickly scanning the sheet of paper he landed on your name in last place and with the twenty-ninth performer taking her starting pose right as Mingi looked back up again. The urge to squish his face against the pamphlet was immense.

“She’s last.”

“Oh! That’s Hoseok’s kid. She’s amazing and if it weren’t for my Chaeryeongie I’d root for her.”

Pride swelled in his chest and heat nipped at his cheeks. He tried suppressing the fond smile forcing its way out but failed.

“It’s actually my first time watching her perform but yeah, she’s pretty… p-pretty cool!”

“Really? Well, it’s better late than never.”

Why Mingi was getting flustered was beyond him. Not wanting to think about it and eventually fall down a rabbit hole he always did when thinking of you, he nodded and took the praise with the lady leaving a pat on his shoulder.

“Mmm, you’re smiling! Are you sure she’s just a friend?”

Mingi lowered his chin and avoided the teasing eyes of Chaeryeong’s mom. No way was he talking about girl problems with a random lady at a figure skating competition.

“Would you spare my seat? I just need to go to the restroom.”

“Of course, son.”

With one last bow he ran up the stairs leading to the main hall and straight for the male restroom which — to his delight — was empty. Mingi released a breath of unease and stopped by the sink hoping to wash away the sweat collected on his hands. Looking at his reflection in the oblong mirror, he pursed his lips and splashed cold water on his face before lightly slapping his cheeks.

“It’s easy. We hand her the flowers, tell her she did great and then we leave.”

Mingi couldn’t remember the last time he was this nervous over talking to a girl. Thinking about it, he talked to you all the time. Yes, most of it was hidden behind jokes and teasing remarks, but it still counted as talking.

“Welcoming our last performer of the night…”

The booming voice of the announcer echoed through the whole building and with a quick ‘shit’ falling from his lips, Mingi dried his hands off his expensive pants and ran back into the arena receiving weird stares from other people, but he wasn’t about to miss the start of your performance after waiting for over two hours. In sync with you gliding out on the ice he flew past the double doored entrance and caught himself on the metal railing. Mingi realized there was no need to go back to his previous spot, not when he had a great view of the whole ice rink from where he stood and a great look of you posing in the middle, one arm elegantly thrown over your head and the other following the length of your figure and stopping midthigh.

Stunning, gorgeous, beautiful, angelic, breathtaking, enchanting, marvelous and other adjectives wouldn’t do the justice to describe how truly captivating you looked.

The first thing that caught his attention was your costume. It was a long sleeved dress transitioning from dark to light blue with sparkly beads going down your chest, across your abdomen and arms in a tilted motion as if the foam of multiple waves. Your costume had a tiny skirt which Mingi was sure would swirl prettily when pirouetting and twirling in the air. The upper part of your dress took on the shape of a heart and went down your back in a v-form leaving your collars, shoulders and back completely exposed. Your hair was styled in a sturdy updo matching the elegance of your suit and while Mingi couldn’t see your make-up, he assumed it would reflect the colors of your dress and accentuate your facial features in just the right way.

The starting notes of your chosen song erupted from the speakers and Mingi’s breath got caught in his throat as you glided across the ice, his heart beating in rhythm to your every landed jump. You moved with grace and for once the teasing nickname he reserved just for you had no malice objective behind it. You surrendered yourself to the music and allowed it to guide you, your body resembled the elements of nature and became an entity that was no longer your own. Moving like the ripples of a wind, flowing and rising as though you were water yet curving fiercely as a controlled fire and flourishing like a sunflower yearning for light.

It was beautiful. You were beautiful.

Mingi would rather have spent two hours watching you skate than those other amateurs and he was slightly bitter your number only lasted for four minutes. 240 seconds of no breathing or thinking, just existing to admire you as if you were a painting exhibited in the most famous art museum in the world.

As you were entering the last moments of your performance, the music picked up and you mentally prepared yourself to do the main stunt. There was no turning back now and with confidence pumping in your veins, you inhaled and propelled yourself off the ice. Time slowed down and magically you could somehow hear the amazed gasps of the audience. Your body spun, and spun and spun and you felt the start of gravity doing its work. As if caught in a sense of Déjà Vu, the sharp point of your skates chipped the ice and threw your landing off course, and before you knew it, you landed on the outer side of your thigh. The crowd gasped again, the tone much more horrible than a few seconds ago, and all you wanted to do was continue to lay on the cold surface, but the show was yet to be over. In hopes of saving your score, you recovered with a double-axel which wasn’t nearly as appealing as the one you failed, but at least you landed it.

The performance ended with you posing in the middle — much like you practiced — and waiting for the last piano notes to run out. Despite your big fail the arena erupted in chaos of applause and whistles. Thanking the spectators with three respectful bows — each facing a different side — you skated off the ice with shaky legs and a heart hammering in your ears falling right in the arms of your coach. Mingi didn’t move until you rounded the corner towards the locker rooms and disappeared from his sight.

A short static echoed in the hall as the AUX was rather harshly unplugged from your phone, making you lose your footing and fall on your ass.

The ice beneath was hard and cold, and it numbed your whole left leg except for the burning pain that flared up in your backside. You had to physically hold back tears as you stood back up on shaky legs.

“Majestic as always, princess, but I’ll have to deduct ten points for that eye captivating fall.”

A chorus of laughter and gloves pounding against the plexiglas averted your attention for a split second, and the picture of an audience watching wasn’t much of an imagination as the whole hockey team stood by the entrance of the rink.

Mingi sighed at the memory and stalked back to his seat where the kind family and bouquet of roses waited on him.

“You missed her performance!” Chaeryeong’s mom exclaimed and handed him the flowers.

Mingi smiled shyly, then scratched the back of his neck. “Ah no, I watched from up there.” He turned and pointed at the spot he was standing in not even thirty seconds ago. “It was a better view so yeah…”

Chaeryeong’s mom smiled tenderly with a knowing gleam in her eyes. “What a relief! You got me worried for a minute but I should’ve known you wouldn’t miss it.”

“She was amazing,” Mingi stated and received a smug look from the woman.

“Mmm, I told you so. It’s a shame she fell. Well, we’re going out for a breather but we’ll be back so please save our seats for us.”

You sat in one of the locker rooms, head in your hands and feet tapping on the floor. The performance couldn’t have been more perfect, all for it to go to shit in the end.

All the hours, sweat and energy put into practice was a waste and you didn’t have to wait for the winner to be announced to know whether it was true or not. It was ironic really, despite being in a competitive sport, you hated the concept of competitions. The idea that there could only be one winner always got to your head like a parasite planting eggs of anxiety. Your number was great, but your fall made the other girls as good if not better and that really got you spiraling.

Not to mention neither of your parents could make it, the timing clashing with their working schedules besides driving back and forth from your hometown was too exhausting for one day. Keeho and Dasom weren’t there either, occupied with work or school projects making it unreasonable for you to be angry with them. You also didn’t spot Hyunjin or Mingi in the audience which wasn’t that much of a surprise as you could barely make out the people in the front row, but nonetheless, the lack of support was weighing on you. That’s why in these situations, you were so grateful for Mr. Jung. Not only being your coach, but for stepping up as a ten man army of supporters.

A series of knocks snapped you out of your thoughts followed by Mr. Jung’s voice on the other side.

“You ready, star? They are announcing the winner.”

“Oh, look! I think they are announcing the winner!” Chaeryeong’s mom exclaimed as she sat back down in her seat.

The competing figure skaters went back out on the ice in a neat row, all dressed in various shimmering suits creating a palette of multiple colors. The whole crowd quieted down as the announcer asked for silence and simultaneously caught everyone’s attention. Not Mingi’s though, no his eyes were set on you who — together with the other girls — lined up behind the host.

Hands trembling and breath caught in your throat, you didn’t allow yourself to think of anything. You felt like your head was underwater. It wasn’t scary or suffocating, but not a great feeling either as you couldn’t hear anything clearly thanks to the blood pumping in your ears. Somehow you could make out the distant voice of the man holding the mic, but no words were being registered. Focusing on the white translucent puffs of your short inhales and exhales, you didn’t hear the thick voice announcing the winner. It all happened incredibly fast. One second everyone was at the edge of their seats — you imagined them to be nibbling their nails like in the cartoons — and the next thing you know, the whole arena exploded in cheers. You were so out of it you hadn’t even heard the announcement of the winner. Although it didn’t matter, because a second later the call for a girl who wasn’t you sounded through the speakers as she was welcomed up on the podium.

“Everyone! A round of applause for Seoul's representative of the Spring Championship 2025!”

You felt yourself sink deeper and deeper into the ocean as a booming wave of applause and whistles scattered around, shaking you to the core. Tears sprung to your eyes and you silently thanked the makeup artist for using waterproof cosmetics, the last thing you needed was for everyone to notice your emotional breakdown. The winner skated up to the host and he rewarded her with a bouquet of various flowers and a sash reading ‘Seoul Representative 2025’ in gold letters. You imagined him to be wishing her good luck and words of encouragement before letting her shine in the light of attention and praise.

After bowing to the girls, judges and audience you skated out of the rink and threw yourself in Mr. Jung’s embrace who patiently waited by the open board door. His heart smile didn’t hold quite reach its natural form and came out more pained than what he’d like to and his creased eyes mirrored your own sad expression. The flashes of a dozen cameras quickly annoyed you as well as the sound of the gadgets going off and you tried your best ignoring them, but each flicker was like a stab to your heart.

You were supposed to be the winner. The camera was supposed to be on you, not on that girl.

“It’s alright, starshine. Winning is not always guaranteed,” he whispered and hugged you tighter as you started crying harder, hot tears soaking his shirt.

He stayed with you a while inside the locker room. The silence and your occasional sniffles were the only sources of sound, besides the light chattering noise outside.

“I’m still proud of you.”

The simple sentence brought another fresh set of tears to your eyes and you hung your head in defeat, and slight embarrassment.

“I know you think it’s not fair and that you should be the winner of tonight's event, but that would have been too easy and that’s just not something life is… We’ll break down and start again.”

Mr. Jung had always been exceptional at shifting between being a serious and humorous coach, but the current words spoken came from someone who had experienced failure before. From one loser to another, his little words of wisdom helped you get on your feet even if you felt like you were at the lowest point of your adult life. It would still take days to get over your disappointing performance, but you’d be alright. With a pat to your head, he ushered you to wash the blue feelings off.

While you did that, Mingi found himself once again in the bathroom, wet hands combing through strands of hair in an attempt to look less disheveled and more like he had his shit together (he did in fact not have his shit together). He sniffed the collar of his suit jacket and then his armpits, and as he didn’t detect the smell of sweat, but the aroma of his favorite cologne — that smelled of bergamot and lavender — he straightened the jacket and went out to accomplish his mission or rather plan B.

Instead of congratulating you, like he initially planned to, he’d do something else — and what that was, he had yet to figure out — but from his own experience, he’d known better than to give you praise, especially after losing by a few points.

Skipping two steps down the stairs, he stopped by the see-through doors instead of continuing down the hallway with several changing rooms. Mingi didn’t know what room you were assigned to and even if he did, he wasn’t planning on barging in while you were possibly getting dressed or showering. The vision of a soapy you sent heat rushing to his head, both of them, but were quickly discarded as you came out.

You looked different from the girl twirling on the ice minutes ago. Wet hair and dressed in comfy clothes, no fancy make up or extravagant details, but a solemn expression and puffy eyes. It didn’t matter though because you were still beautiful, he thought and fixed his tie out of sheer anxiety, and opened the door. Your name swayed at the tip of his tongue and was just in need of a small push to reach your ears. Eyes entirely focused on you, Mingi missed the boy walking towards him and slinking through the opening created by the taller man.

“Thanks, bud.” Hyunjin didn’t spare Mingi another glance as he headed straight for you.

At a loss for words and frozen in place, Mingi just watched you fall comfortably in Hyunjin’s arms and as if a masochist he stood rooted and felt his heart squeeze painfully as you melted in his hold, your sobs filling the bleak silence taking residue in Mingi’s head.

One, two, three and four seconds later, Mingi headed home, hands stuffed in his pockets and roses left in the trashcan by the smoking area outside. Thinking back to it, he should’ve given them to Chaeyeon’s mom — or whatever her name was — at least then they’d be rotting away on someone’s kitchen table and not in a random bin on the streets of Seoul.

Entering the shared apartment with Yunho nowhere in sight — something Mingi was grateful for — he stripped out of the expensive clothes and pushed them to the back of his closet, saving his future-self from a painful reminder of what did and didn’t happen. Somewhere in the rational part of his mind, he knew not to be angry with you, but the other part, the selfish and angry one, put the entire blame on you. If there was one thing hated more than losing, it was to be made into a fool.

“I can’t believe I lost,” you said and downed a shot of soju.

Hyunjin quickly snatched the soju bottle from beside you before you could pour yourself another shot, your sixth one to be exact.

You frowned and placed your palms against your heated cheeks. “I’m never figure skating again.”

After the little meet up with Hyunjin, he requested (more like demanded) on treating you to food, and while you insisted he admitted he’d do it either way if you lost or won. That was how you ended up in a meat house, sitting around a table for two as Hyunjin grilled the food.

“Don’t be silly. If you give up now you’ll never win.”

You rolled your eyes and the frown turned even deeper. Gazing down at the sizzling meat, your mouth watered and stomach rumbled impatiently. You could already taste the savory flavors just by looking at it.

“I can’t believe you dragged me here looking like this.”

Hyunjin raised a brow, genuinely not understanding what you meant. To him you looked just fine in a pair of leggings and hoodie, and it didn’t matter that your hair was still wet or your face bare of makeup because you were perfect.

“What’s wrong with the way you look? I think you’re cute.”

A fire lightened in your core and rose up to your cheeks, ears and neck, and the air in the restaurant changed too, suddenly feeling as if you were a chicken sitting in an oven. As your heart didn’t do its usual badum-badum-badum, you realized the effect Hyunjin had on you didn’t appear. You were surprisingly calm. Unbothered even and instead of buzzing with joy you were counting down the seconds until it was time to leave.

Not to get you wrong, you loved his company. You’d been dreaming of days like these since the first time you laid eyes on him and now that you had it, all you wanted was nothing more than to jump in bed and just go into hibernation, and forget about the world.

Something was telling you though, that even if you were eating meat and celebrating your win, you still wouldn’t feel the spirit of a winner. Deep inside, you knew the root of it. The reason as to why a gray cloud hovered over you — besides losing — and it all led back to the absence of a certain hockey player.

“Here, try this.” Hyunjin gently hand fed you a piece of beef and other fillings wrapped in lettuce. “It’s good, huh?”

“You good there, princess?”

You reeled back, momentarily stunned by the unexpected presence. Mingi grinned at your reaction and sat back. Very satisfied with his work. As he readied his own computer, you took in his appearance and found yourself growing more irritated. There was no denying that he was attractive. Thick pink lips, a straight and sharp nose and a very prominent jaw. His brown eyes were surprisingly relaxed and didn’t resemble those of a fox. The boy was even blessed with not one, but two moles. His knitted sweater was an ugly shade of moss green but it looked good on him, much to your dismay.

You sighed and sucked through your teeth, “Why are you here?”

Why wasn’t he there?

It was as if the universe was out to get you.

First, you lost a spot at the Spring Championship. Then you failed an assignment that took a month of your life to get done, and if that wasn’t enough, the representative face of Seoul at next year’s championship was plastered all over town. She was even on the newspaper thrown in your mailbox, which you hadn’t subscribed to! If it weren’t for your personal duo of Chip and Dale, you’d skip school just to avoid it all.

To say, you were feeling down right shit would be an understatement, and everyone around you could feel it. That was probably why Mr. Jung canceled a whole week’s worth of practice and you couldn’t have been more relieved.

Figure skating was the last thing you needed right now.

Besides your friends and coach giving you space or peppering you with love, there was another person to be added in that equation. Hyunjin made sure to spend more time with you, always asking to go out for lunch or a stroll in the park that usually ended up with window shopping and eating ice cream.

“Felix and Changbin have been dying to meet you, you know,” Hyunjin stated as he scooped a spoon of chocolate ice cream.

“Really?”

You remembered Changbin solely by his Halloween party and you pushed aside the other memories that came along with that night. The other boy, Felix, you knew a little next to nothing about.

“Yeah, they haven’t stopped pestering me about it, especially Changbin.”

“Mmm, have you been talking about me, Hyunjin-ah?”

The black haired boy grew red at the teasing and nearly choked on the plastic spoon.

“Wh-what!”

It was the first time you’d ever seen him flustered and it sure was a different sight from his usual composed self. Your chuckle filtered between the giggles and chatter of multiple friend groups. It was a surprise to see so many people outside in the snow. Hyunjin eventually calmed down and returned to his natural skin color, and he proceeded with caution at his next question, slightly afraid to walk straight into another teasing trap.

“They are going to watch that hockey game… if you want, it would be a great time to meet them.”

Truth to be told, you had completely forgotten about that sport and it had everything to do with Mingi, the only connection you had to the hockey team of your university. The last time you saw him was a few days before your performance and you hadn’t seen him since, at one moment you thought he disappeared to another country, but Keeho’s confirmation of seeing him on campus debunked that theory. It wasn’t that weird though, considering you hadn’t stepped foot in the ice rink and didn’t share any classes with him, courtesy of majoring in two completely different studies.

You wouldn’t say it to anyone, not even Dasom, but the less you saw of him, the more bored you got. Obviously, you didn’t miss his irksome comments or that stupid pet name he’d use at any given moment, yet the days seemed to go slower without the pain in the ass of a man. Going to that hockey game would maybe change that, and what better excuse than to go with Hyunjin?

“Of course! I mean,” you cleared your throat. “Of course, I’ll check if I’m free and then I’ll let ya know.”

“Great. It’s next Friday and, unluckily, I pulled the short straw so I’ll be driving… So if you can and want, there's space in my car.”

Parting your mouth to answer, the left side of your brain suddenly halted all your speech function as you caught sight of a familiar figure.

In the many places of Seoul, he just had to be in the same park as you. Wearing a blue tracksuit with the slogan of a wolf on the front and running sneakers adorning his feet, told you he was out on a late night run. It was quite unfair how even with his hair sticking to his nape and sweat trickling down the sides of his face, Mingi still looked great.

You and Mingi had never been friends — that much you knew — but for him to just run past you without as much as a nod of acknowledgement had you questioning if something was wrong. His exhausted eyes morphed into a nasty glare as they landed on you, which served as a nail in the coffin to your theories.

“Was that Song Mingi?” Hyunjin asked from beside you.

“Yeah. Yeah, it was.”

“What’s wrong, bean?”

Laying upside down on your bed with feet tucked beneath your pillow and your head a few inches from the edge apparently wasn’t a normal thing to do if Dasom assumed something was going on.

“Nothing, everything is perfectly fine.”

Everything was perfectly fine if you ignored the fact that Mingi was angry with you and was intentionally avoiding you like the plague.

“Mmmm.”

Dasom fell back and mimicked your position, arms thrown out and eyes locked on the ceiling. Some days were like that, spent doing absolutely nothing. Wrapped in big fuzzy blankets laying in either her or your bed, getting lost in space or scrolling endlessly through tiktok until the clock struck the early hours of the morning.

“You still going to that game?”

You huffed, “Yeah. I promised Hyunjin I’d go and he wants to introduce me to some of his friends in return. Is Hongjoong still coming over?”

“He hasn’t rain checked on me yet, so I think so.” She drummed her fingers against her shorts-clad thighs. “Isn’t the game at eight?”

“Yup.”

“Cool. Cool.”

You slid down to the floor, brows furrowed and lips titled. “What time is it?”

“Now?”

“Yes, Dasom. Now.”

“Hmmm, it’s currently seven-thirty.”

“It’s seven-thirty!?”

The blood rushed up to your head at your abrupt movement and the whole room spun as black spots clouded your vision. Left with no choice you laid back down and clutched your skull as you tried taking control of your own body again, all while assessing the situation. The game started at eight and you had approximately thirty minutes to get changed and figure out a way to get there before then. The messages Hyunjin sent you earlier today flashed in your mind and you were starting to regret turning down his offer to pick you up, at least then you wouldn’t risk being late and embarrassing yourself in front of his friends.

“Okay, I’m jumping in the shower real quick while you put together an outfit for me that doesn’t scream ‘I spent five minutes on this’ as I walk through the doors.”

Jumping to her feet with an imaginary tail wagging left and right, she saluted. A determined yet excited look on her face. Besides writing poetry in the dim light of your fridge at three AM, Dasom had a big passion for fashion and would always play dress up with you during your childhood days.

“Ma’am, yes, ma’am!”

A trail of water followed from the bathroom to the bedroom and stopped below your feet. You stood with a towel wrapped around your bare body as you watched Dasom finalizing your outfit. The clothes on your bed were a baggy gray sweatshirt with bold letters spelling out ‘TORONTO’ — borrowed from Keeho and never returned — and a pair of blue jeans. It didn’t give too much, but was still appropriate for where you were going.

“Okay, go put it on. Have you figured out a way to get there?”

Shimmying on the clothes you heaved out a breath. “Nope.”

“Want me to call Kyo?”

“It’s a Friday so I’m sure he’s pre-gaming with Jiung and the others.”

“That’s true… I mean I could always give you a ride on my bike?”

You laughed at that. The bike in question was bright purple, almost lilac-ish with shimmering tinsel handels and star shaped wheel clips. It was cute, but embarrassing at the same time. Plus it would be a shit-show, you sitting on the carrier holding on for dear life while Dasom would do her best not to run people over. She was not the most trusted driver, hence the lack of a driver’s license (that she’s tried for five times and failed every single one).

“As much as I love you, I’d rather be late than arrive on that oddity and risk a broken arm or leg.”

“Hmpf, well if you don’t appreciate Melody then you can walk there!” She crossed her arms and pouted, her lower lip jutting in a show of feigned hurt.

“I don’t really mean it, Dae-Dae, I love youuuuu! I’ll come back with something nice to make up for it.”

The sour golden retriever-looking girl immediately brightened at the mention of a treat and wrapped her arms around you, her chin digging above your sternum.

“Can you buy those shrimp chips that I like?”

“Deal! I seriously gotta go now, I’ll text you when I get there. Kisses and hugs and all that bullshit!”

For once you were grateful not having a car as the parking lot was packed with them and other vehicles. It must have been a big deal if some people just blatantly abandoned their cars on the sidewalk, yellow tickets flapping on their windshields. The match was in full swing and it was everything you could expect of a hockey game. Red and blue blurs of jerseys zoomed past you, the sound of blades against ice, the livid roar of the crowd, cutting blows of a whistle, sticks cracking against the puck sounding like thunder and the thump as an opponent was checked against the boards. Seeing the bleachers full of people wasn’t something you expected when you crossed the entrance. The sides were divided into two parts — red and blue — and while you weren’t about to backstab your own university by sitting with the ‘enemy’ you found no empty seats between the Blue Wolf supporters. The other side wasn’t anything better except for the few vacant seats here and there, and more nude chests and faces covered in paint.

This was everything but your scenery.

Staring through the plexiglas you tried spotting the familiar mop of black and white hair you hadn’t seen since God knows when. You gave up as you quickly realized the gear covered almost the entirety of their faces and body proportions, making everyone look identical to one another, the only thing differentiating them being the numbers and colors of their jerseys that did little to help as you didn’t even know his. A pair of hands suddenly grabbed your shoulders and you jumped at the unexpected touch, hastily turning to see who the culprit was and coming face to face with a grinning Hyunjin.

“Boo!”

“Don’t do that!”

His beautiful laugh reached your ears and emitted a chuckle of your own. He coaxed you into his body and enfolded you in a warm embrace that you reciprocated, chin on his shoulder and arms going around his waist. It was first when the hug broke that you could finally take in his full appearance. His whole attire — suit pants, a tucked in turtleneck and leather boots — were completely black except for the long and expensive-looking jean coat and red beanie showing support for the opposing team.

“Let’s go, I have to introduce you to some of my friends.”

Without missing a beat he took your hand in his and intertwined your fingers as he gently maneuvered you through the crowd. Every few seconds you flinched as the people jumped up from their seats, cheering or groaning at what was happening down below.

From across the rink in the bench area adjacent to the ice, the red and blue players filled the booths closest to their goalkeepers. The game was in full swing with both teams scoring a point each and neither willing to let up on their explosive paces. The substitute players were all buzzing from excitement or nerves — probably a combination of both — as they shouted encouraging words to the starting lineup. Like the remaining defencemen of the blue team, Mingi sat in the middle with his hockey stick high up in the air and shoulders squishing against his fellow position players, but his eyes weren’t trained on the puck flying from one player to another. No, they were set on the pair of figure skaters on the other side of the rink. More precisely, he was focused on their interlocked hands and the subtle exchange of smiles.

A red light and the loud blaring of the goal horn went off in the arena as the opposing team managed to hurl the puck behind the blue goalkeeper and Mingi could argue it was how he felt on the inside seeing you together. The big crowd jumped from their seats, waving their red merch and screaming words Mingi couldn’t hear over the angry voice of his coach.

“Matthew, what the hell are you doing?!”

“Wow… This is really annoying. We’re only ten minutes into the first period and we’ve already received two points,” Jungkook fumed.

It was weird that neither Mingi or Jungkook were a part of the starting lineup, considering they were up against one of the better teams of the season. Trusting that their coach was making the right decision of keeping them off the ice, Mingi didn’t try persuading him to be put in. There were still two and a half periods left of the game, leaving plenty of time for Mingi to change the course of the match if needed to. It also gave him more time to keep an eye on you and simmer in his own rage, if he just hadn’t lost you in the three seconds he looked away. Frantically searching the bleachers for a girl with a blue scarf wrapped around her neck, you were nowhere to be seen.

“Song!”

The abrupt call of his name snapped him out of his search and he was met with the beetroot red face of his coach.

“Are you deaf?!”

“Nu-uh. No, sir!”

“Then get off your ass, you’re going in.” As Mingi stood up, his coach threw an arm around his shoulders and pulled him in closer. “Remember what we talked about. There are scouts watching and they’ve heard great things about this Song Mingi, so show them you’re not all talk, yeah?”

Mingi pushed in his mouth guard and nodded determinedly.

Coach patted him encouragingly and gave one last pat on his helmet for luck.

“Good, get in there and put a stop to their number three.”

Everything turned to background noise as Mingi leaped over the board and his blades slashed against the cool surface. There was only him and his defending zone, and the fact that you were somewhere in the crowd, probably watching him or getting cozy with that stupid figure skater. The grip around his hockey stick tightened at the image and he hated the effect you still had on him. He should’ve been worrying about being on top of his game and impressing the scouts, and not what you were up to.

Mingi and Matthew held the blue line and passed the puck between each other as the remaining blue players skated around in the offensive zone, searching for an opening to get the puck handed to them. As Mingi slid the puck to Matthew, the bigger defender quickly hurled it to the next player only for the pass to be cut off.

Going backwards, Mingi immediately retreated home while putting pressure on the puck carrier and simultaneously keeping him from having a clear view of the net. He skillfully managed to push the opposing player (without physical contact) to the side in the defensive zone. He quickly realized that he was closed off and sent the puck diagonally backwards to another red player who moved with such speed, Mingi knew he wouldn't be able to stop the additional player in time. Protests erupted from the bench as all fourteen substitute players had a hunch of what was going to happen.

To his aid came Matthew and the two defensemen managed to shut down a possible counterattack. As the remaining players entered the defending zone, the puck was still in the possession of the red team. It landed in the hold of their number three, who was a few diagonal meters from Mingi. The winger locked gazes with the blue defender and sent him a smug smirk, tauntingly saying ‘watch this’ as he winded his hockey stick up to his shoulder and readied himself for a slapshot.

Losing all control of his body, Mingi changed the trajectory of his movements and skated almost backwards while getting in number three’s sight of line. Mingi waited for the perfect timing and when the red player rushed forward to skate past him, Mingi jutted out his hip, flipping the opponent over him and stealing the puck in the process. Cheers erupted in the arena and Mingi soared at the jumbled praises and roars of encouragement.

“This is Felix and that’s Changbin, they attend TOP University. Lix-ie, Bin-ie, this is the friend I’ve been telling you about,” Hyunjin introduced you as the crowd calmed down.

The two guys weren’t dressed in anything over the top, basic hoodies and joggers or a pair of jeans with small accessories showing their support for the Red Tigers which made you feel out of place with Keeho’s blue scarf wrapped around your neck. You recognized one of them as the guy who hosted that halloween party; buffy build, a triangle shaped head, but kind features.

“Hey.”

The deep voice that greeted you didn’t match the sunshine-face of the other boy beside Changbin. A sprinkle of freckles covered his nose and cheeks, his eyes crinkling as he offered you a sun-like smile that matched the color of his hair.

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you,” you gently said and sat in the spot beside the sunshine-boy.

“It’s great to finally see the girl this one’s been obsessing about,” Changbin butted in with a teasing grin and earned himself a slap on the thigh by Felix.

“Just ignore him, he loves to tease.”

“Ah, that’s okay. I know banter when I hear it,” you smiled reassuringly and looked at the game below.

One would think that because ice was your dome, you’d easily understand other winter sports, but you were truly having trouble keeping up with whatever was going on in the newly polished rink. The puck was traveling a hundred miles an hour and the skaters were freakishly fast, you could barely keep up with who was attacking and who was defending. It seemed like the moment one team scored, the other was immediately taking back a point. On top of all, you had zero knowledge about the rules. To say you were surprised when a — what looked to be dangerous and illegal — tackle occurred, would be an understatement. You expected at least someone to jump out of sheer anger, but no one batted an eye. They just kept watching and the players resumed as if it were the most normal thing of the day.

“Do you want to die?” Chan growled as he bumped shoulders with Mingi, getting all up in the defenseman’s face.

The chants of the Blue Wolves’ fans sent another surge of adrenaline through Mingi’s veins, not that he needed it, but gave him an ego boost to return the cockiness to the max.

“I should be asking you that. Don’t think you can get past us just like that. I’ll shut you down, Chan-hyung.”

In any other circumstance and in a conversation with quite literally anyone else, the use of honorific wouldn’t have been out of place, but hearing it come from Mingi wasn’t an indication of respect. It was a ploy to humiliate him and a way to set the tone of the game. In other words, telling him not to expect an easy win. Chan didn’t think anything less.

“I’d like to see you try.”

Mingi scoffed, a smirk of triumph playing across his lips. “I already did and guess what, hyung. I’ll do it again and again, and again. You will not get past me. I’ll knock you down until your ass makes a dent on the ice.”

Returning the ever-so-kind favor of butting shoulders, Mingi pushed past him and stopped right behind his center, ready to receive the puck or defend if the odds played out in the red team’s favor.

“I’m sorry about what happened at the preliminaries,” Felix smiled empathically and placed a hand on your shoulder for support. “If it makes you feel better, I thought you were perfect and deserved to win.”

You forced a smile at the reminder of the event. The wound was still fresh and even though Felix didn’t have any ill intentions with bringing it up, it still didn’t spare you from the bitter taste of winning — if it could even be considered a victory — second place.

“Thank you, but the jury is rarely ever wrong.”

“Tell me about it,” he started and focused momentarily on the game again. “It still doesn’t change my opinion on who should’ve won though.”

Before you could thank him again and express your gratitude to his kindness, Hyunjin joined the conversation. “Oh, I see you’ve found yourself a new figure skating partner.”

Glancing from Felix to Hyunjin and back to Felix again, you pointed at the freckled boy. “You’re a figure skater too?”

“Yup, I've been training with Jin-ie since elementary school. A tick would be easier to shake off than him.”

“Oh, don’t be like that, everyone practically begged you to sit beside them but no, little Lixie the new student decided it would be best to annoy Hyunjin-ie in the back.”

With a witty remark waiting on the tip of his tongue, Felix parted his lips, but was interrupted by Changbin abruptly standing up, hands clasped around his mouth and shouting, “Come on Chan! Don’t let him get away with that!”

Glancing down at the rink, you noticed number three in the red team was pushed against the border with a blue guy towering over him. Both guys seemed to be communicating through their eyes and if it weren’t for their teammates getting in between, you were sure a full on fist fight would’ve taken place in front of everyone.

“You’d think Chan was his boyfriend and not mine,” Felix said to you — more so screamed over the loud cheers and hollers of distress — and watched an agitated Changbin slump back down in his seat, eyes following the flying puck kissing the net of the red goalkeeper.

“Boyfriend?”

“Ah, right, of course Hyunjin wouldn’t talk about his friends. Anyways I’m dating number three in the red team, maybe you’ve heard of him. Bang Chan or Christopher, whatever seems fitting.”

Your mouth turned into an ‘o’ as the puzzle pieces clasped together. Felix never stopped smiling and even chuckled at your reaction. He found you endearing and understood why Hyunjin wouldn’t stop talking about you during their study sessions.

“I take it, you know him?”

“Mmmm, I wouldn’t say I know him but we had a brief encounter at a halloween party.”

“Ah, that’s cool. The world is really small, isn’t it?”

The buzzer beat you to an answer, indicating that the twenty minutes of the second period were out.

“Oh, and that’s halftime,” Felix said and stood up to stretch.

Changbin shot him a deadly stare, as if the figure skater cursed out his entire family. “You know it’s not called that. It’s an intermission!”

“Eh, we don’t keep up with all that in Australia. Halftime is halftime in whatever sport you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you were Australian,” you admitted.

“What, really?” He said in English and then switched back to Korean. “All the people I meet point out I speak with an accent so I’m surprised you didn’t notice.”

“Yeah, now that you’ve said it I can actually hear like the faintest accent. Oh, that’s embarrassing of me.” You sheepishly smiled and scratched the back of your head.

“Nah, not really. Anyway, Bin-ie and I are gonna get some snacks, you guys want anything?”

“I’m alright, thank you though.”

Felix threw you a thumbs up and looked at Hyunjin for his reply.

“Yeah, surprise me with something good.”

“Gotcha! We’ll be back like a lil’ before they start if we don’t get held up by the bathrooms. Changbin sure does love to take his time there.”

As the duo followed the crowd out, you and Hyunjin fell into a comfortable silence and listened to the chatter of the people around you. For being your first time at a hockey game, you weren’t bored at all, despite being oblivious to the set of rules. Keeho did say something about fights being legal and you sincerely hoped to avoid that. The sport on ice you were aware of was so less violent, flashy and fast paced. It was so different from your figure skating which was more or less art or a story being conveyed by body language.

Nonetheless, you were still having a good time, even though much of it was spent getting acquainted with Hyunjin’s friends.

“So… what do you think of the game so far?”

Snapping from the ice taken over by a bunch of kids chasing each other and falling on their rears, you hummed and looked back at Hyunjin who already had his eyes on you.

“It’s interesting. I mean, it’s nothing like figure skating, obviously, but it’s cool… Do you guys always do this? Watch hockey?”

“Mmm, not always, but whenever Chan has a game we try to show our support just like he does whenever Lix or I have anything going on with our figure skating.”

“That’s sweet of you. That’s actually really cute,” you gushed and the thought reminded you of your own friend group. How Keeho and Dasom showed up at your competitions or the many times you and Keeho attended Dasom’s poetry slam.

Hyunjin leaned closer to you, a playful smile across his features. “I don’t like being called cute, but considering it’s coming from you I’ll let it slide.”

Taken back by the almost flirtatious side of Hyunjin, you bashfully looked away and cheekily covered your mouth, hiding the way your smile expanded at his comment. Hyunjin, attentive as always, took notice of the action and chuckled.

“How, uhm…”

You leaned back in your seat and braided your fingers together as the change of topic went from cheerful to sullen.

“I didn’t want to ask in front of those two, but yeah… How you holding up?”

Still trying to hold up your happy expression, you faced him and tilted your head, and Hyunjin had to physically hold back from planting a kiss on your cute nose.

“I’ve been alright. There’s not much I can do to be honest and I don’t want to dwell on it more than necessary, you know?”

“That’s understandable. Why think about the things that make you feel bad?”

“Exactly. I’ve decided to focus on the more happier things in life.” You grimaced as a hockey player tripped and smacked head first into the plastic glass. “Even if that is watching people get concussions for just 13.000 won.”

Hyunjin burst out laughing, elegantly covering his mouth with the back of his hand and tipping his head backwards. A laugh of your own lingered with his and the multiple cheers in the air.

“Three for three, Jeon Jungkook does it again! The nimble winger of the Blue Wolves can’t be stopped!”

The announcement sounded through the arena a few seconds after the red lights flashed behind the Tiger’s goal and buzzer erupted, nearly rupturing your eardrums. Jungkook was really on a blast tonight, you thought as you followed his retreating figure, making a mental note of remembering his jersey number. Although you had yet to find Mingi, you felt proud for at least figuring out Jungkook and Chan, completely dismissing the fact that you barely knew a handful of players on the ice.

“You’re doing great out there, Kookie.” Mingi dunked him on the back as they retreated to the neutral zone. “Make that into five out of five and I’ll treat you to some lamb skewers.”

The smirk stretched across Jungkook’s face could only be described as menacingly and with him in his element, Mingi knew they weren’t going to go down without a fight.

“Add steamed dumplings into the mix and I’ll double it.”

As the referee held the puck in the air between the red and blue centers, the rest of the players prepared themselves for another brawl over who put the puck behind the opposing net. Mingi was warm all over, and the extra weight of pads and equipment was taking a toll on his body, as well as defending his home base, but each time a player was stopped, the pride was enough to resurrect his energy. Glancing slightly to the side, everything moved in slow motion as he briefly made eye contact with the supporters of both teams. Some were screaming at him out of happiness and others with harmless distaste, angry at his ability to shut down the reds’ plays and advances. Moving further up the rows, it was like a headlight lit up a spot in the crowd, and suddenly, amongst the hundreds of people, he could make you out like a tulip in the middle of a meadow.

The hold around his stick tightened seeing you squished between pretty boy and an unrecognizable face, and Mingi promised he didn’t care. He didn’t care as pretty boy whispered something in your ear and he definitely didn’t care as you flung your head backward, and let out what probably was the most angelic laughter known to heaven. Smoke erupted from his nostrils and the moment the puck was in possession of the red team, the vibrant colored jerseys irked him like a matador irritatnig a bull. As the puck was in play, all sound ceased to exist and Mingi zeroed in on the players advancing forward.

Mingi would describe it as being underwater with all the noise distant and his movement sluggish no matter how hard he tried to lift his limbs, and if he wasn’t so aware of his surroundings, Mingi would certainly think he was losing one of his five senses.

See, although ice hockey was a sport all about seeing and physical contact, hearing was an important part too and if Mingi wasn’t revolted by your presence, he wouldn’t have missed the referee signaling an offside, and he wouldn’t have skated into the first player daring to cross the blue line that separated the defending and neutral zone.

The referee immediately blew his whistle and fully extended his right arm, fist clenched and eyes set on the defenseman, and time turned back to normal as a pop-like sound burst in Mingi’s ears. He barely managed to realize what happened when another body collided against his, pushing him straight into the boards. Chaos ensued as multiple players got involved trying to ease the situation, but the damage was already done and Mingi was sent to the penalty box — purposely avoiding the heavy gazes of the blue bench — along with whichever guy flew into him.

He cursed out loud as he slumped down on the bench. This was embarrassing on so many levels. It was one thing to ram into someone as payback, but lashing out for no apparent reason and after the whistle was (almost) unacceptable. He wanted to laugh at his stupidity; so much for not caring.

“What happened?” You asked no one in particular, surprised at the sudden turn of events.

“Nothing out of the ordinary. Ah, that Song Mingi, always up to no good,” Changbin grumbled, more so to himself than you.

You snapped your eyes to the plastic enclosure the blue player was sent off to and sunk your teeth into your bottom lip. Through the year you had known Mingi, you’d never guess he could really use his size and strength to quite literally floor another person. Hockey was a rough sport, that wasn’t news to you, and considering Mingi could use his strength to his advantage, it was probably why he was so sought after. You couldn’t shake away this feeling of awareness. Just now realizing how… big Mingi actually was and you didn't know whether it was relief or pride, knowing that of all the times you pushed him over the edge, never once did he raise a finger at you out of anger or spite.

Mingi may have been an asshole with 70% height and muscle, but he wasn’t a bad guy.

“That’s called roughing,” Felix started explaining. “It’s like… I wouldn’t say it’s an illegal move, but if done out of motive or in a way to really hurt the other player, it could lead to a minor penalty — a timeout — or game misconduct. But it all depends on how bad the situation is.”

“So he won’t play until the end of the game?”

“Nah, he’ll probably be out in like a few minutes,” Hyunjin answered for you and clapped as the red team scored, evening out the score board to five-five.

“Then the blue team will be a player short up until then?.”

“Pretty much,” Felix confirmed and popped a chip in his mouth.

You didn’t see how that could be fair, but then again, ice hockey wasn’t your forthe and as no one in the crowd was making a fuss over Mingi’s penalty — except for pointing out his poor judgment — you didn’t say much else, but hum in agreement. For twelve minutes, you didn’t pay attention to what was happening on the ice, only applauding when the crowd did and slumped back in your seat as the supporters groaned in disappointment. Your full attention was set on the lone player in the plastic box.

Worry, confusion and pity circled your mind and you wondered if this was how everyone felt seeing the placement of your figure skating competition. As soon as the thought made home in your head, you shooed it away, reminding yourself to focus on the happy things and not everything that was blue.

Forcing your eyes from Mingi, the most blue thing in the arena (both clothing and emotion wise) you zoned out and the players blurred into small vivid spots twirling on the ice like flies above a bowl of fruit. You didn’t understand where the worry came from or why it decided to take shelter in your stomach. It probably wasn’t Mingi’s first rodeo in the penalty box and wouldn’t be the last on either, and you recognized his sudden outburst as the one you saw a glimpse of at the party, right before you left him with that blonde police officer.

Mingi never lashed out in anger and if he did, you were never on the receiving end of it despite giving him back a tenfold of insults he greeted you with. Seeing him quite literally floor a guy his size, made your guts twist in discomfort. It was an emotion that didn’t look good on him at all.

The game was growing more intense with each minute passing and the atmosphere amongst the audience was also getting rowdier as the teams were practically neck and neck, neither willing to let up. The second Mingi stepped foot on the ice again, the whole arena blew up with cheers. It was like the almost extinguished torch of hope re-awakened into a bright and lively fire, and you too held onto the light of hope that the Blue Wolves would take it home, definitely because of your loyalty to Tiny University and not the growing affection for a certain defender in said school.

The puck was flying from one side of the rink to the other in just a matter of seconds with all players, excluding the goalkeepers, circling around and cashing the rubber like stone.

“Here, wanna help me hold this up?”

You didn’t know how you missed the big sign leaning against Felix’s legs, but you did. With a nod of agreement, you both took hold of each side of the white cardboard cutout and quickly looked at the glittery blue writing on it.

I am Chan’s #1 fan.

“Don’t judge, I made it like last second.” A blush kissed his cheeks and his eyes squeezed into crescent moons as you read the corny line.

“No, no! I think it’s cute.”

With ten seconds left of the game everyone in the arena stood up which made you and Felix raise the sign even higher. When everyone thought the game would end in a tie, a player from the defending line of the blue team somehow managed to steal the puck from two red players and sent it hurling across the rink, right in the sanctuary of his teammate’s stick who calculatedly launched it towards the red goal and past its keeper. The buzzer went off and chaos ensued. From what you could see all the Blue Wolves players crowded the scorer and dunked the defender who sent the winning assist, while the fans raised the volume through the roof. Whistling, cheers, laughter, even some old fashion booing circulated the arena.

Not all that upset with the outcome of the game, Felix applauded and turned to his friend who seemed to be quite butthurt. “Song really is crazy good, isn’t he Bin-ie?”

“Whatever, he’s lucky Jake sprained his ankle and couldn’t play today or he’d have them all eating ice. Ha! Get it, cause they’re playing on i–”

The rest of the conversation was tuned out as you focused on the celebrating team, trying to catch sight of eighty-nine. Your eyes traveled from one bulky player to another and then, as if your prayers were answered, the player came right into view.

Mingi walked beside a shorter guy clad in blue and you assumed it was Chan by the sole way he pointed up at you and the other guys. Your suspicion was confirmed as the helmet was removed and Chan’s face was illuminated by the strong lights. You could just make out the faint movement of his mouth, saying something to the giant beside him.

“Good to know your girl is cheering for the right team, Mings.”

Mingi followed the invisible line leading to where you stood and scanned the group of friends. He immediately recognized Hyunjin and the buff one, and he didn’t even manage to take a proper look at the third boy as his eyes found yours. Beautiful as ever, he thought and admired as much of you as possible. Your face, clothes, make-up and everything about you was perfect, and the passive aggressive comment was almost brushed to the side until he zeroed in on the paper in your hands. It was in that moment that the rose-tinted glasses slipped down his nose, jealousy quick to seep into every corner of his existence and he remembered why he’d been avoiding you for weeks.

Before he could send you a sharp (and unjustified) glare, he redirected his anger to the guy beside him.

“Oh, don’t be like that. She was the one to look at me first.

Mingi wasn’t a violent person, he really wasn’t, but there was no acceptable excuse for why he did what he did.

As if born ready for this day, Mingi used his teeth to tear off his gloves and pounced on Chan. One hand grabbed around the collar of his red jersey as the other was colliding with his cheek. He managed to get in two more punches — the first successfully collided with Chan’s jaw and the second just barely missed the bone of his nose — before Chan used his own limbs to defend himself. The red winger grabbed hold of Mingi’s helmet and snatched it off his head, and seized the chance to send a fist flying in his face, returning the punches he received from the blue defender. Red bruises quickly littered across their knuckles and warm blood covered their skin, the thick liquid pouring from both Chan’s nose and Mingi’s lip.

The crowd was going wild, the whistles of the referees were being ignored and it didn’t take long before the remaining players of each team were trying to separate the two brutes.

“Oh my God!”

Felix and Changbin flinched at your gasp.

“He’s fucking crazy. Hey! What the hell?!” Changbin jumped between the seats and rocketed down towards the ice with the rest of you hot on his heels.

The silence was deafening. Everyone was curious as to what was going on and why a fight ensued now that the game was over, usually the nose breaking happened on ice and not off. Whispers and rumors spread like a wildfire, some claimed it was the aftermath of adrenaline while others thought of something more extreme like hard drugs taking over. Nonetheless, the crowd riled them on, clearly finding joy in the brawl. You weren’t anywhere near when the referees and teammates broke them up, Mingi being forcefully sent towards the locker room as Chan stayed laying on the ground, crimson face and teeth no longer pearly white.

“What the hell, Mingi,” you muttered under your breath and slipped through the mass of people, running to where you assumed he’d be.

Your head was working a hundred miles an hour with the images of Mingi hunched over Chan, fists violently beating the blonde and a lot of blood covering his face. You were sure you’d never get them out of your head and you shuddered at the amount of red that ran down Chan’s nose. For the sake of the giant asshole you grew attached to, you hoped it wouldn’t put a stop to his career, both school- and sportwise. It would by far be his dumbest decision yet. For what even?

A group of reporters stood outside a door you assumed was reserved for the Blue Wolves and if that wasn’t enough of a give away then it was the loud cheers and victory singing echoing out to the hallway. In reality you wanted nothing more than to barge inside and interrupt their celebration — how they could celebrate after that bloodbath was still something you couldn’t wrap your head around — but you did no such thing. The moment the door opened you pushed the reporters aside and flew in with your head first, paying no mind to the perverse wolf whistles and cheers of the adrenaline drunken boys. You didn’t even bother with them as your eyes scanned the room that smelled of sweat and axe deodorant for him. Jungkook, seemingly the most normal one there (which spoke volumes), quickly understood why you were there and approached you with no teasing glint or malice in his gaze.

��Try looking by the abandoned gym on the ground floor. There’s a vending machine there we usually go to so I assume if he’s taken off somewhere it should be there.”

You wasted no time in turning on your heel and practically sprinting down the route you repeated like a mantra. First floor. Abandoned gym. Vending machine. First floor. Abandoned gym. Vending machine.

Lo and behold, he was right there and if it weren’t for the worry growing in your belly you’d go back upstairs and reward the playboy with a big smooch to his rosy lips.

Mingi sat down on the floor, legs up to his chest and forearms folded on his knees. His sweaty forehead was leaning against the skin of his arm and an anxious rhythm of his heart beat in his chest. It was hard to miss the red on his knuckles. Inhaling a shaky breath as if it would steady your own heart, your feet stopped before him falling right in his line of sight. Surprised at the unexpected company, Mingi looked up and got a first row ticket of the concern swimming in your eyes. You didn’t know what to expect going after him, but the annoyed — almost disgusted — scoff he let out cut through you like a knife and twisted as he looked back down. Despite the act of annoyance aimed at you, Mingi wasn’t actually that annoyed with you but rather with himself because after everything he still had the urge to reach for your touch and he hated it. His jaw clenched at the circumstance and his nails dug in the palms of his hands. You weren’t even supposed to be here, it made everything ten times harder than it should’ve been.

Having had enough of his pity party Mingi and the weight of your gaze judging him, he pushed up from his position and walked right past you. No hello, no second glances, just walking as if you were a ghost he couldn’t see let alone feel. His movements halted when you latched onto one of his wrists, knowing that if he truly wanted to get away he’d shake you off like a ragdoll and be on his merry way. Although he was with his back facing you, the fact that he stood rooted to the ground was the approval you seeked to continue with your winged attempt at getting him to speak.

“Mingi, what the hell was that?”

The two of you weren’t heavy on the use of honorifics, but hearing you spit his name out like that surely sent a shiver down his spine. You weren’t pissed off, he noticed, you were actually worried and it was quite amusing. The nerve you had of showing up after that fiasco to interrogate him about his actions. Who the hell did you think you were?

“Huh? Why did you do that?” Shaking his arm, you tried again. “Can you please say something? I’m worried for you and your silence isn’t helping, please just say something.”

Mingi didn’t budge and you were starting to lose it. The avoidance wasn't enough, now he was blatantly ignoring your attempt at helping too.

“What is your problem?! I’m trying to help you, something’s obviously happened so why won’t you tell me!”

Ripping his wrist out of your hold, he turned around and it took every particle in you not to cower at his sharp eyes staring you down.

“You want to know what my problem is?” His loud voice bounced off the walls and punched you right in the gut.

There was so much anger in his gaze, his tone and his body. Everything screamed of anger and you didn’t even know why you were on the receiving end of his emotions. You were just trying to help.

“You! You are my fucking problem!”

“What?”

“As if you don’t know what you’re doing. Acting all nice and cutesy like we are friends, like you’re interested in ever befriending me which now that I think about is so stupid because you and I? What a joke. We’re a fucking joke!”

“What are you even talking about?!”

Mingi scoffed again. He looked to the side, tongue poking the inside of his cheek. There were so many thoughts going through his head and all he could think about was what words to use to hurt you the most. To make you feel the hurt he did.

“First, you invite me to your stupid competition and then you come to my game sitting with him! Was this all a game, huh? To get back at me for all the dumb shit I did to you because if it is then wow, you’ve really proven yourself to be more shallow and boneless than I ever thought. I mean, you’re really going out of your way to get under my skin and act like a fucking–”

Mingi closed his eyes and clamped his mouth shut, the veins on his neck were more prominent than ever and his face was almost identical to the red color of Dasom’s hair. He really needed to calm down before he said something he’d regret. Not that it mattered, the damage was already done and he knew the aftermath was already biting him in the ass. Shit, the look of your glossy eyes was quick to make his inside burn with remorse.

Each insult was a poisoned arrow aimed at your heart. The words physically hurt you more than ever before and you weren’t aware just how mean Mingi could be. Your previous bickering never stooped on a level this low before and it brought tears to your eyes but even that wasn't enough to stop his rant. Not wanting to be caught vulnerable in front of the guy who was practically stepping on you with his shoes, you quickly wiped away the tears that managed to escape.

Mingi knew he was taking his frustration out on you and he knew it wasn’t fair because you hadn’t done anything wrong. It all kept piling on his shoulders. All the instances he saw you two together; the joint practices, your embarrassed giggles any time Hyunjin breathed, watching him console you in the hallways like a poor reenactment of a romcom, sitting so close together at his game, shoulders touching a little too close for Mingi’s liking… If that stupid piece of cardboard was a bomb waiting to be activated, then Chan was the flame that set everything off.

“Oh, great. This is really great now you’re fucking crying too. You think some tears are going to make me feel bad? They won’t, I don’t care anymore okay? I’m done with you and your fucking shit. So go back to your prince fucking charming and don’t even bother looking for me, you hear? I’m fucking done!”

You shrunk back at his unwavering and stern voice. Having nothing more to say Mingi stormed away, blood boiling and hands shaking as the final words set in. The last you saw of him before gut-wrenching sobs wrecked your body was the door slamming up against the wall and back the doorframe so hard the walls vibrated. And later that same night when Mingi got home, he wouldn’t even be surprised if you decided to never look at him again, let alone speak with him.

Different emotions tore you apart and it was hard to make sense of anything that happened in the past ten minutes. The questions — what, why, how — were endless and you wanted to go home, preferably dig a hole in your bed and not come out until better days, whenever that would be you didn’t know. Tears burned your cheeks like lava and snot tickled your nose, dropping off your chin and onto your shirt. With the already wet sleeve of your sweater you wiped everything off your face, not in the right mind to care about what Keeho would say about his precious shirt. Like a baby cub seeking its momma bear for comfort, you retreated home yearning for the closest touch of a mother you could find.

“You have reached the voicemail of Choi Dasom. Please leave a message after the beep.”

After the fifth attempted call, you gave up and continued trudging home. Dark clouds hovered over Seoul and the light pelts of rain quickly became a downpour. Being picked up on Dasom’s bike didn’t seem like such a bad idea anymore.

Unlocking the front door of your shared apartment you were greeted with Hongjoong and Dasom sitting awfully close on the couch. They jumped apart as you harshly dropped the keys in the fruit bowl and froze at the sight of you; bawling, wet and shivering. Skipping the formalities you wasted no time diving in the shower and by the time you ventured back out, Hongjoong was nowhere to be seen as if the boy was never there to begin with and you couldn’t have been more relieved. You’ve had enough boys for the next ten years of your life.

“Beans?”

It was probably the dumbest thing to cry about, but your lips still quivered and the tears you just managed to stop surfaced at the nickname. The girl caught you in her arms and you buried your head in her shoulder as your cries got louder. Dasom offered you solace with gentle rubs to your back and patiently waited until your labored breathing became even.

“Let’s get you to bed,” she whispered and slowly guided you to your bedroom.

Attentive as always she helped you get under the covers and shuffled in beside you to which you immediately buried your face in her bosom, her hand slank under your neck and connected with the other at the back of your head. You lay there in each other’s presence and listened to the coexisting beat of your hearts. Dasom didn’t try coaxing the troubles out of you and you heaved out a big breath. A wave of exhaustion washed over you at the constant tears and after waking up from passing out of exhaustion, you knew you’d be a victim of an unbearable headache and heavy feet. The whisper of your name was loud in the silent room and you hummed in reply, letting the other girl know you were in fact awake.

“You wanna talk about it?”

The most obvious thing would be to talk about it; talk about why you burst through the door, face wet and not entirely because of the rain. Your mom always told you to never sleep with an empty stomach, a busy mind or a heavy heart and while you didn’t appreciate the advice at the minute, future-you would (hopefully) think back to this moment and thank you for your courage. Dasom followed in tow as you sat up criss-crossed, taking your hands in hers and giving them comforting squeezes every once in a while. By the time she was pulled through the story of your evening — meeting Changbin and Felix, having a good time with Hyunjin, to seeing Mingi beat the living shit out of Chan and then him lashing out on you — the clock struck somewhere between two and three in the morning, courtesy of a few short crying breaks in between. Glancing up at your friend who was still digesting the events, you felt lighter at the thought of having your very own sun sharing warmth and hope wherever she went.

“He likes you,” she eventually said, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You sniffled and wiped at your nose again, hands falling to play with the bedsheet.

“He doesn’t.”

“How do you know who I’m talking about?”

You thought you ran out of tears hours ago but were proven wrong as a new batch stung your eyes and eventually trickled down your sore cheeks. Dasom pulled you in another soul crushing hug and held the back of your head, nails gently massaging your scalp.

“Why are you crying, bean?”

Through tears and her thick cardigan you replied. “Because we aren’t talking about Hyunjin, are we? He’s the one we should be talking about.”

“But we aren’t and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

It felt wrong crying over someone who held no significance in your life just a few months ago. The same guy who riled you up like it was his daily dose of sunshine and who set it as his life mission to have you curse him out. The guy who called you stupidly cute nicknames and walked you home at night, offering up his jacket to keep you warm and safe from colds. The guy who didn't turn up to your competition and then lived in your head like an annoying song playing on repeat refusing to disappear. The same guy who shook you to your core with his angry words and fiery gaze.

“Why am I like this?”

“Like what?”

Dasom wasn’t foolish. She knew what you were going through and could only hope you’d come to terms with the unknown feelings rather than to be the one revealing the reason behind your heartbreak.

“Drawn to a guy who’s mean and an asshole when I have the perfect one right there, waiting and catering to my every need.”

“I know I’m supposed to hate him for the things he’s said to you and I do, I really do bean…. so if you think I won’t at least glare him down in the hallways then I’m revoking your position as my best friend… But I’m going to be completely honest with you, bean because that’s what you deserve. I think something else must have triggered him to lash out, it couldn’t just have been because you were simply sitting beside Hyunjin.”

She gently played with your hair as the words sank in.

“He really hurt me.”

“I know, bubs and I’m so sorry. Know that nothing excuses that behavior.”

“Then why do I still think of him even when he’s shit. Why won’t my brain let me be happy with Hyunjin?” You broke from the huge and fell back on the bed, hands gripping the sheets as if they held all the answers to your questions.

“Hyunjin is safe. We all like the safe and predictable, right?”

Your nod of agreement spurred her on.

“But Mingi, oh Mingi, is exciting. He drives you crazy, keeps you on your toes and throws you off course yet you can’t ever really get enough of him no matter how much it annoys you. I see it and I’ve been seeing it for months now and I promise this is the most objective version of me speaking right now.”

“But I like Hyunjin,” you whined, refusing to accept your own feelings.

“And you like me and Kyo too,” Dasom whispered softly, like a breeze passing through a field. “But we don’t fall in Mingi’s category.”

The days leading up to the holidays were spent within the four walls of your room waiting for the time to pass until you’d take your suitcase and haul ass across the country, definitely not because you were afraid to stumble across the very person you were avoiding. After the not so pleasant discovery you didn’t know what to make of yourself or your feelings. You couldn’t just phone him and proclaim your undying love because last time you checked, he explicitly made it clear he wanted nothing to do with you. You from a few months ago would throw a party big enough to think it was for a quinceañera or a sweet sixteen celebration with this information, but the present-you acted like Bella Swan during the disappearance of Edward Cullen just a tad bit less depressing.

Dasom was the first to leave. Her parents surprised her with a vacation to Jeju-island and her flight left the first morning of winter break. Keeho was still in the city but with college out of the way, he took on more working hours than usual. His immediate family lived in Canada and the plane ticket would be more expensive than the salary he’d get over the next two weeks. With your two friends unavailable you passed time thinking about the one who shall not be named and realized how unfortunate the whole situation was. You also realized you probably wouldn’t act upon your feelings as you didn’t with Hyunjin and would just let them flow until evaporating into thin air.

Speaking of Hyunjin, you and him still texted back and forth albeit the conversations were slow and not nearly as exciting as you once found them to be. Your sudden disappearance at the hockey game was covered with a quick lie of ‘not feeling well’, which he immediately believed because, why wouldn’t he? Christmas wasn't anything special. It started with an early message of Hyunjin wishing you a Merry Christmas attached with a selfie of him in a Santa hat and fake beard, and the rest of the day was spent inside with your family watching movies and drinking hot cocoa.

The new year was welcomed on the couch where a bump would sooner or later be formed and that alone was enough to explain the excitement level in the household. You all went to sleep a little after midnight and as you laid in your childhood bedroom, feet almost sticking out of the small bed, you mindlessly scrolled down the explore section of Instagram. A pang of sadness struck you at the picture staring back at you through the screen. It was a post of Mingi and his friend — the golden retriever looking one — posing on a snowy mountain both clad in skiing gear. The taller of the two had an arm slung over Mingi’s shoulder who, in return, sported a boyish grin and held up a peace sign. The split lip had healed perfectly and the only indicator of him being in a fight was the slight plum colored mark under his eye (courtesy of a nice punch delivered to his nose). At least someone was happy with you out of their lives.

Angry, sad and just tired, you exited the app and shoved your phone under the pillow drowning out your scream. You didn’t even know why his post landed on your feed. Wasn’t the explore page supposed to show videos of millennials doing cringy trends and not the most recent activity of the dude that shit all over you.

This continued on for days. While you were decomposing in your room he was updating his Instagram account as if a celebrity. Pictures and videos of him clubbing until the early hours of the morning, pretty girls and tables full of alcohol captured in short stories and then a complete 180; sharing clips of him flying down snowy mountains, doing stunts and whatnot.

If he was so upset with you, why were you the one wasting days self wallowing? It wasn’t like you could party away the worry. Your hometown was the size of a nut meaning A) you knew everyone and their mother, and B) every person in a ten mile radius was well-over the age of forty and the closest thing that came as a party would be the retirement home down the street. Then again, playing bingo with the grannies was better than binge watching gut-wrenching dramas. At least you’d be clearing your ‘to watch-list’.

The weeks passed in a blur and, before you knew it, you were back in the comfort of your apartment with two days to spare until classes started rolling again. Dasom would be home the day after and Keeho was either passed out in his apartment or working his second shift of the day, leaving you to unpack the chaos sealed inside your suitcase. Swirls of snow beat violently against the windows, turning the outside world into a winter wonderland. The heavy weather picked up on your journey home and as you traveled halfway back to Seoul, the ground was slowly being covered in white flakes. You only got so far with your unpacking when a series of knocks rattled against the front door.

“What’s uuuuup?!” Keeho screeched as you opened the door and an equally excited Dasom rolled in with her red large suitcase.

“What are you doing here?!”

They pulled you into a hug. Keeho’s loudness and Dasom’s giggles warmed up the place in no time and you immediately felt better.

“Surprise!”

“I hate you guys!” You exclaimed and squeezed their waists, head resting on Keeho’s shoulder with Dasom’s nose buried against your chest.

“Don’t lie, we know you love us. Now let’s get this bitch started!”

Scurrying to the kitchen Keeho brought back three animated cups; one with Naruto, Totoro and–

“You’re not drinking beer from the cup plastered with a picture of my dead cat!”

“Of course not, that one’s yours. Mine’s the Naruto one and Dasom gets Totoro, for obvious reasons.”

Said girl skipped quickly to the pantry and pulled out multiple bags of snacks. The huge smile on her face got you all curious.

“What’s got you all happy?”

“Nothing, I've just missed you guys! Jeju was fun but it would’ve been better with you there,” she pouted and poured the snacks into separate bowls.

“Pfft, don’t listen to her. She’s been texting that Cruella de Vil boy all winter break.”

Her smile grew and grew until it was a full blown grin and you squealed in delight, genuinely happy for your friend despite the green monster gnawing at the back of your head.

“Tell me everything, c’mon!”

“Ah, ah, ah!” The fun and what would be the start of a girls’ night was interrupted by Keeho. “I should be the one asking you that, little miss I’m in love with my greatest enemy.”

Gasping, you turned to Dasom. “You told him?!”

“So it’s true?!”

He leaned towards you and nearly snickered as your hands covered your mouth — if it weren’t for the serious circumstance — and stared at him with wide eyes. You walked right into his trap and as you told him everything that happened — the good and the bad — Dasom threw her hand out, palm facing upward..

“Pay up, pretty boy!”

“They aren’t even together!”

Dasom, a feral little chihuahua, jumped on him and a wrestling match took place in the middle of the living room. You couldn’t find it in you to be mad or upset. Leaning back against your arms, you watched them with a smile tugging at your lips. This is what you missed back in your childhood home. As much as you loved your family, the one you built in the heart of Seoul was very dear to you.

The ding of your phone snapped you out of your love-struck daze.

Hyunjin [07:16 PM] you back home yet?

You [07:16 PM] yeah, arrived a few hours ago

Hyunjin [07:16 PM] im glad

Hyunjin [07:16 PM] how was it?

You [07:17 PM] Good to see the family again but God did I miss my bed

You [07:17 PM] What were you up to?

Hyunjin [07:17 PM] yeah no kiddin ik exactly what u mean

Hyunjin [07:17 PM] Nothing much, did a lot of practice on the choreo w Iseul

You [07:17 PM] Ohhhh how’s that coming along?

Hyunjin [07:17 PM] it’s good but nowhere near perfect

You scoffed at the reply.

You [07:17 PM] I’m sure you’ll get it down in no time

Keeho harshly grabbed your shoulders, peering down at the screen but not comprehending any of the words.

“And who are you texting?”

“Hyunjin.”

“Hyunjin!” Dasom sang, already tipsy from the soju she downed while you were busy typing away.

“And what does Mr. Popular want?"

Hyunjin [07:19 PM] wanna help me practice?

Author's note pt.2: There's one thing I'd like to say regarding this chapter. When it comes to significant others, situation ships, partners, etc do not ever let anyone speak to you in a condescending matter. It doesn't matter how upset they are or what you've done for them to explode, you should never, and I really mean NEVER let anyone talk down to you. The only reason I didn't make MC obliterate Mingi is for the sake of the story, otherwise I'd have her drag him along the streets of Seoul like a dog, lmao. Anyway, if anyone speaks to you like Mingi did to MC in their fighting scene, please either leave/break up or put them in their place. You deserve to be treated with respect and love as much as anyone else.

124 notes · View notes

icycoldninja · 6 months ago

Note

Could you write a Sephiroth x GN!Yandere reader?

Ooh, a yandere reader fic! I've wanted to write one of these for ages! Thanks for requesting and I hope you enjoy!

Together forever (Sephiroth x GN!Yandere!Reader)

You'd become obsessed with Sephiroth the moment you laid eyes on him. His long, shimmering, silver hair, paired with his lovely, delicate face and those glittering neon green eyes captivated you. Everything about him was pure perfection--as if he were designed just to snatch your attention and hold it, even after he left the room.

You couldn't stop thinking about this gorgeous angel, your mind was constantly fixated on him. The way he moved, the way he spoke, the sound of his voice, all of it was so addictive.

You didn't realize it at first, but your obsession soon evolved into something much more than a mental preoccupation. You started stalking the man, following him around wherever he went, no matter how far away he traveled. You were willing to give up everything for him, forsake your friends, family, fortune, and even your home, if only you could make that man yours.

Sephiroth was well aware you were stalking him, but he never thought much about it because you were just a lowly mortal--you couldn't touch a blessed, all-powerful Chosen One such as himself. Therefore, he let you continue with your creepy behavior, not bothered by it in the slightest.

Not showing concern towards your acts had to be the worst mistake Sephiroth could have ever made, because in doing so, he allowed you an opportunity to break into his hideout one night and ambush him while his back was turned. The normally alert ex-SOLDIER would have usually sensed an intruder, but since he didn't take his not-so-secret admirer seriously, he let his guard down.

Once he found himself with a knife pressed against his throat, Sephiroth, being the arrogant, prideful man he is, still thought of your actions as weak and pathetic. He was so sure he could disarm and decapitate you with ease, but he was quickly proven wrong. For starters, you were way stronger than you looked--it seemed that your obsession with him resulted in you working out and gaining quite a lot of muscle. Not only that, but you had clearly been taking martial arts and weapon weilding lessons, as the way you held your knife was nothing short of expert.

"What do you think you are doing?" He demanded, struggling, for the first time in his life, to escape your grip.

"Hush my darling," You cooed, running your fingers across his smooth, supple skin that felt oh-so-lovely under your fingertips. "Don't be afraid. I'm here now--now we can be together, forever."

Sephiroth squirmed in your hold, seething with rage. He knew you were crazy, but to think you'd have the audacity to hold him at knifepoint to mumble some nonsense about being together!? As if! He'd like to think he could do better than you.

Deep down, however, there was a little spark of excitement that resonated throughout Sephiroth's core, waking up the cold, numb heart that had lumbered in his chest for so long. To be controlled and dominated like this was an entirely new experience for him, and perhaps, if you played your cards right, it would become something he could enjoy, especially if you meant what you said.

A small smile appeared on his face as you lightly dragged your blade across his throat, barely grazing the skin with the metal.

"Together forever?" He repeated, green eyes glinting with mischief. "Can you really keep that promise?"

Giddiness spreading through your body at the possibility of your dreams becoming reality, you placed a hand on Sephiroth's angelic face and turned his head so he was facing you.

"Yes, I swear it with my life," You told him. "And my knife." You noticed the smile on Sephiroth's face looked softer and warmer than his usual evil smirk. It seemed the prospect of having a constant companion was appealing to him in ways beyond carnal needs.

"I promise," You repeated, turning him so he faced you and throwing your arms around his shoulders. "I promise we will be together forever."

Slowly, tenatively, fearfully, Sephiroth's arms came up andaround you, reciprocating your hug.

"That...is all I need."

82 notes · View notes

strangesthirdeye · 6 months ago

Text

ᴇxᴘᴇʀɪᴍᴇɴᴛs? ( sʜᴇʀʟᴏᴄᴋ x ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴʟᴇss ғᴇᴍ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)

Summary: When an experiment becomes a non-experiment

Warning: IT'S SHERLOCK HOLMES! HE'S OUR FAVOURITE POOKIE. Mention about car crash and accident, minor injuries, light angst but ending fluff and sweet. Lack of reaction from the reader, Sherlock being Sherlock, Burned, Lack of John Watson but there is still John Watson, serial killer, knife, cliche confessions. Brain injuries, medical thingy, Mrs Hudson is reader's grandma.

As usual, I'm sorry if there are any wrong sentences or typos or grammatical mistakes, please forgive me and again English is not my first language, so I try to improve my language and writing in this way.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"Y/n?!"

You jerked from your reverie and glanced to the side to see Mrs. Hudson whose expression changed to concerned. She gushed over you and approached your side with her signature mumbling with the hint of worries in her tone.

She then touched your hand which was red due to burns with hot water over to the sink and opened the tap water to cold to help your burned hands.

You emotionlessly looked at your burnt hand with blank eyes.

"Blimey, Y/n. Luckily I saw you, dear. Otherwise, your hands would have been badly burned" she gushed with worry as she splashed cold water on your burned hands.

You just stay silent. It's not like you have feelings or emotions to show off but really, you don't know what emotions you should show whether it's smiling or sad. Your brain is just.. blank.

It all started when you were involved in an accident that caused your head to suffer serious internal injuries which meant you had to be operated on immediately, leaving you with a shaved head and lost emotions which doctors explained were due to damaged which cannot be avoided when operating on your head. Just your limbic system seems to have a problem.

So here you are, with blank face watching your hands get treated by your grandma who is still mumbling about your whereabouts. She's the one who is always with you so she understands your conditions since you were involved in an accident. She's the one who offered you to live with her claimed that she's just missed her granddaughter even though in reality she just worries about you.

You sometimes don't understand why she wants to take care of you so much when you can take care of yourself but well, it's Mrs Hudson we're talking about.

Mrs. Hudson clipped the stapler for the bandage on the side of your hand with satisfaction. She sighed before turning her gaze to you who stared at your bandaged hands with a deadpan.

"Now, you need to be careful next time, dear. If you want to do work, make sure you concentrate on it for a while so that nothing happens, okay?" she gently rubbed your bandaged hands.

You turned your gaze to your grandmother blankly and nodded in understanding. "thanks, nana" you muttered flatly.

Mrs Hudson shook her head dismissively. "no need, dear. At least you're okay."

You stared at her blankly before nodding. "Right"

Mrs Hudson looked concerned at you. "is your head still sore?"

"no" you shook your head.

She nodded with understanding. "If you say so, don't forget to take your medicine, dear. If your head still hurts, feel free to seek me out. Nana is at the kitchen okay?" she kissed your head gently before retreating to the kitchen probably cleaning all those things you're done earlier.

You stared at her back with no emotion running inside your head nor did your face show any emotions. It's like you are a robot. But why does your inside feel warm and comfortable? Why do you feel like you are being hugged with a period heater all over your body? like someone just hugs you from the inside. Why do you feel this way?

You shrugged. 'this is new.. might search about it later'

You bring your attention to your bandaged hands with a deadpan look. Should you feel something about this or should you just leave it alone? Most people react when they're injured whether they cry or yelp in pain. But you don't. you just shut up and stared at your hands with empty eyes. Is like something you normally do but not always. Your hands feel stretched under the bandages it's like your hands are full of chewing gum and you try to pull it out but to no avail it doesn't come off.

You frowned. It's probably taken a few weeks to heal which you don't mind as long as you wash the burn. You looked around your flat trying to figure out what to do next but then you came out with nothing. You leaned against your sofa with a sigh and stared at the ceiling. Your mind is empty and just staring into space.

But your peace didn't last long when you heard footsteps rushing from outside your flat to the flat above.

221B. You are neighbors with the infamous Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson.

Honestly, you don't know them at all, you just know them from your grandmother. She always complained about them. Always. And you think you can memorize her 'not your housekeeper' speeches by heart as long as you live with her.

You ignored all the rushing above. Eyes closed trying to take a nap for a while but then a voice of shouting from upstairs was heard causing you to open your eyes and stare at the ceiling directly to the floor of the flat above.

Mrs Hudson came out of the kitchen and peeked her head from the edge of the kitchen and into the living room with frustration. "Oh, that young man will be the cause of my heart attack soon if he shouts like that all the time" Mrs Hudson complained before she went back into the kitchen.

But the shouting was still heard again but this time Mrs Hudson's name was shouted from the man on the upper floor. Mrs Hudson stopped everything she was doing.

"Y/n, why don't you go up to the top flat and find out what does that man need?" Mrs. Hudson suggested.

"me?" you cocked your head to the side.

"yes, dear. At least he is quiet, so that there is a bit of peace in this flat" Mrs Hudson said, waving her hands towards you as of shooing you out of the flat.

You got up and went out on your grandmother's orders without any thought. The steps are arranged up the flat stairs leading to the upper flat.

There you see a flat that is a little messy from the stairs. The flat door was wide open showing the contents of the flat. Files and papers scattered on the floor and table and empty cups on the table. In fact everything in the flat is out of place. You didn't make any comments instead you just continued your steps until you reached the door of the flat.

You peek your head out of the door. There Sherlock was sitting on his chair with his hands in prayer and his eyes closed.

For a moment you thought that you interrupted his peace but then Sherlock opened his eyes and glanced at you with confusion written on his face.

oh, i forgot to mention that Sherlock never once met face to face or got to know you while you were sitting with your grandmother. So, obviously he is a bit confused about who you are. Sherlock narrowed his eyes before he got up and strode towards you dramatically.

You didn't show any reaction. In fact, you're not sure how to react to that. You try to feel intimidated by him but you can't. You just can't. Sherlock is now standing in front of you and looking at your face trying to deduce all the information related to you. You stared at his face with no reaction show on your face. You know about him even if you have never met him. Mostly from your grandmother who always talks about it. Complaining about his rather strange behavior or anything unusual he did.

Now you wonder what your grandmother complained about Sherlock now that you are in front of him. Sherlock parted his gaze on you and turned around walking towards his chair and anchored his back to the chair. He leaned back on the chair with his eyes focused on you.

"You are not clients" he said bluntly.

"I'm not clients" you replied flatly.

"You are Mrs Hudson's granddaughter" Sherlock exclaimed.

"Yes" you replied simply.

Sherlock cocked his heqd slightly to the side. Confused with the lack of reaction to every reply you reply to him. Not to mention your face is very natural with no reaction plastered on your face. This irked something in him.

"You recently lived with Mrs Hudson after the car crash and now you live with her permanently. You work at a bookstore judging by how close off your personality is. Introverted, obviously. Now you are still looking for a job which has not been accepted after just sending the form application which probably they won't send a response" Sherlock made his deduction.

You stared at him with a pointless look. Nothing to show on your face. Sherlock narrowed his eyes after he finds that you didn't respond with any snarky remarks to him that people always say to him.

"anything to say?" Sherlock stared at you intently.

"Should I say anything?" You replied.

"People always respond with inappropriate responses" Sherlock clasped his hands together in front of his mouth as his eyes focused on you.

"Car crash, it's true. Living with my grandma permanently is true. Only the last one was a bit true. The one who wants to hire me as an employee has sent me feedback and I'll start next week. I am introvert and also used to work at the bookstore" you replied bluntly.

Sherlock grunted not satisfied with what you said. He leaned the back of his head on the chair he was sitting on while closing his eyes. You cocked your head to the side a little.

"Do people always do that?" you asked him

"do what?" Sherlock responded without looking at you.

"saying something that is not inappropriate to you" You continued.

"Always" Sherlock replied.

"Aren't you mad at them?" you asked

"Not if it has happened many times." Sherlock said. "If you become me, you must be used to it"

"Same as me now. I used to be angry when people said that to me like that now that I lost the feeling of anger. Not only anger but other feelings too" You said before deciding to sit in the seat in front of him.

Sherlock opened his eyes and stared at you for a moment. "You lost other feelings"

You nodded. "yeah, anger, happiness, sadness, fear, nervous. I don't feel all that anymore due to car crash. The doctor said that I have a damaged limbic system, all my emotions and feelings are gone, leaving me acting like a robot" you said without showing any reaction.

Sherlock looked at you solemnly. "so you don't feel pain? Bored?"

You nodded. "that too"

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Three months later, you and Sherlock started getting along well. Well, not until Mrs Hudson tries to let you socialize with other people so that other people is John. At first John was a bit confused because he never saw you nor did you ever see him because during those 3 months he spent a lot of time at his house with his wife and daughter leaving Sherlock alone in the flat. But then when he knew you and knew your conditions he started to be friendly with you and treat you like family.

You as usual only say yes and get along well with him because you don't know how to react so you are just friends with him like you are friends with Sherlock.

Sherlock well, he always experimented with you with various things just for you to show any emotions and feelings. He always said that he can trigger you to show your emotions and feelings even if it's just a little. But not all become.

There was a time he's trying to say something hurtful to you just to make you feel angry or sad but he ended up getting slapped by you with your usual blank face. He smirked at that because he knows that in your neutral face, you must be feeling anger from the inside. But for some reason the feeling of your hand made him feel something in himself.

There was a time when he offered you to join him in solving a case. Which is a serial killer case. Of course. He introduced you to Lestrade and Lestrade as usual treated you kindly without feeling disturbed by your emotionless face. He already went through everything on Sherlock so he's used to it. But the real part is the serial killer managed to attack you with his knife which you dodged but your arm didn't. Not major but only minor. You only need stitches.

Lestrade is obviously concerned with you while Sherlock.. well Sherlock with his still going observation about your feelings and emotions determined to observe you who is still being stitched, trying to find any kind reaction you bring out. Like pain.

You winced faintly while your face still remained neutral. But Sherlock saw the look on your face. It seems like you don't show any kind of emotion and feelings externally but internally. And then without hesitation, Sherlock held your injured hand gently, hoping to ease the pain.

That was two weeks ago, your arm still has stitches that will leave a scar. Today, Sherlock tries to do an experiment different from the others. He wants to know if you are capable of feeling affection. Which is not sure but he wanted to try.

So right now, he, John and you are chilling in the flat while flipping through all the files regarding the current case. Thanks to Lestrade who was willing to bring all the files to their flat.

John sighed tiredness and boredom. He put the files he was holding on the table next to his chair and rubbed his tired eyes. He glanced at you and Sherlock who were sitting facing each other on the floor still flipping through the files solemnly.

He sighed for the second time. "I'm going home now, Mary must be waiting for me"

Sherlock hummed while you bid him goodnight but eyes still on the files in both hands. John shook his head and got up from the chair and walked out of the flat to his house.

Now that John is gone, Sherlock can start his observation (Experiment). He turned his gaze from the file and stared at your face who was so neutral while you were flipping through the files unaware of everything but tasks in your hands. Sherlock placed the files from his hands on the floor before slowly he moved himself to sit next to you.

You didn't realize that Sherlock had changed his position from facing you to next to you because you were still busy with the files in your hands. Sherlock sat next to you and thought for a moment about his next move.

Now he needs to do something to make you flustered. As someone who has never done anything romantic, Sherlock sure knows how to do something romantic after half a day of searching about romance on Google. Now, what he needs to do is he needs your attention on him so that he can think next moves.

Sherlock took a deep breath before he spoke. "Aren't you tired?"

You hummed. "not really.."

"It's quite late, you know.. It's 2 in the morning.. Aren't you sleepy?" Sherlock said slowly moved his right hand to your back and rested his hand on the floor so that his position was closer to you. (don't know how to describe it)

"I have severe insomnia since the accident so no.. I'm not sleepy" You replied, eyes still observing the files.

Sherlock nodded. "but it's a bit late.. maybe we can continue it tomorrow?"

You frowned. "But you said you need an answer as soon as possible-" your sentence hung in your mouth as you turned your head to Sherlock's face which was close to yours.

Sherlock stared at your eyes that were staring at his eyes. That neutral face of yours that he used to look at his face closely made him forget his next plans.

Too lost for words to be uttered by him when he saw a face that he himself did not see how perfect it was. You were stunned and observed every curve of his face. Starting from his colorful eyes, his pointed nose, his sharp cheek bones and ending with his reddish lips.

It's like seeing an angel in front of your eyes. His face looks like it was made by an experienced artist. Very detailed and too perfect. How can this man who is claimed by the public as rude, psychopathic and robotic have this kind of beauty? Now you see Sherlock's face up close. Noticed his faint wrinkles on his pale skin. Not to mention his thick curly black hair. Gosh, you just want to run your fingers through his hair.

'oh, what are you thinking?' you thought strangely. Never do you think like this. Plus why is your heart beating fast.. Why do you feel like something is about to burst from your stomach. Something that doesn't hurt.

Sherlock stared at your face for a long time before his right hand that was on the floor began to move and gently palmed your cheek.

Your face feels warm in his hands. Your skin is red and yet your face doesn't show any kind of reaction. You still don't say anything but letting him do his next move.

"Y/n?" Sherlock called out.

You looked at his eyes. "yes?"

'fuck off about the experiment I'll do this instead' Sherlock thought before he took a deep breath.

"I've been wanting to say this for a long time, ever since you started accompanying me in every case." Sherlock started.

"what is it?" you put your hand in his hand that palmed your cheek.

"Those things that I did to you during the few months you accompanied me in the cases, were just experiments to get what kind of reaction you had.. Things like saying bad things to you and so on were just experiments. But then, I felt something which I didn't expect.. Something that was like a spark of firework in me when I helped you to express your feelings and emotions" Sherlock said.

You frowned in confusion.

"I did not realize that my experiment would backfire on me for expressing my feelings and emotions. You also know that I am the type that never shows any kind of emotions in public for the sake of my image. But then, when that is you... I feel like I want to express all kinds of feelings and emotions to you and you alone" Sherlock put his other hand on your cheek. Now his two hands palmed your face. Thumbs unconsciously stroke your cheeks.

"It's something I've never done but it doesn't hurt if I try, right? I understand if you find it a bit inappropriate but I'm telling something honest from my heart.. I love you" Sherlock said with a tender plus lovingly.

You stared at his face yet your face didn't show any reaction but your face was red and warm in both his hands. Mouth agape you exhaled a short breath before looking down flustered.

You are flustered. Finally you are flustered with his confession. Sherlock noticed your reaction. His heart was quite happy with your reaction but his face showed concern as he never saw your reaction which was extreme for you to deal. He knows you are still trying to deal with your feelings and emotions but he is still concerned with the amount of emotions and feelings you are calculating now.

"Y/n? are you alright?" Sherlock still palmed your face.

You turned your gaze from the floor to Sherlock's eyes before without hesitation you kissed his lips with force. Showing how much you really want him and how much you really love him. Sherlock's eyes widened before he too reciprocated your kiss. He angled your head up with his hands so that he could kiss you deeply.

You put your left hand on his shoulder while your right hand is on the back of his neck. But as a normal human being which you two don't think you two are normal, parted away from eaxh other faces and stared at one another with affection. For the first time you smiled sweetly making Sherlock's heart beating fast. Both of you brought your foreheads together and leaned against each other with smiles on both of your faces.

"I love you too" you replied with a smile.

Non-experimental results: successful.

#benedict cumberbatch x reader #bbc shows #benedict cumberbatch #bbc sherlock #sherlock bbc #bbc sherlock x reader #bbc sherlock x you #sherlock holmes imagine #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes #benedict cumberbatch x female!reader #sherlock fanfic #sherlock fanfiction #Spotify

72 notes · View notes

iamyoursonly · 10 months ago

Text

Meaning of love (22/01/2024)

writing this broke my heart, poor suguru didn’t deserve this kind of treatment but i just had too i’m so sorry :(

Why did you love me? I always wanted to ask. I wondered what did I deserve to have you? How could a person be so perfect like you and you are here by my side? Did I save the world in my past life or did I become king or something? Just how did I get you to love me?

Every day I would sit down and take my time to ponder about this question, slowly, and thoughtfully. Honestly, I still haven’t had the answer yet, but I’m sure you can answer that yourself right? So I head over to your place it’s freezing and I’m wrapped in the scarf that you gave me for Valentine’s Day. I wish that it wasn’t the scarf that was wrapping around my neck, but your arms.

I rang your doorbell, twice. I could hear your footsteps slowly approaching the door, then a click. You open the door and I could see your pupils widen and as you see me.

“Why are you here?” you asked me, I said you were in shock and surprised that I was here, it was like you didn’t want me here. But I just automatically assumed that you had some unfinished business going on so I just shrugged it off and went into your apartment.

I sat down on the couch, it smelt like you, a scent of a tad bit of lavender mixed with smoke. It smells refreshing, but just a bit on the bad side. I sighed. “Did you smoke?” I asked you. You just sat down on the couch and rolled your eyes. “Does it matter?”

I was flabbergasted, speechless, and a bit shocked. You never talked like that to me. it was like you were a stranger to me. Why are you acting like that?

Concerned, I asked you, ”Are you okay, darling?”

Your gaze was cold, cold as ice, as if icicles were piercing into my eyes. And I didn’t like it at all. So I put my hand on your cheek, and ask again. “Darling, are you alright? Tell me what happened?”

Instead of responding to my kindness, you pushed me away. “Who do you think you’re calling ‘darling’? Darling here, darling there? Who do you think you are?”

I was speechless, literally. How could you say something like that to me, your fucking girlfriend. My eyes welled up with tears as I ran out of the apartment, the question leaving my mind entirely because obviously you don’t love me anymore.

As I reached home, I broke down. The tears that woke up couldn’t help but roll down my cheeks. I kept crying and crying until I couldn’t, and the sun rose without me knowing.

All those heartfelt moments we have had together had disappeared into the back of my mind. Those memories of what we once were had dissolved into nowhere. The tea parties and the late night movies with you, all those have become a part of the memories I wanted to destroy. Because I really didn’t deserve you, I deserved better, way better.

Now I just sit back and wonder why did you even kiss me first if you weren’t going to love me forever, all those empty words that I thought meant the world were just lies. Why would you ever kiss me? I’m not even half as pretty? But you gave me your promise to love me forever and now where has the love gone?

Love. What is that? What even is love? My question switching from do you love me to what is love. “Suguru,” I weakly muttered, “I truly did love you, I just wish you could return this love with a smile but not a scowl.”

I would love to find out the true meaning of love. But this time not with you, just myself.

masterlist

#jujutsu kaisen #drabble #jjk #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #geto suguru x y/n #geto suguru x you #geto suguru x reader #suguru geto #geto x you #geto suguru #gojo and you #jjk geto

62 notes · View notes

moongoopy · 7 months ago

Text

little helper

cont: working alongside shiu kong meant meeting toji and toji meeting you.

c/w: violence, reader is shorter than toji, reader has the luck ct (like haruta shigemo)

c: toji x reader

a/n: sorry if ooc and something i realised so far about my fics or drafts or writing or whatever is that i get too into the writing to add the x reader part oopsies guys, i'll try to make the reader and character make out every five seconds in the next fic trust!!!!

Being Shiu Kong's little helper was so relieving for him. First off, he didn't have to deal with the egos of other curse users and second, you were bubbly company.

You didn't fit the scene of being a handler at all but money was money so he couldn't blame you but he atleast show some concerns when the streaks under your eyes turn out less.

"What was it this time?"

He watches you wrap bandages around your wrists while he let the cigeratte dangle at his lips. He made sure to get a new lighter when he does go to the store, the lighter was being stubborn for this round's smoke.

"Well, after that one curse user with the pigtails was threatened by how I pointed him out, he sent his little curses at me." He breathed a sigh as you lit his cigeratte for him with a spare you have on yourself and he shook his head.

"Aren't you atleast a bit scared by how sharp you're being? You're down to three." Having looked at the small mirror in the mortuary, you stretched a bit at the skin under your eyes. Yep, just a bit more till you die, you guess. You shrugged at Shiu. If a bunch of curse users can't handle a bit of truth, they can simply drop dead at a bounty you'd present to them. Shiu scoffed in amusement, you were a gem.

"Anywho, just watch your mouth for the next. He's not that feisty, hell, he doesn't really let anything get to him but you'll be working with him next. He slipped a profile to you when you were done taking off the clothes of a corpse that was carried into the mortuary by the latest mission and you promptly read it. You took note, scanning the profile again. Putting aside the jewellery of the corpse, you asked if Shiu won't come this time.

"Nah, I need to fix a few things with the funding until then, just give me updates about his responses." He stuck his hand out and you threw your lighter at him and he waved his hand, exiting the mortuary. Toji Fushiguro, he looks stone cold but you'll get to see him. The next day.

For now, the body of a dead man awaits you as you meticulously set him apart.

Summer in Tokyo was a bummer especially since the clothes you wore was too snug against your body. So much for professionalism, what you'd do to be half naked right now.. Patting down your sweaty skin with a clean cloth, you exhaled in gratitude at the airconditioning in the ramen shop you walked into. Fushiguro should be around here.

He wasn't hard to spot, he was a large, towering man and you sat down next to him.

You ordered a Ochazuke because of the sweltering heat, you made sure it was enough to forget about the weather and not that you have a client to tend to.

"Did Shiu sent you?" Gosh, his voice was deep that you flinched a bit when you gave the yen to pay and his lips quirked up a bit. You smiled, nodding to the man who looked you up and down rather blatantly. He took a sip of his soda before gesturing at you.

"Was he too caught up in something else to send a pipsquek in for me?" He grinned, putting his can down and is pleased that you didn't back down.

"You're one to talk when the soles of your slippers are loose," You put down the folders of the bounty next to his ramen. "My name is [Name], nice to meet you." You nodded happily, looking back at the waiter that gave you a heads up to how long you had to wait.

He made a noise of amusement, bringing his head down to stuff a fishball in his mouth and placed down his chopsticks.

"Hmm, that's interesting. You're so bold, is it because of your luck, you think you can get away with anything?" You chuckled wryly, shaking your head and played with the pen on your lap. You uttered towards him how nobody can just insult you without any confrontation and he nearly snorts.

He plays this little game of trying to mock you more, finding ways to make you tick but you held up good. He's beggining to like this little helper Shiu sent, one that was so undettered and nonchalant but acting so polite to keep an act on. When your Ocazuke arrives, it was his time to leave.

You pointed to the folders you let him read, asking if he got all that and he dismissed you with a wave.

He didn't even answer your question, rude. But you gave a long sigh. For such an attractive man, he's so adamant on trying to piss you off. Maybe it started to work after being called a little helper instead of an assistant.. but you won't admit that. Right now, you had a nice, cold meal to enjoy and dug in.

After a while, you finished and left to the park. It was oddly very quiet, wouldn't there be more people in this time of day? Well, it was a weekend so maybe people preferred their walls of their home for now. You kept the folders close and took out your phone to dial Shiu.

"Hello-?" The service was quite bad, you weren't sure if it was Shiu or you.

"Shiu?" You leaned against a lamp pole, adjusting the phone between your left and right ear. His voice is a strange mash of words that you couldn't make out.

"….man…gone…" A bunch of question marks litter your brain, who now?

That's when a bullet shot your phone and the graze of the bullet against your skin made you clutch your hand and curse. You swiftly turned back and gasped. It was the man you stripped the other day, well stripped was too perverse of a description rather taking off his clothes to examine would be better. Anything could happen in the Jujutsu world so why was a corpse trudging towards you? You'd made sure nobody knows that this man is dead, his family wouldn't know either or unless some other curse user slip up and went on a monologue.

This guy was dead serious on something. Maybe killing you slowly? Cause the way his hand grip tightly against the saw that he switched out was alarming. Gun slipped into his back pocket, he approached quickly.

"You had the time to steal some pants too, amazing." You pull out your gun and aimed for him and that's when he turned aggresive, his saw swinged quite hard and you'd barely avoided a slice through the neck as he roared.

His eyes were rolled to the back of his head as you shot his chest twice and he gurgled.

"Give me back my life!!" His yell was quite distorted, it was obvious enough that he was a curse out for blood but why you? Could it be because you did the autopsy, that wasn't great considering you weren't even the killer.

You pull out a knife from your thigh strap and stabbed his throat, bringing up to his face so the blade came out through his nose. Some blood got onto you but you yanked yourself away from him and he chokes on his own blood.

He shouted out a "No!" and made a clean slash at your waist which you shrieked to. You gave a hard kick to his stomach making him fall before running away from him. You turned many corners, clutching your bleeding waist in such pain. You quickly added bullets in before shooting back. It dettered him a bit but he regenerates quickly that it was crazy. There was some cursed energy in your weapons but how strong was this man's thirst for vengeance?

"Fuck, you have to be shitting me." You were getting lightheaded, the cut was deep and it was torturous.

Suddenly, a figure zoomed behind you and you gasped as you were thrown over their shoulder like a sack of potatos. The hand squeezed a bit of your ass and you sputtered in pain and shock.

It was Fushiguro, he was so damn fast.. so this was his abilities.

"Thought you'd be better at holding off on your own but I shouldn't expect much from a little helper." He teased with such a sultry drawl in his voice that you couldn't help but punch his back. He chuckled, such a sweet thing. He should've let it drag on a bit longer. Just to see you wince in pain, call him a sadist. He puts you down near a wall before settling the fight with the curse that was chasing you.

"[Name], shit." Shiu was there thankfully, he almost tore your blouse apart as he dabbed up the blood and wrapped bandages around your waist. You shifted a bit in your spot and handled the rest of the bandaging yourself and rested against the wall. You faintly snicker, seeing your boss so worried about you made something tickle inside you. He grabbed your face, nearly shouting at you in exasperation.

"You're a dunce, you know that?"

You shrugged like normal.

"How else would I contact you, sir? You were breaking up in call." He sighed, examining he two lines left at both sides of your eyes. He argued that this wasn't your usual route to go back to the centre anyways, a place with more people would be better for you to be at. The only thing you can utter is that yhings just happen and there was nothing else to do.

Shiu and you watched as Toji strutted back to the both of you. He was really handsome for a poor man, it was humourous. He had the ego with it too.

Toji's hand wind back to toss you something and it was a ring with initials dented on it.

"Looks farmiliar?" He smirked at you as you looked at the entirety of the ring.

"Yeah.. unfortunately." The initials matched the new mission you passed to Toji an hour ago. It couldn't be just a coincidence, it was another familial issued bounty just like the first.

"You'll be seeing more of me then, pipsquek." His eyes gleamed with satisfaction at the irritation you couldn't hide. He squished your head in his hand and moved past Shiu and you. While Shiu went to catch up with Toji who was too quick to go, you let out one last deep sigh for the day.

"Cowabummer."

----

a/n: clap with your cheeks if you guys want a part 2 jk the only thing i can think of is toji begging shiu kong for a dollar so lets see

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujustu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x gender neutral reader #toji x reader #toji x you #toji scenarios #toji hcs

42 notes · View notes

from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras · 7 months ago

Text

The Guardian—Epilogue

There was some conclusion to the story of Haldir and Mildrithe at the end of Chapter 5, but I didn’t want to leave it there because she’s only 6 years old and they have so many years left together! But I also didn’t want to be writing chapters of this until the end of time, so I did an epilogue that checks in on them at 7 different points across her life, just so we can see how they’re getting on and the ways that they still love and support each other through the undeniable challenge of raising a human in an elf’s world. (Catch up on other chapters by going to the very bottom of my pinned post.)

The seven little mini-stories take place when Mildrithe is 8, 12, 16, 20, 28, 40 and 78. If you don’t want to think about what happens to humans when they get old, then stop after the sixth story! They’re numbered in the text so you can do this easily.

********************

1. “Be careful there, you’ve got it the wrong way around.” Haldir reached out and gently took hold of the knife handle, turning it so that the sharp edge of the blade now faced down.

Mildrithe shrugged and grinned at him, a prominent gap in her smile where a tooth had recently fallen out. Then she sat back to watch him finish serving the dessert. “Do you really think this will be the best cake I’ve ever had?”

“I really do,” he said. “It came straight from the lord and lady’s own kitchens. Nothing but the best for your eighth birthday.” A little honeyed frosting clung to one of his fingers, and he dabbed it onto the end of her nose, making her giggle. “Ask Idhrien if you don’t believe me.”

Idhrien nodded in mock solemnity. “I’ve studied the matter thoroughly, and I can promise that you will find no better in all of Middle Earth.”

Mildrithe looked back excitedly at the pieces that Haldir was now transferring onto plates, but as she claimed her slice, her expression turned thoughtful. “You really don’t celebrate your own birthdays at all? Not even with cake?”

Haldir and Idhrien exchanged quick glances. They had discussed many times how best to address these questions that touched on differences between their kinds, but it still felt fraught to him. Mildrithe always accepted the answers she was given, but he knew the recurrence of her questions meant that she still had difficulty truly understanding what she was told and he struggled with how best to explain things in a way that was appropriate for her.

“When you’ve had as many birthdays as we have, they seem less important somehow,” he said. “We don’t really change from year to year, so there is less to celebrate. But you — you’ve grown so much. You’re even smarter and taller and stronger and braver than you were a year ago. Though you do have fewer teeth now.” He poked a finger into her ribs, and she giggled again.

“I think you have changed,” she said as the giggle subsided. “From last year.”

“Oh?” His eyebrows popped up. “How is that?”

“You’re more…” She trailed off, searching her mind for just the right word. “More like you.”

He smiled because he knew she was right. He was much more at ease now than he had been during their first fragile months together, when he knew so little of her and absolutely nothing of being a parent. But they were figuring it out together, and that was worth celebrating. “Well then perhaps I should have a party this year after all. Just a little one. Idhrien, you and my brothers.”

“That’s all?” Her brows drew together, a small crease of concern appearing between her eyes, and he reached over to give her a hug.

“That’s all I need.”

**********

2. “She’s going to be fine, Haldir. I promise.” Idhrien gave his arm a comforting squeeze. “Children of Men get sick all the time, and this is just a little cold. I checked with Eithoril, and she said a few days of rest are all that’s needed.”

He grimaced, and she could tell that no words of the healer were going to sway his mind.

“Alright then,” she said, putting a hand to his cheek. “I’ll go let Rúmil know that you’ll be staying home today. Give her a kiss for me when she wakes up.”

“I will, and thank you.” He walked her to the door and then went back to his place beside Mildrithe’s bed. She had been asleep all morning, a welcome respite from the constant coughing and sneezing that had dogged her all night, and he sat quietly, drawing small sketches of her resting face and ready to be on hand in case she came to need anything.

“Ada?”

He looked up from his sketchbook to find her blinking her way awake, and his heart melted, as it always did when she called him that. Dad. It had taken a few years, and he had never suggested or pushed it. But the first time the word came from her lips — part of an excited squeal when he returned from a particularly long patrol the summer she turned ten — was one of the happiest moments of his life, and he would never tire of hearing it.

“I thought you had to go?” She coughed and rolled over on her side so that she could see him better.

“I decided that it was more important to stay here with you,” he said, smoothing a hand over her hair. “Uncle Rúmil can handle everything for me until you’re feeling better.”

Her eyes drifted down to the sketchbook in his lap. “Are you drawing me again?”

“Of course. You and your mother are my favorite subjects.”

She held out her hand, and he passed the book over so that she could look at his work.

“Don’t you ever get tired of drawing the same things over and over?”

He watched as she flipped through the pages, all covered in delicate pencil sketches of Idhrien, Mildrithe or the two of them together. Laughing at a private joke. Playing in an early snowfall. Wading in the river, the hems of their dresses held above the water line. Snuggled up, side by side, reading a book. Each scene as different to him as the sun from the moon and as special as the shimmering field of stars that covered the sky above Lórien each night.

“I would draw you both forever if I could.”

**********

3. Mildrithe’s arrow went well wide of its mark yet again, and her shoulders slumped down in defeat.

“I’m never going to get this right. I don’t know why you even bother trying to teach me. I should just leave archery to the elves.”

Haldir wrapped an arm around her, partly to comfort and partly to straighten her spine again for another try. “I have fought alongside good archers from nearly every race in Middle Earth, including plenty of Men. It’s something that can be learned by everyone with time and practice.”

She looked up at him from the corner of her eye. “Did you ever fight alongside a Rohirrim?”

An uncomfortable little pang echoed in his chest, and he suppressed a wince. She had begun asking more questions about Rohan of late, ever since she turned sixteen. He didn’t begrudge her the knowledge and answered every question for her that he could. But while Idhrien believed the questions were a natural and expected part of growing up, a small voice in the back of his mind had begun to worry that perhaps Mildrithe was growing unhappy in Lórien. That she might eventually feel the undeniable pull of her homeland and decide to return. That he would lose his only daughter even faster than her mortal nature would dictate.

“I never had that privilege,” he said, and she mercifully accepted the answer without further discussion.

Drawing another arrow from her quiver, she fit it to the string and took careful aim.

“Check your feet,” he said. “And keep both eyes open. Even if you can aim well with one eye closed, you always want to be able to see what’s happening on all sides of you.”

She made the adjustments, blew out a long, slow breath and let the arrow fly. It hit the target, just a little left of center, with a satisfying thump, and she turned and jumped directly into his arms.

“I did it, Ada!”

He spun her around twice before setting her down and pulling back to look at her beaming smile.

“I knew that you could.”

**********

4. When Haldir got up to look out the window a fourth time, Idhrien closed her book and cleared her throat.

“I’m sure everything is fine, Haldir. A twenty year old girl out with her friends is going to test her limits a little.” She smiled. “We’ve all done it, even you. Orophin tells some very good stories about your younger years.”

“If Mildrithe is out now getting into the kind of trouble Orophin and I used to get into, that does not ease my mind.”

She got up from her chair and came to lean lightly against him at the window. “And yet you turned out fine.” She kissed his shoulder. “Much better than fine.”

They stood together for a few more quiet moments before they finally heard the sound of feet on the stairs and Mildrithe’s amber hair came into view below. She rushed up the steps two at a time and burst into the room, streaking past them with reddened eyes and wet cheeks.

“Mildrithe! What happened? Are you hurt?” Haldir caught her arm as she ran by.

“I’m fine,” she choked out, holding back a sob. “Though it should surprise no one if I was hurt, since I’m just a mortal. Too weak for this world.”

“Don’t say that.” Idhrien smoothed away a lock of hair that clung to Mildrithe’s dampened cheek and took her hand. “You’re one of the strongest people I know, mortal or not.”

“I didn’t say it. Gwerenor did.” The sob she fought to suppress began to force its way out. “He said it wasn’t worth making friends with me. He said I won’t be around long enough to bother with.”

“He said what?” Haldir had long suspected that Mildrithe was a little sweet on Gwerenor, and he had never thought the young elf was particularly deserving of her affection. But now he fought back the urge to go find Gwerenor and drag him across all of Caras Galadhon by the ear to give an apology for such a heartless remark. Idhrien saw the flush in his cheeks and put a calming hand on his arm.

“He’s right, though, isn’t he?” Mildrithe looked up at them through her tears. “I’ll die long before you, and even then I won’t go to Mandos as everyone else will. I’ll be alone. Forever.”

She gave up fully on trying to hold back her distress and wept openly. All of Haldir’s anger vanished in an instant, replaced only with pity, and he wrapped one arm around Mildrithe and the other around Idhrien, pulling them all together into a tight little trio.

“He’s not right,” he said. “No one knows for sure what the fate of Men is beyond this world, but elves and Men are both children of Eru. And he surely doesn’t want to separate his children from each other forever.”

“Do you really believe that?” Her voice was small and muffled, her face pressed against his chest.

“I really do.” He kissed the top of her head. “You won’t be alone. I have never been more certain of anything in my life.”

**********

5. Mildrithe snuck another look at Haldir from the corner of her eye as they walked. His face was calm, but he was often one to keep his innermost thoughts and feelings inside and she worried about what he might be hiding. Whether he felt resentment or betrayal amidst his sadness. Whether he thought she was ungrateful. The idea that she might be hurting him stung her, and she reached for his hand.

He looked down and smiled as she laced her fingers through his. “The first time you did that, your hand was barely big enough to get around mine at all.”

“And you looked so startled that I wondered if holding hands meant something very different to elves.”

He laughed. “We’re maybe not as free with our feelings as others. Me especially.” He squeezed her hand. “I’m just glad you didn’t give up on me.”

Tears welled up in her eyes and she pulled him to a stop by their joined hands. “I would never give up on you, and that’s not what’s happening now. You know that, right? This is something that I have to do for myself, but it changes nothing about my feelings for you. Or Naneth.”

“I know that.” He brushed away a tear that slid down her cheek. “I know it’s been…difficult for you here at times, being different from everyone else. And you’re old enough now to start a family of your own, and I can see how that will be easier for you outside of Lórien.”

“It has been difficult sometimes, but never because of you. You made this my home, and I’ll always love it. And I’ll be back to visit you. All the time. So much that you’ll wonder whether I even left.”

He kissed her cheek. “It will always make my heart happy to see you.”

They walked the rest of the way in silence, eventually coming to the forest’s edge, where they met the small traveling party that would ride with her to the town in Rohan’s Eastfold where she intended to start again. Haldir checked and then rechecked her saddle, her bow, her water canteen. Using his best Rohirric, he went over the planned route with the head of the party and asked a steady string of questions about the expected weather, the terrain and the security precautions they had planned. He cast a careful eye over the packed supplies carried by a small pony and added a few items of his own that he had brought in case they were needed.

Mildrithe watched him as he created task after task that required his attention before she could depart, and when he turned back to check her saddle again for a third time, she gently took hold of his arm.

“Ada, I think you’ve done that already.”

“Have I?” He laughed a little at himself even as his eyes reddened and took on a glassy sheen. “I suppose I have. So I guess that means you’re all ready to go then?”

“I guess.” She reached out and brushed away the tear that rolled down his cheek this time. “Unless… maybe you’d like to come with us a little further before you head back?”

He hesitated and then smiled. “Well, maybe just a little.”

**********

6. Two small pairs of feet stuck out from below the edge of the curtains, and every time Haldir walked past, furtive giggling could be heard.

“Now where have Holtwin and Seftceln gone?” he asked in a loud voice. “I can’t find them anywhere.” There was more giggling from behind the curtain. “Mildrithe, I’m sorry, but I seem to have lost your children. I’ve looked everywhere, and they’ve just vanished.”

“Well, that’s a shame,” said Mildrithe, shaking her head. “Because their grandmother was planning to take them swimming in the river, but I guess we’ll have to cancel that now.”

Holtwin and Seftceln burst from their hiding place and ran in excited loops around the room. “Grandpa couldn’t find us, but we were right there the whole time!”

“You’re very tricky,” said Haldir, smiling. “I have to stay on my toes when you two are around.” He scooped them up, one in each arm, and carried them over to the door. “Your grandmother is waiting outside. Go and enjoy the afternoon.”

They scampered happily down the stairs, and Haldir returned to sit next to Mildrithe, who had collapsed into a seat with her feet propped up on a small table in front of her. She laid her head on his shoulder as soon as he sat, and she breathed a happy, but tired, sigh.

“I don’t know where they get their energy,” she said. “From the moment they wake up until the minute they fall asleep at night, it’s non-stop for them. And then also for me.”

“Does Éathmod not help you?”

“He does. He’s a wonderful father. And you’d think two forty year old people could stay on top of a three and a five year old, but they run us ragged. Why did you never tell me parenthood was so exhausting?”

He laughed. “Because ultimately that part doesn’t matter. By the time they’re grown, you won’t even remember the tiredness. You’ll just remember how much you loved having them with you.”

She reached up to kiss his cheek. “I’m sure you’re right as always, Ada.” She snuggled her head back down on his shoulder and yawned. “I could fall asleep right here, right now.”

“Go ahead.”

“You won’t mind? I came all this way to visit with you, not to sleep.”

“It’ll only be for a little while.” He pulled a blanket from a basket at his side and spread it across her. “And besides, I love just having you with me.”

**********

7. The voice of his wife came into Haldir’s mind suddenly. Insistently. You need to get here quickly. There is less time than we thought. He dropped everything and ran.

He made only one stop on his way out of the city, borrowing a horse from Lady Galadriel’s household, and he raced through the forest and then across the plains of eastern Rohan on its back. With every pace, he prayed he would arrive before it was too late.

Mildrithe had been sick for several months, and he and Idhrien had taken turns traveling to Wielburg to be with her. At first, it had seemed a simple unlucky streak of normal illness, though a flu or infection was dangerous enough for a woman of nearly eighty. But as time wore on and the cures prescribed for those standard ailments had no effect, it became clear that something more serious afflicted her. Something that only steadily worsened, bringing fever, fatigue and suffering in its wake.

He arrived days later, well into the night, and jumped from the exhausted horse to rush inside. The rest of the household had all gone to sleep, spent from long days of worry and care, and Idhrien sat alone at Mildrithe’s bedside, gently holding her frail, palsied hand. The smooth, firm skin of his wife’s fingers against the thin, creased skin of his daughter’s brought a sob to his throat, which he stifled as best he could. All the years of knowing that this moment was coming had somehow done nothing to prepare him for it in the end.

He leaned down to kiss Mildrithe’s forehead, and she opened her eyes slowly when she felt his lips. It took her a moment to find his face and bring it into focus, but she smiled at him, a smile of quiet pride. “I waited for you, Ada,” she said, her voice a faint, hoarse whisper, and then her eyes drifted closed again.

He was about to implore her to keep fighting, to do whatever she could within herself to go on, when he heard her voice in his mind and it stopped him short. I am ready. It had never been easy for her to access the ability to exchange thoughts – most mortals never achieved it successfully, and only her years in Lórien had helped her along – and he knew that she had put all of her last strength into the effort.

He sank down to his knees and bowed his head. He could hear the aching rattle in her chest with each labored breath and feel the fevered heat emanating from her body. More than that, he could feel her exhaustion, her pain, her willingness to give in to the release that hovered at the edge of her consciousness. He couldn’t deny her that last relief, and so he drew a terrified breath and spoke the words he knew she had waited to hear.

“It’s alright, Mildrithe. You can go now. Remember us and how much we love you until we can find you again someday.”

Idhrien wept silently at his side and eventually stood to raise Éathmod and his children from their beds to say their own final goodbyes. People came in and out. There were more tears and embraces. Minutes ticked away, and then hours. And through it all, Haldir sat silently, safeguarding Mildrithe in sleep one last time until his watch was ended shortly before dawn.

He went out to view the sunrise alone, sitting beneath the canopy of a rowan tree in full bloom, small white flowers covering every branch and fallen petals making a carpet beneath the boughs. After a few minutes, Hýdigan, Holtwin’s youngest daughter, wandered out and came to his side. “Is Grandma gone now?”

He turned to face her, a little five year old with a head of reddish-gold curls, big hazel eyes, and a small rounded chin. She looked so much like Mildrithe as he had first seen her, decades ago that felt like only the passing of a moment to him. He made room for Hýdigan to sit in his lap.

“No, little one, she’s not gone. You won’t see her now as you’re used to seeing her, but she’s still here. No one is really gone as long as they remain in our hearts and minds.”

They watched the first rays of the sun emerge from behind the rolling hills of the horizon, bringing the start of a new day in their wake. He couldn’t count how many days he had already seen nor how many were still ahead of him, stretching off into the boundless future. But he knew that Mildrithe would live alongside him, in his own heart and mind, for every one of those days. And in this way, she would never be truly gone. He would carry her into eternity.

********************

Last notes: There’s a little more osanwé in the seventh mini-story. It’s very unusual for a human to be able to use it, but Tolkien did say it was possible and, if anyone is going to be able to, it would be a human raised among elves. But even then, it takes a lot of effort for Mildrithe to do it.

Mildrithe named her son Holtwin (which means “forest friend”) as a tribute to Haldir, and her daughter Seftceln (“soft breeze”) shares a name with Mildrithe’s late sister, who saved her life by hiding her during the attack on their village. Holtwin named his daughter Hýdigan (“thoughtful one” in Rohirric) after Idhrien, whose own name means “thoughtful” in Sindarin.

#lotr #lord of the rings #tolkien #haldir #mildrithe #lórien #trying to be realistic about humans living with elves #because they’re not all aragorns with fate and the gods on their side

11 notes · View notes

ibims1seb · 1 year ago

Text

A Gift

Please note that this is my first post. I have lurked in the shadows for a bit and finally found the courage to actually post some of my writing. I would really like feedback, be it on my writing or on how this app works. Thank you very much and enjoy this little treat of Whump :)

TW: captivity, Whumper turned Whumpee, sort of multiple Whumpers, knifes, ropes as restraints, dehumanisation (not sure), implied kidnapping, implied beating, strong language, (tell me if there is more)

They could feel the man glare at them with such a force that, if they weren’t restrained, they’d be cuddled in a ball, trying to disappear. But at least, they weren’t forced to look at those harsh eyes. They kept their stare on the floor in front of the man’s feet. Away from his narrow lenses, his frown and his curled brows. Just, as far away from his face as possible. However, their curiosity betrayed them and the crouched down figure started to risk a glance up at their captor. And they regretted it.

The moment their unsure eyes met the others’, they regretted giving into the temptation. They saw an unreadable expression that could only be described as furious. Those eyes cut daggers in… not… in them. He was staring expectantly at a person somewhere out of their sight. Still, they pulled their gaze away from the tall person in front of them, not wanting to risk being met with the same fate as whoever had angered the man.

“Are you uncomfortable in these bounds, little one?”, they swallowed. He had probably noticed the fast movement of their head and mistook it for a struggle. Sure, the ropes digging into their skin at their feet, wrists and elbows was anything but a nice feeling, but they weren’t going to invest energy into a lost cause. And then there was also the nagging fear that they’d just imagined the concern and sincerity in his voice. Maybe this was all just a trick to get them to speak so they could be kicked again. So, they stayed silent, hoping that that would be the correct answer to his question.

“You can answer truthfully, if your scared about that.”, there was inpatients dripping from behind the well acted concern, so the bound person answered fast, tripping over their breath while they tried to talk.

“Y-yes…”, the air hitched in their throat and the sound of their voice made them shudder. It was raspy and dry, filled with fear.

“Yes what?” Of course he wasn’t really concerned. He just wanted to test how obedient they were.

“Y-yes, the bounds are un-uncomfortable…”, they rasped out, picking up a little bit of volume to ensure they wouldn’t have to say it again. There was silence, but they could basically hear that stare again. But now, they knew it wasn’t meant for them. Who would blame them, that they would find fabric bruising their body unpleasant? He surprisingly didn’t. The snap of a finger coming from somewhere above them killed the silence and there was a hustle to their right. Footsteps quickly rose, running towards them, making them tense even more against the restraints. The feet in front of them started to disappear and they couldn’t suppress the flinch when cold hands moved down their back to their wrists.

“Relax,” he muttered, pressing something cold and thin in the tiny space between their back and the rope. A knife. The realisation made their breath hitch again but they tried to stay as still as possible as ordered. The metallic cleaver lingered there, hesitating. “Will you continue to be this good when I free you?”

They nodded, not really sure what else to do. They just wanted to be able to move their hands again and hug them self tightly because no one else would do it. The blade made quick work of the restraints and as soon as they could move again they clutched their hands around their chest, fearing they might disappear if they don’t. Someone petted their back gently they knew who it was, before they could hear him rise again. There were footsteps and they though it was just the person who had brought him the knife but his voice echoing through the otherwise soundless room told a different story.

“Who said you could leave!” They could hear the smile on his face but his voice was cold, suggesting that the grin was as meaningless as anything else.

“I- sir please! I am sorry. I- I didn’t—“, they recognised that voice. It was the person who had taken them. Who had kicked them every time they breathed louder than they’d liked. The one who hissed insults at them while they cried.

“What did I say!?” They couldn’t help themself but turn around. They wanted to know if it was really them. If they had really conditioned them so well in their 24 hours together, that they could identify the voice that would most likely appear in their nightmares.

“I- please, sire. I had to discipline them! They were a disobedient little shit!” There was an involuntary squeak of disapproval escaping out of their throat, which earned them an angered look from their real captor. The other man, however, didn’t even acknowledge them. He seethed with anger that they could dare to insult his lively gift.

“I highly doubt that you want to continue that speech of yours.” Venom spilled from every word like water overflowing a bathtub, the amount so deadly that any snake would bow in front of him. They probably would regardless, the thought squeezed into their mind and in any other situation they would have giggled at it. But there was no time for fun and all they could do was stare at the scene, eyes wide from anticipation.

“Guards, next time I see them, I want them to be cowering in a cell!” He ignored the pleads for forgiveness and the half assed apologies trying to justify their actions and just watched, probably smiling at the struggle. He seems like the kind of guy to smile at that, they though bitterly, would he be just as happy if it was me who struggled? They didn’t want to think about that. They didn’t want to think at all, if they were honest. They were exhausted from the events of the last two days and wanted to do nothing more than sleep.

“Well, to some degree I’ve got to thank you.”, not sure if they heard that correctly, they looked up at the man, confusion hanging over their face like a veil. But they were not graced the opportunity to ask what he meant, since he, to, had questions. “Now, what was your name again, little one?” He got down on one knee, caressing the side of their face.

“Wh-Whumpee, sir.”, it didn’t feel right to call him sir, and the small mask of surprise being replaced by a… prideful?… grin said the same, but they were still very aware of how helpless they were. If they were obedient, maybe he’d let them go back to their family.

“Well, Whumpee, I am Whumper. And you are going to live with me from now on.”, his smile was cold and his eyes were filled with an unidentifiable lust, that made Whumpee shudder. Their eyes widened noticeably which made the other man chuckle darkly.

“Bu-but my family! M-my home!” Tears threatened to fall, but they were to shocked to even acknowledge, god forbid, stop them. Whumper’s expression grew soft at that, while he cupped their cheek to force them to look up at him.

“This is your home now. And I am your family from now on. Your only family!” The hand on their face moved again, a thumb trailed along their cheekbone, wiping away the tears of helplessness.

“N-no. Please!”

“Shh, you’ll forget the time before this soon enough. Then, you don’t have to be sad anymore. Because your with me.”, Whumpee could do nothing but silently sob into the hand of their captor.

“You there! I want them to be bathed and clothed comfortably before they go to bed,” he commanded and turned his attention back to his gift, “We’ll talk more at dinner, m’kay?” The captive could do nothing but look at him with sad, tearful eyes. It made whumper’s heart ache, but he forced himself to get up so that they could be taken to their room. Soon. Soon they’ll forget every sadness and love me how I love them, he sighed, I’ll protect them from everybody and everything.

But himself…

Part two

Masterlist

#whump #whumper #carewhumper #whumpee #whumper turned whumpee #whump prompt #first time posting #i’m nervous #creepy whumper

33 notes · View notes

duraznita-frescante · 1 year ago

Note

hi!

is it possible that you could do an agere oneshot where scar gets chronic pains and regresses with a mumbo cg? /nf

🌱 — "to be loved (is to be seen)"

⇒ regressor! scar & cg! mumbo

⇒ word count: 1.3k

...

🌿 — this was the very first request sent in and my first ever time doing a writing per a request so thank sm!!! i hope i did okay with the prompt, i tried my best drawing from different sources on living with chronic pain so i really hope i did it justice with the right amount of sensitivity and respect. i love writing for cgmumbo so i hope you enjoy my writing of him as well. thank you!!!

(also also my computer kept changing mumbo to mambo so a really hope i caught all of those LMAO)

The idea of flaking out once again on a plan set weeks ago forced this rolling feeling in his stomach. Was that dread? He’ll go with dread. Scar was dreading the idea of telling his friends that he couldn’t build with them today despite being one of the ones to pitch the idea in the first place.

But standing in the middle of his kitchen, he could barely will the strength to make himself a proper meal. Or even one at all.

A soft whine bubbled up from throat and he rubbed his face as the deep-set thrumming of his joints came to a brief crescendo before simply sitting on the cold tile. His head thumped gently on the cabinet behind him and he wondered if he could get away with sitting here all day, letting the tile cool down his aching legs. The pattering of little feet quickly dismissed that idea though, he turned his head just as Jellie rounded the corner, an indigent meow filling the air and hitting sharply against his ears.

“Hi, Jellie,” Scar greeted with a smile as she came over, butting her head across his knee and up to his waist, leaving her soft grey fur on his pyjama pants in her wake. Eventually, she settled in his lap, this time to meow directly into his face. “I know I’m supposed to message someone by now,” he says quietly, letting his hand run down her back, another meow follows.

“But asking him is hard…” he whined as Jellie jumped out of his lap and bumped her body against the cabinet next to him that she knew held her cans of food. The idea of popping open a can made his fingers ache. “But Jellie needs breakfast…” Scar concluded, watching as Jellie paced the kitchen to better project her demands for breakfast.

He pulled out his communicator and typed out a message to the lesser of two evils. Evils, in this case, was breaking the news to his friends that he was having a bad pain day or telling Mumbo the same. He needed Mumbo first, for Jellie of course. What with how his fingers ached as they did, opening a tab can would not go too well for him.

[GoodTimesWithScar] come o ver [GoodTimesWithScar] jellie is askin for you

It didn’t take long at all for Scar to hear his front door creak open and the familiar light footsteps of Mumbo Jumbo, slightly clicky from the dress shoes that he insists are comfortable for everyday wear.

To someone unfamiliar with Scar and his fluctuating pain levels, the sight upon entering the kitchen might’ve been concerning. One might think he’d fallen, maybe they would fuss over him and insist they check him over for injury. And in some distant past that was Mumbo as well– that was everyone who’d joined in those early days. But now Mumbo knew, and all of his friends on the server knew, this wasn’t an ordeal that needed to be dealt with urgency and pity.

“Bad pain day?” he asked with a reassuring smile, squatting down to Scar’s level. Scar confirmed with a soft huff that might’ve been a chuckle or indication of pain. It didn’t really matter, they both knew what it meant. Scar held out a tin can that he managed to get out of the cabinet while waiting for Mumbo.

“Fingers too bendy ‘n Jellie hasn’ had b’eakfast,” He slurred out, his mind relaxing at just the sight of his caregiver. “Open, please?”

“Of course,” Mumbo took it gently and spoke as he peeled off the metal top and placed it to the side for Jellie to enjoy, “And what about Scar, has he had breakfast?”

A definite shake of the head that threw Scar’s fringe over his eyes was what he got in response.

Mumbo chuckled lightly and Scar grinned at the sound, letting his hair be pushed to the side to make way for the kiss pressed onto his forehead. Those same hands settled on either side of his face, holding him.

“I think…” Mumbo drew out in that exaggerated way that he knew made a little Scar hang on to every word, “It is a wonderful day for a bedroom picnic, what do you think?” Bedroom picnic was this fun activity that the duo made up many moons ago in which you bring everything entertaining and enough snacks to last you the day into somewhere comfy, usually a bedroom, and stay there. It was reserved for days like these when being anything but stationary was far too laborious on Scar’s body. He could spend the day napping and being small in between to try and ignore the aches.

“I can’t! I’m ‘posed to help Gri and ‘mpulse to build today and– and I don’t want them to be mad at me,” Scar pulled himself from Mumbo’s gentle hold and oh did that hurt Mumbo more than it should have.

“What? Why would they be mad?” In Mumbo’s anxiety-ridden mind, thoughts of the worst flooded his brain. Had Grian or Impulse said something rude? By mistake or otherwise? Did someone else say something rude? Someone new? Had Mumbo himself said something off and he didn’t even notice?

“I just– I said that I could an’…an’ I can but I can’t even though I p’omised,” Scar rambled on half coherently and just like that, those irrational thoughts drained from his mind. Yes, of course. Of course Scar wasn’t upset over what anyone else would have said, he’s had a lifetime of experience to tell him that what others say about him doesn’t matter. But it seems he’s in his head today and this is clearly something that’s been on his mind for a while. To Mumbo, there were a few options on how to handle this.

The first, well, wasn’t viable and would not even happen now that he was here. The first option would be to just let Scar exert his body with the idea that he had to in order to please his friends, an option that could only happen if Scar were in the headspace for it– read, an adult headspace that was at suboptimal mental health.

But Scar isn’t entirely an adult right now and as young as he is right now, he doesn’t have the mental power right now for the nuance of overexerting himself for the sake of others. If he did, he would not have called for Mumbo in the first place.

“I see…” Then there was the second option, “Well, those two in particular know Scar very well,” Mumbo continued, “and I think they’d be very sad if they knew their best friend was hurting because of them, hm?” Play into Scar’s endless sympathy. Nobody can be sad on Scar’s watch, be it while he’s big or little, everyone must be happy. He designed and built a whole theme park for the sole purpose of seeing his friends happy.

And it worked like a charm

“I don’t want Gri to be sad!” He exclaimed loudly, the idea of his best friend being gloomy just unbearable.

“Just… Grian?” Mumbo couldn’t help himself, he had to tease a little bit if Scar was going to cling to one idea at a time.

“Or Impulse!” Scar tacked on as well, the lighthearted jab flying over his head.

“Gosh, I don’t want them sad either, now that I think of it,” Mumbo pretended to fret, knowing just how much the little one needed some dramatics to get the whole message. “And if a hurting Scar makes them sad…” he trailed off, looking off to the side with a finger on his chin.

“I know! A Scar that’s not hurtin’ will—will make them happy!”

And with a little bit of storytelling logic, Mumbo is victorious in fixing this issue without a single tear shed.

“What a clever lad, I think that will make them very happy,” he says softly, letting himself fall away from the exaggerated way of speaking. “Let’s head back to bed and then tell them this great news together, yeah?” Mumbo stood from his space on the floor and extended a hand toward Scar. In response, the younger raised both of his arms in silent request.

And who was Mumbo to deny him?

#nita writes #mcyt agere #agere writing #hermitcraft agere #hermitcraft #r! scar #cg! mumbo #mumbo jumbo #goodtimeswithscar #gtws #requests open #<< see pinned!!!

40 notes · View notes

a-small-batch-of-dragons · 2 years ago

Text

Cold Comforts

Prompts: Sorry if this is too much, but do you think you could maybe do another hurt Roman fic. I absolutely eat that stuff up. My idea what the after POF Roman just disappears. He’s not in his room, the mind palace, the house. The others think they’ve checked the imagination to its full extent, but they miss one part (but you can’t necessarily blame them). Roman has trapped himself in a hidden and/or invisible castle on his half of the imagination. Slowly, he begins to fade/disappear, believing the others would be better off without him. But, as he goes, so do the things that belong to him. Items in his room start to go missing. Small trinkets turn to computers and posters. Computers and posters turn into chairs and furniture. Furniture turns into literally every single thing in his room, and then that turns into the room itself. Roman won’t disappear until everything he’s tied to does. That means his room disappears, the gifts he’s given others vanish, the videos he’s featured in start to glitch and have to be taken down, his writing and art are nowhere to be found. Everything he’s made in the imagination goes poof, but that also means that castle he’s made to ‘protect’ himself. Since that’s last things that needed to go, Roman is on the brink of disappearing forever when everyone finds him. I would write it but I just don’t have a lot of motivation right now, and I’m so tired my writing comes off as gibberish. I don’t mind any ships, but I’m definitely leaning towards found family and I really love how you write the creativitwins. That’s all I really have. Throw however much angst in as you want. I just like projecting onto imaginary characters :) thanks - anon

hi again! i’m still obsessed with your Roman angst writing. Amazing, by the way ☺️ I hope you don’t mind me asking for more. So how about some Logince where Logan and Roman have a heated argument that results in Logan snapping at Roman. Roman is scared off by that and sinks out while Logan regrets his actions. Roman then avoids Logan all day and doesn’t talk to him. Until later in the middle of the night when Logan finds Roman crying on the kitchen floor and eating Crofters. Logan then takes that chance to make things right and learns a lot more about Roman. Some concerning stuff and some interesting stuff. I hope that isn’t too much! Keep up the good writing, friendo! - lio-the-chaotic-nonbeanie-weenie

Read on Ao3

Warnings: self-doubt, self-esteem issues, ducking out kind of

Pairings: gen

Word Count: 5151

Some arguments between Logan and Roman stay as little bits of contention.

Logan will bring up a point and Roman will read it wrong; either he'll make a joke that won't be received well or he'll take it as an insult when it wasn't intended that way. Logan will explain what he meant and the two of them will settle a little, at least until they can get back into the flow of the conversation and move past it.

Or Roman will let slip a comment he should've kept to himself and Logan will draw himself up, at least until Roman can apologize and claw it back, or he'll smirk and let loose a quip of his own and forgiveness will go unstated. They'll bounce off of each other until the conversation gets back on the rails.

This isn't one of those arguments.

"If you were capable of seeing reason, we wouldn't be in this position in the first place."

"Oh, and you think that just because you're Logic that you hold the monopoly on rationality?"

"Yes. By definition."

Roman throws his hands up, almost knocking over some of the papers. "So why do the rest of us even bother? Matter of fact, why do you even bother with the rest of us? If we're so unteachable and ridiculous?"

"Believe me, I've had the same thought many times." Logan juts his chin upward and looks down his nose at Roman. "Although some of you are more teachable than others."

"Oh, here we go again! 'Roman's stupid, Roman's dumb, Roman's un-teachable—'"

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to! It's written all over your stupid prideful face every single time I say something that doesn't line up perfectly with what you want to hear!"

"Resorting to exceedingly childish insults isn't making you look any better."

"Yeah, well, what else am I supposed to do?"

"Perhaps take a breath and listen to me so then I can explain why you're wrong."

"But I'm not wrong. Maybe you should take a breath and listen to me."

Logan laughs, loud and cruel. "I should listen to you? When I need to fill my head with nonsense I have much better sources for it."

"Nonsense?"

"Yes, Roman, nonsense. This is nonsense, right now. We should have been finished about half an hour ago but you keep insisting that—"

"Because you don't know about this!" Roman gestures emphatically to the papers scattered about the table. "You don't know how to do this, you don't know how to come up with things like I do, so you have to come to me! And you have to listen to me!"

"I don't have to do anything, Roman."

"Well, if you want a halfway decent idea, then yeah, actually, you do."

Logan's mouth twitches and his hand tenses on his pen. "Arrogance is not going to do a better job of convincing me than insults."

"I'm not being arrogant, I'm telling you the truth."

"Thinking yourself irrevocably better than someone else is arrogance. Or have you somehow forgotten the meaning of the word?"

"I know what it means, don't patronize me. How come you get to be Logic and say that no one else is capable of rational thought but I can't say I'm Creativity and thus I'm naturally better at coming up with things?"

"Because I didn't say that no one else was capable of rational thought. I said that you of all people are incapable of seeing reason."

"What the hell's the difference?"

Logan smiles smugly, sitting up a little straighter. "Perhaps if you were capable of understanding reason I wouldn't need to explain it to you."

Roman growls, his hands curling into fists and Logan raises a scolding eyebrow.

"Careful, Roman. You're letting your emotions get the better of you. Again."

"I'm letting—you're antagonizing me!"

"I'm not sure you know what that word means either."

"I don't—don't you sit there and tell me I don't know what an antagonist is," Roman splutters, pointing a finger like a dagger at Logan, "and you don't have the high ground right now either."

"Why not?"

"You're insulting me as often as I'm insulting you!"

"So you can admit you've been insulting me."

Roman fumes. "So have you!"

"No. I have been pointing out facts."

"Insulting facts."

"Facts are most often insulting to people who lack the intellectual capacity to understand them."

"Lack the—are you capable of going a single sentence without calling me stupid?"

"Go a single sentence without being stupid and I won't have to."

"And here I thought you were supposed to be useful."

The room stills. Logan's face freezes for a moment and Roman winces internally. That's a button he shouldn't have pressed. Sure, maybe he wanted to needle Logan for making him so upset but he shouldn't have gone there. That's a sore spot that hasn't healed yet. He should apologize. He should apologize right now.

"I—"

"I am useful," Logan says, his voice dangerously low.

"Logan, I—"

"You, on the other hand," he continues, ignoring Roman's attempt to apologize, "are nothing but a waste of time."

Any words Roman may have had in his throat choke off. He gulps around empty air, staring at Logan.

"Are you capable of thinking of anyone but yourself? Do you understand that you are not so important that everything revolves around you?" Logan hasn't stood up, but the way he's just glaring at Roman makes it feel like he's looming over him. "You think yourself, what, some great presence or some great menace that I have to vanquish?"

Scrabbling for words in a filling grave, Roman grabs a chunk of dirt that buries him alive.

"I'm not Remus."

Logan's eyes flash dangerously. "No, Roman. You are not Remus. Remus has a function. Remus serves a purpose. And Remus, despite what you think of him—"

I love him. I love him, he's my brother, he's my Remus. I'm sorry, Re, I didn't mean it, I'm sorry.

"—is actually capable of listening to reason. You, Roman, you are not. At best you are a nuisance and a mild inconvenience, one easily dealt with and not worth the time it takes to do so."

He takes a moment to collect himself.

"I am busy. I cannot afford to waste time on you. If you are so determined to thrill me with impossible feats, go and find somewhere you are wanted."

Roman's chest burns.

He stares wordlessly at Logan, who just stares back at him. Against all hopes he wants Logan to take it back, the way he was going to, to apologize or realize what he just said or something, something, but he doesn't. He just stares at Roman and glares and then he turns away.

He packs up his things and leaves.

Roman is left alone.

He stares after him for a long time, still in shock. The words bounce around and around his head like bullets ricocheting off metal plates only to score grazes in every surface. They replay over and over and over until they threaten to swallow him whole.

He's not stupid. He's not stupid. He knows that there are ways to draw attention to himself that aren't good and that he—he can be a nuisance sometimes. And in being a nuisance, he's cultivated an atmosphere where the lack of him is to be looked forward to. But he—he's not stupid. He knows that where that comes from is the opposite; everything he's done, every part of the persona he's crafted, is in defiance of that invisibility.

This isn't a revelation, he realizes, but the difference between knowing and knowing. The kind that gets sobbed into your pillow in the dead of night.

And in that petty, spiteful, semantic kind of defiance that children are so often accused of, he sinks out to his room because that's where Patton said he wants him to stay.

He stumbles around the room in a state of shock, clumsy and inelegant and utterly irredeemable, knocking into his bookshelf and his desk and almost tripping over a notebook he left lying on the floor. He strips off the prince costume and throws it away like it burns to touch, staggering to the bed in nothing but undershirt and boxers and crawling under the covers.

He shouldn't be doing this. He's just proving Logan right. But he doesn't want to be something other than he is right now and if Logan thinks he's a stupid child that throws temper tantrums and sulks when he doesn't get his way, then he's allowed to curl up into a ball and clutch his hand to his chest. It's still hurting, the words still dragging themselves over his exposed nerves, and he curls up around it like he could offer it protection.

He should go to someone, he knows. They've all been trying to get better about asking for help and support. He should get up and go—but who would he go to?

Patton would want to hear everything that happened and he'd be scolded for being so mean to Logan. Patton would make him go apologize right then and there and he doesn't think he could bear going anywhere near Logan right now.

Virgil would take Logan's side immediately, he's sure of it. Virgil calls him stupid all the time, he'd probably be happy that someone finally told you like it is, Princey, deal with it.

Janus would take Logan's side too. Not because he'd necessarily agree with him—even though he would—but because it's not Roman's side.

Remus…Remus would hate him.

A pained noise leaves the safety of the covers and Roman only belatedly realizes it's him. He doesn't want to go and expose himself anymore to the possibility of being hurt. He wants to run away and lick his wounds and be upset all by himself. He doesn't want to be accused of being attention-seeking and overdramatic and all of that, doesn't want to be lectured and scolded and then—only then—offered the barest scraps of comfort like a starving animal being tossed a bone. He doesn't want to be hurt and then have them say it's for his own good. He doesn't want that, he doesn't want that, he doesn't want that.

He wants someone to just come and hold him. To say it's okay that he's upset—not even that he was right or that Logan shouldn't have said that or even that it's all going to be okay.

He just wants someone to comfort him. It doesn't have to be big or sweeping or anything, they don't have to stay for a long time, they don't—it doesn't have to be large or—or complicated, he doesn't—he just wants a hug, okay? Or not even a hug, it doesn't have to be a hug, it can just be a touch or something—or not even that, it can just be a—a look, or a nod or—okay, it doesn't even have to be that, okay? He just—he just wants—

He just wants, okay?

Roman's eyes start to grow heavy and he curls up tighter, limp and aching fingers brushing against his face as he almost nuzzles into his hand. He moves his head until he can get his nose tucked into the space under his thumb and feel the shuddering of his own breath against his palm. Oh, he wants and wants and wants and in the safety of the covers he can pretend.

"Shh," he mumbles in a half-voice that he's more thinking than saying, "shh, shh, it's okay. It's okay."

He brushes his lips against the skin there and it almost feels like a kiss.

"Shh, it's okay, it's okay, shh…it's alright. It's okay. It's okay, it's okay." He does it again, trying to narrow his focus down to just that, the gentleness of the touch and the shaking voice from his own throat. "It's alright. Shh, it's alright."

His fingers twitch from a small gust that blows under the blanket and he moves, pressing it deeper into the chasm between his chest and the bed and lets his breath blow warm and stuffy over the skin again.

"Shh-shh-shh," he warbles in broken half-tones, "it's okay, it's okay, it's okay."

Slowly, he works himself back from the brink, mumbling the half-comfort to his hand until the thought of moving no longer threatens to tear him apart. He keeps at it as he drags himself from beneath the covers, as he drags on a t-shirt and shorts, mumbling that it's okay, we just have to go get something to eat, then we can come back and sleep. He keeps the hand pressed to his chest, holding his breath as he creeps down the stairs.

It's late. Well past midnight. The others are likely gone to their separate corners of the Mindscape. Had he the wherewithal to notice he might feel ridiculous, stealing away like a thief in the night as he makes his way to his own kitchen, but all he has space for is the lifeline of comfort that he still murmurs in the darkness.

"Just a little further," he mumbles, "almost there."

The kitchen looms in sharp lines and cold surfaces. He lumbers in and goes to the cabinet, reaching up for the one food he knows he can eat. The fingers on his useful hand brush against the cool glass of the Crofter's bottle and he takes it down, slumping to the floor and curling up, only belatedly realizing he didn't grab a spoon and groping around until he can get one.

It's his jar, almost empty, but just enough left that if he eats it he can make it until morning.

The spoon clinks and rattles as he props the jar up in his lap, eating clumsily until he can scrape the spoon around the edges and get the last of it. He starts crying somewhere in the middle and he only notices because it starts to taste salty.

Almost done, he thinks to his hand, almost there. It's okay. Shh, shh, it's okay.

He's just about to throw the empty jar away and skulk back to his room when the stairs creak.

Don't come here. Oh, god, please don't come in here.

The footsteps get closer. He curls up tighter, thinking maybe he won't be seen in the dark. They get closer.

A shadow looms in the sliver of light from the window.

Don't see me. Please don't see me.

A figure rounds the corner and stops, staring down at him. Its eyes narrow behind glasses as it sees the jar clutched in Roman's hands.

Logan doesn't get the chance to say anything before Roman is gone.

He drops into some random part of the Imagination and just runs. His bare feet cry out in protest as he runs over jagged rocks and sharp stones but he pushes onward. His hand lies useless in the wind, just aching from the memory of harsh words and the panic of being discovered by Logan. The frightened animal that lives in his brain digs its teeth into the soft part of his heart and makes him run faster, faster, faster.

Somewhere he's wanted. Somewhere he's wanted. Somewhere he's wanted.

Unbeknownst to him, the Imagination is building him something. A tall tower, high enough that its head loses itself in the clouds, invisible save for the way clouds can't pass through it, where he can curl up in a small room and be far away from everyone else. It waits until he collapses from sheer exhaustion, carrying him up, up, up, closing itself around him until he's locked in.

Roman doesn't notice any of that. He's too busy curled around his hand again, trying to murmur to it, comfort it, drag himself out of this ache again. He chokes on the words it's okay and it's alright and so he gasps out shh, shh, shh.

Sobs force their way out of his throat and it just hurts. He keeps trying, struggling to shush them, to shush his hand, to shush himself, to give himself something, anything, just to make it stop.

But his hand is just a hand and the pain is just pain. There's no tragedy in it, no pity in it, nothing redeemable or salvageable from the mess he's made.

He really is stupid.

* * *

A jar, discarded and empty on the kitchen floor. It clinks as it rolls over the boards until it comes to a stop, resting in the shadow of the stove.

Its label, half rubbed away from being handled, still clings stubbornly to the glass. One of the letters is still visible, just slightly, the single 'R' barely more than an outline in the faint light from the windows.

The lid is still up on the counter, laid on its back, cold and alone on the flat surface. The jar is somewhere else, air blowing through the empty spaces where it should be.

It fades away as the morning sun dawns, still empty.

* * *

"Hey, Pat," Virgil calls as he walks downstairs, "have you seen Roman?"

Patton frowns, glancing around the living room. "No, I haven't. Why?"

"Something really weird is happening and I think it's his fault."

"What's going on?"

Virgil comes into the kitchen and holds up his phone. One of their videos is playing but as they watch, it starts to glitch, skipping back and forth as though someone's dragging the slider.

"Huh. That's weird."

"Right?"

"Why do you think Roman has something to do with this?"

"'Cause all the parts it's skipping are the parts with him in it. And look at this." Virgil taps through a menu. "See?"

The thumbnails with Roman in them are conspicuously missing a certain prince. Patton puts his hands on his hips. "Well, that is strange."

"That's what I said. So yeah, we need to find him."

"I haven't seen him in a few days, I don't think. I guess I thought he was busy."

"Well, great, who was the last person to see him?"

"See who?"

"Do not do that," Virgil grumbles, helping himself up from the stair rail as Janus strides from the shadows, "you'll make me break something."

"Oh, relax, you're fine."

Virgil mutters something decidedly unflattering and shoves his hands in his pockets. "Have you seen Roman?"

"Not for a while, no." He frowns. "Why, is something wrong?"

They show him what's happening to the videos and he hums.

"That's…that's not good."

"No, it isn't."

"We need to find Remus."

"Wait, what? Why Remus?"

"He's the one who'll most likely know what Roman's done to cause this." Janus is already striding away. "Come on. We need to hurry."

They do, because as they walk they realize that Roman's poster is gone. Then his paintings. They break into a run when they see that his door is no longer bright red.

"Remus," Janus barks as they tear into the other living room, "Remus, we need you now."

As soon as Remus appears they know he knows already. He's almost frothing at the mouth, his hands itching around his Morningstar as he glares at them.

"What did you do," he snarls, "where is he?"

"We were coming to ask you," Virgil says, his hands raised, "we haven't seen him. We don't know."

Remus glares at all of them before looking at Janus, who nods. "He's Fading. He's trying to disappear. We need to find him now."

"Wait, Fading? What's that mean?"

"Like ducking out but worse, 'cause he's Creativity and I'll be happy to explain this once he's back. Now who saw him last?"

"Not me," Patton says, "I only saw him at breakfast a few days ago with everyone."

"That's the last time I saw him too."

"Janus?"

"We met up briefly to discuss a show but he had to leave early. Said he was…"

Remus growls as Janus trails off. "Said he was what?"

"…meeting with Logan. He had to go meet with Logan."

No sooner has Janus finished speaking, Remus reaches out a hand and yanks. A body falls to the ground in front of him.

"Start talking, bitch boy," he snarls, stalking over to loom over Logan, "what the fuck did you do to my brother?"

"I didn't—I don't know—"

An animalistic roar leaves Remus's throat and he hefts the Morningstar, ready to bring it down when Virgil catches his wrist.

"Hey, hey, easy! If you hurt him, we won't find out what happened!"

"He hurt Roman."

"We don't know that for sure, Remus, just—just take a second, okay?"

"I don't care—"

"Look at him," Janus interrupts quickly, "Remus, look at him."

Remus growls and tears himself free from Virgil's hold but does. Logan is still on the ground, his hands raised in surrender, glasses askew on his face. His shirt is dirty, tie mussed and torn, scratches on his arms and neck.

Wait.

"You were looking for him," Remus spits, "in the Imagination, weren't you?"

Logan swallows. "Yes."

"Why?"

"Because you're right. He's Fading and he's not anywhere else and that's the only place he can be but I don't know where else to look."

"Why is he Fading," Patton asks as Virgil has to hold Remus back again, "what happened?"

Janus gives Logan a warning look as he opens his mouth.

"…we had an argument."

"I get into arguments with Princey all the time," Virgil says sharply, "they don't end with Roman Fading."

"I may have said some things."

"You're going to have to be more specific."

"I—we're running out of time, we need to find him—ah!"

Remus, quicker than Virgil, shoots forward and pins Logan to the wall, Morningstar thrust against his chest. Logan winces as the spikes dig into him and Remus just growls.

"If you do not tell me exactly what you said to him," he says in a calm voice, "you and I are gonna run a little experiment on how hard it is to break the human spine."

Logan swallows. "I…I called him stupid. I said he—that he was incapable of listening to reason and that he—he should go somewhere where he was wanted."

"Why," Virgil growls, "in the fuck did you do that?"

"I was angry," he defends weakly, "I—I didn't mean it, I just wanted to hurt him—"

"Congratulations," Janus says lowly, "you did. You hurt him so badly he wants to disappear."

"I didn't know that," Logan says impatiently, "and I was trying to fix it! I went and looked for him the moment I'd calmed down enough to realize it was wrong and he wasn't anywhere! I only managed to find him that night in the kitchen and he vanished before I could say a thing!"

"Remus," Janus says softly, pulling Remus back, "we need to look in the Imagination. You know it better than the rest of us, where is he?"

Remus glares at Logan one more time before stalking to the door and ripping it open. "He's going to be hidden. The Imagination is him when he gets like this, if he's scared and hurt it's going to protect him."

But the Imagination they step into isn't rolling fields or towering castles or fairytale woods. It's glitching messes of clumps of grass and loose bricks, a white and lifeless sky overhead. Remus growls and breaks into a run.

"Look for anything that is still intact," he barks over his shoulder, "that'll be the last to go."

They run for hours.

A broken scarecrow, its arms dangling by the thinnest splinter as a crow glitches in and out of existence.

A frog, frozen mid-leap as its legs reach for nothing.

A bridge, splintered and torn by something massive except all that's left of it are shards of wooden boards.

They're losing him.

"There," Virgil shouts, pointing, "the tower!"

A single tower, the only thing still intact, stretching as high as the clouds, its shadow as long and thin as a needle as it pierces the last of the ground. They race towards it and crash through the door.

"Whoa!"

"I've got you, I've got you."

"Is everyone alright?"

"Don't fall!"

For there are no stairs inside this tower. Only a bottomless pit that stretches into yawning nothingness. Remus blocks the path with his body, Janus's arms around his waist as Logan and Virgil cling to the crumbling walls.

"How the hell do we get up there?"

"We climb."

"You can't be serious."

Remus hoslters the Morningstar star and digs his hands into the brick. He hoists himself up and glances down. "Sooner or later the rest of this is gonna go. You wanna be down here when it does or you wanna be closer to Roman?"

Brick by brick.

Hand over hand.

Inch by inch.

When Remus finally touches smooth wood, feeling around for the latch of the trapdoor, he shoves it open and they pile in, panting from the effort of it as he looks desperately around for Roman.

In the center of the room, surrounded by a wooden shell, is a pile of blankets and pillows. If he strains, he can hear quiet mutters coming from within. Leaving the others on the floor, he stands up and cautiously makes his way over, crouching down and peeling back the very top layer.

"Oh, Ro…"

Roman lies there, curled into a ball, cobwebs and dust caked on his skin. The only parts free from it are his face and one of his hands, his lips moving just enough to let air circulate and blow it away. Tear tracks are evident in the soot, his voice so overtaxed only the faintest sounds still audible.

Just enough to make them out.

"Shh, shh, shh, it's okay. It's okay. Shh. Shh. It's alright. Shh."

A lump rises in Remus's throat and he reaches out shakily, pulling the covers away. "Roro, Roro, it's me. It's me, Ro-Bro, I'm here."

Nothing.

"Roman, it's me," he tries desperately, "Ro-Bro, Ro, Roman!"

"Roman?"

"Roman, it's us."

"Open your eyes, little prince, we're here, it's okay."

Roman twitches slightly as Janus speaks but doesn't stir.

"Why isn't it working? What do we have to do?"

Remus shakes him harder. "Roman, wake up!"

"It won't work."

They all turn to stare at Logan.

"What do you mean," Remus hisses, "that it won't work?"

"He needs to be comforted," Logan says, slowly approaching the shell too, "he—he's trying to comfort himself. Let me try."

Virgil glances at Remus and tugs Patton and Janus back. Remus glares at him but doesn't stop him.

"If you fuck this up—"

"Then I'm your lab rat, I know."

"Good."

Logan takes a deep breath and looks in.

Oh, little one, he thinks as he takes in Roman's poor state, oh, I never meant for this, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.

He lifts a shaking hand and fits it clumsily around Roman's.

"Shh," he murmurs, "shh, shh, it's okay. It's alright. It's alright. Shh, shh."

Roman's hand twitches.

"It's okay," he says again, "shh-shh-shh, it's okay. You're alright. It's all okay."

Roman stills, then slumps. Logan fits his other hand to his face, not wincing at how cold it is.

"You're okay," he keeps saying softly, "shh, little one, you're okay. It's alright. It's okay."

The ground rumbles. Color begins to bleed back into the sky. Logan leans down and puts his mouth to Roman's ear.

"I'm sorry, little one," he whispers, "I'm sorry, it's okay. Shh, shh, I'm sorry."

"It's working!"

"Keep going, Logan, it's working."

"Come on, Roman, you can do it."

"Shh, little one, it's okay." He runs his fingers through Roman's hair, shaking loose the dust and debris. "It's all okay now."

Slowly, painfully slowly, he coaxes Roman's Imagination back to life. He brushes away the dust and the cobwebs and murmurs that it's okay, you're alright now, it's going to be alright. Every word that leaves his lips leaves Roman looking a little more like he's just asleep.

He debates with himself for a moment, before leaning up and brushing a kiss across Roman's temple.

"I'm right here."

Something shudders.

"Roman?"

Roman's eyes flutter and slowly open. "L-Logan?"

"Hello, little one," he whispers, "it's okay. I'm here now."

General Taglist: @frxgprince@potereregina@gattonero17@iamhereforthegayshit@thefingergunsgirl@awkwardandanxiousfander@creative-lampd-liberties@djpurple3@winterswrandomness@sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes@iminyourfandom@bullet-tothefeels@full-of-roman-angst-trash @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind@demoniccheese83@pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious@firefinch-ember@fandomssaremysoul@im-an-anxious-wreck@crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch@enby-ralsei@unicornssunflowersandstuff@wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams@averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb @cricketanne @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws@cecil-but-gayer@i-am-overly-complicated@annytheseal@alias290@tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance @whyiask@crows-ace @emilythezeldafan@frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires@cyanide-violence@oonagh2@xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx@rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734@triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo@cerulean-watermelon@puffed-up-bees@meltheromanstan@joyrose-fandomer@insanitori@mavenmush@justablah65@10paradox10@uhhh-hi-there-i-am-nervous@cutebisexualmess@bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti @ultrageekygirl

#sanders sides #dragonbabbles #roman sanders #roman angst #roman sanders angst #remus sanders #sympathetic remus #logan sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #janus sander #fic

59 notes · View notes